Sirens Unbound

by Laura Engelhardt

  – Sirens: An Overview for the Newly-Transitioned, 3rd ed. (2015), by Mira Bant de Atlantic, p. vi.

  Chapter 4

  Cordelia stood up, her skin tingling with the thrill of finally getting her challenge underway. The other courtiers looked up from their paperwork with bored expressions. This time it will be different, she thought. Though only eighteen of the twenty-seven courtiers were at Court today, and all had heard the Reconcilers’ arguments from her before, this time she had Isioma and Daan on her side. She had spent six years working behind the scenes to orchestrate this moment, and now the High Court would hear a call to arms, instead of the bland recitation of facts and statistics they were used to.

  “The continued imprisonment of the Aos Sí in England is a crime against our very nature!” Cordelia’s voice rang through Tiven Hall. “Louisa, I know you disagree. I know you think it a kindness that we even allow the remnants of Morgan le Fay’s army to rot on that iron-studded island. But it is wrong. Indeed, it is an affront to our very creation that we are party to this torture.”

  She had planned the moment carefully, waiting for the right time to push Atlantea into making a decision. Louisa, called out by name, had to respond to Cordelia’s opening challenge. She shifted almost as often as Cordelia’s mother did, and was now wearing the shape of a busty woman with pale blue eyes and a high forehead, her dirty-blond hair pinned back in an unforgiving bun.

  Cordelia’s mother had told her that it was disorienting to physically transform so often; keeping a standard style of dress or hairstyle could help you maintain your sense of self. But Cordelia suspected that Louisa consistently chose this hairdo more to remind people of her position than to keep grounded in an unfamiliar body. Louisa had commanded Atlantea’s army since the War of Succession more than a hundred and fifty years ago.

  Louisa stood to address Cordelia, planting her hands squarely atop the heavy oak table. “I do disagree. We are not the cause of the Aos Sí’s suffering.”

  Louisa may have thought that her pose gave her an air of command, but Cordelia thought she just looked hunched over and weak. She glanced around the room, trying to get a sense of the undecided courtiers, but had a hard time reading their expressions.

  “It was the Cabal who salted the ground with iron and steel,” Louisa continued in a strident tone. “I will not stand for this constant misattribution of blame. We sirens are not mages, able to call metal to the surface.” She pointed at the empty seats around the table, her finger jabbing the air fiercely. “Moreover, we have continued to be their saviors! Many of the most powerful among us are not at this table tonight because they are in England, aiding our imprisoned enemies. Yes, enemies! These are not mere descendants of those who fought with Morgan le Fay; these are the very same fae who empowered her to rise up against the very ocean itself!

  “The Aoi Sí never renounced Morgan le Fay. Freeing them would simply revive the Third Mage War, which, as we all know, only ended when the fae were imprisoned. Do you want to go back to the horrors of that war, Cordelia? Because I certainly don’t.”

  Louisa was in rare form tonight. Her voice rose and fell like an angry sea stirred by a nor’easter. She practically spit poison when she mentioned Morgan le Fay’s name. Louisa was an avowed opponent to the reconciliation movement, and much of the old guard followed her lead. Fortunately for Cordelia, the Reconcilers were on the rise on Atlantis. There had even been demonstrations last year — something that hadn’t happened previously during all of Atlantea’s reign. The Atlantics were beginning to think that their part in the war hadn’t been as benign as their historians had led them to believe. There was also the undeniable fact that the rest of the oceans treated them like pariahs.

  Isioma rose, and Cordelia looked around the table to see how her entry into this tired fight would be received; the undecideds definitely seemed intrigued. Isioma was even older than Atlantea, her strength second only to the queen’s, and was widely viewed as cautious and shrewd. Winning Isioma’s support for reconciliation was probably the greatest success of Cordelia’s political career thus far.

  “You are right when you say that we did not poison the earth with iron and steel,” Isioma began in a rich contralto. She had changed her form since their last meeting, and now wore a Mediterranean look, with dark curly hair and wide-set, dark eyes.

