“Guide my mother to her rest. Care for my brother who followed her, succumbed to the rot. May the seas be calmed and purified. May the Eversea become an ocean that can be home to joy and peace.” When he has finished, he holds his hand before me. A single dot appears on my shoulder that encompasses his whole song, then he eases away.
The next one to approach is a young woman. Just like the young man that came before her, she clasps her fingers in front of herself and bows her head before she begins to sing.
“May our fields be blessed with warm, clean tides. May the wraiths not haunt our shores. May the rage in your heart, Lord Krokan, finally calm.”
Her markings appear on me as a different color—on the backs of my hands. When she meets my eyes a final time, I hold her gaze. There’s something almost familiar about her…
She releases me and the next person approaches.
The sirens and their private songs, sung only for me, are seemingly endless. One after another, they come before me. They sing their desperate verses tinged with sorrow and longing. Their touch hovers above me, and with a single finger they bestow the weight of all their hopes on my shoulders.
It is crushing.
They all are desperately awaiting—begging for—the day when they hear those sweet words,It’s all right, you don’t have to worry any longer. You are safe.
I want to tell them as much. What little hope I can wring from these tired bones of mine, I want to give. I begin to quietly hum in response to them as they sing. Then I begin to sing louder, with them. I don’t say any words, nor do I try and imbue any intent. This is their moment. I do not wish to take it away from them. Rather, I want to harmonize in solidarity. The only thing I would wish to say, if I said anything at all, would be,I hear you. I see you.
The hours drag on. One after another they come to me. I am painted over, and over, and over again by their voices. My body feels as though it has truly vanished into every blur of color and sound. Any discomfort I could have felt at all the strangers touching me leaves with my physical awareness.
There is just our solemn song. This prayer we share.
My send-off.
And then all at once, the room is quiet. My body returns to me slowly. I blink up at the ceiling, at the ghostly trees that stretch down toward me like the hands of Lellia herself, reaching out to embrace her living children. My chin follows the movement of my eyes, dropping. I don’t remember tilting my head back in song. Nor do I remember this man with the strange melody that thrums in time with his heart as he approaches.
But now he hovers before me. One steady look from him and the world comes crashing back to me.
I want again. I feel again. The memory ofhimlingers on me, grounding me here in this place. Just as they all warned it would. He is my tether to this world and will always be. I know that immutable truth in my soul.
But instead of causing strife, it cements my conviction. He has become the single representation of everything I still have to fight for. I might not remember every man or woman who came before me and sang. But I will rememberhim. Even in the farthest reaches of the Abyss, where the sunlight has never touched, when all else fades away…there will be the light he has placed in my heart. The happiness and joy I had long since written off ever feeling again.
But what is his name?The question burns my mind as he sings for me, for what I know will be the final time. He reaches out and drags a finger through the water, drawing on my body without touching. He does the same with his left hand. And then his right again. And again. And again.
The song starts out soft and lonely, just as it always has been. But I can finally hear words in it.
I hear the story of a boy trying to be worthy of the title that has befallen him. Of a people he fears for. The grief of seeing his home…and his mother…fading away.
His story shifts into the present, and his voice shifts with it. There are trills of happiness, of sustained notes. He has met someone in this tale that he weaves with sound and there has never been a happier voice. A more joyous refrain. I don’t know if he sings only for my ears, but I am too enthralled to worry about the rest of them.
Sing for me,my heart says.One last time, sing for me.
Sing for me,he seems to echo, just as he had all those months ago.
And so I do.
I raise my voice in tandem with his. He extends his hands to me and I take them, trembling slightly. We swim above the gathered sirens, up through an opening in the ceiling that was obscured by the anamnesis trees. The rest of them follow behind; I sense as much as hear them as they join our song. But the only voice that matters to me is this man’s.
He holds our hands between us, propelling us upward by the might of his tail. His eyes are locked with mine, as steady as he has always been. As if to say to me,do not be afraid,with a look alone.
I am afraid, I wish I could tell him. But I am not afraid for myself. I am afraid for him. For what will follow my departure from this realm.
We emerge into the open sea, out through the top of a large chimney of coral, growing organically from the castle beneath us. A large, unfinished archway, like a bridge cut in two, extends out from this chimney; it is a construction that would be impossible to support above water. I can see it for what it is: a long plank stretching to the Abyss.
My final swim.
The man with the sad eyes takes me to the very end of it, our hands still interwoven. The rest of the sirens pour out into the open sea, like bats from a cave at dusk, to bear witness. But they do not scatter or approach; instead, they all hover and watch from a distance. A chorus of four assumes their place halfway down the broken arch, at the midpoint between us and the rest of the sirens.
The song slows, all the voices fade away. His is the last to remain. Though even it fades as he releases my hands.
