Beached Page 17

  ‘There,’ the woman said, rubbing her hands together. ‘What do Land folk say, Susan? That’ll teach him?’ She laughed.

  Lecanora felt her pulse beat in her head as she watched the lifeless body of her sister’s father on the floor before them. Her eyes skittered to Rania’s, which were closed. Lecanora reached for her brain, but there was nothing in this frozen prison.

  ‘Now where was I?’ The elegant woman spun on one sensible heel, before coming to rest in front of Rania. ‘Ah yes, the Child of Land and Sea. Speaking of nuisances…’

  Chapter 11

  Guts and mothers

  The silver-haired woman stopped for a moment in front of Rania. Lecanora could see that her sister’s eyes were full of tears as they looked down at her father, broken on the floor in front of her. The woman affected a high, childish voice. ‘Ohhhhh, poor widdle Rania, all sad that Daddy’s dead.’ She stopped, running one carefully manicured finger down the side of Rania’s cheek.

  Lecanora could see the pulse throb there, where Manos touched it.

  ‘Don’t worry, Rania, Child of Land and Sea,’ he/she went on. ‘You won’t be sad for long. And who knows? You might even to get see your dear old Dad on the other side.’ She laughed, a rich, malicious sound. ‘If you both end up in the same place.’ She affected a thinking pose, scratching her chin. ‘Now, let’s see, where do half-mermaids go when they die? If they’ve been bad, bad girls like you?’

  Lecanora flicked her eyes around to take in the scene. Doug, Susan Murray and her aide seemed completely frozen. Their eyes were open, but did not move. They were like characters in a fairytale, put to sleep where they stood by an evil curse. Carragheen and Lunia were more like Lecanora and Rania. They could not move, but their eyes were awake and alert, following all that was going on, and their brains were sick and sluggish, but still switched on.

  Lecanora willed her brain to think, to break free of the low, slow sound that wrapped her in its velvet bonds. Her mind was not frozen, but it was sluggish. His magic could freeze her body, but it did not completely tame her mind.

  She wondered why. Why wasn’t he just enchanting them all as he had with her in this very bathroom today? She knew he could. Why was he only stilling their bodies, but leaving their eyes free to roam and their minds to stay aware? Her mind labored with all she knew. Looking for any intelligence that might help them out of this bind. Arty singing, momentarily distracting the guards earlier that day, long enough so they could get away. But she could not try that trick this time. She was immobile. It was hard enough to think, and she certainly could not move. She had no access to the human brains. She checked again, seeing if she could reach the brains of Rania and Lunia.

  But even those of Rania and Lunia seemed frozen, closed to her.

  The woman who was Manos continued. ‘I’d like to give you a little gift before you die, Rania,’ he/she purred into Rania’s face. ‘I’d like you to get a chance to feel what your father felt. You know what they say…’ He laughed again, picking up a piece of Rania’s hair and then dropping it as though in disgust. ‘The family that plays together stays together.’

  Lecanora’s skin itched as she watched the sorcerer taunting Rania. She knew there had to be an answer to this. She groped for Manos’ mind. She still had hold of part of hers, perhaps if she could just…

  ‘First, I think, a little of this,’ Manos said, placing two hands on Rania’s head, very gently. ‘I want you to really feel my power, Rania. I want you to be afraid of what I am about to do to you.’

  Lecanora watched Rania’s face as Manos kept his hands on her head and closed his eyes, almost as though he was about to sing her a lullaby. He said nothing but his lips moved slightly. As they did, a grimace spread across Rania’s face. She closed her eyes and her lips twisted, her brow puckering in concentration.

  When he lifted his hands and stared at her, Rania’s eyes flicked open again.

  The tears were gone and she shot him a look that clearly said: Is that all you’ve got?

  Lecanora wanted to beg her sister not to do this, not to dare this man further, not to taunt him as if he could not hurt her. Because Lecanora knew he could.

  And he would.

  She reached again for his brain. It was a claggy mass of briny green, the color of cruelty. And it was streaked through with cerise. She realized with a jolt that he was experiencing an intense, almost sexual pleasure as he toyed with Rania, there on the bathroom floor. The thought pricked at Lecanora’s brain, as she tried to find a way in.

