Chapter Thirteen

It was late night in the Port of Caska. They were all on The Singsong, several lanterns set up, sitting around the table drinking and playing cards. Lowen and Kell were sitting across from Isidor and Winter. Soule had gotten bored, since they were all speaking Dorsan unless they were speaking to her, and had gone to bed in the cabin.

“You’re going to have to learn to speak Siblin,” Isidor said to Kell.

“It was difficult enough learning this grunting language,” Kell dismissed, looking at his cards.

All three of them looked at him.

“Well, forgive us, Kell,” Lowen said sarcastically, “that we can’t just think Siblin at you.”

Kell laughed, shooting him a glance.

“It would be easier for me,” Kell agreed, discarding a card, taking up the wine, swallowing.

“I’m sick of speaking Dorsan,” Isidor said. “They don’t have any good words. You can’t even say branangh-thu in Dorsan.”

Lowen laughed, Winter’s mouth quirking.

“What does that mean?” Kell said to Isidor. “What you said.”

“Are you drunk? I can’t tell you because you only speak Dorsan,” Isidor said, eyeing him, Winter’s mouth quirking wider, finding that funny.

“Tits,” Lowen muttered in Siblin, moving his cards around in his hand, dissatisfied with his draw.

Kell upended the wine again.

“You’re not supposed to keep it for more than one drink,” Isidor complained, holding his hand out for the wine. “You do that every fucking time, Kell. Move it along.”

“Why are you to say?” Kell demanded, cryptic, taking another drink slowly, holding Isidor’s eyes, swallowing. “Then I have to wait for it to go around again. I am a siren. I have larger requirements.”

Three sets of eyes went to Kell. Two sets of eyes, Winter’s and Isidor’s, went to Lowen.

“Would you care to bet on that, Kell?” Lowen said casually, leaning back on his arm.

Kell looked back at Lowen, his eyes slowly shifting to the other two Siblin, passing the wine to Isidor, who took it, sending him a resentful glance, Kell’s mouth quirking.

“How do we know the winner?” Kell said.

Isidor gestured.

“The one’s still conscious last,” Isidor said, obvious.

“What are we betting?” Kell said.

“If I win, you’ll come with me to Malana and help me unload this haul,” Lowen proposed. “If you win, I give you a hogshead of Luterian ale that’s in my hold.”

Kell eyed him.

“Luterian ale is good,” he said. “Two barrels.”

“What do you need that much ale for? I’ll give you one barrel and I’ll throw in a bottle.”

“Yes,” Kell said.

Lowen stuck out his hand. Kell looked at it and grasped it limply, releasing. Some things just didn’t translate. Winter went down to the hold, getting more wine. He returned, taking a drink, passing it to Isidor. They all took up their cards again.

“I have something to say,” Kell announced.

Kell and Soule were neither of them very good at beginning conversations.

“Go ahead,” Isidor invited.

“I want to give the widow mercy,” Kell said. “She suffers. She will continue to kill. I don’t want people to fear or hate our women anymore.”

“That’s a fine thought, Kell,” Lowen responded. “And Siblin would be grateful if you did that. But there’s no way to get near her. She’s on rocks that can only be approached by ship, and she can see all around herself into the straight.”

“I know a way,” Kell said, discarding.

They all looked up from their cards.

“What’s this way you’re talking about?” Winter asked him.

Kell reached into his pouch, taking up the piece of charcoal. They moved the cards.

“This is the straight,” Kell said as he made two lines. He stopped, looking up. “I break our laws telling you this. They would kill me if they knew.”

“You’re family,” Winter assured him, Isidor nodding. “We don’t tell others our affairs.”

Kell shaded the portion of the area in the mouth of the straight where the widow was.

“What you call the black rocks is where my people bring our dead,” Kell said. “The arches you see when you pass through the straight? My people carved them long ago. They lead to catacombs where our people have rested for two thousand years. The arches are for their spirits to leave and return to the sea. The widow is probably there for the one she lost.”

“It’s a tomb?” Winter said, both of them surprised.

“I don’t know that word,” Kell said, shrugging.

“How can your people not know she’s there?” Isidor asked.

“We access the catacombs under the water, from behind. That’s why we don’t discover her. She is probably living near the exit, in one of the spirit chambers behind the arches, and we don’t go there. When we bury them, we carry our dead through the water in our other form, as you say. But there is an opening on land...,” Kell said, pointing to the rear side, opposite the black rocks, where Winter knew there were high cliffs, “for our women. It requires three strong people to roll the boulder away from the doors. We would be able to come to her through the catacombs, from behind her, surprising her.”

Winter leaned back, looking at Isidor.

“Winter and I, we’ll go with you,” Isidor said, Winter nodding.

Kell shook his head.

“Only one of you can go,” Kell said.

“One of us?” Isidor said, frowning, Winter also surprised.

“Why?” Winter said.

