The Merman's Children

by Poul Anderson

“A vodianoi lairs there, a water monster. It plundered nets that

  fishermen cast forth. When they sent boats with armed men after it, their weapons would not wound. The boats got sunken, and brave lads who could not swim were drowned. Once folk wanted a mill here, that grain need not go clear to Skradin for grinding. When they’d well-nigh finished, the vodianoi came upstream and wallowed in the millpond. Such was the terror that men destroyed what they’d made, so that it’d go back to the lake.”

  Vanimen forced himself to ask: “Why has a priest like you not banned it?”

  “The folk would not have that. Church and nobility think it best to heed their wish. An exorcism would drive off all beings of the halfworld from these parts, and some are believed to bring good luck. Better be denied use of the lake, and in the wildwood sometimes be tricked by Leshy-better that than have no polevik to keep blight from the crops, no domovoi to embody a household and its well-being, no Kikimora that may get the whim to aid a wife overwhelmed by work. . . .” Tomislav sighed. “Pagan, yes, but a harmless paganism. It touches not the true faith of the people, and it helps them endure lives that are often charged with sorrow. The Bogomils have expelled every such olden survival, wherever their sect prevails; but the Bogomils are joyless, they hate this world that God made beautiful for us.”

  After a breath of two, Tomislav added in a near whisper, “Yes, that which haunts the waters and the wildwood can also be beau-tiful. . . .”

  Vanimen scarcely heard. His words blazed forth, as he sprang to his feet and lifted a fist against the evening star:

  “Why, this is just where we can help you, we merfolk! A chance to prove our goodwill! I myself will lead the troop that drives the monster away!”

  II

  THERE was a man in Hadsund called Aksel Hedebo, a well-to-do dealer in the horses that were a Danish export. Ingeborg had often been with him. However, it was a surprise when she appeared at his establishment, accompanied by a straightforward-looking young fellow, and requested a confidential meeting. “We have a favor to ask,” she said, “and would make you a small gift to win your kindness.”

  The finger ring she revealed, cupped in her palm to be hidden from his apprentices, was no trinket. He guessed its worth at five silver marks. “Follow me, then,” he replied, mas~-:faced, and led the visitors from the working part of the house to the residential, and through a door which he closed.

  The room beyond was darkly wainscotted, massively fur-nished, with excellent glass in the windows. Aksel curtained these, which brought a dusk suitable for secrets. Taking the ring, he seated himself at a table and regarded the curious figures in the gold. “Sit down, you two,” he ordered rather than invited.

  They sank to the edges of chairs. Their gaze sought him, anxious. He was fat, blue-jowled, heavy-mouthed, clad in rich garb which gave off a stronger than common smell of stale sweat. After a while he looked up. “Who are you?” he addressed Niels.

  The latter stated his name, birthplace, and seafaring trade. The merchant’s eyes probed and probed. They saw him, like the woman, clean, well-groomed, attired in new clothes. But the marks of sun, wind, hardship were as yet little softened upon either of them.

  “What will you of me?” Aksel queried.

  Ingeborg spoke: “It’s a long tale. As a trader yourself, you’ll

  understand if we hold much of it back. The short of the business is that we’ve come into some fortune and need help placing it. Niels, here, thinks we might best buy our way into shipping. You deal with captains, you have outland connections-surely with the. . . the Hanseatic League, is that right, Niels? If you can send us to a suitable man, with your own persuasion that he hearken”-she flashed the smile she had used in the marketplace-“you’ll not find us niggards.”

  Aksel tugged at a lock of black hair. “A queer offer, from such as you,” he said presently. “I must know more. How big is this fortune, and how did you win it?”

  His glance went to the purse which hung plump at Niels’ belt. Within that leather were coins of the realm, which should excite no remark. Ingeborg had gotten them from a goldsmith in town whom she likewise knew, a man ready to run his risk of the law finding him out when she would sell him a lump of precious metal at well below its true value. She and her companion bore far more wealth on them in the form of pieces sewn into their garments, but this was against unforseen need in the near future.

  Her tone remained cool: “What the sum truly comes to, that’ll depend on what we can do with it-wherefore we seek your counsel. It’s trerasure trove, you see.”

