The Older the Fiddler, the Sadder the Tune

Trigger warning: Death

“What are you thinking?” Lindir questioned, swirling his scaled fingers through the steady stream. Their golden brown hues shimmered under the lights piercing the river. Its rushing waters could be dangerous for a mortal. Many had been snatched beneath its surface. If not by the current, then by the mischievous creatures that called it home.  

Along the river bed, a school of fish swam beyond his reach. “Don’t be afraid,” he pleaded. As though his words had pierced the waters, a lone fish diverged from the school. It approached his hand with a cautious curiosity. A youngling. Lindir fixed his fingers to brush its iridescent scales when a larger fish–perhaps its mother–blocked the path and directed it back to the school. 

It wasn’t fair. 

Lindir smacked the surface of the river, disrupting the rapids and turned to leave. The trickling that had previously overwhelmed the forest, ceased. Back facing the bank, Lindir froze. Afraid to move. Afraid to hope. He waited for a beat, then turned. 

A horse-like head was raised above the water’s surface. Could it really be? Maeve. Her coat was a deep black, with hints of purple glistening in the sunlight. A glint of her fangs could be seen below her long, narrowed snout. Two webbed ears were pinned back against her head beside her braided mane. A white scar the length of his forearm, had disfigured her gills. Its raised surface trailed down her neck and disappeared below the water. A painful ache pierced his chest at the memory of its origin. He stared into her mauve eyes. They held many thoughts, but her mind was silent to him. He blinked and she was gone. A trick. 

He was always alone.

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Mo stóirín! Where did you go, my sweet?”

Luana shoved through the market crowd, evoking glares from the hawkers. Each warned of legends of the fae, like fairies, or water spirits who would–

“--drown ya if you wander too close…” 

Or how you shouldn’t give your name, because–

“--names hold power! Never share them with–Hey!”

“Sorry!” Luana shoved the poster back in the man’s hand. “Orren?!?!” 

Luana and her son had recently moved to Síoraí Village. Orren had a habit of wandering. Her dark brown orbs swirled with love and angst as she searched. A mere glimpse into the windows of a mother’s soul. 

“Luana!” 

Long brown locs fanned around her as she faced Kathleen–a neighbor who’d helped them adjust. Kathleen was taller than Luana with fair skin and wavy ginger tresses, swept into a high ponytail. 

“Been looking all over for ya! Can’t find anything with all the bards crooning about sirens, and nixies. Saw Orren playing with the leanaí from down the river. Sent mine to join him. Found you, thanks to him. That’s a smart boy you’ve got, and handsome too. Spitting image of his father, I’d say.” 

Luana ran worried hands over her sun kissed face, breathing out a sigh of relief. “Down the river?”

“Ah now, ran off again, did he? ‘Praise the young, and they will flourish’. He’s curious. Come, let’s finish while they play.” 

—--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 

Unaware of the shock his Mum just had, Orren played Manhunt with the other leanaí. He’d been the last one found, so he got to choose the fugitives this time. He and five others would be seekers. After counting, the hunt began. The forest was dense and vast. Although Orren wasn’t as familiar with the area, he was nimble and clever. 

He scanned the forest path, when an alluring melody drifted past his ears. It was airy with sharp notes. Despite the tristful cadence, it was beautiful. He imagined if sped up, it would be quite a lively tune. Following the music, Orren stumbled upon a clearing circled by trees. Inside, a man sat upon a stone with his eyes closed. A beautifully carved flute rested on his lips.

The man was tall, even sitting down, his legs stretched miles ahead of him. His tawny skin held an indescribable radiance. Outside its hole, a small rabbit raised its head and watched as he played. Even the flowers and trees seemed to reach toward him. Long fingers drifted over the flute, the only visible movement in the clearing, despite the crowd. His honey blonde waves fell past his chest with two braids on either side of his face. Orren was uncertain why, but he felt this was no ordinary man. He was wary. The song ended abruptly and the man’s eyes shot open. Orren quickly hid behind a tree.

