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It seemed to be coming from the water.

Right from the depths, rolling beautifully in the currents just for him.

“Ivan!”

He turned his head drowsily as if being lulled into sleep. Iros was quickly at his side, beckoning him to listen. The High Templar’s face was so strained that the vein in his forehead protruded out.

“Listen to me, gods damn you!” Iros shouted so close to his face that bits of spit hit Ivan’s cheeks and forehead.

This seemed to stir something in him that was offended enough to bring him back.

“They aren’t turning around!” Again, Iros was shouting, but he heard what was inside the words this time. He’d given them the command to retreat, but they weren’t.

He whipped around to see the remaining Iron Claw slowly creeping toward the drifting ship. His face must have given away his confusion because Iros forcefully clasped his shoulder and pointed toward it.

“You’re hearing it from there, so are they! These men are going to die, Ivan. She will send them all into the depths the second they get close enough for her to command them to sink one another. You have to get them to turn back!”

What could he do?

Any remaining drive in his body had left him after the battle.

“Iros…” Why was his voice so raspy, as if he swallowed seawater. “What is happening?”

“Listen to me,” The high templar’s grip strengthened. “There is something in there that's speaking to every man as if they are the only ones to hear its voice. Get them to turn back.”

He ran below deck. Iros had warned the men to stuff their ears with wax, and most, but not all, had seemed lucid.

“Get us to the ship faster than any of them!” Ivan gave directions as he strode past the rowing benches. “Get us close enough to board!”

“This is the exact opposite of what I had asked!” Iros was behind him, walking fast toward the scoutmaster.

“Yet it seems you had asked me, doesn’t it?” Ivan snapped back, stopping the High Templar in his path. It seemed that Ivan’s patience had finally ran out. “Because why? Because you know they won’t listen to you?”

“They are your men.”

“I was a teacher who happened to like being out in the field himself!” He could feel his face redden. “An administrator. Just because I had campaigns under my belt did not mean I should be given ‘men’ whose lives I have to answer for!”

A prickle of something coming up from the depths within. The party lost in the North—the men he had abandoned to save himself.

“They are your men because they have listened to you already, not because someone tasked you with it.” Iros’ tone was harsh as if a father was disciplining a child.

“And so that is what I am doing,” Ivan said, his voice only barely above the sound of the oars in the water. “Saving my men.”

“You do not know what you are headed toward.”

“I can hear her too.”

It was only by the grace of the All-Father that the dazed men manning the other Iron Claws had slowed to what was nearly adrift themselves - the ship passing them by toward the menacing ghost vessel bobbing in the waves.

He could see that the closer they got, the stranger the men’s movements became. He himself felt the sensation roll across his skin, sending a thrill to the core of his bones.

They’d gotten close, and he saw Iros preparing himself, sword in hand.

Something about the templar made Ivan pause. He’d never looked older. Still wet, his face tired and worn. The lines across it were deeper. His skin was sunburnt. He was ready to follow Ivan into certain death, his sword in hand, even though he’d been trying to convince him to turn back.

Because of Ivan’s decisions, this man could very well not return.

A splash, deep, heavy. Iros turned just in time to see Ivan go overboard. He ran for the rail and shouted something, but all Ivan could hear was the hum of the water as he submerged. It filled his ears, the sound compressing his body all over. Surfacing, he swam to the abandoned ship.

He’d given the order. The rovers would not budge - they would not go any closer or listen to Iros. And the High Templar’s shouts in the distance confirmed that much.

No one was to come any closer. No one.

Only one ledge, and he pulled himself from the water. He’d discarded his leather jerkin, but the sword was still strapped to his back. The voice had enveloped him when he dove into the water. It surrounded and cradled him, caressed him, beckoned him closer.

You’re troubled, my love.

Come.

He made his way across the deck, following it. The tingle at the back of his neck had been so similar to when Sirin had lured him into the woods. The rousing of the senses - to touch, to feel, to be accepted, to be loved. It promised all.

But Ivan had known better. The Witch had taught him better.

He followed the beckoning through the ruined hatches, down worn and rotted steps. The ship had been adrift a long, long time. It led him to a heavy door. The floor was damp; it smelled of old standing water - rotten and sulfurous. He could hear rodents among the creaks of the wood.

He felt it. Just beyond. He tried to keep his sense of urgency at the front of his mind - get it to stop. Get it to stop and let Iros take the Iron Claw to safety.

He pushed the door and stepped inside.

Small portholes and a window toward the top of the wall let in some light, but not enough, and it was fairly dark. The fetid smell was worse here, and he quickly saw why.

