He straightened, to stand as tall as might be in the storm. “Also,” he called to them, “we are the Liri dwellers. We have our shared blood, ways, memories, all that makes us ourselves. Would you part from your friends and lovers, would you forget old songs and never quite learn any new, would you let Liri of your forebears-your forebears since the Great Ice withdrew-die as if it had never been?
“Shall we not aid each other? Shall we let it become true what the Christians say, that Faerie folk cannot love?”
They gaped at him through the rain. Several babies cried. At length Meiiva responded: “I know you, Vanimen. You have a plan. Let us judge it.”
A plan-He lacked power to decree. Liri had chosen him king after the last leader’s bones were found on a reef, a harpoon head between the ribs. He presided over infrequent folkmoots. He judged disputes, though naught save a wish to keep the general esteem could enforce his decisions upon the losers. He dealt on behalf of his people with communities elsewhere; this was seldom necessary. He led those rare undertakings that required their united effort. He was master of their festivals.
His highest duties lay outside of tradition. He was supposed to be the vessel of wisdom, a counselor to the young and the troubled, a preserver and teacher of lore. Keeper of talismans, knower of spells, he guarded the welfare of Liri against monsters, evil magic, and the human world. He interceded with the Pow-ers. . . aye, he hadguested Ran herself. . . .
His rewards were to dwell in a hall, rather than the simple home of an ordinary merman; to have his needs provided for when he did not choose to do his own hunting; to have splendid things brought him as gifts (though he in his turn was expected to be hospitable and openhanded); to be highly respected by a tribe not otherwise prone to reverence.
The rewards were gone, save perhaps the last, and it a heavy part of the duty which remained.
He said: “This is not the whole universe. In my youth I wan-dered widely, as a few of our breed have done sometimes. West-ward I came as far as Greenland, where I heard from both merfolk and men of countries beyond. No living member of either race had ever visited there, but the knowledge was certain; dolphins confirmed it for me. Many of you will remember my bespeaking this now and then. Those appear to be wonderful shoals and shores, that Christendom hardly is aware of and has no dominion in. If we went thither, we would have them to ourselves—vastness, life, and beauty to grow into, free and at peace.”
Astonishment replied in a babble. Haiko was the first to exclaim above it: “You’ve just avowed we can’t stay in midocean. Can we–{)ur young, indeed, and most of us who are grown-