Sirens Unbound

by Laura Engelhardt

  Mira’s mind flashed through the abnormal responses of the hospital staff and church ladies. “That’s female sirens. What about Jack?” Mira asked.

  Marisol shrugged. “It’s the reverse for him. Fertile men will hate him, and women love him. His progenitor had better come soon. We lose more males than females during transition because of how violent human men are.”

  Marisol’s utter lack of concern for Jack was chilling. Jack was at work, and most of the people who rented boats were men. She remembered her panic, and how she had struggled to get back to shore. She remembered the sound of police sirens, and the ambulance that raced past her as she hurried to the marina.

  Mira didn’t want to remember anymore.

  She poured a large glass of wine and stared at the dark water visible through the window. It had been forty-five years since Cordelia was born and Jack had been killed. Jarl Georg had been late. Mira didn’t remember him coming to New Jersey at all, though perhaps he had started out and turned back when he felt Jack’s passing. She and Cordelia first met him when Cordelia was about four.

  Mira didn’t feel old, really, and knew she didn’t look her age, but so much time had passed. The fae had encouraged Mira to hone and shape her memories through reflection, so they couldn’t control her present self. But her brief recollection of Cordelia’s birth had left her so unsettled, she supposed she had spent too little time reflecting. The fae could be right; putting those memories into perspective might be the only way to avoid being captured by her past. Though perhaps so much reflection was better suited to fae than sirens. Her ruminations tonight had only made her feel trapped by memories, mistakes, and might-have-beens.

  Despite the beauty of the night skyline, Mira felt morose. She needed to press on. Nothing she could do now would change what had happened then. Mira had met mundane Nigerians who believed in the curative powers of bright sunlight and joy to fade bad memories. They didn’t reflect on a constant parade of the past, but danced in the sun to heal. Maybe she needed less reflecting and more sunlit dancing. Things would look better in the morning.

  But there would be no time for dancing or even swimming tomorrow. Atlantea had summoned her — ostensibly to help soothe the courtiers’ anxiety over the Oracle’s prophesy — but now Mira suspected her summons had been more to do with Cordelia than anything else. Perhaps Atlantea wanted to ensure Cordelia didn’t make a fuss. But Atlantea owed Cordelia answers. Frankly, Atlantea owed her answers as well. Tomorrow, she would force her to speak plainly for once.

  An active siren’s normal lifespan exactly equals that of Aphrodite, who was five hundred and thirty-three years, four months and twenty-four days old when she died to complete the siren spell. Almost half of all sirens who survive their transition year (“T1”) will die of natural causes at the age of 533 years, 4 months and 24 days. More than 90% of T1 fatalities result from murder by fertile humans. While this remains the largest cause of premature death post-T1, the rate drops significantly post-T1 to 34%. Other post-T1 causes of premature death include: suicide (28%), accidents (14%), disease (9%), other murder (8%), and unknown (7%).

  – Sirens: An Overview for the Newly-Transitioned, 3rd ed. (2015), by Mira Bant de Atlantic, p. 61.

  Chapter 8

  Cordelia knew she was being impulsive, but somehow it didn’t really matter anymore. She had been the dutiful plodder for years, and what had she accomplished? Nothing. If her mother, ever the reasonable and measured one, thought Zale had answers, then she would see Zale. Enough time wasted! She paused in front of his apartment, then knocked before she lost her courage.

  “Cordelia, I’m so glad you called,” Zale said when he opened the door. Even though Cordelia had never visited him before, he seemed oddly unsurprised to see her there. For a moment she wondered if Atlantea had already told him about her dismissal, but then she noticed that Zale seemed quite unlike himself overall.

  Tonight, his feet were bare and his shirt hung over his pants. His hair was mussed and flopped to one side to frame his face. Zale was one of the more buttoned-up of the courtiers, and she had never pictured him so informal, even in the privacy of his own rooms.

  “Can I get you anything? Water? Wine? I have a bottle of red open. It’s very good,” Zale kept up the patter as he ushered Cordelia into his parlor. Zale’s apartment at the castle was larger than most, consisting of three rooms instead of the usual two, so he was able to maintain an actual sitting room instead of a receiving area-cum-office.