  Aksel stiffened. “Then it’s the Crown’s! Do you want to be hanged?”

  “No, no, naught like that. Let me tell. You must remember Herr Ranild and his cog, how he left earlier in the year on a voyage that he was close-mouthed about, and has not been heard of since. Niels was a crewman, and Ranild brought me along.”

  “Hoy?” The dealer recovered from his surprise. “Hm, well, folk hereabouts did wonder what had become of Cod-Ingeborg. But a woman at sea, she’s bad luck.”

  “No,” Niels denied in quick anger.

  Ingeborg gestured him to keep still and went on: “He was

  shorthanded and in haste. I could be useful.”

  “Yes,” Aksel snickered. Niels glared at him.

  Ingeborg kept her head aloft. “Besides,” she said, “word had

  come to me, as word of this or that often does. Put together with what Ranild heard in different wise, it pointed at a treasure to be gotten, out of a heathen burial in a midocean place. Thus, no robbery, no sacrilege, no withholding of anybody’s due.

  “Gold awakened greed, though, and led to killing. You recall what ruffians those were, save for Niels. Afterward a terrible storm smote. The upshot was that only we two are left alive of the souls who fared forth upon Berning, and the ship is lost. But we brought certain metal ashore, and now we mean to have the good of it.”

  Silence fell, until Aksel snapped. “Is this true?”

  “I’ll swear to you by every saint, or whatever oath you wish,

  that each last word is true,” Ingeborg said. “So will Niels.”

  The youth nodded violently.

  “Hm, hm.” Again Aksel tugged his greasy hair. “You’ve spun

  me half a thread of your yarn.”

  “I told you we would. The reasons why need not trouble you.”

  Ingeborg grinned. “What did you ever tell your wife about me?”

  She grew earnest again, tautened still more, and urged, “You stand to gain much for slight effort and no hazard. We seek not to overstep the law. Rather, we want guidance to keep us within it. At the same time, it’d be foolish to blab, when a mighty man can always find some pretext to strip us bare.”

  “Ye-e-es,” Aksel agreed. “you’re clever to see from the outset that you need a patron, who’ll shield you and get you into a trade where you can prosper quietly.” He frowned at the ring, which he turned over and over on the table before him.

  “The Hansa,” Niels blurted. “Their ships carry most cargoes

  throughout the North, don’t they? I hear how the cities of the

  League grow ever greater-kings fear them---Could I become

  a shipowner of theirs-“

  Aksel shook his head. “Scant hope there, lad. I know them well. They’re grasping devils, jealous of what they have, un-friendly to outsiders, chary of aught that might upset by the least bit the power of a magnate or a guild. For instance, Visby on the island of Gotland, Visby grants broad freedoms to merchants, but only if they’re Gotlander born. I think if you went to one of those uncrowned princes, he’d just lead you on till he saw how to get you wrung dry, and belike me into the bargain.”

  Niels flinched. Ingebor~ laid a hand over his. “There must be somewhere to go!” he protested.

  “Maybe, maybe,” Aksel said. “You’ve caught me off guard. Let me think-“ He set the ring twirling on the table. Its whiff seemed unnaturally loud. “Um-m-m.. . Copenhagen. . . bi
g seaport, enfeoffed to the bishop of Roskilde, who lets no guilds take root there. . . aye, each burgher pursues his trade under license of his own from the city authorities. . . . Maybe. I know hardly anything more, for little of my stock goes that way.”

  “You see,” Ingeborg said, “if you allow yourself to, you can help us. Take time to think onward. First, if I know you, you’ll dicker about your price.”

  Aksel lifted his face. They saw it harden. “Why are you sure I will?” he demanded.

  “What mean you?” Ingeborg replied. Niels stared in dismay.

  “You’ve told me well-nigh naught, and what you did tell is

  doubtless lies.”

  “Remember, we’ll both swear before God to the truth of it.”

  “Perjury would be petty among your sins, Cod-lngeborg.”

  Aksel thrust forward his jaw. “Your story strains belief. Far likelier is that you twain unearthed a hoard in Denmark-unless you committed murder on the high seas; and the gallows punishes that too. Would you drag me down with you? Wariness beseems me.”