—--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A resounding silence settled throughout the forest as Lindir lowered his flute. His amber eyes trailed lazily over the clearing. “I know you’re there.” I can smell you. A sweet scent both enticing and repulsive. “Please, come out.” He longed to speak to someone who would answer. “You do not have to fear me.”

A brief moment passed before a young boy stepped from behind a large tree trunk. The child’s dark brown curls fell messily across his forehead, hanging in his hazel eyes. His skin was bronzed, and dirty from the day’s play. On his wrist was a slightly too large bracelet.

“I didn’t mean to stare.” His voice was soft and nasally. The sound, a comfort to the ever ending silence Lindir had endured since losing his gift. “Th-that was a pretty song you played,” the boy complimented with flushed cheeks. 

“Was it?” Raising his eyes to Lindir’s, the boy nodded. He gave a sad smile.“Thank you…?”

“It’s,” the boy hesitated, “Orren.” He felt his eyes pulse, at the new information. “Your eyes…” 

“Yes?”

“They,” the boy–Orren–started, then appeared to think better of it, “what’s the song called?” Saw them glow did he? Lindir chuckled softly, aiming a delighted smile at Orren.

“‘An Ode to’. I’m glad it sounds as beautiful as I remember.” He unfolded from his perch and movement returned to the clearing. Tying the flute to his hip, he glided to the river’s edge and crouched down. Would this time be different?

“An ode to what?” Orren hurried to follow. “What do you mean remember?” The question was harmless, but the memories–the reality–anything but. 

“I can’t hear it anymore. Only very special beings can. You see,” Lindir tried to keep the bitter acceptance from his voice, “the song I played is ephemeral. Beautiful, but temporary.” 

He still gravely mourned the loss of the music. His friends. His family. His companion. He hadn’t lost them all together. No. It was little by little that he lost the pieces of himself. Each day the music grew fainter and fainter until it sputtered out altogether. His ability to convey his thoughts with the Kelpies and fish faded out like one's hearing with age. More creatures and fae began to avoid him, fearful of whom they could no longer understand, of who could no longer understand them. To them he was, well–

He glanced at Orren.

Maeve, his companion, was the last to go. She worried for him, even when he lashed out, resented her…hurt her. He looked down at his hand and for a moment it was covered in blue blood. Her blood. It dripped down his arm. Thick. Slippery. He blinked and his hands were clean. Visibly. 

Orren was a welcomed presence over his shoulder. Together, they watched as the fish who had skipped freely across the surface now sank to its depths. He dipped his hands in the water. I won’t hurt you. Face pinched in consternation, he did all he could to force the thought through. No sacrifice had been enough to stop the hands of time. 

“Perhaps it’s beautiful because it’s temporary. For as I matured, it went silent, as did the beings it called.” 

“Mature?” The word didn’t quite come out right. 

“Not Mach-er, muh-chure. Maturing is to change with time, to grow and leave behind your youthful wiles.” Lindir sends his magic into the current. He felt the cool rush of the river's energy. Faint, but present.

Orren, now belly down by the river, was too busy struggling to reach the fish to notice the golden brown scales that formed on Lindir’s submerged arm. 

“That’s not fair! If being matrer means I can never hear your pretty song again then..then..then I don’t ever wanna matrurer!” Orren finished, with a splash. 

Lindir was fascinated. He crouched, momentarily unable to move. Watching as the boy’s little back heaved in the forest, lit only by orange rays that slithered through the treetops. The anger looked misplaced on the child. He watched as a fish kissed Orren’s hand, expelling the boy’s anger. 

A savage envy slashed at his heart.

With a grace no man could carry, he rose and drifted to Orren’s side. Orren started at his sudden presence. He extended his scaleless hand and pulled the flustered boy to his feet. “Don’t fright, young one.” Up close, Lindir noted Orren’s bracelet was leather with an engraved plaque. What’s this?  

Orren snatched his hand back and gave him a look Lindir was sure he thought was intimidating. He chuckled. Oh, Orren. What a light you are. 