Siblin brothers didn’t separate, not if they could avoid it. Kell looked away.

“My people know what makes a widow. We discourage our women from choosing when they’re young. They don’t yet have control over their hunger. The sickness that I spoke of only happens to a young woman who loses one who is her choice,” Kell said, turning back and holding Winter’s eyes and then Isidor’s. “Or the ones.”

Isidor sat back, realizing.

“You’re talking about Soule,” Winter said, staring.

“If she were to lose you,” Kell said, shrugging, “and if she were unwilling to take what she needs from another—.”

“Soule would become a widow if we died?” Isidor asked him, his gut clenching.

Kell shook his head quickly, putting his hand up.

“Probably she would not. The sickness doesn’t take every woman who loses her choice young. It’s rare. I’m saying it’s possible, a risk. The danger will pass in twenty years or so, when she can control her hunger.”

“I’ll go with you to give the widow mercy,” Winter said. “Isidor will stay with our anthata.”

Isidor turned to him sharply, Winter shifting his gaze to look back at him. Winter was the elder. Isidor looked away, his jaw jumping.

“We still need a third person willing to brave the black rocks to kill the widow,” Winter said.

“I’ll go with you,” Lowen said, upending his wine skin.

#

The next day, Lowen and Kell didn’t show up until late morning, both of them raw from the night before, he and Winter up early with Soule.

“Where is she?” Lowen demanded as soon as he got on deck.

Soule saw him, lighting up. Isidor and Winter watched, Isidor giving a small scoff as Soule kissed him on his cheek and went down to the hold, Lowen smiling after her.

“Don’t you look at me like that,” Lowen growled in Siblin to them, walking to the table and sitting heavily as they joined him. “I defended our honor all the night long.”

“You won the wager with Kell?” Isidor said, grinning. “We knew you would.”

“It almost was my undoing,” Lowen muttered back in Dorsan as Kell joined them.

Lowen took out his flask and sipping at it gingerly, making a face. Kell sat beside Lowen, looking a little green, taking Lowen’s flask when it was offered, his teeth coming up, drinking and handing it back. He shot Lowen a disgruntled glance.

“I’ve never seen such a man for drink,” Kell admitted grudgingly, Lowen puffing up, his hands going to his jacket, nodding at Kell, pleased.

“So you’ll be going with Lowen to Malana?” Winter said.

“Yes,” Kell grumbled.

“I figure we’ll meet at Halit,” Lowen said. “You boys can wait for us there with your anthata. We’ll be right behind you.”

Halit was the second Brecca island, small, entirely uninhabited, a high volcano, dormant, at its center, dense forest and a generous cove.

“That sounds right,” Winter said, Isidor nodding.

Winter got up. He went and brought something from their cabin, walking to Kell. Isidor joined him, both of them standing over him. Kell eyed them and then stood up, facing them.

“We know Maren did that terrible thing,” Winter said to him, “and we understand if you refuse and we don’t take offense. This knife belonged to Maren’s brother, Dane. It’s a Siblin knife. They’re important to us, important to our people. Siblin craft them, but not for others. Once they’re made, they can only be gifted. The design has meaning to us. It’s yours if you want it.”

Winter held it out. Kell looked at the knife. He slowly reached out and took it.

“It won’t fit in your pouch and it can’t go in the seawater,” Isidor said as Winter handed him the sheath and belt. “But you could keep it with your things and wear it when you’re on land to ensure your safety.”

Kell nodded. He and Winter looked elsewhere. Kell glanced at them and laughed a little.

“Thank you,” he said, putting the belt on, putting the knife in its home. “I will keep it carefully. I’m honored to wear it.”

“What’s that pouch made of anyway?” Isidor asked, still curious.

Kell looked at him, considering, glancing at Lowen.

“Our skin,” Kell decided to answer. “The artisans tan it. It keeps the water from our belongings.”

Isidor glanced at the pouch Kell wore, startled, Winter doing the same, then Lowen. Isidor glanced at Kell.

“Do you know who it was?” Isidor asked in a low voice, a little fascinated.

Kell’s mouth quirked. He shook his head.

“Only the makers do. It’s a practice that is...from our beliefs,” Kell said. “To receive one is a sign of being a man, from the men before us. To have one made from one’s skin is—.”

Kell thought and then shrugged.

“Sacred,” Lowen supplied the Dorsan word.

Kell’s eyes lit, looking at him.

“Sacred, yes,” Kell nodded. “Like the knife.”

#

Later that day, Soule came up from the hold bringing fresh water. Lowen and Kell had gone back to The Vainglory. Winter and Isidor had been busy all day getting ready to leave, stowing the last of the cargo. They would go in the morning.

But when she got to the top of the stairs, Isidor and Winter were waiting for her. Winter took her hand, taking the water and setting it down, bringing her to the quarterdeck stairs, both of them sitting. They did this when they wanted to talk to her. She studied their faces. They weren’t happy about something and didn’t think she was going to be happy about it either. She took a deep breath.

