Siren

by Sophia Elaine Hanson

  Ronja felt her nostrils flare. She curled her fingers into fists, willing herself to be calm. “Touch me again, I dare you.”

  “You think you can fight me, little girl?” Larkin laughed bitterly. “I have killed men three times your size.”

  “And I have been tortured, starved, imprisoned, nearly raped,” Ronja said in a dangerously soft voice. “I spent nineteen years a slave to a man I hated, believing I was lower than dirt. I have killed. I have died. I have held three million minds in the palm of my hand.” Larkin flinched as a reckless laugh burst from Ronja’s lips. “You think you can intimidate me? Try again, bitch.”

  In an instant a hand was around her throat, its fingernails digging into her skin. Ronja jerked in her shockingly strong grip.

  “Larkin! Haltan!” a sharp voice ordered.

  Neither girl paid the command any mind. Ronja knocked the hand from her trachea with a scream and spun. Before either of them knew what was happening, Larkin was on the ground.

  “Ronja! Enough!”

  The familiar voice gave her pause. She looked around. Roark stood near the ledge with his hands raised. His elegant features were wracked with shock. Ronja relaxed her hold on Larkin.

  That was a mistake.

  In one fell swoop, the Tovairin girl swept her legs out from under her. Ronja cried out as she hit the ground. She scrambled to her feet, blood in her mouth and red in her vision. She spat viciously. Larkin was up, damp hair tangled and fists raised.

  Then strong arms were around Ronja, dragging her away from her opponent. “Let me go!” she bellowed. Roark only tightened his grip. His familiar scent tickled her nostrils. The veil of red over her vision began to dissipate.

  “Calm down,” he hissed in her ear. “Calm down.”

  Ronja gritted her teeth, then forced out her anger with her breath. She let her knees give, allowing him to bear her weight. Across from them, Jonah and Larkin were in a similar embrace, though neither of them appeared to have relaxed much.

  “Triv, Larkin, verta telesk en cesterion,” Jonah ordered her. His voice was just as powerful his arms, but neither seemed to have much effect on Larkin. She shoved him off roughly, hooked her pinky finger at him, then stalked off down the tunnel. When she winked out of view, Roark released Ronja.

  “What did you tell her?” she asked, looking to Jonah.

  “To wait for me inside.”

  “What does this mean?” Roark inquired curiously, replicating the gesture Larkin had made with her pinky.

  Jonah winced and hitched his pack higher onto his broad back. “Not sure I can translate it into the common language. Not sure I want to.”

  “Could Ronja and I have a moment, please?” Roark cut in politely.

  Ronja shot him a withering glance, but kept her mouth shut.

  Jonah nodded, a hint of mirth in his brown eyes. “I’ll wait for you around the first corner.”

  “Perlo,” Roark thanked him in Tovairin.

  “Pevra,” Jonah responded. Ronja stood with her back to Roark as their guide strode off into the tunnel and disappeared around the bend. The solitary bulb buzzed above them, battering away the darkness.

  “Ronja . . . ” he began.

  “What do you want from me?” she demanded.

  “I want you to talk to me.”

  She spun on her heel to face him, fuming. “I told you we do not have time for this,” she snapped.

  “Ro.” The single syllable was stiff with frustration and empathy. She breathed deeply, the cool air scraping her throat. Roark copied her, the muscles of his shoulders relaxing slightly. “I know you’re going through a lot right now, more than I can even begin to understand, but you said yourself that we need the Kev Fairla. We cannot afford to make enemies in their ranks.”

  “Larkin started it,” Ronja muttered, nudging a bit of rock with her boot.

  “More than the Kev Fairla, though, we need you. We need the Siren.” Those words caused her to raise her chin. Roark reached out to cradle her cheek in his warm hand. She sank into the touch, unprecedented exhaustion rolling over her. “I’ll do whatever I can to help you,” he said quietly. “But I need you to try to keep it together.”

  “Okay,” Ronja murmured, nodding against his palm. “Okay.”

  6: Grave

  Charlotte

  Charlotte Romancheck had never been claustrophobic. Living underground did not bother her. Creeping through storm drains did not make her skin crawl. She knew the sky was waiting for her just an elevator ride away. But now that all the exits were choked off, she was starting to feel suffocated.