  Cordelia accepted a glass of wine and sat down on one of the settees. Zale sat across on the other and refilled his cup. While dinner at the palace would have officially ended only a little while ago, the scattered plates indicated that Zale had probably skipped the communal meal in favor of solitude.

  His failure to join the Court at dinner made it more likely that Zale hadn’t heard about her changed status. Cordelia wondered for a moment at how to phrase it. She wasn’t sure she was quite ready to characterize it as a voluntary event, but she had spent the walk back to Atlantis House trying to convince herself that “European Envoy” constituted some kind of special status.

  “You’re kind to see me like this.” Cordelia sipped the wine, using the distraction of drinking to cover her nervousness. She had decided to come here so impetuously that she lacked any clear plan for their conversation.

  “It’s not kindness at all,” Zale said, his voice rougher than usual, his face tired. “Call it self-interest. The idea of a mage war in our lifetime came as a bit of a shock. You must have realized yesterday that no one on the High Court was aware of the prophesy — at least no one who was at last night’s session. Atlantea has spent the day seeing various courtiers individually, but I haven’t spoken with her about it yet. I don’t know what to think right now.”

  Zale looked expectantly at Cordelia, and despite herself, she felt flattered that he would seek her opinion. “I’m not sure I’ve had enough time to really reach any conclusions at this point.” She hesitated. “And I know I’m not as experienced as you are. But I do wonder how we might be drawn into this war.”

  Zale’s unusual dishevelment was probably a sign of stress, and Cordelia chose her words with care, hoping that by approaching the problem logically, she could help him regain his typical equilibrium. “I agree with the consensus that Arabia or maybe western Australia is the most likely location for the battle in the Oracle’s vision. But a desert war isn’t a natural fit for us. It’s not like when Morgan le Fay commandeered the Atlantic.”

  Cordelia paused, considering. She appreciated the fact that Zale didn’t interrupt or jump in with his thoughts. Even before joining the High Court, she had idolized Zale. If Marisol was her earliest and most visible ally, Zale had been the ally she aspired most to have. It was irrational to hope for his support, but she did anyway. Her mother had told her more than once that Zale liked her; now Cordelia was trying to believe her.

  “I don’t know. While Atlantea has kept us out of any official alliances, my mother isn’t the only Atlantic who collects favors. So perhaps a stupid promise made by one of our own will drag us all into it. But most likely, if there’s a threat to the fae, we’d have to respond.” Cordelia looked at Zale to gauge his reaction.

  “Yes, if the mages threaten the fae again, I think we would have to intercede.” Zale ran his hand through his hair. Usually slicked-back like a banker’s, his hair was now tousled to match his guise of a sun-touched, teenaged Adonis, though his face looked old as he considered the prophesy.

  “Another desert war. The first mage wars are remembered only in legends. It’s hard to imagine another such as those. Now, I’m not terrified of mages like Atlantea; I’ve seen their value. They’re only mortals like us — with typical mortal failings and mortal virtues. Mages and mundanes fighting, though…” Zale shook his head. “Among all the peoples, human ingenuity is unmatched. For humans to turn their greatest virtue towards such evil is unfathomable.”

  Zale drained his glass. He looke
d more troubled than Cordelia had ever seen him before. Suddenly, the gravity of the situation they were facing became much more real to her.

  “Perhaps it won’t be as bad as the First Mage War. I mean, mages are said to be less powerful now than they were before the Asian deserts were destroyed. It could be that this mage war will be more …” Cordelia paused, searching for the right word. “… minor. I mean, consider the American Conflict. That was isolated among the mages on just one continent. Historians only call it the Fourth Mage War because of the famines after Quiletoa erupted.”

  “You don’t consider the Fourth Mage War a catastrophe?” Zale gestured wildly with his hands. Cordelia had never seen him this unfiltered. “More people died during Chía’s misbegotten attempt to conquer the continent than during all the prior mage wars combined! When a fifth of the world’s population is killed, does it really matter that they didn’t take part in any battles? Didn’t even know it was happening? When mages fight, the devastation is borderless!”

