Red Siren

By Bridget Messi

Ariel doesn't want to kill men, like her sisters. Once she becomes of age, she will sing the legendary song of sirens, which will bring out her murderous instincts. If Ariel doesn't sing, she will face becoming an outcast, and death soon after. But until then, Ariel has a much more human heart and refuses to take innocent lives. In an attempt to be free from her destiny, she turns to her grandmother, who transforms her into a human. Ariel soon meets Cassie and Carson who then get caught up in a quest to end all siren life, but at what cost? Ariel must make a decision that will change the world forever, even if she won't be there to see it.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Christian Faith Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Aug 10, 2020
• ISBN: 9781098028558

Book preview

Chapter 1

The ocean was dark, the only source of light being the stars that twinkled above and the full white moon slicing through the waters like a knife. A ship was stationed, having anchored down for the night. The men aboard kept commenting on how still everything was—barely any ripples on the water’s surface. The wind was nonexistent; the reason sailing had ceased for the evening. The crew had all brought out their bedrolls to the main deck, now staring at the stars, pointing out constellations here and there. The weather was perfect, the night just as well, nothing to fear, nothing to be on the lookout for, just another night at sea.

Far below they were gathering, the beautiful creatures of the deep. Their tails shimmered as they passed the beams of heavenly light that cut into the deep dark sea, various shades of red, blue, violet, and more. They gathered at the bottom, casting their gazes up to the underbelly of the ship. Some licked their lips in anticipation.

Be patient, whispered the one with fiery red locks floating around her head in a sort of halo. The others grumbled but did as told. After only a few hours more, the red one nodded. The group practically shot through the water, burning with a raging hunger for the meal at their fingers. But they all stopped shy of the surface, far enough below that their presence was undetectable if one were looking down from the vessel.

The she-fish with red hair took her time ascending through the water, letting it caress the seaweed-colored scales of her mighty tail. When she joined her sisters, they were all twitching. How impatient they could be, even after centuries of practice; she was the youngest one out of all of them but possessed the most patience. She let them squirm for the entertainment of the whole thing before nodding at her sister, who had hair as black as the darkest depths of the sea.

Flicking her tail, she rose and broke through the surface, splashing her hands in the water, making the men aboard come running. The red one’s sister lingered for a few more moments before her massive tail pulled her back under where the red one could clearly see the wicked smile on her sister’s lips. The others began circling the boat. Soon. So very soon, the meal would arrive and her sisters would be there to welcome them with open arms…and a mouthful of sharpened teeth.

As if on cue, three men dived in after her. Red’s sisters pounced on two of them, letting the third make it back to call for help before dragging him back down. More men followed, and Red moved. She picked her prey and shot for him, snarling at any of her sisters who thought to have him as well. He was hers. The man’s eyes widened as she grabbed him, sinking her talon-like nails into his skin. He let out a scream that only turned to bubbles beneath the water. Then her teeth met flesh, her prey let out one more attempt of a scream before Red ripped out his throat.

The captain, warm in his bed, heard the commotion out on his deck and rushed out to see a horrific sight. His men were jumping overboard and screaming once they hit the water.

You idiots! the captain bellowed, rushing over and trying to contain his men. Once he finally got them away from the edge, he saw the fear in their eyes.

Captain, spoke a gentleman who was sitting in the corner of the ship and shaking all the way down to his bare feet. What just happened?

What happened? asked the captain, throwing the question back in the man’s face. Twelve of my men are dead because of utter stupidity and having no education on what lies within the sea.

The men were silent, staring past the captain to the edge of the boat where the splashing had stopped. What lies in it, sir?

The captain shook his head. What you just witnessed is probably one of the most deadly creatures out there. Sirens.

Behind him, giggling rose up, tickling his ear. He clenched his jaw hard and stomped to the edge. The captain’s men went to follow, but he held out a hand that told them to stay put.

Down in the water was a siren, her red locks of hair floating in the waves, her breasts out for full display. Go away, beast, growled the captain.

But the fun has just begun. Come join us in our game, Captain. The siren’s voice was melodic and smooth, practically putting him to sleep. The captain shook his head again. Your games are vile and vicious. Go back to hell from which you came, sea witch.

The red beauty chuckled. So you know what I am.

The captain didn’t dare reply.

She swam closer to the ship, placing a pale hand against it. But do you know with whom you are speaking?

I do not care.

Oh, but I think you do. My name is a legend, written into the rock for everyone to see always.

The captain swallowed; sweat began to form on his brow.

