Voices of the Sea

WiD
ō
Publishing
Salt Lake City, Utah
www.widopublishing.com

Copyright © 2014 by Bethany Masone Harar

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the written consent of the publisher.

Cover Design by Steven Novak
Book Design by Marny K. Parkin

ISBN 978-1-937178-54-3
Library of Congress Control Number: 2014941677

To Mom, Dad, and Diane
for cheering me through the finish line.

To Jillian and Joseph, my other beautiful creations.

And to Mike. Our hill. Our beans. My love.

A
nd ever on the watch from their place of prospect with its fair haven, often from many had they taken away their sweet return, consuming them with wasting desire; and suddenly to the heroes, too, they sent forth from their lips a lily-like voice. And they were already about to cast from the ship the hawsers to the shore, had not Thracian Orpheus, son of Oeagrus, stringing in his hands his Bistonian lyre, rung forth the hasty snatch of a rippling melody so that their ears might be filled with the sound of his twanging; and the lyre overcame the maiden’s voice.”

—
The Argonautica
by Apollonius Rhodius

Chapter One

A
t the bottom of the beach where water meets sand, the woman stood, pale arms outstretched, paying homage to the ocean. Despite the cool night air, only a light dress billowed about her legs as the wind played around her body. She stood tall and elegant. The waves swept at her feet and, in the dark night, her skin almost glowed.

Her demon song did not affect him, and Ortho crept forward, his feet sinking in the sand with each step. Though her melody would hypnotize most, he found it grating and offensive. The bumps on his arm were not due to the temperature, but rather an unpleasant reaction to hearing her sing. The wind, which carried the song to his ears, sickened Ortho. An all-consuming need to end the sound in the most horrifying way imaginable washed over his body. He felt his hands shaking with excited violence as he drew nearer to the woman, who remained oblivious to his presence. The creature believed her repulsive chant would keep her safe, shielding her from harm, and her ignorance made him quiver with power.

One step, then another, and when his extended arm could almost grasp her tousled hair, she turned, startled by his presence.

“Oh!” she said, smiling at him. “You startled me. I didn’t know anyone else was nearby.”

His lip curled as he took a step forward. The woman hesitated, taking a step away from him, toward the sea.

“Is something wrong?” she asked.

Ortho lifted the knife.

In one swift movement, the woman turned and propelled herself forward toward the ocean, her protector. He heard her gasp, saw her body tense as her long legs pushed away from the sand, but he moved with equal speed and lunged, catching her white dress and yanking it down so her face plunged into the sand. The monster fought back, kicking and clawing, slamming her foot into his chest, but he darted to the left to avoid the impact and grabbed her legs. With her lower body immobilized, the woman grasped at the sand, her slender fingers beginning to bleed, as if the grains could provide the advantage she sought. Her breath came out in ragged sobs, and a hoarse scream tore from her lips.

Vice-like, his fingers dug into the tender flesh of her leg, pulling her underneath him even as the beast twisted around onto her back, her hair blending with the sand. She cried out in pain and fear. From the woman’s expression, he could see the vile creature believed he would violate her. As if he would defile himself with such a beast. Simply touching her skin revolted him, causing bile to rise in his throat. Her flesh felt smooth on the outside, but underneath it would be scaly and reptilian, and the creature who dwelled under her tempting façade sickened him.

The woman put her hands out to ward him off, but he grabbed at them, and pushed one arm over her head into the sand. Demon or not, she could not match his strength. “Let me go!” she begged, stretching her free arm toward the sea, seeking salvation.

Her pleas for him to stop didn't affect him. The creature would not get away, because he was destined to kill her and every beast like her on Earth.

It didn’t take long to completely subdue the Siren. The monster gasped as Ortho plunged the thick blade into her chest, avoiding the heart. She needed to suffer.

Blood leaked from the wound until it formed a pool surrounding the knife. Her body lurched when he yanked the blade out of her sternum and tears formed at the corners of her wide, half-dead eyes, slowly creeping down her cheeks. “Why?” she mouthed, but blood droplets emerged instead of sound. The hand, which had reached for the ocean moments early, dropped to the ground, sand resting in its palm.

Her body lay carelessly strewn and limp, like seaweed on the beach, and Ortho finally stood to admire his work. The monster was dead, and a brief sense of disappointment at the ease in which she relinquished her life threatened to ruin the moment.

