In one such darkness, Tauno and Eyjan walked along the riv-erbank. She had insisted that they have a real talk. He yielded, grudgingly, but said he felt too trapped between walls.
A glow above eastern peaks portended moonrise. Erelong it would be the harvest moon that lifted. Carl’s Wain loomed im-mense, as low as it glittered in the Dalmatian sky; higher blinked the Pole Star, to show Northern folk their way home. Frogs and crickets were silenced, only the purling stream had voice. Un-seasonable hoarfrost lay upon sere grass. Tauno felt it under his feet, for he had shucked his clothes once out of sight of Skradin.
Eyjan had not; hooded cloak and flowing gown did what they
were able to hide the fullness of her. /’
After a mile or two, she took the word: “Captain Asbern sought me out while I was in Shibenik. He warned that if Brynhild doesn’t start back soon, she’ll have to lie over till spring. Already there are few masters who’d embark on so long a voyage.”
“Yes, we knew that,” he replied.
“But did you, at least, think about it?” Eyjan paused, except
for her footfalls, before she continued. “I’ve learned about human ways of late, maybe more than you’ve condescended to do. It would be costly for Niels to have ship and crew a ye~ or more agone. And that wretched war-Father back at the siege of Zadar, where he could be killed without ever having seen you. . . . Well, I’ve been told our documents may not protect us from the Vene-tians. A commerce raider of theirs may decide the King of Den-mark and his bishops are too far off to be a threat. The later we depart, the worse our chances.”
“Why, then, we can let the ship sail,” he told her. “But what’s in Denmark for us?”
Alarm replied: “What’s for us here?” She caught his hand. They stopped in midstride. “Tauno, what is it that keeps you in the wildwood?”
He answered the first question. “Well, true, we found our kin and they’re merely another lot of mortals. You must indeed be weary of the lady’s role. So leave if you wish.”
She searched his countenance. It was visor-blank, though hers quivered. “Not you?”
“I think not yet. But go you, and give Ingeborg and Niels my greetings. “
“You promised you’d return to her for at least a while.”
“I will, I will, when the time is right,” he snapped.
“You’ve changed, Tauno-in a way, more than anyone else
from Liri.”
“Unless what I am now was ready within me, like a thaw in a frozen pond. Enough. I care not for chatter about myself.”
As he watched her, his mood softened. “Aye, do hail Ingeborg from me, if you return,” he said. “Tell her I’ve not forgotten loyalty, wise counsel, patient helpfulness, and, yes, how dear she was when we joined. I could wish it were in me to love a mortal woman as Father did Mother.” He sighed. “It isn’t.”
She looked away, but did not ask whom it was he could love.
“What of yourself, though?” he went on. “After you’ve spent
a few weeks or months with Niels, where will you go?”
She braced herself. “I may go no farther at all,” she said.
“Hoy?” he barked, astounded. After a minute: “Well, yes, his
leman while he remains young. I can see where that would be
pleasant. He’d leave you your freedom; and after he grows
old-“
“I would grow old with him.”
Stubbornly, against his stupefaction, she urged: “You should listen to Father. He’s right, the Faith is true, and we’re not con-demned, it’s just a matter of choosing to take what it promises. . . and Faerie is doomed, Tauno. . . . I wanted to be sure we two spoke together this night, because tomorrow I fare to Father Tomislav in his parish and pray him to tell me more. Won’t you come along?”
“No!” he roared, yanked loose from her grasp and made a fist
against Heaven. “Eyjan, you can’t mean that-“
“I’m not quite sure, but-“
“Crawling before a God Who twists and breaks what He made- At least Odin never claimed to be just.” Her own strength rose to straighten her back and level her gaze.
“Be glad that God is not just,” she said. “He is merciful.”
“Where was the mercy for Nada?” He whirled about and ran.
She started to follow, then stood where she was.
