This aligns with the history I know from my world. In all my research, the earliest stories of siren attacks were from about fifty years ago. And if those attacks were caused more by wraiths than the sirens themselves, it all lines up.
“We tried many things to appease Lord Krokan and, when we could not, we began to carve pieces of the Lifetree to protect ourselves. Using Lady Lellia’s magic was the only way that we knew to shield the living from the plague of the dead. But it wasn’t enough.
“Our previous Duke of Faith, Duke Renfal, spent many years in quiet meditation on the hymns of the old ones. His studies bore fruit, and he was finally able to commune with Lord Krokan.”
I recognize the duke’s name from Ilryth’s memories. But I refrain from pointing it out. “And what did Duke Renfal learn?” I ask, though I suspect it has something to do with the sacrifices.
“The duke received a message from Lord Krokan. The old god wanted women who had a zeal for life to be sacrificed to him and his Abyss on the summer solstice roughly every five years.” His words are void of emotion, as though he has practiced many times over saying them without betraying his thoughts. But, in so doing, he strikes me as deeply uncomfortable. Even with his trained presentation, his eyes lose some of their focus and he peers right through me. The small muscles of his jaw tense.
His mother in the memory ties to all this, somehow. From what I’ve gathered, the wraiths draw out the worst in individuals—their most horrific memories—to feed on their souls. Out of all the memories that Ilryth might have suffered from, it wasthatone.
There’s more to the story… I have my suspicions, but I don’t probe. There are questions about my own past that I don’t want him to ask. We don’t need to know too much about each other to work together. This can be as professional as the rest of my business dealings.
“But the sacrifices clearly haven’t been working,” I say.
“No.”
“Why?”
Ilryth shakes his head. “No one knows.”
“Nothing more from Duke Renfal?”
“The only other thing we learned from him was that the anointing must take place before any could be sacrificed to Lord Krokan. Merely communing with the old god destroyed his mind and then took his life. No sacrifice would survive the Abyss long enough to even stand before Lord Krokan. The anointing clears the mind and purifies the soul, creating a worthy offering that can exist before an old god.”
When I’m not thinking about it relative to myself being the sacrifice, it’s fascinating. Horrifying. But also fascinating.
I shift, leaning back slightly on my hand. “And then, you wanted me because none of these other sacrifices were working?”
“Yes. Though it could’ve been any human.Youwere purely by chance.”
“You really know how to make a lady feel special,” I say dryly.
He chuckles. But his tone turns serious once more. “When I became the Duke of Spears, I gained access to the songs of Duke Renfal. There was a line of the song he’d sung recounting his time communing with Lord Krokan about ‘hands of Lellia.’ Most sirens took it to mean that Lord Krokan wanted those touched by life—still living sacrifices. Others assumed that it was that he wanted blank vessels to mirror his wife.”
“His…wife?”
“Lady Lellia, Goddess of Life, is wedded to Lord Krokan, God of Death. Together, they complete the circle and maintain the balance.”
“The giant sea monster is the husband of a…tree?” I blink as if somehow that could help it all make sense. It does not.
“They are literal old gods, Victoria.” He grins slightly, as if the question and all its unspoken implications and wonderings had crossed his mind before, too. “Besides, Lady Lellia isinsidethe tree. Not the tree itself.”
“Right…” Something he said earlier strikes me—about how humans were crafted by the dryads but guided by Lady Lellia. “You think what Lord Krokan wanted was a human, and not a siren. That’s what the ‘hands’ bit meant. That’s why the other sacrifices didn’t work.”
His expression is almost proud that I’ve pieced together his logic from everything he’s told me. “When I saw you in the water that night right after… Well, it was too good of an opportunity to pass up.”
Right after the last sacrifice, I realize, if one is owed every five years. Meaning, the last one was a failure, too. His mother? Likely. But I don’t pry and instead focus on keeping the thoughts from escaping.
“That’s why you gave me five years,” I reason aloud. He nods. It wasn’t kindness, it was pragmatism. He had no use for me until now. He probably couldn’t even anoint me with the magic needed to keep me under the waves of the Eversea without me dying. “There I was, in a position to agree to anything since death was my only other option. You had a willing participant. Someone who agreed to sever their connection from the world and be sacrificed.”
Another nod and then Ilryth levels his eyes with mine. “Five years ago, I swore to myself and to my people that I would find an end to the blight of our seas, brought on by Lord Krokan’s wrath. That no siren would ever have to sacrifice themselves ever again.”
To my human mind, it sounds callous and cruel. He would sacrifice humans to spare his people. But can I blame him? It’s no different than what the Council of Tenvrath would do if the roles were reversed.
Moreover, that’s not really what he’s saying…
“Nopersonwill ever have to sacrifice themselves again.” I push off the step, floating up. Hovering just before him. Even though Ilryth is much taller than me from top of head to tip of tail, one of the magical things about being underwater is being able to look him in the eyes. “If I do this, if I can be a ‘worthy’ sacrifice and quell Krokan’s rage, then no human or siren would ever have to be killed again?”
