The ferry house was empty like its mainland counterpart but in comparison, it was less spartan as though those who had abandoned it had only left a few days ago. It was one large space but crammed into it were a half dozen beds covered with blankets, a table lined with pews, several coats hanging from hooks and even wood stacked by the fireplace. Verne was busy laying fresh wood, having dug out the old ash and was attempting to get a fire going. He’d discarded all his outer layers and grabbed a dry coat from the wall, draping it over himself as he shivered.
“You need to change.” Aalis ordered.
“Fire first…” Verne stammered. When the fire was in no danger of going out, he found some dry clothes in his pack and went to the latrine to change.
Judd, Caste and Giordi sat on the stone floor covered with a woven mat in front of the fire. None of them had said a word since leaving the ferry. Aalis, not caring much for modesty at that point, yanked her overdress off her body and wrapped a holey shawl she’d spotted hanging from the wall around her bare shoulders. This cobbled together look only enhanced her witch-like appearance.
Because the ferry house had its own cooking space, Aalis was able to prepare a meal quickly. The shepherds had offered them some of their lamb as they reasoned they had plenty. She overloaded the stew with as many vegetables as she could cram into the pot, knowing that they all needed something hearty to revive themselves.
As she cooked, she looked up from her work. Judd, Caste and Giordi were quiet and subdued.
“Will they be alright?” Verne asked, tousling his black hair and tying his bandana on as he joined her in the kitchen.
“I think so. Whatever the sirens were using on them to dull their wits might take time to wear off.”
Verne took two bowls and Aalis balanced three and they joined the others by the fire. “Here,” she said, pushing it into Judd’s hands, “eat and be restored.”
Judd took it without looking at her as did Caste after she nudged him with her foot. Verne handed Giordi his who seemed to be perking up and even managed a ‘thank you’. Verne flopped down on the floor next to him.
“What were those things?” Verne asked.
“You don’t know about sirens?” Giordi asked, quite surprised.
“Never been near open water like that before. I’ve only swam in lakes or dams.”
“They prey on men, sailors mostly.” Judd explained softly.
“Oh…only men?” Verne asked with a slight squeak.
“Even if they only preferred the taste of men, I think they would have drowned Aalis out of spite.”
“Seductresses of the deep,” Giordi sighed almost wistfully, “their calls have drawn many men into their bosoms only to be dragged down to the depths and feasted upon. In song they are almost depicted as desirable and I’ve heard many a man wish that they could see one…”
“If I ever hear a man say that…I’ll thump him.” Judd muttered.
“I feel that is only fair.” Giordi nodded, reclining backwards.
“They call with words, their aroma is sweet,
But beware those who follow.
For sure enough, their kiss they keep
Then feast upon you in the hollow.
The deepest recess of your mind,
Hidden shame and lust,
They dull your wits with offers of bliss
Then devour you to dust."
“That,” he said airily, “is a siren. They are the sweetest vision, the embodiment of all our desires poured into one heady, seductive moment…”
“Before they get their hands on you and eat your soul.” Caste ended bleakly.
Judd stared into the flames then turned to Aalis with a cowering look. “Is there any way I could imagine that you didn’t see or hear what happened?” Aalis gulped and made a stammering sound. Judd put his face in his hands. “Maul…I’m so embarrassed…”
“So you do remember what happened?” Aalis asked, surprised.
“Vaguely.” He admitted.
“Almost sadly…” Giordi said with a sigh. “To think I saw a vision of perfection…oh so many visions…yet all were monsters of Maul and soul devourers…”
Caste snorted. “Of course someone like you would envision a harem and not a single woman.”
Giordi turned to him. “And what was your vision, cleric virgin of the Grail? A dusty book? A parchment of theology? Or a scantily clad young woman who waits on you hand and foot when you return from a long day of being a bishop?”
Caste’s face flamed with heat.
“I think we should say that whatever happened out there, should never be spoken about.” Aalis said firmly, seeing Judd withdraw and Caste’s shoulders bending in shame. Giordi was no stranger to romantic diversion but the other two were deeply ashamed of their actions and their responses.
“Never.” Caste shook his head, bowing his head. “Never, ever, ever…ever…”
“Although, before we fully agree never to talk about it, there is something that needs to be said,” Judd turned to Aalis, a little red but determined to be forthright, “if it wasn’t for you, Aalis, we’d all be dead.”
“Thank you.” Caste said firmly, albeit quietly.
“My life was safe within your beautiful hands.” Giordi declared.
“Well…it was not…” Aalis faltered, glancing at Verne.
“You saved all of us…thank you.” Verne responded, blue eyes darting away from hers.
Aalis licked her lips. “You are welcome.”
She looked down at her stew and ate it quietly. Soft chatter began to fill the heavy silence as the shock of the encounter with the man-eating sirens began to ebb. Aalis tried to swallow her stew, feeling it become stuck in her throat. She didn’t dare look at Verne who sat opposite her. In the end she took her meal to the table and scraped it into the pot. She busied herself as best she could, her heart twisting in her breast.
