I’d sailed this route a hundred times, been hired by dozens of captains eager to save time cutting straight across the Siren Sea instead of taking the longer, safer route. They say you can’t hear the sirens if you stick close to shore, that they can only lure you to your doom in the middle of the sea, where it’s deep enough to sink your entire ship in one piece. I wouldn’t know; I’ve never heard their song at all. I’ve been deaf since birth.

My parents refused to consider it a detriment, and taught me to sail just like all my siblings. With a cooperative crew, willing to learn sign language and treat me as capable, I could sail any sea. And then, in my early twenties, someone realized the truth of that phrase - I could sail any sea, even the one that not even the most skilled sailors would survive.

And so it began. They would hire me, and as we neared the sirens’ rocks, the rest of the crew would go down into the hold, and I would lock the door behind them. From there I would steer the ship on my own, paying the swaying fish-tailed maidens no mind. There’s no magic in a siren’s flowing hair, or sparkling scales, or in the way they bat their eyelashes and hold out their hands in pleading gestures. A siren’s magic lies in her song. And once the rocks were far behind me, I would unlock the door and let out the crew - disoriented, but alive.

I’d sailed this route a hundred times, bringing every ship there and back again, and with my share of the grateful captains’ profits, I had made more money for my family than my father ever did, or my mother, or any of my elder siblings. I suppose I’d grown cocky.

When the blue-scaled siren pulled herself up onto the prow, I felt no fear. She opened her mouth, but there was no effect, besides causing me to raise my eyebrows at her in amusement as I kept the ship’s wheel steady.

The siren pursed her lips into a frown. Then another climbed up next to her, this one with green scales. The blue one looked down at her and said something, her mouth’s movements indistinguishable at this distance. The green siren did not reply. Instead, she pulled herself over the railing and crawled along the deck, coming towards me in the slow, flopping way sirens move in those rare times they come onto land. I glanced down at my belt to make sure my sword was there - sirens have sharp teeth, and they will use them if they get close enough. But I knew from experience that the best thing to do was to keep on sailing. The siren would not dare go far from her home, and once she realized I would not turn for her, she would leave.

Sure enough, the blue siren looked back towards the rocks and dove from the prow. And so I kept my eyes on my compass and the horizon as the green siren continued to cross the deck. She came to the stairs leading from the boat deck to the bridge, and she heaved herself up them, one step at a time, until finally she sat coiled in the floor in front of me. She was very still there, for a while, until finally I looked at her, curious.

She lifted her hands, holding them both palm-down in front of her, her left hand hovering over the right. Then she moved her right hand in small circles under her left hand. I recognized the gesture. It was sign language for “below.” And she continued to sign:

“Below the sparkling foaming sea / Is where I make my home / Amongst the currents I am free / To ever dance and roam…”

I didn’t know what music was, really. I understood it had something to do with changing how your voice vibrates, and of course I knew what rhythm was, both in poetry and in the clapping of hands. Singing itself meant nothing to me. Or so I had thought. Now, I stared at the siren’s hands as she signed:

“There’s treasure in the warming depths / Adventure and travails / You need only take three steps / To join our epic tales…”

My hands were slack on the wheel, my mouth gaping open, my gaze stuck on her hands. I felt warm, warm enough to want to shed my coat, and at the same time more comfortable than I had ever felt in my life.

“We fear no storms beneath the waves / The weather’s always fair / We’d sleep in shining ocean caves / If you would join me there…”

One of my arms shifted, and the wheel turned. So did the ship, leaving our previous course. But I couldn’t remember why I’d been going that way anymore, anyway. For money, maybe? Who needed money? There was treasure enough in the sea…

“Have me, sailor, as your bride / And stay here where I dwell / Let the sea take you aside / For she will treat you well…”

My eyes flickered away from the siren’s hands, just enough to see that my ship was now heading straight towards the rocks. Something in my gut felt off about that. But then I looked down again, at her hands, at her face. She was smiling at me, my voiceless siren. And I would never need anything again but her song.