  “That was the work of the Cabal, who made sure the Aos Sí were safely confined before they abandoned England for Australia. But our hands are not clean. They can never be clean. England is fully within our domain; it is an island surrounded by our ocean. It has been our choice to let the fae remain on that island. Inaction can be as great a sin as action, Louisa. And we have failed to act.” Isioma sat down amidst the slow murmur that was growing among the courtiers.

  Before now, Isioma had allowed the other courtiers to think she stood with the old guard and their unwavering support for the status quo — irrespective of the increasingly dire reports on the Aos Sí’s health, or last year’s protests on Atlantis. Like Louisa and most of the older Atlantics, Isioma believed that the mages had made a mistake by leaving Morgan’s army alive at all.

  Certainly, it would have made all of their lives simpler had the mages simply executed the Aos Sí in 522. Their deaths would then have been but one more atrocity perpetrated during that horrific war by long-dead sirens and mages. Instead of dealing with fading prisoners-of-war, the modern Atlantics could then have merely denounced their forefathers’ misdeeds as a horror never again to be repeated. But that hadn’t happened, and the remnants of Morgan’s losing fae army remained trapped in the North Yorkshire moors.

  If Isioma’s support was critical to convincing Atlantea that reconciliation wasn’t merely a fad for the younger generation, Daan’s support was critical to persuading the more mercenary courtiers that reconciliation made political sense.

  Daan stood, pausing to look around at the undecideds. “For years, we had thought that the Pacific and Indian sirens were simply unhappy with the outcome of our War of Succession.” Daan’s voice was a strong tenor that cut through the surprised murmuring regarding Isioma’s change in view. He continued to survey the room, looking down the horseshoe-shaped table at the assembled court, before inclining his head towards Atlantea, who sat expressionless in her heavy, mother-of-pearl inlaid chair. Cordelia longed to know whether their arguments were making any headway with her. At the end of the day, the High Court served Atlantea; it would be her decision alone.

  “We believed that their refusal to allow intermarriage, their territorial bans, their snubs, all stemmed from their misguided support of the usurper. But as we now know, while we were fighting for Atlantis, the Cabal was salting England with iron in preparation for their own exodus to Australia. It is our failure to stop the Cabal that made us pariahs. The other oceans view us as war criminals. This has gone on long enough. Had we known what the Cabal was planning, we would have acted! That they chose to commit this atrocity while we were in the midst of a civil war is telling. We must relocate the Aos Sí.” Daan appeared to compose himself, though Cordelia knew most of his speech to be more performative than heart-felt.

  “Isioma is correct,” Daan continued. “England and the imprisoned fae are within our territory. It is not the place of the other oceans to free them. This is our responsibility.” Daan sat down, smoothing his dark hair back and turning to his neighbor, who nodded vigorously in agreement.

  Daan had been relatively easy to win over. He was a born siren like her, but unlike her, had been named courtier more because of his intellectual ability and financial skills than any great intrinsic power. Siren power was fueled by fertility, and the only way for a siren to increase their power was through increasing the number of their living, active siren progeny. Yet Daan’s attempt to arrange a marriage last year between his latent daughter and an Indian’s latent son had been rebuffed. Cordelia wondered if this had been the first time anyone had turned him down, because Daan still fumed over that insult, as if it had be
en the worst thing to ever happen to him.

  Another member of the old guard began to drone on with more of the same arguments against the dastardly Aos Sí, who were apparently so different from the rest of the fae. While she pontificated, Cordelia watched the seven undecideds, whose support could sway Atlantea. They seemed more embarrassed than entranced by her opponent’s tired rehashing of Third Mage War atrocities committed almost fifteen hundred years ago.

  When the old guard courtier finally sat down, Cordelia stood and addressed Atlantea directly. “Atlantea, the pressure on you to act has been growing at a grassroots level since before I moved to Atlantis thirty-four years ago. That pressure will only grow in strength as the anniversary of the Third Mage War armistice approaches.”

  Cordelia held up her hand, as if to preclude interruption, even though none of the old guard would ever be so impolite as to interrupt. “None of your courtiers have incited this fervor, but many of us have witnessed it. You asked us to serve on your High Court to provide you with our best advice and counsel. We are sworn to be your hands when the need arises. As your sworn courtier, I tell you: you must relocate the Aos Sí. And I hereby pledge to be your hands in this matter. You cannot afford to allow them to remain in England any longer.”