No. The smell of blood revived his excitement.

Carefully, using his thick blade, Ortho carved a large, jagged letter “O” in the woman’s chest—after he removed the vocal chords from her delicate neck.

Chapter Two

T
he sky turned violet behind the rising sun, but Lora did not see its beauty. The sea whispered her name. Through the neighborhood, across the highway and over the large cypress sheltering her home, she heard it. Not speaking, though. The ocean did not talk; it sang, over and over, in beautiful octaves and intricate melodies.

“Loralei.”
Her name. A summons from the ocean.

Its invitation pulled her, more powerful and more intimate than a call from heaven. Wind carried the melody to her window and rustled her curtains, inviting her to join in its song. A familiar hymn lingered on her lips, but she held off; there were consequences if anyone heard her.

The music was an intoxicating drug, clouding her mind. School and homework did not exist; she even forgot her desire for breakfast.

The everlasting repetition of the music consumed Lora.

Careful not to be discovered, she crept down the stairs, glancing back at her father’s closed door. If he caught her, he wouldn’t let her leave. He would force her to go directly to school, which was the last place Lora wanted to be this morning. And she could not hide the call; one look at her eyes would reveal everything. Her father acted too strict when it came to the rules. He needed to lighten up.

Slipping out the door, leaving her backpack and the oatmeal cooking on the stove for breakfast, Lora hopped on her bicycle and pushed forward, spinning down the driveway past her father’s cactus garden. She considered taking the car, but her dad might hear the engine and wonder why she left so early. The bike was not nearly as convenient, but Lora decided the benefits outweighed the drawbacks if she could answer the ocean’s serenade.

She flew across the sidewalk, where the tires crunched over loose pieces of gravel. The bicycle bumped over the curb and onto the asphalt. Lora pedaled down the quiet street, the wind whipping her long brown hair as she rode toward the music flowing from the lavender horizon.

Determined to shorten the distance between herself and the sea, she stuck to the winding side streets, avoiding the inevitable early morning traffic so common in Pacific Grove. The side streets were impeccably maintained, with sculpted cypress and rock gardens, so biking proved easy there. Eucalyptus towered above the homes, intermixed with pine and cypress trees almost as old as the sea. Lora shivered and wished she’d remembered a jacket, for the late spring morning felt uncommonly cool.

She saw students eating breakfast through open windows, which reminded her yet again of school. One glance at her watch, however, told her she had made good time. If she could make it to the beach in the next ten minutes, she could probably be home in time to get her car and still make it to school before the tardy bell.

As Lora approached the water, the music grew louder, and school obligations again drifted away. Her bicycle wove around parked cars and people leaving for work. She barely noticed the obstacles. In fact, she hardly heard anything other than the growing sounds of the sea.

Lora’s stomach began to burn, a familiar feeling, and her body itched to move. A wild sense of yearning consumed her as she moved her legs faster, increasing the pace, desperate to reach the sand. The trip wasn’t long—five minutes more at the most. But she feared if she didn’t hurry, the song would evaporate into the air like water, leaving her need unfulfilled.

Lora emerged from the neighborhood and increased her pace, catching the light and crossing a busy street. Lora pedaled down the road with lean legs, past the shopping center, where the sleepy clerks were turning on the lights and unlocking the doors. A straight, residential side road opened up in front of her like a pathway to Eden. She flew downhill toward the beach, her heart racing in time to her pumping legs. The voices of the ocean swelled around her, but they were no longer calling her name, for she had already answered. Now, their voices melded together, the harmony serene, bewitching, and perfect. Every part of her body yearned for the music meant for her ears alone. The people she’d passed in their cars along the way were oblivious to the ocean’s song, as were the pedestrians and the men and women waiting for the seven a.m. bus.

She pedaled past several large beach houses before she reached the end of the residential street and abandoned her bike, throwing it down on its side into an ice plant bed. Lora hurried down a sandy path leading to the ocean. The song grew stronger, ringing in her head. The music spurred her on.

Lora slipped off her shoes and ran.