“We need to talk to you, Soule, before we leave Caska,” Isidor said.

“All right,” she said.

“Your brother Kell,” Winter said, “he wants to travel to the black rocks to give the widow mercy so she can’t hurt people anymore. I’m going to go with him to do that when we get to Malana. Isidor is going to stay with you.”

Soule stared, her eyes shifting between them. She looked at Winter.

“You’re going to kill her?” Soule said.

Winter looked away, Isidor wincing.

“We have to, my beauty,” Isidor said. “She’s hurt too many people.”

“She’ll sing to you,” Soule protested.

“Kell has a plan,” Winter told her. “He says she won’t see us until it’s too late.”

“No,” Soule said. “I don’t want you to go.”

“Soule—,” Winter began.

“Don’t go,” Soule said to Winter, stepping closer, her voice low. “Please.”

“We can’t let your brother go alone,” Winter said, standing up, coming to her. “He’s family. We’re Siblin. It’s our way.”

“Tell him not to,” she said, breathing faster, knowing she was hurting them and unable to stop it.

They didn’t give any sign, but the skin around their eyes tightened, lines of pain. She tried to slow her breathing.

“It’s not our place, Soule,” Isidor replied gently, also standing. “He’s doing it so sirens like you, like your mother, won’t be hurt anymore. He’s protecting you, we are. Winter has to do this.”

Soule’s eyes were shifting between them. They would never separate, not unless they had to. It wasn’t good for them to be apart. Soule suddenly understood.

“Isidor is staying for me,” she said. “Because that’s what happened to her. The widow. She lost him.”

Winter stepped to her, his arms coming around her shoulders, pulling her close, Isidor behind her, his body against hers, his arm slipping around her waist. Soule relaxed into them, trying to calm herself so she didn’t hurt them. They thought they understood, but they didn’t. She couldn’t lose either one of them.

#

Winter firmed their plans to give the widow mercy as they ran with Lowen down the coast, dropping off cargo, picking up more, sharing their wind. They didn’t see any sign of The Mockery, although those brothers were most likely ahead or behind them doing the same. They stopped briefly with Kell and Lowen in Malana. It was eleven days to the first of the Brecca islands, Halit less than a day past that.

The Singsong left Malana a day before Lowen and Kell, who were still unloading, Winter at the helm. They arrived in Halit and anchored in the cove, the water beautiful and clear. That night, they were all three in their cabin, darkness surrounding The Singsong, cooler weather finally coming to the southern lands.

Winter was slowly pushed his oiled cock into Soule’s ass for the first time, Winter breathing heavily, taken with the sensations, tight. He was sitting, his back braced against the wall of the cabin, Soule on his lap, her back to him, facing away, his hands under her round butt, her legs together, holding her suspended so she had no control over any of it.

He was steadily rocking, penetrating her little ass, lowering her onto himself, every stroke pleasure. Soule had braced herself on his arms. Her breath was stuttering, tense, Winter watching her take him, completely aroused.

Isidor got on his knees, approaching in front of her, his cock arcing up his belly. Isidor knelt and reached, spreading her legs wide, Winter still holding her steady, pumping into her, small motions.

Isidor touched her clit, gentle, and then stuck his finger in her pussy, then two. Winter’s hips jerked, feeling Isidor’s fingers, Soule giving a small cry, setting Winter flexing in her, grunting with pleasure. Isidor pulled his fingers out of her and spread her lower lips delicately and leaned down to lick her pussy, Winter’s cock surging to see it, erotic.

Soule cried out when Isidor did that, pulsing on Winter. Winter released all his breath. Soule was writhing on his cock, which he finally seated fully in her, Isidor sucking her clit. Winter bent his own knees more, beginning to thrust into her deep from under her, pumping into her, Soule making first pain noises and then intense pleasure, Isidor tormenting her. Her thighs were shaking, her body trembling, her hips rocking, the sensations unbelievable.

Isidor withdrew, straightening, getting to his feet and standing on the bed over her, straddling them. He guided his cock with his hand to her lips. Soule licked him as Winter thrust into her from below, Winter watching from over her shoulder as she drew her tongue all up Isidor’s shaft and around the head. Winter surged with pleasure as Isidor held his cock steady for it, watching.

She opened her mouth. Isidor’s hands went flat on the wall behind her, grunting hard, thrusting into her mouth and then her throat as Winter’s thrusts increased under her. Winter brought his arm around her waist to take her weight, moving under her to get the angle, Isidor adjusting, the fingers of Winter’s other hand finding and stroking her clit, her legs still spread. Soule cried out around Isidor’s cock, muffled.

“You take us so good, little siren,” Winter grunted, thrusting.

