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THE SEA, THE MIST, AND THE MOON
PART II
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Her breath was damp and fragrant, like a verdant spring evening after a rainfall… or the mist that sometimes crept up the river, which he often fancied came from the ocean itself.
The sirena’s fathomless gaze flickered over him again, black eyes deep and full of secrets. If he asked her endless questions and she did nothing but answer them all for a hundred days and nights, he felt he would never reach the bottom of that well. He tried to hold those eyes with his, another question resting on the tip of his tongue, but all thought faded before his newfound clarity.
After staring into the shadow of death what seemed but a moment ago, and living to remember it, all prior fears were inconsequential.
Suppose they never reached the other door? Suppose he never again felt the touch of sunlight or the warmth of a harvest breeze? They were so close to the end of this road, but anything could happen between this moment and the next; the voices of a thousand souls echoed in his mind, and he realized how very, very short his life was—how small he was—in the great scheme of the world.
Suddenly, he knew exactly what he wanted.
And, for the first time in his life, he was bold enough to seek it out, and see if it may be found.
Ember lifted himself up on one elbow and gently pulled a strand of hair from Ky's slimy cheek, looping it behind her ear.
She blinked, eyes widening.
Her fragrant breath chilled his lips and nose as he leaned forward, trembling with an uncertain mixture of fear and excitement. A moment before their mouths met, she twitched and he bumped his nose on her chin instead.
She sat up very suddenly, her eyes rounding further.
Ember reached for her hand.
She yanked it away from him and recoiled, brushing her fingers on the skirt. Her tongue flitted out, anxiously dampening each corner of her mouth.
Heat rushed to his face and the tips of his ears.
Her discomfort was clear, yet after all that he had done her reluctance stung like a slap to the face. What hurt him most was the acute understanding that he would do it all over again… for even the quietest word of approval, the most fleeting touch, or nothing but to be in her presence a few moments more.
"Ky," he mumbled, humiliation washing over him, "I just wanted to thank you for—"
"No thanks will be necessary," she said swiftly, darting a glance at the ceiling. "I am only being for you what you are always being… for me."
Ember watched her in silence, trying to make some sense of her words. Then he ventured, "Have I done something to offend you?"
"No," hissed the sirena, with enough force to make him flinch. "You have done nothing."
He finally ducked his head, the blush creeping over his entire face and down his neck.
Straightening her skirts, Ky hummed a few brisk notes that he thought were meant to put an end to it—but his heart was beating too fast and his thoughts whirling too confusedly for her simple melodies to silence him.
Was she frightened? Timid?
No—not timid, not Ky.
Not ever.
What, then? Had he made a fool of himself? Had she misunderstood his clumsy attentions, his oft-misspoken compliments?
Surely she must know her very scent bewitches me…
He blushed anew at a few of the recent memories which beset him. How could he have fancied himself desirable—much less the equal of such a powerful creature? Yet she herself had wronged him, had even owned to her wrongdoing. Not all of it, to be sure, but some of it.
Was it even possible that she thought herself beneath him?
He dismissed that notion out of hand, and his eyes began to smart all over again.
Ember, you fool!
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"Have I not earned some portion of your trust?" he murmured, trying and failing to keep an edge of desperation from betraying his dignity. "You have mine, if you wish for it."
She turned slightly, as if pulled by his voice, but continued to stare at the wall behind him.
"When I thought I was to die, all I could think about was… you… I…" A fresh flush warmed his cheeks. "I know what a fool I must seem to you, but… Maker’s Breath, you don't even know how lovely you are!"
He expected her to agree with his sentiments, perhaps even to correct him with some recognition of her own beauty. Flattery had always been the way to Ky's heart in the past, but now she did not smile. A muscle below her eye shivered and she swallowed hard, her aspect strangely hollow.
"You are weary, Ember. Sleep."
But Ember sat up straighter, the blankets falling into his lap, and tried to catch her eye again. "Believe me when I say I have no delusions. I know I'm hardly worthy of a passing glance, even in my valley… but—"
"What are you knowing of wild magic?"
The question was so sudden, her voice so unexpectedly lively, that it rendered him speechless.
He blinked, his heart fluttering in surprise.
"Ky, you—"
"Ember," she said lowly. The cords in her neck stiffened and the strain upon her face was frightening in its clarity. He eased himself back to the stone floor, nestling his head into the crook of his arm. "I will discuss anything you wish. Anything else, at all."
Stunned, he attempted to gather his thoughts, but they had scattered like leaves in a harvest wind. The sirena relented, placing her hand near to his upon the blankets.
His heart pounded even at that slight acknowledgment.
"What do you know of wild magic?" she repeated, gentling her tone. "What tales are told in your… valley?"
"Very few," Ember confessed, absently reaching for her hand.
She twitched her slender fingers away and exhaled again.
"There is not so much wild magic in the world now as there was when my ancestors were born. The lights in the woods are a lingering presence from days long past, and, I think, the Tree. But many such things have come and gone, and will not come again."
Ember knew she was only attempting to dissuade him, but he did wonder why she had chosen such a topic; perhaps it had been foremost among her thoughts, of late. He reluctantly decided to indulge her, if only to distract from his own embarrassment.
"What of the…" He shuddered, and all the heat drained out of him. Teeth chattering, he pulled the blankets up over his torso again. "…the demon?"
Ky tensed, and then sighed. "I do not know. I do not wish to think upon it further."
"Have you encountered any other wild magic?" he murmured, curious in spite of himself.
Her glance was keen, and her eyes flashed.
"Yes."
He moved his fingers toward hers again, and again she evaded him.
"Of what sort?"
"I am of the wild magic, Ember."
He froze, his fingertips very near to her.
She pulled away, grasping a fistful of her skirt and curling her claws into the fabric. Her other hand she loosely curled against her chest, and for the first time he let his gaze freely wander the curves beneath her dress.
After all, he thought, even if I am to have nothing else of her regard, she is still very beautiful; she may refuse to look at me, but why shouldn’t I look at her? I’ve already gone and made the greatest fool of myself; there’s no need to hide my own regard.
"How do you mean?"
"My people are great shapers," she sang gently. "We shape ourselves, long ago—the first of the sirens are made of three things: sea spray, morning mist, and moonlight."
He shivered, remembering the oracle's scrolls: If ever it was known that knowledge hath byen lost, and more pity upon us... they are named the Curséd by the devout. Before he could inquire further, Ky shifted onto her knees and hummed a few notes. Their temerity surprised him, and it took her several moments to find her tune.
"Now shall I be singing you to sleep?"
He reflected upon her discretion.
She always asked him first—no matter how often he said yes.
"After you tell me more about your people," he bartered, resentful. "How can you have shaped yourselves?"
Her eyes darted all around, and she shifted again, settling down on the stones.
"We are not the only beings shaped by magic. I am seeing," and she held up the appropriate number of fingers as she spoke, "a wolf with eyes that shine like the moon, a mountain pool reflecting a starry sky in the light of day, a huddle of trees that creak and sway even when there is no wind—"
"Yes, but how do they become such things?" He watched her carefully. “Everything is made by something—nothing makes itself.”
A short silence ensued.
"The magic shapes them, if they dwell in the wildest parts of the woods too long," she murmured, after a short time. Then, more softly, "or they are made thus by their own doings."
Her words settled upon him with a chill.
"Rest softly, Ember, for there is nothing else which I may gift to you."
He thought of an unseen moon aglow in the twilight hours, a fine morning mist upon the path to the riverbank, and the frothing waves of an ocean he had only glimpsed in the eyes of his wandering mind.