Newt

There's an old legend that says the howl heard over the ocean isn't just the wind. That it's a song, calling out to those who lived on the land. That at bay and in the bay, sirens slept, waiting to pull the kingdom into the water for their own. Some believed it, and even those who did not feared the midnight waters. Too many have died in the years, and the deaths soon stopped being just sailors working on the docks. The treacherous waters than surrounded the port kingdom were too vital to them. As much as they feared the ocean, it was the one thing that kept them alive, even at the risk and temptation of a watery respite.

Summer meant storms, and storms meant clouds, and much to Haru's dismay, it all meant the view of the sunset was overcast; unwelcoming. The day had been as gray as the hairs on his late grandmother's head the day he said goodbye to her. The dreary weather did not offer fond memories of her, however, even in their stark resemblance, and the clouds only irritated him. He wasn't allowed to swim in bad weather. No, it wasn't even that. He wasn't allowed to swim. Ever. He'd given up long ago trying to fight this fact. The rules placed on him were so numerous, it made it impossible to do more than soak his feet and ankles. No swimming when it was too cold, no swimming in bad weather; no swimming alone; no swimming on the days of court meetings. He had it mapped out in his head, too, the reason for each season. Winter and early spring were too cold, late spring and early summer were swallowed up by monarchs and princesses invading the castle with good tidings, and late summer brought about hurricanes aplenty. No swimming alone was the last ditch effort to keep him out of the foamy brine. He felt he would go mad each time he heard the final excuse.

It all added up to the inevitable truth that swimming, for him, was forbidden.

They had their reasons though, and he did not resent the court for their decision. These rules were in place for his safety. He fought as a young man for the right to do as he wished, to feel the tides push against him, but he was always reminded of the same incident. As the years went on, his apathy grew like an oncoming storm, and a looming shadow had consumed his heart, pulsing only out of necessity at the eye of the storm. It made him sullen, uncaring, disinterested in all that happened around him. Still, every day, with the maids spying on him from the tower above, he would come out to the beach, slip his boots off, throw his socks aside, and for time unmeasured he would stand in the salty water. The waves lapped up his calves irresolutely, too small for a ceremonious splash as it met him, too large to simply wash by. He closed his eyes against the damp wind, breathing in the ocean until it filled his lungs. His toes squeeze into the saturated sand, burying beneath it as shells and stones pressed against the pads of his feet. He would give anything to fall forward, and press into the ocean depths. He wanted to feel the water lapping against his cheeks as his fingers cut into the water. He wanted to feel the bubbles rushing passed his ears as he breathed against her, the ocean, and let the water carry him away. But more than anything, he wanted to stop there, and sink down into the currents, completely submerged and motionless, until the tides took him away and cradle him in arms.

  This, he reasoned, was the siren's call. Not the translucent howl heard against the cliff side at night. He knew, because he often found himself hypnotised by its beauty. If he, with heart only strong enough to turn away temptation, finally let the wall of his will break, the water would swallow him whole, for already his heart was dragged away by the swell. Perhaps, though, he thought too harshy of the ocean's intent. Perhaps it would do as it had when he was a child, and lay him down again on the beach sand: drenched, but alive.

Above, the maids whispered and gossiped, worried for the young prince who so often immersed himself in the salty tides of his own apathy. Some had known him for most of his life, and commented that he had always been reserved like this, but others retorted that a man of society needed to learn to open up to his people if he wished to become a benevolent king. Many believed him to be brave, however, to face the ocean as he did. "But it will eat him up one day," sneered the longest serving maid, a grouchy old woman, stern enough to run the servants, but respected by the other maids as a leader. "Gobbled up by the ocean like a Christmas turkey he'll be, at this rate. That boy needs to get his feet out of the water and onto the road to royalty. He needs a proper wife, and not that hoodlum lover boy, and he needs a princess more than that. Honestly, I'll never understood why he couldn't bring back that ruffian's sister instead. Such a pity, such a pity…" While she held no ill will toward Haru's preferences, men did not bare children, and royal blood was, naturally, required to rule a country in the generations to come. God forbid that they allow the common rabble to infect the bloodline for the sake of two young men. No one could argue against her, not for her stubbornness, for she was a reasonable woman at best, but for the fact that she was also right. Having an heir to the throne was always an issue. These concerns were echoed between civilians, from cliff side to the wall that guarded their city against the land. Everyone worried for their country, and what would become of it once their silent prince was finally at the throne. Most believed the prosperous kingdom would crumble from his inaction and apathy, or the aggressive kingdom to the north would move in and take over. These fears spread like plague, and those stranger to the crown had few kind words left for the next man in line for the crown.

