Sound of Sirens: (Tales of Skylge #1) (2 page)

Dani listens to me with a smile on her face. “I wish we could just stay out on the dyke all day and stare out at sea and make music,” she says longingly. “First period is history with Mr. Buma. Yawn. He’s just going to harp on about the mistakes of our ancestors anyway. St. Brandan’s Day is the perfect opportunity for that.”

I roll my eyes. Dani is right – Buma is a sell-out fawning all over the Current elitists. “Be reminded, children, of our neighboring lands, the sunken islands of Amelan and Flylan,” I intone. “Taken by the waves and the merfolk because they wouldn’t submit to Brandan’s guidance and protection. Smitten because they worshipped Freda and Fosta. Punished because they wanted to disturb the natural order of things.”

And the natural order of things means that the Skylgers stand mostly defenseless when the sea attacks. The Currents hole up in their fortified high-rise apartment buildings in the middle of the island while we watch helplessly as the seasonal floods bring the Nixen to our coastal towns. When the merfolk call to us in the darkness of winter, the Currents drown out the sound with their loud, electronic music, booming from the gigantic speakers in their gaudy night clubs. Their territory is equipped with a loudspeaker system warning them of a Siren attack with a high-pitched beep which they, ironically, call a siren. Go figure – they named their warning signal after the devious creatures luring humans out to sea.

But we are forbidden to use electricity, reaping only the dubious benefits of being protected by their patron saint of coastal light, St. Brandan. His tower stands proud in the middle of Old Brandaris, repelling the Sirens with its bright, electric light, chasing away the darkness filled with mer-song that threatens to overtake so many islanders prone to melancholy.

Sometimes, I am truly scared I am too much like my mom. One day I might walk into the sea and never look back. And not my family’s love or Dani’s friendship will be enough to stop me from harkening to the sound of sirens.

“M
iss Buwalda,” a stern voice addresses me when I slip into the hallway ten minutes before noontime. “Where do you think you’re going?”

I look around and meet the caretaker’s eye. Old Olger has the ‘strict janitor’ act down to a tee, but we all know he has a heart of gold. Plus, he’s an old friend of my dad’s, so he cuts me some slack every now and then.

“Toilets,” I say, flashing him my hall pass.

“You couldn’t wait for a few more minutes?”

I give him a deliberately awkward smile. “It’s that time of the month.”

Olger grimaces. “Never mind. Off you go. I don’t want to know.”

Smiling to myself, I head for the restrooms. Works every time. I just want to be the first one out the door to get down to the harbor. The ships are coming – I can sense it. A quiet buzz runs through the entire town of Brandaris, as though the electricity powering the rich homes sparked a current in all of its residents.

I slip inside and wait until Olger has strutted off before I come back out again and make a run for the main doors. If no one else sees me, I’ll be the luckiest girl on the island today.

I let out a sigh of relief once I’m off the school grounds. Dani will have to forgive me for sneaking out without her. Two girls with hall passes at the same time would have set off the Sirens for sure, so to speak.

Mounting my bike, I hoist my backpack onto my shoulders. The sea wind is calling to me with an excited cry of freedom and the salty tang of the Wadden Sea tickles my nostrils. I speed along passing my own school, down the street, zipping past the Current high school that’s only a stone’s throw away from ours. When I once wondered out loud why they built it next to the Skylger School in our sector of Brandaris, Sytse told me that the Currents just like to rub it in – the fact that their institute is far superior. St. Brandan High has artificially-heated classrooms, flashy audio equipment, and special evening classes under electric light.

Personally, I like reading books better. And I quite enjoy the fact that classes are canceled when the weather gets too severe. Long live the impractical fireplaces in our building.

––––––––

W
hen I arrive at the Kom, our main harbor, a group of Currents has already gathered on the quay. With eager, grabby hands, they await the ships and the goods our traders are bringing home. No matter how much their own priests frown upon acquiring merchandise from the mainland, there’s always a few who feel they stand above their own laws because they’re just too damn rich to be bossed around by anybody.

