The Siblin and the Siren

back around it. Winter looked. Its teeth were like theirs. No sharp points. He flexed his hand, still feeling the imagined threat.

"Tie its hands in front," Winter said.

Isidor quickly wrapped her hands in rope and tied them tight.

"Why are we doing this?" Isidor said in a low voice, tying the last loop, obviously trying not to touch it too much, leaving a lead that he put in his fist as he stepped back, his face showing disgust again. "It's a screecher. There may be more on the island. Let's kill it, see if we can find Maren's journal, and get out of here."

"I want to question her."

Isidor made a face at him.

"How can we question a siren, Winter? It's mindless, a killer. I doubt it reasons or talks, and the moment it opens its mouth we're dead."

"With a knife to its throat."

Isidor looked at him doubtfully. Winter was doubtful himself. It was a risk. It probably wouldn't work. The anger swept through him again. They deserved to know after they'd searched for so long. And the thing he held in his arms had killed Maren. He wanted to try.

He held Isidor's eyes, letting him know that.

"You're so stubborn, Winter," Isidor accused, agreeing to it.

"Here we go," Winter muttered.

Winter simultaneously pushed the siren away and grasped her upper arm tightly, his fingers practically touching around her limb, bringing her up short. He hauled her up onto her feet, his hand gripping her hard.

They both stared at her. He could see it clearly now, didn't know how he could have missed it. No sharp teeth, but otherwise she looked like the legends described. A siren. She was strange, strange and so beautiful. Everything desirable. It looked like a woman, smelled like one. Felt like one under the dress.

In all the lore, sirens were mimics. They were predators, always hungry, hollow and mindless shapes of women that drew men and drove them mad and then ate their flesh, sometimes not in that order. They boarded ships and left vessels drifting empty, dragging their victims into the sea, down to the depths.

Winter set his eyes away, trying not to look at it too much.

They brought it to the small bamboo cabin, set high, a tall, sharply sloped grass roof almost touching the ground on either side, a porch with stairs leading up, crude hacked poles and lashing. There was a river not far, a sagging line with a blanket hanging on it, a garden. In front of the stairs leading to the door of the cabin there was a pit for fire, a great tree with low hanging branches, an arbor built into it for shelter from the weather, now failing, shell chimes and feathers hanging from it that twirled in the wind, making a pleasant sound.

This remote cabin had most likely been Maren's home. Somebody had lived here recently. Not the siren, obviously. There was a garden, not much, but someone was tending it. Signs of a recent fire in the pit.

"Nobody was here?" Winter said, puzzled.

"I yelled, but I was in a hurry," Isidor answered, his eyes also scanning the camp, uneasy.

They would look around in awhile. Winter brought it under the tree as Isidor tossed the excess rope over a low limb. Isidor stepped back, pulling. Her arms rose above her head. Soon the siren was hanging, on her tiptoes, swinging. Isidor tied the rope off as Winter came around, both of them staring at it.

She was trying to find her balance, losing it again. Winter looked at her face. It was difficult to see past her beauty, difficult not to feel badly for her. He didn't doubt its fear was real. Winter drew his knife. The siren made a sharp noise, straining away from him, its strange pale eyes going to his face.

Winter approached it cautiously, still nervous even with it bound and gagged. He reached with his other hand for her hair, digging in and getting a good handful. It was silky and thick. What he and Isidor used to call grabbing hair when they were young and being crude. He brought himself closer, getting control of her. She even smelled good, somehow clean and under that the sweetest musk.

Winter made his fingers snug, wary, pulling its head back, holding the siren steady. He put the knife to its throat. They wouldn't take the gag off yet. He wanted to see if it spoke any language before they risked that.

"Do you understand me?" he said in the Dorsan language.

Isidor made a small scoffing noise. Winter did feel a little stupid for trying to talk to it, but he was determined to know anyway.

It looked at him blankly. He tried again, cycling through all the languages he knew, watching its eyes carefully. Beautiful eyes, uptilted, the color like amber, like light through thick honey, long tangled lashes, her brows sweeping and high. Winter blinked, feeling himself becoming fascinated, clenching his teeth, his skin crawling again, trying another language. It took awhile.

