Wooden boards creaked and groaned as the ship rocked with every wave that crested against its hull. Faint starlight beamed through the small cabin porthole and illuminated Marlow’s hunched figure. Wisps of curly, frizzy brown hair hung in her face, having pulled free from the tight tail it had been pulled into almost the day prior. She chewed her lip, rolling the flesh between her teeth, and picked absently at her fingernails, which were now cracked and bleeding from the prolonged abuse.

Each time her hands moved, the heavy manacles around her wrists clinked against the short chains that kept them shackled to each other. The metal was rough and tight against her skin and had already rubbed her wrists raw.

The boat hit a particularly violent wave and Marlow reached to one side to clutch the edge of the cot she was perched on, as the shackles would not allow her to bring her hands to opposite sides at the same time. She clenched her jaw and clung until the rocking settled to a more manageable motion once more.

Her breath whistled out between her teeth as she slowly released the side of the cot. She rose from the makeshift bed and wobbled slightly on the uneven floor beneath her. From the corner of her eye, she watched the guard at the door shift. He was a taller man, dressed in baggy chainmail, with a thick breastplate and helmet. The armour felt unnecessary and heavy. What sort of threat could she possibly pose to him?

The tip of his spear bobbed in her direction, but she regarded it with no more concern than if he were holding a twig. Was he to run her through with it? She would be dead on the dawn anyways; the only thing the warden could do was potentially end it quicker.

The manacles around her ankles rattled furiously as Marlow hobbled over to the small porthole and peered out. The sky was beginning to lighten to a grayer tone from the deep indigo of night. Her time was running out, and she felt her gut twist as she stared at the sky. Her belly was tight and empty; she had not eaten since the morning of two days prior. Her captors had not sought to feed her, but she would have been far too nervous to keep anything down anyways.

Her gaze drifted down to the water, still in turmoil as waves rocked the hull. The ocean looked black as ink despite the sky itself beginning to brighten and Marlow stared hard at it for a moment. Was it her imagination, or had she caught a glimpse of shimmering scales? Whether she had or not did not really matter. She knew they were out there, knew her fate. No one ever came back from a sacrificial ritual despite being alive upon entering the water.

Feeling her throat close, she twisted away from the porthole and made her way back to collapse on the cot. Tears stung in her eyes and she chewed at her lip until her mouth flooded with the coppery tang of blood. Grimacing, she swallowed thickly, forcing the sticky fluid down her dry throat to avoid spitting it to the deck below. She closed her eyes and took a few deep breaths through her nose as she tried to slow her racing heart. She did not want to die.

She was not unfamiliar with the practice she had been thrust into, but she had never imagined being entangled in it. Her family had warned her not to venture too close to town that day. The day of the choosing. But she had never imagined she would be selected. Most often it was criminals and social outcasts who were forced aboard this ship. It was unfair and terrible, but she had still assumed herself somewhat safe, being the daughter of a farmer on the outskirts of the town. Perhaps that had been foolish, wishful thinking though, as her family was not directly connected to the kingdom, living further in the woods on a coastal plot of land. Why sacrifice their own when they can take from a pool of outsiders?

They had called it an honour; citizens had cheered and the lord himself had praised her as a champion. Those formal ‘honours’ and titles had vanished under the weight of the shackles and watchful eye of the guard.

Marlow hung her head and picked at a lacy twist in the fabric of the ankle-length white gown she’d been dressed in. It was not hers, and was a size too small in the waist, pinching in at her hips awkwardly with every bend and movement. It was composed almost entirely of flowing lace and bits of silk, and did very little for proper warmth or modesty; not that any aboard the ship would touch her. It was not about being clothed, but symbolic of her place, of her fate. She hated it. She longed for the slightly too large overalls and heavy boots she often wore into the forests while foraging, or the somewhat better fitting slip she would wear into town with her mother to sell and trade twice a month. Never in her life would she have thought – or wanted – to own a dress like this. It was impractical and itchy, and she found it more repulsive than her far simpler wardrobe.

Another piece of hair fell into Marlow’s face and she batted it out of her eyes and back behind her ear. When she had first been chosen – yanked off the road by some guards and brought to kneel with other candidates before the council of Elleron – Marlow had been escorted to a small home in the heart of the city. It was owned by a family who traded a room for immunity from selection, and a tall, wiry woman had kept watch over her for the four days Marlow was there. She had been granted a small room with little more than a cot, and the woman’s watchful eye every time she dared open the door to look. They had fed her a little at first, and she had nibbled at it, but her appetite faded quickly, and so did their inclination to provide for her. It was a waste, after all, to feed a dead girl.

Then, she had been taken and stripped and washed and dressed in the gown she now wore. Her hair had been woven back, but the hours at sea had allowed it to begin to slip free. When she was first escorted out on the boat, it had been high noon, and it felt like she was boarding a ferry to her doom. And she had been. It was now not far from dawn, and she would not live to see the sunrise.

