The cacophony grows in tandem with the light. I no longer feel the bubbles on my skin, or the currents around me.
All at once, I am blinded by unfiltered sunlight.
CHAPTER8
I am standingon a beach as white as bone. The sand is so fine that it almost seems to shimmer with prismatic iridescence. Waves are broken on roots as large as ship hulls that wrap around this sandy place in a way reminiscent of a bird’s nest. They connect upward to a massive tree that looks as if it is a thousand smaller trees wrapped into one. It towers so tall that its uppermost branches pierce the heavens and tangle with the clouds.
The beach itself is skewered with pieces of wood. Some have the same golden-brown hue as the tree wrapping around it. Others have been sitting out in the sun for so long that the woodgrain has been bleached to a pale ash.
This must be the Lifetree and its beach that Sheel was just describing. But why…howam I here? The questions intrigue and excite me. My better sense says I should be afraid. But I have spent the best years of my life stepping into the unknown—going places that no one else would dare to even dream of venturing.
As I whip my head around, I notice that the world has a faint haze to it. Blurry at its edges. I don’t feel the heat of the sand or hear the whisper of wind. Everything seems distant, faint.
It’s then I notice that on the far side of the beach, closest to the trunk of the tree, is an older woman and a young man. They look like humans at a glance, but on closer inspection have the faint cartilage tracts that run up their cheeks and split into the fin-like ears of the siren. On their fair skin are the siren’s markings. However, there is one noticeable difference between them and the siren I know.
They walk awkwardly on two legs, slowly making their way to the main trunk. I fixate on them, trying to reason through what I’m seeing. Is this a different being than the siren? Or perhaps a transformation? The latter seems more likely.
In the water they are powerful, unstoppable rulers of the seas…but on land they’re akin to baby deer.
I take one more look around myself, and then begin to walk over to them. It takes no time to catch up with their slow pace, and I notice when I’m about halfway to them that the young man has a narrow trail of scales along his spine, disappearing underneath a wrap around his waist, in an all too familiar shade of turquoise.
“It’s not much farther now.” The woman still speaks without moving her mouth. I wonder if they would be able to speak above land, or not. I wonder how they’re able to walk on two legs at all.
“Mother, I feel as though I will shrivel and crisp up here.” The young man looks like he couldn’t be older than fifteen. Even that might be generous.
“You can do this. It’s not much longer. I wouldn’t give you a burden you couldn’t shoulder.” The woman gives her son a warm smile. The familial resemblance is unmistakable. Though her hair is long and loose, flowing down to her waist, and the young man’s is cropped close to the scalp, they have a similar cut to their jaw and the same sharpness in their eyes that betrays a clever and warm-spirited nature. “Soon we will be back in the water.”
He carries on, leading the charge with every determined step. But he’s too ambitious. Off-balance, he falters and falls. The woman is at his side instantly, helping him up. She has much more control over her two-legged body.
“I can do it. I can do it,” he insists with all the headstrong pride of youth.
She gives him space to struggle to his feet.
“Hello?” I speak, but they don’t turn. I suspected such would be the case when I approached and they didn’t so much as glance my way. There’s not another soul on this beach, so there’s no way they couldn’t see me…ifthey could see me.
They finally arrive at the foot of the tree. Here, a doorway is set against the trunk itself. Branches and vines have grown over it like thick bars. It’s barricaded against the world. The only signs of attempted entry are five woody vines that have had pieces cut and pried away. The wounds still weep a dark red sap.
“Now, just as we practiced,” the woman instructs.
The boy—young man—a young Ilryth, from what I can tell—drops to his knees and places both palms on the doorway. He tilts his head skyward and parts his lips to unleash a soaring song that weaves between the falling silver leaves. His voice has yet to completely deepen and he can hit notes of near-piercing intensity.
My forearm tingles at the sound. It’s the first real sensation I’ve had since arriving here and it draws my attention to the markings on my skin. They seem the same as always.
When the song is finished, they wait, staring at the door.
Ilryth’s shoulders sag. “I could not hear her song.”
“I did not either,” the woman says in a tone that contrasts warm support with tired dejection. “Her voice has been silent for centuries now. Even the oldest among us have not heard her words. There is no shame to it.”
“But I thought Lady Lellia might tell us another way.” The young man continues to hunch with his back to her. His next words are so small that, were they spoken normally, I doubt I could’ve heard them. “That I might be able to help…”
“My child, the best way for you to help is to assume the mantle you were born for.” She kneels beside him.
“If I do that then you—you will—” His voice cracks.
“I will do what I must to protect the people I love.” She sits and pulls him to her, clutching him tightly. The woman places a kiss on his temple. “Now, you must do what you must to protect our home, those we love, your sisters and father.”
“I’m not ready.” He buries his face in his hands. “I can barely sing the song to walk on her holy ground.”
