A Song for a Siren

Ch. 1 - Luan Flowers

"Aye, your heart can change, but that's not always a good thing."
They were old words from an old memory, one of Lain and his da walking home from the forest.
What did he mean by it? What did it matter now? Lain chased the daydream out of the air when he laid eyes on an older woman shambling towards him, dodging children. Winded, she arrived before him.
"Such mettle in light of it all," she said through her wheezing.
"Oh, thank you, Innis." Not knowing what to say next, the two stood silently.
"So much like him." She eyed him up and down. "Same brown eyes, thick head of hair, down to the nose."
She examined a while longer and pointed at the food table near him. "It's a well-known fact that scran is much better food than company, did you know?"
"I've been eating." It was a terrible lie and for no good reason. "I've had two of the wee tuddle-muffins."
Innis patted his arm and smiled. "Is your ma already home?"
"Aye, she didn't come."
Innis searched the yard still anyway.
"Hmm. I was hoping she'd brought me a spec of goody sugar, no bother. I've still some at home." Her kindness forced her eyes to disappear behind her chunky glasses. "How about another tune for the party?"
Lain nodded, and Innis turned. His stomach grumbled, giving him away, and he shrugged it off with a grin. She tilted her head to the food and pointed at him, then hobbled back to the chatter of the small groups of people. When she disappeared into the cottage, Lain sat back down.
The quickest path home was just ahead, but he could try to be present for a while longer and respect his ma's request for him to be there.
More people were there than he would've imagined for a family that had been gone for the last fifteen years. The town folk wandered in and out of the cottage, dancing, laughing, eating. Their young ones ran between the plum trees. They all came into light under the night sky with the different colors of the fire spears and fountains, lighting up green, then red and gold. The green light in the sky from the last explosion faded, leaving him in the shadows of the party again, out of torchlight next to a tree. The food in front of him was still visible, though. Guests drew near for a pastry but got a fright instead when they saw him in the dark. Even a well-placed "Oye" to announce his presence brought gasps. At least he knew what to expect of them this way, and it was better than pity.
Their faces, such cheer they had. What's the normal amount of time after someone's death, to be as happy as all these are?
"That lass'll be there. Lain, you know the problem with deep-feeling hearts? They come with deep-thinking minds. Or was it the other way around?" his ma pridefully quoted her own wisdom. Much like his da in that way. He was there, though it felt like being around others didn't do anything but worsen his mood. A strange way to deal with grief, going to a celebration where no one seemed to share it.
"That lass'll be there."  He smiled.
What business did he have with wanting to see a lass, now of all times? He knew little of her, aside from her name, and he heard she was lovely. Adaira. Well, he also knew she came to Lanntair Rona with her ma to stay with her aunt, the plumb grump. The celebration was to welcome them back, and so Adaira would be there. And she was... still yet to be seen by Lain, mind you.
Everyone had already eaten when the fire fountains slowed, and the crowd shifted closer to the cottage. Lain spun his dusty violin with the base of it on his foot.
No one really cared much about what he had to say, that's what he learned through his days. But they always had an open ear when it came to his music. His violin... his singing. And when he learned he could say what he needed through such devices, he soon found that no one listened all the same. Always about how it made them feel, and they oft looked past the message in his song. His truth. And how his music would sour this party if he played to the truth in him. Never mind the state he was in; killing the festive mood would take the stage.
The plum trees found their way into his vision again, and then his focus.
Those plum trees.
Those were the same trees Lain's da climbed with him. Sneaking plums from the grump they belonged to, Adaira's aunt.
That was enough, he couldn't give them another moment if he didn't want to break, and he looked away.
"Oye, listen here."
Lain leaned around the side of the tree, into the light. Harris, his da's best mate, was surrounded by the wee ones, ilka one of them wide-eyed and bundled into their coats.
"I've heard her once, the caoineag. I heard her wailing and sobbing, and I knew she'd be taking someone," Harris said.
"Where? Where does she take them?" a boy asked with both his hands at his mouth.
"To be with the dead, lad. Weren't you listening before?"
The boy shrunk down, jerked his head around to where his ma was, and ran to her.
"Ah, feart already, the poor bairn." Harris grinned.
"My da says no one has heard the caoineag in a long time," another boy said, and his voice faded as Harris watched him.
"No... no one's been listening close enough. If you hold your ears to the wind," Harris said and fanned his hands at them, "go on now lads, listen. A night such as this, you might hear the caoineag's wail. Listen..." Harris lowered his voice and looked off into the forest. The wee ones turned and looked as well.
Harris sucked in a big breath of air and screamed.
The children scattered, tripping over themselves, and Harris broke into laughter.
"Gracious." Harris finished his chuckling. He saw Lain.
"Pretty good, wasn't it? Och... pure barrie."
Lain cracked a grin and shook his head.
"Harris!" the little one's ma shouted.
The story used to get Lain too. He'd always confuse the caoineag with sirens when he was a bairn. What was it? Oh yes, three voices. Three voices in one when a siren sings, or something or other.
