Siren Daughter

by Cassie Day

  No, that’s not right either. I tamp down on frustration. It’ll only ruin my words more. Still, my cheeks heat with emotion.

  She pats my shoulder with one of her tiny hands. “It’s all right, try again.”

  “Seeea,” I say. Blink when it comes out almost right.

  Again, but better. “Sea.”

  The child bounces in place. “You came from the sea?”

  “Oh gods,” her mother says on a gasp.

  “You’re one of those fish people my father speaks of!” the girl continues, oblivious to how her mother pales. “He’s a fisherman!”

  I nod. The fishermen know about us. They’ve brought a few of us above in their nets, already dead from thrown spears. I blink away the thought. The girl and her mother are kind. This father can’t be so bad.

  Father sits wrong in my head. I know its meaning but I don’t hear it often. A snippet of conversation between two pregnant aunts, then between Aunt and my mother, but nowhere else. Sire is more common among my family.

  The girl leaps forward, encasing me in a hug.

  Her mother clears her throat. “Your father can’t know, my boy.”

  Boy? This child is a boy?

  Pouting, she—he lets me go and turns. “Why not?”

  But his mother shakes her head. “Never mind.”

  She sighs, rubbing a hand along her temples. For the first time, I notice her strained face is only a handful of years older than mine.

  “Bring her to the storyteller before your father drags his boat ashore.”

  “Mother.”

  “Go, Bion.”

  His pout deepens into a scowl. He levels his glare at the walls instead of his mother. Smart child. “Fine.”

  He sighs. Then grabs my hands and tries to pull me to my feet despite being half my size. When he can’t move me, he grunts but keeps trying.

  I stand slowly, acting as if he’s doing all of the work. The creak of my new joints is worth how his face glows with pride once I’m standing.

  “To the storyteller!” He grins, already pulling me out of the home.

  The town has narrow stone roads between identical houses. The only difference in Bion’s house is another colorful mural, this one a crooked fish, on the corner of an exterior wall.

  He pulls and pulls. Buildings press against us on each side. A twist. A turn. Lines of fabric grab at us. I shove a dress off my head, letting it fall to the ground behind me.

  A plaintive mewl fills air. Bion skids to a stop, feet tripping against the cobbled grooves, and changes direction all in one moment. I open my mouth. He shushes me with a quiet hiss.

  He rummages in his tunic, mouth pursed to one side. By the time he pulls out a strip of dried meat, a furry creature is rubbing along our legs. Its fur is a gray with subtly darker stripes of charcoal. Its eyes the color of pale seaweed.

  It flicks pointed ears upright and mewls again. Three more creatures, different colors but the same shape and size, meander from seemingly nowhere and join in.

  “Bion?” I say. Then rub my throat, wincing at the growing ache.

  He turns. “These are the town cats. No one owns them, exactly, but we all feed them.” His chest puffs out. “Especially me. They love my mother’s dried meat.”

  When I stare at the odd creatures, two of them rubbing insistently along my calves despite dried meat already in their mouths, he laughs.

  “Go on, pet one! They’re nice, I promise.”

  One of the cats stretches, baring sharp fangs. Hooked claws catch against the stone.

  I swallow. Those are sharp. “Promise me.”

  He huffs. “I promise!”

  I lean over. The cat meets me halfway, arching beneath my hand. Its fur is softer than anything I’ve felt so far. I stroke it again and again. A buzzing starts in its chest.

  “See, they’re nice! She’s even purring.”

  I smile while Bion distributes more meat. By the time he’s done, the cats are licking their chops, content. They slink into the shadows between two buildings. The one at my calves mewls once more, then follows.

  He grabs my hand, pulling us into a run. “Let’s go! We’re wasting time.”

  I sigh, kindly not pointing out he wanted to feed the cats. I can’t form all those words anyway.

  Within moments, my heart thuds quicker. Sweat beads on my brow. The fresh skin covering my legs rubs together. My knees knock with each step.

  “Slow.” I pant puffs of breath into the cold winter air. Speech is easier with each try. His mother was right.

  Bion slows from a jog to a walk. “Sorry!”