Isidor reached and ran his fingers all around the tips of her ears, his hips pumping, Soule crying out again around his cock, finally whimpering with pleasure. Winter pinched her clit, grinding it between his fingers, slapping her pussy. Soule yelped, cut off, Isidor holding himself deep in her throat, releasing her to breathe, thrusting again.

Winter’s movements were becoming urgent, her ass so tight, that edge arriving that he craved, the release. He was never going to get tired of fucking Soule. She was shaking with pleasure on his cock, unable to voice it, Isidor in her throat. Winter stopped stroking her, starting again. He listened to Isidor, judging it, holding off his own pleasure, finally plunged his fingers into her pussy, fucking her with them, his thumb riding his anthata’s clit, feeling his own cock against his knuckles.

Soule exploded on top of him, pulsing around his cock, his fingers, coming on him, triggering his own release. Winter thrust hard and held there as he emptied, spending in her ass, his body shuddering with pleasure. He cried out low, grunting, thrusting in again as Soule began to pulse, Winter crying out again.

Then he was panting under her, withdrawing his fingers, still deep in her ass, wrapped his arms around her as he spent his last in her, her pulses slowing.

“I love to fuck your mouth,” Isidor bit out, throwing his head back, his hands on the wall, his legs spread, closing his eyes.

Isidor was coming, crying out himself as Winter caught his breath, still deep in his anthata, holding her, feeling her softness, burying his face in her silky hair, inhaling the scent of all three of them and listening to his brother voice his pleasure.

Winter closed his eyes as Isidor withdrew from her throat. Winter didn’t want to leave. And if he had to go, he wanted to come home to them. He pulled Soule closer. Sága, he wanted that so much.

#

The next day, they took the dinghy to Halit Island, since Lowen and Kell wouldn’t come until tomorrow. It was muggy, storm weather in the south.

They made a fire on the beach, watching Soule go into the sea naked, both of them with their elbows propped, watching her, both of them fascinated. Her tits jiggled, the beauty of that skin, her red nipples, sweet belly and rounded hips, the red hair between her legs. Winter’s breathing deepened, Isidor’s doing the same beside him. They always wanted Soule, the desire to touch her a constant.

She came back to them, putting her dress on and pulling her hair over her shoulder, tangled and dark from the seawater. They’d rinse it with fresh water when they got back. They explored inland, Isidor finding mangos, the fruit ripe. Soule hadn’t tried one before. They stopped her from eating a fourth.

“You’ll be sorry later, my beauty, if you do,” Isidor said, grinning.

Winter looked up at the sky. It was darkening quickly, one of those storms in the south that came from nowhere. It was going to rain.

“Let’s get back to The Singsong,” he said, Isidor nodding.

But when they got back to the beach of the cove, Isidor saw the Siblin ship, pointing, all three of them fading back into the trees.

The Mockery was anchored in the cove, a dinghy heading for the beach, Havish and Leet rowing. They would see The Singsong’s dinghy, see the fire pit, would know they were here recently. The brothers had obviously followed them, probably from Malana. Winter was suddenly uneasy for Lowen and Kell. They didn’t know the brothers’ intentions. They backed away. They would get Soule somewhere safe and learn more.

They could hide her upland at the base of the volcano not far. Even if those brothers knew about the caves, the crevices were complicated and deep. Leet and Havish would never find her there. Thunder rumbled, Winter turning to watch a flash of lightning light the sea’s horizon through a break in the trees, the sky now a dark gray, everything dim, the wind up.

They were backtracked into the dense forest when the rain began, a solid wall of water coming down on their heads, not so much raining drops as standing under a waterfall and having it pounding on your head. The canopy saved them from some of it but they were immediately soaked. Winter looked around.

“Let’s get to higher ground,” Winter said, uneasy, raising his voice to be heard, Isidor turning them uphill toward the caves.

#

Soule could hardly see it was raining so hard. It had used to do this on Nanine as well, pour until you thought it would never stop. She looked where Isidor led them, straight up a ravine, a gully, caves above them. She was suddenly worried. This wasn’t somewhere they should be.

“Winter!” she said, coming up on his side, raising her voice to be heard above the rain. “Isidor!”

Isidor turned to her, stopping, his hair plastered to his head, leaning in to hear her, Winter turning around. She pointed to the top of the ravine.

“The water!”

Winter looked where she pointed and then back at her. He hadn’t grown up on an island, didn’t know what could happen.

“What water?” he yelled.

“We have to get out of the ravine!” she yelled back, the stupid grunting words slow and difficult to hear, the noise of the storm so loud.

They looked toward the sound and she realized it wasn’t the rain she was hearing. A rushing surge of mud and water and trees and boulders crested the top of the ravine and was roaring toward them, a flood that swept around and through and carried along everything in its path. She felt Isidor grab her arm in the same moment, dragging her to the side, to the higher edge, both of them running, Winter behind them.

