Prologue
You couldn’t get me to believe in a siren unless you stuck one in front of me and I saw it with my own eyes.
Now, is that what happened? Maybe.
Did I believe it? Nope.
But am I going to tell you the whole story? Yeah, at least you’ll get to hear my version.
And it all starts in the beginning. Before I was even born.
My fate was decided long before my parents ever considered having my brother and I.
We just didn’t know it until the night a siren stepped out of a storm and put a knife to my best friend’s throat.
Now, sirens, of course, are mythical creatures that come from fairytales. They are known to persuade and lure you, often times to your death. I don’t believe in them, or I thought I didn’t.
At least not since I was a child listening to my father’s stories. Tall tales filled with elves, trolls, werewolves, and all kinds of magical creatures.
A classic part of these tall tales included a centaur, who went by the short name Cruz. His true name was always a mystery to us. According to Dad, he had a name longer than the rivers of Celeris, the longest river in Dad’s tall tales.
At the start of the storytelling, I’d always ask, “What was that centaur’s name again?”
“You mean Cruz?” Our father would often reply with a chuckle and a shake of his head.
“No, his full name!” I’d giggle in my reply. I was curious, wanting to know the answer to every question.
“He’s never gonna tell us, Joy!” Ahren interrupted me, dragging out the last part of my name in exasperation. I cross my tiny arms and roll my eyes, sticking my tongue out at him while he wasn’t looking at me.
The memory was fuzzy, but I could recall every detail as if it were yesterday.
Ahren and I were around 7 or 8 years old, sitting on my twin-sized bed in our shared bedroom, along with our father. He was tall, had jet-black hair slicked back, and matched his neatly shaved goatee. His blue eyes were bright as they twinkled at mine, with small creases in his cheeks from his smile.
I remember being squished against the wall while Dad sat next to me. Ahren was across from us, sitting at the other end of the bed. His brown hair was scruffy and curled over his eyes, a lighter color than my own darker brown hair.
“Tell us about that time Cruz saved you from that pine tree dude Dad!” Ahren had jumped up from his spot and was now bouncing up and down on my bed.
He was making motions like he was using a sword to fight off an imaginary invader. The bed shook with movement, causing me to slide further into the crevice between the bed and the wall.
I tried to push against the wall to avoid being firmly crushed, but my efforts were futile as I sank even deeper into the hole.
“The pine tree dude?” Our father had a perplexed look on his face, his hand to his chin, scratching it.
“I’ve never heard of a pine tree dude in Chrysos? Joy, have you?”
He asked as he glanced between my brother and I, realizing then that I was struggling to keep out of the growing hole.
In a swift movement, Dad grasped me at my sides and pulled me up onto his lap, causing me to squeal out loud like a little baby piglet.
Ahren had finally stopped jumping, thank goodness. The bed was still, as he sat in front of us and looked at us.
I sighed in relief, finally being able to breathe. Thinking back to the question, I scrunched my face in confusion as I pondered anything relating to pine trees from Dad’s stories.
“Are you talking about a ory-day?” My answer was hesitant; I wasn’t sure I was thinking what Ahren was.
“Oreades, very close Joy.” Dad corrected me, “They’re tree nymphs specific to mountains and grottoes of Chrysos.”
He described them as if he could see them in his mind now.
“They’re beautiful nature spirits, and also female. However, what Ahren was talking about is not ‘pine tree dudes’. That would be a Dryad or Drus. They are bonded to trees, as they live and die in them.”
He spoke in a mocking tone about ‘pine tree dudes’ to Ahren, which made me start giggling.
Ahren rolled his eyes at us and crawled off the bed slowly. His demeanor was off, as he seemed upset from the teasing and laughing.
“You knew what I meant Dad.” Ahren grumbled in response, making his way across the room and now crawling into his own bed. He pulled a blanket over himself and curled into a pillow, looking like a caterpillar in a cocoon.
“Well, I’m sure a Drus or an Oreade would prefer if you called him by his name, rather than saying ‘Pine tree dude’. “Dad spoke up, raising an eyebrow in observation at his changed behavior.