No sign of recognition, no sign she knew any language. Just blank. A mindless hunter, eyes as flat as a shark, just existing to eat. Winter felt a stab of disappointment, although he wasn't surprised. He hadn't really expected it to talk. He felt another wave of disgust. There was no reason to keep it alive then. It had killed Maren. His hand tightened on the knife.

"Maybe it only speaks siren," Isidor said, making a joke, because Isidor was never serious at important times.

Its eyes shifted to Isidor when he spoke, the spark Winter had been looking for.

It had done that when he and Isidor were talking before, reacting like it knew what they said. He could swear it understood Isidor. That wasn't possible, never mind that she was a siren. All Siblin learned multiple languages, but they didn't teach their language to those who weren't Siblin.

"I'm going to kill it now," Winter said in Siblin, on impulse, flat and casual, the same inflection in his voice Isidor had just given.

Its eyes went straight to his, widening, the siren struggling again.

"You understand Siblin?" Winter said incredulously.

He tightened his grip on her hair. He must be wrong.

"My brother is going to take the gag off so you can answer my questions," Winter said slowly in Siblin, watching its eyes. "If you sing, if you even hum, I'll cut your throat."

He looked at its face. No change. He was wrong.

"Nod if you understand me," Winter said, waiting, feeling stupid again.

It made a brief motion, nodding. Winter stared.

"It understands?" Isidor exclaimed beside him, Winter feeling the same sense of shock.

It knew language? Winter stared at it more, looking into its eyes carefully. He finally turned his head, glancing at his brother. Isidor came and slowly loosened the knot on the gag behind its head. Winter felt his back tense. Isidor slowly drew the cloth away from its mouth, both of them ready. Winter held the blade. One swipe and he'd open the siren's throat, silencing her forever.

"Where did you get that necklace?" Winter said to it when the gag was off, still feeling a little foolish talking to it, asking it questions. "Where is Maren?"

Her lips parted. Winter tightened his hand on the knife at her throat. She closed her mouth.

"Answer!" he demanded.

Nothing. It probably couldn't. They'd know before they were done. Winter's eyes went to her fragile jaw, her collarbone, lower.

"Do it," Winter said.

Winter held her hair tightly, held the knife steady at her throat as Isidor stepped forward and cut the top of the dress straight down, cutting the sleeves. The whole garment fell to her feet, revealing her body, naked under it, no undergarments. Winter kept the knife to her throat, surprised, looking down at her, a surge of hot lust going through his lower belly.

Sirens were always represented mostly naked, or in sheer veils or white rags, indifferent to clothing. This one was no different, the dress a shapeless lump of cloth. But under it.

She was delicate in her shoulders and wrists, yes, she was also curvy. Her breasts were full and firm and high, jutting, her large nipples a dark, dusky red color. Winter's eyes traveled down. She was a little thin, her belly sweet, tiny waist, rounded hips under that, so pleasing, squirming to keep her balance, a small patch of dark red hair. Beautiful legs. She certainly wasn't part bird or fish, unless she had another form.

But it was that skin, too, that remarkable coloring redheads sometimes had, luminous. She had freckles on her shoulders. Winter's crotch was tight, his belly tense. She was so erotic. He wanted to touch her just to see if she was as soft as she looked. A beautiful empty shell of a woman.

"Sága," Isidor muttered beside him.

Winter agreed. Their ability to reach their pleasure might be limited, but their Siblin desires were unaffected. Like all the Elder races, Siblin didn't take a woman against her will, not ever. He wasn't sure a siren counted, but the interdiction held. Neither of them could touch her. The idea was disgusting anyway. Arousing, but it gave him a small shudder to imagine a mindless creature under him, staring up at him with that blank gaze. They shouldn't touch her any more than they had to.

Winter looked at the necklace around its throat, Maren's mark, his eyes narrowing. He released her hair and reached, the knife steady at her throat, snatching it off her neck with a strong jerk, the chain breaking, shoving it in his pocket and taking her hair again. She closed her eyes.

"Answer me or he'll cut you," Winter said.

She didn't respond, her eyes still closed. Isidor came to his side, putting the knife on her belly, turning it, letting her feel the cold steel of the flat of the blade. That got its attention. Her eyes flew open, finding Isidor's. Isidor let the knife dig in, turning the blade on its edge, beginning to cut her.