  “Char?” Cosmin regarded her coyly from his narrow cot.

  The girl blinked rapidly to disperse her thoughts. “What?”

  “You were doing it a-again,” he answered, his voice breaking on the last syllable. His stutter had improved over the past weeks, but he still had a long way to go. Part of Charlotte wondered if he would ever fully recover. Neither she nor her new patient were ready to consider that yet, though.

  “Doing what?” she snapped. She was in a foul mood and was not keen on being teased.

  “Staring at me.” Cosmin grinned, the right corner of his mouth lifting higher than the left. “I know how dreamy I am but y-you gotta control yourself.”

  “Shut up! I was just spacing.”

  “What were you th-thinking about?”

  “You, finishing your exercises.” She jerked her chin at the leather stress ball in his left palm. Cosmin curled his fingers around it. Since Iris and the others had disappeared, Charlotte had taken over treating the injuries he sustained at Red Bay. She was nowhere near as qualified as Iris, but she knew enough to keep him on the right path. Considering they were buried half a mile underground and had not heard from Iris and the others in over a month, she expected she was going to be in charge for some time.

  At least until they ran out of air.

  “This is p-pointless,” Cosmin complained, not for the first time. He relaxed his grip, then tightened it again. “You know it is.”

  Charlotte flopped back into her shabby armchair, ignoring him. Her gaze drifted to the curtains encircling the hospital room. The hum of tense conversations filtered through the heavy fabric. There was no laughter, no singing. It was not the Belly any longer. It was a tomb. “Would you rather just sit around and wait to suffocate?”

  “Or to be b-blown up?”

  “That would be faster,” Charlotte mused.

  Cosmin chuckled humorlessly and set the ball aside. “H-have you heard anything?” he asked.

  Charlotte did not need to ask what he was talking about. She shook her head, her curls whispering against her shoulders. “Nope,” she said. “I asked Kala and Elliot again, they were totally useless. They’ve got no idea what’s going on.”

  “Does anybody?”

  The girl sighed, craning her head back to view the ceiling as if it would provide her with answers. “Doubt it. The stationary guard is everywhere. They shut down talk like that pretty quick. Honestly, I would rather just stay here.”

  The boy waggled his eyebrows as best he could. Charlotte scoffed and socked him in the arm. “Oi!” he complained. “Watch it!”

  “Please, could you even feel that?”

  “Charlotte?”

  Charlotte straightened up and looked around. Dr. Harrow had poked her head through the curtains. Her flaxen hair was woven into a messy braid. Exhaustion had collected beneath her eyes. Since the Belly had been sealed, Anthemites had started flocking to the hospital wing. Harrow sent most of them away. “Their symptoms are psychological,” she had explained. “Fear does strange things to the body.” Still, there had been several real cases of the retch, which were keeping Harrow busy enough as it was.

  “Yeah?” Charlotte asked.

  “Ito would like to speak with you.” Harrow’s blue eyes flashed to Cosmin, who was watching the exchange curiously. “Both of you.”

  Charlotte t
ossed Cosmin a confused glance. He shrugged, equally baffled. She turned back to her superior. “Um, okay.”

  Harrow nodded briskly and retreated. The drapes swayed lazily. Before they stilled, a tall woman swept them aside and strode into the room. She walked the way a river ran, with unbridled confidence and grace. Something was off about her, though.

  “Lieutenant Lin,” Cosmin greeted her warmly. “Pleasure to se-e you again.” Charlotte rolled her eyes internally. The boy flirted with anything that moved. Ito did not seem bothered, thankfully. Her lips twitched with amusement.

  “Cosmin,” she replied politely. “Your speech has improved. I am pleased to see your progress.”

  The boy smiled, his greenish eyes sparking at the praise. “Could use a ne-ew nervous system, but doing all right.”

  “I apologize for the intrusion, but I need to speak with both of you. Privately.”

  “You weren’t intruding,” Charlotte answered, perhaps a bit too quickly. She got to her feet and offered the lieutenant her chair. “Please, sit down.”

