Faster than anything else in the water, I swim for the ship. Like a bird in the
air, I pass through effortlessly, mounting league after league.
I’m swimming toward my other captors yet again, but I cannot hand myself
over to them without a plan of escape. Panic sets in. There’s no time. Every second that passes is a second that brings Riden closer to death. I need to get to the ship now.
I don’t halt my movements toward the ship, but I submerge my head and start
singing. From below the water my voice is clear. Clear and sharp as a bell. It travels fast, reaching the ears of those on the Night Farer. The power of my song is limitless when I am in the ocean. The sea keeps nourishing me, feeding me so
I never tire.
Reaching out toward the ship, I prepare the men for what is to come. They need to be ready for us. We cannot waste a second. I still can control only three men at a time, so I first reach out to Kearan, telling him to move the ship in our direction. Then I find Enwen and Draxen. I bring them to the ship’s edge and
hold Riden up, so it will be him that Draxen sees first.
“Lower a rope!” Draxen commands immediately.
As his men hasten to obey, I let out one more verse. This time I reach even
farther out.
I’m forced to swim to the right, dodging the large knotted rope that splashes
me with water as it reaches its end. My body changes as soon as I’m hoisted out
of the water, so quickly that no one can take notice. None can see my siren form
unless they peer through the water, and I think it’s safe to say that they were too far away to notice. But that is hardly a concern for me at the moment.
Draxen's men haul us up quickly. There must be at least five of them tugging
on the rope. I have to grip the edge of the railing once I get to the top—it’s difficult while holding on to Riden’s weight as well. Otherwise they would have
hauled me all the way over, and I probably would have broken a finger or my wrist as it jammed into the railing.
Draxen grabs Riden and lays him down on the ship’s deck. I’m about to step
forward to help when I’m seized by what feels like twenty men.
“Go grab Holdin!” he orders. Someone runs belowdecks.
“The ship’s doctor can’t help him,” I snap.
I’m momentarily distracted by the filthy fingers at my body. They probe and
push, straying to places they shouldn’t. Places hardly necessary for restraining me. My muscles hurt from the strain. My pride hurts from the whole scene.
“What did you do to him?” Draxen demands.
That’s it. I don’t care if the whole crew witnesses this. They’re about to die
anyway. I slam my abilities into Draxen, ordering him to make his men let me
go.
His crew hears me singing; they’re perplexed enough by that. But once
Draxen orders them to let me go, they’re dumbfounded.
He has to repeat himself, more loudly this time, before they listen. They must
decide I’m not behind the change if they still obeyed Draxen’s order. Good.
I rush to Riden, sit on the cold deck, and place a hand on either side of his
head. I lower my head as though going in for a kiss. I need to force air back into his lungs. Plugging his nose with the fingers of my right hand, I blow into his mouth, willing the air to reach down into his lungs.
I wait a moment and then try again. Five times I do this, and nothing changes.
“No,” I say, barely a whisper. I lie on top of his body, placing my head against his chest, a silent plea for it to start moving up and down, for his lungs to work, for his body to keep the life within.
This can’t be happening. Not after he rescued me. Not after he let himself get
shot to help me. He can’t die now.
But there is water in his lungs. I can sense it beneath my cheek. And if I could
just get it out …
I place my hands against his chest to make it look as though I’m using them
to force the water from his lungs, but I know at this point they’re useless.
I sing, so softly that only Riden can hear, were he awake. I tell his mind to stay alert. I beg the organs to remain steady. I cannot heal his wounds. I cannot speed up or change anything. I can only reach his mind. I tell him not to give up.
Not yet. He’s not allowed to die.
When I’ve expelled some of the song from me, I pull at the water beneath me,
the water in Riden’s lungs. I cannot touch it, but I can sense it. And I demand that it come to me.
It does not move.
But I dig my fingers into Riden’s chest, and pull—both physically and