The floorboards had been partially ripped out, nearly half the room destroyed and revealing the bilge of the ship underneath. Something was suspended, partially submerged in the putrid sludgy water. It was a woman… or something that looked like a woman, at least.

It looked as a long-dead fish, but a maiden as well. Dainty, thin, vulnerable - and rotting, translucent skin with veins visible underneath. Its mouth was forced open by three fishhooks on lines fastened to the floor. It held an unsettling amount of little sharp teeth. The creature’s opaque, cloudy eyes seemed as if they were retreating back into its skull.

A much larger hook hung from the top rafters behind her, and it had first run through one of the chains, then was lodged into the back of her head, right where the skull met the neck. All around its nude body fell beautiful wet tresses, but they, too, smelled of spoil and decay.

It was slumped over the collar. As he expected, the collar of gold, silver, and iron.

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My love, but you made it here! How overjoyed I am.

The words, so sweet, sounded in his head. The creature’s mouth did not move - it couldn’t - it did not even strain against the fishhooks.

“Let them go.” He said, his tone harsh.

How sweet… a man who knows me? A man who walks in here, sacrificing his life for others? My love, you are too giving, let me instead give to you.

Something stepped up behind him, and he felt cool hands reach from behind and run from the bottom of his shirt up to his chest. He looked up at the creature - it had not moved, still suspended on the hooks.

“Am I more pleasing to you in this way?” As a bird’s singing, the honeyed voice came from lips mere inches away from his ear, and he felt himself tense up - the sensation far too pleasant.

He did not look; he could already see the air around them change. First went the horrid smells, then the cold dampness, and finally, the room seemed sunny yet shaded - like a summer’s day spent lounging underneath some shade.

“My love, what is your name?” She asked and slowly worked her way around him, her hands following underneath his clothes - until she stood face to face with Ivan.

Her face was pretty yet unsettling. This… version of the creature looked like a maiden, with skin perfectly smooth and pale. Her eyes were still milky and cloudy, but they stared at him from underneath thick, dark lashes. Her hair was shiny and slick, and her body curved in every perfect place.

I will not give it to you until you release my men.” He heard his own words quieter, and she smiled as the authority in his voice wavered.

“Brave, virtuous, honorable.” She sang. “You came to seek me out yourself. As you would have it, a champion among men, I will release those who only listen to my troubled soul - as you have come to heal it, I see.”

“How will I know…” Again, raspy, as if suddenly his throat was dry.

“My love, you have my word. Go and see for yourself if you wish. They leave even now.”

He did not move, but he could hear through the open windows the sounds of ships breaking the surface of the waves.

“Now, give me your name…”

He remained quiet, his eyes on her, unable to help them running down her body. She took his gaze, and she embraced it fully.

“You keep me wanting, let me see - what is it that you want?” She giggled, and her hand slid behind his neck, pulling him in, her breath on his skin.

Her expression soured suddenly, and her hands dropped.

“You want another? You crawl to me on your knees, and you whisper another’s name in my ears?” She hissed.

Again, Ivan said nothing. He tried to focus his mind away from the creature, away from how much he wanted to reach out and touch, to surrender, to beg of her everything that he had ever wanted.

She moved to his side, leading him toward a thick woven blanket that seemed as if it had always been in the middle of the room. She lowered herself down on it, her face to him, nearly crawling and daring for him to follow. And he did. Feeling intoxicated, he came after her, only a moment away before he caught himself and pulled back, feeling his breathing already strained.

“Your body yearns for that which your mind knows is out of reach.” She arched her back, sliding down and closer to being underneath him. “But where is your heart, my love? If you won’t tell me your name, I should have hers - tell me the one who breaks my love’s soul apart.”

He spoke before he thought.

“Valeria…”

Immediately feeling a chill run through him, he saw that the pale flesh underneath him had transformed. It thickened up, the rise of the chest higher and hip bones further apart. Before him lay the Witch, nude as the creature had been; her chestnut hair was wet and dripping on the blanket below them.

“All-Father no…” He whispered, feeling every defense he had fall apart, “not like this…”

“But you have been here before, my love.” She sang. “Is it not these arms that have embraced you? Not this body that wrapped around you, warm and soothing in the harshness of the world? Was the beating of this heart not for you? Tell me all your woes, come.”

He felt the pressure in his chest, longing, and for a heartbeat, he allowed himself to think that this was she. That this was the Witch, writhing below him, her hands pulling at his shirt. So familiar her face, her body, even her smell - rosemary and thyme.

And in that heartbeat, he knew that this was not she - she was like this with someone else. But the thought had quickly passed.

