The Siren

It never ceases to amaze me how stupid men can be. They rule worlds, build empires that span the stars and, still, they allow themselves to be ruled by their own baser instincts. I suppose that couldn’t be considered stupid, precisely, except that they are fully aware of what they’re doing. It has become an excuse, a general, all encompassing defense for stark, raving idiocy. Nor is lust the only impulse I’m speaking of. Aggression, greed and ambition are a few others

And women are just as bad. They bind themselves to these men, vying to share the bed of the most lustful, greedy and aggressive man thinking that such things make them powerful. Hungry to share in his power, they turn a blind eye and a deaf heart to the things that he does. And they sacrifice their children on the altar of his ambition.

I was just such a child once, used as a token of exchange by the very people who were supposed to protect me. I was bartered like a pig in a sack to a ruthless, lustful, greedy man who thought to use my gifts to widen his own circle of power. Stupidity. It is a wonder that the human race still survives.



I sat behind the cold stone walls and said nothing, staring out of the single, narrow window at the rooftops of the city below me. I had given up on tears weeks ago and the food that lay just inside the single door was hardly tempting. I shouldn’t have answered him quite so bluntly, I decided with the clarity that hindsight and three weeks in a hellhole will give you. When he asked me what I thought of him, I should have lied. The only problem with that was the tiny little fact that I was a horrible liar. Not to mention that he really wasn’t worth the effort it took to think up a decent lie. And with that naked slut draped over him, there hardly seemed a reason.

I huddled deeper into the tattered remains of my gown. It used to be a pale, iridescent green that reminded me of the sunrises on my home world. Now it was dirty, faded and stained to a dull, rusty brown that reminded me of all the reasons I hated Bohdan. Within the pleats and folds I could still find bits of that lovely color but they, like my hopes, were growing smaller with every passing day.

I shivered as the breeze from the ventilation tube touched my bare skin with chilled fingers. It wasn’t the cold that made me shiver, however. It was the reminder that my life was about to go from bad to worse since the cold winds of autumn brought the slave markets to the city with them. It had always been that way. The advent of winter would provide a deterrent against the escape of the newly purchased slaves. The threat of lost fingers, toes and even life forged a stronger chain than any leash the slavers owned. In the desert, winter ruled with as harsh a hand as high summer.

“Light Worlder,” I heard a voice say.

He had to be in the viewing walk above the cells, I thought. The walls of my cell were thick and the door layered with steel and padding to dampen the sounds. The glazsteel ceiling allowed only one way viewing. Why Bohdan bothered with the security when the collar around my neck kept me from speaking, I didn’t know.

“Fragile cargo.” The second man didn’t seem to care for the thought of just how delicate my bones were. It was one of the drawbacks of the lower gravity of my home world. “And my men like their women with a bit more meat on their bones. This one doesn’t even look grown.”

There are some gestures that are universal. I heard the first man snarl but the second man laughed.

“If you’re offering, sweetie, I just might be tempted.”

I couldn’t keep my lips from curling in revulsion. I had been taught the silent language in case I had inherited my mother’s gifts. The possibility that I might still develop those gifts was the reason Bohdan had put up with me for as long as he had. My fingers flew through a suggestion I found more to my liking.

The man laughed again. “But I don’t like heavy world sows, sweetie. Don’t like my women with more hair on their faces than I’ve got on mine.”

Picky, picky, I tossed at him.

He thought I was being playful. He couldn’t know that this was the first interaction I’d had since they’d stuck me in this room three weeks ago. The awareness of my own desperation curled my fingers into silence in my lap. He continued to taunt me from the viewing walk, but I refused to answer. There were few things in my life that I could control but this was one of them. Finally, he gave up and the voices moved on.

Ten months on this rock hadn’t endeared it to me in the least. Mid-grav, sandy and arid, its very existence pained me. The pull of the gravity ached in my bones, awake or asleep. During the summer, the dry heat left my lips cracked and bleeding. My home world was low-grav, a wonder of light and misty warmth where the birds swam more than flew through the air.

I tugged at the collar in frustration. There was no use in it! I was no singer. Bohdan knew that. It was one of the reasons I was such a disappointment to him. He had bargained for a weapon, but instead what he got was a thin, delicate boned girl whose figure was less than ample and whose scruples crippled any use he could think of for her. He could snap me like a twig and we both knew it. He didn’t because my father could break him just as easily and we both knew it. So, for almost a year, we had circled one another, snarling.

Three weeks had given me plenty of time to think once I had gotten beyond the fear and self-pity. I had been to the slave market only once during my stay here. Since the city was built on a grid system, each grid consisting of buildings three wide, three deep by three tiers high, all I had to know was the general direction and I could guess the turnings I would need. I tried to remember where the spaceport lay in relation to the slave block, but it was hazy at best. I closed my eyes and tried to plan every step, every contingency though in my heart I knew it was an exercise in futility. Bohdan and his men would never give me the chance to escape.

