Sea God's Siren (The Brother's Keep) (7 page)

Chapter 15

Prison

“My son. . . .” The sea witch ran a long, cold finger up Dagon’s jaw to his hairline, forcing his head to tilt. “Why do you betray me so?” She slowly circled him, her gown swooshing around her ankles as she moved. Her eyes looked deceivingly soft as her voice dripped with a deep, doleful cadence.

He bowed his head again, spirit retreating within his hollowing frame. Dagon shivered against the unnatural arctic environment. He knew the surroundings well, a deep, dark cavern at the lowest bottom of the ocean’s depth that protruded from the center of a black sand desert void of marine life. The volume of stagnant water didn’t stir, never rippled. The sheer density of this abandoned pool proved difficult for even him to pass through, especially now that his bondage cuffs tightened, squeezing the blood from his cold veins. He could barely hear himself think in the oppressive atmosphere of the sea serpent’s prison. Syrena, the locks of her fair hair suspended underwater like a halo above her crown, flashed in his mind, causing his body, his heart, to ache. He’d never see her again.

Dagon made the mistake of thinking he could conquer this old hag, an imposter for his real mother, Fotyne, whom they kept in an inner chamber, a miserable cell of her own. As soon as the storms came on them, the boat had splintered to pieces. He held his true mother, protecting her as the forces of evil sucked them into this nothingness at the belly of the sea.

“Now what?” he muttered.

“What did you say?” the sea witch challenged.

“Has my mother awakened yet?”

“I am your mother,” the witch said with frigidity. She turned, her ostentatious gown rustled at every action. Shifting again, she glanced at him. “The woman is still unconscious.” After a fit of pacing, she deepened her demands. “Why must you insist on claiming this one named
Fotyne
as your mother, when it was
I
who took you in and cared for you as my own?”

“Because she is my real mother. I know this! She speaks of truth.”

The sea witch snorted. “Where was she all the while you sprouted from your young age?”

“She was searching for me. For me and for all her sons, my brothers! Tell me, why did you steal me from her? I could have known real love, the kind that comes from a warm and nurturing mother.” Dagon gritted his teeth. “Not like you! You’ve only controlled, manipulated, punished if I even entertained the notion of parting from you even for a—”

“Silence!” She seethed and growled and sputtered. Spittle ran down her chin like venom. Her eyes burned with disgust.

Dagon hated this most of all. This distorted conduct that manifested whenever she was threatened and angry. Despite his best intentions to show her she couldn’t intimidate him, he cowered. When he recovered a bit in the pervading silence, he asked again, “Why?”

“Your brothers behave. Unlike you. They favor the life the serpent’s given them,
unlike
you, you ungrateful brat!” She scowled. “You were supposed to influence others in your keep, the marine life, to our bidding. Sink ships to their watery graves, rip fishermen’s hearts out before littering the floor with their bodies, make their wives widows and daughters fatherless, cast souls prematurely into the watery dungeon of despair. Instead, you fled time and again. Always, I had to look for you! And where did I find you? Near the shore watching that dim human girl!”

“She is my wife,” he fumed. “How dare you?”

“Oh, I dare.” The sea witch shook her head. “You wasted our time, a complete disappointment.” She struck her finger into the air like a dagger. As she heaved a severe sigh, she convulsed. Then she shook the spell off. “Our stronghold is weakening from within,” she said under a quivering breath not intended for him to hear.

Along with her callous voice, Dagon detected the subtle sound of a snake’s lisp. But then he pressed in and listened more carefully, because above all he discovered a most enchanted sound. It whispered . . . like a mantra . . . to . . .
Bright and Morning Star
. . .
and on his behalf!

“Do you hear?” Dagon said with astonishment. “Fotyne. Even in her weakest state, she prays not for herself. She prays for
me
. My mother.” He expressed a tender, almost unbelieving smile. “She is devoted. To my freedom. My well-being is her chief concern, the most important thing to her.” He drew strength from Fotyne, appreciating her devotion.