Next time you come into my territory, you should not expect me to allow any of you to live as I am now. Take it as a gift. The siren pushed off, and before descending into the murky water, she said, And tell them all of your tale, Captain. How you came face-to-face with the sea witch.

Which sea witch are you?

She smiled, her teeth flashing in the moonlight. The name is Ariel. And you should not forget it. With that, she descended, disappearing into the darkness. The captain stood there for many moments more, the name echoing in his mind. Ariel.

The name that to this day was only whispered, a name thought to be a myth, a legend. But now, the legend was made flesh. He heard screams of his men, and the songs of the sirens, but yet the captain did not move.

Ariel.

It was only when the sun rose on the horizon, his crew’s corpses floating around the ship, did he move.

Chapter 2

As the captain docked his vessel in Merton Bay, the day was sunny and bright. Men climbed aboard to help the crew carry the heavy wooden crates they had been hauling. They were in for a surprise since all of his men had been lost at sea not so many nights ago. The captain said little as he walked down the ramp and onto the docks filled with people milling about. He talked to no one as he walked through the crowd, although many of his dear friends worked here. Once he was off the docks, he wandered through the city, his destination already determined. As he walked down the cobblestoned streets, he arrived before a little shop with a weatherworn sign hanging above it that read The Scarlet Tail.

Grabbing a ring on iron keys from his pants pocket, he unlocked the shop’s door and entered, slamming the door shut behind him, making sure to lock it immediately. Only then did the man sag against the tired wood that made up the door. He counted to ten and slowly breathed in and out, trying to calm his old racing heart.

It had been a long time since he had seen sirens, and the last time he had, he’d vowed to never let one entice him again, no matter how beautiful their song. Memories swam before his eyes, making old mistakes feel brand new. He shuddered and shook his head, pushing those dark memories into the farthest corner of his mind.

Walking forward, the captain maneuvered through his dusty shop. He sold many fine fishing instruments. From hooks to bait to nets that could catch up to a thousand fish, he had it right here in this very store. Moving behind the cashier counter, he reached for the door that would lead him up a rickety staircase and into his living quarters.

His apartment was homey, although some called it small. It had a good view of the ocean and the boats that were anchored at the dock. The loft held a worn plaid couch in the left corner and a small kitchenette in the other. Toward the back of the room lay his bed, which was neatly made with all of its corners tucked in. Beside the bed were two nightstands that had a lamp on each one. On the side he slept on, there was a drawing of him and a woman with curly blonde hair and sparkling blue eyes.

The edge of the mattress sagged with the old man’s weight as he sat down holding the photo. Oh, Cassie, he sighed. How I miss you. His wife had passed away only four years ago from a fever. He hadn’t had any inclination she was sick, and when he returned from a short trip to sea, he’d found himself a widower.

Lightly kissing the glass pane where her face was, he placed the photograph carefully back on the table and moved to the trunk that sat at the foot of his bed. He kneeled before it and again took out his key ring, this time with shaking hands. Sorting through the various keys, he finally found the one he was looking for. It was black, and the bow was made out of two circles overlapping, and a straight line sliced through them. Sliding the key into the lock, he turned it counterclockwise until he heard a faint click.

Removing the key, he rested his hands atop the trunk, not quite ready to open it. The sea captain couldn’t believe he was going to do this. He had worked so hard, so hard, to bury the demons of the past. Was he ready to let them out again? He took a deep breath. It didn’t matter; he had to be ready. And with that, he opened the chest.

Inside lay various items scattered about from the chest being moved from place to place. He dug through the mess, searching for something specific. His wrinkled hand brushed a cold metal frame and he stopped, hovering his fingers over the item for a few seconds before grabbing it and bringing it out.

It was another photograph, but of when he was much younger, and the woman who stood beside him with her hand upon his chest was not Cassie. Instead of blonde hair, this lady had a fiery red mane and dark brown eyes. Then closing his eyes, he opened the door in the darkest corner of his mind and allowed the memories from fifty years ago to be released: the story of a boy with a dream of being the best captain there was and a girl who was much more than what she seemed.

It was blindingly bright on this June afternoon. The sun beat down on the backs of the crew of The Maryborough. Sweat poured down Carson’s back as he helped the other men lift the fish-filled trap up out of the water.

Heave! shouted the ship’s boatswain, who stood atop a stack of wooden supply crates. Bracing himself on the sea-sodded deck of the ship, he and about ten others pulled on the thick rope, their backs straining.

