“Can’t you stop him from speaking?” True asks.
The Minister shakes his head. “I’ve tried. Our Council is broken. We are split into factions. Those who believe as I do are in the minority.” His voice breaks. It is such a normal voice, the voice of a person—perhaps of a very good, very wise person—but that is all. “I do not know how much longer I will be allowed to retain my position as Minister. Some are already suggesting Nevio as a replacement.”
Ciro cannot compete with Nevio.
True looks at me. Should we tell Ciro? I shake my head the smallest bit. How can we trust someone we haven’t known for very long with such a secret? Would he even believe us? And what could he do?
And I’ve had another thought. If I turn in Nevio, will they kill him? They might. My voice has to be pure if I’m going to use it the way Maire intended. It can’t have caused someone else’s death. Even Nevio’s.
“All the sirens are gone,” Fen says, shaking his head as if he can’t believe it. He doesn’t know about Nevio, either, of course.
“We don’t know that,” I say. “Maire hoped there were more.” I don’t say the rest in front of Ciro, but I can tell that Bay knows what I mean. More like me. Hidden sirens. And there are potential sirens not yet born. I think of all those voices that might never have a chance to sing.
“I’m afraid we don’t have much time to mourn,” Ciro says. “We need to direct our attention to saving Atlantia. The Council majority has already begun debating how many people should be rescued from the Below. As it stands, anyone who hasn’t had a siren in her bloodline is considered suspect, because one could still appear. Those like you”—he looks at Bay and me—“who have a siren in your lineage might be allowed to come up and be rehabilitated.”
The Minister doesn’t know that I’m a siren.
Bay told him about Maire but not about me.
She’s still keeping me safe.
She says she trusts Ciro, but she hasn’t told him everything. Something’s kept her from doing it. And if that’s the case, I’d better not tell him about Nevio.
Maire’s words come back to me. There are some things you only tell a sister. And some things you only ask of a sister.
Ciro looks at Fen. “They’ve also decided that anyone who has lost a family member to water-lung or who is infected with it themselves won’t be rescued.”
“But that’s most of Atlantia,” Bay says. “You’d be hard put to find anyone who didn’t have water-lung in their line somewhere. And if you also rule out all the lines that haven’t had a siren appear, there will be hardly anyone left that your Council considers worth saving.”
“I know,” Ciro says. “They are letting fear control them.”
“They are murderers,” Bay says. “Your people are murderers.”
“And so are ours,” Fen points out.
He’s right. The people of Atlantia have not fought for us. They have been afraid of us, too. They have forgotten to see sirens as human, only as lonely miracles, and in the end they are the ones who killed us when we came Above.
“But someone has to go Below,” Bay says, her face pale. “Someone has to tell the people there what Nevio and the Council have done to the sirens. And that the Council is leaving Atlantia to die.”
“Going Below won’t accomplish anything.” I have to work hard to contain the bitterness in my voice. “We don’t know that the people there will believe you. And even if so, what can they do?”
“Rio’s right,” Fen says. “There’s no reason to risk yourself for them.” He’s trying to protect her. And he sounds as angry as I feel.
“There’s every reason,” Bay says. She knows I won’t survive without Atlantia, but she can’t say that in front of Ciro or he’ll know what I am. She takes a deep breath. “The people living Below now have never known the full truth.”
“If you go down and tell it to them, what does that change?” Fen asks. “The Council up here will still condemn most of Atlantia to death.”
“Maire really believed there could be more sirens?” Bay asks.
“Yes,” I say. “Hidden ones.” There might be more people like me.
Of course there might be more like Nevio, too.
“Maybe, if there are any sirens left Below, and they knew that they were safe to speak, they could cry out to the gods to help us,” True says. “Or maybe they will be heard Above somehow. They are miracles, after all.”
“We need to tell the people,” Bay says. “Whether they die or live, they need to know the truth. They need to send their voices, siren or not, up to the gods and to the people Above to beg for their lives. They need to agree to change, too.” Bay pauses. “But it can’t be a siren who tells them.”
She’s right. I know it. I know she was born for this. She has always loved Atlantia; she has always heard the city breathing. Thinking of the greater good comes naturally to her. She could have been the next Minister if she hadn’t always been so busy protecting me. “How are you going to get Below?” I ask, and Bay turns to look at me in surprise. And then she smiles.
“They are sending one more transport down tonight,” Ciro says. “There are a few Council members of the Below who have been granted asylum who were not in the initial group. I may be able to get you on board that transport, hidden somewhere. I have a favor I can call in. But we must be certain we want to spend it on this.”
“Can you think of anything else we might do?” Bay asks.
Ciro pauses for a moment, then shakes his head. “I will ask those here to speak for the people Below. But perhaps the gods cannot answer our prayers until both the Above and the Below plead together.”
We are all silent for a moment. The temple storage room smells like stone and books and old cloth, just like the temple Below.
“Then I will go,” Bay says. “You believe you can arrange it?”
“Yes,” says Ciro the Minister. “I am sure I can get you to the Below. But I don’t know that I will be able to bring you back.”
“I understand,” she says.
“And I can’t guarantee your safety in the Below,” Ciro says. “How do you think your Council will react when they see you?”