Beached

by Ros Baxter

Like an automaton, Lecanora stepped in front of the group. ‘No,’ she said, her voice low and brittle, even to her own ears. ‘Not yet.’

  She turned to glance quickly at the advancing soldiers. They had slowed somewhat since entering The Eye. A small piece of her brain told her it was because they remembered. They recognized the beauty and sacredness of this place, and a piece of their old selves was calling to them to stop. But when she groped for their brains, she found only the green-black of the lust for pain and death, streaked through with cerise.

  She motioned quickly to Rania and Susan. ‘Stand with me,’ she cried.

  Rania was beside her in a second. I hope you know what you’re doing, babe, she said. Those bad boys look kinda serious.

  Lecanora saw the narrowing at the corner of Rania’s eyes that was her tell. She was afraid. I will not let anyone hurt you, she said.

  And as she said it, she knew it was true. She was filled up with the power of this moment, and this place, and the women with whom she stood. She was being fuelled by the brains behind her, who were doing as they were told, but who would do anything to bring their people back to them, even after all those boys had done. She was filled up by the sight of the beautiful bodies in front of her, stolen and turned, fighting for a force that both hated and desired them. She would not let them down.

  Sing with me, she said. This is our moment. It is time to take back our home.

  Oh no, Rania groaned. Not this again? Are you sure? I’m sure in a mood to blast apart some scary soldier boys right now?

  Lecanora smiled at her. Come.

  The two women grasped her hands and together they turned to the oncoming lines, which were moving even slower now. We will sing, she said, and we will pass them The Love As she said it, she opened her mouth and began the humming that was The Song of Two. Rania and Susan picked up the note, and together, slowly their three voices blended into a single, impossibly perfect sound. Lecanora’s heart beat faster at what was happening, and she felt the hearts of the women beside her do the same. They were completely in rhythm: their voices, their bodies, their physiology.

  From three, they had become one.

  The soldiers stopped in their places, eyes wide, straining towards the sound. From the song, Lecanora plucked the pieces that made up her home. She reflected it back at the women singing with her.

  Harmony.

  Community.

  Tolerance.

  She led, singing them higher and longer and more singular. She peered into the brains in front of her, feeling the mottled weeds and choking ash begin to clear.

  She watched streaks of gold and turquoise begin to insinuate themselves into their brains, reminding them who they were.

  And then, like the herald of a storm, she felt the counter-strike. Her ears ached as something reached for the souls in front of her. The men doubled over, almost as one, tearing at their stomachs and hair before straightening again, and resuming their move towards her, faster. They were very close now. She felt the brains of the assembled masses behind her begin to close over with fear, as the people who belonged to these lost soldiers began to lose hope.

  ‘Princess,’ Carragheen growled. ‘It is time. We will lose the advantage.’

  Lecanora hesitated, the men so close she could see the white of their eyes. Then, once again, she head her mother. Try harder. Once more, with feeling.

  ‘Again,’ she cried, picking up the song and giving it all the lost and scattered pieces of her. Singing differently this time. Singing personally. Into that song, she sang her pain and her loss and her lostness. She sang her discovery of her mother, and her sister. Susan and Rania joined her, matching her perfectly. But she needed more. She reached for more.

  And there was only one place to look.

  Doug. She sang her passion of her moments with him in the cave, the beauty and perfection of it. Of finding that you could be lost in another, and through it find your center.

  She heard the song reach a new place. The three voices, high and ethereal, and low and husky, built something entirely new. The people behind her began to weep.

  And then something else.

  They picked up the song as well. And with it, The Love. The song and the hope for these lost boys poured from every voice, from the low Leigon grumbling, to the sharp whistling trill of the freeleins. The sound, and the joy, could not be contained. Rania and Susan gripped Lecanora’s hands, one on either side, like they were holding on for their lives Lecanora herself was not sure if her body or her heart could take much more of the beauty, whether it could contain the budding joy and connection that was exploding from her.

