Chương 85: 82 • THE SIRENS' STORY (Part II)

58 THE SIRENS' STORY PART II 🙜 O ne of the fey lights drifted over the steps, toward the throne, but it vanished before it touched his fingertips.

"The Little Fish is asking why the Elder keeps such things hidden away in his heart for so many winters, and he laments his cowardice: 'I will surely be dying if I speak of that day once more.'" Ky clenched her fists around the dress and hummed a gentle melody—the tune she had hummed on his doorstep; her features softened, and he wondered if those notes had been sung by another, once.

"At first the Little Fish does not believe him, though she loves the Elder as if she were of his own bone and blood. He assures her that if she finds the mountain with two heads, she will surely see the truth of his words. He calls a meeting of the clans to sing of it all once more, before he is put to the death, but they will not even hear him, and tear out his throat before he can finish his tale."

Her fists clenched and her arms trembled, but she composed herself so quickly that it could have been a trick of the light.

"Confused and lost in sorrow, yet roused by the hunger his words have stirred in her heart, the Little Fish seeks out a mortal in secret, to learn more of this mountain's whereabouts. After a restless searching, night and day, she encounters a man named Bren in the cliffs above the sea." Her head lowered and her shoulders drooped, but she held his gaze and lofted a hand, gesturing slightly as if plucking the melody from her own breast—soft, and wistful.

For a moment in the sifting beam of daylight, he thought he could see a little stone cottage tucked away against a hillside scattered with tall pines, bowed beneath a hundred winter winds.

"The Little Fish has never spoken to a mortal man, nor has she known such a thing before as friendship. It is her ignorance which is to be their ruin. For many nights she sings to him, shaping his thoughts and desires until they are as one with her own, in hopes that he will help her find the mountain with two heads. Alas—" The lights shivered beneath her breath.

"—the night on which he is to meet her by the road, he encounters another—one whom the clan calls the Beautiful Fish—and she has found them out. He no longer holds a will of his own, because of the Little Fish, and so the Beautiful Fish too easily ensnares and devours him. Not knowing of her terrible mistake, the Little Fish partakes of his flesh, for the old ways are still the only ways she knows, and the Elder's song is fading before her appetite.

That night, she makes herself an oath of blood and sorrow: never again will I sing to a man and alter the shape of his mind, for that is the way of ruin and despair." The strength in her words had ebbed, replaced by a quiet calm, and yet Ember felt this most deeply of all: he knew that it was pain. It was a thing he had learned, long ago. Pain which had been harbored in silence for many a year often ceased to resemble itself, and became nothing more than a dull, bothersome ache in the bones.

One who knew the ache could always see it, hear it in another.

"Forsaken by her clan, and cursed by the emptiness within, she wanders for many summers and winters—this many, perhaps—" And Ky showed him the number ten with her nimble fingers.

"When at last, after many a sleepless night and creeping day, she finds the door in the mountain, it will not open for her. The Little Fish is afraid that all has been in vain… for she cannot read the runes." Her eyes, once lit with little flames, now glittered like polished black stones. It reminded him of her sister's empty stare. Ember gulped tightly, gripping the arms of the throne. Her gaze hollowed out his heart, and a sense of deathless longing overcame him.

"She sings before the door for this many days and this many nights—" now seven fingers lifted "—but no siren spell can crack the stone or trick the human runes. For many full turnings of the moon she wanders the hills in search of another door, seeking refuge beneath waterfalls in the heat of the summer sun, and walking freely when the spring rains fall, or winter snow is thick upon the ground.

One night when the woods are come to life with starlight and hurrying shadows, she hears the song of swift waters while hunting little leggy things to eat. The song leads her to a stream in the mountain's roots, and beside this stream there lives a very young man." Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings. He flinched at the sudden familiarity.

"He has no companion, and she wonders if he is as lonely as she. The days which she does not spend singing to the mountain's door she often whiles away near his nest by the lazy river. Sometimes she will sing to him softly, as a forest bird—though she remembers her vow, and does not fashion his mind and desires to her own liking. But her appetite is growing daily, and with each visit she dares to see him closer than before.

