Dark Fantasy
CW: violence/gore
The melody is soft, a bittersweet tune murmured through cracked lips. It ricochets off dark stone walls, crawling through abandoned halls like a beast scenting freedom. The notes pull at his hand, beckoning him down into the depths. Her depths, a sea of despair no mortal can survive.
They say the primary siren was once human, a maiden cursed by the gods for forbidden love. The gods turned her into a creature of the sea, her voice both a gift and a torment. Her descendants carry her curse. The siren’s song is beautiful beyond imagination, but it shatters minds.
Acelin Lavoie, Knight Galant, pulls himself along the invisible thread of that quiet tune, following the shadows of echoes toward what waits below the old castle of Duke Germain. A seasoned paladin and decorated soldier of the royal army, he does not fear the creature whose song is now carrying him and his men forward. His mission is to find where the Duke and several guests who attended a ball not but a fortnight ago at the Duke’s main estate disappeared to.
While investigating and questioning the guests still at the main estate, a servant had tipped them off that the Duke was rumored to keep a siren in the old castle. Acelin had initially scoffed, but this now seemed like the most likely lead in the disappearance of the nobles. He chewed on his cheek as he summoned a ball of light to guide their path. Sirens were rare creatures, and keeping one in such conditions was dubious, if not illegal.
The faint melody was growing in both volume and intensity. A dense fog swirled across the floor as they ventured onto a staircase that descended into unforgiving darkness.
“Look sharp, men,” Acelin growled. He didn’t like this one bit. In the presence of the light of the Goddess, darkness should break away. The path should be clear, and the singing was still too far away to be as loud as it seemed.
“Sir…” a younger knight pushed past him. “Let me go first.”
Acelin shot out his hand, catching the knight by his collar. “Absolutely not. Though these stairs are wide, it is—”
“Sir…” The knight half turned, and Acelin could see his clouded and glazed eyes. “She’s calling me; let me go first.”
“Damnit.” Acelin grabbed the young knight with both hands and tossed him back to his second-in-command. “Theo, take this man outside. The rest of you, follow rank or catch my sword.”
Theo locked the young man’s arms. “Acelin, do you think it’s a good idea to—”
“Follow orders,” Acelin growled. “This one’s bewitched already; he’ll lose himself before we reach her.”
“Her?” Theo frowned.
“Do you not hear the siren’s song yet, my friend?” Acelin swept at the fog. “Her effects will only grow stronger.”
“Acelin—”
“Move out!” he commanded, moving forward. “Theo, stay outside in case any other men need to retreat.”
“Yes, sir.” The response was faint, and it was hard to hear over the song beckoning to Acelin.
By the time they reached the bottom of the stairs, he had to light another orb to see through the fog. The air felt heavier as well, not just because they were underground, but it was as if the world’s sadness was pooling towards the singer. The song grew louder and more like wailing as they grew closer.
He took stock of his soldiers. Some were starting to gaze without seeing, so he had them sit down. The others were starting to have a strange glint in their eyes, but they seemed to be able to continue. They marched on until they came across the first body.
She had been a beautiful woman, but her face was twisted into a permanent scream, her eyes gouged out. Her hands were covered in blood, and her dress was in shreds. Acelin called his medical officer, and they both knelt in the fog, drawing the light closer to examine her.
“What do you think?” Acelin asked Eric.
Eric shook his head, holding a cloth to his nose and mouth. “Dead for at least a few days, looks self-inflicted.”
“Self-inflicted?” Acelin frowned.
“They say a siren’s song can lead to madness. The stronger the siren, the stronger it's song can affect others. Often, victims meet ends by accident—falling into the water, and the like—but being closely exposed to a siren’s song for days—possibly this whole time— I don’t know if we’ll find any survivors.”
“That’s bleak,” Acelin said a prayer for the woman, then stood up. “Let’s spread out, take the younger soldiers, I’ll take Fred, and we’ll search.”
“All right.” Eric agreed. “Here.”
Acelin glanced down at Eric’s hand. He was holding a piece of wax. “For your ears. You have a glint in your eye I don’t like, friend.”
“I’m fine.” Acelin took the wax. “I’m a Knight Galant. I won’t fall for a siren’s spell so easily.”
Eric pushed wax into his own ears and walked off.
“Fred,” Acelin summoned the wizened soldier and gave him the wax. “Put that in your ears. We’ll carry on this way; the others will go in that direction. We’re trying to locate and rescue any survivors.”
Fred shook his head. “Doubt we’ll find any if they’ve been down here for a fortnight with that squallering.”
