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The sails whipped against difficult winds, an endless blue stretching out in all directions. There weren’t supposed to be sudden storms this time of year, but choppy waves and darkened clouds told a different story. A boat barely big enough for its crew of two cut through rising waters, resilient despite not being prepared for the weather.
“What’s going on?”
Grian glanced over his shoulder, tying one last knot with the kind of practiced precision that didn’t require a direct sightline. Scar stood at the helm, feet planted against the ever-increasing sting of rain. His arm was raised to shield his eyes, but Grian could see their widened nature, thick with expected confusion.
Not keen on shouting over the howling around them, he stood and started towards his companion. The railing was all that kept him upright during his approach. Ships much bigger than theirs would think this storm to be a mere inconvenience, but their poor vessel was being tossed around rather violently now.
“I don’t know,” Grian responded once he was close enough. “Whatever’s going on, it’s not normal.”
“I’ll keep us steady,” Scar said. “Tell me if you spot anything weird.”
Grian could do that much. Storms were inconvenient for them, something they tended to avoid in their travels when they could. Their boat was intended for island hopping, exploration through places barely marked on the maps, but never for long distance. During the rare occasions, such as this, where they needed to navigate through less than ideal weather patterns, every moment was vital.
There was, at the very least, no need for either of them to head beneath the deck. Ever since their stop off in Redport a few months ago — where they’d met up briefly with Grian’s old schoolmate, Mumbo — their pumps had been made automatic. Faster than any human possibly could, the water was pushed out of their system and into the sea. It was exceedingly useful as a crew with a limited amount of hands to go around.
Redport was known for handy designs such as that. Unbeknownst to Grian, who hadn’t remained stationary long enough to receive a piece of mail since he’d met Scar six years prior, Mumbo had become quite the hotshot inventor. It was strange to see the man he’d grown up with as anything more than the whiny, awkward teenager he’d befriended back then.
Now, though, he was the head of a corporation, supposedly one of the leading figures in the industrialization of the world. A minor redstone contraption like that below deck was hardly any trouble for him. Personally, Grian was never able to get his mind around such technology, but he and Mumbo couldn’t possibly be further from each other in terms of lifestyle similarities like that.
Whereas his old friend managed machinery, coined patents, and amassed fame, Grian lived by the seat of his pants. Since childhood, he craved adventure, adored history, only pulled his nose out of books long enough to watch the ships sail past. Scar had been the one to finally set him in motion, to put him in the middle of the action he’d spent his life dreaming about.
Originally, Scar had docked in his hometown, and Grian had approached him seeking passage to one of the nearby island nations. He’d just intended to get to a bigger city to look for work, nothing more. It was a storm much like the one they were in today that had thrown them off course, put them back by a couple of weeks.
Honestly, it shouldn’t have messed them up too terribly, but what Scar had failed to mention when he’d accepted Grian’s travel fare was that he was very very new to sailing. Navigating from port to port was easy enough for him, but when they were spun in circles a few dozen times, and thrown to a part of the ocean without any landmarks, he was useless.
Grian had saved them then — using his knowledge of the stars to get them back to land. On another day, with any other person, he might’ve held a grudge, might’ve resented them for the wasted time. But Scar was impossible to hate, and despite it all, Grian had fun.
Being on that ship, joking with someone both so similar and yet so different to him, someone who was also learning how to be independent for the first time, was addicting. To the point where, when they reached Grian’s end destination, they couldn’t bear to part. Scar had hung a second hammock in the tiny captain’s quarters, Grian purchased as many maps and journals as he could carry, and they set off the same day.
Since then, for the past six years, they’d been inseparable. Grian studied on the fly, and became something close to a cartographer. Scar honed his artistic abilities and sketched details from the unexplored world that no human eye would be able to witness otherwise. Together, they worked to document their travels endlessly. There were hundreds of unexplored islands along the coastline, each with treasures just waiting to be discovered.
Every time they anchored on a deserted beach, Scar would walk the perimeter with his cartographer, helping to steer him away as he typically failed to multitask moving and mapping at the same time. If they encountered an animal they had never seen before, or a plant with an odd mutation unique to that landscape, they’d set up camp, and Scar would draw it.
They’d discovered early on that compiling both things together — Grian’s maps and Scar’s art — created quite a hot commodity at most publishing companies in the more populated regions. It was unexpected coming from two amateurs, but having a monopoly on the world’s starter encyclopedia knowledge was certainly not something either of them would complain about.
In their time upon the sea, they’d gotten pretty good at what they did. Scar had a nose for rain, and Grian could read the clouds and wind patterns better than anyone. Simply put, if this had been a normal storm, they would’ve seen it coming miles away and found a small island upon which they could drop anchor.
Grian glanced towards Scar again. His companion’s grimace was deepening by the second. His grip on the helm was tight, knuckles white. A glistening sheen of rain coated every inch of his tanned skin, glowing in the flash of distant lightning. His clothes stuck to his skin, soaked through and useless to protect him from the elements by that point. Grian was certain he looked similarly disheveled by their circumstances.
He trained his gaze back on the turbulent sea. It heaved for breath around them, rising and falling relentlessly. The squall seemed to have no visible end, no point of sunlight on the horizon, no place to come up for air. Grian searched all the same, looking for anything that might help them.
They hit a particularly strong wave, sweeping the deck with water. Grian’s grip on the railing was the only thing that kept him on board.
“Grian, I could really use some help right about now,” Scar shouted. “Please!”
Grian turned, seeing how his friend was struggling to stay put with the new slippery nature of the deck and the strength of the wind. He cursed, diving for the drawer they kept for just such an instance. Inside, he found an emergency rope. Careful not to release his own footholds too soon, he pushed off and reached Scar. Tying his friend to the helm was something they’d practiced in case of emergencies, but very rarely actually had to do.
