Beached Page 4

  Yes. Her thoughts began to clear.

  She had to get out, and she had to get Rania out. Because something was coming.

  Someone, she corrected herself. Or, maybe more than one someones.

  She reached for their brains. She could not make out the pattern, but she could feel their energy slicing the air, scattering its particles with their venom and their desire for pain. The knowledge spurred her on.

  She concentrated again, on the queens of Aegira and on her cells, filling them with the power of her being, her name, her nation, and this moment. She held the flimsy-looking but seemingly indestructible thing between her fingers and tore with all the concentrated power of every breath she had ever taken—of all she was—of all she had.

  It tore like seaweed.

  And then, while the rush and glow still pulsed within her, she grasped the broken piece of roof that pushed into her half-sister and yanked on it. This was even harder, but she injected more into her cells this time. All the love and the loss, and the fear of missing of this woman who had been her friend for so long, and whom she now knew was her sister. She pulled with the power of the words that screamed out to her from her brain.

  I will not lose you, sister mine. I have only just found you.

  The broken roof came free of Rania and Lecanora stared at her. A long gash snaked down one side of her face, from her ear to the bottom of her chin. Her chest was soaked in blood, which Lecanora hoped was from the gash rather than some other injury, and sprinkled in glass.

  Free of the roof piece pressing in on her chest, Rania’s breathing seemed to right itself. It was less wheezy, but still Rania did not open her eyes. Untethered from the seatbelt, Lecanora could now twist herself sufficiently to place her feet against what was left of the car door on her side. She kicked at it with the last embers of the energy pulse she had summoned, and it popped from the car with a slick click. Like an oyster shell opening.

  Lecanora spun back and unfastened Rania’s belt, then dragged her towards the opening, inching her out of the vehicle. Rania moaned softly and Lecanora wanted to stop, check for broken bones and soft tissue damage, but she tuned in again with that other kind of listening and felt the thing drawing nearer. The thing that had blasted them, and broken their vehicle.

  She had to get Rania out of here, and she had to run. She had to get away, into the tangle of trees on the side of the cliff, and hide. She took just a moment to ensure both her earplugs and Rania’s were fixed in place, then she slung her sister over one shoulder and scanned the scene.

  The twisted wreck lay bereft among the rockfall, half-welded onto the sheer rock wall it had slammed into. The high afternoon sun blasted down on them, making them an easy target, but yards away the cliff verge gave way to trees, green and black and inviting to eyes wide with terror and the feeling of being hunted.

  Lecanora sprinted for the forest, feeling the predator’s brain grabbing for hers.

  * * *

  Lecanora lay in the small dugout, a natural formation under a small rock escarpment. She had covered Rania with her body, fearful she would wake and make a noise that might give them away.

  Above her, footsteps crunched towards them. There were two sets, and the noises they made were almost imperceptible. Perhaps they would have been, too, if Lecanora had not been listening in Lantara. The careful light tread gave away their identity as fellow Aegirans. The thought almost undid her. It was impossible; so contrary to the order of things. Aegirans did not hurt other Aegirans. They did not hunt them. They were all fish, in a school.

  The thought sent a shock through her as she realized: they could reach for her, she knew it. Just as she had been able to feel them coming, they could reach out for her brain. She could close off her thoughts, but could she close off her nature, lying here, afraid and vulnerable? Fear pulsed crimson and brilliant through her as she realized it, that she was a living, breathing homing device, just waiting to be discovered. Leading them to her.

  And to Rania.

  As the fear flashed through her, she felt the two Aegirans change direction, and start to move closer to her. Slowly, but deliberately.

  She was leading them right to her with her spark of life. Her emotion; her fear.

  She looked down at her half-sister. It was not Rania leading them here. She knew it. She knew from experience that Rania’s telepathic radar was blunted from her life on The Land. Lecanora frowned. Or perhaps from her nature as a hybrid.

  It was Lecanora who was leading them right to them. And it was going to take something special to mask Lecanora’s presence, lying here.