“Hmph!” Orren pouted. “Why did you matrue if you knew this would happen?” Lindir felt his brow twitch, no longer amused. Behind him, the previously rapid river grew increasingly aggressive. Sharp waves clawed at the river bank, drowning the nearest life in its unforgiving embrace. Orren continued heedlessly, “And why do you still play if you’ll never hear the song again?” 

Turning his back on Orren, Lindir closed his pulsing eyes, touched by Midas. A deep sorrow, slowed his inhuman heart and the river returned to its previous flow. Humans were refreshing. Their children, more so. Why, indeed, did he still play?

“Should I hide something beautiful from others because I cannot experience it myself?” Orren seemed to ponder that. “Besides, some souls still heed its call.” He gestured toward Orren. “Now, I’ve made a new friend.” A delighted smile split Orren's face. “Nice bracelet, by the way.” 

Orren tensed and shifted his hand behind him, “Thanks.”

Apprehensive hazel orbs met Lindir’s. The silence was loud and uncomfortable. Neither boy, nor fae moved. Seemingly bested by his curiosity, Orren queried, “Is there really no way for you to hear the music again?” His previously guarded eyes held a sympathetic look.

Drawing his hand over his mouth, Lindir distanced himself from Orren. As he walked the perimeter of the clearing, his eyes never left the boy. His face full of child-like youth Lindir had been forced to leave behind. “There is a way, but the price is…” 

“What is it? ” Orren urged, wrapping his small fingers around Lindir’s wrists. When had the boy gotten so close? No. It was him who had drawn near. One hand framed the boy’s face, the other rested over the boy’s jumping pulse. “I want to help!”

“NO!” Orren flinched. Lindir snatched his hands back, tripping over himself to get away. “I cannot accept your offer.” I shouldn’t. Not you.

“Why no-”

“What is your favorite thing in existence? That you cherish more than your own life. The thing you love most, child.”

He tapped his little chin, then he exclaimed, “My mum!”

“How would you feel if you lost her?” Orren deflated before his eyes, as though he really had. “What would you do to have her back?”

The answer came without hesitation, “Anything!”

“Even if it meant hurting someone else?” This time, Orren had no answer. “Let me tell you a story of a young Nixie named Lindir.”

“Lindir spent his time playing with the fish, kelpies, and his older brother who loved his presence no less than he loved theirs. He could feel the water’s magic thrumming within him. Giving him strength. With it he could hear the animals and call on the waters for aid. He was happy.

His elder brother had just reached his 100th cycle. The age of nixie maturity. That night, he saw his elder brother sitting by the river, crying. A deep wrenching cry that drew tears from those around him. The water’s children surrounded him, nipping at his toes, urging him to join them. Lindir approached his brother and said something incredibly insensitive, though he did not know it at the time. 

‘Brother, they wish to play. Why do you neglect them?’

‘I HEAR NOTHING!’ his brother had roared. His soft spoken brother had never raised his voice. Stunned, he stood still.

‘I HEAR nothing, I FEEL nothing! It’s all gone…the murmurs, the magic, the music. Gone! There’s no warning that could have prepared me for this, brother.’ 

He had never heard his brother wail as he did that night, and for many nights to come. After moons of sitting out on the banks crying, the brother he knew was back. He danced with the children, and the elders watched. He laughed and played the sacred songs of their people. But there was something dark  about him. 

The clan elders regarded him with contempt. The water did not welcome him the same. The river creatures swam away, and the children on longer danced with him. Rumors of missing people in the village reached the clan. Lindir snuck away from the cove that night and spotted his brother arguing with the elders. They pointed away from the clove, and his elder brother left. Lindir never saw him again.

He later discovered his brother’s grave sin. He had lured the village children with his flute and consumed them to mend a connection fated to be severed. ”

Orren’s eyes pooled until fat drops spilled down his plump cheeks. “How…how…”

Lindir settles a malicious gaze on Orren. “How awful of him to–”

“How could they make him go? He just wanted to talk to the fishies again…to feel the magic. They could have helped him!” Orren sputtered. Lindir was unsettled. No. Moved?

