Emerge (15 page)

“Follow me,” she says with a smile. She steps out from behind the desk, and the heels of her black patent stilettos clack against the marble floor. I know in order to work on the upper floors and interact with humans, Foundation employees must pass leg-control tests, and only the best of the best would be allowed to work in the front lobby, but it still irks me that she can manage to walk so gracefully in stilettos. I’ve taken my golden pair out a few times to practice, and I always stumble across my upstairs bedroom like a zombie with a broken foot.

She leads me to a long row of elevators, then uses a small golden key to unlock the last one on the right. “This one leads
downstairs
,” she tells me with a knowing look.

The brushed chrome doors slide open with a
bing
. “Press seven for the research department. I’ll let your father know you’re here,” she says. I thank her. Then the doors close, and the elevator takes me underground.

I can sense the salt water before the doors even open. I step out onto an elevated slip-resistant walkway built over a deep canal. Mer in suits move quickly along the walkway while Mer in fins swim up and down the canal before disappearing behind any of the countless doors that line the walls. My father exits one of the doors and swims toward me.

“Hey, angelfish. Better keep your legs on—there’s no water in the file room. Apparently it’s very bad for the computers.”

He shows me how to find the room where I’ll be working and gives me my instructions. I’m supposed to listen to the beginning of a shell and enter its topic and orator into the database, then label it with a correlating number. This will eventually allow Foundation members to search for and locate information easily. My father’s eyes gleam with excitement when he tells me the long-term goal is for Mer linguists to transcribe the contents of each shell, creating a digital file of each one. Shells are fragile, and it’s not unheard of for a tsunami to wipe out entire libraries.

“Think how many problems technology can solve,” my father says. “I’m telling you, it’s proof we should always respect humans. There’s so much we can learn from them. Just look how savvy they are.” He shakes his head as if he can’t believe something as miraculous as a computer exists. “Computerized information is a valuable tool we hope will benefit us as much as it’s benefitted humans.”

Since so much work goes into keeping an entire Community of Merfolk operating in secret, though, this project is still low-priority. Fortunately for me, that means I should be left more or less alone in the file room.

I’m glad I’ve been set such a boring task—hopefully, I won’t be expected to get much accomplished on my first day. I picture the surprised excitement on my parents’ faces when I volunteered to work here, and a pang of guilt rolls through me for feigning interest. But this is the only place with access to the information I need.

Once he’s escorted me to the right room, my father heads off down another canal to get ready for a meeting with the Ocean Intelligence Commission.

As soon as the door to the file room shuts behind me and I’m left alone with shelves upon shelves of shells brimming with information, hope surges within me. Centuries’ worth of knowledge fills this room—the answers I need to help Clay must be here somewhere.

I head directly for the row of computers and login using the information my father gave me. If I’m lucky, some of the books that have already been entered will be on sireny, and I’ll be able to find the information quickly.

Even though I’m alone, I look over my shoulder one last time before gathering up the nerve to type “S-I-R-E-N” into the search box. The look of the word in black and white letters makes my heart race. Doing what I’m about to do—looking up information on something highly illegal in Foundation files without permission—is the most criminal thing I’ve ever done.

“For Clay,” I whisper. With a shaky hand, I click the search button and hold my breath.

Only three hits and none of them have text entered into the computer yet—not even summaries. Just three titles with orator names and file numbers. Well, it’s a place to start. Besides, there must be a lot more information in the shells that haven’t been recorded yet. It’ll just take some extra digging.

I scribble down the numbers and make my way to the cases of labeled shells. The array astounds me. Tiny balier shells that I assume hold short children’s stories to encyclopedia-like tomes in massive diadema shells, and everything in between. The first number corresponds to a yellowed, spiny murex shell, slightly larger than the palm of my hand.

I carry it over to a long, glass table and choose a seat at one end where I’m partially concealed by the shelves but still have a clear view of the door, just in case. I lift the shell to my ear and wait.

