Kelly Gay - The Hour of Dust and Ashes

“And then, one day, she stopped coming. But during her visits, I heard her. Every word, I clung to. And when she was gone, it started a seed in me to practice remembering her visits—I think it helped me to remember the outside world. I grew in body and in power, but I never lost myself. The memories … are hazy, but part of me stayed disconnected from the grid, and in time that disconnect grew until I was able to break free. I’m not sure exactly how it all happened.”

I bit my lip, wondering what had happened to her, this siren who had given him the strength and purpose to break free.

“She didn’t wait for me, if that’s what’s making you bite your lip,” he said with a small smile.

“I’m sorry, Hank.”

“I’d been gone for a long time; couldn’t expect her to wait forever.”

But he would have. I could tell in his voice. He would have waited for her if the roles had been reversed. I knew it down to the very marrow of my bones.

“Sooke free,” I moved on, not wanting to think about it. “Wouldn’t they know immediately? The rings around the city would’ve failed, right?”

“Yes. My ring simply stopped working. Disappeared. I remember coming to on the floor of the tower. The Circe and the king were there. I was weak. My speech was unintelligible at first, but memory brought it back. I found enough words to tell them the truth, what the tower does to you. They refused to believe. But I think even the king had suspected as much. And they didn’t want anyone else to know the truth. They told me I was a traitor, a weakling, and as punishment they tried to force me back into the grid …”

Hank stopped talking, and the ravine filled with the sound of running water and the shuffling of our footsteps.

“I fought,” he said quietly, though his tone was deep and echoing in the confines of the ravine. “I fought for my life. I was crazed and angry, and it gave me more strength than I should have had. I felt hurt, confused, and betrayed—a six-year-old in heart and mind, but with the body and power of a full-grown siren. And they didn’t care. They never had …” His voice took an almost embarrassed quality. “There were no guards. I think because the Circe didn’t want anyone but them and the king knowing the truth. They let the king deal with me. And I guess they thought I was too weak for them to bother with using their great power. It all happened so fast. We struggled and somehow I managed to throw the king into the grid. It attacked him at once and there was no way to fight it off.” He said it like he was ashamed.

“Good for you. The bastard deserved it.”

He glanced over at me with an odd mixture of bewilderment, humor, and regret. “Well, it wasn’t an accident. I meant to prove my words. I told him if it was simply a matter of choice, then he could leave as he wished. While the Circe were distracted with the king in the grid, I ran. It’s a blur. My memories of Fiallan were that of a child, but I knew my home, remembered it. But I knew if went there, they’d find me.”

My throat thickened, but I forced down my emotion with a hard swallow. “So where did you go?”

“Outside of the city. That part was easy enough. The rest was … not so easy. I spent years roaming, living like a scavenger, eventually making my way into the woods of Gorsedd—fae territory—where a sidhé fae Elder took me in. Edan taught me the basics, how to care for myself, to bathe, to shave, how to eat properly, read and write, how to defend myself both physically and mentally.

“And eventually he told me the story of the king of Fiallan. How a traitor, a Malakim, had killed the king.” Hank shook his head, staring off into the darkness ahead of us. “I wasn’t thinking about murder or that he’d die. I wanted them to know, to hear me … I guess if I’d been thinking straight I would’ve realized no one comes out of those towers alive.”

Except Hank, I thought. “Is that what happened, you think? He was trapped in there like the others until he grew old?”

“No. Edan said the king died shortly after I escaped. I guess the Circe removed him too quickly and it killed him. They put another child in my place, the king’s son took over the throne, and a bounty was placed on my 1; Hank s Nearly a hundred years had passed from the time I’d fled until Edan told me the truth. I guess he finally thought I was ready to hear it.”

“And, of course, he’d figured out your part in the story.”

Hank smiled. “From the very beginning, I’m sure.”

“You loved him,” I said, seeing it in his smile, in the admiration and softness in his voice.

Hank shrugged, a muscle in his jaw flexing. “I was with him for almost two hundred years before he died. He made me promise to never go back to Fiallan. He knew I wanted to return, to tell everyone the truth of what Malakim really means, but he feared my death even though so much time had passed. He wanted me to leave Gorsedd and make a new life somewhere far away. So I went to Murias—a siren city far from Fiallan. That was … an eye-opener …”

“How so?”

He turned and cocked an eyebrow. “I wasn’t like other sirens, Charlie. I learned everything I could from Edan except for the one thing sirens are known for besides their voice.”

Oh.

He chuckled softly at me, and then gave a nonchalant shrug. “I was a dedicated student.”

“Ha. I bet you were,” I muttered, concentrating on the path. “So how did you wind up in Atlanta?”

“I was only in Murias for a year when the existence of our world and Charbydon was revealed, and I saw my opportunity to leave Elysia and make good on my promise to Edan.”

“You don’t fear living out in the open? Even if it is in another world?”

He shook his head. “Who would know me? My family hasn’t seen me since I was six. Only the Circe know me as a full-grown siren, and they never leave Fiallan. The only one who knows me is Pendaran.”

“How does Pen know?”

“He was sent to Edan for study one season. Edan was a hermit, but one whose reputation preceded him. One only found his hut if he wanted them to. Apparently he thought the druid worthy and accepted him.”

“You said you and Pen knew each other as children. I guess that wasn’t entirely true, then.”

“Well, I was still a child in a lot of ways, so maybe partially true.”

“That’s a stretch.”

We settled into a comfortable silence as I mulled over Hank’s story. I never would’ve guessed he’d had such a troubled past. He never let on, never walked around with a chip on his shoulder or a woe-is-me attitude.

He’d been through so much. So much betrayal, from his people, his king, even his family. And all the obstacles he’d had to overcome; learning how to function in society again, even learning how to read and write, to interact … I grew angry, so pissed on his behalf that I wanted to go to Elysia and stop this barbaric practice myself. How cruel—using children to protect a city that didn’t even need protecting.

“Do you think your family or the people of Fiallan would listen to your story now?” I asked.

He shook his head. “No. My story has passed into something of a legend where I play the villain. My family was disgraced. They denounced me, lost their position of honor that the Malakim had always afforded them. I’m sure they’d kill me on sight, if they could,” he said with a wry smile.

“And the sirens in the terminal? You think it was Llyran who told them who you are, what you look like?” Llyran had called Hank Malakim . Somehow he’d discovered the truth. And Llyran certainly had the psychopathic drive to find intense pleasure in seeing Hank suffer.