The Siren and the Deep Blue Sea

by Kerrelyn Sparks

  After another hour of pacing, she strode up onto the quarterdeck for the tenth time. “We’ll reach the convent tonight, won’t we?” she asked Captain Shaw.

  “No, my lady.” He gave her a sympathetic look. “I’m afraid going west means we’re traveling against the wind and ocean currents. We won’t arrive till tomorrow morning.”

  Tomorrow? With a groan, she turned to look out over the ocean. Nothing but dark blue waves as far as she could see. It was a shame Brigitta’s husband wasn’t here. Rupert had the Embraced power of controlling the wind. He could blow the ship to the Isle of Moon in just a few hours.

  “Isn’t it great?” Nevis sat on a nearby trunk, happily munching on an apple.

  “What could possibly be great?” Maeve grumbled.

  “This. Doing nothing.” He finished the apple and tossed the core overboard. “I haven’t had a day off from work in years.”

  She sighed. While other people had been busy the last few years, she’d had nothing to do. She’d read books, learned new dances, attended balls, and played in the Ebe River once a month in seal form—in short, she’d done nothing of any importance. Now that she finally had a goal, it was aggravating that she couldn’t get straight to it.

  “You should rest, my lady,” the captain suggested. “We’ve reserved our nicest cabin for you belowdecks. I’ve had some food left there for you.”

  Rest? From doing what? Waking up and getting dressed? She feigned a smile. “Thank you, Captain.”

  She hurried down to the cabin and closed the door behind her. “Dammit!” she shouted, using one of the unladylike words she’d learned from her sister Sorcha. What on Aerthlan would she do while she waited? It seemed as if she’d spent her entire life waiting.

  In just a few seconds of pacing, she completed a circle around the small cabin. The room was much the same as she remembered: a round table with four chairs, a sideboard stocked with fruit, cheese, bread, and wine, a narrow bed, and a window seat looking out the ship’s aft. On the trip four years ago, Brigitta had settled in the window seat, refusing to play the Game of Stones with her sisters. She’d been spooked, Maeve recalled, and rightly so. She had been kidnapped soon afterward.

  Maeve paused by the table where she’d played with her sisters to pass the time away. They’d been especially silly with their predictions in a vain attempt to cheer up Brigitta.

  Oh, dear goddesses! Maeve’s breath caught. At the time, they had joked that Sorcha would end up with an elf. How strange that their jest had come true!

  And what had her stones been? Maeve glanced at the window seat. She’d sat there next to Brigitta. “My prediction was the best,” Maeve had boasted. “In four years, I’ll meet a tall and handsome stranger with green teeth, purple hair, and three feet.”

  Green, purple, and three? A shudder ran down Maeve’s spine. Out of the forty Telling Stones, what were the chances that three of them would repeat like that?

  She shook her head. It wasn’t an exact match. She had picked four stones that day—four, three, purple, and green. This last time, she’d ended up with only three stones. She’d missed repeating the number four.

  But four years had passed.

  Coincidence, she told herself. Superstition. She couldn’t let the Telling Stones frighten her as they had Brigitta. Even though all the predictions for Brigitta had come true.

  “Damn,” Maeve muttered as she paced around the cabin once more. There was no reason for her to get spooked. Luciana was the one who predicted the future, not her. She didn’t have the blood of witches in her veins.

  Or did she? Maeve stopped with a jerk. She really didn’t know.

  There was no point in wondering about the unknown. She opened her bag, which a sailor had deposited at the foot of the bed, and took out the book she’d borrowed from the Ebton Palace library. She hadn’t had much time to look at it the night before.

  Sitting at the table, she carefully examined each page. Once again, it took some time for her to adjust to the archaic language. And once again, she became thoroughly engrossed in the old story. Imagine the terror, she thought, of suddenly realizing that your world and everyone you knew and loved was coming to an end. A violent end. An entire continent gone. An entire race perished.

