Sirens Unbound

by Laura Engelhardt

  “You’re assuming they’re still sane. They’ve been tortured for centuries.”

  “My plan was to start small. To relocate a small community. Just a small group—”

  Now Zale interrupted, “Do you think they wouldn’t wait? Wouldn’t simmer and wait another three hundred years to extract vengeance? The fae are immortal, Cordelia. They wouldn’t do anything more than hail us as saviors until their strength was at its zenith.”

  “Fine. I get it. I don’t agree, but that’s a valid concern. So what next? We just uphold the status quo until they all fade away?” Cordelia demanded.

  “No. You’re right. Despite the risk, despite the consequences, you’re right. You’re right,” Zale looked at her earnestly. “And I didn’t raise these concerns at the Court session because I know we can’t continue on this way forever. The Aos Sí are suffering, fading, dying. All because of decisions we made. If freeing them means we get slaughtered, maybe that’s the right outcome. I don’t know; I’ll be dead by then anyway.”

  “Awfully fatalistic,” Cordelia murmured. “The fae can’t lie. Titania herself swore to me that they had no desire for revenge.”

  “Revenge for what? The war or their imprisonment? No desire for revenge doesn’t mean they won’t take it anyway. But Daan’s right: we can’t continue to be the pariahs among the oceans. The Pacifics and Indians have refused all intermarriages since the Cabal’s exodus. We don’t even have envoys at their courts.”

  “Zale, the fifteen-hundredth anniversary of the Armistice is only a few years away. It resonates with people. It’s the opportunity we’ve been looking for to move forward.” Cordelia leaned forward.

  “I get the hook of the anniversary. But you need to have a better plan than just spiriting them away to the Congo. It’s too risky to give them such a power source. Look at the Brazilian fae. They claimed the rainforests, and their power in that domain is near as strong as it was before the Iron Age sapped them.”

  “You think the Aos Sí are too crazy to be trusted with a jungle.” Cordelia’s voice was flat.

  Zale ran his hand through his hair. “Maybe,” he spoke more slowly. Cordelia was surprised that he seemed so unsure about his own views on the issue. “It may not seem rational to worry about them regaining a pittance of their strength, but these are not merely the descendants of the fae who fought in the war — they are the actual fae who fought and suffered and watched their lovers and friends fade away.”

  “But if they are consumed with vengeance, it’s the Cabal, not us, who should be worried. We didn’t salt the earth. Even if they do regain all their former power, they have no real reason to attack anyone but the Cabal.” Cordelia felt her face flush, whether from the wine or pleasure at the sense she was winning him over, she wasn’t sure, but she pressed her advantage.

  “And when have you ever heard of a faerie, let alone a whole fae nation, succumbing to insanity?” Cordelia continued. “They suffer from obsessions and sometimes inexplicable passions, but the only people who’ve ever really destroyed the Earth have been mages.”

  “And what if freeing the Aos Sí throws fuel on the fire of this coming war?” Zale demanded.

  “You didn’t even know about it until after you opined that we needed to be cautious,” Cordelia insisted.

  “And that only means we need to be even more cautious. You underestimate them, Cordelia. Fae power isn’t just illusions and healing. They tap the power of the forests’ life force. They can change the weather. If they wanted to, they could destroy the Earth—”

  “I have never underestimated the fae,” Cordelia cut Zale off. “Do you think the other fae will just sit around and let them destroy the planet we all share? What do you think the Brazilians would do if the Aos Sí tried such a thing? Or Nga and Num, who drove them out of the Taiga in the first place? If a mage war is coming, having the Aos Sí’s favor, even if it were only to last a hundred years, might prove to be the advantage we need.”

  Zale waved her off. “Your voice spins dross into gold. Save your crazy speculations for the other courtiers.” His eyes held hers, his voice resonant. Perhaps it was the wine, or the stress of the past day, but their heated discussion had invigorated her … and Zale too. Until now, Cordelia hadn’t supposed that perhaps she affected Zale as much as he affected her.

  “I misjudged you,” Cordelia offered, looking down. “I’m sorry.”

