The elves helped Ephemere to the bed and she sat on its edge, leaning forward to smooth Lyanna's hair. Her face was cool and dry at the moment but another of the convulsions, when her whole body was wracked with spasms, tormented by phantoms the Al-Drechar could do nothing to diminish, would not be far away.
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 Lyanna's forehead and indicated she wanted to move.
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 Lyanna's mind and the shield that Myriell maintained around it, the gales outside became as puffs of air on her cheek in comparison. It made the rain and thunder seem like distant, comforting echoes and it made the power of the lightning like the flicker of a single, guttering candle.
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 tunnel of deep dark brown, shot through with flashes of yellow, orange, green and black-tinged blue, with Ephemere falling towards its core.
But she wasn't entirely helpless. The tunnel had a light, dim but pulsing. Myriell's mind. Ephemere fought to reach it, pushing a
bulb of protective mana in front of her, deflecting the roaring, howling Night Child magic from destroying her as she went.
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 Lyanna. She moved her consciousness to take some of the strain from Myriell, breathing hard as the mind shield placed around Lyanna bucked and threatened to tear itself apart. She imposed her will, driving energy into the mana shape until it stabilised. Only then did she turn any attention to her sister.
'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, Lyanna cried out in pain, her thoughts confused and scared.
For all that Ephemere felt alone, for Lyanna it was far, far worse. Such a small child and now separated not just from her mother, but from her senses too, living in a pitch black world of night where uncontained mana battered ceaselessly at her fragile mind.
Lyanna's mind was like a magnet, dragging in magical essence in enormous quantities but quite unable to mould it or understand what it was she unleashed. While she lay in her Night, her mind experimented, fought to control what it craved and threw out random mana shapes with staggering power because that control was denied it. For her to survive, she would have to learn.
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 beginning of every shift. She felt Lyanna's moans as they modulated through the mana, the only human emotion in the elemental tumult she created. She couldn't respond, couldn't put her arms around an entity that was not there to embrace and wasn't there to be comforted.
All she could do was deflect the dangerous magical energy that Lyanna provoked. And with every slamming of a bolt against her shield, she weakened, but with every breath she took, her resolve hardened.
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 Erienne would return in time.
And if she didn't, the world was already dead and all her pain would have been wasted.
Erienne was momentarily confused, genuinely refusing to believe her eyes. Though Selik had intimated he was assisted by mages, never in her worst nightmare had she contemplated being before the man who had walked through her cabin door. She shook her head, shuddering at what it all meant. This was no rogue Dordovan mage, this was the High Secretary of the College. A man steeped in respect and the ethics of her College. A man she had known all her life and had thought she understood and could trust.
'Erienne, please don't judge me too quickly.'
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.
'Don't talk to me,' she rasped, tasting bile in her mouth. 'Don't even look at me. You revolt me.'
'Please, Erienne,' said Berian. 'We had to find you. We worry for you and Lyanna.'
'How dare you lie to me!' Erienne's eyes blazed, her rage growing. 'You're standing next to the murderer of my children. Dordovan children. How could you!'
Berian gave Selik a sideways glance. 'But they knew where to find you again,' he said gently. 'And we would see you come to no further harm.'
'Liar!' Erienne flew across the cabin, landing one punch on Berian's face before Selik dragged her away and threw her back on the bed.
'Calm yourself,' he drawled.
'Calm?' she screamed. 'Great Gods burning, I've delivered myself and my child to hell.' She jabbed a finger at Berian. 'And you, you bastard betrayer. You're dead. I swear it. You've betrayed everything and joined with Witch Hunters to find your own and kill them.'
She slumped, her head dropping to her chest, her rage extinguished. Helplessness swept through her and tears fell down her cheeks. Everything she'd believed in was in ashes at her feet.
'How could you?' she whispered.
'Because your daughter is a danger to Balaia,' said Berian, all hint of gentleness gone from his voice. 'And she is a herald of doom for Dordover. Did you really think we'd stand by and let you bring her to the One uncontested? She must be controlled by Dordover to ensure our College survives. It is you who are the betrayer, Erienne Malanvai. I would save my College. You would see it fall.'
Erienne shook her head. 'No,' she managed through her weeping. 'No, you don't understand.'
'Yes, Erienne, I do,' said Berian. 'I understand only too well.'
She heard footsteps receding and her door close and lock.