One of those people is Royce Bolton. Partial heir to the Bolton Industries fortune. His great-grandfather invented and produced the Siren system, so his family is loaded. Royce is the youngest of three brothers and he’s about Sytse’s age. As I get off my bike, I secretly observe him. His piercing, blue eyes scan the horizon and a slight frown of anticipation creases the skin between his jet-black eyebrows. The few girls clustered around him look up at him in admiration, but he doesn’t seem to notice. Instead, he focuses his attention on the sea, waiting for the Skylger ships to come in.

“Why so anxious, Royce?” I want to ask him. “Afraid you won’t get any toys to play with this week?”

Everybody on the island knows who Royce is. Apart from being a rich, spoilt brat, he also happens to be a gifted musician. He always plays the piano during the Oorol festival, usually accompanied by one of his gushing girlfriends singing along. It’s not fair that such an insufferable person is so talented, in my humble opinion. I wish I could hate the guy, but after hearing him play, I honestly can’t. His music is heartrendingly beautiful. If his songs were ever pressed in shellac, I’d buy them in a heartbeat. I’d probably cover my tracks out of embarrassment, but still.

Before they can spot me or ask me why I’m here this early, I scurry away like a frightened crab and sit down on the sand, my back leaned against a mooring post, my chin braced upon my raised knees, and my arms circling my legs. If anyone were to draw my portrait now – or snapped a picture of me with my dad’s clunky, old-fashioned camera – the result would be called ‘Girl In Contemplation’, I bet. I wonder if the uncrowned prince of Brandaris and his minions ever stare at the sea with such a mixture of fear and reverence.

My grandmother says that we were born of the sea. Our ancient, pre-Brandan legends teach us that the Frisian gods cast us upon the land when we started to grow legs instead of fins and tails. Our ancestors are the Nixen, who still call for us, imploring us to come home. But this is our home now – and we can never go back. Yet, we silently worship the sea out of respect for what it has given us, and is still giving us now. Life. Sustenance. Water to desalinate and fish to catch in our nets. And we have our own rituals to appease the merfolk. Once a year, during Oorol, we sing to them. The Baeles-Weards priests would ban our songs of old if they knew. When the Skylge Choir gets up on stage and performs the old hymns, the choir members’ voices carry these spellbinding melodies to acknowledge their existence, and to warn them off at the same time.

“We stand as still as stone

while the mermaid sings

and her melody rings

like a memory calling us home,” I sing, almost inaudibly.

Of course, we don’t sing this in the Currents’ language. As per the Skelta’s instructions, the choir chants it in the old Skylger tongue, which is slowly disappearing. Anglian has replaced our own language. Grandma Antje, my mom’s mom, still know how to speak Skylgian fluently, though, and she taught me the language too. This means I understand the songs our choir sings every year. She also told me what my name, Enna, stands for. I was named after Grandpa Enno, whose name means fear or terror because it derives from an ancient word meaning ‘the edge of a sword’.

The name may have fit my grandfather, but I am not nearly brave enough to carry it with pride. I don’t think I’ll live to see the day I strike terror into anyone’s heart.

My eyes widen when I see dots on the horizon. The Skylger fleet – it’s back! Relief floods my body. As much as I love my big brother being part of our marines, I’m always afraid something will happen to him. No amount of exotic presents will make up for missing Sytse.

I get up and make my way to the waterfront. Very soon, a multitude of Skylgers outnumbering the Currents has gathered around me on the quay, and I feel safe once more. I blend into the crowd, becoming invisible.

Not to my brother, though. As soon as the largest ship docks, he makes his way off the gangway while fixing me with a large grin on his face. His hazel eyes sparkle and his blond hair shines in the sunlight. He’s clutching a big, burlap sack in his hand. Filled with gifts for Dad and me, no doubt.

I push my way through the throng and end up hugging my brother for a longer time than I planned.

“How have you been?” he says, breaking our embrace at last and holding me at arm’s length to take a good look at me. “You’ve lost some weight. Have you suffered from the Sadness again?”

“I’m all right,” I brush off his concern. “They can call me all they want, but the Nixen won’t get me. I belong on the land.”

If I say it out loud often enough, it’ll be true.

“Well, I brought something to cheer you up anyway,” Sytse continues, opening his bag so I can sneak a peek inside. My heart trips when I spot at least five new records. “Here, why don’t you hold on to these things for now? I have to help the crew. There’s lots of unloading to do, and I bet those Currents hovering around the harbor want to inspect the goods as soon as they can.” He winks.