Of all the professions I could have done, mumbled Deniz in front of him.

Carson chuckled under his breath and pulled again in unison with the others; this time the splashing of fish was heard. He let out a small sigh but gripped the rope tighter in his calloused hands. It wasn’t over yet.

You don’t find this enjoyable? he grunted to Deniz.

Are you mad? Deniz shouted over the increasing sound of flapping fish. I would have been better off as a boring businessman. He paused as they hefted the net over the edge of the vessel, fish flapping madly. Deniz wiped his sweat-covered brow and turned to his closest friend. If I hadn’t been drunk the night the sailors spewed grand stories of adventure and honor that came with the job, I wouldn’t have taken a glance in the direction of the docks.

Carson clasped his friend’s shoulder, his breath coming in small gasps as he tried to catch his breath. Aw, come now, it is not so bad.

Deniz raised a brow but said nothing as he began scooping the fish into large silver buckets Oh, all right, the job did have drawbacks, but didn’t every job? Ever since he was a boy, Carson had loved being outdoors. There was something much too confining being inside a building all day, no matter how beautiful or important the structure. The air was always wrong inside, stale and old. But out in the world, you never felt the same wind twice. And the tides were always changing based off on the white moon’s phases. It was as if each dying day birthed the new dawns that varied in size and color every morning. You may go to bed with much on your mind, but there was always the next day to help right the wrongs you had made in the previous one.

So when his friend had declared himself bound for service at sea, Carson couldn’t help but join him without hesitation. Was the work hard? Of course, it was, but to him it built character, and he knew by the stares he got on the mainland, the ladies liked how big his muscles were because of the harsh labor.

Once they had finished confining the day’s catch, the two went down the skinny staircase that led below deck to fetch the mops and soapy water.

I swear, the work is driving me mad, complained his friend as they hunched over the fish-scented boards and scrubbed with brushes.

Oh, shut up, you little bitch, a deep drunken voice barked. Carson inwardly cringed but kept his head down. Ptolemy was a staggering drunk and rarely could contribute to any work done on the ship. One night when Carson had just joined the crew, he had worked up the courage to ask one of the men why he was here. To his surprise, he found out that Ptolemy once was a great sailing master. He could win against any other vessel out there based solely on the wind. The other men didn’t know how he did it, saying it was like he was the god of the wind himself and would command it to his will to make the boat fly through the ocean waters. Although the men claimed they hadn’t seen him use his wind magic in years, the captain still kept Ptolemy around, claiming he was good luck.

Of course, now, he had lost the position of sailing master, the job given to someone else, and Ptolemy spent his days drunk under the sun.

Slowly, Carson lifted his head as Ptolemy’s shadow crept over him. All he saw was a round belly that his basic ale-stained shirt barely covered. I’ll show you real work, he grumbled and clumsily slapped the wooden bucket they were using to scrub into the deck. The contents inside swayed, but not a drip jumped out.

Ptolemy frowned and tried again, this time slipping on the wet boards and slamming onto his back. Ow! he yelped as he flung various curses at them.

Carson and Deniz exchanged a look, both biting their lips to keep from laughing. Ptolemy had once been raised so high and had been a respected crew member, but now he was little more than a jester.

Footsteps sounded behind them. What is going on here?

Carson’s mood instantly sobered as the captain beheld the scene.

These two, blubbered the drunken man, jabbing a meaty finger at the two younger boys, tripped me. The big man tried and failed to rise from his position on the slick deck, only getting to his knees before tumbling back down again. He was completely soaked.

Deniz scoffed. We did not, you idiot. You slipped on your own drunken accord.

Carson shot daggers in his friend’s direction. He thought Deniz would have been smarter than to talk back, especially with the captain here.

Oh, shut up, both of you, snapped the captain. His beady black eyes were full of anger and a hint of disappointment.

Ptolemy, who had finally managed to get to his feet, glared at the boys and reached for a jug of ale sitting on a nearby crate. He slapped it down, half of it landing on the newly scrubbed deck instead of his mouth. Carson sighed. That was going to be yet another thing to scrub off before they could go relax in their hammocks below deck.

You, commanded the captain, jutting his chin at Deniz. Go to my quarters. I will see to your punishment there.

Deniz gaped at the captain, not believing what he was hearing. The captain gave him a stern look, and Deniz took off in the direction of the captain’s quarters.

Very well done, praised Ptolemy. But there are two at fault here, Hektor. He sloppily gestured toward Carson.

