“It is fair. It is as the gods decreed at the time of the Divide. Some have to stay Above so that humanity might survive Below.”

“Then give thanks.”

I don’t join my voices with the sirens.

I do not speak for the gods. All I ever wanted was to speak for me.

The siren begins asking the questions again. And this time Maire joins her voice with the others.

It is the most sorrowful, singing sound I have ever heard. Through the frightening, layered unison of the other voices, there is Maire’s, apart though she speaks at the same time and with the same words. Her voice is the sound of blue and brown, of trees with no leaves and flooded marketplaces and candles lit in memory of people now gone and gods who never were, a begging, pleading, asking the people of the Above to let us live in our place Below. She is not telling like the others, she is asking.

But even Maire’s voice is not working. I don’t know how I know; I just do. I can’t see the faces of the people on the boats. The boats move up and down on the waves, each moment closer to us. The people watch the sirens. They wait for something. Their faces are terribly blank. I have an impression of unmoving lips, staring eyes. I realize that they wear masks. To protect them from the air? To hide their faces?

The sirens’ voices swell, like a wave of the sea. They rise and fall, the commanding, the cajoling, the sweetness of some voices, the poison of others.

The deepmarket siren has been calling over the water and now she turns back to us to continue the litany.

She opens her mouth and lifts her hands. But she doesn’t speak. She falls.

I don’t understand at first. Neither do the others. One voice less, they keep speaking.

“And have mercy on us.

“And on those who live Above.”

The fallen siren does not move.

The people of Atlantia always thought we had the upper hand over the people of the Above, that we had the power.

But we were wrong.

Somehow, the sirens’ miraculous voices have lost their effect on the people of the Above.

The sirens begin calling for the people of the Above to go back, go back. Leave. Leave.

“Why aren’t our voices working?” one siren asks another in panic.

Another siren starts to run. Before she’s taken more than a few steps, the people in the boats shoot her down, too. True cries out and goes to kneel beside her, to see if there is something he can do, but of course there is nothing. She doesn’t even breathe, only bleeds.

I stare in horror at her crumpled body, her robe pooled blue around her. I think, Like the bat.

The miracles are dying. The sirens no longer have power to dictate what happens Above.

I open my mouth to beg for True. Perhaps I could tell the people in the boats that True’s not a siren, convince them to spare his life.

But then Maire is beside me, speaking into my ear low and urgent. “Save your voice,” she says. “You will need it later.” She smiles at me. “I have enough power to distract them now while you run. I can make them forget there were two more people on the island today.”

“But what about you?” I ask.

Another siren falls, but we three are safe.

Maire takes my hand and presses something hard and fragile into it. I don’t even have to look to know that she has given me another shell. “She will tell you everything,” she says. “You will believe it, if you hear it from her. But I had to save it for a long time. She will speak just once. Be sure you listen.”

“Who?” I ask, hardly daring to hope.

“Your mother,” Maire says. She closes her eyes. “My sister.” Her voice is so full of pride and love that it brings tears to my eyes. It is how I want to speak of Bay. It is how I hope Bay speaks of me.

“You loved her,” I say.

“Always,” Maire says. “I love her still.”

With her eyes closed and her voice soft like this, she looks the smallest bit like my mother, her sister.

“She loved you,” I say.

“Of course she did,” Maire says. “And I care enough about myself to want redemption for the things I’ve done.” Before I can ask what she means, what she’s done, whether she believes in the gods after all, she opens her eyes and looks right at me.

“You didn’t care about me until you heard my voice,” I say.

“Your voice is part of you,” Maire says. “So when I say that I love your voice, which I do, I am also saying that I love you.”

“But you didn’t love me without it.”

“No,” she says. “I didn’t. Not as much. But that is the kind of person I am.” She pauses. “Would you love me without my voice?”

I have a strange thought. Perhaps I could love her more without her voice.

She sees what I am thinking.

“Yes,” she says. “That is how it has always been for me.”

My cheeks are wet.

“Maire,” I say, “how do you know you can do this? How do you know I can do this?”

“My dear,” Maire says, “the only chance of success is to trust in your own power.”

And then she gestures for us to run, and she moves away from me, calling out to the people in the boats.

“Listen,” she says. In a voice full of power but also hope, and kindness, no curses, no fear. It’s golden, beautiful, pure. When I hear it, I believe in her as absolutely as I used to believe in my mother. I know Maire has the power to save us.

But we have to go now.

I reach out and try to touch the sleeve of her robe in farewell, but she doesn’t turn. True grabs my hand, and we run across the sand, our feet sinking in, our breath coming hard. I glance back once but I can’t see Maire.

What has happened to her? Has she disappeared? Is she dead?

True and I pull off our robes and leave them on the shore. I slip into the water, the shell Maire gave me clutched tight in my hand, her perfect voice ringing in my ears. And then, for the first time in my life, I swim in the sea Above.

CHAPTER 24

True and I huddle together inside the cave, wet and waiting. There’s not much to hear besides the water as it pushes against the walls of the cave. The constant sound of it reminds me of Atlantia breathing.

We made it.

And the sirens are dying.

My exhilaration over the success of our swim vanishes.

What have I done?

I left Maire behind because I wanted to get True away from the people in the boats, but now he’s safe in the cave.