  She closed her eyes, mentally picturing the chaos. People dashing about, searching in vain for a way to escape, and when that failed, a safe place to hide. The earth beneath her feet shook, and buildings crumbled around her. Fires broke out. Smoke and volcanic ash darkened the sky. Frantic screams and mournful wailing echoed around her. Mothers desperately tried to shield their children from suffocating ash. The children’s cries wrenched her heart. Her eyes stung.

  It hurt. The heat was singeing her skin. Roasting her. She couldn’t breathe.

  A knock at the door jolted her out of her thoughts.

  “Maeve?” Nevis cracked the door open and peeked inside. “Oh, you’re awake. I thought you might be asleep. We haven’t seen you in hours.”

  She blinked and looked around the cabin. Hours? When had the room grown so dark?

  Nevis came in, carrying a lit lantern. “The sun is setting. I thought you might need this.” He latched the lantern onto a hook in the ceiling. “And the galley has some stew if you’re hungry for din—oh, you have plenty of food.” He wandered over to the sideboard. “Didn’t you eat?”

  “Ah, no.” Maeve took a deep breath. Good goddesses, what had happened? She’d been so immersed in this book she’d missed the midday meal. “I’ll eat now. Would you like to join me?”

  “Sure.” Nevis grabbed a pewter plate and helped himself. “What have you been doing?”

  “I was reading a book.” She wandered over to the sideboard to load her plate. “An extremely old book I found in the library at Ebton.”

  “Mmm.” Nevis made a garbled noise as he stuffed some cheese into his mouth that sounded like, “What’s it about?”

  “Aerland.” She selected some sliced roast beef, cheese, and an assortment of fruit.

  “You mean Aerthlan?” He poured himself some wine.

  “No, Aerland,” she corrected him. “It’s an ancient continent that used to exist in the Great Western Ocean.”

  He snorted. “Right.” He set his plate and cup of wine on the table. “Is this the book?”

  “Yes.” Maeve filled a cup with wine and winced as her hand trembled. She was still flustered. How had half a day passed by unnoticed? And why had her imaginings seemed so real? She drank some wine to get rid of the sting of hot ash in her throat.

  “How the hell did you read this thing?” Nevis asked. “I can’t make out a single word.”

  “It’s an ancient form of Eberoni.” She glanced over her shoulder and smiled. “Plus, you’re looking at it upside down.”

  “Oh.” He turned the book around to face him.

  He was still standing there, staring at it, when she set her cup and plate down and took a seat.

  She sipped more wine. “Is it making sense now?”

  “No.” He gave her a wary look as he sat down. “Not at all.”

  She popped a grape in her mouth. “Don’t let it concern you. I grew up learning all about languages at the convent. No doubt your education focused on weaponry and military tactics.”

  He snorted. “Is that your polite way of saying I’m an idiot?”

  “No!” She chuckled, but her laughter faded away when he kept staring at her strangely. “What is it?”

  “I’m actually well educated. Leo and I grew up together and shared a tutor.” He motioned to the book. “I could study that for a year and it would still be gibberish.”

  She shrugged. “I guess I’m good with languages.”

  “You communicate with seals, don’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  “How?” He leaned forward. “Did you find a book titled The Idiot’s Guide to the Language of Seals? I’d like to see it. It would be perfect for me.”

  She gave him a wry look as she bit off some roas
t beef. Maybe this wasn’t a good time to admit she could talk to most of the sea creatures. “I’ve been able to do it for as long as I can remember, so it never felt strange to me. In fact, the real shock came when I realized that no one else could do it. It’s part of my Embraced gift, I suppose.”

  “Right.” He tapped the old book. “I think there’s more to your gift than you realize.”

  She swallowed hard. Was there some sort of connection between the old book and her gift? Was that why she was so drawn to the ancient legend?

  Nevis stuffed a small loaf of bread with roast beef. “So, what’s the plan?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You’re looking for the Embraced army, right?” He bit into his sandwich. “And Brody, too. You have an idea where he is?”

  Maeve sighed. “I’m not sure yet, but one thing is certain. You’re definitely not an idiot.”

  * * *

  By the time Brody finished his flight to the Isle of Mist, he was utterly exhausted. He hit the beach with a clumsy landing, then rolled as he shifted from eagle form back into his human body. Damn it to hell but his arms and shoulders were aching. Breathing heavily, he sprawled onto his back.