  And then the life behind her poured forward. Oblivious to the cloud of blood they swam into, the blades in the hands of their kin, they shot forward into the crowd, wrapping arms and tentacles and song around the soldiers.

  And the soldiers seemed to sag as one. They fell into the arms of those who moved towards them, and silver mingled with red as Lecanora, Rania and Susan sang on.

  Lecanora peeked into the brains before her and saw only joy, and more than a little confusion from the stolen warriors.

  It was over.

  She squeezed the hands of the women beside her, knowing it was time now. They could stop. It was over. It was time to speak to the crowd.

  ‘Not so fast,’ a high, rasping voice said. ‘Do you think I need them to take you all?’

  Chapter 18

  Swellsong

  He was nowhere, and he was everywhere. No longer a creature of flesh, however magical. He was a slick on the water, oily and translucent, a sliding breath of pain.

  They all felt it as one. Lecanora felt her lungs squeezed by an unseen hand as all around her those she loved and those to whom she felt loyalty doubled over, wheezing and screaming.

  Manos was here, and he was a choking black cloud in the water.

  The golden light of The Eye, already muted by red blood and silver tears, darkened, as though a cloud had passed over the sun. The thing spread among them, infiltrating their lungs and seeping into their cells. It made them breathless, and every cell and nerve ending shrieked with agony.

  I could end it now, for all of you.

  It was good of you to save this up, Manos. Why didn’t you pull this trick out earlier, save us all the trouble? Lecanora was surprised to hear Carragheen speak back to Manos. She was sure she could have hardly formed a word as the choking stuff slid dark and sticky into her veins. But then, Carragheen had always had the strength, and the rage of ten men.

  Oh, I’m so glad you like it, Carragheen.

  Pleased laughter punctured their brains.

  It’s a new trick, as you put it, you see. I certainly would have used it earlier if I could. It was your friends, your brothers, who helped me transcend the need for a body. In this form, I am truly invincible. Raw intelligence, like a sand seeder. He laughed again, a child pleased with its handiwork, pulling wings from flies. Only so much more powerful.

  He paused. You do feel it, don’t you? What I can do?

  As if to underline his point, Manos turned up the volume on the pain. Lecanora felt her nerve endings stretch, surely close to snapping point. She squeezed her eyes shut as all around her Aegirans and creatures of the treaty nations of the deep writhed in agony, their brains a dark green blur of pain and confusion except for two words, fired directly towards her brain: Help us.

  As Lecanora listened to them all, the roaring chorus of need, pieces of her life rushed jagged and swift before her eyes. She had always been an outsider, her story unknown, her lineage broken, and for that, it had taken a long time for the people to trust her, to feel they really understood her. For creatures of community, her otherness was a jolt, a challenge to the school. But just as she had changed, as she found her roots, so had they. She had become more confident, found her voice, and her strength, and come to understand what mattered to her and what she would and would not do for her home.

  But a small, hidden piece of her had always e
xpected her lot would be unhappiness. She was born to take the pain of her people in this moment, she decided. As she felt the sting and burn bite in her cells, she thought last about the moments in the cave, with The Land man who looked inside her and saw perfection. She remembered the joy and climbing, aching beauty of it. Maybe those were her salve, her only moments of payment in return for a life of sacrifice.

  And they would have been worth it, she decided. Those few moments, rushed and urgent, because she knew her place was back here. Watching Doug’s eyes as he watched her. Dark eyes, normally so closed and careful. Cynical and wary, but in those few instants full of wonder, like a child. And gratitude.

  Yes, she decided, it was enough. Finally she could say she had lived.

  So she could give her life for this.

  Stop Manos, she said, trying to inject every ounce of command into her inner voice. Stop this immediately. It is me you want. You will deal with me.

  Not freakin’ likely. Rania’s inner voice was a taut coil of hate. As if we would let him take you. He would have to get through every one of us.

  Oh, don’t worry, little warrior, Manos purred at Rania. I intend to. Starting with you.

