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I dive down again and swim faster. This time, the ocean releases its hold on me. The resonant notes grow louder and clearer around me, until I think my heart will break from their beauty. My senses whisper that this is dangerous, that it could be a trap. I’ve never come so close to the dream-singer before. Never even seen him or learned his name. I don’t know why he sings. Maybe I should take warning from that.
But if I turn around now, the only thing waiting for me is another battle, another raid, another day of beautiful things being destroyed. That, and a mate challenge I never wanted, where men will shed more blood in an attempt to win me. I want so badly to believe there is life beyond the battlefields, that I cannot stop swimming toward hope. Even false hope.
The song swells again. My tears spill over, mingling with the sea water. At last I break the surface in a rush, turning a flip in the air and shifting into my land-dwelling form as I do. A moment later, my bare feet hit stone. I land in a crouch, my blonde hair falling in sodden strands around me and my thin garments clinging to my form. My chest expands as my body switches from breathing with gills to lungs.
The breeze sends chills over my wet skin, and I shiver. With a flick of my hand, the water rolls off me and streams back into the sea. It leaves my clothing wrinkled and my hair in tangles, but the chill of spring wind is no longer biting.
I’ve emerged at a strand of large stones where the waves break before they reach the shore. The tide is waning, leaving only a narrow band of water sparkling between me and the singer. The surf is wild enough that anyone watching from the shore won’t spot me easily.
I squint through the dusk, hoping to catch a glimpse of the singer. The rocky beach is empty. Beyond lays a desolate stretch of land marred from years of war. The skeleton forms of dead trees rise against the dusk sky, splintered by explosions and torn apart by tidal waves. There were orchards beyond this shore once, which my people tended for generations. Now there is nothing but ash-colored earth.
I glance to the right, where the ground rises into sheer cliffs farther down the shoreline. Mist plays around the heights, almost obscuring the towers of Kara Davonashi, but I feel its looming presence nonetheless. I shudder. I’m too close to the elven king’s fortress. There are bound to be sentries patrolling the cliffs, and if they spot me—
I clench my fists. If they spot me, I’ll remind them whose shores they walk upon. A daughter of the sea has nothing to fear while she stands with her own waters around her.
Except they’re not my waters. Not really.
Another shiver runs across my skin. This time it had nothing to do with the wind. The sun is dipping below the horizon now and two of the moons have come awake. How long until the Seamother misses my presence? What if she guesses why I have strayed so close to the shore?
I push the worries aside. If my mother questions me, I’ll tell her I’m scouting, gathering information that could be useful to the warriors.
I crouch down amid the seaworn rocks and wait.
The song comes again, clear and full. It resonates through me like the sound of a great shell trumpet. The singer is close by, somewhere among the rocks just on the other side of the band of water, hidden in the gaps of the moonlight. His voice fills me, and I let it, casting aside my dark thoughts from moments before and opening myself to everything the song carries.
I’m close enough now to catch every note and nuance of the melody. Visions unfurl in my mind as I listen, conjured by the melody and the ancient celestial language as only an elven singer could do. Elves can’t speak to the waters as my people can, but they brought their own magic with them when they first came to our world from the realm of the stars. I shut my eyes, taking in every detail the song gives me.
He shows me pristine shores unstained with blood, and waters that taste of life. He shows me skies that glitter with stars undimmed by smoke. He shows me our villages rebuilt and the sea healed.
All illusions. Nothing more. I swallow the knot forming in my throat, trying to push down the emotion, but in the end, I can’t resist the fantasy. The waves of joy and beauty in his song leave me trembling.
His song is meant for me. Somehow, I’ve known that since the first time his voice called me to the surface months ago. I’ve heard this song a score of times since that first night. It consumes me more each time, as if its power has latched deep inside my soul and will never release me.
I’m not sure when I start singing along, but suddenly my voice is rising louder and louder alongside his. The visions brought to life by the song pull me deeper, drawn more into my heart as I join my voice with his. I’ve heard this song enough to know the words—a refrain that speaks of peaceful days and life restored. Tears stream down my face as the song rises in a crescendo and our voices blend in perfect harmony.
The dream-singer falls silent. My breath catches as the visions fall away from my mind. I stand under familiar moons and stars, feeling stripped bare. My ears are filled only with the murmur of waves and the mournful cries of the night birds, and I hate it. I hate the gaping emptiness I feel when the song and visions end.
I hate that all I have are visions.
I shove down the gnawing ache and my brimming tears, forcing myself to focus onwhat is. Angry sea. Angry Seamother waiting at the palace for my return. Five bloodthirsty warriors who have come to fight over me as though I’m a prized pearl.
I’m a fool. How could I let myself hope?
There is no time to follow a fantasy.
I turn my back to the shore, poised to dive into the waves.
“Are you still there?” The dream-singer’s voice is low and resonant, but his words send a jolt like lightning through me. To my astonishment, he speaks in my own language.
“Yes.” The word comes out in a hoarse whisper before I can think better of it. Fantasy or not, my heart still clings to the memory of his visions, and if I can dwell there for even a moment longer, I will. More words spill from my tongue. “Why do you sing songs of peace to me?”
“Because you need them. And because—” His voice falters. “I was sent to sing to you.”
Alarm shoots through me. So hehasbeen luring me on purpose. “Who sent you?” I snap, bracing myself to dive back into the waves. If this is a trap—
“The One Who Is.”
I freeze in place. “... what?”