As soon as that was complete, Grian returned to the railing. He tied a bit of spare rope around his wrist to keep himself there, but it wouldn’t do much against a strong enough wave. They were sitting ducks for as long as they remained in the middle of the ocean in their tiny vessel.
Grian’s eyes landed on a single spot on the horizon. They widened, and he drew in a sharp breath. It was small, barely more than a flash, but he could’ve sworn he caught sight of something different from just water, like the edge of a rock.
That was risky. A gathering of rocks was not equivalent to land. They could be disconnected from a bigger grouping, difficult to navigate through, and in the midst of a storm, things like that had the potential to be fatal. If he directed Scar towards them, they could end up with a hole in their hull and no way to repair it, or worse.
Still, the flash he’d seen had been large, dark, and green. While it could’ve been kelp, moss, or any variety of plant life clinging on, Grian’s gut insisted it was grass. He was never one to deny his instincts.
“Scar, starboard side,” Grian screamed. “Land Ho!”
Immediately, the ship lurched. He heard an intense whirring as Scar spun the wheel. Their vessel reacted in time, groaning as it went against the current. Waves crashed more intensely against the rails, stealing Grian’s sight and getting salt in his throat. He was of no use to his companion as he blinked through consistent blurring. Scar would be on his own until he was able to clear his vision.
“Hold on, G!” Scar sounded hoarse, probably choking on an equal amount of saltwater. Grian wished he could look over at him, but there were so many waves splashing into his eyes that his whole face burned. “I’m running us onto a sandbank!”
A sandbank.
If Grian’s throat didn’t ache, then he might’ve responded with a whooping cheer. A sandbank meant shallows, and almost every time, shallows meant land! He hadn’t been wrong, hadn’t directed them into danger, hadn’t destroyed their chances!
The ship jerked as its keel scraped against the sand, digging them in more securely than their puny anchor could. It’d take an irritating amount of effort to get out later, but anything was better than being tossed about without a semblance of control.
They came to a complete stop, and immediately Grian heard the wood of their deck creaking as Scar moved. He jumped to it as well, scrambling to untie himself. His friend finished first, and Grian waited to feel Scar’s hands pulling at the rope at his wrist before he backed off. His eyes needed his attention if he was hoping to run anywhere.
Though the fabric of his shirt was ruined by rain, he still used it to clear his sight as best as possible. It wasn’t doing much, though, besides frustrating him further. Every other aspect of sailing he’d gotten used to, but the constant spray of the ocean was the one feature that always got him. He rubbed hard enough to potentially scratch his irises, unwise but fueled by prolonged irritation.
His wrist was freed, and then he felt two palms cupping his cheeks. Grian tensed, stopping his struggling. Body heat was the only warmth capable of cutting through the stinging wind. Softly, barely audible over the rushing of the ocean, Scar said, “Calm down. Stay still.”
His friend’s thumbs brushed his eyelids softly, applying only the baseline amount of pressure. Grian did not move, every point of contact sending a reverberating electric shock through his body. The saltwater’s pain fell by the wayside, becoming rather embarrassingly background in comparison to the flush of his cheeks.
“Look at me, G,” Scar hummed. Grian’s eyes opened, compelled to obey. There was never a world in which he did not listen to Scar above all else. A lovely face greeted him, wearing a brilliant smile and distracting from anything else the universe could possibly send Grian’s way. “Feel better? Ready to run?”
“I could’ve run in blind too,” Grian replied, throat squeezing shut. “Not like that needs much effort.”
Scar laughed, shaking his head like he didn’t believe him, and then he was backing away.
Immediately, Grian missed the closeness. He wanted to linger there, together, for several moments longer, and the disappointment at being robbed of that was palpable. But he was good at adjusting these days, good at brushing off the things he wanted, good at focusing on the moment.
Grian snapped back to the present, as he’d done so many times before, and watched Scar hop the railing of the boat. Their’s wasn’t a tall ship, especially not when it was practically run ashore, but if his companion was willing to jump without using the ladder, that must’ve meant there was more than enough ground to stand on. To Grian’s absolute pleasure, as soon as he joined his friend, he realized they’d found quite a cute little island.
It wasn’t large, but it was enough. There was a cliffside, and a radius worth mapping once the rain passed enough to grab some parchment. He stood there in the shallows, basking in its presence while foam lapped at their ankles angrily — but it was hardly a bother while they were already soaked to the bone.
Scar led them onto land. The wind and rain had died down a little bit, enough that neither was particularly running for cover, but they did rejoice at the sight of a cave in the cliffside. It was far enough inland that Grian was confident high tide wouldn’t flood them while they slept, and big enough that they could get a fire going once they located some dry wood.
There were a couple of trees nearby with enough leaves to have most of the ground beneath them be totally untouched by the weather, so they got lucky there. In gratitude, Scar told those trees that he’d be back to sketch them later, and then they returned to the cave.
Grian was used to camping out impromptu. It was part of the deal, and over the years, he’d also learned to be comfortable with his traveling partner. There were no secrets between them — at least of this particular variety. If they’d gotten rained on, they didn’t have much of a choice on the matter. Getting sick was the alternative, and both of them were familiar with how awful that could be with their lifestyle.
So, neither was terribly bothered when they stripped down to their shorts immediately after starting the fire. They needed to dry off, and remaining in wet clothes was not the way to do that. While the storm raged outside the cave, the two of them huddled by the warmth of their fire and waited for things to calm down.
