SONG of EMBER

9

A PROPOSITION

🙜

Tap tap tap.

Tap tap.

Ember shut his eyes more tightly and covered his ears. He hadn’t slept, and he had a dreadful headache—whether from the lack of sleep or that endless parade of tangled, twisted fears which rattled around in his head was unclear.

There was nothing he would have liked more than to convince himself that none of it was real, that it had all been some sort of bizarre and fanciful dream.

And there was nothing he would have liked more than to see the woman from the river standing once more on his front doorstep, morning light shining on her sleek black hair.

The longer he wrestled with his memories of the previous day, the more confused and agitated his thoughts became. It was in this frenzied state that Ember heard the tapping on the glass… and he did not need to lift his head and look to know that it hadn’t been a dream, and a black-eyed river creature was standing at his window.

Tap.

A single, crisp tinking sound, as of a long fingernail rapping on glass.

He kept his eyes closed for a moment, heart thumping against the mattress.

Tap. Tap. Tap-tap-tap.

How could she reach the window? The bottom sill was at least a head above him from the ground due to the elevated foundation. She must have crawled up the wall with her sticky paws somehow. Why wasn’t she rapping at the door, like a normal person?

Because she’s not a person.

And furthermore…

Because she wanted to see me.

He found that quite alarming, but something had to be done. She had said she was returning, and now she was here, and he very much doubted she would give up and go away if she could see him—even a part of him—through the window.

Ember clenched his fingers around the knife he’d hidden under his pillow and slowly drew it beneath himself, tucking it into his belt and pulling his shirt down to cover it. He’d never undressed, never lain down with the intention of sleeping.

Preparedness, he felt, was key.

It wouldn’t do at all to appear with the fishing spear again; surely that would be too obvious. No, let her think he trusted her, for now. The knife would do in a pinch if he kept his wits about him.

Could you really kill her, Ember? You had a chance to, remember?

He started:

Tap-tap-tap-tap-TAP!

She must have seen him move and knew he was awake. Slowly, very slowly, Ember opened his eyes and crawled out of bed, planting his feet on the floor and taking a deep breath to ground himself. He peered around the bed nook, toward the window, and swallowed once. Dew had collected along the lower panes, but through the dirt and dust and water droplets (and the cobwebs he hadn't bothered to sweep away) he could see a shadow behind the glass, peering in with one hand shading her eyes and the other, presumably, holding onto the windowsill.

When she saw him, she gave a little start of recognition and then dropped out of view. Light flooded the cabin in her absence. He heard grass rustling outside, and then the patter of bare feet on the flagstone and wooden step.

Rap-rap-rap came the knock on the door.

Holding his breath a moment longer, Ember sat on the edge of the bed and deliberated.

Her voice called out, muffled by the wooden planks. "Good morning, Ember."

Ember shivered.

"Is it?" he mumbled, getting up.

"It is!"

For me or for you?

Ember approached the door as one might approach a sleeping bear: with all due caution, and his hand on the knife beneath his shirt. "What do you want?"

There was a short pause. "I am liking to come in now, please."

"I have a question to ask you first," Ember insisted.

"Oh," she said, her voice shifting from impatient to curious. "What is it?"

"I would like to know…" Ember crouched down on the floorboards, somehow instinctively knowing that she had crouched on the other side. He stared at the door, imagining her big black eyes staring back at him; it wasn't difficult, now that he'd heard her voice again.

"Yes?"

"How many men have you eaten, exactly?"

A bird twittered in the trees over his cabin, but not so much as a creak came from the wooden stoop outside his door. She was silent for so long he began to wonder if she hadn't left altogether.

"Ember," she said, her voice wrapping itself around him like a warm blanket. "No harm will come to you. I already tell you this."

"So tell me more," he muttered, finding it rather difficult to enunciate the words. He clenched the knife-hilt. "How many people have you killed and eaten? Don't lie to me. I'll know."

An empty threat.

No doubt she could convince him of anything if she tried.

"None," she said at last, and his entire body relaxed at the word. "I have never killed any of your kind, Ember."