The water arrived. It took Winter first. He fought it, but it swept his legs out from under him, Soule looking back at him, crying out.

“Run, Soule!” Isidor cried.

She ran and a surge of water came swirling around her feet and then her ankles and she felt herself lifted as Isidor grabbed her and heaved her onto the edge and over it, almost throwing her as she landed on her belly and looked back at him.

The water swirled to his ankles, then his knees as he reached the edge, throwing his hand out, grasping the tall grass, wrapping and getting hold of it. He was going to make it, Soule backing on her hands and knees to get out of his way. Isidor looked up at her face, beginning to heave himself up, and then a whole part of a tree came and slammed into him and he was gone.

Soule stared at the place he had been. She slowly rose to her feet, the rushing water unable to reach her, still staring.

Then she was running down along the edge of the ravine, the rain pouring, following the path of the water. There were dead trees and boulders she had to climb over that had been tossed to the side by the flood as it leveled out past the ravine. She could still hardly see, the whole world water.

She ran until the water curved and then disappeared down a sharp decline, over a rock cliff leading into a deep recess, a huge hole carved out of the rock over time by the water coming there. The water hadn’t escaped yet. It was a deep and wide hole but the water was filling it, brown with mud. Soule went to the edge, careful of her footing, and looked down, seeing him.

Isidor was toward the bottom on one of the rocks, sprawled on his back, his arms flung out, his eyes closed, rain falling on his face. The water was rising, his forehead bleeding. She didn’t see Winter. Soule stood up, looking all around.

“Winter!” she screamed as loud as she could, barely able to hear herself over the sound of rushing water.

Soule looked down again at Isidor. The water was climbing up the rock he was on. It would fill the hole and drown him before it overflowed and continued on. Winter would never hear her over the sound of the water, the rain. There wasn’t time to try to find him.

Soule looked to the trees. She began running toward the beach, not far, as fast as she could.

She burst out of the trees into the full downpour, seeing the two dinghies, looking around wildly, running out onto the sand. She saw them. They came racing out of the trees, laboring across the sand where they had sheltered to her left. Soule waited, her body tense. When she judged it was right, she ran.

They were faster than she thought. She gained some time through a thicket of brush she got through easily, Leet and Havish reaching it right behind her, all of them sliding through the mud, the cracks of branches and curses telling her where they were.

She ran faster, their yells fading behind her. She abruptly went sideways over a huge trunk of a tree, slipping in the mud, missing her footing, and fell, a sharp pain in her upper leg. She looked down at the gash, saw the sharp rock, blood on it, heard them coming and got up, running.

She heard a yell. They were right behind her. She was almost there. She hardly paused at the edge, slowing herself down and crouching, sliding down the muddy side fast, more sloped on this end, and straight down into the water at the bottom.

Soule struggled to her feet. The water was cold, to her waist, climbing fast, the sky still raining, the water still pouring in. She fought against the strong current, climbing the rock Isidor was sprawled on, not far, pulling herself up heavily. She was panting hard, putting her hands on his chest, his head still bleeding, listening for his heart. He was breathing. She knelt behind him on the rock, the water rising below them, almost to the rock now, and put his head on her lap. She looked up.

Havish and Leet were looking down from the edge.

“Help him,” Soule croaked, not loud enough, still panting.

She coughed, heaving her breath.

“Help him!” she yelled up at them over the rain, her voice cracking.

She looked at Havish. He was looking at Isidor’s face, chewing his bottom lip. He didn’t even look at her. Leet was looking at Isidor’s face as well. Leet raked his hand through his wet hair, scowling. She saw Leet glance at Havish.

“Fuck!” Havish spat, nodding to Leet, who disappeared.

Soule went weak with relief. They were going to help him. Soule watched the water rise, lapping over the rock they were on, getting her knees under Isidor’s shoulders, trying to get his head higher. Leet finally came back, panting, holding a rope. He was limping heavily when he came to the edge, saying something to Havish she couldn’t hear.

“Put it around his shoulders!” Havish yelled down to her as Leet threw it, Soule barely able to hear him over the rain. “Tie it tight!”

She got out from under Isidor, grabbing the rope. She looped it around his chest and under his arms, crossing it, barely able to shove it behind him, straightening it, tying the knot. The water spilled over the rock they were on, lapping at Isidor’s legs. Leet and Havish had moved to the side, the sharp muddy slope she had come down. Havish came as close as he could. They both began to pull.

Soule heaved and shoved Isidor’s body toward the slope, the brothers pulling, his body dragged across the rock, Soule holding his head up when she could. They got Isidor about halfway up when she heard one of the men curse. The rope went slack and Isidor slipped almost back into the water at the bottom, Soule going with him, trying to get behind him, and then he stopped. Soule looked up.