“Are you sure the journals are fine, G?” Scar leaned against the rock wall, running his hands through his hair in a meager attempt to untangle it. “Shouldn’t we go and get them anyway? I don’t know if I trust all this technology stuff…”
“If Mumbo said the chest he gifted us was waterproof, then it’s waterproof,” Grian sighed, tired of this argument. When they’d first started their travels, rushing to collect all their journals to get them away from the worst of the ocean’s scorn was a frequent occurrence for them. A business based on paper wasn’t always reliable for sailors. “We’ve sailed through rough waters enough to prove that’s true.”
“Alright, yeah, fine,” Scar grumbled. He crossed his arms over his chest, and Grian’s gaze only lingered a little bit on the swell of his pectoral muscles and the strength in his biceps. “But this storm’s really bad. Are you sure—“
“Yes, Scar,” Grian gritted out. “You’re worrying yourself over nothing. Let’s just try to get some sleep. In the morning, we can go check and I’ll show you that it’s fine.”
Scar grumbled a little, but relented. He and Grian both laid themselves down on opposite sides of the fire. They listened to the embers’ crackling lullaby, until rest finally overtook them there upon that rocky floor.
Unfortunately for him, Grian slept fitfully. His dreams were odd, starting off normal and slowly deteriorating. He found himself on a beach — a small thing, barely larger than a couple of rocks and a tree — with a map in his hands. It was fully drawn already, with his signature in the corner, like he’d just finished his usual job.
All that was normal, routine. He dreamt of cartography more often than not these days. What was strange was the level of alarm that filtered through him once his consciousness realized Scar was not at his side.
And then, there was the song.
Faint, hardly even audible, but definitely present, Grian heard someone singing. It was a haunting sound, slow and looping. There were words, but the language in which they were spoken was garbled, lost in the melody. For some reason, he felt as though it wasn’t meant for his ears. He felt like it had picked someone else.
Grian’s worry had only grown. Where was Scar? Could he hear this song? Did he know what was being said? Had it picked him? Why did the thought of that make him feel such intrinsic dread?
Grian had bolted upright at that point, breathing heavily with a brow drenched in sweat. His first instinct had been to turn to the side, to grasp for Scar — the man who was always within arm’s reach, whether they be in their hammocks or beside a campfire. He found an empty floor instead. Worse than that, with the fading of the fire, the spot where Scar had been sleeping had gone cold.
Unnerved by both his dream and this sudden loss of comfort, he stumbled to his feet, stalking out of the cave. Scar’s clothes were gone too, and Grian stopped only to shrug his own on as well. The rain had stopped, leaving only a thick fog in its wake. Grian was careful with each step, not sure if there’d be a hole, or any thorny bushes just out of sight.
He startled when his feet landed in wet sand, and he saw the silhouette of a figure lingering beyond the veil. They seemed to be sitting upon a collection of rocks, but were too shrouded in shadow to be truly visible. Hesitantly, Grian called, “Scar?”
The figure didn’t move.
Somehow, that didn’t scare him. Instead, it only brought further concern. Anxiety nipped at his heels, driving the cartographer forward. He needed to find Scar, needed to make sure that the terror of his dream didn’t come to pass, needed to reach this figure.
Finally, as he climbed the first of those rocks along the shore, Scar came into view. His back was to Grian, eyes trained out on the sea. There was a journal in his lap and a piece of charcoal in his hand.
Immediately, irritation replaced Grian’s concern. “So,” he started, crossing his arms. “You just couldn’t wait to see if I was right?”
Whatever he’d expected Scar’s reaction to be — jumping in fear, shrieking in that high-pitched, hilarious way he always did — it wasn’t what he got.
Rather than react, Scar simply kept staring straight ahead, transfixed. Grian frowned, climbing a bit higher and waving in front of his face.
“Scar? You in there?”
Scar muttered something under his breath. From this close, Grian could see the glaze over his eyes, and the vague direction in which his gaze was set. Off in the distance, as far as the fog would allow him to see, there was only open ocean.
Perhaps he was dreaming? Maybe he’d sleepwalked into the ship, retrieved his drawing supplies, found a nice place to sit, and… Well, no. That was too absurd to entertain for even a moment. What was the reason he was awake and in such a state, then?
Confused, and a bit perplexed, Grian glanced down at the open journal. Scar had obviously sketched something. It was rough from the blur of the charcoal dust, but he thought he could make out the shape of a fish tail. Scar’s hand was covering the upper half, though, so the type of creature was lost to him.
Overtaken by curiosity, he couldn’t help but reach up and gently nudge at Scar’s wrist. He tried with great caution to move him out of the way just enough to steal a little look.
However, the touch seemed to be too much for Scar. He jerked suddenly, screeching in that usual way and scrambling back so hastily that he almost threw himself off the rocks. Were Grian not so quick to grab the other’s wrist, Scar might’ve seriously hurt himself.
“Careful,” Grian hissed, yanking him up with one sharp tug, and pulling a little too hard. Scar fell forward, forcing his companion to catch him by the shoulders. His mouth was agape and he was staring at Grian like he’d seen a ghost. “What? What is it?”
“Grian?” Scar’s voice sounded far away, rough. His gaze darted to the water, and then back again. “But I thought I saw you… How did you–?”
Grian frowned. “Finish your sentences, buddy. How did I–?”
“Get here,” Scar added. Extending a hand to point to the ocean. “You were… and now…”
“You’re not making any sense, Scar,” the cartographer said. He raised a hand to press against the other’s forehead. His temperature felt fine, so it likely wasn’t a fever. “I was never in the water. I was always back in the cave, asleep.”
“What?” Scar shook his head, confusion settling permanently over his features. His breaths started to come faster. “What’s going on?”
