Page 6 of Lured By the Siren

Heading up the beach to the cove where some of my favorite healing plants thrive, my mind drifts to where the men on that ship might be from. The sand shifts under my feet, and I get lost in the musing of whimsical far-off kingdoms, fishermen happily coming and going from our shores, and a whole bustling world just beyond the storm clouds.

Rounding a bend, I take a deep breath and soak in the moments of peace before the chaos. The sky just above the island is a crystal clear blue, and a flock of seagulls pass overhead. I feel a pang of jealousy at their freedom. They seem to be one of the few creatures that can pass undetected through the storms.

If only I had wings instead of a tail.

My favorite hiding spot is a secluded cove just a brisk walk from the village. It comes into view, and I decide to lie down on the damp sand, wanting a few more blissful moments of solitude before gathering supplies.

Gentle waves slowly lap up my legs, and they begin to transform into a tail of purple and green scales. Moments like these remind me of how much I love being a siren, hearing the ocean’s call, the feeling of diving under the waves, and my magic, but I would give all of that up if it meant I wasn’t born here on Kafigda.

Watching the sea undulate far out on the horizon, I let the sound of the incoming tide lull me to a dreamless sleep.

When my eyes flutter open again, I let out a yawn and stretch my hands above my head, sitting up. The tide has escaped further down the beach while I was sleeping, and my tail is back to a pair of green and purple scaled legs. I brush off the sand andblink slowly against the setting sun that’s just meeting the line of the horizon.

A flash catches my eye, and I see something reflecting off the water. There is an object bobbing up and down against the waves, several lengths from shore. It looks like it could be a person.

For a moment, I think the ocean must be playing tricks on me because it suddenly disappears, but I rub my eyes and stand quickly, making my way to the edge of the water. I feel a pulling need to go out and investigate.

Without waiting to see if it resurfaces, I dive into the shallow water, swimming out to discover the mystery waiting for me in the open sea. The storm must be happy to have an entire ship of new victims, because the further I swim from the shore, the rougher the waters become. The sea here is usually much calmer, but the storm seems to be stretching, possibly searching for the same thing I am.

Being a siren has its perks, but sometimes even having a tail and breathing underwater isn’t enough to fight the magic of the storms.

I break free of a rather aggressive current and breach the surface, searching for whatever was bobbing there.

I finally spot it, or rather him—it’s a man.

Dark blonde hair is plastered to his forehead, and something reflects off his face. He begins to sink beneath the surface, and I quickly swim to him, but just as I reach out to grab hold of his arm, a wave crashes between us, pulling him completely under.

I dive down in search of the drowning man, and my heart beats loudly in my ears as I see him sinking into the dark depths below. He's tangled in a mess of ropes, only making him sink faster, and I desperately push through the ocean for him, tail whipping with powerful flicks until I grasp his limp hand. With one robust tug, I free him from the debris and hurry, swimmingas fast as possible with a full-grown man in tow to the surface. This man is heavier than he looks, and for all my efforts, might already be dead.

Pulling him onto shore and into my secluded cove, I scold myself, wondering how I could make such an impulsive decision. Did I just doom another man to a life on this floating prison?

Sand sticks to every bit of his exposed flesh, and I take a moment to check for a pulse, inspecting him further. Thankfully, he has a pulse, and I continue looking over him.

His light hair is just long enough to begin to curl at the ends, his high cheekbones and chiseled jaw stir something deep in my belly. A fluttering of butterflies as I examine him further. My hands are still on his wrist, and I can feel his pulse growing weaker beneath my touch.

Blood is slowly dripping down his face from a wound just below his hairline, and I cautiously move his wet hair to get a closer look.

Bright red oozes from the gash and trails down the side of his face, just then the sand beneath him begins to darken into a deep crimson.

Panicking, I roll him to his side, searching for the source and find a large slice across his back. The skin gapes open, and I notice how pale he’s become. He’s losing too much blood. This man is surely doomed.

As calmly as I can, I begin singing the song I know best, one used for healing, and hope it’s enough to stitch these wounds back together. If only I could replenish the blood he has already lost, but this will have to be enough.

While all siren’s magic is similar, some are more skilled at certain aspects than others. I’ve never mastered mind manipulation like many of my sisters, my greatest gift has always been to heal, and I spend much of my free time practicing and learning all I can.

Whenever I stumble upon an injured creature, I sing my song, letting the words and my voice swirl around them, correcting and healing their ailments. An albatross with a broken wing, a turtle with a crack in its shell, one of the girls or men who had a little too much fun—I work to heal them all.

If I can't leave this place, I want to leave a lasting impact at least and help all that I can while I'm trapped here.

The wound on the man's hairline begins to stitch together, and the bleeding stops as I focus on the second wound along his back. I let the song hum through me, and it tingles on my lips.

It’s a melody I know almost as well as the pattern of my emerald and lilac scales.

I watch as both gashes fully knit back together, and I gently lay his head onto the sand. Hurrying to the shoreline's edge, I gather clusters of seaweed that the retreating tide has left behind.

While my song can heal wounds, the magic comes at a cost. I can quickly exhaust myself until I require healing of my own. My healing song pulls from my own health and energy.

Heading back to the cover, I gather additional supplies from the stash I put together earlier in the day and begin to wrap his torso with seaweed. My fingers brush his rib cage and up along his chest, feeling his warmth. I let my hands travel up to linger just above the side of his face. Resisting the urge to touch him, I take another second to drink him in while he’s unconscious.

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