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A Siren Call
The sea has its own kind of music, and not just that of waves against sand. The sound is different under the water; its persistent pulsing roar is calmed and plays background harmony like the bass notes of a chord. Through its cadence you can hear the rattle of sand and shells and rocks on the ocean floor keeping rhythm.
The oscillating force of the tides has the strength to press you bodily against the ocean floor. The steady exertion of the water’s movement drags its fingers through your hair, testing the durability of the hair follicles and pulling the strands into an undulating banner of seaweed. It dances with the ocean’s song, mane and water in perfect sync and grace.
In some places the dolphins and whales sing descant but the melody is not there. Internally it hums through your blood and bones for your ears alone. The melody is always with you. Always in you. In the blood and bones of every creature. And every creature’s melody is different. But yours...
Listening under the water, you can hear the song and adjust your melody accordingly. Or adjust the song to fit the melody. But not today. The power to change the tides vibrates in you but today you let it do as it will. Today you rest yourself on the sea floor and relax in the constant caress of the current that curls around your limbs as the water pushes past you. Under your palms you feel the grains of the sandy floor and the movement of the tiny things that live there. They squirm toward you but do not touch you. Your power to rule the waves both frightens them and calls to them; it is as much a Siren call as your voice. Legends are based on the voices of your people and yours is more powerful than most. And it is for this reason that you are forbidden from using it.
You murmur quietly, soothingly, to the sea creatures knowing that this far out from the city you cannot be heard by your overzealous guardians. A tiny seahorse rides the water close to you casting its wavering shadow on the shimmering turquoise scales of your tail. Down here the sunlight is warped by the refracting movement of the water and its bluish cast turns to the gold of your hair a mild green to the eyes. You are used to it though. You have no reason to think that there are any other colors in this world and yet... Perhaps there is too much intelligence in you for your own good. Your golden eyes, protected by an inner transparent eyelid, turn toward the source of the light that plays over you. It tempts you, the sensation of the surface tension breaking over your face as your head bobs into that upper world and you gasp, using your lungs for the first time instead of the gills that line your ribs down your back. You blink away the image in your mind with your outer eyelids. You are still resting safely on the ocean floor, reminding yourself that you are royalty and powerful; and for you the world above is strictly proscribed. If your voice were to mix its melody with the air it would mean chaos for the mortals.
You smile wryly to yourself and sigh, the slits of your gills flaring out along your back as you draw the water through your nose and push it out again through those fleshy, fishy flaps. Mortals. Humans, you correct yourself mentally, As if I were any less mortal than they.
“Sixteen years,” you tell the little seahorse, “sixteen years I have seen nothing but water.” The seahorse makes his bobbing way toward your mouth, fascinated by the source of your voice. He is watching your lips with intent obsession and you can hear him talking quietly to himself.
“So pretty, so pretty,” he murmurs, the tiny sound sweet with the innocent longing of such a small life, “Babies should hear. So pretty.” You lift a finger to the pregnant creature and he wraps his tail around it, securing himself to your hand and staring, entranced.
“Are you going to be a father?” you ask gently, feeling his pride and joy. Your heart is warmed by his eagerness as he bends himself back to give you a better view of his protruding tummy.
“Babies should hear,” he insists earnestly, “So pretty.” You smile, and then struck by an inspiration, press your lips together and touch them to his belly in a light kiss. You hum quietly as you do this and the sound is a spell, a blessing that seeps into the growing infants and guarantees that, unlike most baby seahorses, these will not be washed away by the tide when the time of their birthing comes. The little father seahorse chirps his amazement and gratitude, his tail curling and uncurling convulsively. He is in ecstasy over the sound of your humming. When you are done with your blessing, you hold him away from your face again and see that his eyes are closed in pure joy. His little tail around your finger has gone slack in his contentment. He drifts away from your hand.
Sasha!
Your head turns at the calling of your name. Perhaps it was just the hissing of the waves but you cannot risk being caught singing, no matter how carefully and quietly you exercise your power.
Sasha! Where are you?
Definitely not the waves, and yet you relax a little. You know this ‘voice’ that is connecting to your mind. Even now you can see the garishly bright copper color of his hair and tail approaching, for he has spotted you and is making his swift way toward you.
Gurden! you call back to him with your mind, I’m here! The telepathic voices you use to speak to each other become clearer and louder with proximity. Your people are not born with this form of communication; you learn to speak it with age just as you learn to use your voice to create words. Some merfolk never learn telepathy but they are generally not as powerfully voiced. Many of these people you have never spoken to, their status is too far removed from yours.
Even for a merman, Gurden is a fast swimmer and he is at your side in a moment. Your smile of greeting for him is genuine. He is a close friend, one of only a few you have been allowed to make. Being a princess has had many consequences for you.
You’ve been singing, he accuses as soon as he is close. You try not to frown at him and pretend to be ignorant.
What do you mean? you ask. Gurden fearfully scans the waters around the two of you causing his short curly locks to waft weightlessly around his head. In this bluish light the orange-red of his hair looks muddy. His blue eyes come back to rest on your face, full of sincere concern.
I can feel it, he informs you seriously and you know he is not lying. He is loyal and if you asked he would cover for you. His words are not meant to prick your conscience but to warn you that if he can feel the bleeding of power from your humming then so can anyone else to swim by. The warning is not lost on you and you are struck by a sudden thrill of danger that tightens your skin and flares your gills to their fullest extent until the ridges of sensitive skin start to tingle with adrenaline. You need to go before you get caught, he entreats. You nod and take the hand he offers, too worried to notice the defined muscles cording his extended arm, or the beauty of the fine straight shape of his nose and high cheekbones. All you see is the look of fear on his face. You have never taken the time to notice the handsome merman that Gurden has grown into over the last two years; he is still the skinny friend of your childhood. This time is no exception even though his grip on your hand is firm and heroic as he drags you away from the scene of your crime at an alarming speed.