"Oh," sighed one maid, her shoulder pressed against the open stone window, "he always looks so sad, but... He looks so beautiful when he stands there like that. Like he's actually happy to be there."

And against the backdrop of blue, he was. His dark hair melded well against the ocean depths, and often when he was young he would be complimented on his eyes. Sailors loved his eyes back then, joking that if they caught the shimmer in his eyes, fishing that day would prosper, and it often did. Today, though, his eyes were spoken upon with ill will, and rumors spread said that a glance from him could curse a week's worth of fishing. His eyes were dark enough they harboured the secret ocean; one rarely glanced upon or approached for fear of sea monsters.

So his beauty was only ever remarked behind his back, as he gazed out into the open water, a backdrop of blue blending together around him. However, the ne who found him more beautiful than anyone never saw that image. Instead, the white sand, grassy fields, and rolling hills layered into the horizon and became the background of Haru's truest love. What a sight to see it was, one that was so rarely glimpsed, even despite the frequency that it occurred. With his eyes closed and his hair tossed in the wind, truly the best sight to behold of him was from within the ocean itself, for who else did Haru show his beauty for but the ocean? Even his lover rarely chanced to see such a glow radiate around him.

Haru opened his eyes and stared out into the ocean, unaware but suspect that it stared back at him. He felt the same want from it that he felt in return. Something splashed in the water, and Haru's eyes came to life for an instant. "Haru!!" And the life in his eyes died again immediately, realizing that the voice came from the beach, a young messenger baring news from his parents. "Nanase-san, your parents the queen is in need of your services."

"Can't it wait?"

He shakes his head. "Sorry, I was told to fetch you immediately."

Nitori, the favourite for message delivery, looked anxious as he addressed haru. His eyes twinkled regardless. Dipping his head, Haru sighed impatiently and mutters compliance. He takes his time trudging out of the restless water, and only picks up his boots as they walk across the sandy beach. "Have you heard from Rin lately?"

"Yes! He should be returning from the north by tomorrow. I'm sure he'll be glad to see you again."

Haru offered little more than a hum in response.

*

"Nagisa!" He howled, bubbles bursting from his mouth. He wasn't mad so much as frustrated, and clenched his fists and tightened up as he barked at his friend. Nagisa only offered an expectant look.

"Mako-chan knows it's dangerous to stay too long at the surface," he retorted, floating gently upward around his friend. He's right, and heaving a sigh, admitting that he knows. A knowing smile slid onto Nagisa's face as he watched his friend at many angles, which turned to a smirk when he saw Makoto tighten nervously again. He fluttred his fins and broke the surface, and leered on the sandy beach. He could see a familiar sight, the prince standing in the waves, this time his back turned to him as he spoke with another man, one not so familiar to Nagisa. "Ahh," he sang, "the prince is here."

"Yeah," Makoto responded, having joined Nagisa in the dry air. His eyes are soft and lowered, but he always looked that way when he treaded the surface here. "He's here the same time every day." Nagisa blew bubbles at the surface while he watched Makoto, before picking his head up and answering:

"Why do you think that is?"

"I think he likes the sunset." Nagisa turned to look at the horizon, Makoto only watching him quietly. Makoto knew it was more than just "he likes the sunset," but anything he could determine about the prince were only guesses. He guessed that the prince liked the water, and that for some reason he would not enter the water. The fact that he came during the sunset led him to believe he enjoyed it, but he also wondered if he was simply because he was busy the entire day. Makoto checked the surface often, and rarely left the bay. He knew a few things about the prince, that he always looked strange whenever he saw him. Even from a distance he could tell that somehow, something troubled him beyond the sea foam that gathered on the sand, but what he was never able to determine. He could not get close enough to listen to the prince, for fear of being seen.

"Ah, so do I," Nagisa added, distracting Makoto from his watch, "but it gets so dark when the sun is finally gone, I have too much trouble finding home to stay long." He despaired the thought, and sighed audibly. "Don't you stay up here until the midnight tide? I thought you were afraid of the dark!"

Makoto laughed, "I don't always, but there's a cove near here I sleep in just in case."