  “I’m sorry too,” Zale murmured. “Atlantea reminded me last night that I could have handled my concerns with your plan more privately than by posturing in Court.” He sighed. “I suppose I worried at our speaking in private like this.”

  Cordelia wondered for a moment whether Zale was really Atlantea’s lover. They had never acknowledged such a relationship, but rumors had them in each other’s beds since before the war. Cordelia decided she didn’t care, or perhaps she did: the chance to indirectly hurt Atlantea added a sinful spice to the moment.

  “You worried about meeting with me?” she asked, reaching out to smooth a lock of Zale’s slightly disheveled hair back. Cordelia had always admired him, and unlike the besotted humans who adored her merely because she was a siren, his eyes burned with a real passion.

  “I shouldn’t have,” Zale whispered, reaching out to pull her closer to him. “But I’ve wanted to do this since you first joined the High Court.”

  “And I have wanted to do this since I first saw you,” Cordelia said, taking Zale’s face into her hands.

  This was the escape they both needed. It was like slipping into the ocean, and Cordelia let go of everything outside of the moment. Her pain at Atlantea’s dismissal, the prospect of war — all were immaterial now. Zale’s desire for her was real, and the visceral pull of his passion was enough to anchor her in the present.

  All of their fretting about the future faded into irrelevance beneath their slick intimacy. Just like the fae, a siren’s lust affects the very landscape. The ocean outside the castle relaxed into a dance that night of rollicking swells and deep undertows. Cordelia felt her flesh bind with her spirit in a glow that enlightened the contours of Zale’s body for her to savor, and the Atlantic’s earlier agitation was swept away in its reflected delight.

  There are five sirenic oceans, each with their own siren communities: the Pacific (168.7 million square kilometers), the Atlantic (85.1 million square kilometers), the Indian (70 million square kilometers), the Arctic/Baltic (15.6 million square kilometers) and the Mediterranean (2.5 million square kilometers). There are no records of any siren with an affinity for the Southern Ocean. Each sirenic community has their own unique culture and customs, and I am deeply indebted to my co-authors on each of the following chapters regarding the Pacific, Indian, Arctic, and Mediterranean communities. Despite our differences in culture and custom, we all share a deep and abiding love for all oceans, as well as our shared mission of preventing fae extinction.

  – Sirens: An Overview for the Newly-Transitioned, 3rd ed. (2015), by Mira Bant de Atlantic, p. 197.

  Chapter 9

  “Mira, you look wonderful,” Atlantea said, gesturing for her to approach.

  Atlantea had chosen to meet Mira in one of her private salons at the south end of Atlantis House. An elaborate breakfast had been set for two in the round turret area of the room, where floor-to-ceiling windows displayed a full view of the surrounding ocean. This was one of Mira’s favorite rooms in the castle because of how the nook seemed to float above the sea. The Atlantic was calm today, almost bucolic in its bouncing waves that undulated out to the horizon.

  At least the tone of her meeting with Atlantea was poised to be quite different from that of her daughter’s yesterday, she thought, sitting down and admiring the sparkle of mid-morning sunlight on the crystal and silver. What a change in circumstance from the chaotic and bare breakfasts of her youth! While last night she had felt inordinately saddened by the odd twist of genetics that had caused her to transition into an active siren, Mira felt quite differently sitting in this luxurious
setting, with the breathtaking vista to her right and the nutty smell of Kona coffee surrounding her. But then, she usually felt happier in the morning. She said a silent prayer of gratitude at her good fortune, and accepted Atlantea’s offer of coffee with cream and sugar.

  Atlantea quite obviously did not want to discuss business right away. But then, they never did. Unless she invited others to their meetings, Atlantea liked the illusion of an intimate meal amongst friends. Their talks had begun shortly after the success of Mira’s book, when she had declined the queen’s offer to join the High Court. At first, Atlantea had been suspicious of her motives, but after a few decades, they had settled into a closer kind of relationship than Mira suspected the queen had with any of her actual courtiers.