Through the clear pane of my window, I saw a ship drifting in to land. It was a sleek, silver beauty, a four-seater of the kind that were used by ships that were too large to make landfall. To me, in that moment, it seemed to be the embodiment of my dreams – freedom, close enough to taste but always beyond my reach. With the weight of sorrow pressing down harder than the grav, I retreated to my cot and tried to sleep.

They never gave me the chance to fight. I woke to the hiss of the ventilator shaft, tasted the bitter tang of the gas and knew what they were doing. I was being drugged. I struggled to sit up but fell back, my body limp and unresponsive. My mind, however, remained perfectly clear. Whether Bohdan had chosen the wrong drug to pacify me or whether he wanted me alert but unable to fight, was anyone’s guess.

The door to my cell slid open and three women came in. Their commands to rise forced my body into motion in spite of my brain’s denials. They bathed and dressed me, oiled my skin and wound my hair out of the way so it didn’t conceal my body. The gown they put on me was little more than two strips of cloth that lay over my shoulders to dangle over my breasts and were belted at my waist. The tails hung to my ankles, a gossamer thin nod at modesty. The collar they left in place.

When they were finished, two guards took their place and led me from the building. The bright sunlight of early morning stung my eyes and the cold that lingered in the air gnawed at my skin. I hadn’t been offered shoes so the rough edged stones of the street cut and bruised my feet. With every step I took, I cursed Bohdan to the darkest pits of whatever hell would take him.

The slave market was already packed when we arrived. The block was doing a brisk business on workers for heavy labor. I kept my eyes open, scanning the skies for any sign of space traffic. I needed a marker, a general idea of which way to run if I got the chance. Not even a vapor trail marked the clear blue today.

We stood behind the block for several hours. Those seeking workers finished their business and women seeking house help took their place, bidding on the children and young girls. I could only stand where I was instructed, hating every moment, every word, and every sharp bark as a bid was accepted. Then came the women, the concubines and whores to be sold to the pleasure houses. I prepared myself to be sent onto the block but the command never came.

I realized then what Bohdan had planned for me. He would sell me as a prize, a rare thing to be tucked away into obscurity where there would be no chance of anyone finding me. The anonymity of the harim would erase me from existence along with any possibility of escape.

The waiting, intended to make me worry and suffer as much as possible, was having a different effect than the one Bohdan wanted. The drug was wearing off. I could feel the lethargy slowly leaving my limbs. I moved my fingers slightly and my spirits rose.

At the first bell of the noon hour, my guards roused and issued the order for me to take the block. I did as I was told, reluctant to give them any ideas of drugging me again. The bid taker looked me over, his expression one of a vague distaste. I was told where to stand and then given the order not to move.

The crowd had thinned, most people having finished their business for the day. The bid taker took exception to my guards and an argument broke out behind me. I ignored them. It didn’t matter to me in least if they remained or not. Instead, I scanned the crowd, trying to determine what my chances for a decent life might be.

I saw him standing a few rows back, dressed in a sleek-cut black uniform. He was watching me closely, a faint smile on his mouth. He had his arms crossed, his hands clearly visible. As I watched, his fingers moved, forming words.

Heavy world sows, huh?

It was the man who had viewed me yesterday. Clasped in front of me, my fingers ached to answer him. In moments I would become some man’s slave. I had nothing to lose. I formed the word hesitantly.

Picky.

He nodded slowly. I will make this as painless as possible, he shaped. Once the bidding begins, I need you to create a distraction to the left of the block.

Was he offering me death or escape? Either was preferable to the choice Bohdan had given me. I let my fingers form my acquiescence.

The bid taker took my arm roughly, shifting me aside. He had won the argument and my guards were nowhere to be seen. With a clang of a bell, he opened the bidding on me and began extolling my virtues, most of which were nonexistent. He talked of my graceful form, my willing nature, and my calm temperament. He waxed lyrical over my singing and dancing. He even pulled aside the scraps of fabric that were pretending to cover me to show the length of my legs and the firmness of my muscles. I allowed it without protest. He couldn’t be allowed to know I had regained my faculties. He wasn’t lustful. He was simply greedy.

A few bids drifted reluctantly into the air and the bid taker renewed his efforts. I was young enough to bear children and I was untouched. I could be trained to please a man in any way he wished. My pale hair and paler eyes were rare here on this world of dark haired, swarthy people.