  “Zale, I’m not trying to discount the horror of war — especially a mage war. And if the Oracle predicted it, it will happen. But knowing it’s coming can help us perhaps avoid some of the damage. Times are different now. Human ingenuity, fae strength, our own power to compel — there are so many ways we can contain any crisis. I don’t understand why Atlantea even told us about the prophesy; there’s too much we don’t know. We’re going insane with worry because we can’t make any real plans yet. It’s honestly a distraction from the Aos Sí crisis, which is ripe for action.”

  Cordelia reached out and took Zale’s hand. The despair in his face overcame any shyness she had previously felt about getting so close to her idol. “Zale, you seem like you’ve given up before we even know what kind of crisis it will be. You can’t give up before anything even begins.” Cordelia almost whispered her last words.

  Zale sighed. “You’re right. We don’t know enough and all of my worrying over this is doing nothing but sending me into a dark place. Atlantea refused to see me today. I think she knew I’d be too upset to be of any use to anyone right now.” Zale squeezed Cordelia’s hand, and looked down.

  “I’m not a coward,” Zale said, looking directly at Cordelia, who flushed under the weight of his gaze. “I fought for Atlantea during the War of Succession, and I’ll fight again now if that’s what’s necessary. I just can’t wrap mind around the insanity of mages. Maybe you’re right. It’s fear of the unknown driving me in circles. Too many questions and too little direction.”

  “But we can make a difference. We’ll find ways to ring-fence the crisis. I don’t know, even stave off the worst of the destruction.” Cordelia flushed. She’d been accused of being a Pollyanna before. But this time, she thought her optimism was justified. More than one human battle had been prevented before it could begin because a siren laid a compulsion on a key player. Crisis averted.

  Zale continued to look at her, and Cordelia felt the full force of his attention atop the heat of his hand on hers. Sirens might be immune to their own magick, but they could still feel the appeal of a handsome man who appeared to concentrate on their every word. He didn’t seem to be dismissing her words as inanities spoken by a naïve dreamer.

  “The Oracle didn’t see the fae in their vision. Maybe this war will be contained amongst the humans,” Cordelia speculated, distracted somewhat by Zale’s intensity.

  “Mages tend to drag their allies in when they scorch the earth. I can’t imagine this conflict would be an exception.” Zale let go of her hand and leaned back, rubbing his temples.

  “I hadn’t thought the fae allied themselves with mages,” Cordelia remarked.

  “I’ve always thought it’s our half-fae ancestry that leads us to seek out favors and make bargains. Mark my words: individual faeries have alliances with individual mages. Favors asked and granted. Worse even than we sirens. You can never predict how the entanglements will pull.” Zale picked up the carafe. “Did you really come here to ask me about the mage war?” he asked, coming around to sit next to her on the settee as he refilled her glass.

  Cordelia’s mind blanked. She had come here to get his perspective on why Atlantea had exiled her, but somehow the moment didn’t feel right. Never ask a question for which you don’t want an honest answer, she reminded herself. If Zale told her Atlantea was done with her, she didn’t think she could maintain her calm façade. Cordelia buried her pain under a raw burst of anger: how dare Atlantea treat her this way!

  “Would you think me so shallow that I’m not concerned about the prophesy?” she asked, her tone rougher than normal.

  Zale startled, clearly taken aback. “Honestly, it’s such a horror to even think about another war, I wanted to focus on something else.” His face tightened in a grimace, and while Cordelia realized she had misspoken, she didn’t know what to say. She took the carafe to top up Zale’s glass, then sipped her own.

  “I didn’t mean for you to think I oppose your proposal to relocate the European Fae,” he finally said, breaking the somewhat awkward silence.

  “You don’t?” Cordelia asked cautiously. Her pain at Atlantea’s rejection was still so raw, she grasped at a chance to talk about the cause that had been her sole focus for so long.