  ‘Hmmm…’ Manos said, walking slow circles around Rania. ‘What next? It is going to be so much fun breaking you, especially right here in front of all these people who love you. They get to watch.’ The woman/sorcerer clapped her hands. ‘Your beloved mother. And your hothead lover. And even your dear, dear sister.’

  He/she turned to Lecanora for a second. ‘Who will, of course, very soon be mine.’

  Lecanora watched the woman’s eyes as they roved over her body, stopping at her hips and breasts, a pink tongue darting out to lick her lips. Then, abruptly, he turned back to Rania. ‘But first, for some kicks of a different kind.’ Manos picked up one of Rania’s hands, which was soft and flaccid. Lecanora heard a strangled gasp from Carragheen as the sorcerer did it, but Manos did not even look in Carragheen’s direction. ‘Oh, don’t be impatient, Carragheen, I’ll get to you.’

  Manos brought Rania’s hand to his mouth, and appeared to lick it. For the first time, Rania cried out. It was a small, plaintive cry, like one torn from a newborn. It spoke of pain beyond words, and it shot straight to Lecanora’s stomach.

  She saw slick black rise in front of her eyes and commanded her brain to focus. Her brain wanted only to think on the sorcerer’s death, only to bring it about, but she had to force it to concentrate. There was an answer here. There was always an answer. Her foster mother had taught her that. She closed her eyes and focused hard on the pleasure in Manos’ brain. The answer lay in the pleasure. Somehow she knew it. As she watched, focused on the cerise of Manos’ pleasure, she felt it pulse and grow as the fear and loathing of those around him spiraled.

  Of course. The connection startled her, clearing a path through the mush threatening to invade her brain completely. We’re feeding him.

  The way the thought jolted her took Lecanora onto a slightly different plane, with a realization so sharp and distasteful that she knew Lunia and Rania felt it also. This is why he wants us aware. This is why he hasn’t used the full power of the things he can do to us. He wants our awareness; he craves it. He wants us to see his power, take it in. He wants us to register pain. It won’t be the same for him if we don’t.

  Lecanora was reminded of the Queen, shaking her head over the reports of a young watch-keeper, telling tales of genocide at her report-back from The Land. Her mother’s words had made little sense to Lecanora at the time.

  Every sadist is the same. They want the glory. It’s not enough to hurt; they have to make sure others know about their power to do it.

  Connections were fizzing and sparking in her brain now.

  And she could feel Lunia and Rania becoming aware that she was making them, but struggling to keep up. Rania, because she was almost crippled by the pain, and Lunia because she was going half-mad watching her daughter being tortured by this monster.

  Lecanora knew now that she was the only hope here, in this room. The only hope for Rania. And she knew now. She knew what she had to do. Or perhaps, to not do. She would not think about Rania, would not give Manos what he wanted, needed. She would ignore the scene in front of her, and concentrate on what she needed to do.

  You can hear me, can’t you?

  She spoke directly to their brains. Carragheen’s was pulsing midnight black with rage and impenetrable. Rania’s was clogged with dark purple pain, but she was still there. The crystal quality of her laser-like deductive powers were softened a little by the havoc Manos was wreaking on her nerve endings. Lunia’s mind was the dark vermil
lion of concern for another.

  Yes. Rania and Lunia responded as one, and Lecanora realized that Lunia was so close to her daughter’s pain that she was deep inside her brain, trying to hold it up, trying to hold Rania up. Willing her to survive.

  We need to turn it off.

  Neither Lunia nor Rania could comprehend her, and Lecanora knew she needed to spell it out, quickly, and make them get it.

  Rania, stop feeling.

  Rania almost rolled her eyes, but she didn’t have it in her, as pain washed across her brain. How the hell do I do that? If I could do that, I would have.

  The little death. Lecanora planted the thought in her brain. Turn yourself off.

  Lunia objected into both of their brains. It’s too dangerous, Lecanora. She’s weak, and she never had as much practice as you. She didn’t grow up in Aegira.

  More dangerous than this? Lecanora forced herself to focus on Manos, whose hands were at Rania’s throat now. Her eyes were rolling back in her head as some unknown agony ripped through her.