Harris leaned back and fell into thought. "What else... what else to tell? Hmm..." he said. There was a glint of sadness in him, a certain sadness that only those who know it can see. He recovered quickly.
That space next to Harris... his da would've been there, the two of them telling stories, splitting at the sides, laughing louder than anyone's business.
"Stop thinking it," Lain said under his breath. He looked out and away to the forest and spotted the trail they'd take.
A flash of his da's hand, that thick beast of a hand, plucking a luan flower... his squinty-eyed smile. Lain blinked fast to stop the tears and put his hand on the center of his chest, rubbing at the ache. His focus bounced around to different areas of the cèilidh.
Foolish, being here, but he could leave, though. Anytime he wanted, he could leave.
His da would've had a story for this, wouldn't he? There was one tale he told, long ago. The memory from before, how did it start again?
"Things change, love, you'll see," his da said.
"Can my wretched heart change?" Lain said, and such a young thing he was when he said it. He's ten and nine years now, must have been about six years old then.
"Oye."
A different voice cut through the memory this time.
"Play another, mate. It's the best, your music."
"I don't know, lad, I think I'm done. Going home soon."
"Just one more Lain, just something for me to walk home to?"
"Friend, everyone knows you'll not be walking home."
"I've had a lot to drink," the man said.
"Aye, I know," Lain said and grinned.
"But Lain, your playing is the best part of these cèilidhs. I've been waiting on it for days." The man grew serious as he tried to get both of his eyes to work together to give Lain a pleading look.
Where was that girl? He could stick around for another song.
Lain spun his violin once more. "Fine. But one, that's all," Lain said and squeezed the bow in his hand, and he hoisted himself up to move closer. One more is more than enough.
The chatter and laughter continued as Lain moved through the people slowly. One by one, he passed the ones he knew, and he stepped onto the small wooden platform. Lain raised his violin to his chin, and with it in place, he found the strings.
Vibrations, sweet and haunting. His fingers guided the sounds into the air. Everyone went quiet and made room for dancing. Lain closed his eyes. The smell of the bread and roasted meats were held still by his violin, the stars turned their attention from above. Lain lent his soul to the clouds, the heartbeat of his music captivated with each flutter of melody. A festive song it was, one he'd played hundreds of times at hundreds of cèilidhs before this. Created it himself as well. As the song came to its end, Lain's favorite part neared. He opened his eyes, and they settled on her, and he hesitated.
He couldn't help but trace her steps, and lantern fire had never looked the way it did as when it fell over her. And the moon, it had a way of pushing light around the edges of her form. If Adaira Llerena were to stand in complete darkness, she'd wear the shadows as lovely. It brought him back down to the hillside.
The people raised their hands to applaud another performance of their choice song, but they stood still. Lain didn't stop, he transitioned into something else, something new, something in a minor key.
Losing himself into his violin was scary business, throwing away his secrets, even if no one was listening.
The joyfulness that poured from his bow just moments before dipped into sadness. A heart-wrenching motif pulled itself together in the air around Lain, and the people stood quietly, trying to understand.
"Oye!" the same man shouted.
"Play someth... something happier lad, you're killing me."
Lain stopped playing and looked around without lowering his violin.
"How about that singing one you used to play, lovely song for a cèilidh."
Lain tried to think.
"It had some singing in it, that's the one," the man said, seeing that Lain wasn't following. "... Just sing anything. Braw voice he has, remember?" He jabbed the fellow next to him with his elbow.
"Most singing songs have singing in them, lad." Lain grinned to calm his nerves. Suddenly everyone's full attention hit him at once. He ignored the sweat on his forehead and his lip, and the heat up his spine. He started a different song. A slow song, not as sad as the last one, with a sweeter mood about it. Something more hopeful.
The drunken man shouted again, but after hearing the music, he shut his mouth, leaned on one leg with his eyes closed, and swayed back and forth.
Lain's shoulders loosened, and he felt it out. He wandered through what it spoke to him, and he found her there. Adaira moved gracefully as she studied him. Every ounce of gentleness in her eyes... what would their song be? There was something familiar in her soul. The way she danced, there'd be no chance for him to form that into music, but mighty me, he'd try.
Someone moved near to her from her side.
This fellow never really bothered Lain, it was his brother Ewan that he didn't care for. At this moment, right here, Lain would've flown from the stage and swung his violin across the lad's back.
Lain read his lips as he spoke to Adaira, and watched for one word, only one, and then he saw it.
"Dance?" came from his doltish mouth.
Lain pressed hard at his bow, and the music transitioned back to what it was before. The drunkard stopped swaying, opened his eyes, and realized that he'd danced a hundred feet away from everyone, into the darkness. The lad that had asked to dance shifted awkwardly as he faced Adaira. Adaira still faced Lain.
Lain glared at him.
"Oye... Oye!" a voice said from the dark. "Lain? The other song?"
Lain stopped.