Grian watched him, not entirely sure what to do. Scar’s next instinct was to grab for his journal, which was still in his lap. He stared down at the page that must’ve once depicted whatever vision the illustrator had seen in the blue beyond. Now though, with the shuffling of hands all over the pages, the charcoal lines had been completely blurred.
“No, no, no,” Scar said, growing visibly more and more distressed. “It was here! I saw you, and you were singing, and I wanted to draw, and it should be here–!”
“Scar,” Grian cut in. Though he was entirely lost, and more than a little concerned, the last thing he was going to do was sit by and watch his friend spiral. “It was just a dream. You’re sleepwalking right now.”
“What?” Scar frowned, but his breathing slowed, which was a good sign. “I am?”
“Yes, totally,” Grian lied. “C’mon, man. Come back to bed.”
“But the singing… and the person?”
“Dreams,” Grian insisted. He gently removed Scar’s journal from his lap, and took one of his hands. With some quiet coaxing, he was able to get the man to his feet, starting them both off the rocks. “Just dreams. I’ll get the fire going again, and it’ll be so comfortable. Come with me.”
“Okay,” Scar whispered, following more willingly now. They made it to the bottom of the rocks, only a short stroll back to the cave. His eyelids had begun to droop, and he swayed more in Grian’s direction. “Thanks, G. Let’s sleep.”
Grian spared only a singular glance over his shoulder, but the fog was too thick. He listened to the rolling waves, the gentle roar of the sea that had surrounded him for most of his life. He did not hear a song, did not hear a supernatural call, did not see anyone beyond the two of them.
Even still, his nerves didn’t ease, and he didn’t sleep a wink more the rest of the evening.
Morning came in the form of chirping birds and a sunrise over a bright horizon, waking Scar. He had no memory of his actions in the middle of the night. When filled in, he simply reinstated what the logical side of Grian’s brain thought to be true too – Scar was tired, loopy from the strain of the day, nothing more.
Except, the remainder of Grian’s thoughts screamed that Scar had never ever acted like that before. Not after they’d spent a full day sailing through rocky ravines to escape pirates, not after they’d talked their way out of the gallows when a couple of knights tried to falsely accuse them of a crime, not after they’d experienced any number of high-stress situations.
And it all came back to that strange song he’d heard in his dreams. Scar had muttered something about someone singing, but Grian had been too worried to press him for further details. Now, his friend had no memory of such a thing. It just didn’t sit right with him.
Despite his own anxiety, he agreed to proceed on with their day as though nothing was wrong. Scar walked the perimeter of the island with him while he drew a rough map. It was small enough that it only took up about two hours of his day to get a more finalized version done. He noted the major landmarks as well, though there were very few.
Scar did indeed go back to the trees that he’d stolen wood from the night prior, drawing lovely pictures of them. They weren’t special, certainly a species the two of them had seen before, but it was a sweet gesture all the same.
After traveling together for years with hardly any of that period spent apart, it was easy to fall into a routine of monotony. Sometimes, during moments like these, in which Scar thought it necessary to repay perceived kind deeds done to him by plants, Grian allowed himself to take a step back.
With that new angle, he was able to view his companion from an entirely unique lens.
He could see the reality of the present – the man he’d fallen in love with, being his regular, ridiculous self, and the life they’d built together. He could see his future – the man he’d sail with until the tides swallowed them, should that be in the cards for them. He could see the past – the man who’d captured his heart and remained none the wiser for six years.
It was during these seconds in which he was genuinely aware of his racing pulse, which had become consistent background noise lately, that Grian considered doing things he definitely shouldn’t. He considered speaking up, blurting out affections, begging for them to be reciprocated. He considered revealing the only thing that remained a secret between them.
“You’re unbelievable,” Grian huffed instead as Scar closed his journal. He watched his companion shake the tree’s leaf as though it were a hand, and then shuffle down the sand dune towards their boat. “You’re doing the majority of the pushing today since you’re the reason we’re in this mess. I hope you realize that.”
“What?” Scar whined, “But Grian! I saved us both with that parking job last night!”
“Yes, I’ll feel so grateful once you’ve unburied our hull and gotten us floating again,” Grian hummed, kicking up sand as he walked in time with his friend. “You couldn’t have just dropped anchor like a normal person?”
Though he talked a big game, once they’d reached their ship, Grian pushed equally as hard as Scar to get it dislodged from the sandbank. Neither of them were truly petty enough to delay their departure. Besides, Grian wanted to get away from the weird island with its weird fog and weird storms and weird songs as fast as possible.
It didn’t actually take ages to get going, with the heightened water of the rising tide to their advantage and two of them working together. Once it was freed, Scar hoisted himself up, pulling Grian behind him. They took off, tropical blue waters looking far nicer under clear skies.
The day went on fairly normally. Even with the paranoia eating away at him, Grian was able to force himself to remain level-headed long enough to get the sails back in order and tighten the ropes he’d loosened to keep stress off their boat during the storm.
It was a pleasant afternoon for sailing, all things considered. The wind drove them consistently north, further into the unexplored territory that they so adored. If these waters adhered to the patterns of the hundreds of scattered islands before, then the next sighting of land wouldn’t be far off.
With any luck, the newest island they discovered would be larger, sporting a variety of interesting flora and fauna. Should that be the case, Scar and Grian could dock for several days, or possibly weeks while they fulfilled their own specific niches. Mapping would take longer with more surface area and landmarking to be done, and Scar’s journals would overflow with lovely pictures of the local wildlife.
Those kinds of places were always his favorites. For as much as he adored life on the boat, it was beyond enjoyable to rough it in the tropics for a while. And, if they were watched over by a being with any amount of mercy, there could be enough natural resources to fuel their journey onwards by a few more weeks. Collecting water and food was, after all, something they had to remember to do.