I grin. “I won’t unpack this until we get home,” I promise.

“Good girl,” Sytse says with a sunny smile. “But I want to show you one thing now. I brought it especially for you. Here, wait.” He snatches the sack from my hands again and digs up a flat, square cardboard sleeve with a picture on it. A Long Play record?

“These women sing like the Nixen,” Sytse tells me. “The lead singer’s name is Jyoti. You’ll love her music. She plays the piano like she’s putting a spell on the keys, and her partner Maya plays the cello. Unbelievably beautiful. I heard these songs outside a brown café near the Krummhorn harbor and I knew I had to get this for you.”

The two red-haired women depicted on the front chasing a fiery bird stare at the animal with wide, slightly slanted eyes. They look mesmerizing; almost witch-like. I’m intrigued, but Sytse’s gift makes me painfully aware of the things we can never have.

“How will I ever listen to this?” I say, sounding disheartened.

“We’ll figure out a way,” he replies, resting his hand on my shoulder. “Who knows, you might win a day’s supply of electricity this year during Oorol. Don’t give up hope.”

I shoot him a small smile before he rushes off. Sytse is a dreamer. No one in our family has ever won the day’s supply of Current power, and if I did, I wouldn’t waste it on listening to this Jyoti woman. I know what I’d do if I ever won – I’d get someone to drive us around the island in a Current car for the entire day. Ever since the illness took his strength away, Dad hasn’t left Kinnum because he can’t walk very far. And I know he longs to see the salt marshes in the east once more. The wild dunes and the unblemished sands of Osterend where he grew up. He wants to listen to the quiet birdsong in the woods of Hornsebos. He deserves to go there at least one more time, but he can’t sit on the baggage rack of my bike for very long because of the pain in his joints, so I can’t take him. I go to these places on the weekend and take photos with his camera sometimes so I can show him what it looks like, but the resulting black-and-white pictures don’t truly convey the beauty of Eastern Skylge.

“Hey, you!” Dani suddenly pops up next to me. “Left without me? I will never forgive you. Never.” She pulls a mock-insulted face and I start to giggle.

“Of course you will,” I object. “Because you love me.”

“Don’t be so sure.” Dani cranes her neck to look at the crates the sailors are now carrying onto the jetty. “Ooh, I wonder what’s in there. Did Sytse mention any shellac records, besides the ones he’s kept aside for you?”

I shake my head. “You should go take a look. You can listen to mine, of course. But I know you like Victor Silvester the best.”

“True, true.” My friend flashes a smile at me. “Will you be okay on your own?”

“Sure. I’ll just wait for you and Sytse to finish so we can all go home together.”

As Dani skips off to check out what our sailors have brought in from Fryslan, Grins, and Nethersaxony, the wind picks up, making me shiver all of a sudden. The sound of the waves rushes in, carrying wistful voices filled with longing and hunger. The Nixen – or the Sirens, as the Currents call them – are never really quiet. I can always hear them, just like my mother.

I close my eyes and wait until the feeling goes away. The only thing that goes away, though, is the sun hitting my cheeks. When I open my eyes again to see who’s casting a shadow across my face, I am staring into two piercing eyes that are blue like the cloudless skies.

I
t’s Royce.

What the heck is he doing here? I blink up at him in confusion. Am I in his way? Has he mistaken me for someone else?

“Hi,” he says, his deep voice melodic like his music.

Why is he
talking
to me?

“Hello,” I reply stiffly. “Ehm... can I help you with something?”

“Actually, yes.” He smiles, and I hate myself for staring at him. He’s gorgeous, in an old, Frisian-god-kind-of-way. “I always come here to pick up the latest music from the mainland, and I think one of the LPs I’ve been waiting for has accidentally ended up with that sailor’s record haul.”

I follow his gaze when he stares pointedly at my hand still clutching the useless LP.

“You – but this is mine,” I say. “Sytse got it for me. As a special gift.”

“Ah.” The worried frown I spotted before creases his forehead again. “Well – okay. That’s unfortunate.”

“What’s so unfortunate about getting a present?” I snip.

Royce stares at me for a second and then laughs, his eyes lighting up. “Nothing. I’m happy your boyfriend is bringing you gifts, of course.”