Tomislav went home in the morning. First he met with Van-imen to bid farewell.
That was in a dawn which the rain had washed pure. The two of them stood at the edge of woods. Above, the sky was white in the east, blue overhead, violet enough in the west to hold a planet which trailed the sunken moon. Trees had come all bronze and brass and blood, while fallen leaves crunched underfoot. Stub-blefields lay misty. Cocks crowed afar, the single sound in the chill.
Tornislav leaned his staff against a bole and clasped Vanimen’s right hand in both of his. “We’ll meet again, often,” he vowed.
“I would like that,” the merman answered. “Be sure, at least, I will not leave these parts without calling on you.”
The man raised brows. :’Why should you ever go? Here you are loved, you and your whole tribe.”
“As a dog is loved. We were free in Liri. Should we become tame animals, no matter how kindly our owners?”
“Oh, you’d never be serfs, if that’s what troubles you. Your skills are too valuable.” Tomislav paused. “True, you’d better become Christians.” It kindled in him; suddenly his face was not homely. “Vanimen, take baptism! Then God will give you a soul that outlives the stars, in the glory of His presence.”
The merman shook his head. “No, good friend. Over the cen-turies, I’ve witnessed, thrice, the rate of those folk of mine who did that.”
“And-?” the priest asked after a silence.
“I daresay they gained what they yearned for, immortality in
Heaven. But here on earth, they forgot the lives they had had. Everything they were went a-glimmering, as if it had never been-dreams, joys, facings, everything that was them. There remained meek lowlings whose feet were deformed.” The sea king sighed.
“Tomislav, I do not hate oblivion that much. My kindred feel likewise.”
The man stood undaunted; his beard bristled gray at the earliest whisper of a breeze. “Vanimen,” he urged, “I’ve thought about such things, thought hard”-for an instant, his mouth twisted-“and it seems to me that God makes nothing in vain. Nothing that is from Him shall perish for aye. Yes, this may be heresy of mine. Nonetheless, I can hope that on the Last Day, whatever you forsake will be restored to you.”
“You mayor may not be right,” Vanimen said. “If you are, I still disdain it, I who’ve hunted narwhals under the boreal ice and had lemans that were like northlights”-his voice sank-“I who lived with Agnete- He took his hand free. “No, I’ll not trade that for your thin eternity.”
“But you don’t understand,” Father Tomislav responded. “Oh, I’ve read legends; I know what commonly happens when Faerie folk are received into Christendom. But this needen’t always be. It’s simply for their own protection, I believe. Chronicles tell of a few halfworld beings that got baptism and kept full memory.” He cast his arms around the merman. “I’ll pray for a sign that you will be given this grace.”
IV
JOHAN Kvag, bishop of Roskilde, often had business in Copen-hagen, for he was its liege. In a private room of the house he kept there, he sat long silent while he considered, from his seat whereon were carved the Apostles, the young man in a plain chair before him. Ordinary clothes and Jutish brogue hardly accorded with the gold, given to Mother Church, that had persuaded his major-domo to arrange this audience.
“You have told me less than you could, my son,” he finally said.
Niels Jonsen nodded. His self-possession, at his age and station in life, was remarkable too. “Aye, my lord,” he admitted. “Some might suffer, did the whole tale come out. But I swear before God that I’ve spoken no lie to you, and won the treasure in no wrongful way.”
“And now you would share it with my see. If your reckoning of its worth is correct, that would be a donation an emperor could scarcely match.”
“I’ll leave the dividing to you, and trust in your fairness.”
“You’ve small choice,” the bishop said dryly. “You’ll not stay
alive, let alone grow wealthy, without protection.”
“I know it well, reverend excellency.”