The man in black nodded slowly and I took a deep breath. Closing my eyes, I began to sway. The dances I had been taught as a child would be useless here, but the women of Bohdan’s court were less inhibited and I had seen them dance many times. I tried to imagine wanting to lure a man, wanting his gaze and his touch on me. I let my body move to the music in my head. The worst that could happen was that I would look foolish.

The crowd fell quiet as I began to dance. Undulating hips and smooth skin, the flash of inner thigh as I stepped aside to bring my arms up. I used every bit of the small gifts I had been given to draw their eyes and their lust. My feet moved faster and faster as I whirled to music only I could hear.

The crowd erupted and the bidding grew more heated. The bid taker was happy to let me continue to dance if it raised my price. I spun, feeling the fabric I wore fly away from my legs and the chorus of the crowd turned decidedly hungry. My toes found the edge of the block.

There was the sound of distant weapons fire. Someone screamed and a man bellowed in pain just as hands closed around my waist and jerked me from the block. The man in black set me on my feet without a word and, taking my hand, pulled me after him as fast as my legs could carry me.

It wasn’t long before I lost all track of the turnings. Awnings covered the streets here and vendor displays blocked the walkways. I was gasping for breath. This mid-grav atmosphere was hard on my lungs. I simply ran, letting the man drag me where he would. Anywhere was better than what lay behind me. Given the noon hour, few people were about. Most were eating or napping.

The man jerked me through a doorway where a woman lounged in half-clothed indolence. He came to a halt finally and I gaped at the woman, aghast. This was a pleasure house! But the man didn’t look at me. He took a bag of coins from inside his jacket and tossed it to the woman. The bag vanished though where she hid it when most of her body was bare was beyond me. The man motioned for me to follow him and headed for a narrow set of stairs hidden in the shadows at the back of the room.

I hesitated. Being raped in a brothel was no better than being raped by a new owner as a pleasure slave. Footsteps pounded in the street outside and I turned to catch a glimpse of armed soldiery. The woman merely resumed her pose, blocking my view. Reluctantly, I followed the man up the stairs. Better him than twenty guardsmen.

He led me to a tiny room near the back of the building. Once I was inside, he closed the door and quickly locked it. The room was fairly utilitarian with a single bed and a small closet. There were no paintings or vases of flowers or even a window to break the monotony. But then, I reasoned, the men who came here didn’t come for the décor.

“I asked you to create a diversion, not start a riot,” he growled, digging in the narrow closet. He emerged with a bright red gown and a pair of leather shoes and tossed them on the bed.

Fine, I signed back with an angry snap of my fingers. Next time I’ll wear the uniform and you can strip and dance.

He shook his head and gestured to the clothes. “Get changed and see if you can do something about your hair. I’ll see if I can find someway to get that collar off of you.”

He didn’t seem particularly overcome with lust for my body. Still, I turned my back before I stripped off the bits of fabric and the belt. The red gown was clean and covered my body adequately, and I reveled in the warmth it offered. The shoes were a bit large, but they would do. I took my hair down, shaking it loose and then quickly plaited it into two braids, using bits of the cloth to tie the ends. There was nothing I could do to hide the color. When I was finished, I used the remaining strip of cloth as a belt, winding it around my waist and knotting it as I had seen servant girls do.

I turned to find that he had been busy as well. In place of the neat, black uniform, he was now wearing a rough woolen coat like the miners wore and a pair of heavy leather boots. He was still wearing the same pants, but I doubted that anyone but me would notice.

He motioned for me to sit on the bed and bend my head forward. I did so and felt him scratching at the lock on the collar. It was only a moment before I felt it click and the collar fell away in my hands. I looked up at him in surprise and he grinned.

“Misspent youth,” he admitted, tossing the twisted bit of wire aside.

I opened my mouth to thank him but no sound emerged. My throat was still tight from wearing the collar for so long. Three weeks of enforced silence had taken their toll. I sighed and rubbed at my neck. I could only hope there hadn’t been permanent damage done.

He stood, tucking a small pistol into his belt. “Come on. Keep close. Your brother is waiting for us in the hanger at the spaceport. Just keep your eyes down and pretend to be subdued.”

My brother? I signed, my heart surging at the hope.

“Connor’s been worried sick about you since no one has heard from you since you were sent here.” With a twist of his hand, he made the second small pistol vanish. “Bohdan’s obstructed every diplomatic avenue Connor could think of. I've been here over a week now trying to find you. The slave pits were the last place I could think of to look." He turned and faced me, his expression shuttered. "And, sweetheart? If you want to talk to me, you have to make sure I’m looking at you. I can read lips and I can read sign but I can’t do either if I can’t see them.”

He was deaf. I hadn’t realized it until then, but the signs were all there. He hadn’t responded to shouts or the sounds of the soldiers. He knew the silent language. It was probably why Connor had chosen him in the first place since my brother would have no way of knowing if the gift of song had manifested during my stay here.

