Atlantia

“Who told you all this?” I ask.

“The knowledge has been passed down among generations,” Maire says. “From siren to siren.”

I wish I knew if she were speaking the truth. I wish I trusted her.

I wanted to love her.

“If we can really do all of this, why would the Above let us come up again?” I ask.

“Nevio arranged it,” Maire says.

The door to the transport opens, and the Minister himself appears. Everyone hushes instantly.

Nevio paces in front of the sirens as if we are a row of acolytes awaiting instruction in the temple. “It is our duty as sirens,” he says, “to remind the people Above of their place in the order of things.”

So the sirens know what he is. He has identified himself as one of them in words, and he does it with his voice as well, speaking without holding back. “We must remind those Above of their obligation to honor the gods. Their Council understands this. They believe that their people have become too wicked, too dismissive of their religion. They have agreed to let us come Above to remind and convince the people there of the rightness of the Divide.”

Now he looks at Maire. She smiles at him. It is the coldest thing I have ever seen.

“We have been trying to decide if we should command or persuade,” one of the sirens says. “And if we should speak in unison or cacophony.”

“Ah,” Nevio says. “I think it must be a command. How else can we make sure that they listen to us? But as for the other matter—well. Let me hear you.”

The sirens nod eagerly. How long have they known that he is one of them? How long have they let themselves be under his spell?

“What are the gifts given to we who live Below?” he asks. In his full, real voice, his siren voice.

It is honey and blood, dark and warm, golden and full of shadow. It is a beautiful voice, a decayed voice. I catch my breath. Nevio notices. He smiles.

“Long life, health, strength, and happiness,” the other sirens answer, and I am afraid to move. I’ve never heard anything like this, and my heart fills with joy at the beauty of their voices, at the power behind them. They are angels singing to their god, their voices hopeful and full of belief.

But their faith has been misdirected.

He has taken their power and turned it all toward himself. Do they understand that?

“What is the curse of those who live Above?” Nevio asks.

“Short life, illness, weakness, and misery.”

“Is this fair?”

“It is fair. It is as the gods decreed at the time of the Divide. Some have to stay Above so that humanity might survive Below.”

They go on through all the rest of it. Neither Maire nor I join in.

“Maire and the new siren didn’t say anything,” someone says, when they have finished.

“It’s all right,” Nevio says. “They’ve been instructed to save their voices. Some sirens who don’t train as you do aren’t prepared to use their voices more than once in the space of a few hours.” He smiles. “But they may still be of use.”

He’s insulting us, I realize. But he’s also lying. He knows that Maire and I are powerful. Why is he pretending that we’re not?

“Now,” Nevio says, “let’s try the other way.”

This time, the sirens speak in cacophony. All saying the same things but not at the same time, each using their voice’s own particular, potent power—screaming, shrieking, singing, whispering, calling.

It’s unsettling, ugly, and powerful in a completely different way. I feel like my bones are rearranging, scraping against one another inside my body, that my brain is itchy and agitated and my blood hot.

“Unison,” Nevio decides. “We will have you speak in unison. You have trained, and you know all the words.”

I knew the words from listening to them in the temple, but now, after hearing the sirens, it’s as if the litany has been seared into my brain.

“We are ready,” Nevio says. “I will see you at the surface.”

“Aren’t you coming with us?” one of the other sirens asks in dismay.

“I am coming up right behind you, in another transport,” Nevio says, his voice soothing. “As the Minister, there are matters of prayer I need to attend to, alone, in order to help ensure our success. But I will see you soon in the Above. And I leave my blessing upon you.”

He nods to all of us and disappears through the door of the transport. As soon as he’s gone through, the door slides shut and I hear the lock engaging. Now that the door is closed, it’s hard to see where it was before—it fits into the wall so smoothly. There’s no handle or opening mechanism on the inside. “No going back now,” one of the sirens says. “Once the door’s locked, it won’t open again until we’re at the surface.”

Another siren, one about my mother’s age, sits down in front of me. “You’ve ruined your makeup,” she says. She takes out a cloth and wipes my cheeks. She doesn’t seem surprised, and I suppose she understands. How could I not weep at the siren sounds, both ugly and beautiful?

“I think we’re doing this wrong,” I say. “All of this. The makeup, the commands. We should try to be more human, not less. We should try to talk to them. To the people Above. We should plead with them, convince them that this is what they want to do. Use our voices, but then let them make the choice. They won’t hate us that way.”

The sirens stare at me as if I’m not even speaking their language.

“Is this your idea, Maire?” one of them asks. “It sounds like you.”

“I don’t know why the Minister and the Council decided to let you come.” One of the male sirens sneers at my aunt. I stare in disbelief. How can he treat Maire so casually? Does he have no idea of what she can do?

“Because I’m powerful,” Maire says, and there is no anger in her voice. Only sorrow. “And the Minister and the Council know that. Until today they have always wanted me alive.”

Until today? What does Maire mean?

Why does she never tell me the whole truth?

I think about what she said earlier:

“The Minister is speaking to the other sirens right now. He is telling them that we are the Below’s last chance for survival. He will let them know that we are going to the Above to remind the people there of their place in the world, and of ours. He will say that the people of the Above are tired of providing for us Below, and they do not plan to continue to do so. The Minister will say that this mission is essential to the survival of Atlantia. He is right.”