Havish appeared at the edge, holding the rope, stopping Isidor’s descent. He began to pull again, Soule guiding Isidor up the incline. Soule followed him as long as she could until she began sliding in the mud of the slope, unable to keep her footing, the rain not helping. Her legs went out from under her, dizzy. She looked down. Her thigh was bleeding too much. The mud moved and she went with it, sliding down on her hip, gaining speed, and then straight into the water. She went under, struggling to the surface.

Soule swam to the rock, heaving herself onto it. It was under the water now, the water up to her knees standing on it. She was holding on to the rock next to it, her legs shaking. She looked up. Isidor’s body crested the top of the slope. He was safe.

The water rose higher. She moved to the slope again, trying to scale it, but she was only a small way up before the mud simply came down with her again and she was washed into the water.

By the time she had swum back to the rock, the water was up to her waist standing on it and she was exhausted, panting and staggering, her legs numb. Her head was light. She couldn’t get out. She looked up. Havish was standing on the edge, watching her, his face expressionless. Soule searched his eyes. He would save Isidor, those eyes said. Not a screecher. Not her.

Soule put her back against the cliff wall behind her as the water rose to her ribs. She tilted her head to the rain, closing her eyes.

#

Winter was running along the edge of the ravine, following the water.

He had woken alone, deposited on a muddy bank under a tree trunk, pinned, yelling for Isidor, for Soule until he was hoarse. If they were all right they would have found him. It had taken him forever to dig, getting more frantic as they didn’t show, moving great piles of mud until he could pull himself from under it. He had no idea how long he’d been out.

#

The water was lifting her. Soule swam, her movements gradually more sluggish, so tired, not able to keep her shoulders above it. She heard a voice calling her name above the rain, above the water in her ears.

“Soule!” someone was yelling. “Soule!”

She looked up at the edge through the blur of the rain, her arms and legs moving slowly, her head tilted back, only her face out of the water. Havish was yelling at her and pointing. She made an effort, looking, sinking back again. The rope was in the water. It was too far away.

Then Soule was under the water, going still for a moment, too tired, feeling darkness on the edges of her vision. She realized, struggling to the surface again, swallowing water, her legs numb, taking a huge breath and coughing. She looked for the rope, trying to move toward it, going under again.

Surfacing, she reaching for it. She felt its rough length, pulling it under the water and around her, kicking her legs with all her strength, everything she had, tying it, trying to keep her face above water. Her arms were moving slower. She kicked a few times and then once, and then a few times, her arms barely moving, her eyes closing. She kicked once, everything numb. She couldn’t anymore. Soule slipped under the water, drifting.

#

Winter burst through the trees and saw Havish and Leet, and then Isidor. Isidor was on the ground, unconscious or dead. Leet was on one foot, braced against a tree, a rope pulled around it for leverage. They were pulling on the same rope leading into the hole at their feet, a sharp muddy slope.

Winter drew his knife, coming up behind them fast, as a muddy body came up the side of the steep slope attached to the rope they pulled, dragged limply by her waist, covered in mud, long hair straggling and colorless with mud.

Winter sheathed his knife and rushed to her as they pulled her over the edge, landing on his knees. He turned her on her side, pounding her back between her shoulders, Soule’s body jerking with the strikes.

“Soule!” Winter yelled.

She convulsed, curling up, and she began vomiting water from her nose and mouth, coughing hard. Winter gave a sharp cry of relief and sat her up, pounding her back until she cleared the water. When she was breathing in great breaths, he pulling her across his lap, sitting, holding her.

Her honey eyes opened, looking at him, relief washing through him again. She opened her mouth and sang out to him softly, greeting him, all she could do. Havish and Leet froze, looking at her, surprised. She never did that in front of others. Winter set her down and began to work on the rope at her waist, covered in mud and water and tight. Havish’s hands came, brushing his aside.

“See to her leg, she’s cut. She’s lost her blood,” Havish said to him.

Winter looked down at the gash on her thigh, open, her blood mixing with the mud and water, fear going through him again. He peeled off his shirt, ripping it into long strips. Soule’s skin was cold. She was pale. She began to shake, her breathing shallow.

“I have to get her warm. Is Isidor alive?” Winter said, applying pressure, wrapping her leg tight.

“He’s alive. He’s just not waking up,” Leet answered, going to Isidor.

“Wake up, Isidor,” Leet bellowed down at him.

Isidor didn’t respond. Leet leaned down and slapped him hard.

Isidor turned sharply onto his shoulder, yelling, and rolled back, punching Leet, who stumbled back onto his feet and his bad ankle went out from under him and he fell, Isidor rolling to his knees, looking around himself wildly as Havish pulled the rope off of Soule.

“Isidor!” Winter said, getting his arms under Soule, lifting her.

Isidor located him, staggering to his feet and coming straight to him. Havish walked to help Leet up.

“What the fuck is going on?” Isidor demanded, looking at Soule.

“She’s lost her blood. We have to get her warm,” Winter said, walking toward the beach.

