Ingeborg sprang up. “No, wait,” she called, and ran to him. He stopped, agape. She took the great clawed hand in hers. “I’m sorry,” she said; her voice wavered and tears stood in her eyes.
“I was just startled, do you understand? Of course I-“
He barked wild laughter and caught her in a bear hug. She wailed for pain. He let go. “Forgi’ me,” he begged. “I forgot. I’ll be gentle, I will.” .
Niels stepped forward, bleached about the nostrils. “No, In-
geborg, don’t,” he said. “We’ve sin aplenty on our souls-and
you-“
Her own laughter clattered. “Why, you know what I am,” she retorted. “Here is naught really new. . . is there?”
Eyjan rose, took Niels by the shoulder, whispered into the tangled blond locks that hid his ears. He gasped. Tauno found his feet. He and Hauau locked eyes. “You will treat her kindly,” he said, fingers on the haft of his knife.
Nights were lengthening and darkening as summer wore on, but this one was clear, countlessly starry, ample light for Faerie vision. Herning sailed before a breeze that made the channel blink with wavelets. It rustled and gurgled along the bows; now and then an edge of sail flapped, a block rattled, a timber creaked-small sounds, lost in the hush-until Hauau roared in the forepeak.
Later he came forth beside Ingeborg, to stand looking outward. Tauno had the helm, Eyjan was in the crow’s nest, but neither paid them any open heed. “I thank ye, lass,” the selkie said hum-bly.
“You did that already,” the woman replied, with a nod at the darkness under the foredeck.
“I canna do it again?”
“No need. A bargain is a bargain.”
He continued to gaze across the water. His grip closed hard on the rail. “Ye dinna like me at all?”
“I meant not that,” she protested. Inch by inch, she moved a hand until it lay across his. “You’re our rescuer and, yes, you are better to me than many I remember. But we are of, well, sundered kin, mortal and, and other. What closeness can ever be between us?”
“I’ve watched your een upon Tauno.”
In haste, Ingeborg asked, “Why didn’t you try Eyjan? She’s
beautiful where I’m plain, she’s of your halfworld, and I think she might enjoy-not that I regret, Hauau, sweet.”
“Ye’ll grow used tae the smell,” he promised bitterly.
“But why will you have me?”
He stood long mute. Finally he turned to her, fists clenched,
and said: “Because ye be in truth a woman and nae fay.”
She raised her glance toward his. The stiffness began to leave her body. “My folk slew yours,” she said as if in confessional.
“That was hundreds 0’ years agone. We’re well-nigh forgotten on land, and the auld grudge wi’ us. I dwell in peace, afar on Sule Skerry-wind, waves, gulls the ainly speakers, limpets and barnacles the ainly neighbors-at peace, save for storm and shark, whilst winter follows winter-but sometimes it grows dreegh, d’ye ken?”
“Bare rock, bare sea, sky without Heaven. . . . Oh, Hauau!” Ingeborg laid her cheek on his breast. He stroked her with clumsy care.
“But why have you not sought elsewhere?” she wondered after his heart had tolled threescore slow beats.
“I did when younger, wide aboot, and many’s the kittle thing I did see. But by and large, wha’ Faerie people I met wad ha’ small part 0’ me. They saw me as ugly and looked na deeper, for tae them, naught lies below the skin.”
Ingeborg lifted her head. “That’s not true. Not of every half-
worlder, at least. Tauno- Tauno and Eyjan-“
“Aye, so it do seem. ‘Tis good 0’ them tae provide for their sister. Natheless. . . in humans like you is more. I canna name it. A warmth, a, a way 0’ loving. . . is it that ye know ye maun dee and therefore cleave tegither the wee span ye hae, or is it a spark 0’ eternity. . . a soul? I dinna ken. I know nobbut that in some men, and in more women, I hae felt it, like a fire on a cauld night. . . . Ye hae it, Ingeborg, bright and strong as e’er I cheered mysel’ by. Reckon yoursel’ lucky in your sorrows, for that ye can love as much as ye do.”