Day 87,

Morning thought: I ought to go back and explore the ruined cathedral again sometime before the rains return.  And maybe again after.  Try to listen to the voices without running away in a panic.

I just caught myself humming that rhythm.  I thought I finally had it out of my head too.  It’s the archive.  It’s too quiet in here.  Too much empty space for it to creep back into.

When I hum the rhythm I find that I reflexively add in variations in pitch and tone that weren’t captured when it was just tapping.  I’m more convinced than ever now I’ve heard it somewhere before.  But where?  And why do I have such a hard time identifying it?

I’m heading out to Siren Overlook.  Maybe that song can excise this one from my mind.

The song is, well, not gone, but sleeping deep enough that it won’t wake unless I go looking to do so.  I hope.  The next time I go on the floating island, I don’t think I should disembark until we return here.

As I made my way up the road toward the path that leads to Siren Overlook I found that any moment I let my mind wander I would start humming the rhythm again.  No, not “the rhythm,” but “the song.”  So I realized as I turned my synchronized tread from cobblestones to dirt and began vocalizing the noise.  No true words, but intonations of voice close enough to fool an unfocused listener.  And from there I finally made the connection of where I’d first heard the song, even if it was just a whisper at the time.  That western island.  The overlook at the edge of the primeval forest.  The hunting chant, pounding and unrelenting.  The song of the western siren.

As my pace quickened along the path and my voice grew louder, I once again experienced that sensation of being a passenger in my own body.  Of almost being two.  That remaining rational part of my mind helpless as it screamed that what I was doing was unhealthy, dangerous even, and needed to stop.  In some ways, it was not unlike the experience of another panic attack, except here the acting, instinctual, irrational, disobedient part of myself wasn’t being driven by blind fear.  No, this felt good, empowering even; a high that would have been hard to pull myself away from even in more mentally balanced circumstances.  And the very fact that was so enthralling was just one more red flag to the dimming voice of frightened rationality in the back of my head.  And then there was that undercurrent of aggression, of the promise of strength and violence that was so unlike me, unlike how I want to see myself, that the recognition of it was almost enough to shock me from that state.

Almost.

As I neared the end of the path to the Overlook I became aware of the rhythmic tapping that started this joining in time with my wordless song.  Too sharp to be imagined.  Just too far away to be coming from me.

Eyes darting to my periphery, I caught sight of the nature sprite walking beside me in lockstep.  The sound was not truly a tapping at all but a clicking, a clacking, a clattering.  The noise of jaws housing wooden fangs barely opening and then snapping back shut in time to an incessant beat.

As the creature of the woods became aware of my awareness, it stopped walking, although the sound continued unabated.  The opening in the trees to Siren Overlook in sight, I took a few more steps before turning around to face my companion.

I’d rarely seen this being by daylight, and even now it was backing into the shade of the trees at the edge of the path, eyes aglow under its cloak of leaves, branching antlers curiously uncaught on the jungle density, and gnarled wooden hand outstretched, beckoning.  There was a rust red stain on those fingers that had not been there before.  Around the mouth as well, creating a mockery of lips.

This was an invitation.  An entreaty to turn back.  An offer to follow into the woods.  To abandon my worries and cares, my fears and anxiety.  To lose myself in the rhythm of the hunt.  To become something else.  To run frumious through the jungle with jaws that bite and claws that catch.  To let the song fill me until I am more it than me.

And I took that step closer.  Right there, in that moment, nothing seemed more wonderful.  Curse me, but I wanted it.  And so I reached out my own hand.

And saw the bronze bracelet around my wrist.

My focus strayed.  My mind wandered.  That small, frightened, rational part of me that had been pounded into silence by the sound reached out.  To Cass.  To Lin.  To Vernon.  To Maiko.  They may not have felt me, but I felt them.  Was reminded that I had others I cared about and wished to continue spending time with.  Had others that cared about me and would be distressed if I just disappeared to become a wild thing in the woods.

I turned and ran.  In retrospect, I don’t think that you’re supposed to do that in front of predators as it spurs them to chase.  I don’t know if that’s true in general, but it was the case here.  I ran for the Overlook.  For the archway.  For that other song.  The nature sprite took several seconds to react – surprised perhaps – and the closer we got to the arch at the end of the cliff the more it slowed down.  Had it not been for those two factors, I surely would have been caught, and I shudder to imagine what may have happened then.

As it was, I reached the arch, where the siren’s song of tranquility is strongest, with a racing heart and ragged breaths.  I looked over my shoulder to see that my pursuer, over the length of the Overlook, had gone from a bounding sprint to practically staggering up the steps toward me.  Were the song not already having its way with me I might have shouted, tried to back away further in what little space remained.  Maybe even tried to run back past the nature sprite and on to the Village.

Instead, I just stood there, leaning against one leg of the arch.  By the time the sprite reached me my breathing was deep and even and the pounding in my heart and head had ceased.  Rather than try to touch me, it just slumped against the other leg of the arch and slid down until it was seated with its head slumped forward, cloak of leaves spreading out over the grass and antlers filling the space between us.

I did the same.

I’m not sure how long the two of us sat there with this more peaceful song washing through and over us.  Long enough that I think I now grasp the fundamental difference between the songs.  It’s not a matter of calm vs aggression, peace vs violence.  This song of the southern siren, the song of the Village, is a song of emptiness.  It passes over, around, and through you, cleaning out clinging external worries, leaving behind simply you.  Once you leave, that sleepy sensation passes and you can barely remember the song itself, only the feeling associated with it.

The song of the western siren, of the primeval forest, by contrast flows into you.  It carries a feeling, an idea, an essence, and that something sticks with you, fills the empty spaces in your head until your thoughts can’t help but bump into them.  I think the song of that eastern island is the same way, just with a different message.

So what would the song of that island spiraling around Cloud Tower have been like?

My reverie was eventually broken by the wood-scratching-against-stone sound of the nature sprite rising back to its feet.  With a smile that would have been terrible to look at anywhere else, it patted me on the head, glided over to the pool that ran the length of Siren Overlook, washed its hands and face, and disappeared into a flurry of breeze-blown leaves and laughter.

Blinking myself to wakefulness, I took that as my own cue to go home.

Not too far down the path I ran into Lin and Vernon rushing as they made their own way to the Overlook.  They’d felt me in danger.  It had only been for a few seconds but they’d come to help anyway.  I can only imagine how Cass must have felt being so much farther away and in less position to do anything.

I assured them that I was fine now and explained what had happened as best I could on the way back to the Village.  Between the three of us we wound up with some theories about why things happened the way they did.  Our best guess is that the nature sprite followed us, me, onto the floating island in whatever unseen way it moves about, but since I was rarely alone for long on that voyage it never made itself known.  Eventually when we docked at that western island, it came ashore too and for whatever spritely reason, was far more affected by the siren song there than any of us were.  Once we got back it fled off into the jungle in the throes of the hunting song until I was finally alone again, at which time it began following me around with the tapping before running off again.  That soon got into my head to the point where I started unconsciously copying the rhythm myself.  At least, that makes more sense than the sprite following me into the archive to make tapping noises all night.  Eventually it got into my head enough that I started remembering the song properly and drew the sprite back to me, and then all that I just described.

At any rate, that’s the story we’ve chosen to tell ourselves to make sense of things and comfort ourselves that whatever danger there may have been has passed.

Lin and Vernon both offered to let me spend the night in their respective homes.  As appealing as the offers were, I declined.  It seems that even with the thought of people caring about me calling me back from… whatever that was, I still have trouble feeling like I’m imposing on them.

So, tonight I think I shall be falling asleep to the small nighttime sounds of nature around the house.