She begins to take from his clever nets to sate her hunger, but the man finds her out, and sets the cleverest net of all." Her words and gaze had taken on an earnestness—a fondness—a fear —that pierced him to the center of his being.

"The Little Fish has never been caught unawares by a man, but before she can enchant him, he releases her." She clapped her hands and gave him the barest hint of an open-mouthed smile before the expression faded to somber reflection.

"She leaves a gift in thanks, and her gift is returned." A breathless note broke through her chanted words, and she quietly flexed her fingers, her throat tensing in a swallow.

"This, she thinks, is something more than she has known with Bren. For it is freely given, and the Little Fish has never been given such a thing before in all her seasons. And she thinks it will not break her vow to bring this man so far as the door in the mountain, if he desires to come with her." Ky swayed forward, a single barefoot step, and her lashes fluttered. Ember's heart thudded hard.

"And he did come with her… but he is punished for it, for all those whom he loves hate him for the sake of the Little Fish, and his nest by the river is destroyed." She closed her eyes, a hollow peace falling over her face.

"And the Little Fish is glad of it, though she never tells him so; for now he has reason to accompany her. They seek the door in the mountain, and enter it, and what they are finding there proves the song of the Elder true… and though there is no longer a mortal king beneath this mountain, the Little Fish begins to hope that she may find some forgotten spell—a spell to shape a soul which she has never known—and that the man she brings with her might wield such power on her behalf."

She shuddered, squeezing her eyes so tightly shut that the bridge of her nose wrinkled. For a moment he thought she would cry out, but she only slumped and sighed. The storytelling grandeur slipped away, and for the first time she addressed him directly, her voice sinking to a breathy whisper.

"There is no such spell, and never was, for I will surely have been hearing of its song… In my despair, I am thinking perhaps the answer to my riddle lies with the demon and his stolen riches. But I am mistaken, and it is you—not I—who suffers for it. All has been in vain." The floating lights dimmed, a few stragglers disappearing into the evening sunlight.

"This is how my kin are cursed, and I am the most accursed—for I am deceiving you in this, and had I learnt the secrets of that demon, I should even now be sorely tempted to part your soul from you, as it did—" Ky swallowed visibly, unsettling the rhythm of her story, and the pause gave Ember enough clarity to sit up straighter in his illustrious chair, stomach churning.

"—and take that beautiful light for myself, whatever the ending. For I hear the magic singing deep within you, and I crave it—above all other things, I desire it. I need it. I must have it… and yet I cannot, I dare not, and I swear to you now that I would not and never shall. How can I? It was never meant to be." A deep sigh gusted through the room, and Ky lowered her hands. The fey lights winked out; her story was finished.

Ember's neck tingled again, and the cooling sensation spread to the tips of his fingers and toes as the same voice which had bound him to the throne now set him free. Gasping, he slumped against the high back of the chair, only then aware that his tunic was damp with sweat and every fiber of his being ached, as if he had run a great distance. Ky groaned softly. Her skin glistened, strands of damp hair clinging to her neck and shoulders, and slimy footprints were scattered below the stone steps where she had trod.

She trembled like a dried leaf clinging to deadwood, and Ember's heart lodged in his throat. The sirena feinted forward, and then slowly lowered herself to her knees with the unsteadiness of one who had never before prostrated herself in such a fashion.

"I can endure neither your reproach, nor your ignorance—now all is told." The words rasped against her chest, as if the distillation of a thousand stories into one had sapped what remained of her strength.

"I expect nothing from you, and I know what it is I have earned. I bring you here with good intent, but am keeping much unspoken since the day I first called you by name, and great harm has come to you because of it. For that, and for all else—many true things which you are now the only living creature besides myself to know—I can never make such sorry as to be deserving of your friendship." Her hands trembled, and she held them out to him, palms upturned.

"Whatever you must do, do it quickly… lest my fear fail me and I sing to you once more."