They both reacted when the siren cried out, the first sound it had made, too much like singing. Winter released her hair abruptly and clapped his hand over her mouth as Isidor lifted the knife away from it with a sharp motion, Winter's hold on the knife at her throat wavering when her body moved away from him on the ropes. Winter's heart was pounding, grabbing her waist, getting her swaying under control. Her skin was soft, yes. Stupid. That had been stupid. They should have gagged it first.

Even if it understood what they said, he doubted it could talk anyway. He slowly pulled his hand off its mouth, his knife securely at her throat again.

"Maren is dead," she panted out in Siblin.

Winter stared. He really hadn't expected it to speak. Watching its mouth move, hearing the words surprised him, unsettled him. He looked in her eyes again, searching. Her voice was husky, soft, sending a thrill through him that went straight to his cock, arousing and disgusting him more. But it knew Maren's name.

"Did you kill him?" Winter demanded.

She began to shake her head and then stopped, the knife too close. She swallowed.

"No."

He didn't believe her for a moment.

"How did he die?"

"He fell and a branch pierced his side. Poison got into the wound. He got a f-fever," she said.

Winter was staring at her again. He'd never imagined them talking.

"Where did you get Maren's necklace?"

Her eyes shifted between them.

"He gave it to me."

"It's lying," Isidor said, stepping to Winter's side again, flipping his knife once in his palm. "Let me work on it. We'll take off the gag when it wants to tell the truth."

"Please, I'm not—," she said.

"Are there more sirens on the island?" Winter interrupted her.

Isidor was right. They couldn't trust her answers. They couldn't trust anything about her.

"No."

Winter nodded at Isidor. Isidor stepped forward with the gag in his hands, the siren resisting, and shoved it past her lips and into her mouth, retying it tightly.

Winter lowered the knife from its throat. They both stepped away from her, breathing hard with reaction. Blood from the nick under its ribs dripped a little. Winter looked at the cabin. Let the siren think about it, if they did think. They would see what was in the cabin, see if there was any sign of Maren, and then get

it to answer their questions.

It wasn't just about them anymore, or about Maren. Siblin used the Brecca Islands, most relatively uninhabited, too remote from other land. Siblin stored goods there, careened their ships for maintenance, met each other. If screechers had started to hunt the islands, Siblin needed to know that. The siren could talk. She'd tell them the truth in the end.

"I'll see what's in there," Isidor said.

Winter walked to the porch, waiting at the bottom of the stairs, keeping an eye on the siren. Both eyes. He stared at her delicate shoulders, tiny waist, the flare of her hips, beautiful ass, round and plump, dimples at the base of its back.

He had talked to a siren—a siren—and it had answered him, had seemed to reason. It wasn't just parroting words. That didn't seem possible. He stared at it. It made it more evil somehow, less like a mindless thing acting on instinct. A sound came from inside the cabin, a dull thump, and he looked at the door, Isidor coming out quickly, clattering down the stairs.

"I don't know who's using it now, but this was Maren's cabin before she killed him. His journal was in his chest, sitting right on top. The cabin is full of his things."

All Siblin kept a journal. It would hold the answers they wanted.

"Open it," Winter said impatiently, looking over his shoulder.

Isidor unwrapped the trailing leather binding. He found the page they wanted. It was dated Ferin, 34, Y989, twenty years ago, that summer when Maren had disappeared. They both looked at Maren's handwriting, recognizing it.

*

- - I didn't want to bring Winter and Isidor so close to the Brecca Straight, that treacherous passage, but Dane had hidden goods on Nanine and my boys were old enough now that I could take the risk of retrieving them. So I came here alone, leaving my boys in Dorsa, knowing I would only be away a few weeks.

I had made this passage twice before, relying on luck. But this time, before I had gotten far into the strait, I saw the siren. She hadn't seen me yet. She was walking behind the rocks. I was desperate, knowing I only had moments before she saw me and began to sing. I got my bow and I shot at it with an arrow. The shot was lucky, flying very far. I saw the arrow strike the siren. I heard it cry out.

Maybe it was because it sounded so much like a real woman. To this day I still don't know why, but I took the dinghy to those terrible black rocks, walking through the bones of the dead men there, and I found her.