  Cordelia had been deliberately provocative. By directing her argument at Atlantea before consensus had been achieved, she was sidelining the old guard. By referencing her arguments as being made in fulfillment of her courtier oath, she was implying that her opponents were failing to do the same, impugning their honor. Louisa rose to the bait.

  “You impudent upstart! What do you know of service? You weren’t even alive during the War of Succession! What have you done for Atlantea? You know nothing! Are nothing! You be Atlantea’s hand in this? Absurd! I will be her hand and wipe this problem from the face of the Earth as our ancestors should have done! Their mistake is one I will correct by drowning the lot of them. Let the Atlantic rise up and swallow that misbegotten corner of England, and we will be free of this once and for all!”

  Vincent, Louisa’s closest ally, sat next to Louisa. His eyes fixed on her with growing alarm as she spat out her rage-filled tirade. He stood quickly and took her arm, squeezing slightly. “Louisa is overwrought,” Vincent told the shocked and now silent room. “She does not mean that.”

  “Oh, but she does,” Cordelia said quietly from her seat. “Many of us will never forgive the perceived betrayal of the Aos Sí. None of us were even alive during the Third Mage War, but somehow the pain and hatred of that time has been passed down as some kind of loathsome inheritance. But mass murder is not, and can never be, the answer.”

  Cordelia stood now to tell the Court what they didn’t want to hear. Because of Louisa’s outburst, she had this one chance that they might actually listen. “We have no legitimate cause to destroy those we were sworn to protect, even if they sided with Morgan le Fay. Even if they roiled the ocean with their power during that ill-fated war. And even if you agree with Louisa that our ancestors should have slaughtered the Aos Sí, doing so now would not only be a crime, but would cause the relatively minor problems we have with the Pacifics and Indians to erupt into a full-fledged war. We are disdained by the other oceans because we allowed our sometime ally to harm the fae. Were we to destroy a fae nation ourselves, all the oceans would have no choice but to rise against us!

  “Courtiers, I am not calling upon you to forgive the Aos Sí. I am calling upon you to allow us to forgive ourselves. We cannot be whole while we allow this atrocity to continue.”

  Cordelia played her next card; she was bluffing, but didn’t think they would call her on it. “I have spoken with Jarl Georg. The Aos Sí will not be welcomed back in Europe. The Third Mage War erupted over control of the Taiga, and the winning fae faction will not permit their return.”

  Cordelia noted the looks of interest when they heard that Cordelia had spoken with the Jarl. While her many-times-removed-great-grandfather had neither supported nor opposed her plan, she knew that the courtiers would interpret the mere fact that he had stirred himself to investigate the issue as evidence of support for Cordelia.

  “There is one place where they can be relocated. One place where they will no longer need our continuous aid just to survive.” Cordelia paused a beat as Atlantea’s eyebrow quirked up. This was her strongest card, and her best hope to win Atlantea over. “The Congolese rainforests.”

  The room erupted in chatter. “Africa!” one of Louisa’s supporters shouted in disbelief. Some courtiers were nodding their heads. She had previewed the idea with Daan and Isioma, as well as a few select supporters, who were ready with their arguments in favor. Vincent and Louisa whispered furiously, and Cordelia wondered if her public exposure of the old guard’s murderous intent would be enough to sway Atlantea into action. Vincent rose again.

  “You make valid points, Cordelia.” Vincent inclined his head towards her, the very picture of urbane politeness. “But your vision of this problem is far too broad. Do we only narrow our focus, and this thorny problem becomes much smaller. Our immediate problems have nothing to do with questions of exile or imprisonment, but simply with the iron in the soil. Remove the iron and steel, and the fae will recover. The Aos Sí only suffer because of this poison spread by the Cabal upon their own exodus. Remove the iron, and we remove the fae’s suffering. There is no need to look beyond that.”