The captain’s eyes landed on the drunk. You need to mind your place, Ptolemy. And while you are at it, take a bath and sober up.

Carson wished that there was a painter on board to capture the look on Ptolemy’s face.

Then the captain’s attention landed upon Carson, who was still on all fours. And you will go fetch my whip. The captain pivoted and headed back to his quarters.

Carson closed his eyes. He knew how cruel the captain could be; he himself had various scars along his back from the captain’s punishments. He knew his friend didn’t deserve it, but that was life when one was aboard a ship. If you didn’t behave, a proper punishment would be served.

They had gotten the speech the first day they laid a foot on the vessel’s boards. If you cannot keep yourself in check, then you can either get out or face me, the captain had said.

Many of the men longed to leave the brutal service at sea for a more relaxed job in the town, but few could find them after working as a fisher, so they faced the captain and endured his brutal punishments.

Getting to his feet, Carson placed the bucket and brushes to the side and did as the captain had asked, moving away quickly so he wouldn’t have to endure hearing the cries of his friend. He moved to the middle of the ship, looking over the edge and down to the clear blue waters that lay below his feet. There was commotion behind him, men getting ready to set sail back to the harbor where many, including he, would be heading straight toward their favorite bar for a nice ale or two.

As they began to move, Carson studied the water, watching the silverfish jump out of the ocean just to dive right back. He smiled and let himself wonder about all the fish that lived there.

The ocean floor was much colder than the surface and so murky that one could hardly see. There were only a few faint rays of sun that barely reached the sand-made floor. There were sunken ships half buried in the sand, the shadows making them look like terrible monsters of the deep. But it was not these ship monsters you had to fear—no, it was the more humanoid creatures that lurked.

Ariel lazily swam through the maze of the ship graveyard, a smile tugging at her lips when she remembered how her older sisters and mother had led the tribe out and taken the men who worked these once magnificent ships—if you considered a structure of chipped painted wood beautiful. As Ariel passed by the newest shipwreck, she couldn’t help but glance away. She knew she only had a matter of months left until she too would take up the song and make fun with death and destruction. When a siren sinks a ship, it is her proudest moment, a thing to celebrate, but Ariel had no interest in bringing an early death to fishermen.

Circling back, she made her way back to the massive cave opening that was covered in darkness. As she entered, a chorus of soft snoring greeted her. It was high noon, but once a siren came of age, her body changes, making her much more adept for hunting at night. Since Ariel still had two months till her nineteenth birthday, she was wide awake and would sleep through tonight’s hunt. She didn’t mind sleeping while her sisters and the other sirens went and killed under the light of the moon. As long as they brought her back a shark to eat when she woke, she was fine.

Ariel stopped dead in the cold black water, hovering over the sleeping bodies. Before her was a figure with long deep brown hair and moon-colored skin. Ariel bent at the waist.

Come, the woman said as she swam by her. We must talk privately.

Reluctantly, Ariel followed, making sure to keep just enough distance between them.

They swam to the west, toward the green kelp forest. Once they were well into the thick of the green plant, the brown-haired siren turned to Ariel, a frown set in her features.

Do you know the day? her rough voice asked, her dagger teeth flashing as she spoke.

Ariel looked down at her long tail flipping in the water. July first, she answered.

The older siren’s grim expression deepened. And do you understand what that means?

Ariel only nodded.

The elder growled, the sound low and terrifying. Speak.

It means I am to be of age in two months’ time.

And what must you do when that day comes? the woman asked, now circling her.

Swallowing, Ariel answered, I must sing.

And why is that my, daughter?

Because I am to take up my place as the leader of my sisters, she said, reciting the words that had been engraved in her since birth. As the youngest, I shall sing my song and take up my place with the others and lead them as well as I am able. I will bring pride to the tribe and glorious fear in men of Earth.

Her mother had stopped circling Ariel and was now studying her daughter with her head slightly tilted to the side, as if she was determining whether Ariel was lying. Lightly, the elder took a strand of Ariel’s vibrant crimson hair. Ariel tried not to cringe. Your hair is something no one has ever seen.

Ariel sighed heavily and closed her eyes, wishing for the familiar conversation to end and for her to be able to go about the rest of her day not thinking about what was to come. The thought still brought shivers down her spine.

It is a sign. A sign that you are to be great, legendary. She released her hair and looked her in the eye. You will bring much death, her mother finished.

Ariel pursed her lips and tried not to glare at her mother, her leader. And I look forward to that day, she ground out, the words tasting of bile.

Coming of age