Eventually, though, it became evident that their journey would at least carry on into the night. Scar opted to take the first watch at the helm, as he’d slept better than Grian. Unable to argue with that, the latter had relented. Although, as soon as he was in their shared cabin, his earlier worries returned.
For the life of him, he couldn’t get the concept of that damning song out of his mind. It looped in there, eating away at his resolve, until all hope for sleep was futile. Grian spent hours tossing and turning within his hammock. Nothing could ease his gut feeling that something was wrong.
It was that stirring pain in his abdomen that finally drove him out of the hammock and up onto the deck again. The waters were still calm, the air still devoid of the smell of ozone, and the breeze brushed against his face at regular intervals. He took a deep breath to calm himself, and then climbed up the small set of steps to the helm.
Scar was up there, a tired expression on his face and his gaze trained expectedly forward. It was probably about time for them to switch shifts, even if Grian hadn’t gotten the most sleep recently.
“Here, man,” Grian said, clearing his throat. “Let me take over.”
Scar did not respond.
Grian frowned. He stepped over and waved a hand in front of his friend’s face. His blood ran cold as that too yielded no results. It was just like the last night, just like the time he’d found Scar out on the rocks!
“Scar,” he called. “Scar, snap out of it!”
Expectedly, he got nothing. Remembering how only touch had seemed to reach his friend the evening prior, Grian took him by his shoulders and shook him. He was not as lucky now. Scar’s dazed look was unchanging, solidly set forward.
Breathing picking up, genuine panic setting in, Grian whirled around, searching for whatever view on the horizon held his companion’s attention so tightly. His eyes widened at the sight of a wall of fog approaching them, stretching out endlessly along the horizon.
“No,” Grian whispered. “No, please. Scar, wake up!”
Despite the years spent aboard their ship, each learning alongside one another, Scar was always better at steering them through tricky areas. With Grian simultaneously acting as a lookout for unexpected obstacles, they could get through most limited-visibility situations. But now — with one of them stuck in a trance and the other rapidly descending into a panic — there wasn’t a soul around capable of safely navigating.
Having no other options, they sailed directly into the fog. Grian gripped onto Scar harder, fear seizing him. Something was wrong, more so than it ever had been before. The fog wasn’t natural, the storm the night prior wasn’t natural, Scar’s behavior wasn’t natural, and his dreams hadn’t been natural either.
He thought he caught sight of a rock in the distance, some sort of dark figure peering through the cover. Where there was one outcropping, there were bound to be more. Shakily, Grian left his companion long enough to drop the anchor. He didn’t wait to feel the telltale jerk of the ship to indicate it had brought them to a stop though, simply rushing back to Scar the second he was done.
Then, it started.
Drifting like a breeze, cresting like the tides, encompassing like the fog, something gentle and melodic rose around the ship.
The song.
It sounded exactly how it had been in his dream. He heard a hum that grew in volume, echoing as though they were trapped within the walls of a cave, and overlapping with a subtle hiss. It remained wordless in a twisted sort of way, but Grian could tell that something was speaking in time with the harmony. The details were simply muffled, as if they weren’t meant for his ears.
Though Grian couldn’t understand what was happening, he wasn’t able to ignore the creeping feeling of being watched. They were observed from all angles by eyes beyond the veil that couldn’t quite be seen, but could absolutely be sensed. The sound of the song intensified, snaking its way up the sides of the hull and encircling the two by the helm in a series of musing trills.
He gripped onto Scar so tightly that when his friend moved, yanking suddenly to the left, Grian nearly toppled over. Surprised by the break from his dazed state, the cartographer glanced up at his friend. Scar’s expression had changed slightly, now sporting a small smile. He lifted one foot, and took a step away from the helm. Then, another.
“Scar?” Grian frowned, tugging him back in his direction. He was hard to move, almost like there was another force cancelling out the cartographer’s strength. “Scar, where are you going?”
Scar couldn’t hear him. The song was growing louder, blocking out most other noises altogether. Grian was only able to pull against whatever was driving his friend closer to the edge of the boat. To no avail, of course. He wasn’t completely sure that he was slowing the guy down at all. Certainly, when he lost his grip and stumbled back a few steps, he noticed Scar moving at the same lethargic pace. It was as if Grian wasn’t even there.
Frustrated, confused, and terrified, the cartographer ran to the railing, placing himself between Scar and the ocean. He practically bent in half over the metal bar to spot the source of the song, to locate whatever had stolen Scar’s mind from him.
Grian wasn’t expecting to find it so immediately.
Hesitating on the edge of the fog, barely visible through the cover of darkness, was a person. Or at least, something vaguely shaped like a person.
Beady, yellow eyes glinted against the light of the ship’s lanterns. Coarse, inky hair flowed out around a gaunt head. A mouth formed around syllables that were jumbled to his human ears, and the lyrics were punctuated by rows of razor sharp teeth behind unnaturally red lips.
As otherworldly, demonic, bone-chilling as the sight was, there wasn’t a doubt in Grian’s mind that it was completely real. That thing was completely real. And it was calling to Scar, dragging him step by miserable step closer to the edge.
It didn’t take a genius to know what would happen next — a man urged overboard by something beyond human comprehension, plunged into the murky depths of an unexplored sea. Tales were told of such things, turned into lessons for the cowards thinking themselves ready for adventure before they truly were. Those stories were whispered in the corner of shady taverns, detailing taunting songs, beautiful maidens, drowning crews, bloody deaths below the ocean’s surface.
Grian knew what creature waited in the waters for them now.
This was a siren.
