She pulled away to look at Lyanna and saw a quizzical look on her face.
“What is it darling?” she said, tracing a finger down the outline of her jaw. “What's wrong?”
Lyanna frowned. “You know what I've been doing. I've been in the dark place. The ladies kept me there and that's why you went. Because you thought I wouldn't know. But I did and I made a light for you to help you come back. Why did you go?” Her voice began to tremble.
Erienne resisted the urge to hug her again. “Oh, sweet, you know why I went. You waved me from the beach, didn't you? Don't you remember? I went to get some help for us because the Al-Drechar were getting so tired. I went to get Daddy.”
Lyanna considered for a moment and nodded. “Yes, but I didn't want to be in the dark place and the old ladies made me stay until I made them let me wake up.”
Erienne's heart missed a beat. A suddenly shaky hand swept hair away from Lyanna's forehead. “What do you mean?” she asked.
“I hurt Ana.” Lyanna's chin was wobbling. “I don't know what happened. Please don't be angry Mummy, I didn't mean it. I was scared.” She started to cry and Erienne held her close, rocking her and shushing gently into her ear.
“Of course I'm not angry.” Erienne looked around her, the wreckage so much easier to understand. She feared for the state of Aviana's mind, if indeed the mage was still alive. But sorry as she was for Aviana, that wasn't the real problem. If Lyanna was telling the truth, it presumably meant that her Night wasn't actually over. That her acceptance and control of the mana would not be complete. And that she could relapse any time, unshielded, wreaking untold damage to herself and Balaia.
She steeled herself and tried to keep her voice light and friendly. She couldn't afford Lyanna to see how scared she was.
“And how do you feel, darling?” she asked.
Lyanna smiled a little smile. “All right. My head hurts and I think I made the light a bit bigger than I should. The wind is still in there and the ladies said they'd help me stop it and they didn't.”
Erienne pushed herself to her feet and held out a hand which Lyanna took.
“Shall we go and see where the Al-Drechar are?”
“I don't think they like me,” said Lyanna. “They don't talk to me any more.”
“Oh I'm sure that's not true,” admonished Erienne gently. “Come on, I'll show you they're still your friends.”
“Then can we go and watch for Daddy?” asked Lyanna. “I've got a special place where I stand to look. I looked for you every day.”
“Thank you, darling,” said Erienne. “That helped me come back sooner.”
Reluctantly, Lyanna allowed herself to be led back into the house. Erienne walked over the soaking timbers, passed shattered, flapping windows, smashed vases, broken pictures and torn tapestries and drapes, trying not to react. Lyanna didn't seem to notice any of it and chattered away about her friends in the orchard and the nice soup she had for lunch.
She slowed as they approached the Al-Drechar's rooms. Already anxious that the only sound in the house was the wind whistling through the empty frames and holes in the roof, Erienne feared the worst when she pulled open the doors to their corridor. No one stood guard, no one was waiting. She didn't even need to look in their rooms to know they were empty.
Erienne picked up Lyanna and hurried along to the ballroom, hoping against hope that they were all seated around the dining room table, smoking the pipe. Lyanna looked back over her shoulder as she ran. She didn't resist being carried but shifted uncomfortably as Erienne pulled open the doors to the ballroom and stood staring at the great chandeliers lying like ancient, whitened animal skeletons on the cracked floor.
“Who's that man, Mummy?”
Erienne spun around, Lyanna turning in her arms so as not to lose sight.
“Ilkar, thank the Gods. Lyanna, this is one of Mummy and Daddy's friends. He's going to help us. Are you going to say hello?”
Lyanna shook her head and turned it half away.
“Never mind,” said Ilkar as he jogged up. “Gods falling, Erienne, but this place is a mess. What the hell happened?”
Erienne nodded her head at her daughter. “Guess,” she said. “Look, I can't find anyone. There should be Guild elves all over the place, there are four Al-Drechar as well and the place feels like a morgue. Come with me a moment, will you? I've got the creeps.”
Ilkar smiled. “Which way?”
In answer, Erienne walked on through the ballroom to the dining room, their footsteps echoing wetly around the open space. There was a hole in the roof the size of a cart and the decorative plaster had fallen down in chunks to scatter and blow to the sides of the room. She barely noticed, trying not to break into a run as she neared her last hope.
She grasped the handle with her free hand and pushed the door inward.
“Oh no,” she said, stumbling to a stop and putting a hand to her nose and mouth. In her arms, Lyanna squirmed and made a revolted noise.
Ilkar came to her shoulder and Erienne could hear him fighting not to gag.
“Erienne, take Lyanna away. I'll see what I can do in here.” His strong arms turned her to face him. “Look, Denser is only an hour or two away. We need you to try and persuade Lyanna to take the beacon down. The Dordovans aren't that far away and that thing will bring them in like moths to a lantern.”