  Ito obliged. Charlotte sat on the edge of the cot with a creak of rusted springs. As soon as she was settled, the lieutenant leaned toward them. Her dark irises were laced with threads of anxiety. “What I am about to tell you is top secret. It does not leave this room. Do you understand?”

  The teens exchanged another uncertain glance, then nodded. Ito continued. “Two weeks ago, the commander sealed the Belly.”

  “Yeah, we noticed,” Charlotte replied flatly. She winced at the hostility in her voice. She knew Ito wasn’t responsible for their burial, but the lieutenant was the first member of the command she had come into contact with since. She was an easy target.

  “I’m sure you’ve wondered why he made that decision,” Ito pressed, unfazed by her brittle tone.

  “Uh, yeah,” Cosmin said with a humorless laugh. “Once or t-twice.” He gestured up at the ceiling with his good hand, his eyes on Ito. “Those scrubbers are o-only going to last so long, I doubt they were built to sustain the c-compound for long in case of a cave in.”

  “How astute,” Ito replied. She sounded genuinely impressed. Charlotte could not resist a small smile. Cosmin always seemed to impress the adults in his presence. “The situation topside was dire, but . . . ” the lieutenant trailed off, working her jaw thoughtfully. “I fear we have been forced into even worse circumstances.”

  Charlotte and Cosmin were silent, waiting for her to carry on. Ito heaved a sigh and pinched the bridge of her nose. “What I am about to tell you is incredibly dangerous information. If the situation were any less grave I’d withhold it, but I am out of options.”

  “We can handle it,” Charlotte said over her thundering heartbeat. “You can trust us.”

  “We understand more th-an you think,” Cosmin added.

  Ito smiled. “That is exactly why I have come to you. You are smart, not just for your age. I have been watching you both for some time now. You have the makings of great assets for the Anthem.”

  Charlotte narrowed her eyes to slits. Something was wrong. Ito was not one to dish out compliments without an ulterior motive. She was not cold exactly. She was calculating.

  The lieutenant took a deep breath, glancing around the little room as if someone was lurking in the exposed corners.

  “The curtains block more than you think, and the patients are all sleeping,” Charlotte assured her. “Keep your voice low and no one will hear.”

  Ito nodded. “Commander Wilcox is no longer in his right mind. He has buried us in the Belly with no way out. He has informed me that he intends to let us die here rather than face what is happening aboveground.”

  Silence greeted the bombshell. Charlotte and Cosmin stared at the woman blankly, unblinkingly. Ito observed them with a grim expression, anxiety creeping through her stoic mask. “W-what happened out there?” Cosmin finally asked.

  “The worst,” Ito answered.

  A memory washed over Charlotte. Ronja dragging her to the back of the bathhouse, the heavy words she had trusted her with. Understanding clicked into place in her head, causing her stomach to hit the floor. “The Music can reach us,” she realized aloud. Cosmin stiffened beside her.

  “I suppose I cannot be surprised that you know.” Ito sighed. She inched closer to them. “Then you know it gets worse.”

  “The Siren,” Cosmin murmured. “Ronja.”

  The night Ronja and the others disappeared, music like they had never heard had exploded in the Belly. Though they had never heard her sing before, the Anthemites knew who the voice belonged to. The girl who survived The Quiet Song. The girl who escaped Red Bay. The girl who could battle The Music with her voice. Weeks later, when enraptured silence poured over the city for the first time, they knew it was her. That somehow, she had found a way into the Singers.

  Slowly, steadily, Revinia began to change. It was subtle at first. Almost undetectable. Quiet acts of rebellion that would have tortured anyone in the full grasp of The Music. Graffiti appeared on walls in the outer ring. May the Siren give us strength. Commander Wilcox ordered agents to hunt down Ronja and the others and bring them in. Some of his most trusted soldiers had gone out into the city and returned empty-handed. Convenient, Charlotte remembered thinking.

  Then the Belly was sealed.

  “What happened out there?” Charlotte heard herself ask. She was surprised to find her voice did not shake.

  “We don’t know, exactly,” Ito admitted. Her brown eyes slipped from their faces to the floor. “We know Ronja was able to spark some sort of rebellion. Some of our topside agents watched it happen—they said it was unlike anything they had ever seen.”