  How lonely it must be for Atlantea, Mira thought. Her tumultuous succession had forever changed her relationship with all the sirens who had once been her friends and lovers. Atlantea claimed to be unhappy with Mira’s “obstinate” refusal to join the Court, but Mira thought her stubbornness actually pleased Atlantea. It was a rare someone who didn’t ask for favors from Atlantea. Perhaps she thought she owed Mira for the transition textbook, but since Atlantea had enabled her to stay in the mundane world for years, Mira considered that bargain met. It wasn’t Atlantea’s fault that she’d lost her mundane life prematurely.

  “How is Thomas doing?” Atlantea asked, almost as if she could read Mira’s thoughts, which, as usual, had wandered towards the impossibility of his transition.

  “Very well. He finished that fortress of a house last year, and now has an Amazon army guarding him,” Mira replied, coming back into the present.

  “I’m glad. I know you worry over him,” Atlantea said as she buttered her toast.

  “To be honest, I’m simply happy that he’s finally left the Jarl’s court. Thomas would never have been happy with the life of a hanger-on.”

  “You mean, you would never be happy with Thomas leading the life of a hanger-on,” Atlantea said, pointing her butter knife at Mira. Mira inclined her head in acknowledgement of Atlantea’s point.

  “Perhaps. But I hated seeing him waste his life up north. I don’t think he really did anything at court, except attend parties and make up odd new sports. At least now he’s conquering his fear of being out in the human world. But I can’t imagine he’ll stay in Brazil forever. He’s too restless for that.”

  Mira considered how far Thomas had come. He was much happier now that he was outside his progenitor’s influence. Perhaps it had been Jarl Georg’s remarkable indifference to Jack’s death, but she had never liked him. She certainly didn’t trust him.

  “Well, I do like that he’s made such inroads with the were-jaguar clans. That played out better than I had expected.” Atlantea was referring to her decision several years ago to ask Mira to mediate a conflict amongst the jaguars. The weres tolerated Mira, but had never quite embraced her. Thomas, with his love of sports and careless joie de vivre, was quite popular with the clans.

  For Mira, letting go of her mundane daughters had been the hardest part of her transition. Thomas seemed to mourn his loss of male companionship in a similar way. Male friendship was so different; it had taken her a long time to really understand that Thomas was truly stricken by losing his teammates. She had just never seen that kind of connection as anywhere near as important as family ties.

  “The jaguars love Thomas. They admire his willingness to play with them, even though they are so much stronger and faster. But somehow Thomas holds his own. I can see why he was so popular in the satellite courts. People like to be around him.”

  “We may wind up needing to use the friendships he’s forged sooner than we had thought,” Atlantea said sadly.

  “You said you’d finally decided to share the prophesy with the High Court,” Mira stated. “What’s changed?”

  “I didn’t tell them everything,” Atlantea cautioned. “So be careful what you tell them when they ask. I only told them what the Oracle saw, not the words they spoke.”

  “That was wise; too often, words are subject to misunderstanding. The images are clear, and the words often misinterpreted.” Mira considered how she and Atlantea had struggled with the meaning of the Oracle’s pronouncement for so long. She shuddered to think of how many different interpretations the courtiers would have for such a cryptic response to the Danjou Enclave’s question: “How will the war be won?” The Oracle had responded, “Siren surgeon’s sight.”

  The enclave never should have asked such a question in the first place, Mira thought. They were doomed to receive a cryptic response; though she knew from Jonah that the mages believed they had perfectly phrased the question so as to receive the most useful information.

  Atlantea looked out at the calm sea. “I still haven’t been able to uncover the prophesy given to the Cabal, but now I’m sure that Kōkai-Heika knows it. He has more information than we do, but will not share with us, or any of the other oceans for that matter.”

  “But that’s not new; we’ve talked about his reaction and his close relationship with the Cabal before. Has something changed with the Pacifics?” Mira tried to nudge Atlantea back to her original question: why had she disclosed the prophesy to the High Court now?

  “Kōkai-Heika’s desire to appease the Cabal makes it more likely the Pacifics will be drawn into any war in which they are involved. Sadly, that hasn’t changed. But others are working on that problem for me,” Atlantea said, looking at Mira intently. This was perhaps Atlantea’s way of reminding her that she wasn’t the only agent Atlantea had in the world, nor her only confidante. Not that Mira wanted to be, or even thought she was.