“Scar,” Grian whispered. Then, he turned around, shouting louder, “Scar, stop walking!”
Scar didn’t hear him, stuck in the siren’s song. He was but a few steps away from where Grian blocked the edge. If he didn’t snap out of it soon, he’d become the monster’s next meal. Then, its sights would be set on the remaining member of the crew.
The cartographer racked his brain, searching for anything he might know about a way to break the siren’s call. Grian’s thoughts were scrambled, though, and his memory of those old folktales were blurry at best. They weren’t ever something he’d considered important, so why remember them? How was he supposed to know they’d be the difference between life or death?
He didn’t have time to stall any longer. Each second that passed was another second Scar trudged closer to his end. That was enough to shock him out of his terror and into action. Without hesitating for another moment, Grian pushed off the railing, slamming the whole of his body weight into his friend. It was too strong of a blow for the magic to counteract, and Scar was shoved to the ground.
His back hit the deck, breath audibly punching out of him, and his death was delayed for several more seconds. Grian scrambled off him and up to the helm, where the emergency ropes were still attached from the previous evening’s storm. He worked with practiced hands to untie one end from the solid wood. As soon as he had hold of the other and the right amount of slack, Grian sprinted to his friend again.
Scar had gotten up in that time, restarting his final trek towards the underworld. Grian was barely able to catch his wrists before he was out of range. The cartographer planted his feet, straining against the rope to urge it as far as it would go. He looped it around Scar’s arms and pulled it taut. Grian fastened the sturdiest knot he could imagine, one he knew even Scar’s nimble hands would struggle to undo, and released to test its worth.
Scar yanked against it, his ghostly steps still going, but he was forced to stop. The material of the rope dug visibly into his skin, and yet, it held. He wouldn’t be able to bite at the ropes or pull at them strategically either, given they were tied behind his back. It was a brief success. Grian didn’t waste a moment to celebrate, though. He’d bought some time, and now he was able to take a step back and deliberate.
Sirens — creatures with beautiful voices that lured sailors to their deaths. What did he know about overcoming them?
Grian could recall a bit of one story about a crew surviving through the length of a song by putting beeswax in their ears. Sirens were, by definition, fueled by the power of their voices. They didn’t keep wax on board, but blocking Scar’s ears wasn’t a horrible idea.
He frantically went through a mental checklist of all the items they had that might work as well as beeswax. Grian remembered they had furs leftover from a trip to a kingdom on the mainland known for their cold winters. If he could duck into their cabin, he could use them to his advantage.
It was almost a good plan. Grian almost made a break for it. He almost missed the sight of those glinting yellow eyes getting ever so slightly closer while his back was turned.
The cartographer froze, gaze meeting that of the creature hunting his friend. Suddenly, the idea of leaving Scar alone on deck while he couldn’t defend himself sounded terrible. A song was, after all, not the only thing capable of dragging him down to the depths. Those claws were likely not just for show.
Out of immediate options, Grian resigned himself to try the most pathetic version of his original plan. He pressed his palms against Scar’s ears, willing it to be enough for any clarity to return to him. Of all the things he might’ve expected to happen, the song growing worse was not part of that.
If it had been disorienting before, it was like mismatched screaming now. Grian’s mind bent against its force, begging him to run, hide, get away from it. This wasn’t a song meant for him — it existed to lure only one unlucky sailor overboard, and he was not that man.
Grian did, however, love that man.
He planted his feet, and resisted the fear in his veins, because he loved this man. He stayed right at his side, even as death called for a sacrifice, because he loved this man. He kept his gaze focused on that distant face, despite how painful the distance truly was, because he loved this man. Grian loved Scar, and he’d be damned if he let some creature from the sea drive them apart.
They’d endured years together on the open ocean, years together on a claustrophobically small boat, years together journeying through conditions that would’ve drained lesser men, and they’d made it through because they had each other.
“Grian…”
Grian’s eyes widened, heart shooting up into his throat as his name came through familiar lips. “Scar? Scar, can you hear me?”
His own words were drowned out by the song, but Grian hadn’t hallucinated the response. He’d seen his name form, heard it clear as day. There wasn’t a problem with the volume of his friend’s voice at all, so why was his cancelled out? Was it part of the magic? Did the siren benefit from keeping Grian specifically from being heard?
“Grian,” Scar repeated — and again, Grian caught it easily. Compared to the shrieking in his skull, his friend’s voice was like the sweetest honey. He could listen to it for hours, and never grow bored. “Grian, I’m trying to… get to you…”
“Get to me? Scar, I’m right here,” Grian said, brows furrowing as his statement was stolen by the waves and the screams. He was unbelievably out of his depth with this horrible monster.
What was happening? What was he missing – because he had to be missing something, right? This was too different from the tales, too unintelligible, too unbeatable. What detail about sirens was he overlooking?
They were sea creatures that hunted sailors through mysterious songs. He knew that already, knew that ear plugs were theoretically the answer to that dilemma, but he couldn’t do that, so what else was there?
Maybe the difference wasn’t in the monster itself, but rather its song. That seemed to be the biggest change from the stories, after all. Wasn’t it supposed to be irresistibly beautiful? This screeching noise wasn’t pleasant in the slightest. He didn’t understand what Scar could possibly be hearing that might drive him to want to jump overboard.
Quite obviously, whatever was filtering through to his companion was not the chaos that existed around them in reality. If his memory of the folklore surrounding sirens was correct, then the songs were allegedly meant to be impersonations of the sailor’s lover.
His gaze followed that of the dazed man, finding that Scar’s eyes were locked firmly on the siren in the waters below. Grian turned around again. His companion was still straining against the rope to get closer, almost desperate.
