Siren Ch. 10: Epilogue

Epilogue

The shade of the large live oak reached across the whole of the grounds on the west side of the house in the late evening. Spanish moss draped long and still in the heavy southern air. Even the slight breeze from the nearby beach failed to stir the branches as humidity clung to everything, its own heavy draping. Below three children sat on a blanket in the grass, sweat beading on their small noses as they stared enraptured by the woman in a large wicker chair weaving stories.

"The villagers hurled rocks at her as she crouched on the roof. She felt her skin change, her fingers lengthen to grip the thatch more firmly, trying to pull herself away from the barrage. Her mother's voice called out her name, her human name. But no aid came, nothing to stop the bruising rocks pelting her."

Margaret and Hamish both stared at Kenna, wide eyed, clutching Rohna's arms as she sat between them, ostensibly comforting her siblings but taking solace from their closeness as well. The light of the evening sun made its last stand as deep golden rays peaked out from behind the large tree at their backs, halos of red hair fiery bright around their upturned faces.

"She managed to look back, long enough to see her father holding her mother, comforting and controlling. His eyes met Saskai's and she knew there would be no rescue. There was only one last recourse. She called out to the moors, screamed in her pixie voice to the powers of the Fae. The fairy queen would not help her but the wild magic that saturated the air there had loved her music and maybe it would deem her worthy of saving.

"At the last moment, when all seemed lost, her grip slipping and the angry mob waiting below to swallow her up or rip her apart, she felt the cool embrace of magic as though she'd plunged into a deep river pool. The bombardment ended and the thatched roof was gone from beneath her hands. Saskai opened her eyes and saw the moors stretched out around her, the sounds of the village far away."

Hamish relaxed slightly but Kenna could see Margaret's grip still firmly latched to her sister's arm.

"Beside her was a silver flute, shiny as though freshly made. She sat up and brought the end to her lips, playing a sweet song of gratitude as the wispy fog embraced her. She stood, dancing with the magic deeper into the moors leaving only the echoes of her song behind her."

Kenna ended the tale, taking in the eager faces of her nieces and nephew.

"That's all?" Rohna objected loudly before guarding her expression again. It would not do to have the others know she cared for children's stories. Kenna gave her a knowing smile.

"What happened to the baby?" Margaret asked, her red curls swaying as she bounced in her seat. "And what about Androu and Maugis? And the village? What about the cow's babies and all the children who called her freaky-odd?"

"That can't be the end!" Hamish exclaimed, his small round face growing red under his frown. "Tell us more!"

"Oh lovelies," Kenna cooed. "Don't be upset, all stories have an end. Sometimes they make us happy and sometimes sad but we must end them."

"But what about everyone else?" Rohna said, shucking her apathy when she sensed the younger two would not entice her aunt to answer.

Kenna gave them a soft smile. "This is Saskai's story."

"So what happened to her? She couldn't go back to the fairy kingdom and the villagers wanted her dead. The only one who cared was the moor magic so where does she go now? What's she supposed to do?" Rohna pressed the point, shaking Margaret's grip from her arm as she stood.

"Those are fine questions, Rohna," Kenna murmured.

Hamish dissolved, throwing himself down and missing the blanket to land on the green lawn. His piercing scream called the nanny who was hiding indoors from the heat.

"Oh Hamish stop! You will ruin your clothes!" The nanny gathered up the screaming child. "That's enough of all this, indoors for bed. It's quite late enough." Kenna noted the woman's diligent work to avoid any eye contact with her as she ushered her protesting charges into the house.

Kenna sat back in the lawn chair, letting the humid air blanket her as the sounds of the protesting children were quieted by the door slamming closed behind them. The shade could block the sun but it did nothing for the moisture that permeated every breath. And still she felt that familiar chill deep in her bones, where neither the sun nor the warmth could touch it. She closed her eyes, letting her head rest against the high woven wicker back. She hummed softly to the crickets, her only companions in the Carolina evening. Above, the sky turned from blue to pink as the sun set.

She might have dozed in the lazy crawl of twilight before something cool touched her arm and she gasped, jumping in her chair from the sensation. Fiona grinned down at her, face full of sisterly mischief.