  The black cloud enveloped Rania as Lecanora watched. Even through the thick soup of pain, Lecanora and Carragheen were upon her, trying to pull the stuff from Rania as her screams echoed deep in their brains. Lecanora reached for her sister’s mind. She was suffocating. Slowly and painfully, all the goodness drained from the water, all the stuff of life denied her, and replaced with a shrill, snapping pain that blinded and terrified her. Lecanora and Carragheen were both pressed against Rania now, beating and fighting at the oily thing that choked and maimed her.

  Manos laughed again, as though amused by their efforts. What’s wrong, weaklings, he taunted. Can’t you get a hold of me? What do you think you can do? You can’t fight fate, you know. And this was ordained, years ago. Wasn’t it, little warrior? He spoke to Rania’s embattled brain.

  Lecanora felt Rania’s brain slump in defeat.

  No, Carrageen roared, reaching out for Manos’ mind with his own. Lecanora felt the forceful assault of it, like a child tearing madly at the shins of a grown-up. She felt him channel his fury and his hatred deep into Manos’ intelligence.

  But it was like sticks against a robot.

  Worse, Lecanora realized; like their fear and fury back in the bathroom, it fed him. The thick black cloud became denser, drowning and choking Rania more surely and immediately than it had before. Carragheen was helping. He was helping Manos kill Rania.

  Stop, Carragheen, Lecanora insisted, through the smoky bile of her own poisoning. You are making it worse. She turned her brain to Manos. What do you want with us? Why?

  Well... Manos feigned consideration. First I want to kill this one. Slowly, in front of you, and all who love her. She has been an irritant since the first moment. And then... He paused again. I want what I’ve always wanted. What has always been denied to me. I want Aegira. I want to be its king. His inner voice took on the shrill demanding tone of a child.

  He eased back slightly on the suffocating pain that filled Lecanora’s senses. And I want you to be my Queen. You were raised for it, my darling. And you remind me so of your mother. You’re not a billow maiden. Not quite. But you’ve got the beauty of one. His inner voice became thick with pleasure. And I do still have a corporeal form, you know. I suspect I could make you quite happy.

  Lecanora’s stomach broiled and bucked at the thought of being intimate with this man. Her eyes swept the space before her, littered with the floating almost-corpses of her broken people, shattered by his pain. Just as her mind was about to admit defeat, try to offer compromise, try to save those she could, she felt her mother’s voice again, in her head.

  The outcome is not determined, daughter. That is what the prophesy meant. I see it now, so clearly. The bloodtide will only be stopped by the swellsong of The Three. You have The Three. Take him, daughter.

  The thought from her mother began to break up, and Lecanora felt the fear and anxiety the Queen was trying so hard to shield her from.

  Then her mother seemed to gather herself, take an internal breath. Do it now.

  But Rania is broken, Lecanora said.

  As though Susan had heard the Queen too, she swam close to Lecanora, and grasped her hand. As she did, Lecanora got a full mental shot of the older woman’s agony. The oily pain had wreaked havoc on her, her thoughts were scattered, her skin was burning. But through the chaos, a constant, yellow light shone from the woman’s brain.

  Rania is far from broken, Susan said. Sing with me. Once more, with feeling.

  Lecanora almost could not bear to try. A nagging part of her brain told her not to give Manos the satisfaction even of trying to defeat him, with their pathetic attempts and their frail song Then she mentally shook herself. That was the sorcerer talking; that was not her brain. He was planting those thoughts, and that doubt, deep inside her. The thought that he was turning even her own brain against her enraged her. She felt herself bellow like a wounded bull shark. She concentrated hard on the figure of her sister, doubled over and wounded in her lover’s arms as he wept and screamed and railed.

  She squeezed Susan’s hand and opened her mouth to begin the note. She thought the pain would render it clumsy and ugly, but the sound that came from her was the most perfect thing she had ever heard.

  It was a song of pain.

  In an instant, all the writhing, hurting life around her stopped and tuned in. Susan picked the note up, understanding too that it was coming from the depths of Lecanora’s pain. The pain that was rising hot and thick from her own body, and the harder, sharper pain she felt for her people, and her sister. The pain that wrapped thorny tentacles around her heart, that screamed to her of culpability and impotence.

