“In Hell you will burn, you thing of leaves and mists and streams. Fire will consume you without ending, and never a dew-drop, never a snowflake will reach you in your torment.
“Do you understand?”
“Yes,” she screamed, and fled.
He hung where he was until he had lost all sight and sound
of her, until it was indeed as if she had faded into nothingness.
IV
EARLIER in spring than skippers liked to fare-before the very equinox-a ship left Copenhagen for Bornholm. After a rough crossing through the Baltic Sea, she docked at Sandvig on the north end of the island, where it rises in cliffs to the stronghold called Hammer House. Her crew got shore leave. Those who had engaged her hired horses and rode to a certain unpeopled cove.
Gray whitecaps blew in, beneath a pale, whistling sky. When they withdrew, the rattle of pebbles sounded like a huge quem. Gulls flew about, mewing. On the sands were strewn brown tan-gles of kelp, that smelt of the deeps and had small bladders which popped when trodden on. Beyond those dunes and harsh grass was a moor, with wide heathery reaches and a bauta stone raised by folk long forgotten.
The merman’s children waded ashore to greet their guests. They were unclad save for their weapons, talisman, and what remained of their aureate arm rings. Tauno’s wet hair hung green-ish-gold, Eyjan’s bronze-red with the same faint seaweed under-tint.
Ingeborg and Niels sped into their embrace. “Mercy of God, it’s been long,” the young man quavered, while the woman could merely cling tight and cry.
When a measure of calm had returned, Tauno stepped off a pace, holding Ingeborg by the upper arms, and looked her over with care. “I see you’ve done well,” he said. “Not just good clothing and the marks of hardship gone. You have a kind of peace within you, am I right?”
“Now that you are here,” she answered unevenly. He shook his head. “No, I mean that hugging you, I feel you no more being always ready for the world to smite you. Have you prospered, then?”
She nodded. “Thanks to Niels.”
“Hm,” Tauno said. “I’ve an idea Niels has much to thank you
for.”
Ingeborg had been studying him more closely still than he her. “It’s been worse for you, hasn’t it?” she murmured. “You’re haggard. . . and I felt you shiver. Have you failed in your quest?”
“We have not finished it. But here is a resting place.” Again he gathered her in. “I’ve missed you, I have.”
She gripped him so the blood went out of her nails.
Meanwhile they had not quite ignored what passed between
Eyjan and Niels. The merman’s daughter had kissed fondly enough, but thereafter asked: “How fares it with Yria?”
“Margrete,” Niels replied, wincing. “She is none but Margrete any more.” He searched for words. “We got her share safely to her. Not easy; the hangman’s shadow layover us after the Junkers sniffed gold, until we found us a haven. We did, though, and this day she dwells in a house that’ll see to her well-being. But-She is not ungrateful to you. . . but more pious than most. Do you understand? She’s happy, but best you not seek her yourselves.”
Eyjan sighed. “We expected naught else. That pain is leached out of us. We’ve done what we can for Yria; henceforward let her in truth be Margrete.”
She considered him, where he stood in the bleak air with his locks fluttering, before she inquired further: “What’s your place in the woorld these days? What plans for the morrow do you nour-ish?”
“I’m doing well,” he told her. “If your own search is not ended-if I can help you in that, or aught else-you need but tell me.” His voice cracked: “Even if it means bidding you farewell forever.”
She smiled and kissed him afresh. “Let’s not speak thus as
yet,” she said. “While we waited for you, with scant else to
do—“
Ingeborg saw what happened on Tauno’s face. She kissed him in her turn; he seized her to him; her hand wandered, and suddenly he laughed.
“-we built a hut on the far side of yonder headland, for your coming,” Eyjan said. “It can soon be warm and firelit. Wher-ever we may go afterward, glad memories make light freight.”