By early daylight, when Vanimen’s hunters returned with the zhupan and his band, fright was forgotten. Talk aroused of starting fishery. True, the deep forest was still a chancy place to enter, and would not be cleared away for generations. Yet logging pro-ceeded, year by year; plowland stretched outward, homes multi-plied; cultivation had tamed a sizeable arc of the lakeside. The monster gone, it should be safe to launch boats from that part, if one did not row too near the wooded marge.
The zhupan confirmed the good news. He had seen the vodianoi leave his conquerors and make a slow way on upstream, panting, sometimes able to swim, sometimes groping over rocks that bruised, till lost from sight. The creature moved brokenly. Belike doom would overtake him long before Judgment; hopelessness might well make him lay down his bones to rest.
Father Petar conducted a Mass of thanksgiving, with a some-what sour face. Thereafter, merriment began. Presently the nearest meadow surged with folk in their holiday garb, embroidered vests, flowing blouses, wide-sweeping skirts for the revealing of an ankle in the dance. An ox roasted over a bonfire, kettles steamed forth savory smells above lesser flames, barrels gurgled out beer, mead, wine. Bagpipes, flutes, horns, drums, single-stringed fiddles re-sounded through the babble.
Freely among the peasants moved the Liri folk. Ivan Subitj had taken it on himself to release them. He had no fret about their breaking parole and fleeing. Friendship laved them today and their morrow looked full of hope. For decency’s sake he had arranged that they be clad, though this must for the most part be in borrowed clothes that were old and fitted poorly. That meant little to them, especially in their happiness at being back together. Anyhow, garments were readily shed when male and female had left the village and found a bush or a tree-screened riverbank.
The noisiest, cheeriest celebrant was Father Tomislav. He had come hither with Vanimen after Ivan approved the merman’s idea, and only with difficulty had he been restrained from joining the expedition. Now, when men linked hands around a cauldron to dance the kolo, his vigor sent whipcracks through their circle. “Hai, hop! Swing a leg! Leap like David before the Lord! Ah, there, my dears,”-to pretty girls as he whirled by them—“just you wait till we and you make a line!”
Vanimen and Meiiva had repaid long separation. They entered the meadow when the kolo was ending. Luka, son of Ivan, pushed through the crowd to greet them. He was a slender lad, whose bright outfit was in scant accord with his thoughtful mien. From the beginning he had been greatly taken by the merfolk, eager to learn about them, ever arguing for their better treatment. After Vanimen’s exploit, he approached them with adoration.
“Hail,” he said through the racket around. “You look somber.
You should be joyous. Can I help you in any way?”
“Thank you, but I think not,” The Liri king replied.
“What’s wrong?”
“I’ll speak of it later with your father. Let me not shadow your
pleasure.”
“No, I pray you, tell me. Maybe I can do something.”
“Well-“ Vanimen decided. Meiiva, who spoke no Hrvat-
skan as yet, slipped quietly into the background. “Well, since you’ll have it so, Luka. Have you heard that we met a rousalka by the lake?”
The stripling blinked. “What said you?”
“Rousalka. The revenant of a maiden that haunts the water
where she drowned.”
“Oh.” Luka’s eyes widened; he caught his breath. “The vilja. You saw her?” He paused. “No, I’ve not heard. It’s a thing that men would avoid talk of.”
“Is ‘vilja’ your wordT’ Vanimen spoke stiffly. “I had to do with one of the kind once, afar in the North. Thus I recognized this for what it was. Terror overwhelmed me and I fled. The shame of that is a gnawing in my breast. Your father drove it off, but when afterward I sought to explain why courage had left me, he said he’d liefer not hear.”
Luka nodded. “Yes, he has his reasons. However, I think he’ll yield if you press him. The matter’s no secret-woeful, but not disgraceful.”
“Such a. . . vilja. . . mocks our triumph,” Vanimen said. “I hear men bleat about fishing, my tribe for helpers. Are they witless? The vodianoi could merely devour them. How can they fail to dread what the vilja will do?”