The selkie seals sang from beyond the fog, and each note pulled me deeper and deeper into an unseen current. It was the most beautiful thing that I had ever heard, as deep and rushing as the water it came from. I needed to get nearer. I needed to become one with it.
It reminded me of the song of my forging, back when I was among my makers and immersed in their profound fellowship.
The selkie seals sang of family, and hearing their countless voices, I forgot that I had killed mine. Suddenly, I believed I could be with my father again, back in the forge, back in Datrea, if only I could reach the water.
But I could not move by myself. I was attached to Yethyr’s hip, and Yethyr was oblivious. He could not hear it. None of them could. First, I pitied them for their deafness. Then I grew bitter.
Their deafness was keeping me from my family. Stupid Brinn, never appreciating the music right in front of them.
I wanted to shout. Why wasn’t I shouting? I should tell Yethyr to hurry up and get in the lake. He had taken everything from me, I could not let him take this from me too.
I had never spoken to him before, but at this moment, with the water calling so sweetly, I could no longer fathom why I had ever kept quiet.
I needed to sing; I needed to shout.
Kvelir shouted first. I could hear him below deck, trying to escape his bonds.
Grokar and Hegrir were guarding him, and I could hear them rush to hold him down.
“Please!” Kvelir begged. “I need to go. We all need to go. Don’t you hear it? Don’t you hear it?!”
I heard it, just as he could, and I was stunned.
He could hear watersong.
Suddenly, everything about Kvelir snapped into place.
His comfort on the river was more than him “being born on a boat.” His immediate knack for sailing over the water, even his ability to shoot an arrow into the one weakness of Driftbranch’s hull, no longer seemed like mere luck.
He had heard the water pressing on it, perhaps without even realizing it.
He probably had no idea that water did not sound like that to other people. He had no idea what he was. That was Brinn education for you.
How lucky Kvelir was for having such a sense and being able to hear such beauty. Everyone should hear such beauty, even Yethyr, monster that he was.
But he would only ever hear the dead, not the tide.
Except…that was not necessarily true. Yethyr was bound to me. I used his senses to see and to feel and to taste. It stood to reason that the opposite could just as easily be true. It already was true, to a certain extent. Through me, he could see angels and demons. I probably could give him my hearing if I opened myself up to him.
And then he would hear the music and understand why we needed to get in the lake right now.
Yethyr, for all his many, many flaws, appreciated music. He would understand. I just needed to show him. I just needed him to hear as I heard. I needed to submerge him in myself as I was submerged in him.
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I vaguely recalled there being some reason why I had not wanted to do that. There was a reason I hid in his mind and avoided his every attempt to pinpoint me.
But right then, with the prospect of rejoining the song of family, I couldn’t remember what that reason was.
It must have been a silly reason anyway.
Yethyr was speaking, still oblivious to the choir chanting from the lake below.
He was still telling his story of Kenthano, although I had long since stopped following the plot.
“But the virgin priests of Maethe belonged to her, and if Kenthano wanted to take a possession of an angel, his hunt was with the angel herself.”
“Kvelir has gone mad!” Grokar was crying from below deck. Hunters broke from their makeshift “campfire” and rushed below deck to help or perhaps to catch a curious glimpse of a raving lunatic.
Yethyr stood to follow, and I chose that moment to open myself up to him.
“Listen.”
The Prince stumbled as he finally felt the elusive thing squirming in his head go still, welcoming him, embracing him. Greedily, he reached for me, eager to bind me to his will once and for all, and was suddenly confronted with the full magnitude of me.
He gasped.
We were one. Through him, I could see everything, and now, through me, he could hear everything.
The crackle of the lantern. The rustle of the sails. The craftsmanship of my steel and the craftsmanship of his Flazean ship. Even the rocky shore beyond the fog was as clear to him as if he could see it.
He had one moment to bask in the sheer sound of the world, a beauty that I had taken for granted until confronted by his awe.
Perhaps I was the one who had never appreciated the music right in front of them.
And then the song of the selkies filled Yethyr as it had filled me. He saw different things in the promise of family that they offered. His father’s proud smile, his brother’s adoring gaze, his mother’s loving heart, Jaethe’s outstretched hand. All these things would be his if he jumped into the lake, and for once, I didn’t care that he would get everything he wanted.
Because if we jumped in together, my smiths would be with me again, and all would be forgiven.
Yethyr immediately rushed to the side of the boat. I helped him. We had never been more in sync.
He made to jump.
“My prince!” Jaetheiri caught his arm and pulled him back. “What in Maethe’s name do you think you're doing?”
No! Don’t ruin this, Jaethe!
“Don’t ruin this, Jaethe!” Yethyr whirled on her. “I need to go. Don’t you hear it?”
“Hear what?”
“God.” Yethyr breathed, hushed and reverent. “We misunderstood The Divining Fang’s teachings. We must have. Song is not only for God and His remnants. To ask us not to sing is an absurdity. A logical fallacy! They might as well ask us not to breathe. Song is in the air that fills our lungs. It is in the stone of our bones and water of our blood. We are made of song, Jaethe. We are singing right now. We have always been singing. Everything is singing. The world is made of music. It’s magnificent; it’s holy. I can hear the selkie seals calling. I can hear your heart pounding.” Yethyr clutched her hand. “It’s beautiful.”
I was startled. I suppose I had always heard the bones and water of human bodies if I listened closely, but it had not occurred to me that such noises were songs that the ordinary man could not hear. I had known nothing else.
With Yethyr hearing through me, I suddenly understood the scope of the gift my father had bestowed upon me. Through Yethyr’s eyes, I could see his huntguard’s growing alarm.
“Believe me, Jaethe,” Yethyr begged. “I am in spiritual ecstasy, but I am not mad.”
“I believe you,” she said steadily. “I don’t see why such revelations require you to throw yourself overboard, though.”
“Oh, that?” Yethyr laughed delightedly. “That’s different. My family is in the water and they’re calling me.”
“What?!”
“My mother never liked calling twice, so I’d better be quick. Jump in with me. You’ll hear them.”
Yethyr turned back toward the water, and Jaethe desperately tried to hold him back.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea—”
But Jaethe, accustomed to the frailty of her prince, misjudged the force needed to restrain him. Yethyr had my entire strength with him on this mission to reach the lake, and he ripped out of her overly gentle grasp.
I felt her shock; I felt her attempt to grab him back, but it was too late.
Yethyr had thrown us both overboard.
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Would you be able to resist the selkie call?