Far in the west, the moon still made the lake tremble with radiance; but the east was whitening, stars above yonder treetops were gone, and up there, like a gleam of bronze, an early hawk was at hover. On earth lay a frosty silence.
Tauno and Nada stood side by side on the shore. The vilja’s mood was more grave than formerly. “You are always good to me,” she murmured, “but oh, at this meeting, somehow, kindness has glowed from you. I felt it, I feel it yet, as once I felt sunshine.”
“How could I be other than kind, to you?” His tone was harsh.
In her pensiveness she did not notice, simply squeezed the
fingers he had intertwined with hers. “You make me remember things like sunshine,” she told him. “With you by me, I’m no longer afraid to remember. I know you’ll take away the hurt.”
“You, you help me forget.”
“What? But you’d not want to forget, would you? Your won-
derful sea, that 1 never weary of hearing about. I, though, 1 was no more than a silly girl who stumbled into such woe that she drowned herself. Yes, I did; today I dare know it, though 1 can’t understand how I ever got that bewildered.” She smiled. “And over a boy, a mere boy. You are a man.”
“A merman.”
“Well, whatever, Tauno, dearest. Do you know what’s become
of Mihajlo? I hope he’s cheery, wherever he is.”
“Yes, I hear he’s doing well.”
Her look upon him grew disturbed, for he was grimly staring
out across the water. “You’ve been wounded by something new,” she said. “Can I help? How I wish I can.”
Surprised, for never before had she shown perception so close, he let slip: “I may have to leave soon. My sister, that I’ve told you about, she thinks we should and I fear she’s right.” Deep in his gullet: “As far as her reasoning goes; no further.”
Then Nada had recoiled from him, one hand across her open mouth to bar a shriek, the other palm thrust outward in denial.
N0, no, no. Tauno, why pease, no.
She crumpled together and wept. Not until tonight had he seen
that.
He knelt to enfold her in his arms. The slim form clung, he stroked the loose hair of a maiden, he vowed he had misspoken himself and not for anything, ever, would he be sundered from her, and all the while he knew he was being as crazy as she had been when she ended her bodily life.
VIII
ON the feast of St. Matthew the Apostle, the daughter of Andrei and Agnete was christened by Father Tomislav in his church. The name she had chosen was Dragomir. In Denmark, that had become Dagmar, which means “day maiden.”
Tall she stood before the alter, clad in white as though for her bridal, ruddy locks braided and covered as beseems a woman in the house of God. Beside her were her father, back again from the war for this moment; his wife Jelena; Ivan Subitj and his own lady. The dark little building was full of folk from the zadruga and her kindred of Liri, as many as could pack in. At the forefront stood Luka, with a look of hopeless yearning. At the back was Tauno. Some had said it was not right to let him in, but the priest had replied that he was her brother, and in any case there was inevitably much improvisation in this rite, and besides—who knew?-the spectacle might by sudden grace unseal his breast. He kept arms folded and countenance rigid.
Costly was the incense that scented the air, a gift from the zhupan. Fervent was the special prayer which Tomislav spoke, and radiant his face when he bade everybody kneel, took the water, and signed the brow of Eyjan. “I baptize you in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghos
t. Amen.”
Dagmar gasped and nearly fell. Andrei laid his arms around to steady her. Himself gazing Heavenward, he whispered, “Ag- nete, rejoice.”
The rest was soon done. Meanwhile she shed tears, but that was because she had no other way to utter forth her bliss. The sobbing ceased when she rose, and after exchanging embraces she walked out upright.
The weather had turned unseasonably cold. Wind drove clouds across a wan sky and soughed in leaves that were fast changing color. Shadows came and went. People who had been waiting at the door crowded around to bless Dagmar and welcome her to Christendom. They had prepared a modest meal of celebration. On the morrow the visitors must leave-she for the harbor, where Brynhild lay clear to sail.