  “You’re not one to ignore any possible threat,” Mira said truthfully. While she didn’t revere Atlantea the way Cordelia did, she did respect her deep need to protect the Atlantic.

  “No,” Atlantea agreed. “We can’t afford to ignore any of the Oracle’s guidance. Through the enclave prophesy, we know that one of the pivots on which the war will turn is connected to the sirens.”

  The Oracle’s response to the enclave mages had, of course, been of deep interest to Atlantea. There were few doctors, but even fewer specialists, among the sirens. It was simply too difficult for them to interact with humans long enough to gain the requisite training. At latest count, there were only eight siren surgeons world-wide. “Have you identified the pivot?” Mira asked.

  “Perhaps. Did you know that the U.S. enclaves began partnering with mundane scientists on various mage-related research projects?”

  “Vaguely, I guess. I think I read about some genetics research. A few years ago, maybe?” Mira tried to recall.

  “Yes, that’s right. Initially they started researching genetics — and indeed the bulk of their joint projects focus on why some mages have mundane children and vice versa—”

  “I expect that interest was driven by the Amir’s birth,” Mira murmured.

  “Certainly. It is uncommonly strange that the most powerful mage to emerge since Chía had mundane parents,” Atlantea agreed.

  “And his sisters are rumored to be quite powerful as well,” Mira added.

  “Yes, well. Arabia is such a closed society, it’s nigh impossible to gain any real intelligence from them.” Atlantea was impatient with Mira’s digression, and swiftly moved the conversation back on track. “Lately, their research interests seem to have shifted. The Danjou have partnered with Harvard University and the U.S. Department of Defense to set up a research facility.”

  Mira’s heart skipped a beat. Amy was at Harvard. She saw the expectant look on Atlantea’s face, and knew in that instant that Amy was involved. Her fears were confirmed when Atlantea continued speaking. “Your daughter, Amy, is a neurosurgeon at Harvard. Do you know anything about her latest project?”

  “Amy developed a cure for amblyopia almost a decade ago. Her whole career has been devoted to mundane research. She would have nothing to do with magick.” But Mira didn’t know that for sure, and despite her rapid denial,
she knew at some level that Atlantea wouldn’t be telling her this without a degree of certainty.

  “Ask your Jonah, but I understand she is at the center of a project to restore mage sight,” Atlantea said in a gentler tone than Mira’s rough defensiveness should have warranted.

  “Amy is not a siren. She’s a mundane who doesn’t even have children,” Mira stated firmly.

  “Amy is a latent siren; she is a surgeon and she is working on a cure for magical blindness.” Atlantea’s tone may have been gentle, but her logic was relentless.

  “Cordelia speaks with Amy often. She never mentioned any such project.” Mira did not want this to be real, but in her heart, knew that it was.

  “Cordelia actually mentioned it last week when I asked about her mundane sisters. She told me that Amy had just completed an experimental optic-nerve operation. She seemed quite proud that her sister was on her way to developing a second ‘Bant Procedure.’ And I received confirmation that indeed, the Danjou had sent a Class 5 via-enchanter to Boston to partner with Harvard and the U.S. government on a project to restore mage sight. A man named Eli Eisner was appointed to head the first magical neurology research lab. That is the same lab where Amy works.”

  Mira didn’t say anything for a moment. Amy had worked with Eli since her second post-doc. She had intervened with Eli back then to ensure that Amy would be treated fairly, but had otherwise not directly interfered with her life; it was too painful to be so close, yet remain invisible.

  How could Cordelia neglect to tell her about this? She knew how much Mira relished any news about how her lost daughters were doing — especially something that would be as important to Amy as a new project like this. But Cordy had clearly been so caught up in her own struggles that she’d forgotten. And of course, Mira hadn’t told Cordelia about the Oracle’s prophesy, so Cordelia couldn’t be expected to have understood the broader implications.

  “Amy is obsessed with her work. She has no time or interest in global politics,” Mira declared.