I nodded my understanding and watched him relax. He had expected disgust from me or worse, that much was obvious. He dumped the collar and our clothes down the incinerator tube and led the way out of the door. I followed, head down and fingers clasped together in a servile manner. I remained the requisite four paces behind him as well just to be on the right side of safe.

The streets were a mess. People stood in clumps, watching the soldiers as they began searching houses. There were arguments and altercations and even one involving a soldier on the wrong end of an irate cook’s frying pan. I chanced a glance behind me and winced. That cook really knew how to swing iron.

He kept our pace slow. We weren’t trying to remain unseen, merely to not draw notice. I rubbed at my throat surreptitiously. That my voice had not returned bothered me. It felt odd, as if a part of me had been changed irrevocably. I didn’t like it.

Market streets gave way to residences and then to lodging houses for off-worlders. We were joined by another man dressed in the same manner my rescuer was. At his nod, the man fell in beside him. Then, the spaceport loomed ahead of us, an oasis of bright lights and polished steel. I wanted to hurry, to break into a run, but my rescuer’s pace never quickened.

Inside the sprawling spaceport, he took us through two separate checkpoints, each time displaying papers and talking quickly. I kept my eyes on my toes even when my heart lodged itself in my throat and refused to leave.

We were waved through and I continued to follow, hardly daring to look around me for fear that I would see this miracle vanish. It was the glimmer of sleekly polished steel that finally made me look up. It was the ship I had seen land yesterday. She sat docked with the grace of a royal personage deigning to join the masses. As we neared, I saw a tall, willowy man step from the ship. I would have known him anywhere. Connor.

We were close enough now that I could see the smile on his face, the relief in his eyes. I wanted to shout, to laugh for the sheer joy of it, but my voice remained silent. He met us halfway, scooping me up to hug my breath away. I didn’t care. I held him just as tightly.

“Stop her!”

I turned, horrified. I knew that voice. Bohdan stood at the entrance to the docking bay with his soldiers fanned around him. They had weapons drawn and aimed and I knew the slightest resistance on our part would see us cut down.

There are moments when time seems to freeze, times when the mind travels faster than fate. I stared across that huge, echoing docking bay at the man who had made the last year of my life a misery and I had just such a moment. I stood there, trapped between the future and the past, between freedom and obedience, and I understood. I couldn’t speak, but I could still fight back.

I gestured to Connor, a slight twist of my fingers, and his hands fell away from me. I walked slowly back toward Bohdan and I saw his face twist in triumph. As I stepped past my rescuer, I tilted my head back and let the song take me.

There are women of my people who are born with the gift of song. My mother was such a one, singing peace and healing to a war torn world not her own. I had inherited her gift after all.

My song rose, filling the vastness of the dome. Steel vibrated around us, glass and air carrying the sound. One by one, Bohdan’s men dropped their weapons. Faces went slack as my song stole their will to fight. And still I sang. I sang of love and healing, of equality and peace. I sang of the things that Bohdan despised and I watched him fall.

Silence draped over the docking bay and my knees gave way. I was trembling, shaken to the depths of my being by what had just happened. I wrapped my arms around myself and tried to simply breathe.

He lifted me easily, holding me close. My rescuer. My hero. He looked as shaken as I felt. “I heard you,” he whispered. “Inside my bones, I heard you.”

I leaned into his strength until I could find the energy to stand on my own. Behind him, I saw Connor uncurling his body and cautiously taking his hands away from his ears. He was shaking his head, his face as white as his shirt. The other man was staring at me, his hands still clamped firmly over his ears. I looked back up at my rescuer.

Thank you, I signed. For everything. I looked up at the beauty of the ship that rose above us and smiled. What is she called, Captain?

He flushed slightly and stepped back as Connor approached to tuck me under his protective and loving arm. “The Siren, lady,” he said at last. “She is The Siren.”





Mankind is more than the sum of his parts, I have come to find. For every evil there is a good to balance it into a coherent, if odd, whole. Like light to dark, there are those born to power to balance those who would misuse it. For those who would harm, there are those born to heal. And for the silence of servility and pain, there are those of us born to sing. Not all men who rule crave dominance and not all women who love them bend to their will.

And the hardest thing of all? I have come to realize that, in spite of everything, I am still human. I am prey to the same failings that I, in my ignorance, condemned. I can hate and lash out in anger. I can be petty and jealous. But I am the only person I can control.

I made this promise to myself on the long and mostly silent flight home. Before I act, I will think. Before I condemn I will look at the bigger picture and then try to see beyond the edges of the frame. I will do my very best not to compound the mistakes of the past. I was born with power and so I must take responsibility for my actions.

I must. I am a Siren.