  There was nothing for it.

  She was going to have to die. Just a little.

  All Aegiran children learn it in the playing pools. The perfect safety net, the perfect camouflage. A game, learned to prepare for real life, in case you ever needed it. In case you are out swimming or foraging, and it’s dangerous. If you are being hunted by a predator with no respect for the treaties of the deep. Some of the lesser sharks, the more barbaric tribes. You die, just a little. Just for a few seconds. Long enough to get away.

  Of course you don’t die, not really. It is just the little death. You just cease to water-breathe. As well as emptying your thoughts, you empty your body of the things that sustain it in the deep ocean: water-breathing chemicals. And, here on The Land, you empty it of oxygen.

  But it was going to take more than a few seconds of the little death to fool these predators. They were coming, and they were looking for her.

  And for Rania.

  Lecanora took in one last, long breath and felt the energy in it seep into her veins and cells. Then she expelled it and focused on the little death. She turned all of her subconscious reflexes off with the power of a will fired in the kiln of Aegira. She felt a newer, deeper fear overwhelm her as she did, then she reminded herself who she was. What she was.

  Aegiran.

  Daughter of a Gadulan mother, and the High Priest of Aegira.

  Foster-daughter to the Queen.

  And the Crown Princess.

  There was no doubt she could do this.

  She felt the two beings tracking her, the two brains pausing, confused. She felt their energy reach for her, looking for her breath, and her brain. The responses that made her what she was.

  She took it all away from them, and lay across her half-sister, half-dead. But how long could she take this? She had been the master of this game when they were children, but even then she had never done it for more than a minute or two.

  The seeking brains advanced more quickly, but less purposefully. They had felt enough with their earlier probes to come in vaguely the right direction.

  A small stir, a tiny noise from Rania, drew their attention back to the place where Lecanora was lying, and they advanced again. Lecanora lay, feeling the life seep from her, wondering again how long she could sustain it without gasping for breath or dying here, in this lost part of The Land.

  But she would not breathe. If they found her now she would be impossibly weak. She could never fight them.

  And she would not give Rania to them, wounded and weak.

  She would die first.

  She counted as they moved closer, until they were standing on the escarpment above her. So close she could hear their breaths, feel the rushing of their blood. She wondered who they were, these traitor Aegirans. She wanted to reach for their brains, test their identities. But she knew she could not. As she waited, seconds away from choosing death or discovery, a long stick slid down in front of her nose and swiped the air in the small cave she and Rania occupied.

  Searching.

  Seconds dragged as the stick waved and swept, close to Rania’s cheek.

  Closer, closer.

  Then it retracted, and Lecanora felt them go. Faster now, turning elsewhere entirely, latching on to another sound, another possible trail.

  She waited longer, counting to forty in a brain bursting with red pain and barnacles, before she breathed again.
She knew from the childhood game that she must do it slowly. Small breaths, slowly letting the oxygen back in, slowly awakening her organs.

  Finally, with all the pieces of her system working again, she lay back on the loamy ground and relaxed. As she did, she felt Rania stir beside her. Lecanora propped herself up on one arm and finally focused on the face that was so dear to her. She carefully took off her dress and spat on it, trying to wipe the blood and grime from her half-sister’s face.

  As she did, Rania stirred. ‘Tell me you’re not giving me a spit-bath,’ she slurred.

  Chapter 3

  The President’s man Just outside Boston

  Susan Murray stretched luxuriously on the small couch in the van, and rubbed her eyes.

  ‘How long do I have, honey?’

  The young woman sitting on the opposite couch smiled at her, mirroring the eye-rub as she did. ‘About fifteen minutes,’ she said, in her crisp English accent. ‘You’re speaking to the group at 4:45. Make sure you remind them you’re from New Hampshire—they love that parochial shit ‘round here.’

  Susan Murray considered her aide. ‘You look tired, Miranda,’ she said. ‘It’s been a long day.’

  Miranda Browning nodded. ‘It’s not over yet.’ She smiled. ‘I might just let you have a shower when we get to the hotel in Boston, but then it’s straight to the dinner.’