  The woman considered him. “You act the coward, then.”

  “I’m a law-abiding man who has a household to support.”

  “Shit! I said you act the coward, like a strolling player. I know

  you, I know your kind,” Ingeborg avowed in huge scorn. “You’ve. decided, all at once, you’ll rob us yourself. Well, you can’t do it. Dismiss us to try elsewhere, or bargain like a decent scoundrel.”

  Niels shifted about and laid hand to the sailor’s knife he wore.

  Aksel made a smile. “Ah, now, my dear. It’s only that I’ve

  no wish either to flirt with the hangman. I need assurance-to start with, a look at that hoard.”

  Ingeborg rose. “Come, Niels. Here is nothing for us.”

  “Wait.” Aksel’s tone stayed calm. “Sit down. Let’s talk fur-

  ther.”

  Ingeborg shook her head. “The years have given me a nose for treachery. Come, Niels.”

  The youth found his feet. Aksel raised an arm. “I bade you wait,” he said. “Or must I call my apprentices to seize you?”

  “Never will they!” Niels yelled.

  Ingeborg hushed him. “What have you in mind?” she asked

  quite coolly.

  “Why, this, “ Aksel answered with his ongoing smile. “I suspect you’re guilty either of piracy or of stealing royal property. Certain it is that you’ve not so much as wondered what tax may be due on your gains. Now, you are paupers and without families of your own, but God has called me to a higher station in life; I’ve more, far more to lose. Why should I risk ruin. . . for anything less than the en~ire hoard?”

  When they stood moveless, he added, “I’d give you something, of course.”

  They stayed mute. He scowled. “Very well,” he said, and slapped the table. “Be clear in your minds that I did not offer to become your accomplice. I just put a question to see how you’d behave. My duty is to report this matter-no, not to the sheriff; direct to the baron. Meanwhile, I can’t let you escape, can I?

  “Think well, you twain. I’ve heard that Junker Falkvor’s ex-ecutioner is more skillful than most. He’ll get your whole tale out of what is left of you, for his lord.”

  “And you’ll have a nice reward, no doubt,” the woman fleered.

  “That is the cautious course for me,” Aksel pursued. “I’d be

  sorry to follow it, for I’ve happy memories of you, Ingeborg, and your comrade has a whole life before him. Therefore sit down, and let me try bringing you to reason.”

  “Niels,” Ingeborg said.

  Her friend understood. His knife came forth, of terrifying size

  in that dim room.

  “We are going,” he said. “You’ll take us out. If we have any trouble, you’ll die first. Up!”

  Abruptly blanched, Aksel rose. This was no longer a boy who confronted him. Niels sheathed the blade but kept him close by. Ingeborg dropped the ring down her bosom.

  They left the house as three. In an alley some distance off, Niels released Aksel. After the trader had stumbled into the street, Ingeborg’s bitterness broke loose: “I thought he was the least bad of the lot. Where in Christendom is mercy?”

  “Best we move on ere he raises hue and cry,” Niels warned.

  They made a devious way to the waterfront on Mariager Fjord.

  A small ship lay awaiting the tide, to depart for ports along the Sound. They had already engaged passage on her deck and brought aboard what would be needful for them. It had seemed a wise precaution. Since they had additionally paid the captain for a night’s worth of drinking their health, he let them rest in his compartment until he sailed.

  III

  A FULL moon stood aloft in a frosty ring. Few stars shone through its brightness, that turned hoar the treetops around the lake and tinged each wavelet with silver. A breeze bore autumn’s chill and rattled leaves which were dying.

  The vodianoi rose from the bottom and swam toward shore. He grew old when the moon waned, young when it waxed; this night he was in the flush of power and hunger. The bulk of three war horses, his body, on which grew moss and trailing weeds, was like a man’s save for thick tail, long-toed feet, webbed and taloned forepaws. The face was flattened, with bristles around its cavern of a mouth. Eyes glowed red as coals.

  When belly touched ground, he stopped. Through the murk below the trees there reached him a sound of brush being parted and footfalls drawing near. Whatever humans wanted here after dark, maybe one of them would be careless enough to wade out. The vodianoi moved no more than a rock. The ‘iJ:rgent ripples he had raised faded away.