"Sing something, play something, no difference, but make some sort of music for us to dance to," the young man next to Adaira said.
The bampot. Lain's blood boiled. Should he say something? He could play something. If he didn't do something soon, he'd burst.
Lain thought for a moment and looked at the ground. What did it matter to him if they danced?
He played the happier tune. Lain tightened his eyes shut and tried his hardest, but oh, what a lie it was, and again for no good reason. He couldn't, not about this.
A flash, a face in his mind. A smile from his da. A stab in his chest.
Lain swung his arm down too fast. He lost grip of his violin, sending it down to clatter on the platform. The sound was much louder than he'd have liked and he stood there in the thick silence that followed. The concern on Adaira's face freed him from it.
The young man turned to her and shook his head.
That was it for the night. He saw her, and she had company, and it was time to go home.
"Dance if you want but it won't be to any music coming from me," Lain said with his bow in hand. Then, without grabbing his violin, and without another word, he turned and walked towards his cottage, past the furthest lantern, into darkness.
He shouldn't even have the capacity for jealousy.
Lain slid his hand under his braided necklace and scratched his neck.
What was that? His chest untightened more with each step home, away from that embarrassment. Anger? Maybe self-pity too? No one will remember in a week anyway, and it'll be back to the same old day-to-day, He thought. If he kept thinking it maybe he'd believe it.
A howl in the air fell on his ears. Or was it the wind?
Lain stopped walking when he heard it. The noise was low... far off, could even be near the sea. Beyond the lighthouse?
He turned his head to listen, and he strained his eyes. It couldn't be a woman... could it? It blended between wind and wail, but it was so low. Was he even hearing it at all? He cupped his hand around his ear as a claw of ice snuck up the back of his coat.
"Lain?"
Lain spun around. She walked with light feet.
"I didnae mean to startle you. That's your name, though, isnae it?"
He lost his words.
"Well, of course, I ken it is... You forgot your—" Adaira's voice trailed off. She lifted Lain's violin.
"Oh." Lain rolled his eyes.
"Mind the scratch in it. I promise it wasnae me," she said and extended the wooden neck of the violin towards him. "You must hate to sing."
"... Aye, that. I'm just not much in the mood for it of late. Thank you for this." He grabbed the violin and held it by his side.
"My name is Adaira."
"Adaira." Lain tapped his thumb on the violin. "Pleasure meeting you."
"And you," she said, with that gentleness again.
Lain turned to walk away and noticed the tension in the silence. He looked over his shoulder and turned around to a confused Adaira.
"Oft, I'm sorry." Lain grinned goofily with pinkened cheeks. "Sometimes I cut conversations short when I'm... I don't know why. It's unintentional."
Perhaps a tendency to cut away from discomfort. but Adaira half-smiled.
"It's all well... so, singing, and speaking to me. Things you abhor," she said, laughing. "It was sort of funny, though. I've a tendency for bashfulness as well."
Lain laughed and cleared his throat.
"My apologies for that. And leaving you without music."
"It's almost over anyway, I'm surprised you stayed as long as you did... Sitting in the dark."
When did she see him? How'd he miss her?
"Aye, best seat at any cèilidh. Near the scran."
His stomach growled, giving him away, again. Lain pursed his lips.
"Aye... Well, I'll let you get back. I won't hold you," Lain said.
"You'll barely speak to me, I have no worries of holding," Adaira said. Lain stammered. "Lain, you've endeavored to be rid of me twice, once more and I'll go shinning." She chuckled.
Lain loosened up, "Don't know what's wrong with me."
Adaira nodded.
Lain spoke, "Ken."
She stared at him.
Lain pointed at his head. Adaira narrowed her eyes.
"You said 'ken' rather than 'know,' a moment ago. I've not heard it said that way often here."
"Ahh," Adaira said and smiled with a nod. "No one's made mention of it 'til you. My da was aware of it as well. He was interested in the different dialects of ilka region. Our home, where we came from, they say these things more, and he had a dialect all his own. My ma and I, we're adjusting to how everyone speaks here, and the Gaelic... Some things'll be hard to change."
Same as a wretched heart, He thought.
"Aye, I hope it's been pleasant."
"It's lovely here, it is." Adaira crossed her arms and looked down. "I just dinnae... ken... if I'll ever get used to it."
Lain straightened up when she said it.
Used to it.
"I'm sorry to hear that." He turned his body all the way to face her. Adaira shook her head.
"If only there were more things to do away from the cottage."
"Aye? But there are so many things to do."
"Are there?"
"So many. If you'd like, I'll show you around."
"Would you!?"
"Then that's what we'll do," Lain said and lifted the violin, "and thank you, again, for this." He began to turn but stopped himself. He'd almost done it again.
"Adaira, may I walk you back?"
She smirked. The cottage was just barely up the hill. "You'd go to such great lengths?"
Lain stepped close to her, and the two of them turned up the path for her cottage. Adaira did her best to stop smiling as much as she was. Lain couldn't keep his eyes forward. What a smile it was.