  ‘You should take the night off,’ Susan said, frowning at the young woman who worked too hard and was far too serious for someone not yet thirty. ‘I can take care of myself at the dinner. And Ralph will be there.’

  ‘Uh-uh,’ Miranda said, eyes widening. ‘No way. Ralph’ll hold your bag and help you with the names, but he’s not going to be any help if those GOP fuckers get near you.’

  ‘Miranda,’ Susan frowned.

  Miranda looked up from the paper she was studying. ‘Hmmm?’

  Susan pursed her lips. ‘Language.’

  ‘Sorry, Ma’am.’ Miranda smiled. ‘You do know you’re the first politician I’ve ever known who doesn’t swear, right?’

  ‘I think you might have mentioned it.’ Susan leaned across and patted the young woman’s arm. ‘Once or twice.’ Then she sat up straight on the little lounge and rolled her shoulders. ‘Okay, so what else do I need to go over before the talk?’

  Miranda flicked quickly through the clipboard she was holding. ‘The numbers are in,’ she said. ‘You’re looking great in the mid-West. They love you there. Although mostly they’re just glad that fu—’ She paused. ‘That unpleasant person from New York didn’t get the nomination.’

  Susan smiled at Miranda’s quick save, and nodded for her to go on.

  ‘The South is still wavering. Same problem as before.’

  Susan looked away from the younger woman, and felt the flush begin on her cheeks.

  Miranda didn’t notice, flicking back and forth between sheets on her clipboard. ‘They like the Hampshire accent, but still too good-looking. Focus groups show most people still think you’ve had work. Best numbers are among…’ She checked the clipboard again. ‘…men, thirty-five to forty-five. Followed closely by…’ Another quick flick, back and forth. ‘…men forty-five to fifty-five. Then men—’

  Susan held up a hand to cut her off. ‘I get the picture,’ she said, her mouth twisting into a small smile. ‘Women don’t like me.’

  Miranda shook her head. ‘Oh they like you plenty,’ she said. ‘Still more than the GOP fu—’

  Susan made a noise in the back of her throat.

  ‘Sorry, Ma’am. I mean, the President,’ Miranda went on. ‘They like you more than the President. They just don’t like you as much as the men do. And it could be tight. We’re going to need them all. Men and women.’

  Susan nodded. ‘Well,’ she said, ‘you can only do what you can do. As my mama always said, no point worrying about stuff you can’t control.’

  Miranda sniffed, like that was the most absurd thing she’d heard all day. ‘Don’t worry,’ she said. ‘There’s nothing I can’t control, Ma’am. So. We’re in damage control. Someone leaked those pictures of you fetching the paper off the front lawn last weekend when you were back home.’ Miranda made the inverted commas sign with her fingers as she said leaked. ‘You know, in your dressing gown?’

  Susan nodded, her mouth a tight line. ‘You know I don’t approve of those tactics.’

  Miranda shrugged. ‘Yes, Ma’am, I know. And I’m sorry. A little bit. We actually had to doctor the photos a bit, too, otherwise they wouldn’t have helped our cause at all, you looked so damned good. Women would have hated you even more if they’d seen you getting the paper at six am looking like that. Can’t you, like…grow a wart or something?’

  Susan laughed and covered her mouth, turning a little pink again.

  Miranda leaned closer. ‘Look, Ma’am. You sure you…you know…haven’t had work? Because it’d be really good to know at this point, if you had. Just in case, you know, it ever comes out.’ The young woman, normally so poised and perfect, was stammering, and Susan sensed it was a question she had wanted to ask for a while.

  She laughed. ‘No, Miranda, I promise you.’ She slowed right down, emphasizing each word. ‘I have never, ever had work.’ This time it was her turn to do the finger thing for the inverted commas as she said the word work. ‘And I never will.’

  Miranda sighed. ‘Okay, well, whatever you’re doing, you need to let me in on the secret,’ She rubbed her eyes again, ‘before it’s too late. I dated some guy last week who told me I looked older than you.’

