47
SPECTRE IN THE DARK
🙜
Ember spent an untold length of time wandering in and out of fitful visions; the ritual of spitting and counting paces had been replaced by another, which—though no less peculiar—was infinitely more troublesome in that it had no clear purpose. No forward motion, no destination to achieve; only feeling his way blindly along the edge of the bath to the dripping water at the back of the cavern.
It trickled down from above with a maddening slowness, each drop tasting of algae and mold; he could not divine if it was always meant to be there, or if he had encountered another crack within the latticework of spells which had once brought the mountain to life, but however it had come to that place, he was thankful. Occasionally he reached for the stone-light to console himself with its faint glow. He whispered to it, blew on it, caressed it and begged it, but not a flicker brighter did it grow.
Worst of all were the in-betweens: half-sinking into fevered dreams, his only company the wordless sirena and the darkness which drew closer around them both. Thus Ember found himself alone with his inner world for the first time since he had left the oracle’s sanctuary. His thoughts were chaotic, scattered by encroaching threats of starvation and death.
But at length, he made a temporary truce with his present circumstances.
Enough to turn his attention slowly inward…
What bothered him most, he discovered, was the silence. Always before in this mountain stronghold there had been an undercurrent, a whispering, rumors of living magic and fraying spells.
This place seemed entirely forsaken.
Ember had not appreciated how much he had grown to depend upon Ky’s melodies and simple conversation to chase the shades away. Now he could not bear to dwell upon the manner in which he had hushed her, threatened her.
It was difficult to remember the words he had spoken, but how he wished he could alter the way he had spoken them, the way he had brandished Fishbiter. What had he been thinking? Ky had never made a move to harm him before. Perhaps the sword had influenced him; it was magical…
No, he admitted quickly, blushing at himself in the dark. I must own to it all.
It was only then that he understood: he had been angry ever since Ky confessed her purpose there. Ember had always known she was manipulating him, but the truth—that he was simply an accessory to procuring the treasure she sought—had hurt him more than he anticipated… or admitted to himself, at the time.
It was not his nature to be angry.
But it was certainly a siren’s nature to manipulate.
Ky was old—young by the measure of her own folk, perhaps, but older than any creature which Ember had encountered in the valley below Sisters Mountain—and even the villagers were set in their ways. A river did not forge a new path for itself in one night, and neither had the forests of the foothills sprung up in a single day. She had opened her habits, her delights, and even a few of her secrets to him, very slowly, like petals unfurling beneath the first drop of morning light.
There was still much he did not know, but he trusted her. Not because he had no one else to turn to; simply because he wanted to.
She had lied to him—hidden things—cajoled him onward—all in the name of her mysterious treasure. Yet had she not grasped his throat in her hand, dying of thirst, and spared him?
I like you, Ember, she had said.
He shivered as a draft crept in around the door. Her ethereal form took shape in his mind, painted against the inky darkness by a single thought, and he glimpsed her standing on his stoop as if it had been yesterday, a basket of pilfered garden greens clasped in her arms.
Had he left well enough alone, perhaps he would still be tending his nets, and Ky would be…
Where would Ky be?
Still watching him from afar?
Or would she have found some other man to open her door in the mountain?
Even if he might once have wanted to follow a different path—to undo everything that had occurred simply by wishing the sirena away and return to his ordinary life on the riverbank—he couldn’t. More than that, he knew in his heart that he wouldn’t, given the chance.
“I am,” he whispered, “a hopeless fool.”
A faint wisp hung in the air before him as he exhaled deeply.
Why was he so cold?
He shivered, putting his arms around himself; two glimmering reflections floated directly in front of his face: a pair of eyes in the darkness. Ember opened his mouth to speak Ky's name, but the eyes moved suddenly much closer.
A strand of hair brushed his brow, damp lips grazing his nose.
“Yessss,” came the hissing whisper. “You are a fool…”
He shouted, his breath mingling with hers, and dodged—not fast enough.
Bony fingers snatched and grabbed.
“Fool to trust my wretched sister!” shrieked Sil.
His shoulders slammed against something unyielding—petrified bark scratched and tugged at his tattered clothes as he slid down the bole of the tree, but the sirena pinned him in place. He weakly tugged at her wrist, too stunned to fight back.
The fog of their breath swirled together as the ashen forest brightened around them, and he could just make out the riverbank behind her—it appeared to have iced over at the edges; frosty leaves crunched and crackled under their feet, as if the grim sleep of winter had crept over the already slumbering wood.
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And Ember blearily acknowledged that he had slipped into dreams without Ky’s song or the grace of the tree to shelter his weary mind.
Sil unleashed a warbling growl, tightening her grip.
All her many simpering smiles, the alluring softness of her movements, any elegance which might have been before—displaced by a startling quickness, a deadly precision. It was all a ruse, a mask. A trap… crafted cunningly for the mind of a mortal man. He wondered how many of his kin she had gleefully lured to their deaths.
Hundreds?
Thousands?
“Sssso… you summon Silveli to thisssss other-place, and now you spurn her attentions? Tell me, boy: how swiftly did you run, weeping, to my sister? Begging the touch of her voice, the cradle of her song?” Sil loomed above him, her red hair burnished into a halo of gold by the light of an unseen moon. “Is this ‘power of the oracles’ not enough to vanquish one lonely 'witch' without her lullaby? I don't hear her lulling now, do you?”