The arrow had struck her in the side but she wasn't dead yet, blood coming from her mouth. I went to her. She was broken and beautiful, more beautiful than any woman I had ever seen before, her red hair spilling over the black rocks. I sat beside her and lifted her head. It was like she was trying to tell me something. Her teeth were like ours. Her eyes were light like amber, like honey, like the legends. She didn't look evil, and I was struck with remorse, although I knew it was a siren.

When she died, a child came from behind the rocks, no more than three or four years old. The child ran to her and began to cry tears like a real girl-child. It was so pretty, dark red hair. I cannot begin to describe the pity and horror I felt to see it, so very beautiful in its illusion. I didn't know what to do. I couldn't bring myself to kill something so young, even knowing what it was.

I got back in the dinghy, intending to return to The Wandering Eye, to leave her there. But a small child couldn't have survived alone, and as much as I tried to tell myself she was not as she seemed, only the shape of a child, that she was a siren, a mindless hunter that would eventually sing men to their deaths and add to the carnage all around me, the bones of the dead breaking under my boots even as I got out again and picked her up, as much as I knew that she would probably be my death, poisonous as she was, I couldn't abandon her to such a fate...- -

*

Winter met Isidor's eyes. Isidor turned to look at the siren.

"You don't think..." Isidor said, trailing away.

"Maren kept it?" Winter said in disbelief.

Obviously Maren had brought it to Nanine, succumbing to the young siren's power, and the siren had gotten hungry. That's how it had gotten on the island. They didn't have to worry that sirens were expanding their territory. There was only this one. Maren had brought it here, trapping it, and it had killed him and then almost killed the sons who came to look for him.

Winter looked at the siren again. They had the information they needed. They could kill it now. Isidor turned the pages, sentences leaping out at them.

-It doesn't appear to speak any language or even to know that I am speaking one. I am not sure that it reasons...-

No surprise there, although evidently it had learned some. Isidor skipped several pages.

-She is learning the Siblin language, although it's difficult for her, as if spoken language is not something she has heard before. Sometimes if I speak too fast she shakes her head and puts her hands over her ears like I am being noisy...-

-She was humming today, but it was only about the rain. I know because I saw the rain in my mind, listening to her, but when I looked up the sky was clear...-

Isidor skipped more pages.

-I woke when Soule was crying in her sleep. She told me she dreamed of fire raining from the sky. I think that she remembers her mother. She can never know what I have done.-

Winter made a face. Maren had named it. Isidor turned the page and then another, and another, finally flipping the pages rapidly. They saw writing, more writing, both of them scanning, reading, realizing, Winter's disbelief growing. Maren had lived with it here for years.

-Soule is growing so fast. I think she is seven or eight now. I can't believe I ever thought her a monster. I love her like she is my own child. Siblin can never know about her. Nobody can know except for Isidor and Winter. I miss them every day, but she is too young for me to leave and I don't dare take her past the straight. Someday, when Soule is older, I will send my sons a message so they will find us. I know I would be proud if I could see them now...-

Winter frowned at the journal. Isidor turned pages and more pages. Another sentence caught Winter's attention, dated nine years ago. He put his finger on it, stopping Isidor, drawing his eye. They read.

-I left Soule alone and took The Wandering Eye across the straight, as I will have to come back through those black rocks to return to her. I am terrified something will happen to her while I am gone, or happen to me. She is only fourteen or so, too young to be alone, but I can't wait any longer. She is safer here in the valley. I have told her that if I don't return she is to stay on the island, although her existence will be so lonely I don't know if she will be able to endure it. She can't go into the world alone. They will kill her or worse, she has grown so beautiful. She looks like her mother, but I can't tell her that. I must get a message to Isidor and Winter so they can find us...-

Winter glanced up at the siren, frowning at her now. Winter looked down as Isidor searched for the last page with writing on it, the rest of the journal blank. Winter felt another stab of grief. It would join the Siblin archives in Minsk, the Library of the Siblin Dead, containing the journals of all Siblin who had gone before, going back a thousand years. The writing was spidery, faint.

-The wound in my side has festered. I am fevered. I slipped on the slope coming back into the valley and fell on a branch with a sharp limb. It was just a stupid accident, carelessness, but it punctured my gut.-

The siren had been telling the truth about how Maren had died.