  No, Lunia conceded. Can you do it, Rania?

  I… Rania’s voice was trailing off, the pain was eating up her cells, slicing at her brain.

  She can do anything, Lecanora said.

  Lunia nodded, mentally. Do it, daughter.

  Here goes nothing, Rania whispered, as they felt her begin to shut down her vital organs. First her breathing, then her heart, her senses, and then the brain patterns that made her who she was.

  Will it be enough? Lunia’s inner voice was a whisper also.

  No, Lecanora said. It will not be enough. We need to help.

  How? Lunia was whimpering as she watched her daughter die.

  We need to turn off what we are giving him too. We turn off the rage, and the hate.

  Lunia shook her head inside Lecanora’s brain. I simply cannot, she said. Watching him do this, I simply cannot.

  You must. Lecanora made herself as strong and clear as she could. She groped for something, anything, that she could say to make Lunia understand, and to help her. It came to her in a swift, jagged spike. Give him The Love, she said.

  Lunia groaned, but it was a groan of capitulation. Lecanora could feel that Lunia knew the truth of what she was suggesting. You will have to help me, Lunia said.

  Lecanora nodded into her brain, and together they turned towards the man/woman, the greatest enemy they or their nation had ever known.

  And towards him, they directed all the love of their people. All the great empathy, and reason, and understanding that had been built up over ten thousand years. The connections and sense of history that had come with watching The Land for all that time, seeing the mistakes of The Land dwellers and grieving them. They gave him the thrill of community, and harmony, and children. The love of a mother, a lover, a brother, a sister. Together, Lecanora and Lunia took the greatest gift of their people—The Love—and gave it to their greatest enemy. The Love was what made them what they were. It was a ritual, one that was reserved for special occasions of state. But it was more than ceremony—it was the thread that bound them. The two women turned their brains to Manos and beamed it right into him, as he stood there torturing Rania.

  And it stopped him cold. His hands dropped and his face twisted as he turned to them.

  ‘What are you doing?’ He gasped, seeming to crumple and shrink before their eyes. ‘You.’ He pointed at Lunia and Lecanora. ‘You sea-witches, what are you doing?’

  Lecanora felt Rania’s mind pulse full and blue again, and she knew he had lost his death-grip on her. Rania began to breathe again, and her heart beat slow and shallow.

  As it did, Rania picked up the thread of The Love Lecanora and Lunia were projecting, turning her eyes and the eye of her mind onto the sorcerer, wishing him love, feeling his pain, projecting empathy and understanding and kindness into the very core of him.

  It made him so wild he almost seemed to pulse.

  ‘Stop it,’ he screamed. But his rage weakened him, just as his sadism had given him strength. ‘I don’t want your pity.’ He turned back to Rania. ‘I will show you who deserves your pity.’ He held up a hand to Rania again but Lecanora was stronger now, his spell on her body dissolving as Manos lost his focus.

  She stepped towards him, almost losing The Love as she imagined what she could do to him as she got closer, and then scrabbling to retrieve her grip on it. He shrank away from her as she advanced, and he was powerless against the onslaught.

  It cannot last, Lunia warned into Lecanora’s brain. He will regroup. it is only a momentary distraction.

  But Lecanora pushed forward. She seemed to be the only one who could move again, and so she inched closer to him. Manos seemed to steel himself, pushing his shoulders straighter and taking in a deep breath. But as he did, Lecanora lost her grip on The Love and felt hate well within her, huge and powerful. It felt warm and full in her bloodstream, like the aftermath of a satisfying meal. For a blinding second, she wondered if it were even more powerful than The Love.

  She advanced towards him, ready to break him. And as she did, a silvery sweet song pierced the air. Lecanora’s eyes flicked onto Manos, wondering where this new trick was going. But as she looked at him, she realized the sound was not coming from him at all. It seemed to be carried on the very particles of the air. It was all around them.

  Manos backed towards the washbasins, pressing his back against them, and knocking the tap with one elbow. As he did, he spun away from the sound, clawing at his ears. And then, before their eyes he dissolved, from human form into a thin trail of smoke, before he followed the rushing water into the plughole.

  Only his voice was left behind.