  “And then?” Cosmin cut in anxiously.

  Ito looked up, her expression grim. “The New Music was released into the Singers.”

  Charlotte looked over at Cosmin, but his head was in his hands, his pale fingers twined in his dark curls. “Is it true?” he asked, his voice muffled. “What Ro said about The N-New Music?”

  “Yes,” Ito answered. “It can reach us without Singers, and it can obliterate emotion. Any freedom Ronja gave them is gone; the revolution is over.”

  The world tilted. Charlotte clutched at the white sheets beneath her as if she were about to slide to the floor. Distantly, she heard Cosmin ask about his cousin. “Ronja,” he said. “What happened to her?”

  “I admit I know very little,” Ito said, directing her words at the boy. “But Roark did manage to get a call through to me. He and Ronja likely escaped, but Iris, Evie, and Terra are in the hands of The Conductor.”

  “Where are they now?” Cosmin asked.

  “I wish I knew. They said they were going to get help, but . . . ” The lieutenant shook her head, her artificially orange hair rustling. “I have no idea where.”

  “Why are you telling us this?” Charlotte spoke up. “What can we do?”

  Ito leveled her gaze at her. “The revolution may be over, but there are still nearly a thousand people trapped down here, and Wilcox is going to let them die.” She took a breath and brought her voice so low Charlotte could scarcely hear it. “I am going to stage a coup. I need the two of you to be my eyes and ears. I need you to listen to what the people are saying. Who believes Wilcox has lost it, who still supports him.”

  “Why us?” Charlotte questioned doubtfully. “Why not Kala or Elliot or . . . anyone?”

  Ito smiled, a hint of nostalgia creeping into her eyes. “Terra once told me that no one expects a child to be capable of deceit.”

  Cosmin shifted in his seat. Charlotte glanced over at him. His eyes were red and raw. He was holding back tears, doubtlessly thinking of Ronja. Despite this, his mouth was pinched into a determined line. He gave a subtle nod. The girl turned back to her new commander and smiled.

  7: The Temple of Entalia

  The tunnels that wove through the extinct volcano were very different than those below Revinia. They were narrow and dry with rough natura
l walls. Ronja could not imagine how long they must have taken to dig. Decades, maybe even centuries. They were lit with electric bulbs connected by drooping wires.

  They were forced to walk single file through the catacombs. Jonah led the way confidently. Ronja trailed behind him, and Roark brought up the rear. He had been quiet since their exchange at the cliff.

  “How much further?” she asked after a time.

  “Not much,” Jonah promised, peeking back over his shoulder. “We’ll have to talk to my commander first. Then you can clean up and get some rest.”

  “You actually sound concerned.”

  Though Ronja could not see his face, she knew Jonah was rolling his eyes at the low ceiling. “I saved you from a madman, princess. I think it’s pretty clear I am vested in your well-being.”

  The Siren opened her mouth to scold him for calling her princess again, but her words dried up on her tongue. She scuffed to a halt. Roark swore under his breath when he nearly slammed into her. She squinted at the walls of the catacomb. While she and Jonah bantered, they had become smooth as porcelain. Etched into the stone were threads of curling Tovairin script, not unlike the reshkas Jonah and Larkin bore. “What are these?” Ronja asked, tracing one of the lines with the pad of her finger.

  Jonah stopped and turned to face them. “Our history,” he answered. “The ancients wrote it.”

  Roark pushed a low whistle through his teeth. “Can you read it? Is it code?” he asked, intrigue sparking in his tone. Ronja glanced at the Anthemite sidelong, affection warming her insides. It was moments like this, when his boyish curiosity peeked through, that she remembered why she had fallen for him in the first place.

  “Some,” Jonah answered with a tilt of his head. “They are pretty . . . fiest . . . what’s the word?”

  “Archaic?” Ronja offered.

  Jonah nodded. “Yeah.” He peered over his shoulder, as if someone was calling him. “We should keep moving,” he said. “We’re almost to the temple.”

  “What do you mean, temple?” Roark asked. “I thought this was the headquarters of the Kev Fairla.”