  Susan understood it, and mirrored what Lecanora was doing. Susan’s note was both lower and sweeter, a dirge. She was singing of her confusion, a life of loss and unknowns. Of joy at finding her home, dashed by pain and disappointment. It was beautiful, but there was more. She reached into the deepest parts of herself and sang of her fears, of the clawing self-doubt that was never far away. That she was not good enough. That she would not do it, could not do it. That she would never realize her dreams. As Lecanora heard it, she sang into her own pain song a note of empathy, of comfort. And the song grew louder and higher and more perfect.

  And the people turned to them as one.

  They did not join the song this time. They were not able to, but they crooned a backbeat chorus of agony that fed Lecanora and Susan as they heard it.

  Lecanora felt the raw intelligence and malevolence that was the black choking slick turn towards their song. Manos pulsed raw fury at it, but it was as ephemeral as his pain-bringer. He could not grab it; he could not fight it. All he could do was ramp up the volume of pain and death against them, but that only fed their song.

  Because when he hurt one of them, he hurt them all. They were fish, in a school.

  Lecanora understood it, in that moment: their pain, their frailty, and their connections and empathy, were the source of their power. And that is why Rania’s voice would be the crowning piece to this. Because her sister was almost gone. She was a mewling thing of fear and pain, sagging in her lover’s arms. Lecanora reached for her brain.

  Sing it to me, she said.

  Rania’s silent question pricked Lecanora’s brain. What is this?

  I don’t know how we are doing it, or what it is, Lecanora said.

  I am dying, Rania said. This is the prophesy. I’m almost gone.

  Lecanora felt hot, prickly silver lance her eyes. She nodded. I know. And she did. She understood now the power of the funeral dirge, the common marker of every civilization throughout history. Everyone sings songs for the dead. The outpouring of grief, the keening made song. Give it to me, she said. Give me your death song.

  But even Lecanora did not expect the full, raw beauty of it when it came.
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  Rania’s song was thready and silver, like the tears that streamed from Lecanora’s eyes. It was the deep, sparkling silver of the moon on the water, and it made Lecanora’s heart thrill. It reached out silver tentacles to Lecanora’s note, and Susan’s, and wrapped itself around them both. In the song was desperation, and it carried a picture right to Lecanora’s and Susan’s minds. Rania was slipping away, and as she did she was dancing again, on the surface of the water, dancing with Carragheen and the dolphins. Being held high in a pirouette in his strong brown arms.

  Like a braid, the song wound together, and became stronger and more perfect. The people and creatures around them stopped writhing and twisting. They hung, spent, in the water, but their pain began to dissipate. But not Rania’s.

  Manos was furious at what was happening, but he would not let go his hold on her. His one last chance was to make her pay, to make them all pay.

  Rania’s pain only grew, until it filled all the secret spaces of her body and brain, but still she kept singing.

  I will save them with your song, Lecanora said to her sister, as she felt her own pain recede and the song redouble, streaming from her lips like a flash of pure white light, making the huge cathedral-like lagoon incandescent. She held onto her sister, feeling the life seep from her and feeling her own throat rebel against the song, which was the expression of her sister’s pain and mortality, even as she projected it to the farthest canyons.

  Yes, Rania said into her mind. You will have to. Because I’m going.

  And Lecanora knew it. She could feel it. Rania felt smaller and frailer in her arms. It was like she was shrinking.

  But so was Manos. The black slick that had wrapped itself around everything and everyone in the space was receding. The song was dissolving it like sand on oil.

  But it was not enough. Lecanora grasped Susan, and grasped Rania, and decided right then that she did not care anymore. She did not care if this killed her too. If her sister were to die because of this, for her home, she would give every piece of herself also, even if it meant the end of her. She sang from her throat, her stomach, and her lungs. She scraped deep into every cell of her body and took from it. She drove Susan and Rania higher—knowing it was taking from them all but sure now it was the only way.