Leet wiped his mouth, looking at the blood on it, sending Isidor a resentful glance.

#

They had almost gotten to the beach when the rain stopped like someone had plugged a hole in the sky with a great finger and all that was left was the sound of it all dripping downward off of everything. Isidor walked and released the firewood he had picked up, anything he could find under the canopy that was dry as they went, which was little enough. Getting a fire going took forever as Winter stripped her.

“We need something to get her warm,” Winter said.

“There’s blankets in the compartment on the dinghy,” Isidor said, running.

The storage compartment would have kept them dry. Havish and Leet came out of the forest, Havish still under Leet’s arm, supporting him, Leet leaning on a big stick for a prop.

Soule was lying on the wet sand, her eyes opening and closing, her whole body shaking, pale. Winter chafed her limbs, trying to get her warm. Isidor arrived with two wool blankets. Winter grabbed one and began drying her roughly, getting her blood moving.

“I know, little siren,” Winter said under his breath when she tried to pull away, wincing.

Winter wrapped her up in the other blanket and sat in front of the fire with half of her on his lap, half on Isidor’s, both of them adding their warmth as Havish gathered more wood, building it large.

Soule’s shivering finally slowed. She was still pale, mud all over her, her hair matted with it. Her eyes closed and she was asleep.

“I fucking hate islands,” Havish said, collapsing onto his back. “Leet and I will go get dry clothes from The Mockery.”

“Will you bring a medical kit?” Winter said to him, looking at him steadily, Isidor pulling up the blanket to look at her leg.

Havish’s eyes on Winter were assessing, biting his lower lip. He glanced at Soule. He nodded once.

#

“Sága!” Havish yelled, waking Winter, Isidor startling awake on the other side of Soule.

Havish was staring up at Kell’s face, who was leaning over him, his braids almost touching Havish’s chest.

“Good morning, Havish,” Kell said.

Kell was grinning, showing all his teeth. Havish made a face at Kell, who withdrew, still grinning, eyeing him like he might taste good. Havish sat up, Leet doing the same beside him. Lowen was suddenly there.

“Why are you all on the beach breaking ban with mud all over you?” Lowen demanded of Winter, standing over him.

Winter ignored him, looking at Soule. She was on her side, the blanket still wrapped around her, in Isidor’s arms behind her, her hands on Winter’s chest. She was asleep, her cheeks not so pale. They’d stitched her leg last night, Soule thankfully out for it.

“What happened?” Lowen demanded again, now of Isidor.

“All I remember is a great big tree hit me,” Isidor answered, eyeing him. “And then Leet hit me.”

“There was a flood that came from nowhere,” Winter said. “We got caught in it. I don’t know anything past that. When I got there, Havish and Leet had pulled Isidor and Soule out of a hole in the ground filled with water.”

They all three of them looked at Havish and Leet.

“I don’t know how you got there,” Havish said defensively, seeing it, gesturing at Soule. “We were on the beach and that one came and led us to Isidor. She wanted us to help him. She jumped in the hole and put the rope we lowered around him. We pulled him out and then her.”

“Led you?” Winter said, his eye narrowing. “Or you were chasing her?”

“It was the same fucking thing and we pulled her out, didn’t we?” Havish shot back.

Winter looked away, his jaw clenching. He nodded slowly. He looked back at Leet and Havish.

“You did,” Winter said stiffly, Isidor nodding. “You saved them both. I’m grateful, we are. Isidor and I, we owe you a debt.”

“We don’t want anything from you,” Havish said, gesturing at Soule. “The water was rising and Isidor passed out on a rock like a drunk, about to be drowned by it. She practically pushed him up that muddy slope by herself, bleeding all over the place—.”

“Bleeding all over what place?” Lowen interrupted, alarmed.

“What’s going on?” Kell asked Winter.

Kell hadn’t understood a word. They’d all been speaking Siblin.

“There was a flood of water,” Winter said to Kell in Dorsan. “Isidor and I, we got swept away and separated. Soule went and got Leet and Havish and led them to Isidor where he was trapped. They saved him and then her.”

“We had to stitch her leg,” Isidor answered Lowen in Dorsan. “She lost her blood.”

“Soule was hurt?” Kell said, coming over to her.

“Will you look at her leg, Lowen?” Winter said.

Lowen had more experience with wounds than they did. Lowen nodded. They pulled the blanket up, trying not to wake her, as Lowen knelt, unwrapping it. He winced and hissed, examining it.

“Could have been worse,” he finally grunted, looking up. “If she was running on it, she didn’t hurt the muscle. You cleaned it well?”

“There was mud so we scrubbed it good and washed it with water and put a rag soaked with liquor on top of it,” Isidor said. “But she lost her blood.”

Lowen nodded. He reached for her wrist, instructing them, all of them listening.

