The River Sirens

A chill ran up Myra's spine as she sat beside the river. It wasn't from the tendrils of cold now seeping beneath her skirt, but rather from the melodic "ahhh"s that had begun to fill the air. They started off softly and grew into an earth-shattering crescendo. Myra tightly clutched the wool blanket she had folded in her lap. A commotion began behind her as she faced the setting sun and the one-hundred-foot dam that separated her tribe—the last tribe of humans in all of Endlestin—from the Sirens that craved them. The frantic splashing of men and boys treading through the low-running river impeded on the Sirens' song but couldn't drown it out. Not even when combined with the shouts of mothers and wives and daughters as they followed the herd, staying on the shore and futilely begging their loved ones to snap out of their trances.

The elders did not build the dam to keep the Sirens away from them. They built the dam to keep themselves away from the Sirens, because there was no wall in the land a magic-less creature could build that could block out the harmonies of the demonic vixens. The best they could do was make it harder for entranced victims to walk themselves to death's door.

The men moved in calm silence, their necks craned upwards to see the ethereal beauties that had now swam to the top of the dam to look down on their prey. Their pale skin radiated against the backdrop of the setting sun and their hair draped lewdly down over their pert breasts, just barely covering them from view.

Myra hugged her blanket tighter. She couldn't stop herself from thinking that even without their powers she would never be as adored as a Siren. Especially not in Armin's eyes. And although she couldn't look up at them for more than a few seconds because the pangs of resentment were too strong to bear, she couldn't help but feel a sense of longing. In a land overrun with Pixies, and Centaurs, and River Sirens the humans were woefully outmatched. They would never know the feeling of magic coursing through their chests.

"Harold! Harold!" A frantic cry lifted into the air that went unnoticed by the men. The women gathered along the water's edge all heard it, however, and watched helplessly as Mrs. Wend ran into the river and over to the group at the dam. "Please, someone! Where is Harold?!" Her sobs were desperate.

The Sirens' calls were a lottery of sorts. A twisted lottery where the winners were ultimately the losers. Some men retained enough sense to find a different way around the dam. As hard as the humans tried to seal off any back-paths to the top there was no stopping them. It was supernatural in itself, the strength some could find within them to reach the sinful beauties, poised against the pastel sky, at all costs.

Every conscious heart sank when the Sirens stopped singing. Their angelic faces darkened and their glowing skin turned gray. In unison, their mouths opened wide and let out a horrifying screech that sent the men stumbling backwards as they snapped back to reality. And just like that, the Sirens disappeared. Harold had left the village and found a way to the top of the dam.

Solemnly, the men and boys pulled themselves from the river and began to search for their families. Some were crying while others had finally numbed themselves against the horrors of their mystic world and simply walked, stone faced, back to the village.

Myra stood when she spotted Armin, shivering from cold and perhaps also fright. She hurried to him and wrapped the blanket around his shoulders.

"Thank you." He smiled at her, but his eyes looked tired and immediately wandered beyond Myra, to the groups of people behind her. "Is Anna--"

"Home with the baby, worried sick."

Armin nodded, a pain filtering into his gaze. "I hate that I do this to her," he said.

"She knows you don't mean to. We all know." Myra tried to comfort her friend by placing a hand on his shoulder. He patted it briefly before pulling away.

"I'll return your blanket later," he assured her.

"You always do," Myra said, more to herself than to Armin because he was already disappearing into the distance, off to find his wife.

The young woman bit back her tears, refusing to cry over her petty, broken heart when only yards away Mrs. Wend was in hysterics. Looking up to the sky, Myra saw a swarm of Pixies coming in from the East. Even though they were harmless, people still took it as a sign to leave. They were scared, and rightfully so. So many creatures in Endlestin meant them harm that it was hard to trust the ones that didn't. Myra held her ground, however, wrapping her arms around herself as the florescent creatures, no bigger than her pinky finger, landed along the river's edge to drink. One, a bright purple straggler, did not go right towards the water. It hovered around Myra's head, the buzz of its wings tickling her ear, before landing on her shoulder to tug at her hair. It giggled softly before reaching over to touch Myra's cheek, gasping at the cold it found there.

The glow emanating from the Pixie's skin was warm. It was a warmth Myra would never know, much like the warmth of Armin's lips on hers or his eyes staring at her with the tenderness he looked at Anna with. Love—at least, Armin's love—was simply one more thing in the world that Myra would never feel. It was one more magic that she would never know.