Secret of the Sirens

by Julia Golding

  “Home and dry, my dear,” he said with a smile, taking off his ear protectors.

  “Thank you for coming for me,” she replied, not quite sure how to express her gratitude when he had taken such a risk for her.

  “Thank Argot here,” said Dr. Brock, gesturing to the dragon.

  In the early dawn, Connie had her first good look at her steed. The dragon’s red and gold scales were smooth like fish-mail; the leathery webbing of its wings glowed with the sunlight behind it, showing the fretwork of veins; but it was the face which kept her gaze with its flickering forked tongue, powerful jaws, and yellow reptilian eyes. Argot was larger and more vibrant than any creature she had ever seen: like a shout from nature in a room of whisperers. Catching sight of the dragon’s uncompromising stare, Connie knew she, too, was being measured up—she hoped she would not be found wanting after all the trouble she had caused.

  “Thank you,” she said, respectfully bowing her head.

  The dragon nodded twice—once to her, once to Dr. Brock—and then launched itself off the cliff edge. Climbing out of its dive, it beat its wings, heading toward the horizon. As it turned, the first shaft of sunlight broke from under a cloud and glanced off the dragon’s flanks in a flash of gold. Connie felt a lump form in her throat: she had never seen anything so majestic as the sight of a dragon flying into the heart of a sunrise; it was a moment she would never forget.

  8

  Universal Companion

  “Am I in trouble?” Connie asked.

  She was following Dr. Brock down the coastal path as they walked in single file between the dewy thorn bushes, brambles, and grasses. The air smelt of humus-rich mud leavened with the salt tang of the sea.

  “For surprising us like that? Yes, you are in trouble,” he called back over his shoulder. “Your aunt will have something to say on that score when we get you home. But for visiting the sirens?” Dr. Brock paused to wipe his glasses with a silk handkerchief. “No, you’re not in trouble for that. It was a brave—if dangerous—thing to do, but that is the spirit of a true companion. You had to fulfill your destiny and discover that you were indeed a companion to sirens.”

  “But I’m not,” said Connie.

  “Not?” Dr. Brock replaced his glasses and peered at her curiously. “Of course you are, or we would not be standing here now!”

  “No—they told me I wasn’t their companion—or not only theirs. I’m what they call a universal companion.”

  Dr. Brock swayed slightly as if she had just hit him.

  “Those were their exact words?” he asked. She nodded. He rubbed his brow as if trying to adjust his ideas by physically pressing them into order. “Well, that explains why Argot bowed to you—I wondered about that,” he said thoughtfully. “But this news is extraordinary! Do you know how many universal companions there are at present, Connie?”

  “No. How many?”

  “One—and I’m standing with her. There have been no new ones for nearly a century. We’ve not had one in the British Isles for a decade or so since Reginald Cony passed away—and I am fairly certain that the last one in the world died at a very ripe old age in Argentina last year. Many in the Society have begun to think that the universal gift has died out with the fading of the last great mythical species.

  “It’s a very special gift, Connie, but it’s one that comes with troubles and responsibilities,” Dr. Brock said soberly. He began to walk again, evidently wanting more time to take in her news before saying any more.

  In the silence, Connie pondered his last words. She did not understand all this talk of mythical creatures—but then, she had stopped understanding anything when the world suddenly became populated with sirens and dragons.

  Coming to a stile, Dr. Brock paused, pulled out his thermos from his knapsack, and poured them both a cup of tea.

  “I think it’s time we broke our fast—it’s thirsty work riding on dragons, and I don’t imagine the sirens were too generous with refreshments.” He perched himself on the top of the stile and handed her a biscuit to go with the drink. “And I think I owe you an explanation, too.” He patted the wooden bar, inviting her to take a seat beside him. She climbed up to sit next to him.

  “We haven’t been properly introduced, I believe. My name is Francis Brock. As you’ve probably guessed by now, your aunt and I are members of the Society for the Protection of Mythical Creatures. It’s an ancient foundation established to protect these creatures from extinction.”

