Maybe if you spoke to the people Above—
It has to be a pure siren? What does that mean?
A pause. And then it sounds like she’s saying something back that has just been said to her.
Someone who has saved her voice for years. Who has never used her voice for the Council. Who loves the Below as much as she loves herself. Do I know anyone like that?
I hear her breathing. She was thinking of me.
I do not.
She lied. She lied to my aunt, for me.
Or maybe she didn’t think I loved the Below enough.
Perhaps you could go up and speak. Let them see what a siren really is. You could use your power for a greater good, instead of for all the Council’s little evils.
I know you’ve done what you had to do to survive, and so have I.
But now we have to do something more.
Together.
It will take both of us to save the sirens.
It will take both of us to save Atlantia.
My mother always protected me.
And Maire was right. My mother always underestimated me.
She underestimated Bay, too.
I press the shell tight against my ear. I listen and listen and listen, but my mother is gone.
How can I tell True all of this?
He can see I’m finished. He takes his hand away from mine and wraps his arms around me. Without saying a word, he pulls me close.
His body feels warm against mine, and his breathing is as steady as the ocean. I match my breathing to his, and my body, too.
The world is coming apart around us—water through the rivets in Atlantia, sirens dying on the shore. I should feel numb, should feel nothing in the presence of too much—learning the truth about my world, learning that I can’t survive for long here Above. But what I feel right now, in this moment, is True—and alive.
And he’s right. I have to do what Maire said. I trust her.
“I think it’s time to swim again,” I say. “To the shore this time.”
True bends his head so that it rests against mine. He will come with me.
I wonder what waits for us there, if we’ll ever be together like this again. True’s lips skim my cheekbone and then he finds my mouth and I kiss him back, reaching to touch the beautiful planes of his face. And I am filled with melancholy and triumph. We might die here, but we made it here, together.
Everyone dies. They don’t all have the chance to see what they wanted most. At least I’ve seen the Above. At least I’ve known True.
CHAPTER 25
The swim to the shore is longer than our quick foray into the cove, and the water feels more wild and dark now, the waves buffeting me on all sides, slapping their way into my mouth and stinging my eyes, but I feel like I recognize the swim in some way. Somehow I know how to push through it all.
That time spent in the tanks wasn’t wasted.
I come ashore. True isn’t far behind me.
I feel a million tiny grains of sand under my bare feet. We left our shoes in the cave because they were too heavy; they might have weighed us down. A crust of shells on the sand marks the place where the water must come highest. Neither of us says anything, but True takes my hand again as we climb the rise. In my other hand I carry the empty shell that held my mother’s voice. I can’t let go of it.
Grasses grow sharp in the sand, and so do small, scrubby bushes with flat, green leaves. Insects hum loudly, the sound heavy in the warm air.
Once we’re over the rise, we see the city.
An outdoor city, bursting and sparkling with lights, and the temple spire points tall above all the other buildings.
We’re barefoot, and dripping-damp. But there’s nothing we can do about that. We have to hope that the near dark will be enough to cover us. “We need to hurry,” I say.
Night falls fast, but it isn’t as absolute as night in Atlantia. Now and then, through the miasma of ruined air, I think I can pick out a star.
I can’t help but stare at everything as we come closer—people, streets, shops—even though I don’t want my gaze to invite any attention. I’m glad the swimming has removed all the siren makeup from my face, but I still feel that anyone could tell that I came from someplace else.
What did Bay think when she saw all this? What does True think now? I glance over at him, but in this light his eyes are as dark as the earth.
The Above has no gondolas, but it has other, faster, uglier ways of transport—wheeled carts spinning and racing so quickly that it’s hard for me to know where I can walk and where I can’t. Some of the carts are enormous. There are also many, many people walking and running everywhere, and they all seem to be in a hurry. The air is so thick and hot and moist that it has made everyone’s hair bedraggled and their clothes cling with sweat, and others look as dirty and damp as we do. Still, I can’t relax. We have to get to the temple. That is where the road ends, where Maire’s instructions lead.
The voices of the people around us sound so strange, so flat after all the sirens calling, that I have a hard time understanding the words, though our language is the same. The cadence of their speaking sounds as choppy as the waves under the wind, and they have an accent I’ve never heard before.
Of course I’ve never heard it before. I’ve never been Above before.
The buildings are scarred and dirt- and dusk-colored, not the bright hues of Atlantia. Someone brushes against me accidentally and nods in apology but doesn’t stop. I have never seen so many people moving so quickly. The Above teems with inhabitants.
I hear laughter coming from what smells like a restaurant, and shop doors stand open even though it is so late.
Atlantia is nothing compared to this. I am nothing compared to this.
And I feel light, knowing that I am nothing and that there is nothing above me but air. No water pressing down, no walls holding everything in and pushing everything back.
It is strange and unfamiliar, and I know that I can’t survive here for long, but I love it. And I want to stay.
True and I become lost and found several times in the darkening streets. To get our bearings again, we find a place where the buildings aren’t so close and look up to see the spire of the temple. I hurry, always conscious of the strange feeling of earth underfoot, sand between my toes, dust beneath my heels, and now and then the smooth roundness of a stone. True and I don’t talk, afraid that someone will hear our accents and realize we don’t belong Above, but we touch. His hand on my shoulder, me reaching back for him.