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we might instead lead them to God.
We cannot, Petar insisted. They are beasts, they have no souls, or they are something worse,
something out of Hell itself.
That remains to be seen, Ivan interrupted.
Petar clutched at the zhupan s wrist. Lord-my son-my son,
dare we risk damnation such as they could bring? The Holy Gla-
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golitic Church is beleaguered already-by the Pope, who should
be our loving father, by the Orthodox of Serbia and the Empire,
by the Satan-inspired Bogomils
Enough! Ivan freed himself. I bade Father Tomislav come
here and meet those beings for sound reasons. Must I repeat them
to you? I know him of old as a man wise in his fashion; he s no
ignoramus either, he studied in Zadar and later served its bishop;
as for devilment or witchcraft, he lives where folk know more
about that than we do. He himself has been touched-
There appeared that on Tomislav s face which caused the war-rior to break off his speech and finish
lamely; Have you, then, discovered aught?
The rustic priest stood a moment, fighting down his feelings, before he replied. Then it was with a
trudging calmness. I may have. Petar addressed their leader wrongly when he showed he commands a
bit of Latin. That person is proud, he s suffering from his wounds, he s sick with fear on his people s
behalf. Shout at him like at a slave, rail at him about their ways, which have harmed no one unless maybe
themselves. . . how do you expect he ll behave? Naturally he turned his back. You did better for us,
Zhupan, when you sent in your military chirurgeon to treat their hurts.
Well, then, you spoke softly to the chief, Ivan said. What has he told you?
Little as yet. However, I feel sure that s not out of unwill-ingness. His Latin is scant and bears a
grievous accent. Tomislav chuckled. I confess my own has gathered rust, which didn t help matters.
Moreover, we re entirely foreign to each other. How much can we explain in a few hours?
He did convey to me that they came hither not as enemies but only in search of a home-beneath the
sea. That occasioned less surprise than it might have, for the looks of the merfolk had immediately raised
speculation. They were driven out of their country in the far North; I ve not learned how or why. He
admits they re not Christian, though what,they are is still a mystery to me. He promised that if we let them
go, they ll seek the water and never return.
Lies are cheap, said Petar.
Do you think he was truthful? Ivan queried.
Tomislav nodded. I do. Of course, I can t take my oath on
It.
Have you any notion about their nature?
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Tomislav frowned out at the sky. Um-m-m. . . a guess or two,
maybe. Just guesswork, founded on certain things they know or believe in my flock, on what I ve read
or heard elsewhere, and on my own. . . my own experience. Most likely I m wrong.
Are they of the mortal world?
They can be slain, the same as us.
That is not what I asked, Tomislav.
The priest sighed. My guess is that they are not of Adam s
blood. In haste: That doesn t mean they re evil. Think of Leshy,
domovoi, poleviki, such-like harmless sprites-well, sometimes
a touch mischievous, but sometimes good friends to poor hu-
mans-
On the other hand, Petar said, think of viljai. Be still! Ivan shouted in a flash of wrath. No more
croaking out of you, hear me? I may well ask the bishop to send me a different confessor.
He turned back to Tomislav. I m sorry, old fellow, he said.
I. . . am not... that tender-skinned, the priest of the
zadruga answered with difficulty. It seems to be true, in the past few years a vilja has been flitting about
my neighborhood. God forgive the malicious gossipers.
He squared his shoulders. My guess is that we d do best, both for ourselves and in the sight of God, to
let those people go, he said. Take them back to the sea, under spears if you like, but take them back
and bid them farewell.
I dare not do that, save at the behest of an overlord, Ivan replied. Nor would I if I could, before we
are quite certain that no harm can come of it.
I know, Tomislav said. Well, then, here s my advice. Keep them prisoners, but treat them kindly.
And let their headman go home with me, that we may get acquainted.
What? shrilled Petar. Are you mad?
Ivan himself was startled. You re reckless, at least, he said.
That wight is huge. When he has recovered, he could rip you asunder.
I hardly think he ll try, Tomislav answered low. At worst, what can he slay but my flesh, whereafter
my parishioners will cut him down? I ve long since lost any fear of departing this life.
The zadruga was a hamlet of less than a hundred souls, whose families were close kin. It lay a full day s
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travel from Skradin, on a path that wound northerly, then westerly, through the woods around the lake,
though never in sight of yon water. Here men had once cleared land along a brook and settled down to
live by farming, with timber cutting, charcoal burning, hunting, and trap-ping on the side. They worked the
soil in common, as they would have done were they free peasants. Most of them were actually serfs, but
it made small difference, for the nobles of Hrvatska were seldom oppressive or extortionate, and nobody
wanted to leave.
The thorp formed a double row amidst croplands, shaded by trees left standing. Of wood, one- or
two-roomed, thatch-roofed, houses stood off the ground, with stalls beneath for livestock and
gangplanks to the living quarters. The lane between them was muddy when it was not dusty, and thick
with dung. Smells were not offensive, though; sweet green distances swallowed them up. Nor did
dwellers pay much heed to the flies of summer. Behind each home was a kitchen garden.
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
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