Siren Lyra

ATTRACTION — offer bait a piece cannot refuse to lure it onto the exact square where your next move wins it

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01 Opening
Siren Lyra beat 1 of 5

The reed-woods along the Slow Lake were remarkably quiet in the morning grey, where fog hung low over dark water like fluff from a torn pillow. Lyra took her seat upon a low alder branch, smoothing her soft grey feathers with quiet patience. She was a tiny songbird, yet when she opened her beak, the entire shore seemed to lean toward her. She did not shout or snap her wings, but simply sang three silver notes into the damp air.

Down in the reeds, a muddy toad stopped digging for worms to listen. Across the inlet, two young voles dropped their pine nuts and turned their small heads toward the vibrating sound. Neither animal understood why they suddenly wanted to head toward the alder tree. They only knew that the damp grass beneath that particular branch felt like the warmest spot in the entire valley.

Lyra never pushed anyone, because pushing was a clumsy way to get what you wanted. When she wanted the young rabbits to gather for an afternoon story, she flew to the old hollow willow first. She settled on the wide bark and sang, and within minutes, long ears poked through the tall grass. The rabbits arrived breathless and happy, convinced that visiting the willow was entirely their own clever idea.

When she wanted the shy grey heron to leave his muddy hiding spot, she never scolded him from across the creek. Instead, she flew to the sunny gravel bank where the light bounced off the surface. She poured a bright melody over the shining stones until the tall bird stepped out to preen his feathers in full view.

Lyra offered something no creature wished to refuse, like a sweet berry held out on an open leaf. She made that offer from the exact spot where she wanted her friends to stand. She had discovered a pleasant secret about the wood: you did not need to drag a creature across the dirt to move it. You only had to make one particular place irresistible, and the wanting would do the walking.

Bib was a seven-year-old otter who spent his days sliding down muddy riverbanks and asking awkward questions. One afternoon, the river animals gathered on the flat river rock around a wooden basket of honey-cakes. Bib leaned against a mossy log, wiped sticky honey off his whiskers, and narrowed his eyes at Lyra.

"You did it again," Bib declared, swishing his heavy tail against the wet grass. "We were supposed to eat by the big pine today, yet here we are."

02 Siren Lyra
Siren Lyra beat 2 of 5

"Did anyone force you to walk here, Bib?" Lyra asked, smoothing a feather on her left wing.

"Nobody forced us," Bib admitted, chewing on a stalk of wild mint while he considered the problem. "But whenever you want us somewhere, we end up there without you ever ordering us around."

"Telling people what to do rarely works," Lyra said softly, looking down from her birch branch. "If I command you to stand by the pine, you will march off toward the berry bushes just to prove your independence."

Bib grinned, showing his sharp little teeth. "That is true, because I hate being bossed around."

"So I do not order you," Lyra explained as the river breeze rustled through the birch leaves. "I make the flat rock the nicest place in the woods by singing here and bringing the cakes here. Then you decide to come all by yourselves, and you feel pleased because you chose it."

Bib swished his tail in thoughtful circles while rubbing the soft fur under his wet chin.

"You draw us in," Bib said at last, his dark eyes lighting up with sudden understanding. "It is like a pull—you attract us to your branch."

Lyra raised her song half a note higher in delight, enjoying the crisp sound of the word.

"Attract," Lyra repeated softly, letting the sound drift across the water. "Yes, little otter, that is the exact word for it."

03 Siren Lyra
Siren Lyra beat 3 of 5

Two seasons later, a heavy wooden boat pushed through the tall cattails along the lake shore. The oarsman was a stout rook wearing a dark green waistcoat with bright brass buttons. He dropped his oars with a loud splash and tipped his peaked cap politely toward Lyra.

"Captain Castle," the rook announced in a deep voice that sounded like grinding pebbles. "I run an academy down the river where young animals learn the game of sixty-four squares."

"A game of squares?" Lyra asked, tilting her head to observe the captain.

"A game of wooden board and strategy," Castle said, resting his wing on his wooden oar. "My students are brave enough when marching straight forward, but they suffer from a terrible fear. They are terrified of giving anything away, so they clutch every piece like a cold stone. They never learn the finest trick in the game, which is handing your opponent a gift."

"You offer a gift so tempting they cannot resist taking it," Captain Castle continued. "In taking the gift, their piece steps right onto the square where you need it."

Lyra ruffled her feathers as the afternoon light shifted across the grey reeds. "A chessboard is only a wood with straight lines," Lyra said softly. "I would love to show your students how to sing a piece onto the right branch."

The classroom smelled of dried cedar chips and dusty felt chess mats. Captain Castle set up wooden pieces on a long table before five attentive young animals. On the far side of the board, a black king sat huddled behind a thick wall of pawns. A young fox in a green woven scarf slumped over her chair with a heavy sigh.

"The king is totally safe," the fox complained, tapping her brushy tail on the floorboards. "There is no way in, so we cannot get anywhere near him."

"We cannot reach him where he sits now," Lyra agreed, perching lightly on the edge of the board. "So we must ask a better question: where would we like him to stand?"

04 Siren Lyra
Siren Lyra beat 4 of 5

Lyra hopped toward an open square sitting directly in front of the guarded king.

"If the black king stood right here," Lyra said, "my knight could jump over the wall and check him. But he will not walk onto this square just because we ask him to."

"Of course not," the fox muttered, leaning forward. "He is safe behind his pawns."

Lyra picked up her white rook in her small yellow beak and moved it forward. She set the rook down right in front of the enemy king, completely unprotected.

"You just threw away your rook!" the fox gasped, jumping right off her wooden stool. "He is going to eat it for free!"

"Watch," Lyra whispered, letting a quiet note hover in the cedar-scented air.

The enemy king reached out and captured the white rook with greedy speed. He stepped forward onto the open square, looking very pleased with his free prize.

"He took the bait," the fox breathed, her dark eyes wide with surprise.

"He took the gift," Lyra corrected gently, "and now he stands on the exact spot we chose."

05 Closing
Siren Lyra beat 5 of 5

Lyra nudged her waiting knight forward with the tip of her wing. The knight clicked onto its square, checking the trapped king and winning the match instantly. The fox stared at the board in silence before pulling out a small blue notebook.

She carefully wrote down: Do not push the piece. Make the square worth coming to.

When the afternoon light faded to purple, the other children gathered their wooden sets and left. Only the fox in the green scarf remained behind, staring at the empty wooden squares.

"Lyra?" the fox asked quietly. "Is it not scary to offer your best pieces to the enemy?"

Lyra folded her wings neatly against her sides and let a soft note settle.

"It is only scary if you think of it as a loss," Lyra said. "A piece given away on purpose is not a loss; it is a branch."

"A branch," the fox repeated, writing the word neatly in the margin of her page.

"You choose the square first," Lyra told her, "and then you sing the piece to it."

The fox smiled, closed her notebook, and scampered out into the cool evening air. Lyra sat alone by the board, listening to the river wind whisper through the reeds outside.

The GambitTales ensemble

Siren Lyra is part of GambitTales's distributed-narrative cast. Each character embodies a different curricular primitive; together they teach the full subject.