  I wave his apology away, smiling. “Storyteller?”

  A little muffled but understandable. I grin.

  Bion twists to walk backward. Grinning, he gazes up at me. There’s a gap between his front teeth and a larger one to the left side. “You’ll like him, I promise. He knows everything there is to know.”

  Everything?

  A woman tuts as she passes with a large basket in her arm, narrowly avoiding Bion’s small body. He bows his head in apology and turns forward. He continues to glance over his shoulder like he can’t allow me out of his sight.

  Something of my avid curiosity must show because he continues. “More than stories. He knows about gods, animals, plants, food, and people. Anything you can think of, he knows something.”

  Plants? Could he know about the plant I seek for my mother? I may know the shape, and color, but I don’t know its location beyond in patches of sun. Remembering Bion’s talk of flowers earlier, a single thought bubbles to the surface. Those above know more about their land, just as us sirens know more about the sea below.

  My heart continues to thud too-quick but for a different reason. If I can get my speech up to par to explain what I need, perhaps someone will know what I speak of.

  “Here we are.” He shoots me a triumphant look. Then skids to a stop, raising clouds of dirt with his sandaled feet.

  I stare down at my own sandals. Bion laced them while I sat by the hearth, too sleepy and warm to worry. They’re soft against my soles. A definite improvement over bare feet touching the rocks and pebbles embedded in Kyma’s roads.

  When I look up next, we’re in a large square of space between the crowded homes. It’s not empty. Not at all. Wooden tables lined with fish ring one side. A woman behind the table speaks to another in hushed tones, hands fluttering over the array of dead fish.

  Along another side of the square, more tables wait in a crooked line. Some sell cloth. Others sell plants, most bulbous in shades of yellow with flaking skin. Others are long and green. My stomach sinks. None bear the spikes of the plant I seek.

  The third side teems with women, young children at their sides or on their hips. Baskets sit on the ground nearby. They talk among themselves. A few glance our way but are soon pulled into conversation.

  For a moment, I wonder where the men are. Then the sight of fishing boats on the horizon returns. But why don’t the women fish?

  On the fourth side, a tall man stands on a threadbare rug woven in a faded rainbow of colors. He smiles when he sees Bion. “My best listener has returned!”

  Bion shuffles forward, smile bashful. “Hello.”

  The man props his fists on his hips. “Now you’re quiet? Could it have something to do with this young lady?”

  The man’s jovial eyes slide to me. They’re plain and dark as dirt yet mirth lights them from within. The wrinkles etched into his face deepen. “A young lady who looks familiar, no less.”

  Tilting my head, I regard him from the tips of his sandaled feet to his silver-laden, wavy hair. I haven’t seen him before. Did he meet one of my kin? My mother? I grimace. If he met my mother, he could be the sire of a lost child. I shake my head to loosen the thought.

  He returns my shake of the head. “No, I haven’t met you, even if there’s something familiar about you.”

  He claps his hands and takes a lumbering step forward. “Now! What’ll it be today, Bion
?”

  Bion tugs my hand until I stumble to a stop at his side. “Why don’t you choose?”

  The storyteller nods with a wink. “Smart choice, boy. Always let a lady choose if you want to win her affection.”

  Bion’s entire upper half flames pink. He tries to stutter something. Even I can’t tell exactly what.

  The storyteller laughs with a wave of his hand. “What’s your name, young lady? Must be something impressive to charm this boy so easily.”

  Tamping down a grin, I jostle Bion’s shoulder with my hip. “Agathe.”

  His blush dims but he won’t meet my stare. Instead, he trains his eyes on his feet, rubbing a hand along the back of his neck.

  I sigh, moving my gaze to the storyteller.

  He raises his eyebrows, shrugging as if to say ah, well. “The lady Agathe. What would you like to hear?”

  Thinking of what Desma told me about the plant, I open my mouth to explain. A mumble of incomprehensible sound leaves. My eyebrows scrunch together.

  Bion tugs on our joined hands. “Try again.”

  I nod. “A plant.” Stare at the sky above instead of the storyteller’s kind face. “With spikes for leaves.”

