Free The Merman's Children by Poul Anderson

Her mood had shifted. “They tell me our kind was friendly with the old gods, and with older gods before them. Yet never have we made offering or worship. I’ve tried and failed to understand such things. Does a god need flesh or gold? Does it matter to him how you live? Does it swerve him if you grovel and whimper? Does he care whether you care about him?
    â€œI can’t bear to think you’ll someday be nothing. I beg you, get christened.”
    â€œHo! Likelier would you come undersea. Not that I could bring you myself. My father knows the magic for that; we three don’t.” She laid a hand over his, where he gripped the rail till his fingers hurt. “Yet I would fain take you, Niels,” she said low. “Only for a while, only to share what I love with you.”
    â€œYou are too…too kind.” He started to go. She drew him back.
    â€œCome,” she smiled. “Under the foredeck are darkness and my bed.”
    â€œWhat?” He could not at once comprehend. “But you—but——”
    Her chuckle cuddled him. “Fear not. We sea-wives do know the spell that keeps us from conceiving unless we wish it.”
    â€œBut—only for sport—with you ——”
    â€œFor sharing of more than pleasure, Niels.” However gentle, the pull of her hand on his arm became overwhelming.
    Tauno and Kennin did not swim watch for naught. They called up warning of a rock, and alter of a drifting boat, perhaps broken loose from a ship that was towing it. These were trafficked waters this time of year. Ranild felt cordial toward the brothers when they came aboard at dawn.
    â€œGod’s stones!” he bawled, laying hand on Kennin’s shoulder. “Your breed could turn a pretty penny in royal fleet or merchant marine.”
    The boy slipped free. “I fear the penny must be prettier than any they own,” he laughed, “to make me stand in an outhouse breath like yours.”
    Ranild cuffed after him. Tauno stepped between. “No more,” the oldest halfling rapped. “We know what work is to be done and how the gains are to be shared. Best not overtread—from either side.”
    Ranild stamped from them with a spit and an oath. His men growled.
    Soon afterward Niels found himself circled by four off watch, up on the poop. They cackled and nudged him, and when he would not answer them they drew knives and spoke of cutting him till he did. Later they were to say it was not really meant. But that was then. At the time, Niels broke through, tumbled down the ladder, and ran forward.
    The merman’s children lay asleep beneath the forecastle. It was a blue day of blithe winds; a couple of sails were on the horizon, and gull wings betokened the nearness of land.
    The slumberers woke with animal quickness. “What’s wrong now?” asked Eyjan, placing herself beside the human youth. She drew the steel dagger that, like her brothers, she had gotten Ingeborg to buy for her with a bit of Liri gold. Tauno and Kennin flanked them, harpoons in hand.
    â€œThey—oh—they——” Red and white flew over Niels’ cheeks. The tongue locked in his mouth.
    Oluv Ovesen shambled ahead of Torben, Palle, and Tyge. (Ranild and Ingeborg slept below; Lave was at the helm, Sivard on lookout in the crow’s nest; these last watched with drool and catcalls.) The mate kept blinking his white lashes and peeling lips back from his yellow teeth. “Well, well,” he hailed, “who’s next, good slut?”
    Eyjan’s eyes were flint gray, storm gray. “What mean you,” she answered, “if ever a yapping cur means anything?”
    Oluv stopped two ells short of those threatening spears. Angrily, he said: “Tyge was at the tiller last night and Torben at the masthead. They saw you go beneath the foredeck with this milksop boy. They heard you two whispering, thrashing, thumping, and