“For losing your blood, first you feel for the beat of the heart in the wrist or neck. If it’s too fast or weak, that’s not good. It should be strong and steady. She’s a little fast, but that’s all right, that’s to be expected. Feel the hands,” Lowen said, taking up Soule’s hands in his own. “You want the skin warm like hers is now, not clammy or cold. Look at the skin. She’s paler than she should be, but not so pale we’re worried about her.”

Winter and Isidor both blew out their breath, nodding.

“You want her flat on her back with her feet up on something,” Lowen said as they turned her gently, Isidor propping her feet with the second blanket. “It would be good for her to have fresh fruit when she wakes. If there’s any near here, see if you can get her to eat some. And have her eat beef when you get back to The Singsong.”

“Beef?” Winter said, surprised.

“She needs to make herself new blood. She needs the strength of it,” Lowen confirmed, nodding. “She’s going to be tired. That’s why she’s asleep. Her body’s trying to heal the important things before she’s up and moving around.”

Lowen turned to look at Havish and Leet, who were watching them, also listening carefully.

“What’re you doing here?” Lowen demanded.

“We’ll go back to The Mockery then,” Havish said, affronted, helping Leet to his feet, reaching for Leet’s prop.

“I don’t mean right here and now, Havish,” Lowen said irritably. “I mean what are you doing on Halit?”

Havish’s face went sour. It was a good question. Winter and Isidor stood up, facing Leet and Havish.

“We wanted to know what you were doing here,” Leet answered, looking at Isidor. “We came into Malana when you were leaving and we saw your direction. We wanted to see if you were bringing more sirens from the straight.”

“What are you talking about right now?” Winter demanded, impatient, Havish glaring at him.

“You brought her,” Havish accused, gesturing to Soule. “And then you brought the other one. We thought you might be bringing more.”

“I was already here for years,” Kell scoffed to Havish. “I was looking for my sister. Sirens aren’t coming to your territory.”

“Siblin don’t have a fucking territory, siren,” Havish said to him, his eyes flat. “This is personal.”

“My people are not coming here,” Kell repeated, his eyes narrowing at Havish. “They will never come here. We have lived beside you for two thousand years. We have no desire to live with you.”

“Then what are you doing here at the Brecca Islands?” Leet shot back.

“We’re here to give the widow mercy,” Kell said.

Havish and Leet stared at him.

“What the fuck is a widow?” Leet finally demanded, looking at Winter.

“There’s only one siren in the straight killing sailors,” Isidor explained. “The Council already knows that. The siren in the straight, she’s called a widow because she’s mad with grief.”

Havish and Leet were staring.

“You’re going to kill her?” Leet said.

“We’re going to give her mercy, yes,” Kell said.

“How are you going to do that without her singing you to your death?” Havish asked, his eyes shifting to Winter and Isidor.

He and Isidor didn’t answer. It wasn’t their place. It was Kell’s secret. Havish crossed the fire to Winter, standing in front of him, glaring, his finger coming up.

“We want to come,” he breathed. “We want to help kill that fucking thing.”

“Leet can’t go. He can’t walk,” Isidor argued, gesturing to him.

“That happened getting rope from the dinghy to pull you out of that hole!” Leet said hotly.

“Then take me alone,” Havish insisted.

Leet turned his head sharply to Havish, who looked back at him. Leet looked away, pissed at that. Winter’s jaw was jumping, staying silent. They couldn’t invite Havish to come with them, no matter what their debt to the captains of The Mockery. They couldn’t break faith with Kell.

“First of all,” Havish said, seeing they weren’t going to answer, outraged, jabbing his finger at Isidor. “Leet and I saved your fucking life and your anthata’s and unless you’re going to be so low as to report to the Council that we broke ban to do it, you owe us, Winter said so.”

Havish turned, jabbing his finger in Winter’s direction now.

“And second,” he continued, “our parents were killed by that screecher. If anyone’s going to kill it, it’s going to be one of us and you’d do the same thing in our place and you know it.”

Winter looked away, Isidor doing the same. There was nothing they could say. Havish looked disgusted, raking them with a glare.

“The widow sang your fathers to madness?” Kell said to Havish, frowning.

“They didn’t tell you that?” Havish said, turning to Winter and then Isidor, throwing up his hand, nodding. “Of course they didn’t,” he said, turning back to Kell. “Not just our fathers, siren. Our mother as well, because our ships carry whole families.”

“It just didn’t come up, Havish,” Isidor said, wincing.

“Isidor and Winter gave me their promise not to reveal the secret of how to approach her,” Kell said to Havish. “That’s why they’re not answering you. They are Siblin, and therefore I can trust their word. You are also Siblin. I will take your word if you want to come.”

All their hotness disappeared. They were eyeing Kell suspiciously. Havish looked at Winter, who looked back at him steadily. He glanced at Leet. Leet looked pissed again and then nodded slightly.

“You have our word we won’t tell others what you show us,” Havish said. “But I get to gut the widow.”