Siren Daughter

by Cassie Day

  I bare my clenched teeth. “You will tell me of an entrance.”

  “Ha!” He shakes his head. “As if I’m foolish enough to give in to a girl’s demands.” Another shake. “As if any of us are stupid enough to mark a Nekros entrance on any map.”

  He gathers the maps and struts away, mumbling insults.

  A grin tugs at my lips. I slip through the door and into the beckoning night.

  Chapter 8

  I BRUSH AWAY A SHINING crab from the portion of my mother’s cave above water. The watertight bag of clothing plops where the crab once made its home, a damp nook I must surface to reach.

  The cave remains barren when I dive beneath. I swim to the ruins to avoid what’s missing.

  There’s no sign of the tuna hunted only days ago except a scattering of bone shards on the sill of one gaping window. I brush them into the sand, then place a heavy rock atop them. Beneath the rock, they’re harmless to the children swimming amok in the ruins.

  Inside the ruins, Aunt greets me with a strained smile. The twins frown, a reminder of the hunts I’ve missed. Otherwise, I’m granted the anonymity of a single fish among a teeming school.

  “Agathe, right?” a hushed voice asks.

  “Yes,” I say without turning. Let her think I’m rude. I don’t care. One more useless platitude about my mother’s loss and I’ll sing until the mortals crash their ships.

  “I don’t know if you remember,” she says. “But I’m Eudoxia.”

  When I respond with nothing more than frigid silence, she continues. “You came with Desma to check on me that day.”

  “I remember.”

  It’s hard to forget someone so distraught about a healthy child growing in her womb when my own mother could barely support one at all. I grit my teeth, welcoming the ache in my jaw.

  “I hear you’ve been venturing above,” she says. If she senses my animosity, she allows none of her own to bleed through. Instead, there’s a grating cheerfulness that hurts my mind.

  “What do you want?”

  Now her voice strains. “I don’t want to be a bother.”

  “You already are. Now get one with whatever you want to ask me.”

  She snorts a laugh.

  I turn.

  Instead of the anger I expect, her eyes glint with mirth. “No one speaks to me in such a way now that I’m pregnant.” Her hands land on her stomach. “Thank you, I guess.”

  I know what it’s like being treated like a grief-ridden child—a source for others to pity. A smile slants my lips. “You’re thanking me for bad manners?”

  She nods. “You know as well as I do how welcome a change in conversation can be. Even a negative change.”

  Frowning, I gesture for her to hurry. There are islands to search and I can’t waste time talking.

  She inhales, sharp.

  I brace myself. What could she want?

  “I’m hoping you can pass a message to my lover.” She pauses to swallow.

  I watch her throat work instead of the desperation written on her face.

  “He lives above in the town Nisos.” Another pause, this time for a weak smile flattening into a frown before I blink twice. “It’s not far from where you’ve been sneaking off to.”

  Snarling, I lunge closer, glad when she flinches backward. “You’ve been spying on me?”

  “I wouldn’t call it spying.”

  I bare my teeth, pupils contracting to slits. “Following, then.”

  She nods. “Following is better.”

  I turn away. There’s no point helping her. My mother must be returned to life—who knows what memories or parts of herself she might lose the longer she’s dead? The stories speak of no risk to the dead and their souls but surely there must be a cost for residing in Nekros.

  “Wait!”

  Glancing over my shoulder, I glare at her stricken face. “I can’t help you.”

  She lurches forward. Her breath stirs the fine hairs at the base of my neck. “Can’t or won’t?”

  I snort. “Won’t.”

  I swim one pace away. Then another.

  “I can help you,” she says. “I know there’s a purpose more than breeding to your ventures above.”

  “Oh? And you know everything, then.”

  She huffs. “I know enough. Whatever you seek? One girl won’t be enough to find it.”

  It’s a guess. A lucky one. I know this yet my mind considers. What she says is true enough—the Akri stretches far and years could pass before I find an entrance to Nekros. Years without a purpose. Years without my mother.

  I pivot to face her. She grins, secure in the knowledge she has me cornered.