  The sun dims above. Clouds glide across its surface. I don’t have long until night falls. Bion and his mother might be willing to shelter me from the winter wind.

  A crisp breeze filters through the maze of buildings. I shiver, pulling the pinned shoulders of my dress tighter. The chill sweeps through my body. My teeth clack together.

  The storyteller hums, stroking his chin with a few fingers “I’m afraid I’ll need more information.”

  “Has yellow flowers.” My throat hurts from talking but I ignore the pain.

  He squints. “Perhaps fennel?”

  Desma didn’t know the name.

  I shrug, kicking one foot against the hard stone. “Don’t know.”

  Bion leaps forward, all shyness forgotten in the face of learning something new. “Maybe if you said what it’s like! Then she’ll know if it’s the right one.”

  The storyteller nods. “Of course. It’s tall, taller than a full-grown man sometimes, and its leaves are feathered spikes. The flowers are yellow.”

  He pauses, gathering his thoughts. “The doctors use it for all sorts of stomach ailments. Why, when I was a young child, I was given some to calm my stomach. I’ve even heard it can help someone’s appetite.”

  My heart lurches. I lean forward. “Appetite?”

  “Yes. Now was it to decrease or increase appetite?” He strokes his chin again. “Increase! Yes, that’s right.”

  I hold myself back from lunging to grab his shoulders. “Where?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Where is it?” My thoughts tumble over each other. “Where do you keep it?”

  The longest sentence I’ve strung together. I barely notice. Instead, I look around the square like the plant will sprout from one of the tables. But no, the plant table remains full of plants I care nothing about.

  “Ah,” the storyteller says. He clears his throat. “Well, fennel grows only in spring.”

  My stomach drops. Tears gather. I blink them away, unwilling to weep in the crowded square. I loosen my hand from Bion’s grip. Clench my hands together until my joints ache.

  “I’m sure someone has some in their garden,” Bion says, patting my side. His regard is too kind, too soft.

  I point my stare down. I can’t bear his pity.

  The storyteller sighs. “No, I’m afraid not.”

  Endless chatter becomes a steady buzz. Honks of squat, long-necked birds turn shrill when they run from a small child squealing with glee. An infant squalls in the distance. The crash of the Akri’s waves against rock is an undercurrent to it all.

  I’ll return empty-handed.

  “Oh!” The storyteller leans forward. “But I’m sure someone has some dried.”

  “Dried?” I ask.

  Bion wrinkles his nose. “Dried?”

  His hands flutter in the air. “Yes! Some hang it to dry to preserve it through winter. It might still work.”

  Grinning, I delight in the fresh hope filling my chest. I take a step back. Then another, beckoning for the storyteller and Bion to lead the way to the dried fennel.

  The storyteller shakes his head. “I’ll have to ask around to see who has extra.”

  My shoulders droop. I hunch, sighing, and glance at the dusk sky. How did so much time pass?

  Between one blink and the next, my stomach roils. I’m grateful I haven’t eaten anything today. There’s nothing for me to vomit up.

  I take a step forward. My knees threaten to buckle. A thin ring of black crowds the outer edge of my sight.

  I hear little beyond the call of the Akri’s waves.

  This is our curse. The sickness.

  Less than a day and already I suffer. We should be able to go months at a time out of the Akri Sea per Amphitrite’s aid to our ancestor. But my older cousins built a resistance to the weakness over time. One I don’t have.

  “Agathe?” Bion grabs my hands.

  Belatedly, I realize my hands are gripping each other tight enough to bruise. I gasp in a breath. Turn toward the call of the sea beyond the buildings.

  “Go,” the storyteller says. He grabs Bion by the shoulders, holding the wide-eyed boy from following.

  How much does he know? I give him one last look before I run.

  Chapter 4

  EACH STEP LURCHES. I can’t tell if it’s my gait or sight. Perhaps both. I duck under a line of clothes, jump over a wandering bird, and twist around a corner. Grip a house and stop to pant. The corner crumbles beneath my fingers. A woman’s angry squawk sends me running again.

  Wind rips through my hair and the folds of my dress. The dunes lurch into sight beyond a tight cluster of buildings. I turn to the side, breasts scraping against one wall and my back against another, and slide between two houses.