He had no way of knowing whether she had lied, but he would have to accept it or cower in his cabin for the rest of time. Or until she coaxed him out with her siren song. "Promise?"

After a moment she repeated, "I will not eat you."

Rising from his crouch, Ember glanced at the messy corner of the cabin, where all the hooks had been nailed into the wall and jars of edible goods shoved under fishing supplies and other odds and ends. He headed for the pile of cloaks he'd never mended. Once there he tossed them all aside, snatched the unopened bottle of red wine he'd frivolously purchased two years ago, and popped off the cork with his thumb.

Now was as good a time as ever.

He took three big gulps straight out of the bottle, enjoying the cooling sensation and the slightly bitter taste of fermented plums, and then stuffed the cork back into it with a sigh. Thumping it hard on the table as he walked past, Ember headed for the door. He lifted the block of wood that barred the way, set it aside, and flung the door open before he lost his courage.

A faint blur of motion caught his eye.

Ky Veli stood straight as a reed, her hands by her sides… but he had opened the door quickly enough to guess that she must have been playing with her hair.

She grinned at him. "Hello."

"…Hello." Ember waved her inside, trying not to let his eyes wander anywhere inappropriate. The jerkin had dark patches where water had seeped through, and it was obvious she had come out of the river and put on those clothes without bothering to dry off—and it had been a very short while ago. "Make yourself… at home."

Without a word Ky stole across the floor, leaving a trail of dark water stains behind her and no doubt accumulating some of the dirt and dried bits of grass that he habitually trailed in from the river. She seated herself in the same chair she had occupied the prior evening, and Ember meandered to the opposite side of the table, leaving the door wide open.

It made him feel slightly less cornered.

"So," he began, standing behind the other chair and resting his hands on the back of it. "What did you come here for? What do you want? You said you would tell me today."

"I have…" Ky hesitated, pressing her sticky fingers to the table and putting out her tongue for a moment. He suddenly noticed that she was eyeing the wine bottle. "…a proposition."

Ember stared at her. He could think of nothing to say or do, but watched in silence as Ky licked her lips and reached for the wine. She popped the cork out of the top, sniffed at it, and then dipped a finger in it.

A faint choking sound was all Ember could manage before Ky had stuck the finger in her mouth and was looking across the table at him. Her black eyes widened and she gave the finger a few more licks.

"I apologize," she said hesitantly, slowly sticking the cork back in the bottle. A faint wrinkle appeared between her slender eyebrows.

It was clear she did not know what, exactly, she was apologizing for.

Ember shifted awkwardly and pointed to one of the dusty wooden tumblers on the shelf behind him and slightly to his left. "If you want some, please use that."

Ky started to rise, but Ember had already reached out and snatched one, thumping it down on the table. "Sorry," he said, reddening. "What proposition…?"

"Oh!" Ky seemed to perk up considerably at his interest, but instead of answering directly, she delicately uncorked the bottle and began to pour. In that moment, he thought, she looked almost human in the face—perhaps because she was looking down, hiding her eyes.

He raised his eyebrows as she poured nearly the entire bottle's worth of wine into the cup, raised it to her lips, and took eight big gulps. Sighing, she set it down again and smiled at him, her lips gleaming cherry red. "That is delicious."

"I know," he said sourly.

The siren's fingers twitched in the general direction of the bottle. Ember briefly considered snatching it away, but clenched his fists under the table and swallowed hard as she uncorked it for a third time, poured in the rest, and drank it all in front of him.

A full week's wages. Gone…

Only when she had drained the very last drop did she wipe her mouth with the back of her hand, give a little one-note hum of satisfaction that sent goosebumps shivering across the back of Ember's neck and shoulders, and proceed with the conversation. "Are you ever going to the very tall mountain? It has two heads."

His stomach dropped to his shoes.

"The Sisters?" he murmured, all thoughts of the empty wine jar floating out the open door.

She continued to smile. "That is a good name for it. You are very witty."

"I didn't… I didn't make up that name." Ember faltered for a moment, every terrible story he'd ever heard about the Sisters tripping through his mind. "No. I've never been there. Why do you ask?"

"That is where we are going tonight."