  “You can tell no one,” I say. Aunt’s face flashes in my mind.

  She nods.

  I lean forward until our faces are a hair’s breadth apart. “Promise me!”

  “I promise. I’ll tell no one.”

  Backing away, I sigh. Warmth courses through my chest, calming my racing heart. I stare up. Beams of light dance on the surface. Muted cries of birds sound off from a distance. The light, the noise—all of it hurts. A headache throbs in my temples.

  “I seek an entrance to Nekros.” I rub a hand along my temple. “Wait, no. I seek an island structure not marked on any map.”

  Eudoxia watches, her expression brimming with curiosity. If unease fills her from the mention of Nekros, she doesn’t show it. “A map?”

  “The mortal way of marking where land sits. They draw pictures on paper.”

  She shakes her head. “I know what maps are. You forget I was above for quite a while.”

  How long? She must’ve ventured into the sea to stave off the sickness often. I barely manage a day without growing ill. Even now, the weight of sickness still haunts in the form of headaches and fatigue.

  She continues. “I was wondering if you could show me such a map. That way I’ll know what isn’t marked.”

  I consider recreating one in the silt floor below. But no, the waves would wash it away even if I could recall the thirteen islands. My headache spreads, throbbing at each temple.

  The librarian. The blind librarian.

  I can steal a map if I’m quiet or he’s distracted by some other noise. But with Eudoxia pregnant, she won’t be able to shift and help.

  I’ll have to do this on my own. How hard can stealing a roll of paper be?

  “I’ll bring you a map.”

  Later, night stretches deep cobalt across the realm. I slide through the library door, careful to watch how it shifts in the continuous breeze from the nearby shore. My sandals are dry and quiet against the stone floor. I rise onto the tips of my toes, creeping forward.

  No sign of the librarian. A rustle of paper deep within where lamplight can’t reach. He doesn’t call out a greeting. Instead, there’s the steady murmur of him mumbling to himself.

  He doesn’t know I’m here. Good.

  With each step, I’m careful to test my foot rather than setting it down. The stone is solid, dependable, but there’s no telling exactly how far his hearing extends. It only took a single creak of the door last time for him to know.

  I hold my breath. Black creeps into my sight. My chest tightens. I need to exhale but fear he’ll hear.

  A louder rustle. A rise in his voice; he’s growing frustrated with his search. I exhale long and low.

  All his grumbling stops.

  Silence except for my shallow breathing, quickening with each moment gone. I don’t dare do anything, not even blink, and my eyes burn while the seconds tick by.

  A sigh. “You old bat, it’s just the wind.”

  The rustling noise continues in a shelved path to my right. I twist my head, squinting, but there’s not a hint of him in the darkness. The darkness swallows him the same as it’ll spit him out: suddenly. I can’t be lax now, not when the map sits somewhere in this place.

  But where?

  I creep toward the table from my last visit. Heavy stones sit on the surface along with a lamp.
No books or maps. He put it away. Where? All these shelves, all this paper, and I’m meant to find one.

  Face hot, I pivot around the tables until I can’t tell where I began. All are bare.

  Think. Nothing–my mind blanks.

  A breeze gusts along my back. Goosebumps stipple my skin. The door creaks. His shuffling stops. I jump into the closest shadow at the end of a shelf and hold my breath.

  Pure silence.

  The pop of old joints grinding together, a pained grunt, and he steps into the light. Stooped, pale, and wrinkled, he remains the same. Even the books tucked under each arm are the same.

  “Is anyone there?” he asks.

  Another breeze. The door creaking again is his answer. The lamplight flickers, casting grotesque shapes on the stone walls. Twisted beasts, the crook of a broken bone, and an ever-watching eye encased in a starlit sky. All disappear when the light returns to full strength.

  I blink the visions away. A healer should check my eyes, but no—there’s no time to waste. And those weren’t normal but perhaps nothing truly is. Gods and monsters roam here alongside the mortals.

  Monsters like me.

  I know what I must do.

  “Librarian,” I begin in the murmur of a song.