A tear slipped down Marlow’s cheek and she bit her lip again to suppress the sob that was building painfully in her chest. She would never see her mother and father again, nor her younger siblings. They would know – or at least guess – at what had happened to her, likely already had when she did not come home that night. She had been gone nearly a week now. She wished she had given them a proper goodbye.

Loud voices outside the cabin caused Marlow’s head to jerk up, which spooked the guard who once again levelled his spear at her, but she had her gaze trained on the door behind him. Her heartbeat grew louder and louder in her ears as it thrummed in her chest with every passing second. More voices joined in, followed by footsteps. She stole a glance at the porthole. The sky was still gray, surely it was not time yet. She squinted at the sliver of sky visible and noticed the thick foggy cloud clover. Morning was closer than she had originally thought, and her gut twisted.

She hated the cabin and being out at sea, she hated the dress and the shackles and the guard, but now that it had run out; all she wanted was more time.

The footsteps grew closer, followed by the sharp jingle of keys on a ring. The lock clicked and the door swung open at the same time the guard shifted out of the way and stood a little straighter. Marlow could only stare with widened eyes, frozen in place on the cot as she stared at the captain of the ship, who had to duck his head to step through the low doorway of the tiny cabin. She wanted to scream and cry and thrash, resist her fate in every way possible, but she knew it was pointless. She could rise and follow him or be dragged over the splintery deck from the guards, and while she would die either way, she wanted to at least walk on her own.

Taking a breath and swallowing the bile that was rising in her throat, Marlow slowly pushed herself up off the cot. Her legs quaked and she worried they would have to drag her anyways.

“Come on,” the captain barked. He shifted his weight and scowled at her as though she was inconveniencing him, instead of staring down the end of her own life. Reluctantly, she stepped around the cot and walked over to the armed guards as quickly as her chain shortened strides allowed her. Despite her compliance, the guard who stood watch over her through the night – along with the one who had followed the captain in – each flanked her and took hold of her upper arm, while squeezing tighter than necessary.

They led her through the doorway and up a small flight of stairs they had to practically carry her up as she stumbled and tripped over the chains. She walked in a daze, unable to hear anything over the sound of her own heart pounding in her ears. When they finally stepped outside, the wind took Marlow’s hair, sending the frizzy locks that had started to pull free whipping against her cheeks and forehead. She could not move to brush them back with the guards holding her, so she bowed her head and stared at the wooden planks as she was led across the deck. She could hear the water sloshing at the sides of the boat and the distant squawking of gulls, but it only made her nerves knot themselves into a tighter mess.

She jerked as the guards suddenly stopped, and finally glanced back up. They stood at the edge of the boat, where the railing parted in a gap wide enough for a long wooden plank to be extended over the water. Her heart skipped a beat.

While the two on either side held her in place, another guard stepped forward with a metal ring, on which two keys sat and clinked together. He knelt beside her and fumbled with one of the keys – a long rusty iron one with two teeth – which he slotted into the keyhole on her left ankle. The cuff snapped open and fell to the deck with a loud clank. Seconds later, the other joined it, leaving her free to walk once more. She imagined they just did not want to lose the metal to the depths; not when they could be reused. He then stood and Marlow averted her gaze to avoid having to look at his face. As far as she was concerned, they were all murderers.

As soon as the shackles fell from her arms, Marlow rubbed at her wrists. She glanced down at the raw, exposed flesh. It was bleeding, though only slightly. It was going to sting when she hit the water. She supposed she should not care, it was likely the least of her worries, though she still hoped death would come quickly, rather than slow and prolonged.

Once the third guard backed away, the two flanking her pulled her closer until they were standing at the rails, leaving her at the foot of the plank. A series of horns sounded behind her. Low and long, they sounded eerie and sorrowful. Marlow gulped as the two guards released her and a wooden pole – likely the butt of a spear – was prodded against her back. “Move,” came the captain’s clipped command.

Marlow’s legs were shaking so badly she was not certain how she was standing on her own, but she took two hesitant steps forward on the wobbly board and felt like passing out. Above her, the thick gray cloud clover cast the water below in dark shadows. The hairs on the backs of her arms and neck prickled as she took a few more steps forward. She was near the edge of the plank now, peering down into the roiling waters.

Behind her, the trumpets grew louder and she hesitated. They were not the only ones who would hear them. She stared hard at the water, and this time she knew it was not her imagination as she watched the shimmering figures twist and dart beneath the dark skin of the water. They were there, waiting. Marlow felt sick.

Sirens. The reason they were out there, the reason the kingdom had its barbaric rituals. The half-human half-fish monsters that infested the waters were said to have an insatiable craving for human flesh and supernatural abilities to enchant the minds. The coastal kingdom that relied heavily on fishing and trade ships had lived in terror of their wrath, so they found a way to appease the creatures of the deep, to keep them from harming the fishermen; sacrificing one or two unlucky souls once every couple of moons to keep their hunger satiated. Marlow took another shaky step forward. The board was bowing beneath her weight and she was nearly thrown off from the singular movement.