When humans place shells against their ears, they hear the ocean. My science teacher says it’s the echo of your own body’s blood flow and the amplified noises from nearby, but that’s only because he doesn’t have any other explanation. It’s really a hint at the secrets within. You take the shell home, place it on your mantel or in your drawer, and have no idea that you’ve actually found a
konklili
—a Merbook.

Now, as I press it to my own ear, instead of the crashing waves a human would hear, I’m greeted by a dry, scholarly voice. At least the Mermese he’s using is modern.

“
Dangers of the Seven Seas
, first recorded by Cleodora Charybdis and voiced here by Seger Murrow.

“The first sighting of the highly poisonous blue-ringed octopus of the Pacific and Indian Oceans
…
”

As the voice rattles off facts about the deadly blue-ring, I grab a thin whalebone stylus from a bowl in the center of the table and drag it along the natural spiraled indentation on the shell’s surface until it hits a tiny groove. I pause and bring the shell to my ear again.

“Many have feared the Croatian sea serpent of the Adriatic for centuries, but few know of its—”

I slide the sharpened whalebone to the next groove and the next, holding the shell to my ear each time. Finally, the voice says:

“Once present in all the world’s oceans, but prevalent mainly in the Atlantic and Aegean, dwelled the most scheming and maniacal of all aquatic predators, the siren.”

I sit up straighter in my chair.

“While the threat of sireny has been all but eliminated since the 10,160s, no record of sea predators would be complete without the inclusion of this deadly monster.”
Hmm … the 10,160s … I do the math in my head, converting from the tidal Mer calendar to the BC/AD distinction humans use. So … that would be the early 1400s on a human timeline.

“Of course, the danger of the siren arose from its Mer intelligence paired with its abominable cruelty to humans.”

The speaker confirms my worst fears when he details the horrors committed by sirens throughout history. By the time he almost casually mentions a siren named Xana who ordered a man under her spell to gouge out his own eyes while she watched in amusement, I feel sick. Who could choose to do those things? Would Melusine ever hurt Clay that way? Would she enjoy it like the sirens in the recording did?

I don’t understand why she’s doing this to him. Why would anyone siren another person—steal that person’s life from them? Does Melusine just want Clay to be her boyfriend? It doesn’t make sense. How could she do something this horrible to him just so he would date her? Maybe she really is an
udell
like the rest of her family, and she thinks it’s no big deal to keep a human as a slave. Maybe … I swallow, picturing the disturbing glee in her sapphire eyes … maybe she just thinks controlling him is
fun
. Feeling even sicker than before, I force myself to focus on the recording.

When the speaker moves on to tiger sharks, I take a few deep breaths before walking on shaking legs back to the shelves for the next
konklili
on my list. This one is a gleaming canarium shell. In my eagerness to erase the last shell’s grisly images from my mind, I press this new one to my ear before I even return to the table.

Its title,
Maritime Music
, puts me on edge again. This
konklili
could tell me how Melusine found a siren song to use on Clay—and how I can reverse its effects. Moving the stylus as fast as I can, I skip the section on Mer-made instruments and the one on orca whale calls, before hearing the words I’ve been waiting for.

“The only music ever banned from the ocean is the Song of the Siren.”

I listen in anticipation as the thin, wheezy voice of an older Merman explains the dangerous effects of siren songs, their illegal status, and the harsh punishments associated with using them. He talks about sireny as a stain on Mer history and sounds exactly like Mr. Reitzel did earlier this semester when we reviewed slavery in America.

After fifteen minutes of background information I already know, one fact reaches my ears that’s completely new.

“Siren songs drew their magic from the call of the sea that all Merfolk hear. The songs harnessed that call and focused it outward, onto a mortal. Thus, the siren song and the call of the ocean were intrinsically linked. The same force with which the ocean lures all of us was intensified a hundredfold to lure the mortal to the siren.”

So that’s why siren songs are so powerful. Most Mer magic consists of potions made from rare sea ingredients. These are hard to get even when you live in the ocean, which is why we don’t use potions much on land. But spells rooted in the magic of the sea itself? It’s no wonder siren songs have such a hold over their victims. How can I break that strong a hold on Clay?