“She lifts me up to the star-cast heaven,” he said, near tears, amazed at the depth of her love. And of the Star’s love that he sensed, like a beam of light that folded over him in something akin to an inner caress.

Dagon erupted in a fit of delight. Laughter boomed, bouncing off the cavern’s walls, echoing down the passageways. He heard—no, he
felt
—Fotyne’s sense of victory. With the kinetic connection they had one with the other, their mutual prayers rose up. Two are more powerful than one, Dagon thought. And when he sensed Syrena’s mantra braid with his and his mother’s too, well, three are even better.

He grinned.

High above them, out of sight yet sensed, the Bright and Morning Star sparkled with even more liveliness.

Dagon smirked. “I come against you in the name of the Bright and Morning Star. You have no authority over me!”

A single shaft of white light shot through the depths, twisting, bending, and curving. It pierced into the dark cave, striking the very place where the evil hag presided.

The sea witch shrieked, clouting the walls, desperate for escape.

Dagon’s cuffs, the serpent’s shackles, sprang off, landing with an unthreatening
plink
as darkness dissipated.

There, standing before Dagon, appeared a man; a silhouette, really, shrouded by white luminosity.

Dagon covered his eyes, for the brilliance overwhelmed him. He sank to his knees with a groan.

Chapter 16

Consequences

Steffi gawked while bent over the stove.

Syrena, in her own daze pondering the peculiarity between her two worlds, sat at the kitchen table. Just as the smell of burnt batter wafted into her nostrils, she reminded her younger sister of the task at hand. “You’d better flip that minilet-crump,” she said quietly.

“Oh dear, sorry.” Steffi flipped it, only to return to the study of Syrena who began to shift.

“It’s okay.” She let out a small giggle. “I don’t mind them burned.”

“It’s just that, well, you haven’t aged a day since you disappeared.”

Syrena sighed. “It is strange to see you all grown up. With two children to boot.” She tried to keep from frowning while her eyelids held back tears. She cleared her tightening throat. “So you say ten years have gone by, have they?”

Steffi nodded under a blank countenance. “We
buried
you. In mind, at least. Now I know why we never recovered your body from the surf.” Her expression intensified for a second.

“I’m sorry if my disappearance was hard.” Syrena lowered her head.

“It was terribly hard. For mother, especially.”

“Tell me again, how did she pass?”

“As best as one can leave this life. After father died from a respiratory illness, mother’s heart stopped a few years afterward. Father’s parting was . . . difficult, you know, to see him suffer so, but mother’s was, in a way, mercifully quick.” She scooped the charred minilet-crump out of the skillet, piling it on top of other blackened cakes. Then she absentmindedly carried the plate to the table and sat down, still gazing over Syrena’s features. “You look . . .
vibrant
, do you know?”

Syrena shrugged, then bit into a much too warm minilet-crump. It crackled rather than sank against her teeth. She set the fried batter back down.

“It isn’t that good, is it?” Steffi asked.

“Terrible.” Syrena grinned.

“I was never much of a cook.”

“No.” They laughed.

“Honestly, I’m lucky my husband loves me like he does.”

Syrena leaned, placing her hand on Steffi’s arm. “Helferd Corby! Who would have guessed?” she teased. “I’m so happy for you.”

Steffi beamed. “Thank you, Syrena. If Gwyn would have treated me as nice as you always have, we’d still be in touch.”

“So she left the village?”

Nodding, Steffi said, “Six years ago.” She exhaled. “Oh! You know how restless Gwyn always was.” Steffi toyed with the edges of her culinary disaster. “She couldn’t stand life here. Wanted an adventure, to see the world, be with . . . well, men. Different ones. Lots of them.”

Syrena wagged her head, the love for her sister crushing. “So dangerous,” she muttered as she sat back. “I fear for her.” Yet she also considered how others might view her own impetuous race to the ocean’s depth to become one with Dagon. One could never rightly judge another’s voyage unless that voyage became their own. She sighed.