“Grian…”
Grian stared at Scar. An inkling of understanding crept up his spine. That half-lidded, entranced expression made more sense. It was unnatural in this context, but giving it the slightest bit more thought, Grian realized he had seen it before on a couple of occasions.
Scar had worn it when they’d curled up next to each other on a cold winter’s evening to preserve body heat. He’d worn it when Grian had laughed so hard that he’d spit out his drink after some stupid joke was told. He’d worn it when Grian had first admitted that he didn’t want to leave him all those years ago, when they’d set sail together and never looked back.
It was an expression Scar saved just for him.
And now, while trapped in an enchantment of a being said to take the form of whomever was dearest to their prey, Scar was wearing that exact same expression.
Grian’s heart squeezed behind his ribs, tighter than ever before.
“Oh,” he whispered. “Oh, Scar.”
His hands drifted away down to cup his cheeks. A lump formed in his throat, a fire shooting through his veins.
If he was correct, and Scar was indeed hearing him in this song, then Grian knew what had to be done to break him out of this trance. It wasn’t certain, wasn’t something he could test, wasn’t even mentioned in any of the assorted tales, but he had found a new hope in this provided chance.
He had a gut feeling, and his instincts were never wrong.
Grian looped his arms around the back of Scar’s neck and pulled him down, crashing their lips together. He kissed him hard, not letting a single ounce of space remain between them within which the magic might hide. Grian kissed Scar like the world was ending, like they were about to be swallowed up by the ocean’s current.
Scar’s lips were chapped and his body was stiff, closer to a statue than a human being. Grian channeled all he had into their connection, cut open his heart and poured even the slightest suggestion of adoration out for the world to see. The siren’s song howled around them, but he couldn’t begin to acknowledge it when he had Scar in his arms.
There wasn’t another man in the world he’d ever want to kiss as much as Scar. There wasn’t another man in the world he would sacrifice anything to save like he would for Scar. There wasn’t another man in the world he loved the way he did Scar, and he sent all of that through his actions. No siren song or damning spell was going to ruin this so long as his heart was still beating.
Grian felt the exact second something shifted between them.
Scar tensed just the smallest amount, as if becoming more aware of the situation. There was a moment of nothingness, where the other was neither statuesque nor reciprocating.
He’s coming back, Grian’s mind chimed. He’s coming back!
Then, a sudden gasp separated their lips for a moment.
“Grian,” Scar said, breathy and confused. “What are you—“
Grian shut him up by yanking him impossibly closer and swallowing his words. His heart soared. Scar made a noise of surprise, tensing more. Finally, after an eternity of waiting and wanting and pleading, he melted into it.
Scar kissed back with a fury, keeping up with the onslaught of Grian’s lips like their thoughts were mirrored. If kissing Scar had been satisfying before, it was dizzyingly perfect now. The other man moved against him as though it was what he’d been born to do. Grian felt each crumb of affection returned to him a thousandfold, more than he could’ve ever possibly anticipated.
Unfortunately for them, it seemed like the siren wasn’t planning on giving up so easily.
A loud thud and an unexpected rocking in the boat jarred them both into reality. They parted, and Grian saw Scar’s eyes catch on something over his shoulder. He whirled around, fear rocketing through him at the sight of the monster pulling itself over the railing of the boat.
In the light of the lantern, those yellow eyes glowed, and ashen skin glinted with scales as a massive tail slammed against the deck. Its haunting song had stopped, replaced by a reverberating growl, punctuated with the bearing of sharp teeth. From where it hung on the metal bar of the railing, it was mere feet away from them.
“Man, y’know,” Scar said, voice shaking. “From this close up, it really doesn’t look like you at all.”
“I’m offended by the implication that it did from a distance,” Grian bit back, stepping in front of his companion. He unsheathed the knife from his belt, watching as the creature slithered further onto their ship. “Stay alert. The worst isn’t over yet.”
The siren hissed as it scraped one claw along the ground and pulled itself forward, stalking nearer. There was a certainty to its gaze that distinguished this beast as a predator, determined to kill. Dried blood speckled its face and anger permeated the air around its form. Its movements were awkward and slow, half its body acting as deadweight outside of the water, but it did not seem discouraged.
Grian refused to underestimate a creature from the depths’ ability to hunt on the surface. Anything with enough confidence to come aboard without hesitating was something that had done so before. There was no telling how many sailors it had killed prior to them, how many explorers had been excited to venture into unmapped territory, only to die to this beast’s claws.
The two of them watched as his shoulders raised, and its body ducked lower. The growling grew more intense. It was preparing to pounce. Anyone with half a brain could recognize as much.
“Grian,” Scar whispered behind him. “When it jumps, dodge out of the way.”
“What?” Grian frowned, though his eyes did not leave the monster. “But you’re tied up! You can’t fight back.”
“It’s the only way,” Scar insisted. “The thing’s too big for us to take like this. Trust me, I’ll be fine.”
Grian tightened his jaw, highly uncomfortable with the idea. However, he could propose no alternative. The siren was huge, and was going to lunge whether they had a plan or not. It could easily knock them both down in one fell swoop. They weren’t counteracting a song anymore — this part of the battle was all up to physical ability. Grian and Scar had gotten into fights before, but drunken tavern brawls were not the same as fending off man-eating monsters.
It dipped the slightest bit lower, and then shot forward.
Grian didn’t have a second to think. He rolled quickly to the right, feeling the brush of fins over the top of his head, but he did not get crushed by that large weight. With the ropes still holding him in place, Scar was not as lucky.
“Grian!”