Acelin frowned. Did the siren’s song sound different to others? He headed again in the direction of the sad melody. The fastest way to access the totality of the situation would be to find the song’s source. Fred followed him, his heavy footfalls pausing when they passed a room in the next hall.
“Boss.” It was an urgent whisper.
Acelin wheeled around, ready for a fight. What he found was Fred paler than a ghost, staring into the abyss.
“What is it?” Acelin cautiously backtracked and sent the orbs into the room. It was mostly empty, with a few crates and a rolled-up rug or two pushed against the wall.
“What is it?” Acelin repeated, glancing at Fred. Fred’s eyes stared ahead, his pupils covered by a luminous glaze.
Acelin realized the wax he’d given Fred was nowhere to be found. Had the man even bothered to follow orders?
“Is this what Hell looks like?” Fred’s blank stare twisted into horror as he continued to gaze into the empty room.
“There’s nothing there, Fred.” Acelin grabbed one of the potions from his belt. “Here, drink this.”
Fred pushed the bottle away, taking a step forward. “Fred—”
“I found it!” a voice pierced the darkness. “I found the beast!” Another soldier broke through the fog, his sword drawn as he lunged for Fred.
Acelin drew his own sword. “Stop—”
The soldier swung, and everything went dark for a moment. The soldier began laughing uncontrollably. Acelin furiously recast his orb and instantly regretted it as the scene before him became clear. Fred’s headless body on the ground, and the soldier, Brody—bathing himself in Fred’s blood.
“Gods!” Acelin took a step back. This was an unholy madness, and they had barely been exposed to the siren. Were his men so weak-willed, or was the siren really that powerful?
“Eric!” Acelin shouted into the void. The sounds of conflict reverberated from the main hall, and then everything was once again silent, save the constant siren’s melody. Tension snapped at Acelin’s shoulders. How could she still be singing? Did she ever stop?
He continued down the hall, away from Brody. He had to stop the song, then he could help his men. He needed to find the creature making that tortured sound. Lovely, heart-breaking, and louder with each step. Acelin realized the fog was lifting, and the area was growing brighter. Body parts, jewels, and other things lined the edges of the hall he’d turned down. He paid no attention to the gruesome scenes in his periphery; he focused on the beam of light coming from a doorway. He began chanting his prayers to drown out her song as he rushed through the threshold.
He found the room pristine, a jarring juxtaposition with the halls of death he passed through. Velvet and velour were draped everywhere. Large couches with cushions filled the space, illuminated by a magical chandelier that lazily changes hue as it burned from the mana crystal at its center. A striking figure with cascading white hair sat on a bed-like stage at the end of the room. She gazed at him with haunting, sorrowful dark eyes. She wasn’t singing, and she didn’t speak, only stared at him as if she could see through his body to all the years of his life that had led him to this moment. Her beauty is otherworldly, and Acelin was both awestruck and disturbed by her countenance.
Acelin blinked, trying to register the beauty before him. She was not singing, yet the sorrowful tune continued to echo around the room. He continued toward her, and she didn’t move from the cushions propping her small form. Acelin had a terrifying thought that she, too, had perished in this hellish place, that it was only a shell that seemed to watch him— but as he reached her, he could see she breathed, and then her eyes shifted to look up at him, still waiting. He didn’t know what she was expecting from him, but he could only think of one thing he needed to know.
“If you are not singing, who is?” His voice sounded so strange, so foreign.
“You’re losing your mind, sir knight.” her response was barely a whisper, like wind on dry reeds.
“Tell me how to save you.”
“You can’t.” Her eyes shuttered close, and she collapsed.
“No!” Acelin scooped her up, horrified at how light she felt in her arms and how brittle her long white hair was. She was severely dehydrated. A chain clinked with the movement, and he laid her down, glaring at the iron link cutting into the flesh of her calf.
“Monstrous,” he murmured, breaking the lock with a simple spell. He winced as his vision blurred, the song beginning to hammer at his temples.
“Eric!” he called for his medic. “Eric!”
There was no answer, only the torture of the song. Acelin uncorked the potion he had tried to give Fred and poured it on her lips. A few drops, then her eyes fluttered open, and she drank the rest, falling back into the pillow with a sigh.
“I’ll ask your name when I return.” Acelin couldn’t think or muster any more words. He was driven to find the source of the song, If it is not this angelic creature, then what monster causes such madness with only their voice?
He stumbled from the bright room, disoriented by the return of the dark. He summoned another orb and retraced his steps, taking a hall opposite where he entered the last one. The song grows louder and deafening as he trotted on. He slammed through a locked wooden door. On the other side sat Duke Germain in a fine chair, a cordial on the table beside him, his face frozen into a wide grin, the edges of his mouth cracked and bleeding.
