SONG of EMBER

8

KY VELI

🙜

Glossy bluish lips curled upward.

“Friend,” she declared, lifting her words from a whisper to a gentle speaking tone. Then she touched a finger to her forehead. “You are well?”

“I… don’t know,” said Ember honestly. He tried to relax his grip on the fishing spear, but his fingers would not loosen. And then he uttered the first stupid words that popped into his head. “Are you real?”

Her lips curled further and she tilted her head, possibly in confusion. It was impossible for Ember to interpret any emotion which might lie behind her bulbous eyes.

“Friend,” she repeated simply.

He blinked at her, stupefied.

The sirena’s gaze flicked over him for a few moments before she turned away, relieving him of that black stare, which he found, in equal measure, both soulful and soulless.

“Do you not…”

Ember watched in silence, enthralled by every fluid movement as she reached out and plucked a small blue stone from the rickety table.

“...give me this?” she finished, her eyes dark as pitch and shimmering with little tinges of forest green.

“I—” Ember clenched the spear, tongue-tied and frantically wondering what sort of trouble he had gotten himself into. It had seemed a daring game to him, a mere diversion, though at the time he had not realized just how daring… Had he known he would awaken to one of the river folk standing at his stoop, he might not have encouraged her.

You would have, Ember; you would have.

“I did! Of course—of course I did.” Ember swallowed hard. “Thank you—uh, for the—uh… for the fish. And the berries. And the… everything else.”

“You keep my gifts.” She pointed one slim finger at the windowsill, where he hoarded all his treasures from the river. Her eyes gleamed.

Ears burning, Ember shrugged and made no reply.

“Gifts,” mused the sirena, examining the stone, “mean friends. Or I misunderstand?”

“No! I mean, yes… friendship…” He took a step forward, unsure of himself. Surely, he thought, even the most insatiable of sirens did not make a habit of eating their friends. “I consider it an honor.”

His voice cracked on the last word, and Ember felt the flush spread to the rest of his face.

Don’t listen to her—she’s come to devour you! You should never have set that trap. Never put that stone on the stoop.

The sirena took one of the greens from the basket—he recognized it as the chickweed which grew bountifully in his neglected garden—and thoughtfully bit off the end of it. One ear twitched again. She was still staring at him, with an expression so reminiscent of hunger that Ember almost made a rush for the door.

“Your nest I like.”

Bewildered, he cleared his throat. “What?”

She blinked at him, a very slow blink, and swallowed the end of the leaf. “Your nest,” she enunciated. “It is a good nest. Warm, food.”

Ember’s eyes wandered the cabin, uncomprehending.

Pointing at the wall where he stored his imperishable goods from town, she explained, “I taste that sticky stuff which smells of flowers. It is delicious.”

With a sinking feeling, Ember noticed the glass jar he kept tucked behind his spare cordage: the lid had been replaced, but the jar was almost empty. There was a bit of golden stickiness left in the bottom, but it had been half full that morning, for he used it sparingly.

“...my honey.”

“Yes, honey,” she said, with a relish that made Ember imagine she was saying that particular word for the very first time. The ethereal thief popped the last cluster of leaves into her mouth and blinked her long-lashed eyes again, chewing contentedly.

A small part of Ember, buried beneath an overwhelming infatuation and layers of hazy half-thoughts, wanted to be angry. First this ravenous intruder had robbed his nets, and now his larder—and betwixt the two offenses she had invaded his home and chased him into the woods! She might as well have bashed him over the head with that rock herself.

But as he stared at this vision from the river munching his garden greens, it occurred to Ember that it was a very good thing she’d eaten the honey instead of him. And whether he was under some sort of siren enchanting or in his right mind, befriending the creature would be in his best interests regardless.

So instead, he asked, “How do you know my name?”

“Ah!” Her gaze flashed back to him—he thought, for the whites of her eyes showed briefly and she turned her head in his direction. “You speak often, and to no one.”

She smiled again, and he became aware of how thin that smile was. Almost strained, though not hostile, as if she were putting some thought toward maintaining the expression.

A faint gesture toward the basket.

“Sit and eat. I gather them for you. I am thinking you will be hungry when you wake.”

“Are you always hungry when you awaken?” Ember guessed. His stomach grumbled, as if to punctuate his wry remark.