In case it hadn't become obvious, these two young men were certainly not of a human variety. While their faces and torsos might reflect as much, below the waist, smooth slippery skin took over into a unified tail. They called themselves sirens, just as people called themselves human, though their legend was mostly fictitious. They were a kind, gentle folk who lived in the ocean outside the castle, who credited themselves as the founders of the kingdom. A human would tell you it was a dark, stormy night and their ship had capsized. A lucky group of survives ended up on the shores by some miracle, but a siren knew they would have drown if not for their presence. Still, the legends began, and since generations of fishing accidents had ruined their kingdom, their kind had fled the region. Some stayed, unable to part with an old, familiar thing. Who it was that would lure fishermen into the ocean was a mystery, and an insult to their people. Humans, however, brutish as they were, could not be trusted and approached with offerings of kindness. Makoto burned at his very core to swim up to the prince and greet him, but he never succeeded. He was always too scared to make it more than half way underwater. The very sight of the prince's ankles from the distance he floated terrified him, his entire body tensing. It was not the brutish rumour that so often deterred him, but a heat in his face and body that he did not understand. It made him afraid, and so he would dive into the depths of the bay and lay on the sea bed until it had cooled him down once more.

Makoto and Nagisa dived down, splashing their tails against the surface as a wish of goodbye to the prince that Makoto watched daily. A fish-breed, Nagisa was much quicker in the water than his friend and often sped ahead, flipping and turning in the water as he laughed and sang into the watery depths. He spent his time everywhere that he could, and in the midday would generally visit the bay first to greet Makoto. Today, however, he had made an exception, visiting Makoto more often in the evening as he grew equally curious about the young prince who daily stood at the water's edge. His curiosity was born also from a concern for his friend, who seemed to grow more and more distraught as time went on. While Makoto still laughed and smiled and played as sirens often did, in the evenings that excitement died, like the air above the surface dried out the life inside him. Some days he would only stay below the surface and stare up at Makoto, hurt to see his friend suffering as he did, before running off. He wanted to help his friend more than anything, but he did not know how.

But those concerns finally went forgotten after they had raced to the coral beds, poking sponges and anemones, chasing fish and making mock displays of human habits. From the coral beds, the cliff that supported the kingdom could be seen, and while they often had fun, there were days they would look to the rocks and despair to see a body floating against the rocks. Today was one of those days, and Makoto always looked confused and upset whenever he saw these humans. Neither of them could understand why humans did such things. Sirens never did such things. It seemed silly to both of them that a human would float idly in the water like that; sleeping in open water was dangerous, didn't they know? Nagisa was braver than Makoto, and would take the humans by the hand and pull them into the open bay, knowing the tide would eventually bring them onto the beach, where both of them knew he or she would be much safer, and probably sleep better there too. It wasn't without lifting gifts and trinkets from dozing bodies, though, and both of them often plucked garbage from the edge of rocks and at the bottom of the bay for a collection of oddities. Their other friends thought them silly for collecting these things, but no one frowned upon it. Sirens were so prone to playing with these anomalies sometimes groups would gather to see Makoto dressed in blazer and fedora, upright and pretending that he was a builder, and among his friends, they would pretend to live in the coral. Nagisa liked best to take the same clothing the fishermen wore (their collection of clothes from them was the greatest), and zip around, catching fish with his bare hands. He laughed every time he caught one, and showed Makoto before letting it go, bidding the fish farewell.

"Makoto," Nagisa began, half buried in the sand below. "What do you think the humans do with all the fish they catch?"

"I don’t know." He floated on his back, his fins moving gently to propel him in a circle around Nagisa. "Perhaps they keep them as pets?"

"Nooo, that doesn't make sense. They take so many fish from the ocean, they'd need another ocean to hold them!!" Makoto laughed, and declared again that he truly did not know. He, too, thought it was very strange. He remembered as a young man he would swim to an isolated dock to speak with one of these fishermen. This was before he knew better than to trouble humans, but the old fisherman never minded him, and never harmed him. What do you do with all those fish? I sell them, of course. He did not know what it meant to sell, and never asked. He regretted never asking.

Nagisa blew bubbles in the water, frustrated. "Mako-chan, aren't you supposed to be the expert on humans? You watch the prince every day; surely you must know something… Otherwise what's the use?"

"Haha, sorry, Nagisa. I'm not sure what else I could do to learn anymore."

..He didn't mean to lie, necessarily. He did know a way to learn more, but he didn't know how to make it happen. He needed two of those… things. The split fin that they used to move themselves on the land, but he didn't believe it was possible for him to ever have such things. It hurt him to think about, and Nagisa watched in despair as his friend slowly stopped moving in the water and grow solemn. Nagisa watched with concern, and regretted bringing it up. He wished he understood why Makoto always looked so hurt when he thought of the prince. Neither of them understood why, and neither of them could even begin to form questions that would lead them to a conclusion. For a siren, they only understood a few emotions: happy, and fearful. Fearful hurt too much, so playing was all they ever did. Makoto was strange in that sense, because both of them understood that what he felt went beyond either emotion.