  “Cordelia, I’ve never been your enemy. But I’ve not been your ally either,” Zale’s voice was back to that usual urbane baritone that stroked Cordelia’s skin. No matter what form he wore, his voice always seemed to resonate with something deep inside her. Zale put down his drink and shifted closer.

  “I made my alliance with Atlantea years ago and I don’t plan to make any others.” The bluntness of Zale’s words was softened by his earnest demeanor. He seemed so anxious to tell her this, it was like he truly cared what she thought.

  Zale continued, “Atlantea and I are roughly of age. Unless fate interferes, she’ll predecease me only by about twenty years. I don’t want to get involved in another siren succession. You’ve been looking for allies for the long-term, and it’s clear that unless something dramatic changes with one of your age-peers, you will be the ocean’s choice when Atlantea passes.”

  Zale’s voice softened into a plea for understanding. “I can’t take part in another regime. I’ve served for long enough.”

  “All right, then,” Cordelia said, disappointed but unsurprised. Gaining Zale as an ally had always been unlikely. Somehow, she didn’t even care what he said, as long as he kept talking. It seemed like all his energy was focused exclusively on her. She looked down for a moment, then back at him. His gaze hadn’t left her face. “Zale, you can’t think that only reason I’ve been part of the reconciliation movement has been because I want to be the next Atlantea—”

  “I never said that. I don’t believe that,” Zale interjected hastily.

  “But then why are you supporting more delay? Delay simply extends the status quo, which you know cannot and should not last.”

  Zale sighed. “You visited England once, right?”

  Cordelia nodded.

  “I lived there as support for a decade. Oh yeah, I spent ten solid years there.” Zale’s eyebrow arched sardonically at Cordelia’s surprised expression, and he relaxed into his story. “Just after the War of Succession, Atlantea sent me away to supposedly ‘investigate the Aos Sí situation.’ Really, she just needed me off the island. The losing faction needed someone to hate after Ama was killed. Letting them blame Zale, ‘the Kingmaker,’ was easier than putting down further rebellion.”

  Cordelia shook her head.

  “But it was a good thing that I was there. We were so caught up in our own struggles that we didn’t even know what the Cabal had done to the Aos Sí. I mean, the Raj had refused to recognize Atlantea, citing atrocities we had allegedly committed. And we even didn’t know what the Indians were talking about! When I got there, we finally discovered that the Cabal had salted the entire isle of England with iron before sailing off to claim Australia.”

  Zale shivered, and Cordelia felt the hair on
her arms rise at the tone in Zale’s voice: he was hypnotic in his recitation. “Slivers of iron throughout every last patch of earth to ensure the fae’s compliance. And would you believe that after I left, the damn Cabal sent the Tudor mages to sow steel into the moors?” Zale shook his head.

  “I know what happened,” Cordelia said gently, though she hadn’t known that Atlantea had exiled Zale before. It sounded like Atlantea had a habit of tossing aside her closest allies. But maybe it was because they were her closest allies, and the queen knew she could depend on them. Cordelia mentally kicked herself; only she could be so wildly optimistic as to spin a dismissal into a mark of favor. Zale was so loyal, so strong. But then, he’d had a hundred and fifty years to get over the anger and pain of his own exile.

  “Just because you know the story doesn’t mean you really understand it.” His voice dropped with suppressed emotion, and she shivered at the sound. “I’ve walked every part of that land next to the fae imprisoned within. That iron doesn’t just keep them weak, it’s the most potent poison I’ve ever seen. In the thousand years between the Armistice and the mage exodus, there’d been no serious decrease in the Aos Sí population; they only started fading in earnest after the mages scattered iron and steel.

  “And we allowed this, or at least didn’t stop them. We neglected to watch over the second-largest fae nation in our domain because we were too busy killing ourselves. You’re right; the Reconcilers are right. We wronged those we were created to protect. But now what? What happens when the Aos Sí demand reparations?”

  “Reparations? What could possibly make up for that?” Cordelia asked, “If they demand … what? Our service, our death? Our suffering? What does that get them?”