  His shriveled body freezes. His head twists around. His eyes are wide and blank but still, he pinpoints where I stand among the shadows.

  “Who’s there?” His voice shakes.

  I step into the light. “The map of our realm. Find it.”

  He scurries between the shelves, eyes empty from more than blindness. His sandaled feet shuffle, each step heavy and slow. Clouds of dust rise, motes sparkling in the dim light.

  His steps stutter, then stop. The dust falls and none takes its place. My song is wearing off.

  I step closer. “Keep going.”

  He does. Rasping fills the library. He’s becoming rough with the paper. Maybe my song dulls his thoughts too much. Enough to make finding a specific map a difficult task.

  It doesn’t matter. I’ll wait.

  The night sky deepens into endless indigo. A hint of stars glimmers in the space between door and wall. I stifle a yawn, blinking rapidly to ease my heavy eyelids, and turn to the librarian.

  Every so often, I force my song upon him. “The map.”

  Yet no matter how often I sing, he struggles to find what I seek.

  My stomach growls. Each muscle aches from standing while holding a heavy lamp. Lower and lower my eyelids fall. Shaking my head, I try to loosen the sweet promise of sleep from my mind.

  The rasping stops again. “Keep going,” I sing, voice cracking when I yawn. Blackness ebbs and flows at the edge of my vision. Sickness beginning to take root or pure exhaustion?

  Quiet. No noise, no dust, and no shuffling.

  A murmur of noise. He’s mumbling to himself. My heart lurches. Has he broken free of my song?

  I sing. “Speak louder.”

  A final rasp and tumble of paper. “I’ve found it.”

  I exhale. My heart settles. “Bring it here.”

  He staggers out of the shelves to my left, head drooping low. A long piece of rolled paper dangles from the crook of his elbow. One end drags on the floor.

  It won’t fit in my bag. I’ll have to fold it smaller.

  “No tricks,” I say. “Open it.”

  With a jerky nod, he sets it on a nearby table. His hands shake when he sets stones on each end.

  I lean closer, lamp swinging perilously close to his hip, and hum a song to abate any thoughts he has of attacking me.

  A dozen islands plus Kasos, then the main landmass. All are rendered in startling detail. Yes, this is the right map.

  I sigh, breath rustling across the table. The lamps flicker. Strange shapes gather around them. There’s writhing in the shadows. Tentacles, pointed knives, and a set of narrow, blinking eyes.

  He can’t see a thing yet he inhales sharply. “Gods.”

  “Just a trick of the light.” My voice wobbles.

  There are worse things than gods wandering our realm. Old tales of beasts like the many-headed hydra fill my mind. Goosebumps ripple across my arms. All my fine hairs stand on end.

  The lamp flares back to normal. The shapes disintegrate into simple shadows. Both of us sigh in relief.

  Yet my heart continues to thud. I swipe the stones off the map. They drop to the floor in a clatter. I roll the paper, then fold it in half.

  “Tell no one,” I sing, standing in the crack of the open library door.

  He jerks his head in a nod.

  I scurry into the night. Dirt shifts to sand beneath my feet. The waterproof bag is where I left it: in a nook between two rocks set apart from the lapping waves.

  Even as water closes over my head and the change rips through my body, those ever-watching eyes stick in my mind.

  Something watches. But who? Or what?

  Chapter 9

  STIFLING A YAWN INTO my clenched fist, I peek around the rock jutting from the sea. A town sits nestled between two hills close to shore. Nisos, the town where Eudoxia’s lover dwells.

  We stayed awake late into the night studying the map and how the islands sit in the sea. Eudoxia left when the dawn began filtering in. I forwent sleep altogether. I kept my fingers free of seawater if only to trace island shapes and to guess at distances.

  Now the map sits in a dry alcove, ready to be studied further whenever Eudoxia wakes.

  Sighing, I focus my attention on Nisos. Smoke trails from houses, cooked meat smells waft on a breeze, fishing boats glide offshore, and geese honk. If not for the lack of mountainous sand dunes, I’d think it the same as Kyma.