“Always,” she assured him, smiling wider than before. “Sit and eat.”

He wavered, and then pulled out the nearest of the two chairs, spear firmly in hand.

“I could hardly sit and leave a woman standing…”

Ember’s reasoning was twofold: first that it was only fair to treat this creature with all the decency of a human woman, at least until he was certain of its nature and intentions. But secondly—and, he would have been ashamed to admit, primarily—because it would give him the strategic advantage to remain afoot as long as possible in case his worst fears proved true.

But the river dweller had no such reservations and plopped into the chair with a readiness that shocked Ember.

“Thank you,” she crooned, her black eyes darting all around the cabin as if she were viewing it for the first time.

Aware that she had far less reason to fear him than he did to fear her, but still somewhat embarrassed, Ember walked around the table and pointedly leaned the spear against the wall.

After an uncomfortably long pause, he pulled the other chair away from the table. It made an overly obnoxious scraping squeak.

Silence followed.

They stared at one another for a few more seconds before Ember cautiously took his seat. Her black bulging eyes were only slightly less astounding than they had been at first glance: each time her gaze shifted, they startled him anew.

She pointed. “Eat.”

Ember reached into the basket, retrieved a stem of chickweed (which he now realized had been doused in river water), and bit into it almost before the word had left her mouth. He was startled and a little alarmed at how compelled he felt to please her at that one simple word. A part of him was still prepared to dart out the door at a moment’s notice.

He found her a disturbing contradiction: something that was, and yet almost certainly should not be. But an overwhelming majority of the thoughts and emotions which floated through his mind were of how he could manage to keep her in his sight as long as possible…

If that meant eating an entire basket of chickweed, so be it.

“Why are you here?” he asked around a full mouth. “I mean, why now? I called out to you once. Why didn’t you show yourself earlier?”

She plucked one of the flowers from the basket with two fingers and twirled the stem.

“I like you,” she said. “But I am not wishing to frighten you.”

Ember’s heart thumped hard, and he almost choked.

I like you.

He wanted to ask her why.

What about him did she like?

But that would seem awfully conceited, so Ember refrained from indulging his curiosity. “Well, you did.”

“I am sorry for it.” She paused to swallow and immediately popped the flower into her mouth. Her voice being muffled by half-chewed leaves made it slightly less intimidating. “I have never spoken to your kind.”

“Really?” Ember dropped his hand to the table and stared in awe. “None?”

Her lashes fluttered.

“None at all. You are the very first man I am meeting.” She smiled coyly at him, reaching into the basket for another leaf. “And I am very pleased to be meeting you… Ember.”

“Um, yes—I mean, thank you—I’m pleased to meet you as well.”

I hope.

Was she lying? Was it true? Did she merely hope to catch him off his guard later on? If that was her plan, why hadn’t she killed him when he was unconscious? And most importantly, was it better to state these fears now or play at ignorance?

As if his fears were written on his face, the sirena’s eyes moved away from him, toward the ceiling, and a faint wrinkle appeared between her sparse black brows. She chewed more vigorously.

“No harm will come to Ember.”

As if that would convince him.

Still, the words possessed a certain earnest quality which half-convinced him of their truthfulness. And that would have to be good enough for the present; for all Ember knew, he could still be dreaming… or perhaps even now he was already adrift within her siren song.

They ate in silence for what seemed an age and a half, Ember chewing loudly and the sirena chewing softly, and one or the other of them reaching into the basket for another leaf now and then. Their fingers brushed—quite by accident. Ember flinched. Her skin was cool and slimy to the touch.

She was not human.

Not human in the least.

Their strange shared silence was broken only once, when the sirena licked her lips and Ember caught a glimpse of an elongated, pointy tooth. He froze, once more the cony in the grass, powerless before a hungry fox.

The sirena froze in the same instant, big eyes fastened on his and her purple tongue sticking out slightly, mid-lick. Then she closed her mouth and offered another tight smile. He suddenly understood why that smile had seemed so forced and so thin. She pressed her lips together, keeping them only slightly upturned at the corners, but now that he knew what to look for he could see the two faint lumps of hidden fangs.

And he found the facade more off-putting than the fangs themselves.