Ahren grumbled again and attempted not to laugh, but a snort came out of his mouth as he pulled the blankets closer to himself.
“Or would you prefer if I call you ‘Dwarf’?” Dad smirked as he spoke, the joke now starting to register between the three of us.
“What! No!” Ahren shouted at us, and Dad started to chuckle beside me, while I was cheering like a chimpanzee. Ahren hated being called short, so munchkin was no better in his eyes.
It was hilarious to me, though.
My laugh was uncontrollable now, as I lay down on the bed, gripping my stomach in pain from how hard I was laughing.
“You’re a dwarf! A dwarf! A short little dwarf!” I shouted and kept laughing at Ahren.
“What’s going on in here?” A delicate voice interrupts the noise of laughter.
A tall, slim figure emerges at the doorway of the room, peering in at us.
Our mother has always been beautiful and never seemed to age, even when I compare her now to then.
Her long blond hair framed her face, flowing down towards the small of her back in length. There was a sparkle to her dark green eyes. Her face had wrinkles in the crease of her mouth from smiling widely as she looked towards the three of us. She knew that we were being a troublesome bunch.
“Momma, Dad called me a dwarf. I hate being called short, you know that!” Ahren had a whiny tone and jumped out of bed to hug our mother, an attempt to be pitied.
“Well, you’re the one who called him a pine tree dude!” I taunted Ahren, beaming at him being in the wrong instead of me for once.
“Now Joy’s making fun of me, Momma!” Ahren continued pouting as he hugged her, and she hugged him back. She gently kissed his forehead.
“Well, Ahren, it’s important to be kind to others, so maybe calling him that wasn’t the best idea.” My mother lifted Ahren’s chin with her finger and squeezed his cheeks, making him smile a bit.
“It’s also ok to remember that we make mistakes, and continue to grow and learn from them.” Her hand gently rested on his shoulder as she was now crouched down beside him at his eye level.
“This goes for you, too, Joyce. Ahren couldn’t remember what Orieades were called, so that doesn’t mean we can pick on him for it.” Mom’s eyes were now directed at me, and I felt the guilt in my stomach and the overwhelming amount of dread from laughing and picking on him. She even called me by my full name.
“I was the one to pick on him, my love,” Dad spoke up from next to me, and stood up, walking over to the pair. He wrapped his arm around my mother as she stood up and put a hand on Ahren’s shoulder.
“I’m sorry Ahren, I shouldn’t have called you a dwarf.” He ruffled Ahren’s curly hair and smiled at him, his blue eyes bright as he looked down at him.
“Well, I guess I should’ve just called it an Orieade, because I knew what it was.” Ahren giggled, making my dad gasp in feigned shock.
“You knew?! You sneaky little dwarf!” Dad then grabbed the pair and started to tickle both Ahren and my mother. A cacophony of yelps from shock and laughter rang out and filled the room. They pleaded and begged not to be ticked any longer. After letting Mom go, he looked at me while picking up Ahren in his right arm.
He started stalking towards me, his other hand raised to tickle.
“No! I don’t wanna be tickled!” I laughed and shrieked as I ran around the room, attempting to get away.
It wasn’t long before my mother grabbed me instead, making raspberry noises into my neck and tickling me everywhere else. My screams were sharp. Our laughter and voices ring in my memory.
I miss laughing like that.
I can’t remember laughing like that in a long time.
His stories always enthralled us. They took me to a world I wanted to escape to, and for Ahren, a world to fight in.
The enemies in this fairytale world, Ahren, would often be those my father would tell us about. Some that supposedly my father befriended, some that he had fought, and others that he had unfortunately been hunted by.
A man, fighting with a centaur, swords clashing in the heat of midsummer.
A unicorn that had chased my father into the seas of Chrysos because he came too close to her foal.
Trolls overturning carts of gold and jewels, and my father having to save the day.
These were the tales of a man who went running after thieves in the night and fought tirelessly in battles.
These stories always had my brother and I asking questions and wanting to learn more. More about this world he had lived in. More about the creatures and beasts he encountered.
Little did I know that I would learn more and then some, soon enough.
