The Siblin and the Siren

*

Winter glanced at her from the stairs. Whatever other sirens ate, this one ate like they did. But she hadn't found much, and she wasn't adding anything else to it. They were both surprised when she pulled out the knife from an alcove at the fire pit, but she didn't seem to think of it as a weapon, replacing it.

Winter began to look at her more closely. It was difficult to get past her beauty and look at her objectively. Yes, she was fragile. But it wasn't just that. He looked at her wrists, still red, her face, the too-defined jaw. She was thin, the kind of thin that came with not enough food.

He looked at Isidor, whose eyes were on her, seeing the same. Isidor got up, grabbing his pack, heading for the fire. She immediately abandoned her fish, going and sitting on a stump. Winter got up, getting his pack and going to the fire as well, pulling out food. He glanced at her. She was looking away.

They prepared food, Isidor getting a plate for her, including her fish, scraping off the black. She looked up

when he stood, standing up when he walked toward her. She took a step back. Isidor stopped, holding the plate out.

"It's for you," he said.

She looked at the food. Yes, she was hungry. She looked at Isidor's face. Isidor nodded, staying where he was, holding it out, but she wouldn't approach him. Isidor finally set it down on the ground, coming back to the fire. They looked away from her, eating themselves. When Winter looked up again she had the plate on her lap, eating with her fingers. She finished the whole thing.

"Where are the food stores, Soule?" Winter asked her. "Maren wrote he got supplies in Dorsa."

He didn't think she would answer, but she did after a moment, not looking at them, her voice curling through his gut, a little husky and soft.

"They were stored in the cave, but there was a ground shake. The rocks came and fell across the entrance. I couldn't move them."

"When?"

"Last summer."

If she truly only ate food like they did—Maren said so in his journal—then she had spent the last year alone on the island eating only what had been in the cabin, what she could forage or catch or grow, and he hadn't seen a hunting bow. Traps. Every day a search for enough to sustain her.

Winter glanced at her. She'd been hungry enough that her body told her to sleep after the meal, trying to conserve what she'd given it. Her shoulders drooped. She finally sat on the ground, putting the plate next to her, glancing at them. She fought her eyes open for awhile and leaned her head against the stump, her arms around her knees. When he glanced at her again, she was asleep.

Isidor met his eyes, getting up and moving toward her quietly. He stopped, squatting, not too close.

"Soule," he said.

She jerked awake, seeing him, blinking. She got to her feet quickly. Isidor didn't move, looking up at her.

"If you go in the cabin, we'll stay out here," Isidor said. "We won't come in."

She didn't say anything, but she went into the cabin. Too tired to do anything else, Winter thought. After awhile, Winter went and looked in. She was asleep on the pallet. He came back out, sitting with Isidor in front of the fire.

Isidor pulled Maren's journal from his pack, handing it to him. Isidor had already finished it. Isidor went and got her plate, setting it with the others to wash, sitting again, staring into the fire. Winter sat and read for awhile, feeling more and more like he had a rock sitting in his lower gut. In Maren's account, she was just a child. Sweet. A handful, playful and curious as Maren described her. Quiet. A little odd, yes. More than a little at times. But hardly a mindless flesh-eating hunter.

It was possible she'd been fooling Maren for twenty years, that she was trying to fool them now, a siren's trick, but it seemed like a long time to wait for a meal. And there were other things in Maren's journal that didn't match up with that idea at all. He handed the journal back and Isidor put it away in his pack.

"She didn't say so, but I'm guessing Maren's body is in that cave as well," Winter said heavily. "We'll have to dig it out if we can."

Isidor nodded, beginning to stack things, putting them away, his face grim. He and Isidor didn't need to say anything. Neither of them had ever hurt a woman, unimaginable. They were both remembering what they'd done to her, both thinking about what they would have done if they hadn't stopped to look at Maren's journal first.

"We can't leave her here," Isidor said quietly. "Maren gave her his Tal."

Winter sighed, running his hand through his hair.

"It doesn't mean she still can't sing us to death, you know," Winter said. "She is a siren."

Isidor gestured at the house.

"She's tender, Winter. You see that, right?"

"Of course I see it," he retorted irritably.

Isidor glanced at the door.

"The legends were right about one thing," Isidor muttered.