“If they had just showed him everything would be okay and teached him how they handled it, maybe he wouldn’t have made that choice.”

He felt a cold, wetness on his face. Was he crying? Wiping the tears away he hazarded, “You, weep for my elder brother?” 

Orren drew his fists from now wary eyes.

“Your elder brother?” Lindir bristled, at the question and accusation. Hesitantly, he reached a hand out to Orren, who shook his head and began backing away. “You’re Lindir.” A hurt expression crossed Lindir’s face. 

Burying the guilt and pain, his anger pushed forward. “Do you fear me now, BOY?” 

Orren surveyed the dark terrain, “How long has it been since you reached your 100th cycle?”

“Nixies are known for capturing and drowning men.”

“WHAT DID YOU CHOOSE?!?”

“But not our clan,” he continued, “they were pacifists,” he spat. Said it was wrong to exchange the lives of others for our gifts.” His eyes pulsed and glowed in the darkness. “Nothing prepares you to be stripped of everything. I’ve been so alone, Lucien.”

Lucien stumbled at the sound of his name. Breathing hard, he struggled to regain his footing. 

Lindir eyed the bracelet, “You were smart, to hide it from me.”

“...”

“I asked what you would do.” Lindir states coldly. Waiting, watching as Lucien's eyes darted left, then right. “YOU WERE THE ONE WHO SAID ANYTHING!” He had lost all composure.

 Lucien bolted into the trees. 

“I can feel you now, Lucien. Your warmth, your light. There's nowhere you can go that I won't find you. Names hold power, you know?” Lindir tore off into the darkness after him. “Lucien?”

“LUCIEN?!?”

“I’M SORRY! I DON’T HAVE A CHOICE!” I really thought we could be friends. 

—----------------------------—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Done with their errands, Luana and Kathleen searched for their children.

“Orren? Mo stóirín, it’s time to go home!” A loud crack sounded to her left. Then a steady thump, thump, thump, approached. “Orren?” She whispered.

Luana was tackled to the ground by a sobbing child with soft ginger twists and freckles. 

“Muuuuum.”

She held Orren to her chest, “I am here, mo stóirín.”

“We were playing manhunt, and he disappeared. I followed him. Th-there was a song. It was so sad, as though the person playing held all the world’s sorrows. I followed it down the river to a clearing when it stopped. He called for me to come out. Then Lucien stepped out on the other side. He said he was me. They talked. I heard the man’s story, but he was no man…oh mum. Lucien ran and it hunted him. I ran too. There was a scream. I don’t know if he was fast enough! It’s still here. We–. 

“Where’s my Lucien?” Kathleen approached, voice despondent.

“I don’t know. I-I don’t think he made it.”

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The sun shone overhead. He had spent the morning in the river, scrubbing his scales raw. Now, he sat alone on the bank, a ways down from the clearing. His feet dangled in the water. 

Do you fear me?

Silence.

Please do not neglect me. I did this for you. 

The water slowed, before settling in a dead calm. Maeve? 

A single fish bumped his legs. “We don’t fear you, Lindir. We acknowledge your sacrifice.”

“But it wasn’t yours to make.” Another fish joins the first. “We mourn for you, and the life lost.”

“I see a new star. What was their name?”

Small star shaped scars were drawn across his chest. One was healing. “His name was Lucien.”

“You liked him,” said the first fish. “If only–”

“—you had met him sooner.” The second fish continued. “Perhaps then–”

“—you could have been saved.” The two fish circled one another in an endless loop.

“How many does that make?” They asked in unison. 

He passed his hand over the healing scar, his expression forlorn. “One-hundred-twenty-five.” 

“Play for us.” Lindir pulled out his flute and commenced, ‘An Ode to Lucien’. A kelpie with mauve eyes dived below the surface, and the river resumed its flow.