“She’s still alive, I know that much. Well, since the last word I got from her anyway. That was two years ago. Haven’t heard a peep since then.” Steffi shrugged. “What can one do? Nobody can control her. She makes her own choices, always has.”

“We all do.”

“Yes, but stubborn and determined that one is.” She sniffed. “I have my children to be concerned with now.”

Syrena beamed. Reaching for Steffi’s hand, she gave it a squeeze. “And they are lovely, just like you, my sister.”

“You really think so?”

“So, so lovely.” Syrena’s thoughts then drifted to Fotyne and her heart filled with compassion at the notion of the matron fretting and searching, waiting for the return of a prodigal child.

Steffi broke her concentration. “. . . and I just can’t get over the fact that you can see me plain as day. No more blindness, Syrena. How does it feel?”

She sank back with a feathery sigh. “Glorious.” But then she knitted her brows together. “I was noticing that the longer I stay, the clarity of my sight fades, but the regression seems to have stopped now.” She wrung her hands. “I’m worried about Dagon.”

Her sister leaned over the table toward her. “What are you going to do?”

“I have to go back to him,” Syrena said under the breath of another prayer. She trembled. “I can’t live without him. I love him. Dagon is like my very own soul.” She clamped her mouth shut in a futile effort to keep from crying.

After a spell of silence, other than suppressed sniffles and displays of sisterly affection, Steffi muttered her concern for Syrena’s well-being.

“They sent me here for my protection.” Syrena shook her head, barely getting the words out. “But as much as it’s lifted my heart to see you, I no longer belong here. I need to be with him. My place is by Dagon’s side, I know this.” She choked against a constricted throat. “If he perishes, if he has perished . . .”

Steffi drew her chair closer to Syrena and hugged her.

“I—”

Steffi hushed her while rocking gently. Then she whispered, “How will you do it? How will you find him? And when would you go?”

“Soon. I don’t have the answers. But, perhaps the Bright and Morning Star will guide me,” she pondered. “Indeed, I’m certain of it.”

“Is it real?” Steffi drew back and studied her.

“Yes.” Syrena exhaled. “Yes, it is very real, and it’s a person,” she said, smiling. “Let me tell you what I’ve learned.”

Chapter 17

Turn Back

Syrena insisted that she depart by way of the launch, convincing Steffi to trail behind her. After hitting the cool, invigorating water, embracing the folds of the welcoming pool, her sister followed suit, finally breaking the surface.

Steffi struggled to catch her breath. “It’s been . . . so long . . . since I’ve done that!” she panted. “I’ve grown plump in places”—
gasp
—“I thought I’d never resurface”—
breath
—“I sunk so deep”—
gasp
—“but then I sprung back up”—
breath-breath
—“like a puff full of air.”

They both laughed, until Syrena fanned her tail and made a splash.

Steffi shrieked. “You have a tail, like a fish!” She treaded closer, yet with tentative motion toward Syrena’s now stationary form. “You’re a regular mermaid,” she said with awe.

“I told you.” She smiled.

“Yes, but it’s different to actually witness it.” Other than treading, Steffi remained transfixed then reached to touch the shiny and colorful scales. “You’re beautiful,” she exclaimed. In a mesmerizing manner, she said, “Dagon is good for you.”

“He is perfect for me.” Syrena frowned, thinking of Dagon and fearing for his safety.

“You have to leave now.”

Syrena nodded.

“I will always love you, sister.”

“And I you.”

They embraced with a kiss on each cheek.

Salt and tears mingled as Syrena dove. A little further out, she lingered while breaking water. Staring in Steffi’s direction, she watched as her sister traipsed the rocks back to the village in that distinct gait she’d do whenever emotion overcame her. A glint of a longing smile graced Syrena’s lips. She waved even though she knew Steffi would never turn back. But neither would she.

With a thrash of her tail, she drove her body into the deep, propelling far from shore, pushing the world of land and humans behind, most of all, from her mind.