The recording doesn’t answer my question. Instead, it goes on to discuss specific changes to siren songs over time. The oldest siren songs were, unsurprisingly, in Mermese. Then, during the reign of King Nereus (what humans classify as the Middle Ages), a powerful siren named Loralei Rhiniss started a new trend. She enjoyed enchanting sailors and pirates, then commanding them to drop their beautiful jewels and other treasures into the sea. Loralei took twisted pleasure in translating the siren songs and using human’s own languages against them.

After that, siren songs were often rewritten in French, Arabic, Greek, Chinese, and many other human languages. Apparently, one of the first English siren songs on record was sung by a Mermaid who heard a bard singing on a ship off the coast of Tudor England and used his own song to siren him. She brought him to a hidden cave and commanded him to sing and dance for her until he died of exhaustion. Later, she bragged her hold on him was so strong that he never once paused, not even to beg for water. Both these human-language songs and the ancient Mermese songs were passed down in families—especially among the nobility—until they were banned.

I process this information. Melusine’s song was in Mermese. Does that mean it’s one of the most ancient songs?

I don’t get a concrete answer, but then comes something much more valuable.

“The length of time a siren song stays in effect varies depending on the power with which it was applied. According to historical record, mortals have stayed under siren songs for anywhere from a few hours to half a day. Long enough for sirens to toy with them before murdering them in cold blood.”

Wait! What? Half a day max? That means if I can just keep Clay away from her for half a day, it will wear off! There’s gotta be a way for me to do that. Just when a smile of relief is spreading across my face, the next sentence freezes it in place.

“Of course, once a siren song takes hold, it can be reinstated at any time by the same siren with as little as a few notes hummed into the mortal’s ear. In this way, some sirens kept the same fishermen and sailors in their service for years, even after extended absences.”

In a moment of perfect clarity, it occurs to me why Melusine calls Clay every day a few hours after school gets out. Why she pulled him away that day in computer lab! She’s re-staking her claim. Even if I can get Clay away from her long enough for her song to wear off, she’ll just claim him again the moment she sees him—and I’ll be powerless to stop her. In my frustration, I’ve missed the last few lines, so I move the whalebone backward, making sure I catch every word.

“Because teaching a siren song became as punishable a crime as using one against a mortal, knowledge of the songs petered out over the generations. When the Dreaded Curse killed off all elder Mer, the knowledge purportedly died with them. At least, that was the belief held until Adrianna Zayle became history’s only modern siren.”

I use the stylus to pause the recording. Listening to information Caspian may not want me to know about his great-great-aunt, feels like a betrayal. Still, I need to know everything I can about sireny if I want to help Clay. With a twist of the stylus, I let the words continue. I learn that before Adrianna was imprisoned, she was subjected to a month-long interrogation and admitted she’d found a shell recording of an ancient Mermese siren song. As a direct result of this admission, authorities searched all Mer homes and seized any recordings that so much as described a specific siren song in detail.

“Once these shells were publically smashed, the world was declared free from the threat of sireny and has been free of it ever since.”

Until now. Somehow, Melusine has learned one of these long-forbidden songs. If all the shell recordings detailing exactly how the songs work have been smashed, I don’t know how I’ll learn what I need to do to stop her. But I’ll find a way.

With the section on siren songs over, I return the shell to its shelf and seek out the next one on the list. It’s up high and I have to stand on my tiptoes to reach it. My hand closes around a small, brown sea snail shell. It’s dusty, but I don’t have anything to wipe it with, so the dust coats my fingers in a thin, gray film. Gross.

This is the last
konklili
on my list. The last
konklili
that mentions sireny registered on the computer database. I’ve sat through everything the other two had to say, and I still have no idea how to reverse what Melusine’s done to Clay. This tiny shell, no bigger than a jar of my mother’s La Mer face cream, better hold the answers I need. I put it up to my ear and—