The jaws had him. Riven, he pul\ed free. “Men, swim!” he cried. “Tauno, take the beast-“ He crumpled.
The halfling had strength back, and arrowed forward. Reckless of claws, he ripped. On the edge of sight, he saw Haakon’s crew go into the bay. The tupilak did not give chase. Tauno was harming it too much.
It plunged when he did, seeking to seize him. But a Greenland skiff dragged behind. Hardly more could it move than if the sea had frozen around it.
Tauno’s knives bit. Each piece that he cut away returned to the death whence the angakok had raised it.
Finally an empty hide floated and a shark’s head sank down into darkness. The waves cleansed themselves. When Tauno, air-breathing, reached the second boat, he felt the wind on his brow like an austere benediction.
Though now made useable again, the craft was not for him to board safely. Nine men were already an overload in a hull so splintered and sprung-nine, for by use of flotsam, both Haakon and Steinkil had been brought across. Tauno hung on the rail. The hale looked dazedly at him, drained of everything save awe. Steinkil’s bandaged stump looked as though he would live. Haakon would not. From breastbone to manhood, he was flayed open. His long frame sprawled in blood and entrails between two thwarts.
Yet he clung to wakefulness. His eyes and Tauno’s met, dim-ming blue on hot amber. The Liri prince could just catch a harsh whisper: “Merman, I thank you… .Honor my oath, Jonas. . . . Merman, forgive me my lie about your people.”
“You had yours to think of,” Tauno said gently.
“And my daughter. . . . She’ll speak to you. . . . I’ve no right
to beg. . . but will you find her and—“ Haakon strove for breath.
“Beseech her-but if she won’t, tell her I. . . I never disowned my
Bengta. . . and in Purgatory I’ll pray for her-“
“Yes,” Tauno said, “Eyjan and I will do that.”
Haakon smiled. “Maybe you do have souls, you merfolk.”
Soon afterward he died.
X
FAERIE senses found spoor that mortals could never. Tauno and Eyjan cast about for a mere brace of days—though they did travel too through most of the enormous late-autumn nights-before they discovered the Inuit’s new camp.
That was in a valley, small and snug above a high-walled bight. From the meadow a trail wound down toward the glimpsed gleam of water. A fresh spring bubbled out of turf gone sere but still soft underfoot. Dwarf birch and willow stood scattered, clinging to a last few yellow leaves. Elsewhere reared mountains, gray-blue where snow did not lie. Through an eastward cleft flashed a mysterious green off the inland ice. A haloed westering sun slanted rays through air brilliant, breathless, and boreal.
Dogs bayed when the two big figures in fishskin tunics strode nigh, then caught the scent and quieted; they did not cringe like white men’s hounds. Hunters came out bearing harpoons, knives, or bows; they did not bluster. Women stayed at their tasks, bidding children stay close by; they did not voice fear or hatred.
Everybody seemed to be at home, enjoying the spoils of a chase that had gone well. Over fire, meat of both seal and bear made savory smoke. More was hung on poles for safety; the larger hides were being scraped clean; women had begun chewing on the smaller to supple them. While stone huts were there against winter, as yet families used their conical tents. Passing by one of these, the newcomers saw a half-completed piece of work, a carv-ing in ivory of a musk ox. It was exquisite.
They raised palms and called, “Peace! Remember us from the umiak. We are your friends.”
Weapons sank or fell to earth. Bengta’s man took the word:
“We could not see you well. The sun dazzled us. Somebody is ashamed.”
She herself hastened forth to meet the siblings. “You won’t betray us to the Norse, will you?” she pleaded in that tongue.
“No, Tauno said. “We do bear a t;nessage from them.”
“And hard news for you, dear,” Eyjan added. She caught both
Bengta’s hands. “Your father is dead. The tupilak got him as he and Tauno fought it. But he is avenged, the monster is slain, and before he went, he blessed you.”