Chapter 7
Chapter
Seven
Malachi plunged into the lake. He held his breath as he swam downwards. The icy water caressed his naked body. He wore nothing but a simple seashell, which hung from a chord around his neck that Malachi never took off.
He swam down and down until he neared the bottom. There he stopped and floated above a large growth of mayaweed.
The seaweed bobbed in the water. An eel darted through the brownish-green foliage. With a pair of scissors, Malachi hacked at the seaweed. His tentacles reached forward and gripped the clumps before they could float away.
When he had enough, he swam upwards. As his head broke the surface, he inhaled the wintry air, taking in deep lungfuls. Sirens could not breathe underwater. But they could hold their breath for many minutes.
He swam to the edge of the lake and pulled himself out. He dropped the seaweed on the ground. With a towel, he dried himself. He’d taken several trips this morning into the watery depths of the lake to collect different plants.
He’d also harvested from several rivers in the forest. He had about as much as he could carry on his own. In the coming weeks, the lake would freeze over as the temperature continued to drop.
The sky above lightened, and the soft rays of sunshine reflected on the surface of the lake. And as the sun rose, Malachi barely spared it a glance. The colours always appeared muted to Malachi’s eyes. No beauty existed in his world anymore.
Malachi dressed. Then he organised his aquatic plants. Whilst he could grow a lot in the emporium, especially when assisted by tanks and equipment that had been magicked, most aquatic plants thrived best in their true habitats.
Usually, Malachi came out early in the morning once a week, and on that day, he opened his shop later. Bending over, he studied the mayaweed as he shoved them into small hessian sacks.
The plant still looked quite healthy despite the cold temperature. Once the lake froze, the plant would die back. He stacked the sacks into a crate. Then he reached down and lifted his rucksack, also filled with plants.
Malachi froze. Two voices, joined in song, floated across the lake, breaking the early morning quiet.
A siren song.
He sucked in a breath. The rucksack fell to the snowy ground. Malachi straightened. His heart stuttered in his chest.
It was a mated siren pair who sang. He knew that in his soul. He could hear it in the way their voices mingled and rose with happiness and love. They were not freshly mated. They’d been together at least a year or two. Malachi could tell that by the way they sang in harmony.
That’s how we sounded.
His eyes stung. Without thinking, Malachi walked along the lake’s edge in the direction of the song’s source.
Images flitted in his mind. Memories from years ago stirred. He remembered the face of the siren he’d loved more than life itself. He thought of treasured smiles, soft kisses, and gentle touches. Of so much laughter. And singing.
Sirens had many songs; some were specific to the individual, to families, and to regions. The songs had different purposes and communicated different things. One song, specific to each siren, was used to find their mate. Their mate song.
Malachi remembered leaving his home, singing his mate song, a song of longing and hope.
At first, he’d been so excited as he swum across oceans and along coasts, the hope propelling him forward through the waves.
He’d heard other siren mate songs. But their songs never called to him. And his never called to them.
Until one cloudy, rain-filled day. It had been a day so at odds with what would be the brightest day of Malachi’s life.
He’d been singing, growing weary after years of travelling without finding a mate.
He’d started to wonder if he should head inland, since not all siren mates were sirens themselves.
Then he’d heard it. A siren mate song. But unlike any he’d heard before.
It slithered into the cracks of his being, swimming down into his very soul. It called to him. It beckoned. It promised. The song felt like it had been created just for him. And it had been.
The moment he heard it, he’d fallen in love. He’d swum closer and closer, his heartbeat speeding up as his legs kicked faster.
Then he’d seen him, his mate, Forathia.
By the lake’s edge, Malachi stopped walking. Two sirens stood amongst a copse of trees, gazing into each other’s eyes, their hands clasped. Their tentacles danced and swayed in the air above them, moving in time with their song.
They sang, too engrossed in each other to see him.
Is that how we looked?
Malachi touched a hand to his necklace. He remembered when Forathia had given him the seashell. It was just after they’d made love on a beach that first night. His mate had spotted the shiny shell amongst the sand.
He’d picked it up and handed it to Malachi. “Here. Now you have something to remind you of the day we met.”
Malachi stared at the pair of sirens before him. He felt his vocal cords tense. For a moment, he wanted to sing his own mate song. He wanted to raise his voice and cry out for Forathia as if his mate might appear before him, come to him, and hold him like he had years ago.
But the urge to sing died as quickly as it came. Forathia was gone. No amount of singing would bring him back to life.
Malachi had not sung in years. Not since Forathia had died.
How could his voice rise when his heart had shrivelled away? How could he sing when his world had descended into bleakness and sorrow?
For two years, Malachi and Forathia had swum through the ocean together. All Malachi’s hopes and dreams of finding his mate had been fulfilled.
Then Forathia had died.
Tears stung his eyes as Malachi listened to the sirens singing. He stared and remembered all he’d lost. His heart bled with each rise and fall of their voices and with the knowledge he’d never know love again.
One of the sirens spotted Malachi. She looked at him, her song shifting. But she did not stop.
The other siren turned to look at Malachi as well. After a second, Malachi realised he recognised this siren from when he’d lived in the ocean so many years ago. She’d been younger than him. And unmated. Taranna, he thought her name might be.
Malachi saw the moment Taranna recognised him. Her voice stuttered and halted. Her features morphed to horror. She looked at her mate, who stared at her in confusion. Both sirens had stopped singing now.
Then Taranna tugged her mate into the trees, not glancing at Malachi.
Malachi stared after them. He was not surprised by Taranna’s response.
Sirens couldn’t bear to look at a siren who had lost their mate. The mere thought was too terrible for them to consider. Too painful to comprehend. Too heart-wrenching to witness.
Many sirens died after their mate’s death. It was said their hearts gave out with the strength of their grief. But Malachi’s heart had not given out. Even if there had been days when he’d wanted it to. Maybe it was because he was too young. Or maybe he just didn’t love Forathia enough.
Somehow Malachi’s heart not stopping made it all the worse. It made him feel unworthy of his lost mate. So instead Malachi had been stuck amongst the living without the love of his life.
And after Forathia died, the other sirens had openly avoided him, like Taranna had. His siblings would swim away if he approached. Even his own parents could not bear to look at him. It was as if they were afraid that if they bore witness to his loss, it might cause the death of their own mates.
So Malachi left his family, his friends, and the ocean without a word.
For a while, he moved around before settling in the city of Anorra. There he grieved. He grieved for the death of his mate and for the loss of his home, family, and friends.
The days passed. He lived. Or at least, he went through the motions of the living.
Eventually, Malachi turned and made his way back to his harvested plants. He needed to get back to the emporium and the existence that stretched endlessly before him.