“Do you remember?” She sighed, “That night of you and I against the ground? Your hands had swallowed me whole; you wanted to know every inch as if it could ever be your own. The flames at our backs in the middle of winter?”

Pain. He felt it; he could not help but look at her and feel the excruciating loneliness of her absence. He knew her body. He had known it as its master and its loyal servant. He had known every detail, devouring, revering.

“Stop…” He begged, feeling the overwhelm.

All-Father forgive him, but he was not ready. He was prepared to meet his death here, but he was not prepared to meet the Witch.

“Do you remember holding on so tight that you could feel the heat of my skin through my clothes? All around us, Nothing-touched devils waiting to devour us whole - and all you could think about was my warmth. The way my body moved, threatening to leave, to be torn away - you’d thought about that deep into the nights ever since, I know. I whispered to you to trust me, and you never stopped. Perhaps you should have.”

He felt her hands caress the thin, sensitive skin above his hip and just over the belt of his pants. His breath became heavier. Unconsciously, he moved forward, his body just over hers.

“Tell me your name, my love. So I may sigh it into your ear at night, and for the rest of all nights that we have - I will make sure that they are forever.”

“You are not her…” He managed, but even then, he felt his hand slip beneath her - his fingers running the length of her ribs. To only touch one more time. To only know one more time. Just one more time, and then he would leave. And he would never see her again…

He thought that perhaps if he could not have the Witch…

She caught his hesitation, and her legs came wrapping around him, guiding him down and against her body.

“Poor darling, but the last words you ever said to me - ‘I’ll find you as soon as I can’, but that was a lie, wasn’t it? You knew where I was, it was you who could not stand the thought of seeing me with someone else. Especially not him.”

Something suddenly changed, the creature’s face twisting into an expression he had never seen on the Witch.

“Who is him, my love?” She asked with an edge to her voice.

Ivan understood that this was something she wanted - and he was not going to give her anything else. Seeing his resistance, she fell back into the soft lull, her fingers running across his shoulders and through his hair. A low moan escaped her lips.

“Tell me all the things you wish you would have said; tell me and relieve your heavy heart to me instead.” She whispered, and her hand slipped to pull at his belt. At the sensation, his head fell in almost complete defeat. He tried to shake it off, knowing that the illusion was only a mere thread from breaking - the creature could take this from him at any moment.

And, by the All-Father, he did not want to let go. He wanted to stay suspended in this place, even if it meant losing his mortal soul. At least here, he had her.

“You told me you would return,” he managed, the memory at the Obsidian Palace overtaking his mind. She’d known; she’d gone in, seeking the same man that she now found.

“I have returned now, my love.” She smiled. The smile was just a little off, just a little bit not the real thing, but it was close… so close…

He felt his hips give, and she pulled harder, hands slipping lower, body moving as if to beg him.

“Tell me you love me.” He said suddenly, his body tensing, resisting her pull.

The smile on her face turned dark for a moment before she brought both her hands up to hold his face.

“I love you.” She said quietly, and he felt tears well up. He dropped his eyes and took in a deep breath.

Those words.

“Say my name.” His voice shook. “Say my name.”

“I do not know your name, my love; why don’t you tell it to me?”

“You are not her.” He muttered. “I gave my name to her freely, and she holds it still.”

The creature screamed, its face contorting back to first the pale maiden and then to the grotesque thing that had been hung from the ceiling. He pulled the knife from his belt, out from between their bodies, and cut its torso open, blood gushing onto the ground. There was no more warmth, no more blanket, no light: only the rank, damp room. The bleeding body was gone, and only the suspended creature remained. It did not speak.

He took it off the hook and gathered the chains. They were so heavy that he had to strain to bring the whole of it up the steps. The sun was still high, although he did not know how long he had been there.

He strapped the chains across the deck, laying the creature out in the open air. He looked at it lying there, helpless, unmoving.

Ivan sat hard against a wall, dropping his face into his hands. He wept. Until his breathing calmed, he wept. And then he sat silently, his eyes closed and face turned to the sky.

The smell of something extraordinarily horrible reached him. He looked to where the creature was, and it seemed that almost the entirety of its body had dried up.

He heard something in the distance. Squinting against the sun, he looked out to find a single Iron Claw atop the waves, coming toward the abandoned ship.

When they got close enough, it was Iros who greeted him with some words not fit even for a military commander. The man had lost all formality, angry, scolding Ivan - like his own father had when he was much younger.

Before they left, they lit a pyre, and as the Iron Claw sailed away, the whole of the deserted husk was swallowed up in flames.

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