"Brought you something cool to drink, love."

"Thank you ever so kindly," Kenna replied, taking the cup from her sister and straightening in her seat to bring it to her lips.

Fiona took the seat next to her. Insect sounds filled the space between them while they drank.

"That's a new version of the moor child's story," Fiona said conversationally. "If I remember correctly the imp wasn't meant to engender our sympathies quite so resolutely."

"Stories are not set in stone," Kenna began, reciting a lecture they had both heard many times from their mother. "One must always take into account the audience, the environment--"

"The teller."

Kenna knew the exact look to expect when she glanced at her sister and she was not disappointed. The darkening sky offered little illumination now but the light from the house, its candles glowing yellow in the blue evening, shone on the outline of her sister's expression. Kenna had become all too familiar with Fiona's intense scrutiny these last few months.

"Indeed." She turned back, settling into the chair once more and closing her eyes. With any luck Fiona would be chased indoors shortly by the heat and Kenna would be alone once more.

"One might find it strange you don't relate more to the child who had been stolen away." Fiona had never appreciated subtlety.

Kenna cracked her right eye open. Fiona's gaze held fast.

"Sympathy is a strange creature. You can manufacture it for almost anyone with the right emphasis." Kenna picked at the fringe of her shawl.

Fiona didn't blink. "Very true. After all, stories are not only what we recount but also what we choose to leave out."

Kenna took a deep breath and looked up at her sister. Months had gone by before Fiona had started pressing her to open up. Despite being separated for most of their adult lives, Fiona had the notion that Kenna should slip back into their sisterhood as if they had never parted ways so long ago.

"Fiona..." she began but gave up almost immediately. She had been deterring her sister for too long, secreting herself away to avoid these exact moments. The children were an easy obstacle to her sister's questioning but she'd foolishly not accompanied them to bed so as to avoid the glares of their nurse. "I have no desire to relive the past or to burden you with it."

"And I have no desire to force you to suffer it again but to relieve you of the burden you have carried with you since that day you stepped ashore and could barely bring yourself to embrace me."

"I'm sorry sister, I've apologized for my behavior that day." She had balked badly at the clasping hold her sister had fixed around her. Her desire not to be touched for weeks had driven a wedge between them as she continued to reject Fiona's attempts at comforting her.

"That is not the point," Fiona said exasperated. "You cannot confuse me with apologies for incidents that do not matter." She paused and Kenna planned her next step. "I want to help you, to see you shuck this cloud of suffering you live in. I miss my sister and would give anything in the world to have her back."

Kenna considered another diversion, playing on her vanities might work, perhaps continuing to emphasis the wrongs Kenna was committing by denying Fiona the sisterly bond they had taken for granted as children. She could bring up their mother and watch Fiona circle the well tread earth of how much damage she had done to her two daughters with her dreams of restitution. There was also nothing stopping her from simply standing and going to her room with a firm 'goodnight.'

Instead she looked up at Fiona, searching her face for her sincerity, seeking the affection she so easily gave. And there it all was, the wide round eyes that recalled their mother and the stubborn set of her jaw that was all her own. She knew, deep in her gut, that Fiona loved her as only family could.

"It is difficult to know what to tell," Kenna whispered. "And what to leave out."

Fiona clasped her palms around Kenna's cold hand. "Tell me everything, sweetness."

Kenna took a breath, wondering if she was making a terrible mistake. She glanced back at the warm house, seeing its tidy, normal existence, one untouched by murder and treachery. As darkness fell across the yard where she sat she could appreciate the distance between herself and those within. Their lives were free from the savagery and violence that had informed so much of her own. She could see Fiona's loving husband keeping vigil for his wife by the window, plumes of cigar smoke curling from his fist. They knew love. And she did not. It was unfair to poison their sweetness, to ask them to accept her crimes and those committed against her as part of their lives too.

She turned back to Fiona, to that open, easy face lit by the light spilling from the windows of her happy home. She who promised her love and comfort, normalcy and a family. "I cannot," Kenna said at last.