  ‘Don’t celebrate, sea-witches. This is not the war, only a minor skirmish. And I am going to go and get your Queen. She will pay the price you would not.’

  * * *

  Lecanora felt her hands open and shut, empty, robbed of their hunger to close around skin and bone, and to shake and squeeze. She looked at one empty palm and wanted to throw back her head and howl like the selkies.

  But that silvery sweet song was still all around her. And as she came back to herself, she focused on it more, still unclear where it was coming from. She looked at Lunia, who was only beginning to move, and went to Rania, wrapping arms around her as she fell to the floor where her father lay, his head lying askew from his body, a fat smudge of blood appearing under him. The noise was not coming from her.

  She glanced back at Doug and Carragheen, and Susan and her aide, who were all still frozen. Whatever the song was, wherever it was coming from, they had to work this out. They had to get away before the humans woke up, and the guards at the door came crashing in. Lecanora knelt down beside Rania and Lunia, and wrapped her arms around them both. Rania’s shoulders were shaking and her body was almost impossibly hot. Her sister was sobbing and muttering. ‘I’m going to get that fucker. I’m going to get that fucker for this. I’m going to…’

  ‘Hush.’ The silver song was suddenly a voice. As the three women looked up from Arty’s broken body, the washroom filled with silver light. ‘Hush, daughter of Lunia, come to me.’ As they watched, the light formed into the slight form of an eerily beautiful blonde woman.

  Rania gasped. ‘Ran,’ she said, standing and stepping into the woman’s arms. ‘By the Goddess,”‘ Rania whispered, losing all pretense at control in the woman’s arms, and beginning to howl piteously and cry loudly against her chest.

  Lecanora was confused. ‘Is this is a vision? Is this really…?’

  Lunia put a soft hand on her daughter’s arm. ‘It is not a vision, Lecanora,’ she said. ‘Is it, Mother of all of us?’ She asked the question to the Goddess Ran, who smiled warmly at her. Lecanora was struck by how much this woman looked like Imd, the Queen, her foster mother. There was a depth and warmth to her blondeness. She had deep, cheeky dimples and the curliest of hair. She looked to Lecanora almost like a child—a child who had grown up with the sea wind in her hair and face, and knew a thous
and secrets, all of which amused her greatly.

  Except that right now she wasn’t laughing.

  The Goddess gently pulled Rania away from her and knelt beside Arty’s body. She rolled him over so he was lying on his back, and closed his eyes gently with her fingers. Then she knelt over him and kissed both eyelids.

  ‘Go well, brave one,’ she whispered. ‘May the seas be gentle with your ship of sleep. And may the golden sands of your homeland rise up to greet you as your spirit flies home.’ Ran took a hand of Lunia and a hand of Rania and pressed them against Arty’s chest. She spoke to him, right into his face. ‘These women have your soul in theirs. They are part of you, as you are part of them. All that you have done, all that you are, will never be forgotten. It lives on in those you love. And in those who will love you always.’

  When Lecanora looked up from Arty’s face, silver tears were pouring down Lunia’s cheeks. Rania, who cried human tears, was wiping her eyes, which were even darker than usual and rimmed with red. Lecanora looked back at Arty, and was filled with the clanging finality of his end. The man who had given her fashion advice. Who had wanted to protect her from things. Who had told her she was good. Who, in less than twenty-four hours, had been more of a father to her than any man she had ever known.

  She opened her mouth to speak, but halted before going on. ‘Rania,’ she croaked. ‘I don’t know the words to…’

  Rania looked up at her, eyes shining through the redness. ‘I know, babe,’ she said. ‘I know.’ She took Lecanora’s hand and joined it with hers and Lunia’s. ‘He thought you were special,’ Rania said. ‘He told me, last night. He told me there was a goodness to you that he wanted to help protect.’

  The words did not make Lecanora feel better. They dropped like stones into her chest.

  She looked at Arty and felt a bitterness rise in her. She wanted more of his warmth and acceptance. She wanted the kind of normal he had offered. She could only imagine what Rania was feeling. She pressed her brain up against her sister’s, like a spawning fish gathering its eggs close. She had no words; she could only offer the comfort of her brain—her pain, her confusion, her desire to make her sister’s load a little lighter.