  For close to two months now, he’d spent his days in flight, searching in vain for any sign of a hidden army. At night, he’d scrounged about as a dog in search of food. There had been a few minutes each day when he’d been forced to return to his human form, not that it had helped matters. He’d learned the hard way that men from any country did not appreciate a stranger sauntering into their village naked. Women were much more openminded about it, but that only irritated the men more. Sometimes, it was simply safer to remain a dog.

  And now he lay on this secluded beach. Muscles aching. Stomach empty. Full circle, he thought. How many years had it been since he’d washed up on this beach naked, starved, and exhausted? Four—no, fifteen years ago. And he’d been more than exhausted. He’d been terrified. Distraught. Devastated.

  With a groan, he sat up and gazed out at the ocean. The old feelings of guilt still needled him, even though now, as an adult, he understood that there had been no way a ten-year-old could have saved his father and older brother from drowning in the middle of the ocean.

  Brody closed his eyes briefly to stop the horrific memories from playing out in his mind. There was nothing he could have done differently. He would have perished, too, if he hadn’t been able to shift into a seal.

  He’d barely made it here to this beach. After shifting back into human form, he had lain here, broken in body and spirit. How could he wish for life after seeing his father and brother drown? The entire crew had died, their bodies floating amidst the wreckage of the destroyed ship.

  How had the ship cracked in two like that? There had been no enemy ship on the horizon. How could he keep on living when he was the only one who had survived? He’d cried until there were no tears left and he’d become nothing but a drying husk under the summer sun.

  Then the Seer had found him. Carried him back to his cottage. Cared for him. Educated him. Taught him that life was still worth living.

  With another groan, Brody rose to his feet and stretched his sore muscles. Hopefully, the Seer was doing all right. Brody wasn’t sure how old the man was exactly, but he had to be close to a hundred. The last time Brody had come, several months ago, he’d noticed that the Seer was moving very slowly. His eyesight had dimmed over the last fifteen years. And his visions had come less and less frequently until nine years ago when they had stopped completely. Penance, he had called it. His punishment for the terrible crime he had committed.

  That had always confused Brody. For he’d never seen the Seer commit any crimes. Hell, the man begged for forgiveness if he had to kill a chicken for dinner. He was the gentlest soul Brody had ever known. And he’d become a second father to him.

  So, in order to help the Seer, Brody had left the isle nine years ago to become a spy on the mainland. Then he’d reported back to the Seer, so the old man could continue to make his living by foretelling the future. No one had to know that the Seer’s predictions were now based on Brody’s information and not on any visions.

  Brody trudged into the ocean and washed the sand off his bare skin. Then he followed the beach to a rocky outcropping that hid the entrance to a cave. In the dim light, he located the trunk where he kept dry clothes and shoes.

  After he was dressed, he returned to the beach and the path that wound up the bluff and across the windswept moors to the solitary stone cottage. Mist hovered in patches over the green grass, blurring his vision, but he didn’t need to see well. He knew which direction to go. He knew where every rock and boulder lay so he could avoid stumping his toes. He knew every inch of this isle. Just as he knew his way around the cave. The Seer had always sent him there to hide whenever anyone came to visit. It was better, the Seer had told him, for everyone to believe that he was dead.

  Brody had always suspected the Seer knew a great deal more than he was willing to tell. But Brody could forgive him for that. It had been the old man’s way of protecting him.

  The sight of smoke curling up from the stone chimney made him smile with relief. The Seer was alive and well. He was probably cooking himself dinner.

  A stone wall surrounded the cottage, intended to keep the deer on the island out of the garden, even though its low height had never stopped them from jumping over. In the last few years, though, Brody had rarely seen any deer.

  As he unlatched the gate, a rusted hinge gave out and the gate toppled over. With a prick of guilt, he propped it against the wall. He should have come here more often. The garden was a mess, filled with weeds and spilling over the flagstone path to the door, which badly needed a fresh coat of paint.

