The Inuit did not talk about such things once they had hap-pened. It was with diffidence that Panigpak himself sought out the siblings, after he had had rest and nourishment. The three went off to the strand.
That was in weather clear and cold. After a glance at the world, the sun was slipping back down, afar in the south. Its rays made steely and blue the forms of two icebergs which plowed by through gray waters. Sheet ice was forming along the coast, though as yet too thin to venture forth upon. Fulmars went skimming above; their cries came faintly to those who stood on the snow-covered shingle.
“Nothing in the sea is hidden from her beneath it,” Panigpak said, more gravely than was his wont. “Well did she know of your people, Tauno and Eyjan. Somebody had to compel her to disgorge a word, as he must compel her-if he can-to release the seals in a season when they are few for our hunting. She is not friendly, Sedna.”
Tauno clasped the angakok’s shoulder. Silence lengthened.
Eyjan lost patience, tossed her ruddy locks, and demanded,
“Well, where are they?”
Wrinkles tightened in Panigpak’s face. He stared outward and said low, “It is hard to understand. Something has happened that vexes even her. You must help this lackwit speak, for you will grasp much that he cannot. Thus, while dry land is beyond Sedna’s ken, she does have names for many parts along the coasts. She got them from drowned sailors, I think. I remember the sound of them-one does not forget anything out of that place-but they mean nothing to my ignorant self, though doubtless they will to you.”
Given what he related, his interrogators could piece together much of the tale. The Liri folk had taken a ship, belike seized by them, from Norway. They were bound for Markland or Vinland-the Norse hereabouts no longer knew just which of the regions west of them lay where-when a tempest smote. That must have been the same whose edge battered Herning. The other vessel suffered its full might and. duration. She was driven clear back to Europe. From their father’s teaching, Tauno and Eyjan were suf-ficiently well versed in that geography to recognize that he had then steered into the Mediterranean. The spot where he ended his voyage was in no part of their information, but Panigpak did give them names—the island of Zlarin, the mainland of Dalmatia-which they could inquire about later. It seemed the merfolk had there been attacked, and had fled afoot.
What followed was perturbing, baffling. They must be in the same vicinity, those who lived, for they still appeared offshore: one or a few at a time, for short spans. Otherwise Sedna marked them no longer. And something had changed them, they were different from erstwhile, in a way she could not speak of but which filled her, the very Mother of the Sea, with foreboding.
· Tauno scowled. “III is this,” he said.
“Maybe not,” Eyjan replied. “Maybe they’ve found a charm that lets them enjoy a new home inland.”
“We must seek them out and learn. We’ll need human help for that.”
“Aye. Well, we were going to Denmark anyhow, on Yria’s account.”
Panigpak studied the twain with eyes that had seen a lifetime’s worth of grief. “Perhaps,” he said quietly, “someone can give you a little help of another sort.”
On a calm night, stars filled the jet bowl above until it was well-nigh hidden, save for the silver band across it. Their light, cast back off snow, let Bengta Haakonsdatter, who was now Atitak, walk easily along a slope above the dale. Breath wafted white as she spoke, though it did not frost the wolfskin fur of her parka hood. Footfalls crunched; else her voice alone broke the silence.
“Must you leave this soon? We would be happy to keep you among us—and not really because of the fish and seal you take in such plenty. Because of yourselves.”
Beside her, Tauno sighed: “We’ve kindred of our own yonder, who may be in sore plight, and whom we miss. In spite of the kayaks promised us—they should indeed let us travel faster than by swimming-the journey will take weeks upon weeks. We must hunt along the way, remember, and sleep, and often buck foul winds. We’re well rested, after the tupilak business. Truth to tell, we’ve lingered more time by far than was needful. Soon the Inuit will be rambling about. If we went along, we could hardly start home before spring.”