Tauno, who had barely greeted his father that was, and had not knelt in church, stood aloof beneath a pine, as if to refuse a share in winter. It was a time before Dagmar could break free of her well-wishers and seek him out. None followed, as ill-omened as he seemed, roughly clad and armed with a spear.
She stopped before him and held out her hands. He made no response. Her veil and gown fluttered wildly, pressing cloth against hip and bosom. Nonetheless she was virginal. Perhaps that was because of an inner solemnity which no Faerie being could ever know.
Since he kept silence, she drew breath and spoke: “Thank you for coming. 1 wish 1 knew what else to say.”
“I had to bid my sister farewell,” he answered. “She was dear to me.”
Her lip quivered. “But 1 am your sister!”
He shook his head. “You’re a stranger. Aye, we share mem-
ories, we who shared a womb. Dagmar, though, is no mermaid; she’s a veritable saint.”
“No, you mustn’t believe that. I’m sanctified this day, like any infant newly received into Christ’s flock-yet 1 too will fall by the wayside over and over-but 1 dare hope 1 may repent and win forgiveness.”
“That was not Eyjan talking,” he said wryly. Her head drooped. “Then you refuse salvation?” He stood leaned on his spear. “At least you can’t stop my prayers for you, Tauno.”
At that, he grimaced. “I’ve no wish to cause you pain.”
“You’d gladden me if you’d fare home with me.”
“No. I’ve plighted a certain troth here. But won’t you wait
until spring? Else it could be a stormy passage.”
“We are in God’s keeping. 1 must go to my rightful man, lest he die in his sins.”
Tauno nodded. “You are Dagmar in truth. Well, greet them from me, and may luck swim with all of you.” He turned and strode off into the woods. When he was out of sight, he ran as if hounded.
Nada was not in the glen where she ~nd Tauno cornrnonly met, nor anywhere near. He strained his senses and skills that were of Faerie but could find only the dimmest spoor. Often the trail broke and he must cast widely about before he caught further traces. These showed in their far-scattering directions, and their own character, that she had been roving about distraught. The knowl-edge drove him frantic.
It took him a pair of days and nights to track her down. He did on the evening of the equinox. By then he was beside himself, and lurching with weariness.
Cold had deepened, gnawing inward through windless air. The sky was low and flat gray. She stood on the shore of the lake, which reached steely from a forest gone brown and yellow, a few splashes of blood-colored maple or somber evergreen, many boughs quite bereft. Her figure was tiny, lost, a wisp of pallor.
“Nada, oh, Nada,” he called, and stumbled toward her. His voice was hoarse from crying out while he searched.
“Tauno, beloved!” She sped to his arms. He folded them with vast care around her frailty. She felt almost as frozen as the day, and shuddered against him. Their tears mingled when they kissed.
“Where have you been?” he blurted. “What’s the matter?”
“I was afraid-“ she whispered.
He stiffened. “What of?”
That you might not come back-“
“Darling, you knew I would-“
“before I must go under.”
“Under?”
“I shouldn’t have feared. I’m sorry. I should have trusted you. But I couldn’t think very well, it’s been so bleak.” She huddled still closer. “You’re here.”
Terrified, he said into th.e thistledown locks: “What do you mean, what must you do?”
“Go under. In the lake or a stream. Didn’t you know?” She pressed outward, slightly but enough for him to mark. He released her and she stepped back a pace to regard him. What blue had been in her great eyes was nearly faded away. “In winter, the sun is not too bright on the water for me,” she told him; “but the bare woods give no shelter from it. In the depths I find shadow. Surely you’ve heard this.”
“Yes-“ He glanced earthward. The spear he had dropped
lay between them. “Yes, but-“
“Erenow I could stay later awake. This fall, we’re bound straight into winter.” A dead leaf drifted from its twig to her feet.
“When must you leave?”
She hugged herself against the chill. “Soon. Today. Will you
be here in spring, Tauno?”