“You have a lovely smile,” he stammered suddenly, a cold drop of sweat trickling between his shoulders.

Her eyes glimmered and she grinned again—a decidedly carnivorous grin. Ember managed a faint smile in return, quelling a bit of nausea with a dry swallow, and nothing more was said.

❧

The river burbled distantly through the open door, and as the evening shadows grew longer outside, the birdsongs shifted accordingly. Doves cooed quietly in the trees along the water’s edge, as well as a few habitual night flyers whose names he did not know.

Most of the hours that passed were spent appraising one another—he and the creature from the river—and that flowery fragrance which had seemed so pungent at first gradually faded to a pleasant lingering scent, like sweet wood. As he stared, her appearance grew more and less unsettling by turns.

At last an owl hooted across the river—a familiar sound, but one which never failed to send a shiver down his spine—and they broke eye contact as he glanced toward the door.

“I will return,” said the sirena abruptly, as if the owl had signaled her to depart.

“Wait!” Ember pushed back the chair, standing up in alarm. “You haven’t even… we haven’t…”

He wasn’t sure what they ‘hadn’t even,’ but she seemed so content to sit in mutual silence that he scarcely knew anything of her—or, more importantly, her intentions.

“I will return tomorrow,” she repeated, jutting out her chin and rising from the chair. She fished the last leaf from the basket and shoved it all into her mouth, her left cheek bulging like a chipmunk’s. “You are an excellent host.”

“Why did you come here?” Ember demanded, waking from his stupor and impulsively grabbing the spear. “Why did you decide you wanted to be my ‘friend’? And why did you—why did you break into my house today?”

If the sirena was shamed by his accusation, she did not show it.

“I do not break things. I am here to introduce myself,” she announced calmly, brushing her fingers on her trousers. “I apologize for any alarm.”

She looked down while she spoke, and it occurred to Ember that perhaps she had been apprehensive about approaching him herself. She seemed somewhat aware of men and their habits, and surely would not have assumed she could walk into an open doorway uninvited.

Though she had helped herself to his larder.

“To speak of friendship, we are friends from many days before, are we not? As to the rest, all shall be made clear tomorrow. I do not want to be the reason for further upset today.”

The rest?

“Make it clear now,” he insisted. “After everything that’s happened, you at least owe me that.”

“Tomorrow.” She was already sauntering toward the door, her feet padding softly on his floorboards.

“Wait, wait, um—” Ember hastily rounded the table, trying to think of an excuse to keep her there just a few moments more. “You have a name, don’t you?”

“My name is Ky Veli,” she said, reaching the doorsill. She crossed over it and stood just outside on the rotting wooden step, exactly where she had been when he first glimpsed her that afternoon. “But I am permitting you to call me Ky.”

“Ky,” Ember repeated, grinning helplessly.

One sonant, and a rather savage one at that. He liked the way it felt on his tongue, and the sound of it—though his own voice may as well have been the rasping of a mortar and pestle after the sirena’s airy speech.

She must have appreciated the sentiment, at least, for she returned his grin before leaping off the stoop and disappearing around the corner of the cabin.

Ember rushed to the doorsill, desperate for one last look.

The tall grass swayed beside the path and a recently startled bird fluttered into a nearby tree, but there was no trace of the pale fish-woman. Disappointed, he glanced down at the wooden stoop, his eye drawn by shifting shadows and evening rays of sun. Something was glowing in a leafy patch of shade and he gazed at it for a moment, enchanted.

A small stone sat on the rotting wood.

Within it swirled a soft yellow light, awakening distant memories and begging him to touch…

Ember reached for the stone, suddenly six years old again. He fumbled, but picked it up and turned it over in work-roughened hands. It was smooth and cool. The gem cast a golden glow on each of his cupped fingers and he held his breath, remembering. It wasn’t the same stone he had encountered so many years ago, but it bore a striking resemblance. Prompted by a sudden spark of unease, he moved to the right edge of the step and craned his neck, peering around the cabin.

Through the smattering of leaves he could just barely see the two snowy peaks of Sisters Mountain staring imperiously out across the valley, heedless of the forests and rivers that gathered at their feet.

Disquieted, Ember set the stone back on the stoop and hurried inside.

Let the sirena keep it.

He wanted no part of that mountain.