  Thankfully, her lover isn’t a fisherman. Instead, she insists he’s a craftsman. She tried to explain but all I learned is he does something with carving wood. Siren hunters do the same to make driftwood spears and we’re not craftsmen.

  When my change to two legs ripples through, there’s nothing beyond my muscles tightening. I’m becoming immune to the pain. Now if only I could be immune to the sickness.

  I’m quick to throw my dress on and settle the shoulder pins. Then I lace my sandals as quick as my damp fingers allow.

  There’s little coverage if anyone ventures out of the town. They’ll see me immediately. After Iris’ venture into Kyma while bare, I understand a naked woman causes quite a commotion.

  I don’t want a commotion. I need to find Eudoxia’s man and leave. This isn’t Kyma. There’s no Bion or Cosmas to help me. If I find danger in Nisos, I’m on my own.

  With a deep breath and final twist of my braided hair, I stride onto the nearest road. Buildings close in. Geese wind through my legs with each step. Small children shriek, chasing after them, and I’m careful not to jump out of their way.

  I belong here. Or I must seem like I do. No one else moves aside for a running child, instead standing like immovable stones for the children to dodge around.

  A child runs at my legs at full speed. I tense and keep walking even as her breath brushes against my legs. She turns at the last moment, twisting until she’s run down a narrow alley to my left.

  I follow the roads, hoping the network will lead me to the center square. Lines of clothing swamp each street. Plumes of smoke rise high above the nearby houses. The taste of soot lodges in my mouth.

  Women stride past, sure of their steps with baskets leaned against generous hips. A few nod my way with friendly expressions.

  Why didn’t I ask for his name? Surely he’s known in his town.

  I twist, turn, and sidle through endless roads. My legs ache, my feet blister. My eyes ache from squinting at people. Eventually, the roads widen.

  The town square gapes before me. Rows of shaded tables line each side, some hawking fish, others clothing, and more with food I can’t name.

  One fruit with rich pink-red skin shines in the sunlight. A pomegranate from the distant town of Pomria and its legendary orchards.

  Sweating bodies, cooked meat, and bir
d feathers—the cacophony of smells assault my nose.

  Not one person in the crowded square spares me a glance. All of them are too busy with their own tasks.

  Sighing, I glance around for any wood at all in this crowded, stinking place. No trees, no plants or grass...but there! A young man stoops over a table containing wood carved into shapes. He leans forward, back hunched, with a glinting knife in one swift hand. The knife digs into a narrow piece of pale wood. Driftwood!

  One end already resembles a fishtail. A siren tail.

  I pivot around sweating bodies until I stand over him. My shadow covers him. Still, he doesn't look.

  I clear my throat. “Hello.”

  He glances up and grunts, then returns to his carving. A woman’s lithe torso takes shape. Whisper-thin shavings fall to the stone.

  Eudoxia is not the only one mourning their distance. With how his face and shoulders tense, he’s more a grumpy elder than a broad-shouldered young man.

  He huffs an irritated breath and glares at me. “Can I help you?”

  I look around the square. While others edge closer, their bodies warm against my sides, none pay us any attention.

  “I’ve come on Eudoxia's behalf,” I say.

  His mouth gapes open. The knife scrabbles at the wood, then digs into the meat of his thumb. He doesn’t wince. Doesn’t hiss. Doesn’t seem to notice anything at all except my voice.

  I watch the drops of blood falling to join the wood shavings. “I’m her cousin.”

  He lurches to his feet. The stool topples onto its side with a clatter.

  His broad hands grab my shoulders in a bruising grip. The siren carving digs into one of my arms.

  “Is she all right? She said the sickness would go away within a few days.” He glances over my shoulder, unwilling to meet my stare. “But it’s been five weeks now.”

  A desperate gleam eclipses his eyes. His hands tighten, urging me to speak sooner.

  “The sickness is gone,” I say.

  He leans closer. There are flecks of green lingering around the edge of his pupils. “Is she okay? Has she been hurt?”

  He pauses. His expression crumbles like corners of fragile stone. “She doesn’t wish to see me anymore?”