Granaries stood about, small, slat-sided, elevated on skinny boles whose roots made birdlike feet, as on Baba Yaga’s famous abode. A couple of sheds held tools and related necessities. Two-wheeled carts were parked beside when not in use; these were gaily painted. At one end of the lane was a little workshop, at the opposite end the chapel, hardly larger, also colored in fanciful designs, the shakes of its roof bulging to form an onion dome that upheld the Cross. There was no mill, but foundations and the crumbled remnants of an earthen dam showed there formerly had been.
Nowhere did fields and meadows reach beyond sight. The forest encompassed them. Some places it was at a distance, other places it crowded close, but everywhere it brooded, crowns in sunlight but full of shadows beneath. Most of the trees were oak or beech, with a mingling of different kinds. Brush grew dense between.
In many ways the settlement reminded Vanimen of Als. As time passed, he came to understand how shallow the likeness was.
The journey here, on a borrowed ass, had been agony. Once in Tomislav’s house, with a bed to rest in and plenty of hearty food, the merman healed faster than a human would have done. A second Faerie gift was the speed wherewith he mastered the Hrvatskan language. Erelong he and the priest began to hold real discourse, which day by day grew less halting. After people lost fear of him, he came to know them also, and somewhat about their lives.
He sat with Tomislav, sharing a bench, on the gangway landing below the long-raftered roof. It was Sunday, when men rested after their worship. The priest had been laboring at harvest as hard as anyone; Vanimen, now hale, had lent strength which was great if unskilled.
Summer was yielding to autumn. Leaves seemed paler green than erstwhile, a few already brown, red, gold; the sky too had gone wan, pierced by geese whose cries awoke wordless longings; when the sun went under the treetops, a breeze that had been cool became chill. Most persons idled at home. Those who passed by simply hailed Tomislav and his guest. That sight had grown fa-miliar. Clad like the rest, aside from bare feet, Vanimen could almost have passed for a human of mighty stature.
The two were drinking beer out of wooden bowls and had grown a trifle tipsy. “You ‘re a good sort,” the merman remarked. “Would that I might help you live better.”
“That’s the kind of wish that makes me think you can indeed receive God’s grace if only you’ll choose,” Tomislav said eagerly.
As his own distrust faded, Vanimen had gotten frank. The priest had softened the story when he wrote it in the reports he dispatched, by a boy, to Ivan. “I’ll not lie to him, but I’ll not needlessly worsen hostility against you,” he had explained.
For his part, Tomislav had tried to make clear what sort of land this was. Hrvatska shared monarchy with Hungary. Richly endowed by nature, with numerous seaports for trading abroad, it was an important realm in its own right. It would have been more so, save that the great clans were generally at odds, some-times at outright war. Alas, then foreigners, notably the damnable Venetians, took advantage of chaos and occupied what was not theirs. At the moment, peace prevailed. An alliance of the Subitj and Frankapan septs gave strong government. Most powerful was the Count of Bribir, Pavle Subitj, who had won to the position of Ban-provincial ruler, save that his province today was the whole country. Ivan was kin to him.
This eventide Vanimen evaded talk of the Faith by saying;
“Toil and poverty may purify the soul, but they’re hard on body and mind. Why, you’ve not even a proper housekeeper.” Women came in by turns to work, but none had much time or strength to spare. Often the priest must do his own cooking-which went rather well, for he enjoyed food-and cleaning; always did his own gardening and brewing.
“I need none” really. My wants are simple. I get my share of jollity. You’ll see when we hold harvest festival.” Tomislav paused. “Indeed, my earthly lot became easier in several ways when my poor wife passed away. She was long helplessly ill, needing my care.” He crossed himself. “God called her to come and be healed. I’m sure she’s in Heaven.”