  I skid to a halt beneath a dune. Its shadow stretches long across the ground, offering privacy from the bustling town nearby. Black lingers, pulsing, at the edge of my sight. Teasing.

  I drop to my haunches, gasping for breath. Rest my forehead against my knees.

  The call of gulls. Calls of men from behind the dunes. Fishermen.

  I hurtle upright. Edge close to the dune. Grains of sand press against my spine. Some slide into my dress, sticking to my sweat-slicked skin. Will the fishermen know what I am? Will they take one look at me and know?

  My breath comes quicker. Harsher.

  Shadows dance across the dunes.

  The first man ventures up and over. I freeze. But the growing darkness shields me from view. The man walks past, whistling a tune. I don’t dare sigh in relief. More climb atop the dune and stride down.

  Shadows become men. One stops at the foot of a dune to my right. He begins urinating on the sand. I press a hand over my mouth, holding in a startled yell. I cover my nose when the acrid smell of urine permeates the air.

  Upper lip curling in distaste, I grit my teeth. How long will they take? Some linger, clapping one another on the back amid jovial conversations.

  When the last vanishes between the buildings, I move. The shadows reach to my shoulders, leaving my head bathed in dusk light. I squint.

  Beyond the clacking hulls of moored boats, there’s no noise. I rub my hands down my arms, hoping to warm my frigid skin. Then creep toward Bion’s trail between two dunes.

  The dunes stretch high above. A breeze pummels them. My shivers turn to ones of unease.

  Sand swirls in the wind, stinging my eyes. I curse aloud. Force my eyes to flare, hoping to dislodge the grains, but it’s no use.

  The last grain falls away. I glance up. Instead of sand leading to the endless sea, a man stands before me. He halts, eyes wide.

  “Monster,” he says. Spittle flies from his mouth, landing at my feet. His face pinches into an expression of unfiltered disgust.

  Trapped with him to the front and dunes
on each side, I’m paralyzed. Sweat beads on my neck and brow. All my fine hairs stand on end.

  He steps forward, reaching for my shoulders. What will he do when he has me? Kill me? Gut me like a fish?

  A final breath.

  Then I act.

  I sing. Aloud, above, for the first time in my life.

  The song flows quiet, muted by the crashing waves. The melody ebbs and flows. A song string alights between us.

  His eyes glaze over. He wobbles in place but continues to edge forward one stumble at a time. Soon, our faces are close enough for our noses to brush.

  My hands flutter to his arms. The string pulls taut. I push him with all my strength.

  He lands against the side of the dune. He doesn’t struggle. The sand tries to swallow him one grain at a time. He continues to watch me with an empty stare.

  For a moment, I almost prefer his disgust. Almost.

  I breathe deep to calm my racing heart. Take one step. Then another. My song fades. His song string darkens. The end of the trail appears. I burst into a run.

  There’s a struggle behind me. Him trying to free himself from the dune. The crunch of dried grass. Sandaled feet thudding on the sand.

  Breathless, heart pounding, I force my legs faster. Sand flies, raised by my swift feet. I glance over my shoulder, hoping all the sand hits him square in the face. But no, he curses, pivoting to the side.

  Waves touch my toes. I don’t stop despite the slick pebbles. I stumble once. Twice. Use the momentum to lurch upright. To keep running.

  Knee-deep in the waves, I grit my teeth. Will my tail to return. The searing burn begins. I ignore the pain.

  Boats knock against a dock to my left. The steady rhythm of wood against wood fills my head. Gulls rest in the water, heads turned to watch.

  Think.

  His feet crash through the waves.

  Think, think, think—

  There!

  A drop-off from shallow shore to open sea. I’ll have to jump the distance. I coil my strength. Breathe deep. The pain ebbs.

  I jump. A hand trails my shoulder. Then I’m lost to the Akri. Legs fusing to tail burns across my skin. My vision adjusts to the depths.

  I twist around. Scales spike from my skin. My sandals unravel, falling to the seafloor. The dress seams rip, leaving me in torn rags from the waist down. My gills tear open. They flutter frantically.