  “I’m digging up an onion, not a place for you to poop,” a grumbling voice announced across a patch of mist.

  Brody walked toward the voice and soon saw the brown hooded cloak that the Seer always wore outside. The old man was hunched down, digging onions and carrots from the ground while an orange tabby cat insisted on getting in his way.

  “Shoo, Trouble,” the Seer fussed at his pet as he pulled an onion from the ground. “Ah, this is a good one.” He dropped it into a basket, then fondled the tabby’s ears.

  The Seer had acquired the cat two years ago. Brody suspected the old man had been lonesome after he had left. But after the cat had ripped the Seer’s best blanket to shreds, it had acquired the name Trouble.

  “Seer,” he called softly, so he wouldn’t alarm the old man. The tabby arched his back and gave him a menacing look.

  “Oh, you’ve arrived.” The old man straightened slowly and glanced at him with a yellow-toothed smile. “I knew you were coming. That’s why I’m making a big pot of soup.” He reached a trembling hand for the basket and stumbled.

  “I’ll get it.” Brody grabbed the basket with one hand and steadied the Seer with the other. “Soup sounds wonderful. I’m starving!”

  The Seer chuckled as Brody led him into the cottage. “You’re always starving.”

  Brody set the basket on the table next to a knife and wooden chopping board. One glance around and he could tell the cottage hadn’t changed at all since he’d first arrived fifteen years ago. A big stone fireplace dominated one wall with the table and chairs close by. The wall to the right held shelves of books, while the wall to the left had shelves for cooking utensils and food. The front door was there, close to a large sink with a water pump. The fourth wall had two small beds, one in each corner. One for the Seer, and one for Brody.

  “I’ve been cleaning—can you tell?” The Seer removed his hooded cloak and hung it on a peg by the door, while the cat took a swipe at it. “I knew you were coming.”

  “How?” Brody noticed an inch of dust on the bookshelves, but didn’t mention it. After all, the old man could hardly see.

  “I had a vision!” The Seer smiled proudly. “In fact, I had three of them.”

  Three visions? “When did this happen? I th
ought you stopped seeing the future years ago.”

  The Seer’s smile faded. “That’s right. I did.” He shuffled slowly over to the table to retrieve a carrot and onion from the basket, then washed them off at the sink.

  Brody frowned. Was the Seer’s mind fading? Was he living in the past? Now that he had removed the voluminous cloak, Brody could see how terribly thin the old man was. His skin had a grayish tint and his long silver hair was lank and dull.

  “I believe the visions were a parting gift,” the Seer mumbled as he dropped the vegetables on the table and collapsed into a wooden chair. The orange tabby curled up around his feet.

  “A parting gift for whom?” Brody winced as he saw the Seer use one trembling hand to place the onion on the chopping board, then reach for the knife with his other trembling hand. “I’ll do that.” He grabbed the knife and began slicing.

  “Thank you.” The Seer sat back with a long, weary breath. “Plucking the chicken and digging in the garden wore me out.”

  “Maybe you should lie down. I can finish the soup.” Brody scraped the chopped onion into the big pot that hung over the fire. A whole chicken was inside, boiling in a broth spiced with garlic and herbs. His stomach growled.

  “Can’t sleep,” the Seer grumbled. “Don’t want to miss seeing my daughter.”

  “What?” Brody brought the chopping board back to the table.

  “My daughter is coming. That was my second vision.”

  “What daughter? I didn’t know you ever married.”

  “I didn’t.” The Seer sighed. “Before you came here, I used to see her in visions. But then, my visions stopped. Punishment for my crime.” Tears filled his cloudy eyes. “I was told that she’d died. I was afraid it was true.”

  “Who is she?” Brody sliced a carrot.

  “So beautiful,” the Seer whispered, closing his eyes. “Even more beautiful than her mother.”

  Brody frowned at the old man, who seemed to have drifted off. In the fifteen years that he had known the Seer, the man had never once mentioned a woman or daughter. Maybe he was remembering something from long ago? If he’d fathered a child when he was a young man, then that daughter could be fifty or sixty years old now. “When is she arriving?”