Grian scrambled to his feet, taking stock of the situation. Scar was pinned beneath the weight of the siren, its teeth gnashing for his neck and claws embedded in the deck. All that held his companion from certain death was the leg he’d shoved between them, straining to keep the beast away. It wouldn’t hold for long, though. Grian had to act.
He readjusted his hold on the knife and dove back into the fray.
His blade plunged into the creature’s scaly abdomen, earning a sickening shriek of pain. The siren reared up, possibly to change targets, but Grian was faster. He looped his arms around its neck and squeezed. It made a choked out noise of frustration, and dislodged its terrifying claws from the deck. When the first one ripped at his skin, he almost let go.
Luckily, he heard Scar call his name, and it reinforced a bit of strength. Suffocation probably wasn’t going to work on a thing with gills, but it kept those killer teeth out of range of Scar, and that was all he needed. Despite the pain, and the warmth of blood dripping from new wounds, he would not let go.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his companion get to his feet and step through his own arms to put them in front of him again. With a higher range of motion, he was able to scramble forward. Those claws lashed out at him, but they were distracted and uncoordinated. Scar was able to dodge under a blow quick enough to grab the handle of the knife that was still embedded in its back.
He twisted and yanked it out, wincing at the painful cry that emerged from its throat. Scar jammed his shoulder into the siren’s torso, using the momentum to shove the blade as deep into its stomach as he could get it. Grian tightened his grip to prevent the creature from fully retaliating.
“It’s not enough,” Scar shouted over its unending wails of pain. “The knife is just making it angry. We need to hit somewhere vital!”
“Toss it to me,” Grian replied, although shortly after, the beast returned its attention to him. He gritted his teeth as a sharp claw dug into his arm, pulling hard in an effort to get him off.
Scar, noticing his predicament, stabbed the siren three more times in rapid succession. It did the trick, and the claws switched to grabbing towards him again.
Grian released a shaky breath of relief, though agony roared hot through his veins. He was able to clear his blurring vision enough to see when Scar tossed the blade his way. Grian almost missed it, almost ruined their chances, almost fumbled at the most important moment, but his fingers caught the hilt, and he was stabbing through bone to reach the siren’s heart before he could really process it.
Its cry was cut off by a sickening gurgle as blood bubbled up and out of its mouth. Grian did not relent, digging in deeper. He felt its massive body convulse under his grip, limbs losing energy as they grasped out at nothing.
Then, it went still. Grian was holding onto the beast when it went limp and toppled over. He grunted as he landed hard against its back, arms trapped uncomfortably underneath. Thankfully, though, Scar was at his side in an instant.
While it was difficult to maneuver through the ropes, his companion managed to lift the dead siren up long enough for Grian to retrieve his knife and roll aside. The second he was out of range, Scar let it fall, and the whole boat shivered from the force.
Its body would undoubtedly require two sets of hands to throw overboard. That would be for a later date, though. They had more pressing matters to attend to.
Scar helped Grian to his feet, careful to avoid putting strain on the arm that had sustained the majority of the damage. As soon as he was up, there was a beat where nothing passed between them. They stared at each other, the air quiet and the fog dispersing.
Grian’s gaze dipped down to the other’s lips, heat pooling in his gut. He knew what those felt like now, knew what it was like to have Scar against him, knew what it was like to want and be wanted in return. And if the look in Scar’s eyes at that moment meant anything, then he was certainly wanted again.
“Grian,” Scar started, low and quiet. “Cut me loose, please. There’s something I’ve been waiting a long time to do.”
Grian swallowed and nodded. The blade, soaked in lifeblood, sawed against rope. Slowly, after a minute of work, he watched as it snapped and fell at their feet. He was given no other warning.
All at once, Grian was crowded against the helm, lips on his in an immediate frenzy. He gasped, but the sound was stolen from him, devoured by the desperation evident in Scar’s movements. Hands roamed his body, soaking in the feel of him. Grian kissed back, though the electricity of his touch and the other’s ferocity made his mind spin.
Scar tasted like sea salt and raging storms, like the last moments of a lightning bolt before it struck the ground, like the endless momentum of a tidal wave right as it reached its crest. Grian was happy to let himself be washed away, swept up in the wind of the man he loved more than anything.
They separated in small bursts simply to gasp for air and start once more. Grian never wanted it to end, never wanted to stop feeling the sparks of Scar against him. His hands tangled in Grian’s hair, while he cupped the other man’s face. Nothing had ever felt more right. It overshadowed the pain, the anguish, the fear of the moments before with unbelievable bliss.
“Grian,” Scar said, hovering over the other man’s lips. “How long?”
“Years,” Grian replied, though he was too dizzy to really speak clearly. “And you?”
“The same,” Scar huffed. Grian opened his eyes just enough to see green irises and pupils blown wide. A pretty pink blush had made a mess of his best friend, staining him the loveliest shade. “I didn’t think it would happen this way.”
“I didn’t think it would happen at all.” Grian leaned in and stole another brief kiss. It was sweeter this time, laced with the grief of almost losing him, the grief of barely having him, the relief of finally knowing him. Scar returned it, as he was sure to do forever on into their shared future.
“Come on,” Scar whispered as they pulled away, further this time. There was blood over the front of his shirt and his face. Grian knew he had to look similar, if not worse. “Let’s get patched up.”
As much as he hated to leave this sensation behind, it was for the best. Some of his residual lightheadedness was not from the force of Scar’s lips on his, after all. The cuts on his arms stung, and iron burned his nose. They needed to be cleaned and bandaged before they could get any worse.
Besides, the image that came to mind of his companion looking at him like that while tying off a bandage wasn’t exactly unpleasant. A smile rose on his face, genuine and overjoyed.
“Yeah,” Grian replied, taking Scar by the hand and intertwining their fingers. “Let’s go.”