  Cordelia watched, stone-faced, as the old guard and many of the undecideds nodded in agreement. The problem was not the imprisonment of the Aos Sí, but the iron in the soil.

  Daan tried to insert a note of reason, but the old guard did not seem interested in his thoughts. “Vincent, this is a fair point, but one that we have previously considered, and rejected as infeasible. The Cabal is not open to reason on this point. Our delegates approached them a mere half-century ago, and their response was to send an envoy back to salt the soil with steel, lest the iron rust too quickly. The Cabal will brook no interference with their judgment, and any mage to go against them will soon face their displeasure. None of the mage enclaves will risk war with the Cabal over the fae. There are no lone powers strong enough—”

  Daan’s speech was drowned out. “What of the dwarves?” Vincent challenged, and the murmuring started again.

  “It doesn’t matter who takes the iron from the soil, the risk of Cabal retaliation is real, and why this was not pursued before. We have been over this many times.” Cordelia’s voice rose, and she stopped speaking when she realized she was as much at risk of losing her temper as Louisa. It didn’t matter, because she had lost momentum. The old guard was excited to put their weight behind this “exploration,” which would only delay the issue of fae freedom yet again. Delay meant continuation of the status quo.

  Zale, who had been at Atlantea’s right hand since she took the crown, finally rose to speak, and Cordelia’s heart skipped a beat. His face was inscrutable as always. Courtier factions courted him on all issues, but only very rarely did he grant his support. Of all the undecideds, Cordelia knew, his opinion would have the most weight with Atlantea. And of all the courtiers, he was the one she most admired.

  “Sirens.” Zale’s baritone resonated around the room, and the side conversations quieted. Cordelia suppressed the frisson of pleasure she felt at the sound of his voice. Zale had not previously weighed in on the reconciliation movement, but unlike Daan and Isioma, Cordelia had hesitated to approach him.

  “It is not meet that we should allow the fae within our domain to suffer and fade from iron poisoning. The Pacifics and Indians are right to shun us: our tolerance of fae mistreatment is a betrayal of our very creation. We must act, and not because of the pragmatic arguments put forth by Daan, though those are compelling, nor because of the mass demonstrations of which you advise, Cordelia. Truly I say, Isioma, your assessment is correct: our failure to right this wrong is a grave sin.”

  Zale was ever the consummate politician. Cordelia’s heart pounded. She honestly didn’t know whether
he would sway this her way or not. Zale looked at each courtier in turn, as he addressed the heart of their concerns. “But while all of you who plead for action are right, Louisa’s concerns are sensible, and must be truly considered. We cannot forget the bloodthirstiness of the Aos Sí; indeed, any failure to exercise caution could prove disastrous. Iron removal without agreement from the Cabal could result in another war. We sway from one extreme to the next in our quest to remove this festering thorn.”

  The courtiers rumbled again. Zale was only summarizing what they already knew, and so he lost the room to their side arguments. Cordelia looked around the table, identifying those who did not appear moved either way. These were the pliable courtiers: the ones who felt no passion for either side. Their support could perhaps be bought, and might ultimately change the tide if Atlantea still remained unpersuaded.

  Atlantea rose, but her movement did not spark any immediate response from her courtiers. She actually had to strike the tintinnabulum on her left. The melancholy sound of the bronze bells ringing in a pentatonic scale cut through the din in a way that made Atlantea’s admonition of their discourtesy feel more sad than angry.

  “My courtiers, you continue to provide me with the best advice and counsel. I have heard your thoughts, and must ponder their import to determine the safest course of action for all of the Atlantic.” Atlantea met each of their eyes in succession. Cordelia’s heart sank with the queen’s word choice. They had been making the “safe” choice — inaction — ever since the end of the Third Mage War.

  “While many of the same arguments made over the course of the last century have been made again in this session, we must all acknowledge that the world today has changed. Our analysis of the value of these arguments must likewise change to reflect the difference in our position. Since the Cabal salted the earth, we have had to ever increase our resources designated to preserve the Aos Sí. You have all seen the grim reports on their situation from our sirens stationed in Yorkshire as support. It is likewise true that modern mundane notions of reconciliation have influenced our own people, who clamor for justice.”