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“The Creator. The—”
“Yes, I know the One Who Is.” I laugh, harsher than I mean to. The deepest part of my soul longs to believe the singer’s claim, but the rest of me scoffs. The Creator has given war to me as my lot, leaving me with no path but to fight for my people in these endless, needless battles. Why would He now send me visions that only break my heart? And— “Why would He send visions in the song of an elf?”
“His song formed the elves and the tuath alike, didn’t it?”
“That does not make us friends.” My voice catches on the last word. Once, long ago, I did count elves among my friends, even to the point of living among them and learning their languages and customs. But the elven rulers destroyed those happier days with their own folly, and no amount of wishing on my part can undo that. I dare not take the singer’s words to heart.
“Then why do you always come when I sing?” he asks.
I breathe deep of the salty air, trying to calm my racing heart. Trying to come up with a sensible answer, and to tamp down the hope that wants to unfurl within me. I’ve known times—long ago now—when the Creator spoke to my people of many things, but war has clouded our minds and made His voice faint to us. Is it possible He did send the dream-singer?
I can’t risk believing it, but I can at least tell the singer the truth.
“I take beauty wherever I may find it, even in the song of a foe,” I say. “My life is blood and ash and anger. I tire of it.”
“Come to me.” His words explode in a sudden rush, as if they flew from his mouth of their own accord. “Come to the shore.”
The pleading in his voice is like a breaker crashing over me, pushing me toward the rocky beach. My feet shift on the rock as if to betray me and propel me back into the water, toward the singer. I grind my heels into the stone, barely stopping myself from diving.
“No.”
“Please. Please come.” He sounds closer now. I squint through the gathering twilight and the ocean mist. My heart leaps to my throat. A tall figure clad in long elven robes stands in the shallows, up to his knees in the restless waves. “Or else let me come to you. I can swim, you know.”
“Stop. Don’t come closer. The sea will take you.” My voice trembles. Does he realize how easily my mother could pull him under, fill the waters with his blood, end his songs forever? Even if I can’t risk trusting him, I don’t want him to die.
“Nothing is safe for either of us,” he says.
“We’re enemies.”
“An enemy would not have listened to my songs. An enemy would not have sung back.” The singer takes a step deeper into the water, even as the waves buffet him with growing fury. “Do you really believe we’re doomed to fight each other?”
“Yes.” A tear trickles down my cheek as I force the word out. Anything to keep him from taking one more step into the angry sea.
The singer’s laugh rolls through the mist. “I don’t believe that. Our peoples used to be friends. Tell me from your heart—do you believe the One Who Is has destined us only for war?”
The waves dance higher as his voice passes over them, and I shudder. The ocean is listening.
The Seamother is listening.
Depths take him, he’s going to getbothof us killed if he doesn’t stop talking. I slip into the water, shifting back into my sea-dwelling form as I do. With a few flicks of my lithe tail, I speed through the shallows until I reach another large rock, this one only a few yards from the singer. I crouch behind it and speak in a whisper. “Please, leave before the Seamother hears you!”
“My name is Keliveth. Keliveth Dalzana.”
The singer’s simple words send ice through my veins. A Dalzana. A prophet of the elves, too powerful and dangerous to trust. And yet ... this makes his claims about the Creator plausible. My head spins as I try to sort out what I dare believe about this man, and I say the first thing that comes to mind.
“I didn’t want to know that.” I would rather have gone on thinking of him as the dream-singer. As someone who didn’t have to be my enemy.
“Why not?” His voice is so earnest, so sincere, that it makes my next words all the more bitter.
“Because someday soon I will meet you on the battlefield.” My voice quavers. “And when that happens, either you’ll die with my spear through your chest, or I’ll be turned to ash by your magic.” I pause, gulping back sudden tears. “It’s worse when you know the names of the ones you kill.”
“Well, then, I guess you shouldn’t kill me.” I can almost hear a smile in his voice, and I clench my fists. Does he think I’m joking?
“I’m leaving,” I snap. “Don’t follow. My people will spear you and shred you to pieces.” I push away from the rock, ready to swim back down to the palace and leave this absurd dream world behind.
His voice cuts through the darkness again.
“Tell me your name. Then I won’t be able to kill you either.”