"Kenna," Fiona said sounding more like their father than she ever had before. "You cannot not hide in this shell forever. You must heal. I am only trying to help you come back to me."

She would never come back. "I know Fiona." So she did what she did best and lied. "I will. I promise. Not tonight, and perhaps not to tomorrow, but I will."

Fiona stood up, and moved around to face Kenna. Her body blocked the light from the house and so they were two dark figures, one shading and one cast in shadow.

"Will you truly, sister?"

Kenna could not bring herself to do more than nod. She reached out with the hand Fiona had just abandoned and grasped her sister's fingers. "Thank you, Fiona."

Her sister returned the warm hold on her fingers. "Goodnight, Kenna. We will try again tomorrow." She waited a moment longer before turning back to the house and disappearing into the safe interior.

Kenna made no move to follow. Fiona was right of course, she had been trapped in her own tragedy.

There had been no peace waiting for her on the other side of her reckless leap from Roland's cabin. Even when the navy had pulled her from the waters, their carpenter breaking the chain from her limb, there had been no perfect moments of freedom, no relief in her escape. That shadow stowed away with her even as solid ground met her feet, followed her back to her sister's home. The darkness shifted and changed from sadness to anger and back countless time, but at its core was an unyielding ache that refused to let her rest.

She remained still in her seat as the moon rose over the tops of the trees, the sounds of the house dying down to a whisper. Lanterns went out, the night crept in around her, encasing her in a silence apart from the day.

It was here she could free that darkness, allow her thoughts to roam where they would. Her secrets joined her in her vigil, whispered their truths to her soul and she knew there would never be happiness for her here.

She rose from the chair, leaving her shawl and slippers behind, and turned towards the tree line. She picked her way slowly through the wooded area between her sister's home and the beach, cursing quietly when the soft skin of her feet came down on a sharp stone. The sea was inky dark as the moon slipped beneath the clouds at her back. Kenna didn't slow, her bare feet picking over the familiar ground through the trees towards the gentles rush of the tides.

She should turn back, as she should every night, but never did.

She shed her dress quickly, leaving it in a dark heap on the sand by the tree line. Her shift soaked in the sea water as she waded further out into the tide. The fear of being found out had faded as each night she swam in solitude, all good proper folks behind closed doors in their homes.

The water no longer sang its siren song to her; the hope that had once lain just at the other end of the sea was gone. And still she struck out across the lazy waves. The dark water glittering as the moon slipped back into view. Her breath grew ragged as she swam further, the burn in her arms telling her it was nearly time to turn back.

She came to a stop, treading the warm sea, enjoying the press of the smooth water on her hands, running through her fingers and over her legs. She gazed out towards the infinite horizon, but there was nowhere else to run, no chance for her to find peace somewhere else. She mourned for that loss of hope, and the woman who had been forever looking forward who was now trapped in her past. It was only here, safely apart from the good people sleeping securely that she could finally face the true nature of her burden.

Roland.

I will find you, his promise was her malevolent and ever-present shadow. The words still seared her throat with unshed tears.

She was not foolish enough to long for him, or to wish she had taken another path. The sting of his betrayal, the hurt she felt when he'd denied her every choice still rang out in the hollow of her chest. She could still hear the anger in his voice as she defied him, when she would not diminish herself to be his possession. She knew he would find her, but after these long months doubt had begun to creep in. Even so, she'd clutched that fear so tightly it no longer seemed apart from her.

She turned back, following the moonlit path to the shore. As she swam she could feel his touch on her skin, the soft sound of his voice in her ear. It inspired all the same conflicting emotions in her. It shouldn't be possible to despise the very thing she yearned for, though it changed nothing. Salty water flowed over her arms, the taste bitter and familiar on her lips. She wished him there, if only for a moment so she could let down this mask she wore and feel his hands against her scars once again.

The sea floor brushed her foot before she saw the shape of a man on the beach. She stopped, her toes dragging furrows in the soft sand hidden beneath the black waves. There was no shock, no jolt of fear or anticipation, only a melancholy ache that filled her lungs instead of the humid night air. He moved, stepping forward and she knew for certain it was him.

