The Raven Collection

This would be a fun game.

Cleress dragged deeply on the pipe, feeling the inhalation throughout her wracked and tired body. The mixed weeds calmed her muscles and anaesthetised the arthritis twisting her left knee into a gnarled, swollen parody of a joint.

Beside her at the table, Myriell slumped in her chair, the exhaustion plain on her face. She could sleep soon, much as Aviana did now. Only Ephemere watched over the child who was destroying them all so fast.

They had disastrously miscalculated her power, or rather, the power they would have to expend in shielding such an unbalanced Awakening. And the girl had such energy outside of magic too. She was a lovely child but was becoming more demanding every day. Her moods swung wildly between joy and wonder; and fear and darkness.

Cleress had been at pains to remind them all that, despite the ravaging mana surging barely checked through Lya

So there were mistakes, the worst of which was to assume Lya

Cleress took another long draw on the pipe, ensured it stayed lit and passed it to Myriell, having to place the stem between her sister’s lips before she acknowledged it was there.

‘What time is it?’ she mumbled before inhaling.

‘Too early to be relying on the Lemiir in that pipe, Myra. The sun is riding down but night-time is way away.’

‘Or maybe not so for the child.’

‘No,’ agreed Cleress.

Myriell’s brief assessment nagged at all their shattered minds. They supported each other, gave each other their strength and tended their bodies and minds as carefully as they could. But the question remained. Would Lya

Cleress feared the worst.

Cleress, orchard, now. Ephy’s voice rang through her head, an alarm that sent her heart racing.

‘Trouble, Myra. Stay here. I’ll call you if we need you.’

‘Try not to,’ muttered Myriell.

Cleress dragged herself to her feet and hobbled towards the orchard, the effects of the Lemiir not strong enough to fully dampen the pain that shot up her leg and through her back every time she put pressure on the arthritic knee.

Out of the dining room and through the ballroom she moved, worry hurrying her step, Ephemere’s anxiety dusting across her mind.

Ephy was standing at the doors to the orchard, staring out, one hand on the frame to brace herself. When Cleress joined her, she didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

In the centre of the orchard sat Lya

Like a dance, choreographed by Lya

Beneath them all sat Lya

‘She’s talking to them,’ breathed Cleress.

‘Yes,’ agreed Ephemere. ‘Or trying to. A child’s imagination has no boundaries and Lya

‘And Balaia will have another gale,’ said Cleress. She attuned her eyes to the mana spectrum and saw what Ephemere meant. Though the mana shape Lya

She had no idea what she created but the after-effects were felt all over Balaia, where her birthplace was and where the core of her mana strength would always reside. Cleress could only imagine the problems her flares were causing, but knew the dissipation of focused yet unfettered mana energy of this magnitude typically manifested itself as terrifying elemental forces.

Tinjata, for all his senile meanderings those thousands of years ago, had been right about one thing. An awakened Child of the One could lay waste to Balaia in less than half a year. It was up to the surviving Al-Drechar to stop that by keeping her from the worst excesses of herself until she was old enough to understand the control she had to master. If she couldn’t, the Al-Drechar would be left with one alternative and its mere contemplation was hideous.

Not for the first time, Cleress cursed the Dordovans for disturbing something in which they should never have meddled.

‘What do you want me to do, Ephy?’

‘Go in and speak to her. Hear how she describes it. I’ll cap the flaring and monitor the mana shape.’

Cleress nodded and entered the orchard. It had an eerie quality to it, though the late afternoon sun cast a warm yellow light. The birds weren’t singing and the creak of boughs and branches under Lya

Close to, Cleress could see Lya

Cleress knelt by her and smoothed a loose hair from her forehead.

‘Lya

‘I’ve got my friends here, look, Clerry,’ replied Lya

Cleress looked and had to smile at what kept Lya

And in the branches, the leaves danced and rustled, twisting and bending along their lengths, their gentle susurrations almost musical. It was a beautiful sight and Cleress gazed back at Lya

‘Are they good friends?’ asked Cleress. ‘They look pretty.’

‘Yes they are, but they can’t talk to you because you wouldn’t understand.’

‘Oh, I see. And what are they saying to you?’

‘There are bad people coming here but good people too, to help us. And you’re very tired and it’s because of me but it’s all right really.’