  A shape flitted out of shadow, to poise on the grass at the water’s edge: upright, slim, white as the moon. Laughter trilled. “Oh, you silly! Let me show how to lurk.” Wind-swift, it swarmed into an oak nearby. “Let me feed you.” Acorns flew, to bounce off the monster’s hide.

  He grunted thunder-deep wrath. These past three years the vilja had teased him. He had even wallowed onto land a few painful yards, seeking to catch her, gaining naught but her mirth. Soon she must leave the wood, to spend winter beneath lake and stream, but that availed not the vodianoi. Though cold made her dreamy, she never grew too unaware or too slow for him. Besides, when she was not actually rousing him to fury, he knew in his dim-witted fashion that it was unlikely he could harm such a wraith. The only good thing was that in that season she merely greeted him, like a sleepwalker, when they met.

  “I know,” she called. “You hope you’ll grab you a fine, juicy man. Well, you shan’t.” With a gesture”she raised a whirly little wind around him. “They’re mine, those travelers.” Her mood swung about. The wind died away. “But why do they fare at night?” she asked herself in a tone of bewilderment. “And they bring no fire to see by. Men would bring flre—would they not? I can’t remember. . . .”

  She hugged her knees where she sat on high, rocked back and forth, let her hair blow cloudy-pale on a breeze that hardly stirred the locks of those who approached. All at once she cried, “They are not men-most of them—not really,” and climbed higher to be hidden.

  The vodianoi hissed after her, hunched back down, and waited.

  The mermen came out of the forest. They numbered a score,

  led by Vanimen, naked save for knife belts but carrying fish spears and hooped nets. Ivan Subitj was among the half-dozen humans who were along to observe. Guided through gloom by companions with Faerie sight, they had made stumbling progress, and blinked as if dazed when suddenly moonlight spilled across them.

  “Yonder he is!” Vanimen called. “Already we’ve found him.

  I thought an absence of flame would aid us in that.”

  Ivan peered. “A boulder?” he asked.

  “No, look close, espy those ember eyes.” Vanimen raised steel

  and shouted in his own tongue.

  The mermen splashed out. Bellowing in glee, fangs agleam, the vodianoi threshed after the nearest. The
fleet creature eluded him. He chased another, and failed.

  Now he and they were swimming. The mermen closed in, jeered, pricked with their forks. The vodianoi dived. They fol-lowed.

  For a minute, water roiled and spouted.

  Silence fell, the lake rocked back toward calm, heaven again

  dreamed its icy dreams. A soldier’s voice was lost in that im-mensity: “The fight’s gone too deep for us to see.”

  “If it is a fight,” a companion said. “That thing’s immortal till Judgment. Iron won’t bite on it. What hope have those hunters of yours, lord, witchy though they be?”

  “Their headman has told me of several things he can try ,” Ivan answered. He was not one to confide in underlings. “Which is best, he must find out.”

  “Unless it slays his band,” a third man said. “What then?”

  “Then we must abide here till dawn, when we can find our

  way home,” the zhupan stated. “The beast can’t catch us ashore.”

  “There’s other things as might.” The second trooper stared around him. Moonbeams glimmered in his eyeballs, making them blank.

  Ivan raised a cross he wore around his neck. A crystal covered a hollow theren. “This carries a fingerbone of St. Martin,” he said. “Pray like true Christians, and no power of darkness can harm us.”

  “Your son Mihajlo thought different,” a soldier dared mutter.

  The zhupan heard, and struck him on the cheek. The slap woke

  an echo. “Hold your tongue, you oaf!” Men signed themselves, thinking dissension boded ill.

  Slow hours passed. Frost deepened. Those who waited shiv-ered, stamped feet, tucked hands in armpits. Breath smoked from them. Something white stirred restlessly at the top of a great oak, but nobody cared to peer closely after it.

  The moon was sinking when a cry tore out of their throats. A blackness had broken the glade. A hideous shape moved toward them. It halted some distance off, near enough that they could see the mermen tread water to ring the vodianoi in.

  Vanimen entered the shallows, stood up, walked to the humans. Wetness dripped from him like mercury. Pride blazed forth like the sun that was coming. “Victory is ours,” he proclaimed.