“…away from the water.”
Stolen story; please report.
“Of course. I’m not stupid.”
Aalis lifted her eyes to see Verne leave the ferry house, closing the door behind. She waited a few minutes then, without saying what she was doing, crept out of the house. She didn’t catch Judd’s glance and bowed shoulders.
Outside the fog had lifted almost entirely and a black velvet sky, sewn with a million silver sequins was hung above the isle. The air was much clearer and she could see the entire length of the beach before it turned, following the curves of the island. Sitting on the sand, as far away as it took to dull the sound of the ferry house chatter and keep all things said, secret, was Verne.
Aalis tightened her grasp on her shawl and crossed the sand.
Verne didn’t look at her, knees drawn up, hair tied back in its usual style, eyes gazing at the channel waters. Aalis sat down, crossing her ankles and licked her lips, tasting the salt in the air. Though she had gone looking for Verne, she didn’t know what she was going to say.
“Thank you.”
Aalis blinked and looked at Verne.
“Thank you?” Verne nodded. Aalis swallowed and sighed. “You were every bit as important as I in surviving the channel. I feel terrible, being given all the credit…but you seemed reluctant at everyone discovering who you are…”
“You mean what I am.”
There was venom in Verne’s force, a deep seated bitterness and a sorrow that made Aalis’ heart ache.
“You make it sound like a curse.”
“Isn’t it?” Verne glanced at her. “I never meant to lie. I never even said one way or the other…”
“We just assumed because others assumed…” Aalis realised. “I am sorry…”
“It’s not your fault,” Verne insisted softly, “I mean, I certainly didn’t correct you…”
“And it sounds like you did not mind us coming to our own conclusions.” Aalis probed gently.
“That’s the way it’s always been.” Verne admitted, her blue eyes darkening from the deep teal of the channel’s reflection. “I’m…I’m one of eight children, the last one…and all I had were brothers.” She looked up at the clouds, the only sound in the silence was the lapping of waves upon the beach. “Ironic, isn’t it?”
“What is?”
“My older two brothers, followed by the twins, then followed by triplets…but giving birth to me…that’s what killed my mother.”
“Oh Verne…”
“No, not Verne,” Verne swallowed, “Vernice. That’s what she called me before she died.” She huffed sadly. “My father didn’t know what to do with a girl…so he brought me up like a son. Bare foot, wild, tree climbing, trap setting, lake swimming…archer…”
“It does not sound so bad.” Aalis remarked.
“Oh it wasn’t.” Verne nodded. “I loved my life.” She leaned back on her elbows and smiled sadly. “We lived in this ramshackle house on a plot of land my father had purchased, sure there was a seam of gold just waiting to be found. He mined that thing every day…yet we were always so desperately poor.” Verne rubbed her nose. “There was no way we could afford new clothes for me, certainly nothing girlie so I dressed in my brother’s hand me downs. Whenever father would find a little gold, he’d march us all into town to buy whatever it was we couldn’t scrounge for on the land…and everyone always thought he had eight sons. One time, I saw these girls all playing together with their dolls, their hair curled and in pretty dresses and I was standing, staring at them, in pants that were too short yet somehow too big around the waist, held up by braces over a filthy shirt and with no shoes on…and I remember my brothers teasing me. Will we curl your hair, Verne? You want to be a pretty, prissy girl? So I went home and hacked off my hair with my mum’s old sewing scissors.”
“What did your father say?”
“Something like, it’ll reduce delousing keeping it short like that!” Verne laughed at the memory. “That was my father…”
Aalis gazed at Verne, a question growing in her mind of why Verne had left her family. For all the wildness and poverty, she recalled her memories with fondness.
“What happened?”
Verne sat back up and yanked a piece of beach grass from its sandy hold. “The worst thing I could imagine. When I was sixteen, father’s stupid mine finally gave up the gold. We went from destitute to obscenely wealthy almost overnight.” Verne shook her head. “My home became the base for miners and father bought a big house in the town. I had my own room, we had servants…there was food on the table every night…”
“Big changes,” Aalis recognised, “what about you?”
“Stayed as I was, really. No one probably knew I was a girl and no one tried to make me look like one…at least for a while.” Verne threw the grass into the air, caught by the breeze to go scattering across the beach. “Then my father remarried.”
“You do not think she loved him?” She asked, guessing by Verne’s tone that all was not well.
“Let’s just say I couldn’t imagine her living in a one roomed house in the forest, trapping, skinning and cooking rabbits for supper.” Verne sighed. “My father wasn’t exactly a gentleman but now that he was wealthy, he did try to spruce himself up…and into our lives she descended.”