“I didn’t—agh—!”
“Hummmm. How... very disappointing..."
His shoes lifted off the crackling forest floor as Sil ground her knee beneath his ribs, crushing him against the tree. He cried out, wrenching at her elbow and kicking weakly. The world tilted around him, her face an abyss in the gloom.
“I warn you, boy, I tire of your tricks. This game of yours? You will soon find it—” Her teeth gritted audibly and her hand tightened around his neck, closing his throat with a squelching pop. “—deadly.”
Ember’s jaw gaped open and he arched his back against the bole. His chest ached with a tremendous and all-consuming pressure, pulse pounding beneath her chill fingers, shoulders twitching as his lungs pulled for air, but he could neither speak nor think. He only knew that he needed to breathe.
“‘Twill not take me many days to unravel the rhythms of this place… to imitate your simple mortal song. And then this power you possess... shall be as much mine as it is yours. I hear it still—your heart, beating beneath the stone. Sometimes near, often far. Soon, I find you in this ‘other-place’ no matter the distance between us—and shape this strange realm however I wish.” She bared her teeth, fangs glittering, and huffed. “Of course I am not so foolish as my dark-haired sister… enamored by your petty mortal tricks. It is clear you have no real dominion here.”
Please! Ember gasped without a sound.
She pressed her knee deeper into his guts and twisted her fingers. “What is that, boy? You will have to speak louder…”
Please! Talk! Tears streamed from both his eyes as he writhed in shame. I will talk with you! Please!
His body contorted beneath her grip, fighting for life—just one drop of air. Sil loosened her grasp for a fractured moment, and Ember tried to inhale. Her fingers clenched again before he could.
“Oh? Now you have something to say?” She licked the corner of her mouth, as if his anguish left a taste worth savoring. “If the first word which falls from your useless tongue is not the sincerest of apologies, I will sooner tear out your throat than listen to your mortal tripe.”
Flashing stars scattered across her face as his field of vision dimmed.
“Do you understand me?” hissed Sil.
Ember tried furiously to nod, but his neck spasmed and it was the most he could manage he could do to mouth a desperate, Yes!
Sil released him and Ember collapsed in a drooling heap among the roots of the tree. For a moment he feared he would never be able to breathe properly again. He pressed his hands to his neck and swallowed hard.
“Apologies,” he croaked.
Nothing would matter anymore if he perished here—not even his dignity.
If he died in this dream, would he die in the real world?
He had to stay alive...
“Not sincere enough,” she snapped.
“I’m so sorry! I’m sorry for summoning you here… I didn’t mean to…”
Sil tilted her head, observing him with a mollified smile.
“No, no. You are grateful for summoning me,” she crooned. “You are grateful for my mercy. Say it, boy.”
“I am grateful,” groaned Ember, still holding his throat. “Mercy…”
Hatred seethed within his chest, and his hands trembled with anger and disgust, but the tears would not stop flowing: it was all he could do to kneel before her in the crackling leaves and fight for every breath, staring dumbly at her delicate, claw-tipped toes.
A soft hand landed upon his head, and long fingers ruffled his matted curls.
“Yes, I am merciful. And because you are so very grateful, as soon you are free of this mountain you will seek my face. Bring my traitorous sister as well. No fading magic of mortal kind is potent enough to hide the song of your heart—not now that I know you... know it... Fail in this, and I shall hunt you both unto the crumbling of the world, and snatch that beating heart from your chest. If I cannot have you, neither shall my sister. Do you understand? And I shall devour it whole before your waking eyes.”
Chills skittered up Ember’s spine.
“Love my commands… answer my summons… and I shall show you more of this mercy you wish for. The connection we share will be very useful, in ways of which I am only beginning to understand.” She examined one of the claws which had pricked him. “Perhaps I will bend your mind to my liking, and make use of you in some other way. Fear not: you shall be able to see Ky now and then, of course. Though she will no longer be able to see you, after her eyes are put out for this treachery.”
“What?!” he choked, horrified, but Sil paid him no heed. "Your own sister—"
“Yes,” she crooned thoughtfully, as if to herself. “This pleases me: I take you away from her, and shape you as Ky shaped Bren—more skillfully, of course. A suitable reprimand for her crimes… the elders shall be easily convinced of this.”
Ember blinked at her, his thoughts reeling in too many directions at once.
“...Bren?”
Sil smiled beatifically, taking notice of him again. “My cunning little sister. Did she not tell you his fate?”
“I know what happened to Bren,” he coughed. “You killed him!”
She dipped her head and chortled, hair falling before her face like a bloody veil; he grimly surmised the thought of that moment had put her in good spirits again... temporarily.
“Tell me, O Wise One: did I lure the man called Bren away from his nest among the crags? Did I sing him tales of far-away lands, of kingdoms and glory and treasure? Did I place my own ambitions upon his heart, and twist his thoughts to my desires?”
“What do you mean?” he managed numbly, though he thought he already knew.
“He would have followed her anywhere, done anything she asked of him. His only remaining wish was to be as she willed. That night, he was to meet her upon the riverbank, and accompany her to this mountain,” Sil smirked, licking her lips. “There was hardly anything left of ‘Bren’ when I claimed him for my own. My sister devoured his mind with magic long before I cracked the marrow from his bones…”