“I?” she asked, astounded. “A whore? No, you’re wrong. What can you tell about mankind?” .
“More than ye might think,” he said gravely. “Frae time tae time I hae entered your world, and not always been cast right oot; for though I be bad tae see and smell, I’m a strong, steady worker. Hoo else might I hae learned the tongue or the sailor’s craft? I’ve had feres amang men, and certain women hae made me welcome in their hames, and a few-can ye believe?-a very few hae gi’en me love.”
“I see why they would,” she breathed.
Pain twisted his visage. “Na wedded love. Hoo could a monster
like me hae a kirkly wedding? ‘Tis been but for short whiles. Langer amang men, aye; we’d make voyage after voyage. In the end I maun leave them too, ,0’ coorse, syne they were growing old and I na. Tens 0’ years wad pass on my skerry ere I had courage tae seek out mortals again. ‘Twas langer yet if there had been a woman’s kiss.”
“Must I too hurt you, then?” Ingeborg stood on tiptoe and drew his neck downward. Mouth met mouth.
“’Twill be worth it, dear,” he said. “Wha’ dreams I’ll weave
in the clouds, wha’ songs the wind will sing 0’ ye! And every
calm, starlit night will bring back this, till the day 0’ my weird,”
“But you will be so alone,”
He tried to ease her: “’Tis as well, When my death comes, ‘twill be because 0’ a woman.”
She stood back. “What?”
“Och, naught.” He pointed aft. “See hoo shining wheels the
Wain 0’ Carl,”
“No, Hauau,” she urged, and shivered beneath the cloak she had cast over her before leaving the forepeak. “Say forth, I beg you.” She paused; he gnawed his lip. “We’ll be, . . mates, . . for this journey. I’ve seen more witchiness of late than I dare dwell upon. Another mystery, that may touch me-“ He sighed, shook his head, and answered, “Nay, na ye, In-geborg, fear na that. I. . . by mysel’ the most 0’ my life, brooding over the deeps. , . hae gained a measure 0’ the second sight. I foreknow summat 0’ my fate.”
“And?”
“The hour will come when a mortal woman bears me a son;
and later I will tak’ him awa’ wi’ me, lest they bum him for a
demon’s get; and she’ll wed a man wha’ shall slay us both,”
“No, no, no,”
He folded his arms, “I’m na afeared. Sad for the bairn, aye. Yet in those days Faerie will be a last thin glimmer ere it fades oot fore’ er. Thus I can believe ‘tis a mercy for him; and myseJ’, I’ll be at one wi’ the waters.”
Ingeborg wept, quite quietly, under the stars. He did not ven-
ture to touch her,
“I am barren,” she gulped.
He nodded. “I know full well ye’re nae my doom. Your ain
fate-“ His teeth snapped air, After a moment: “Ye’re weary frae all ye hae suffered. Come, let me tak’ ye below tae sleep.”
It was still dark when the hourglass called time for a change of watch, though dawn was not far off, The crew had agreed that two Faerie folk should always be on duty at night, and laid out a scheme of shifts, On this occasion Hauau took over steering and Tauno went aloft.
Eyjan, freed, swung lithely down a hatch to the quarters rigged in the hold. Enough light for her came from the constellations framed in that opening; had the hatch been on, she could have found her way by touch, odor, a mermaid’s sense of direction and place. Niels and Ingeborg slumbered on pallets side by side, he stretched out, she curled like an infant; an arm across her eyes. Eyjan squatted beside the youth, stroked his hair, said low into his ear: “Come, sluggard. It’s our time now.”
“Oh. . . oh.” He jerked to wakefulness. Before he could speak aloud, she stopped his lips with hers.
“Softly,” she cautioned. “Disturb not that poor woman. Here, I’ll guide you.” She took his hand. Rapturous, he followed her to ladder and deck.