“I am sorry…”
“It gets better. She was an experienced mother…of girls. Two perfect, pretty…ringlet adorned girls.” Verne snorted. “You should have heard the clang of her jaw hitting the ground when father told her I was a girl. I don’t think she’d ever been unable to be polite in a social setting before.”
The waves rushed against the shore, light lines of foam deposited on the beach, the water retreating as the foam dissolved into bubbles that popped and disappeared into the sand. After the mortal danger of barely an hour before, the calm was a little eerie in its own way.
“Was she horrible?”
“Not intentionally,” Verne admitted, “I mean, I think she saw me as a, endear herself to my father, project. She wanted to help turn me into a lady in time for a grand party which she believed would make a perfect ‘entry to society’ moment for me. I think she thought I was being contrary the entire time…and difficult and surly…” Verne looked at Aalis. “I swear I wasn’t…but I just…I didn’t…my feet were too wide from going barefoot for so many years and couldn’t fit into dainty shoes. I’ve got barely any bust to speak of,” Verne clutched at her chest, “so all the dresses sagged no matter how many ‘alterations’ were made and I was muscular so my arms tried to pop the seams of my sleeves and the square neckline of the gowns…” She shook her head. “The servants bowed and scraped and said how beautiful I looked…but all I could see was a boy in a dress. I don’t care what they said, I didn’t look like my stepsisters. I was a plank of wood in a dress…a plain plank of wood.”
Aalis swallowed. “What happened at the party?”
“I could tell my stepmother was wary and hovering nearby, finally convincing a boy to dance with me…but then he decided to find out if I really was a boy or girl and groped me,” Verne shuddered, “so I broke his nose…with my forehead.”
Aalis felt herself smile but squelched the instinct to do so.
“No one needed to tell me I’d crossed a line. I went upstairs, hearing my stepmother, with eloquence that would put Giordi to shame, smooth over the offence and the party continued without me. I sat on my bed until midnight…but no one came to yell or question…” Verne shook her head. “When I heard the clocktower ring out, I had made up my mind. I changed into my boy clothes, packed anything that was from my old life, grabbed my bow and arrows and climbed out of the window as I’d done many times before to go hunting…only this time I never went back.”
“Never?” Aalis breathed.
“Nope.” Verne shrugged. “I left a note saying that I didn’t want to be an embarrassment to them and that I would be fine on my own. And honestly, I was. It’s not been easy but I joined a few caravans travelling around and after a year or so, found myself at Fort Faine and managed to get work in the orchard just as it was all going wrong.”
Aalis shook her head. “Verne…you are really quite remarkable.”
Verne gave a lopsided smile. “You’re a funny one, Aalis Dragoslava.”
“I think that goes without saying…but why?”
“Because out of all the things I thought you’d think of me from my story…remarkable was one of the last.”
“I guess…I cannot imagine heading out on my own…just like that.” Aalis tugged on her shawl. “You are so brave.”
“If I was brave I would have stayed.” Verne muttered. Aalis wasn’t sure what to say to that. Her own past was hardly an example of how to conduct oneself. “Are you going to tell the others?”
Verne’s voice was quivering with nervousness.
“Not if you do not want me too,” Aalis said without thinking about it and Verne relaxed before Aalis turned to her, “but I do want to say that they are good men, despite their faults…would it be so terrible to tell them?”
Verne groaned and put her head down. “Oh…but they’ll change.”
“How?”
“They’ll…it’ll…” Verne grunted then stood up. “I like being one of you. I like being trusted to do the hard stuff, the hunting and fighting. What if they start trying to protect me? What if I can’t do things because ‘I’m a girl’? What if they start opening doors? What if one of them flirts with me!”
Aalis laughed at Verne’s distress then sobered up, realising that she was in earnest.
“I understand, I really do.” Aalis stood up, brushing the sand from her gown. “But let me just warn you, the longer you maintain a lie…the more devastating the fallout when the truth is revealed.”
“I know.” Verne admitted. “For now…I just want to be Verne.”
Aalis grasped Verne’s arm, bent it into a crook then looped her own arm through it. When she caught Verne’s confused look she smiled.
“You would not want a frail lady like myself to walk back to the ferry house on this unstable sand alone, would you?”
Verne laughed outright. “Aalis, for all your timidity and softness, you are hardly frail. The way you managed to save the others and even help me onto the ferry…you are quite remarkable.”
Aalis recalled the moment she had been cowering on the ferry, all hope lost and all defences gone as the siren had shrieked with laughter at her…when rage had ignited inside her chest and she had lunged out and grabbed the siren, forcing its form to be trapped in her grasp. She remembered how she had held and squeezed, absorbing the life of the siren even as it pleaded for mercy…but Aalis had felt none.
And when she had breathed out the remnants of the siren, the others had fled, probably back to the southern waters of Maul or even out to the open ocean…because they were terrified of her.
And in truth, Aalis was a little frightened of herself.