“Are you a witch?” he stammers, and a soft smile finds my mouth. I have been mistaken for a sea witch many times in my life before. Humans simply cannot help themselves. They see something that is out of the ordinary and must put a label on it immediately.
“Not quite,” I answer, which makes his shoulders sag with relief. He is easy to compel, being young and clearly having had no close encounters with a siren. A prick of guilt jabs at the flesh beneath my ribs. The boy will get a beating or worse if I force him to comply, and the crew finds out he helped me. I keep humming anyway, because after all, I want to live. And to be fair, so far I haven‘t lived at all.
Perhaps it is my softness that keeps me from becoming what I truly am meant to be. My kind lure men to their deaths, pirates being their most preferred victims. In the deepest waters, the blackwater sirens even consume pieces of their prey to strengthen their magic. My swarm never kept those rites. Instead, we give the sea a man. A soul to keep in return for what we needed most from the sea. The crueler the man, the greater the reward, and so pirates became our quarry. I feel the same instinct, like a subtle hunger, yet I cannot act on it. And truthfully, I am not sure I would want to, even if I could.
“What kind of magic do you wield then?” he asks, forcing the words out as he struggles against the pull whispering in his ears.
“That is not important,” I whisper gently. “What matters is that you show me where to hide on this ship. I am no threat to you or your crew, I swear it by the Six Seas.”
Water drips from the hem of my gown as I roll the fabric between my fingers. The rain has passed, yet thunder still cracks across the sky, flashes of lightning briefly spilling white light across the deck. One wrong glance from the cabin windows and everything will be over. My song does not hold enough power to compel a whole crew. When the boy hesitates, I deepen the hum to coax his tongue and step closer.
“The hold,” he blurts. “The lower part of the ship. We keep the loot there.”
The word is familiar, though ships have been rare in my life these past years. After my mother abandoned me and it became clear she would never return, I climbed aboard the first vessel I could reach. Kind fishermen carried me along the coast and eventually set me ashore near Aurelith. Since then, I have been trapped on that island. After I encountered the Rats, I came to realize how foolish it was to trust any passing crew, and I did not make that mistake again. Tonight, my fate seems to choose otherwise.
The hold will make a good hiding place, especially with sailors soon crowding the deck to ready the ship. Not that there‘s any other option.
“Please show me the way. And make sure that no one sees us.”
He moves, and I follow, our bare feet quiet on the wet boards. I keep the hum close to his ear to steady him. We pass the gunports and head toward the mainmast, where a hatch leads down into the hold. He lifts the iron ring, and the lid comes up with a soft pull. A steep run of steps drops into black.
“Quick,” he urges, glancing over his shoulder.
Carefully, I lower myself onto the ladder and descend. Twice, my foot slips on the damp wood, nearly sending me tumbling.Thick air gathers below, heavy with the scent of tar, rope, and something sweet that might be stolen fruit. The lad comes after me and pulls the hatch close, leaving a thin seam of light above us before the dark settles.
We reach the orlop, where rows of hammocks swing softly with the motion of the ship. Another ladder takes us further, into the hold. The smell grows heavier down here. Crates marked with chalk stack to my shoulder and higher. Water hushes against the hull, close and steady, as if the sea has pressed its ear to the wood to listen.
“Here,” he says, and guides me behind a tower of caskets. A torn sail is draped over a beam to form a kind of makeshift tent. This could work. Anyone passing by would have to look very carefully to notice someone hiding there.
“Thank you, “ I whisper, offering him another quick smile. “I don’t think anyone saw us.“
“I hope not,” he answers with a weak smile, though his voice trembles.
I let the hum warm again and change the melody, shaping it into something small that fits in his head. “You did not see me,” I tell him. “If anyone asks, the deck was empty. You were never here.”
His throat bobs as he swallows. “The deck was empty,” he repeats. “I was never here.”
“Now go,” I say, choosing my words wisely. “Do not come back unless you must.”
He nods, though his eyes cling to me for one moment longer, as if he’s fighting the magic. Then he turns and climbs, and the seam of light widens and closes before disappearing entirely as the hatch clicks.
I am alone with the sound of the ship’s heart, the timbers creaking in uneven beats, each dull thud carrying through the hull.
Crouching beneath the sail, I draw my knees close to my chest. The hum fades until it is no more than the ghost of a breath. Salt lingers on my tongue, and a dull, throbbing ache begins to swell behind my eyes. My mother never taught me more than this — a note to coax and a note to calm. No lessons on the deeper songs that invoke an answer from the sea, or songs that drive men to drive from cliffsides. Unfortunate, I know.
Before I can close my eyes for sleep, boots begin to drum on the deck. The men start talking to each other as though in a hurry, all while the storm that the Sea of Crowns is known for is still rumbling in the distance around the island. Slowly, I sit up again, trying to listen to what they are saying.
“All hands,” a voice calls above. The voice is rough and sends a shiver down my spine. Only someone with command could give an order like that. It‘s either the captain or the First Mate. “Single up.”
“All single,” a mate answers near the rail.
“Let go bow,” he says, his voice coming closer.
“Bow gone.”
“Let go stern.”
“Stern gone, Captain.”