"She's difficult to look away from," Winter agreed as low.

*

Winter asked her to show them where the cave was. She didn't answer, just bringing them there. They set to work, digging out the boulders, the rocks far too heavy for her to lift. Isidor lifted and walked and dropped and Winter lifted and walked and dropped and they both did that again about a thousand times.

The siren stayed with them. She curled up on a rock with her legs tucked under her. She didn't meet their eyes. If they approached, she moved away. She would disappear briefly, but she always came back. She never spoke unless they asked her a direct question.

Winter had taken the necklace from his pocket and repaired the chain at the table that morning. He had walked to the siren. She started to move away, but he had shown it to her. She had gone still, her eyes on it and then on his face. He held it up so she'd know what he was doing, approaching her slowly. She didn't retreat, breathing faster. He reached, putting it around her neck and fastened it, returning Maren's Tal, the skin at her neck soft. She'd stayed very still, avoiding his eyes.

"I'm sorry I took it from you," he told her, stepping back.

She didn't say anything, but he saw her bringing her hand to the necklace several times that day, as if reassuring herself.

It was evening before Maren's body was outside the cave, wrapped in tarp. They lashed it with rope and built a travois. The next morning, Isidor took one end of the travois and he took the other. They carried him to the cove.

Winter glanced briefly at the siren, seeing her standing, a figure watching from the shore as they rowed the dinghy to The Wandering Eye with Maren's body still strapped to the travois, awkwardly lifting him with the ropes and setting him on the deck. There was lamp oil on The Singsong, but they found enough in Maren's hold. The flames shot up the rigging, both of them turning their heads to watch as they rowed.

When they got to shore, beaching the dinghy past the waves, they walked and sat on the beach, their shoulders touching, and watched Maren's launch. Winter looked around briefly. He didn't see the siren.

The Wandering Eye took the wind, her sails filling. Winter wished Maren well, his throat tight, comforting himself to imagine the joy of his reunion with Dane, his brother. With nobody at the helm, the ship went aimlessly, but she went, the flames licking up her sails. Winter said the prayer under his breath, hearing Isidor doing the same beside him. Neither of them heard it at first, both of them lost in thoughts of Maren, the sound blending with the sound of the waves.

Then they both realized, panic blooming through him. Winter covered his ears, staggering to his feet, Isidor doing the same beside him, knowing it was useless, knowing they were dead. Maren had been wrong about her. They had.

Winter located her with his eyes. She was standing high on the bluff overlooking the cove, her eyes on the sea. They'd never get to her in time. Her song rose clear, so beautiful, siren song, washing over him. He waited to feel it, to go mad. Her song filled his mind, not on the outside now. He could hear it clearly despite his hands over his ears, louder than the surf, over his own heavy breathing, hear it as if she were singing it directly into his ear.

Winter's breath choked, grief overwhelming him. Everything he felt was there, made into music, all his longing for the man who had been like a father to them, all their restless searching, all their love for him. There were no words to it. The grief swelled in him and then broke over him. He looked at his brother, the same reflected in Isidor's eyes.

Winter looked at her again, her figure so still, her eyes on the ship, slowly lowering his hands. He was still in control. He could move. He wasn't going mad, didn't feel any compulsion. Her song was sad, yes, but he had already been sad. Both of them were staring at her, listening. It didn't make them do anything. It was just beautiful.

Winter's eyes shifted, both of them turning to look where she did. Winter watched the orange flame that was shaped like a ship as it slowly collapsed. The melody was eerie, achingly lovely, unlike anything he'd ever imagined. She was saying goodbye. They heard the heavy crack of The Wandering Eye's mast tumbling, the final notes of the siren's song trailing away. When Winter looked up at the bluff again, she was gone.

Isidor sat down heavily on the sand. After a moment, Winter walked and sat down next to him. Winter rubbed his face with his hands. Siren song.

When they were ready, they got up wearily and made their way back. Winter went straight to the front door of the cabin and opened it. She was on her pallet, curled up, her back to them. Winter eyed her, going in, Isidor glancing her way, but she didn't move.

*

The next day they went through Maren's chest, all of a Siblin's private belongings kept there. Isidor was melancholy, looking at the familiar things. It was the way of Siblin, grieving, to talk about the dead, and they had memories of Maren that were fond and well worn by now, laughing at times. It was a relief to know, to grieve him for true after so long.