A sharp, haunting whistling rose from the water and Marlow’s breathing hitched, while her heart stalled. Shaking her head and feeling her throat close, Marlow took a step back from the edge of the plank. She could not do it, could not walk it on her own. They would force her, she was sure, but she could not bring herself to jump into waters infested with creatures worse than sharks. The drone of the trumpets was deafening, but she still heard the dark chuckle that rose behind her seconds before an armoured boot stomped down on the plank. It rattled and shook under the pressure. It was all it took; Marlow lost her balance and with a terrified shriek, pitched off the plank down into the water below.

The water was freezing and pierced through the thin dress like she was not wearing anything at all. She almost wished that was the case, for after struggling to the surface for a single gasping breath, the weight of the waterlogged lace dragged her back down. She flailed, trying desperately to claw her way back to the surface to no avail.

The surrounding waters filled with the haunting whistles and the shimmering bodies began to dart around her, keeping a slight distance at first. They moved too quickly for Marlow to get a good look, but her terror manifested in a desperate whimper that stole bubbles of air from her lips. The ship was not anchored and was already being pulled away by the current, leaving her behind to face her doom.

She managed to break the surface once more, sputtering and spitting out briny seawater and filling her lungs once more before a wave crested over her head and forced her back down. She squinted in the water but could not keep count of the sparkling bodies darting around her, but they were gradually drawing closer. She spun around, trying to keep them in her sights, as though it would ward them off a little longer.

It was ineffective and soon one was on her. She twisted as she felt hands slide over her arms, clenching her teeth to suppress a scream that would only rob her of more air. The creature grabbed her firmly and dragged her close. Marlow flailed, but it was stronger and pinned her easily against its torso. Its skin was smooth and almost rubbery, a faint grayish-brown and speckled with light brown spots. She felt it shift with every sway of its hips keeping it hovering in the water.

At first, she was confused by its actions, which seemed so unlike predatory hunting, until the others converged upon them. She squealed as further hands began to grab her, long nails scratching against her flesh, followed by the grate of sharp fangs and subtle mouths dragging over her as they began tearing the dress away. Marlow cried out then, as each scratch began to burn mightily. She twisted in the grip of the one still holding her, and its grasp tightened, leaving her to the mercy of the others. She understood then, this one was restraining her so the others could feed.

She squeezed her eyes shut, beginning to feel light-headed and dizzy from lack of oxygen. She hoped that would take her first. These creatures seemed to have no intention of killing her quickly; it was likely they preferred their victims alive as they fed. Her stomach twisted as the last scraps of the dress were torn away, and then she felt fangs sinking deep into the flesh of her shoulder. Marlow screeched at the fiery agony that exploded from the site where the creature was clinging.

Nails dug into her side and a few of the tails whapped her as they circled. Another bit down around her other shoulder and Marlow began to choke as she screamed and water flooded her mouth. Her vision was growing fuzzy and her chest constricted desperately.

Blood began to ooze around her, staining her vision from blue to pink, and just as Marlow felt like she was going to pass out, the siren holding her bent its head and pressed its open mouth against hers. It confused her further. Was it kissing her? She squirmed and then felt the pressure as her lungs began to forcibly expand. She still felt woozy, there was little actual oxygen in the breath the creature had to offer. She continued to struggle, wanted to wail with despair; why would it not just let her die? What gain did it have keeping her alive? It forced another breath into her and then pulled away, leaving a tiny trail of bubbles to flutter towards the surface.

Marlow got a decent look at its face, with sharp incisors and wide slightly too big eyes outlining its key features. She could not focus on it long, as her entire body now felt consumed by fire. Every scratch and bite seemed to grow more and more agonizing with every passing moment. She struggled, flailing once more, but it only tore at the wounds of the sirens still clinging to her. One growled and whistled sharply before releasing its grip, only to bite down again. Marlow jerked and then fell still.

The pain of the wounds still throbbed, but the rest of her body was growing numb and her head was filled with eerie whistles. She was certain now that the calls were the songs the legends spoke off, creeping in on her mind and making her body numb with fog.

The monster holding her bent again to breathe into her once more, and she was vaguely aware of another set of fangs sinking into her flesh. It hurt, but most of Marlow’s body felt heavy and numb like her flesh was sagging off her bones. Her head was filled with the drumming echoes of the sirens’ calls. They were melodic, in a frightening way, and they made it hard to think. As she sunk deeper into a sense of nothingness, with only the burning sensation and the tingling of her deadened limbs, the fear began to melt away. She was going to die, she knew, and she would never get to see any of her loved ones again – they would never get closure on what happened to her – but the worries slipped away like dandelion seeds blowing in the wind. She no longer cared.

Marlow closed her eyes and fell limp in the collective grasps of the aquatic beings. A series of sharp cracking noises cut through the melodic whistles fogging her mind and brought with it a new, searing agony. Bubbles streamed from her lips as she screamed, her body arching back before the calls came down on her again and she sunk deeper into a void. The pain began to recede as Marlow’s last flickers of consciousness winked out.