The Raven Collection

The smells of damp wood, ruined rugs and soaking timbers were constant reminders of the mastery of the elements over the Al-Drechar’s domain. Ephemere sighed. How naïve they had been. Hundreds of years old yet they had still fallen into the trap of overestimating their own abilities and, worse, underestimating the destructive power of Lya

And that would have made dying more comfortable.

The ancient elf took one more draw on the pipe and set it down on its stand, where it would be refilled and lit for Myriell in a few moments. She opened her eyes, not having remembered exactly when she closed them and saw two Guild elves standing to her left, waiting. With a pang of sorrow, she realised she couldn’t remember their names and could only nod to indicate it was time.

The young elf males eased her chair back and with one to each arm, helped her to her feet. With agonised slowness, she dragged one foot in front of the other, determined not to let them carry her as they already had Aviana on three occasions. It was stupid, she knew, but sometimes the petty competitiveness was all that kept her going.

One of the elves opened the door to the makeshift bedroom and they moved into the gentle lantern light. To the left, the curtained window was open a crack on to a sheltered corner and though the wind buffeted the island, only a fresh breeze wafted into the room. Soon it would be light but the curtains would remain closed. It was better for concentration that way.

Lya

The elves helped Ephemere to the bed and she sat on its edge, leaning forward to smooth Lya

The Guild elves were tireless. Bathing her daily, changing soiled sheets, feeding her soup through her unconsciousness, encouraging her swallow reflex by stroking her neck.

‘Poor child,’ whispered Ephemere. She kissed Lya

She was helped to a two-seater sofa and sat beside Myriell, indicating the elves could withdraw. She heard the soft click as the door closed, steeled herself for a moment and uttered a prayer that she would survive to feel the touch of Aviana’s mind when her sister came to relieve her. For now, it was she who would relieve Myriell. She tuned herself to the mana spectrum and faced the tempest.

As she dived towards Lya

Ephemere imagined her face stretched taut by the force of the mana storm, her hair straight behind her and tears forced from her eyes. Directionless but focused, the streams entwined and whipped by, like an endless, white-striated tu

But she wasn’t entirely helpless. The tu

She craved the warmth of contact and it drove her on until she found it, melding seamlessly with her sister and feeling the joy of touch reciprocated. Ephemere could sense the exhaustion in Myriell but, stronger than that, the determination not to fail Lya

‘I am here, Myra,’ she said.

‘I thought you’d never come,’ answered Myriell.

‘Go and sleep now.’

‘Be careful, Ephy. It isn’t getting any easier.’

‘I know, Myra,’ said Ephemere. ‘I know.’

‘I love you, Ephy,’ said Myriell as she began to disengage.

‘Always,’ said Ephemere.

And Myriell was gone and the isolation clamped down on Ephemere, sending her heart into palpitations and leaving her momentarily short of breath. Beneath the delicate mind shield, Lya

For all that Ephemere felt alone, for Lya

Lya

For Ephemere and all the Al-Drechar, their only focus was to defend her from that which she couldn’t yet control or manipulate. Collapsing shapes posed a great threat as they unravelled and they had to be first deflected from where they might wreak havoc, and then given an outlet. It meant suffering blow after blow of half-formed magic, each one chipping away at the strength of their minds. Any shape fully formed had to be allowed free rein despite the resultant devastation in Balaia and now, Ornouth. But it had to be endured. For the succession of the One, it had to be endured.

Ephemere cried. It happened with the begi

All she could do was deflect the dangerous magical energy that Lya

But none of it was why she cried.

She knew she had to suffer whatever the Night Child threw at her but her tears were because she didn’t know if Erie

And if she didn’t, the world was already dead and all her pain would have been wasted.

Erie

‘Erie

Berian’s words made her feel sick. She was glad she was sitting down or she’d have fallen. Emotions and thoughts crowded her mind. She had no idea how to react or what to say. All she knew was that the revulsion she felt at Berian’s presence, and the magnitude of the betrayal that presence represented, was overwhelming. She swayed and turned her head away.