  Susan frowned. ‘Then I suggest you don’t date him again,’ she said. She clucked her tongue, injecting a heavy note of sarcasm into her next words. ‘Sweet Jesus, who says chivalry is dead?’ She rubbed her hands together. ‘Right, so next is…?’

  ‘Security briefing,’ Miranda said, checking her watch. ‘Steve should be here in—’ She was interrupted by a fierce knocking on the door. ‘That would be now.’ The younger woman jumped up to let him in, checking her reflection quickly in the small mirror by the door and tucking a loose red curl behind her ear.

  Susan felt her irritation level peak. ‘Oh no, do we really have to—’

  But Miranda was already putting on the smile Susan had noticed she reserved especially for this visitor. ‘Yes, we really do. You know what those nut jobs were like at the last place.’

  Miranda yanked the door open, and both women took in the man standing on the first step. His regulation conservative suit sat close and tight on an extravagantly muscular frame. He was tall, filling up the small doorway like a giant in Lilliput. He sported a buzz cut that emphasized his dark tan and sharp cheekbones. A big mouth with thin lips sat in what looked like a permanent scowl. Long, thick lashes were the only soft feature in a face that was nine parts mean, one part deadly. He was like a machine; a beautiful, lethal, impassive machine.

  ‘Ma’am,’ he barked, looking straight at Susan and standing to attention, perched carefully on the tiny top step of the van. ‘Ma’am,’ he said again, looking this time at Miranda.

  ‘Steve,’ Miranda breathed, straightening her skirt with one hand while she motioned for him to come in with the other.

  ‘Captain Schwarz,’ Susan said briskly, extending her hand towards the low couches.

  ‘I’ll stand, Ma’am,’ the secret service agent said.

  ‘Of course you will,’ Susan said, settling herself back in her seat. ‘I hope you don’t mind if we sit. We’ve had a very long day.’

  ‘Ma’am,’ Capita Schwarz said, inclining his head in a gesture that looked to Susan a little too much like permission.

  ‘What do you have for us, Captain?’ Susan opened a small leather-bound notebook where she made notes about events and issues in a private script only she could read. She had developed the curling, graceful code as a child. It had stood her in good stead as she had moved into politics, first in the State Senate, and now as a presidential candidate, although she was careful to never commit anything controversial t
o writing. A cautious nature had been instilled in her for as long as she could remember. Her parents had always told her she could be anything she wanted, do anything she wanted, but that she must always remember who she was and what she must do to keep her secret safe.

  ‘Security briefing for the Boston events, Ma’am,’ Captain Schwarz barked.

  ‘Lovely,’ she said, gritting her teeth against the loud rap of Schwarz’s voice against a brain that was overtired and overworked. ‘Please go on. Oh.’ She flapped a hand at him. ‘And, please, at ease, Captain.’

  Schwarz stood at ease and retrieved his own small spiral notebook from his pocket. It looked like a child’s toy in his enormous hands. ‘First,’ he said. ‘Eighteen hundred hours. The Doctors for Better Chances benefit.’

  Warmth spread through Susan at the words. Only a few hours, and she would see her father. The charity was special to him, and she could not wait to support it, and, more importantly, to wrap her arms around him. This had already been a long campaign, and it had been too long between drinks. Susan looked at Captain Schwarz, motioning for him to go on.

  ‘Ma’am?’ he said, and Susan knew what was about to come.

  ‘Go on,’ she said.

  ‘I need to ask you, Ma’am. Do you plan to be making any controversial statements again this evening?’

  Susan bit down hard on her tongue. ‘Such as, Captain Schwarz?’

  The secret service agent shuffled a little under Susan’s gaze, but did not drop his eyes. ‘Such as the comments you made at the event in Charlotte about bringing the troops home. The comments which caused the…’ He paused. ‘The press of bodies in your vicinity at the end of the event.’

  Susan tried not to smile at his choice of words. ‘The riot, you mean?’