Both he and Winter were aware the siren listened from her pallet. She didn't say anything.

"What will we do with this?" Isidor said, picking up Maren's lyre.

Winter had never had any impulse to play. Isidor had picked it up briefly and lost interest, but Maren had cherished the instrument. The siren looked up and glanced at the lyre and then looked down again.

"Can you play, Soule?" Isidor asked her.

"Father taught me," she replied after a moment, answering his question, not looking at them.

Isidor blinked, glancing at Winter, who looked just as surprised. She was talking about Maren. Her father.

They should have realized she thought of him that way. It made sense. Maren had raised her. Isidor felt a stab of guilt. They'd come and taken Maren's body, performed the rite without really including her. It just hadn't occurred to them. Winter got up and took the lyre from him, bringing it to her.

Maren had left her his Tal, telling the world she was his daughter. By their traditions, she was adopted just like they were. It didn't matter that she was a siren, and they didn't know what that meant anymore, meeting her. She had as much right to these things as they did.

She looked up when Winter came toward her, looking at his face carefully when Winter offered it. She hesitated and then reached and took it from him. She put it on her lap, running her fingers along its surface, looking down at it.

"Thank you," she said quietly, surprising them both.

"If there's anything else you want—," Winter said, gesturing.

She shook her head, not looking at him. Winter came back over and picked up one of Maren's small carvings, fiddling with it, glancing at her.

*

Soule took down her hair from the braid and combed it, not looking at them, getting into her bed. She lay on her side with her eyes open. Winter and Isidor had been here for days. They'd launched her father. She was glad they'd stayed to do that. The cave was open. She had food now. Until she ran out, but it would last her a long time. There was no reason for them to stay.

Soon Isidor and Winter would get in their boat and row it to their ship and they would leave. She didn't think they would want her to come, and there was nowhere they could take her anyway, nowhere for her to go. She was a siren. A screecher. As soon as people recognized what she was, they would kill her.

Maybe that would be better.

Father was gone. Nobody else would ever love her like he had. She had thought once that Isidor and Winter might still come, imagined them living here with her or that they would take her away with them somewhere. She knew better now. They hated her like everyone else.

Soule felt her chest ache, panic rising in her, breathing fast, burying her face in the blanket, afraid they would hear it. She had to ask them. She couldn't endure the thought of being alone again.

*

Winter went out the front door in the morning, seeing Soule kneeling, making a fire. Her hair was down this morning, loose, her hands graceful. You didn't get used to her beauty. It surprised him every time he looked at her.

She glanced up as he passed, surprising him again.

He walked past her to the privy, coming out to walk and wash his face and hands at the river, sweeping the cool water through his hair, washing his teeth and mouth. He came back, walking again to get water in the bucket and returning, sitting down across the fire from her, putting water on to heat in a pan. She didn't get up, didn't move away like she usually did.

When the water was hot, he set about making cavash. Isidor came out, going past them. Isidor returned in awhile, taking the cup Winter handed him, nodding his thanks. She still hadn't moved. Isidor sat, glancing at her. To their surprise, Soule looked up at both of them. She looked down at her hands.

"Will you take me with you?" she asked low, not looking up.

They were both staring at her. It was the first time she'd talked to them, not just answering a question.

"I know I'm a siren, a screecher," she continued, still looking at her hands, her husky voice saying she didn't have much hope. "I won't sing again. I'll be quiet. Please don't leave me here."

"You're Maren's daughter," Winter replied. "You'll come with us if you want it. We wouldn't ever leave a person trapped in a place anyway. Not who hadn't harmed us."

She looked up. She seemed so surprised.

"You'll let me come with you?"

"The Singsong is the safest place for you," Isidor said. "Nobody boards her but that we know it. We won't let anyone hurt you."

"You're not a screecher, Soule," Winter said. "We're sorry we called you that, sorry we hurt you. You don't have to stay here alone."

It was going to be tricky. They couldn't keep her in their cabin for obvious reasons, and they couldn't exactly drop her off at a port either. They'd have to keep her in the hold, make a place for her, keep her secret. Find somewhere on land she could be, eventually, where she'd be safe. Wherever that was. She was still staring at him like she didn't quite believe it. Her gaze shifted to Isidor.