The ocean grew dark, so dark. Black, like a starless midnight. Syrena hovered then spun with no sense of direction. It seemed an eternity passed and she began to panic. In her thoughts and prayers over Dagon, and his mother, Fotyne, she had felt compelled and strengthened, but now she sensed nothing. She couldn’t even detect a current and there, adrift, without knowing what to do, fear crept into her shriveling heart. What was she doing out there in the middle of a world she knew so little about? How stupid could she be in her determination void of a plan?

Syrena bowed her head. She considered going back to the village. After all, her husband and mother-in-law had had good reason to have sent her there.

But now she was stuck. She couldn’t even detect which way was up. The water’s pressure at whatever level seemed equal. It was as if she were blind again. Only worse. She was alone.

She started to hyperventilate. She clutched her heart, her throat. She twisted and writhed.

And then she spotted a faint light far, far ahead. Slowly, with the expanding and retracting of her lungs leveling, she followed the distant beacon.

Surprise overtook her when she broke surface. Twilight illumined the sky. That’s what she thought, anyway, until she spotted a land of gold on the horizon and the surroundings that consisted of something like a diamond-coated marine. Shining like a halo, the unnatural light cast a rich glow over the nearby area.

About to make for it, something stopped her, an invisible force of some sort.

“Help!” she cried, losing heart. “Somebody . . .”

A tranquil, iridescent beam of sacred greens and blue, of a spectrum she’d never before encountered, shot from beneath the water. Without thinking, she knew she was meant to pursue its direction.

Growing increasingly difficult to follow, her body moved like a feather trying to push a boulder, but she managed, though exhausted from the effort. It led her to a strange mountain centered in a vast underwater desert of black sand. Had it not been for the beam of light, she doubted she’d see the mountain.

Something drew closer to her rapidly. With the object came a sickly feeling. Above her head, a sea snake wriggled by, racing away faster than she could blink. The snake appeared tiny, but Syrena’s instincts told her of the serpent’s deadliness. With quick circular motions she used her hands to maneuver lower, away from the sight of the snake. Then an immense shadow made her jolt as she almost collided with it. The face of an open-mouthed sea witch grew larger then tumbled past, her scream of torment unheard to Syrena’s ears in those deep waters. Yet the hag’s face contorted in such fright, agony, and hatred. The imposter-mother didn’t even perceive Syrena’s presence.

And so they are cast away,
thought Syrena, which also made her wonder in what condition she’d find her love, and his true mother.

With trepidation, she entered through a crevice and swam the mountain’s channels until she came to a jutting rock ledge. She used it to hoist herself out of the water. When she gained her legs, she padded from the opening into the inner chambers, only to find the room sealed by rock walls. In fact, the walls seemed to close in on her. Syrena wrapped her arms about her center, feeling as if she stood in a dank prison.

A gentle ripple caught her attention. She glanced to the far corner and closed in on a slim line of moving water, a current running beneath the walls toward the core. The beam that now lit the cavern pulsated toward the stream.

She scrutinized the ray of light. “Are you sure?”

The beam flittered and Syrena could swear that it bubbled with joyful amusement.

Any anxiety she harbored fled in an instant. She stepped into the stream.

“What strangeness is this?” For when she entered the water and then raised an arm or a leg—legs which didn’t metamorphose—she remained dry. Her hair, too. And at the same time, the water cooled, revived, and invigorated. “It’s just like the water Fotyne introduced me to.” Syrena smiled. She swam some, but floated much. She drifted to the bottom and glanced up to watch the ebb’s consecrated pulse. Then she sprang from silted floor of bluish diamonds and kicked to the surface without any effort at all. “This is so wonderful. No words can describe it! Dagon—”

Syrena clapped her cheeks at the idea that her lover’s name tripped from her tongue so easily, even when they remained apart. How she longed to talk to him again, to share life again! Somehow, she knew he was near.

Kicking into ascent, Syrena allowed the flow of this sanctified water to take her there.