“Monster.” Acelin huffed, his vision again blurred. The Duke doesn’t respond, merely stands up, beckoning Acelin closer. He points into the room behind him. Acelin casts the orb forward, past the man and his gruesome grin.
A phonograph player sits at the back of the room, spinning a record while connected to a series of tubes that run up the wall.
“Isn’t it fantastic?” the Duke rasped through his teeth. “I’ll be richer than the King. The first man to steal the power of a siren. I’ll sell it to the world!”
“You-you don’t know what you’ve done!” Acelin gasped. “A curse without a vessel is—”
His knees gave out, the darkness beginning to eat away his vision.
“A curse without a vessel,” a quiet, melodic voice sang behind him, “Is always hunting for a host. It’s why the madness consumed you all.”
Acelin felt like he could breathe again. The small woman from the bright room gently placed her hand on his shoulder.
“You’re still alive?” Duke Germain squealed. “I don’t need you anymore, you worthless shit. Your voice is all I need!”
“You took my power without any way to control or contain it.” Her quiet song continued. “When the record stops playing Void’s Melody, the house of Germain will fall.”
“What nonsense!” the Duke drew his rapier. “A recording of a song is just that!”
“Not when a siren sings.” She calmly stepped past him, reaching for the record player.
“Stop!” Acelin and the Duke cried in unison.
“Good sir knight,” she paused, then began to sing again. “Thank you for your kindness. Please go. You and your men should be safe. Follow the old road home.”
The song sunk into his bones, and Acelin could no more resist the words than he could look away from her piercing gaze. The Duke seemed frozen in place as she sang, everything from her lips drowning out the record. Acelin’s body turned from her, his feet carrying him out of the room even as his mind screamed to go back, to save her.
His body continued its involuntary march as the halls around him began to rumble, the siren’s song playing through the pipes screeching to a halt. His march continued until he had climbed a narrow staircase and through a trap door into a field. The night sky kissed his wet cheeks with quiet sounds of crickets, and he buried his face into the grass, screaming away the madness and magic that had ahold of him.
“Sir?”
Acelin grew aware of the presence of others. He blinked, lifting his head from the grass to see Eric beside him, Theo, and a couple of soldiers trying to get their bearings.
“Sir,” Eric frowned. “How did we get out?”
“I..” Acelin blinked, his mind a swirling cloud of melodies and fog. “I don’t remember.”
“Did you find a siren?” Theo helped Acelin up.
“We certainly found its aftermath.” Eric sighed. “No survivors.”
“No survivors,” Acelin murmured in agreement, gazing around the open field. He felt like he had just awoken from a nightmare, and though the details were fuzzy, he was sure of the truth in his next words.
“Mission’s over. Let’s go home, boys.”
+++++
Acelin drained his drought of ale. He’d been home in the capital for three weeks. Debriefing had been rough. He had to explain the loss of six men with very little knowledge or recollection of events. Eric had been in the same boat, only able to remember small pieces of the dark hall and then waking in the field afterward.
The follow-up investigation was unproductive. Though a few identifiable things had been recovered from the main underground hall to close the case for some of the missing nobles, it seemed the rest of the area had collapsed. It had also been silent for the second team. There had been no other signs of the siren and Duke Germain’s body had not been found. His wife was on her deathbed from grief. With no heir, the duchy seemed doomed.
Acelin called for a refill and wondered what had happened to the siren. He had told his superiors she died in his arms from the strain of constant singing, herself lost to madness. He knew it wasn’t true, but it would be better if they thought there was one less siren in the world. Even though she didn’t seem inherently evil or dangerous, to the council, the power of that cursed song would be enough for a death sentence-- if she had survived whatever had happened between her, the Duke, and the collapse, she would be hunted to the end of her days if they thought she was still out there.
He sipped on his ale, lost in thought, as the entertainment for the night set up in the corner. Acelin watched as a lithe gentleman tuned his lute.
“Fancy a song?” a female voice chimed behind him.
“Tavern entertainment isn’t my thing.” He finished his ale. “Plus, they usually charge for song requests, too, even though they’re paid a rate for the night. Dubious.”
“Aye.” The voice laughed. “But I'm thinking to offer you a discount for your request, sir knight.”
There was something about those last words; Acelin turned to get a look at the speaker. She was small, cloaked in blue, her hair cropped to her shoulders, but the white of her hair and those piercing dark eyes were unmistakable.
“Any song you’d like to hear, I will happily sing for you.” She continued to smile at him. “No magic involved; I promise.”