Her feet on the sand were electric. Each step sizzled as she sprinted toward the water and the fuchsia horizon ahead. And there were colors more beautiful than the sunrise. The ocean no longer appeared pasty blue. It had morphed into a deep, royal red mixed with purple, as if attempting to match the rising sun. The colors swirled around, dancing to the melody as Lora’s body swayed with the music, which had turned into a haunting tune, low and deep, reverberating in her chest. There was only Lora and the ocean’s song. She closed her eyes, moving forward to bathe her feet in the colorful sea foam, which washed over the sand as it drifted ashore. Cool, soothing water splashed her, soaking the ankles of her jeans.

The hypnotic music completely consumed Lora, dominating her mind, until it could focus on nothing else. The chill of the wind against her pale skin felt so freeing. Why couldn’t every day be like this? Music dwelled within her nature, as a part of her soul. She wasn’t meant to spend her days in a small classroom filled with students. Each day should be filled with singing and music. Her clan had no appreciation of their roots, however. They didn’t embrace who they really were. If they discovered she sang with the ocean this morning, they would punish her. But one day, she promised herself, she would be free of their restraints.

Ignoring the nagging part of her mind which feared discovery, Lora finally joined the ocean’s song. A hum escaped her, then another, until her throat reverberated with the low melody of the ocean. Lora couldn’t help herself. She felt compelled to sing along.

“Τραγουδώ το τραγούδι της σειρήνας. Ένα τραγούδι με τον ωκεανό, η αδελφή μου.” She whispered the words, her lips moving over the ancient Greek incantation.
I sing the song of the Siren. A song with the ocean, my sister.

Her whole body shivered with delight as she embraced the sounds of the sea and the harmony of her own voice. Ancient magic swelled within her, the ocean blessed her song, and a strong wind tousled her dark brown hair until it flowed wild behind her. Lora’s porcelain skin reflected the colors of the sea dancing across her face. The elders were wrong; they should embrace their heritage. She and the ocean were meant to be together.

Lora opened her deep green eyes to observe the waves dancing, but abruptly stopped singing. From the corner of her eye she saw a man who she hadn’t seen on the beach when she first arrived. He approached and, although he stood far away, his face appeared entranced. Lora set her jaw and took a step away from him.

“Wait!” she heard the man call as he lifted his arm in greeting. “Wait for me!” His pace quickened, feet tripping in the thick sand as he rushed toward her.

Anger consumed Lora. Here stood another person to ruin her enjoyment when she wanted to commune with the sea, to feel it deep within her soul until they were no longer two entities, but one. Snorting, she turned away from the mesmerized man, who had stopped in his tracks when the singing ceased; yet he still gazed at her with adoration. Part of Lora wanted to continue singing, to see how far she could take her magic; but if she wasn’t careful, he would get her in trouble. The ocean’s song ended, leaving a puzzled expression on his face, and he stared at her in confusion. The effects would completely wear off soon, as they always did, and he would have no memory of their encounter.

Lora frowned, trying to decide what to do. It would be better if she left the man now, rather than be here when he regained his wits. She reluctantly trudged away from the white-capped waves and back up the pebbly sand.

The electricity disappeared. The ocean quieted, resuming its dull black color, sensing the Siren’s song had departed for the time being, and Lora sighed. She’d have to come back at night, when there were no people around, when she could bathe in the surf, letting the midnight-blue water flow over her body.

The sea would call to her again. Of that, she had no doubt.

As she reached the vast expanse of ice plant, she noticed something she had missed before: a mass of white among the pale green. Curious, Lora hesitated, leaning forward to get a better view. It could be something as simple as a trash bag full of garbage, but the unnatural angle in which the object lay gave her a different, more menacing impression. Feet bare, she tiptoed into the ice plant, the long snow-pea-like leaves crunching and popping under her toes with each step. The object lay only twenty feet away, but halfway there, she stopped. A horrible thought occurred to her as she drew closer: the object appeared to be a body. She tried to push it from her mind.

It couldn’t be a body. The mere idea was ridiculous.

But a nagging feeling propelled her forward and, as she grew nearer, her terror mounted. There, in the light which shone from behind the morning clouds, she could see unnatural streaks of stale red assaulting the milky cloth. More than a cloth. It resembled a garment, a piece of clothing. Blond hair concealed the ashen face smeared with sand, but blood drenched the front of the dress. And as hard as Lora tried, she could not tear her eyes from the ragged, gaping hole in the woman’s neck.

