Sound of Sirens: (Tales of Skylge #1) Read Free

three brothers and he’s about Sytse’s age. As I get off my bike, I secretly observe him. His piercing, blue eyes scan the horizon and a slight frown of anticipation creases the skin between his jet-black eyebrows. The few girls clustered around him look up at him in admiration, but he doesn’t seem to notice. Instead, he focuses his attention on the sea, waiting for the Skylger ships to come in.
    “Why so anxious, Royce?” I want to ask him. “Afraid you won’t get any toys to play with this week?”
    Everybody on the island knows who Royce is. Apart from being a rich, spoilt brat, he also happens to be a gifted musician. He always plays the piano during the Oorol festival, usually accompanied by one of his gushing girlfriends singing along. It’s not fair that such an insufferable person is so talented, in my humble opinion. I wish I could hate the guy, but after hearing him play, I honestly can’t. His music is heartrendingly beautiful. If his songs were ever pressed in shellac, I’d buy them in a heartbeat. I’d probably cover my tracks out of embarrassment, but still.
    Before they can spot me or ask me why I’m here this early, I scurry away like a frightened crab and sit down on the sand, my back leaned against a mooring post, my chin braced upon my raised knees, and my arms circling my legs. If anyone were to draw my portrait now – or snapped a picture of me with my dad’s clunky, old-fashioned camera – the result would be called ‘Girl In Contemplation’, I bet. I wonder if the uncrowned prince of Brandaris and his minions ever stare at the sea with such a mixture of fear and reverence.
    My grandmother says that we were born of the sea. Our ancient, pre-Brandan legends teach us that the Frisian gods cast us upon the land when we started to grow legs instead of fins and tails. Our ancestors are the Nixen, who still call for us, imploring us to come home. But this is our home now – and we can never go back. Yet, we silently worship the sea out of respect for what it has given us, and is still giving us now. Life. Sustenance. Water to desalinate and fish to catch in our nets. And we have our own rituals to appease the merfolk. Once a year, during Oorol, we sing to them. The Baeles-Weards priests would ban our songs of old if they knew. When the Skylge Choir gets up on stage and performs the old hymns, the choir members’ voices carry these spellbinding melodies to acknowledge their existence, and to warn them off at the same time.
    “We stand as still as stone
    while the mermaid sings
    and her melody rings
    like a memory calling us home,” I sing, almost inaudibly.
    Of course, we don’t sing this in the Currents’ language. As per the Skelta’s instructions, the choir chants it in the old Skylger tongue, which is slowly disappearing. Anglian has replaced our own language. Grandma Antje, my mom’s mom, still know how to speak Skylgian fluently, though, and she taught me the language too. This means I understand the songs our choir sings every year. She also told me what my name, Enna, stands for. I was named after Grandpa Enno, whose name means fear or terror because it derives from an ancient word meaning ‘the edge of a sword’.
    The name may have fit my grandfather, but I am not nearly brave enough to carry it with pride. I don’t think I’ll live to see the day I strike terror into anyone’s heart.
    My eyes widen when I see dots on the horizon. The Skylger fleet – it’s back! Relief floods my body. As much as I love my big brother being part of our marines, I’m always afraid something will happen to him. No amount of exotic presents will make up for missing Sytse.
    I get up and make my way to the waterfront. Very soon, a multitude of Skylgers outnumbering the Currents has gathered around me on the quay, and I feel safe once more. I blend into the crowd, becoming invisible.
    Not to my brother, though. As soon as the largest ship docks, he makes his way off the gangway while fixing