He undid his belt. “Why, I’ll be at your side.”
She shook her head. Where he was now trembling and stam-
mering, she had gained an odd clarity (and did she look more than ever translucent, a mist-wraith?). “No, dear love. I will float among dreams. Seldom could you rouse me, never for long. And there’s naught of your sea in yonder tomb-quietness. You’d go mad.”
He kept at work on his garments. “I can come ashore termly.”
“I think that would be worse for you than if you stayed up the
whole dark while.”
For a span the vilja gazed steadily at the merman’s child. She had grown wise, had little Nada, in this twilight of her year.
“No,” she said at last. “Abide my return. That is my wish.” Mter another stillness: “Nor wait in the woods. Seek out man-kind. . . for we’ve no elven women in these mountains such as you’ve told me of. . . and how often I’ve seen your desire that I cannot ever fulfill. My dreams down below will be happier if I’ve known you’re with someone living.”
“I don’t want any.”
Horror smote her. Crouched back as if beneath a whip, she
wailed, “Oh, Tauno, what have I done to you? Go while you can.
Never come back!”
The last garment dropped from him. His very knife lay fallen across the spearshaft, and he wore nothing but the spirit bone. She shrank further away and covered her eyes. “Go, go,” she pleaded. “You are too beautiful.”
Like tall waves joining, her despair met his and he was over-whelmed. “By the nets of Ran,” he choked, “you’re mine. I’ll make you mine.”
He sprang forward and seized her. She wrenched her mouth from his raking kiss. “It’s death for you!” she screamed.
“How better to die. . . and be done-;-- ?”
They struggled. Dimly he knew he was being savage to her,
but the force of it possessed him. “Nada,” he heard himself rave,
“yield, be kind to me, this is what I want, and you’ll remem-
ber-“
She was out of his grasp, she had escaped him as might the wind. He lost footing and tumbled onto the withered turf. When he raised his head, he saw her yards off. She stood white against hueless water and sky, murkful trees, merciless cold wherein no breath showed around her. From her right hand hung the sigil.
He groped erect and staggered her way. She drifted backward. “I can easily leave you behind,” she warned. “I’d liefer not have to.”
He stopped and stood swaying, “I love you,” heaved out of him.
“I know,” she said with infinite tenderness. “And I love you.”
“I didn’t mean harm. I just wanted us to be together, truly
together, the one time-if else we must be sundered forever.”
&n
bsp; “There is a third way.” Calm had come upon her; she smiled. “You’ve told me about this thing. I’ll enter it, and you can have me with you always.”
“Nada, no!”
“Could I hope for more happiness than to lie on your heart?
And maybe someday-“ She broke off. “Stand where you are, Tauno,” she begged. “Let me see you while.I can, and that be the wedding gift you give me.”
He could not even weep.
At fIrst she did look at him as much as she did at the piece of
a dead man’s skull which she held. But slowly the bird of the Otherworld possessed her, until at last she gazed only upon it as it winged across the new moon. Tauno saw how her form of a maiden grew ever more ghostly, until he could spy the wilderness through her, until she was the faintest glimmer in gathering dark-ness. And then she was gone. The talisman fell to earth.
He stayed in place for the quarter of an hour before he could go pick it up, kiss it, and hang it back where it belonged.
IX
ON their homeward voyage, the crew of Brynhild marked how changed Lady Sigrid was. Had the decision of her brother Herr Carolus to stay in Croatia brought that about? Two or three sailors still believed that she slipped overboard of nights to disport herself in the waves. There was no eyewitness evidence, however, and most denied it. They bespoke her piety; now she did join the rest in prayer, where she was the most ardent person aboard, and she spent hours on her knees before the image of the Virgin at the aftercastle, often with tears streaming down her cheeks. At the same time, she was no longer curt and aloof, but quickly made herself beloved by her mild ways and her readiness to listen to the humblest among them. She became almost a mother confessor to several.
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