A strange wave swept through her, heartbreaking and easing at once. Her feet found solid purchase and she made her way out of the water slowly, feeling the weight lift off her shoulders even as it hung heavy in her chest. She'd understood for so long this moment would come, that he would claim her, and yet she hadn't known until she saw him striding into the water to meet her that she had resigned herself to it. The white light of the moon cast his familiar form in silver and black though his face was lost in the dark under the brim of his hat.

He stopped a few paces from her, up to his ankles in the water. She came closer, just beyond his reach before she stood still, peering into the darkness below his hat. She was so close, a step or two into the inevitable, and yet something held her back. That old, well-worn heartbreak still ached inside her, knowing she would have to betray herself after all she'd gone through to make her own choices and yet she did not have the strength or hope left to fight him. A shudder ran through her, old wounds cracked and tore again, betrayal and the acceptance that she could expect nothing more from him then he had shown himself capable.

His arm reached out towards her, palm outstretched for her to take. She need only fall over that edge.

"Kenna." His voice was painfully tempting and excruciatingly familiar. Her heart sang a joyous response and she still did not move.

She stared at the offered limb, calloused palms smoothed out in the moonlight. Every fiber of her wished for nothing more than to feel him against her once more. He made no move towards her but his hand hung temptingly close.

Kenna closed her eyes, pushing back the turbulence of her mind, letting the conflicting thoughts settle. The ever present knots in her stomach loosened, the strain in her neck and shoulders unraveled without her bidding. Her body cast off the tension she'd carried for so long and silent tears rolled down her cheek.

"Roland," she whispered, her hand finally finding his. He stepped forward, sweeping her into his arms in one swift motion. He picked her up, holding her tightly against him as she held onto his shoulders. More tears, unbidden and confused, soaked his shirt where she buried her head. His hand smoothed comfortingly over her back, running along the ridges of her scars over the soaking wet shift that clung to her skin. She melted into his deep embrace, the balm of his touch soothing after so many months of loneliness and worry. He should not have been able to allay that which that which he had a part in creating, and yet she knew it to be true.

His lips pressed against the wet hair on the crown of her head, he held her tightly even as she shook with sobs. "If I'd known you were so distraught without me, I'd have come sooner."

Kenna could think of no response to his teasing. Her tears still came as if they were shedding the fear and itching worry that had plagued her, the creeping doubt and unbearable despair that she might have had to face life in her sister's home forever, throwing off the long shadow of her tragedy and finally setting her free.

The discord within her hurt, that she could feel more peace in the hands of her captor than in the embrace of her family. It tore her chest where her heartbreak ached and stoked its pain to full blazing glory. How could she lose herself like this?

"Hush, Kenna." He scooped her up, carrying her out of the waves and back to the beach. She quieted as he held her. "If I'd found you content I would have left you in peace."

She knew better than to believe the sincerity in his voice. He let her feet down to the sand and she took a step back, out of his embrace.

"Don't do that," her voice was low and hoarse from crying. She couldn't muster a glare but she peered into the darkness below his hat. "We both know you would have collected me no matter how well you'd discovered me." She spoke to him unmasked now, the Irish widow from her journey was gone now that Kenna was safely back in the company of her fellow Highlanders. The urge to speak to him as she'd known him was strong, but the need to shed any pretense was stronger.

"Aye," he said softly, his hand coming to her cheek. She stood still, confusion at the remorse she heard. "But you are not well, Kenna. And so I'm here to offer you a way out."

Some horrible spark of hope brightened her heart. "Don't, Roland, please." She stepped away from him again. "Do not pretend to offer me that which I had to take from you at so high a cost. I could not bear to suffer that again."

She saw his body tense, as if he wanted to follow her retreat, but he held himself still. "Did you find your hope, Kenna? Was it worth it to risk your life to flee?" She could hear his anger but he had not asked rhetorically.

Kenna hugged herself, the wet shift cooling her even in the warm night air. "I would have died had I stayed with you, perhaps not that day, or the day after, but the slow agony of a person who would betray herself, her most fundamental truths, to become something less than human."