"You hated peas," she told Isidor.

"What?" Isidor said.

"You hated peas," she repeated.

Isidor blinked. She looked at Winter

"You broke your wrist," she told him in turn.

When they were boys. Maren must have told her those things. She got up. They watched her go. She turned around once and glanced back at them.

*

It was early morning. Soule had the bucket and was walking to the river, Isidor already waiting for water to heat over the fire. She watched Isidor take the length of rope, her head turning. He tied a rolling hitch, very fast, and then tugged, undoing it. She faced forward, walking.

"Do you want to try, Soule?" he called.

He'd noticed her watching. Soule stopped, looking at him again. She set down the bucket and came and knelt in front of him. She put her hands out. He handed her the rope. Her hands worked.

"A rolling hitch," he said when she was done, surprised.

She nodded and untied it, beginning again.

"Sheet bend."

She untied it and began again.

"Clove hitch," he said.

She shook her head, not done yet.

"Constrictor knot," he said, surprised again, and she nodded. "Maren taught those to you?"

She nodded, untying and handing him the rope. He tied another, looking at her. She frowned.

"What is it?" she asked him, leaning forward, looking at it in his hands.

"Another binding knot. Put your hand out."

She did. He put the gap of the rope on her wrist and pulled in one fast motion, closing it tight on her wrist, his eyes on her face. She watched how it worked, interested. He loosened it from her wrist, handing her the rope again.

"It's called a transom knot. Here. Begin the constrictor knot. Stop there," he said, taking her hand and showing her where to push the end through.

His hands were gentle and warm, giving her a fluttery feeling in her belly. She finished the knot. She looked up, pleased. He smiled back and then his smile faded, his eyes intense. She was suddenly aware how close they were, her heart going faster. She looked down at the rope. She untied it, handing the rope back to him. He took it, his fingers brushing hers, his eyes still on her face.

She stood up and walked back to the bucket, picking it up and continuing to the river. She glanced back once. He was still watching her.

*

Winter sat on the stairs, his leg crooked against the far rail. They had barrels of Dorsan wine in the hold, but it could wait, nowhere they had to be. They had decided to stay a couple weeks at the island. It would give them time to plan.

There hadn't just been food stores in the cave under the canvas. The goods that Maren had come here to retrieve twenty years ago were there as well, presumably where Dane had hidden them.

The silks were ruined, were probably ruined before Maren came here, but there was a small pouch of jewels that hadn't suffered any, a wealth of gold coins from various ports, different shapes and stamps, and, to their surprise, a small sealed jar of saffron, a fortune. No wonder Maren had wanted to come back here.

Winter's eyes shifted as Soule came out of the front door to the cabin, her thick red braid over her shoulder. She looked so pretty, like springtime, her cheeks flushed lightly. It was difficult not to look at her. She glanced at him from under heavy lashes, honey eyes. She looked away.

He didn't think she knew that she did that, what it signaled to a Siblin. Winter rose to his feet, staying where he was so she had to touch him to get down the stairs. She turned sideways, leaning back, brushing against him. He didn't move, watching her face. Aware of him, yes, and not fear. His eyes followed the little siren down the stairs. No, he didn't think she knew at all.

*

Isidor dove into the water, the pool deep under the fall. It was cool, wonderfully cool, the day blazing hot and sticky. They kept their pants on for Soule's sake, the linen clinging to them so they might as well be naked. She was on her back on a rock, her dress still wet from swimming, both of them stealing glances when she got out, the cloth clinging to her, her face turned toward them.

Her hair was down and had dried all around her, unbelievably silky and thick and wavy, so much of it, the dark, rich red vivid against the rock, and wasn't that arousing. The outline of her breasts rose high in the damp material, her knees up.

Isidor swam toward her. Her eyes followed him as he approached, honey color, shining in the light. He stopped and flicked water at her. It landed by her shoulder.

Soule's brows crooked, her head coming up, glancing where the water had landed. Isidor flicked it again, water landing on her this time, across her leg. Soule looked at his face. He grinned. She eyed him, heavy lashes, and then her lips twitched slightly. She would play. Isidor swam closer. She was watching him. She sat up quickly, scrambling back as he pushed all the water he could, a great wave of it coming out and landing just where she had been.