  Connie looked at him quizzically. “Mythical? But doesn’t that mean that they don’t exist?”

  He laughed. “Exactly, that’s what you’re supposed to think. We sound quite mad, don’t we? Hear me out.

  “Originally, the Society’s main task was to prevent the senseless killing of mythical creatures by humans. Dragons, for example, had been driven to the brink of extinction by young knights in armor, who thought it good sport to hunt even the most peaceable ones. As for unicorns, their horn became so prized by doctors and apothecaries that only a handful were left. Almost a thousand years ago now, our founder Trustees, that is to say the first universal companion, Abbess Hildegard, and eight friends, decided enough was enough. Something had to be done or none of the great species would survive. So they formed the Society with the aim of persuading people to disbelieve in the very existence of these creatures, making them no longer the target of huntsmen or poachers. Our Trustees used every means, from the pulpit to the marketplace, circulating the idea that these creatures were just the stuff of song and stories, silly tales for children. After all, you can hardly boast about killing an animal if people think you are mad for claiming to have seen it at all! Quite a brilliant strategy really.”

  He gave her a broad smile, which she could not help but return despite her confusion and doubt. Had she really just passed the night in a siren’s nest and then ridden on a dragon’s back? How could she not believe this kind old man and his tales of mythical creatures?

  “These days, our job has become more difficult,” Dr. Brock continued. “In addition to maintaining the secrecy surrounding mythical beasts and beings, we also have to battle to preserve the last places in which they can survive. Humans have spread themselves so far across the earth that there are now few wild margins of uncertainty. Life for our creatures has become one long story of betrayal and flight, until they are slowly dwindling away.

  “There are some bright spots, though. There are creatures that can exist in the heart of human settlements, thanks to people’s amazing capacity to disbelieve the evidence of their own eyes—especially when it does not match a rational view of the world.”

  His blue eyes twinkled shrewdly at her through his gold-framed glasses as he said this. She knew then that he sensed her doubt and how she clung still to “rational” beliefs. An inner voice spoke up in support of him. There had definitely been a dragon—she had ridden on it. How did her common sense explain all that?

  “Aside from these beings, there are many creatures that can survive only in the wild. Sirens—the creatures of most concern to us here—are one of these. They need inaccessible coastal sites,” he gestured out to sea where the Stacks could just be seen, black needles on the horizon, “far from the disturbance of human traffic, for their own survival and—I might add—for the safety of those who would otherwise cross their path. Not all creatures, you see, are harmless.”

  “I can quite believe that,” Connie said fervently. And remembering the fierce eyes of the sisters, her doubts evaporated; it had happened, so why shouldn’t all this about the Society be true, too?

  “Normally, in these cases, we would advise the creatures to move—our Society is nearly powerless to turn back the tide of industrial development. However, the sirens will not talk to us. I’m afraid they feel that they’ve heard enough about retreat from us in the past and have already decided on a more radical approach of their own. I think you know what that is. They want revenge. Those poor men are the first victims. But if the sirens think the
y can also scare Axoil away by picking off a few laborers, they are in for a shock. Too much money has gone into that place: the company will stick there like a limpet to a rock no matter what. They may not want to hear it from us, but the sirens will have to move.”

  “They said you would say that,” Connie interjected, breaking open the wrapper of her chocolate bar. “They said the Society was on the side of humans.”

  “That we most certainly are not!” said Dr. Brock indignantly. “They’ve got us completely wrong if they think that!”

  “They also said that someone was coming to them. They plan to wreck a ship.”

  “A tanker is it? So that’s what they’re up to. I had my suspicions that something big was brewing but I wasn’t sure. However, they’re wrong if they think that will make a difference. I don’t want Axoil here any more than they do, but I know that the accident will be discounted as a freak of nature and tankers will keep on coming. How many accidents will it take before the sirens are discovered? What will be left of the coastline around these parts after even one ‘accident’? How many people and animals will have to die?”