Lora always supposed, when faced with a frightening situation, she would own it and react with a calm rationalization. So her trembling legs surprised her, especially when they collapsed under her. She fell into the cold ice plant bed and retched into the sea of green. With no breakfast in her stomach, nothing emerged but watery spit and bitter bile, which she wiped away with the back of her hand. Her head felt dizzy and she grabbed at the ground, crunching the plants in her fists, trying to regain her composure. Squeezing her eyes shut, Lora heard whispering coming from her own lips; quiet nonsensical words. They failed to calm her. Heart erratic, she hastened another glance at the dead woman who lay only feet away and clutched at her own neck.

“Holy God!” The voice came from the pathway behind her, and Lora saw the same man she’d seen on the beach. “Is that . . . is . . .” He trailed off as his freckled face paled, staring from the body to Lora, then back to the dead woman, his eyes re-gaining their far-off gaze. “Are you okay? Is she . . .” The man’s voice cracked and his hand caressed his own throat before he stretched it toward Lora. “Come here,” he said urgently. “You need to get away from there.”

Lora nodded, unable to find her voice. Ice plant crunched like bones beneath her as she stood and reached for his outstretched hand, happy for the warmth it provided. “She’s dead,” Lora whispered, glancing back at the motionless body, finding it difficult to breathe, let alone think clearly. Lora’s heart beat steadily within her chest, and her skin felt cold. The wind, which had carried her song earlier, thrashed around them and brushed aside the dead woman’s yellow hair, revealing white skin on a lean neck. And there appeared to be a tattoo below the hairline.

A cold realization gripped Lora.

It couldn’t be. She couldn’t have seen it.

Shaking her head, Lora took a step toward the body. “Don’t,” the man said, pulling her back. “We need to call the police.”

Lora’s knees wavered and the man gripped her cold arm to keep her upright. Sounds of the ocean faded until Lora only heard her own quickened breathing. She hadn’t been mistaken. The Siren mark, a small wave-like crest linking a Siren to the sea, concealed behind the dead woman’s ear. The ice plant shrouded the woman’s face too well for Lora to see it clearly.

Her grandmother had told her the tales of Siren killers, tales of men with an ancient grudge who wanted them silenced forever. Through her fright, she tried to place the memories together, hoping to make sense of them, for they were jumbled and unclear. All Lora could remember was that the threat came from men who appeared normal, but were killers underneath. She’d always trusted they were merely stories, untrue mythology. Nothing more.

Panic gripped her, and she tore her hand from her male companion, inching toward the dead body, which now seemed a safer haven than the man. Her green eyes widened. Could it be him? Did he arrive on the beach earlier to kill her Siren sister?

Taking a deep breath, she tried to think rationally. If he had killed the woman, he would be covered in blood. He wouldn’t appear so frightened. The sight of the lifeless body lying on the ground wouldn’t sicken him.

Sensing her turmoil, the man stepped back and held up his hands, giving her added space, but she didn’t take her eyes off him. He wasn’t tall, only standing an inch or so higher than Lora’s slender frame, with red hair, a pointed nose and a face covered in freckles. The same wind which had carried her song and revealed the Siren mark on the dead woman now rustled his sweatpants and white shirt. Workout clothes, she realized with relief. He had jogged on the beach this morning; he did not kill an innocent member of her beloved clan.

Lora extended her hand, hoping she hadn’t angered him with her reaction. He accepted it. Overcome with muddled stories from her ancestors, she allowed the man to pull her away from her dead sister, back toward the sandy path.

The Earth seemed to have lost its color. The ocean, the cypress, even her unnamed companion were gray and colorless. Clouds now ruled the sky, covering the beautiful primrose sunrise and erasing the possibility of a promising morning.

The man clutched his phone against his ear, body trembling, but still clung to her hand. Police sirens cried in the distance, growing nearer, and they both faced the ocean, afraid to peek back at the dead woman in her ice plant coffin.

The tide receded from the violence.

Tucking the phone into his pocket, the man sighed. “I’m James,” he whispered, as if speaking too loudly would reveal them to the unknown killer. Lora could not take her eyes from the ocean. She concentrated only on its quiet lament. “I have a wife. Two little boys.”