As the lantern shifts, the shadow of the barrel stretches and pulls across the deck, and so does mine. But Lark’s doesn’t follow. Instead, it lingers at his feet, darker than the others, immovable by the swaying of the lantern light. Frowning, I lower myself a little to watch it more closely.
Lark’s shadow twitches. Not with the sway of the ship, not with the lantern, not mimicking Lark even. It moves entirely on its own. I tighten my grip around his shoulder and pull him closer, trying to give him comfort, while fear creeps in on me too.
This has nothing to do with the song of the sirens.
A cold rush settles low in my stomach as the shape at his feet begins to thin, stretching upward and slowly peeling away from his boots. Lark gasps, fingers digging into my sleeve, his whole body locking down again.
“No,” he whispers, panic surging in his voice. “No, no, no—”
The shadow slowly lifts, almost as if it is hesitating, like it isn’t sure whether it’s allowed to leave or not. It draws itself up from the boards, lengthening, gathering form, until it stands there, in front of us. In the shape of a boy, much like the one pressed into my side. A darker outline of him. The edges of him waver like smoke caught in still air, in a faint shade of silver.
Lark lets out a broken sound.
“I don’t—” His breath stutters as his eyes find mine, wide and filled with so much fear. “I don’t feel right.”
There’s something different about them now. They look emptier than before, a contrast to the excited and so deeply passionate pirate I have come to know.
I pull him closer, one hand sliding up to the back of his neck, feeling in this moment that all I can do to comfort him is bring him close. As I look up at the figure standing in front of us, I finally come to understand. He blinks slowly, as if his existence unsettles him the same way it does Lark.
They aren’t ghosts.
They’re shadows.
And they belong to the crew.
The thought fractures into a dozen others before I can stop it. The curse I never learned about. The kind ghost. Sable. The lanterns that seem to follow him wherever he goes. I push them all down as Lark sobs beside me. Whatever this all means, I will deal with it later.
“Look at me,” I murmur, my voice steady even as my chest tightens. “You’re here. You’re breathing.”
The shadow shifts beside us, and my pulse jumps in response. The siren inside me stirs as the shadow starts to wander the deck, as if he’s looking for someone. I return my focus to Lark. He stares at his shadow, sweat now covering his face. By the seas, there must be something I can do to help him.
The idea hits me like a stiff wind. I have the ability to calm him – the power to. With shaking hands, I pull the wax out of his little ears and lay it aside on the planks, just in case it becomes necessary again. He looks at me, still visibly distraught, and I give him a gentle smile.
“I will sing you a song now,” I whisper. “And you will focus on me. Only on me. Do not give in to the pull of the sirens, understand?"
He hesitates, and a deep line settles between his light brows. Something softens in his eyes, and he gives me a curt nod. I take his hands into mine and caress the palm of his hand with my thumb, before drawing in a slow breath. The humming behind my ribs comes to life, and I smother the swelling fire of fear that it ignites in my stomach with it. I know what I am capable of should I not be careful. An image of Rat flashes into my mind in a blinding light, him climbing the railing in a trance, followed by the dead, empty air where he fell from. But this time, I will be in full control.
I am in full control.
I loosen a single thread of my power and let the hum come out in full. Lark’s eyes widen in recognition as it slips into his ear, the muscles in his face melting into calm with almost immediate effects. The hum turns into a song. I remember the words well, for my mother used to sing the lullaby to me whenever I couldn’t sleep.
She would sit by the rocks near the shore, stroking my hair, still damp from a day spent in the water. Most nights, she stayed with me until my eyes grew too heavy to keep open, her voiceand touch the only things that kept the dark at bay. I was always exhausted, but that never stopped me from trying to keep up with the swarm. My father had shown me how to build a small fire, and I would sleep beside it, the warmth chasing away the chill that clung to me after the sea. The sand beneath me was soft enough, though I never gave it much thought. I would lie there, watching the flames flicker, listening to the waves, and wait for the next day to arrive.
The memory makes it easy for me to shape the lullaby into something gentle and sweet. My siren claws at my insides, desperate to take over, but this time I don’t let her.
It costs me a lot of power and energy. My muscles tense as the power inside me swells and tries to burst free. It’s hot as it pumps through my veins like thick, heavy oil, causing my limbs to feel weighted and laborious to move.
But it is worth the price. It works. And it works well. Lark slowly folds into my arms, his body no longer shaking but loose and relaxed. I keep my voice gentle as I carefully run my fingers through the soft waves of his hair.
There in front of us, his shadow shifts.
I look at him in wonder as I continue the lullaby. He doesn’t seem as scared as Lark. He doesn’t shake or whimper, but still appears to me somewhat restless, pacing back and forth, shadows whirling and dragging behind him as he moves. As if he doesn’t know where to go, or what to do. The shadow stops his pacing and turns his head towards me ever so slowly, then tilts his head, the way Lark does when he’s slightly puzzled by something.
He looks at me as though he recognizes who I am, before blinking.
Once.
Then again.