  “I don’t know,” said Connie. She was beginning to feel quite hopeless as she listened to him. “But they said it’s war. They’re waiting for someone—the plan to wreck a tanker has something to do with his arrival in the winter. They seemed to think he—this Kullervo—was their leader.”

  “Kullervo!” exclaimed Dr. Brock; his hand jolted, spilling his tea all over his dragon-riding trousers. “Are you sure?”

  Connie shrugged. “That’s what they said.”

  Dr. Brock went quiet; he did not even wipe away the spill, which was now running down his thigh and dripping onto the grass.

  “So,” he said at last with a shake of his head, “the rumors coming out of the north are true then. I’d heard that some dragons had gone over to him, as well as some of the weather giants. Others, too, probably. But I didn’t want to believe it.”

  “Who is he? Is he a siren?” asked Connie, her fear growing as she sensed his deep unease.

  “It’s a good question. He’s not a siren but none of us is quite sure what he is because no one on our side has survived meeting him. He lives—or should I say has his roots—in Finland. We know that he is a mythical being—an evil spirit waxing stronger every day, feeding off the imbalance we humans have made in the Earth’s environment. Some say he is a shaman—one who can communicate with all creatures—not unlike you, my dear.”

  “Is he a universal companion?”

  “Oh no.” Dr. Brock laughed bitterly. “Universal he may be, but companionship is far from his mind. I think he is more like a whirlpool—or black hole—pulling all who venture near him inexorably into his wicked schemes. Once creatures go down his road, it is nearly impossible to pull them back. They get in too deep, falling for his lies that all humans are the enemy—the oppressor. It’s tragic that while the sirens think that they are choosing freedom to act without restraint, they are in reality choosing captivity. They may believe he’s serving their cause, but once he has his hooks into them, they will end up his slaves. He is only interested in them in so far as they further his goal.”

  “His goal?”

  “The eradication of humanity.”

  Connie reeled, feeling as if she had just been punched in the stomach. Her mind couldn’t take in the enormity of what she had just been told. “But they said that it was the Society that had ruled them for too long—that he was helping them.”

  “Our rule, Connie, is nothing to his iron yoke. We have laws—laws advocating peaceful co-existence where possible, and it’s for these the sirens despise us. From the moment of their creation, their element has been chaos; we should perhaps only wonder that they have curbed these urges for so long.”

  “They won’t move: I’m certain of that—we must find another way to save them,” said Connie with conviction.

  “I wish we could, but the Society cannot produce solutions like rabbits out of a magician’s hat. For many years I have been forced to watch retreat after retreat of my dragons. I, too, on occasion have been tempted to counsel violent resistance—as Kullervo does—but I’m restrained by the knowledge that this would only bring more suffering and the end of the creatures I seek to protect. If dragons came out from behind the protective shadow of myth, how long do you think it would be before they were hunted into extinction? A few might linger as caged curiosities in a zoo—but not for long. Dragons cannot survive behind bars.”

  Dr. Brock hesitated over his mug, staring for inspiration in its remaining contents. “I think it is time the Society woke up to the threat of Kullervo.” He looked at her, his blue eyes shadowed by her news. “His adherents are growing: he is gathering on his side forces that could devastate whole continents if they are unleashed. The weather giants have already done a lot of damage. He’s coming here in the winter, you say?”

  “Yes, and I’m to meet him, according to the sirens—he’s heard about me.”

  Connie thought she glimpsed a flash of panic cross Dr. Brock’s face, but he swiftly mastered himself and gave her a reassuring smile. “Then we should be ready for him,” he said resolutely. “But promise me, you will not agree to meet him willingly—I know of no one who has survived that encounter.”

  “I don’t want to meet him at all,” said Connie. “Who would if he’s as terrifying as you say?”

  “Good girl.” Hitching his knapsack onto his back, he added: “Oh, and about you being a universal companion—I’d keep it to yourself for the moment. Allow the others to think that you’re a companion to the sirens for the time being. I will write a letter to the Trustees of the Society. It is now clear that Ivor Coddrington was more than incompetent when he assessed you, but he will still be a difficult obstacle to surmount if we’re to get you into the Society for the Orpheus program.”

  “Orpheus?”

  “Your training. There is more to being a companion than you yet know—there’s so much to learn about the creatures, about us. As a universal companion, I’d say you’ll have your work cut out for you.”

  Col did not get to see Connie until Tuesday, as her aunt had insisted she take a day’s rest at home from her ordeal. He was intrigued to find out how his shy classmate had got on with such violent creatures as the sirens. Part of him was still amazed that they had not eaten her for breakfast. He could not wait to hear what had happened, so he sought her out at break-time.

  “Connie, are you okay?” Col asked as they headed for the picnic bench on the far side of the playground. He ignored the calls to come and join a game of soccer.

  “I’m fine—I think.” She seemed a little dazed and was looking at him with an odd expression in her eyes. He was not surprised: it often took newcomers to the Society a few weeks to adjust to seeing the world properly for the first time.

  “What happened?” Col glanced nervously over his shoulder to check no one else was in earshot. Justin was intent on kicking a shot toward the goal and no longer watching him.

  “It went well.” She spoke as if each word was an effort. She was still coming to terms with the news that she had a gift—an extraordinary gift that set her apart from everyone. She had been used to being different, but now the reason behind her uniqueness had been explained, she had an inkling that her life had changed irrevocably. The knowledge that she was a universal would define what she did and who she became. It sounded so exciting: she wished she could share the news with Col and ask his advice, but she remembered in time that Dr. Brock had told her to keep it secret. She therefore kept her description of what had happened to a minimum. She would save up her news for another occasion. She said instead, “The sirens accepted me and we talked. Then I think they forgot that I might have to go home, and Dr. Brock came to my rescue on Argot.”

  Col jerked his gaze back to Connie’s face, struck anew by the strange contrast between the slight figure before him and the extraordinary adventure she had just had.

  “What�
��you got a dragon-ride! You don’t know how lucky you are! I’ve been waiting for years for my first encounter, and I never even dreamed I’d get on a dragon, and it all happens to you within weeks of learning about the Society!”

  His outburst roused her, and she laughed for the first time. “But it was also quite scary, you know,” she added, as consolation for him.

  “All the same—a dragon—and sirens!”

  “Okay, I have to admit: it was amazing.” Her eyes now shone with excitement, reliving for a moment the thrill of dragon-flight.

  “I’d give anything to have done what you did on Sunday,” he said, ruffling his hair into place, checking that no one was observing them. “And I’m glad we now understand each other better.”

  “So am I,” she agreed, though she felt a little guilty as she said it, knowing that she was holding the full truth back from him. “And you told me that it was a large seabird that scratched you! I was so angry with you all.”

  “It wasn’t so far from the truth, was it? Anyway, I’m relieved you are a third order like me.”

  “Third order?” There was clearly much to learn about the Society—so much she did not understand.

  “Hasn’t anyone explained yet?” he asked. She shook her head. He smiled. Now he had a chance to show her how much more he knew. “Okay then: you’d better hear it from me. The Society recognizes three orders.” He counted them out on his fingers. “The first’s the companion to everyday animals—this is what the world calls an animal lover. Second order is for those who have a special bond with one kind of animal: snake charmers, horse whisperers—all these belong to this group. The third order, only for those of us in the Society, are people who are companions to a particular mythical creature. Mine’s the pegasi. Your aunt’s is the banshee. Dr. Brock, as you now know, is a dragon companion.”

  “But how do they know which is your companion species?”

  “Simple really. They look very closely at any special bonds with second order creatures—that’s what the assessment was supposed to be about. They knew I might be destined for the pegasi because I’ve always had a special bond with horses. Don’t know why yours went so wrong—never heard of that happening before. But that reminds me.” He dug in his school bag. “Here, I got this for you.”