Erienne nodded, swallowing back the sobs that threatened to overcome her.
“Please don't let them all be dead,” she said. “Please.”
“I'll do everything I can,” said Ilkar softly. “Now go. Get outside and get some fresh air.”
Erienne ran back through the ballroom, desperation welling up inside her.
Ilkar looked into the dining room and could see what had driven them to come here. It was dry. Probably the only room in the house that was. There was a fireplace opposite which still put out residual heat and the windows had been battened shut, shutters over fractured glass.
The dining room table had been pushed most of the way to the left and in the centre of the room, four beds, all occupied; at least one of which had to contain a corpse. He walked into the room, the stench almost overpowering. His eyes watered and he gagged suddenly.
He had to get some air through. Hurrying to a door to his right, he pushed it open and found another bedroom, its single small window torn from its frame. He took in a huge deep breath, wedged the door open with a sofa and walked quickly over to another door which swung on creaky hinges, letting him into some kitchens. He was halfway back with a chair to wedge open the swing door when he stopped, straightening and frowning.
He put down the wooden kitchen chair and walked back to the ovens. They were hot, flames flickering inside the grills. There was no food ready for preparation and no water ready to place on the hot plates but unless he was mistaken the ovens had been fired up recently, the flames were bright, and the grates looked full.
“Hello?” he called, walking across the kitchen toward a pair of doors opposite the entrance to the dining room. “Hello?”
He drew his sword and put a hand on the leftmost door, pushing it open. A cold store. Empty of life. He let the door swing back and paced right, turning the handle of the other door which swung in. He took half a pace back.
“What, by all the Gods, do you think you're doing?” he asked in low, plain elvish, not believing what he was seeing.
A male voice came out of the mass of huddled bodies; he could count six and there might be more.
“Waiting for the end. Praying for deliverance.”
“From who?”
“Lyanna.”
Ilkar persuaded the group of elves to leave their hiding place and move into the kitchen. He had been forced to explain exactly who he was and what he was doing here before any of them would so much as look at him, let alone do his bidding. There were eight of them. He hadn't seen the two small children. While one of the young elf males put on water for hot drinks, Ilkar sat the others down, all the time mindf
ul that in the next room, the Al-Drechar were dead and dying. He had to get these people moving.
“I'm finding it hard to understand what's going on,” he said, addressing himself to a couple who seemed the most willing to speak. They were an old pair, had probably been with the Guild two hundred years or so and yet their confidence had been completely shattered.
“You haven't been here,” said Arrin, the husband. His wrinkled face held piercing blue-green eyes and his hair, once black, was thin, grey and straggled. “It's all happened so quickly.”
“But what? You're the Guild of Drech,” said Ilkar.
“And no power of this magnitude has ever visited us,” said Arrin's wife, Nerane, a slim elf, hair long and silver grey, tied back in a pony tail. “Or become as uncontrolled.”
“Ah,” said Ilkar. He'd had visions of Lyanna terrorising them somehow, a malign force bent on their destruction.
“She's just a little girl,” said Arrin. “And that's the problem. She doesn't understand what she's doing. She should still be enduring her Night under the Al-Drechar's shields.”
“But she's come through it, obviously,” said Ilkar.
The water began to steam on the hot plate. An elf moved to fill some mugs. He looked weary, like he'd been awake three days. Perhaps he had.
“No,” said Arrin. “She broke the shield three days ago. She walks, talks and eats but she has no real concept of acceptance or control, though her subconscious is more than capable of shaping mana. And she certainly has no idea what her mind is creating. Or destroying, to be more accurate.”
“I'm not sure I get this,” said Ilkar. He looked up as a mug of leaf tea was placed at his right hand. “Thank you.”
“It's like this,” said Arrin, sipping at his drink. “Her Night has been different from that of other mages. She's too young to accept the forces within her and assume responsible control without damaging herself and others. So there's an element of the mana controlling her. Every feeling or reaction she has carries an echo of expression in the mana she's holding.
“When she's angry, lightning strikes the island; when she's sad, it rains; when she's happy, the sun shines. Simple metaphors. Just as you might expect of a five-year-old.”
“In a perverse way, I suppose so,” agreed Ilkar. “There's a ‘but’ in here somewhere, isn't there?”
Nerane nodded, almost smiling. “There are a couple. Most predictably, the mana events are more violent as the depth of the emotion increases. But with one or two exceptions, we can deal with those. Our main problem is that her subconscious shapes mana in very dangerous ways in order for her to get her way. She manipulates it and us and her anger, for instance, hasn't just been limited to lightning since she awoke.”
Ilkar nodded. “Mental attacks?” he suggested.
“Yes. If her target is an individual. But you've seen the west wing of the house. That was a tantrum that manifested itself as an earthquake which cost the lives of seventeen Guild elves. We're all that's left,” Arrin said, looking away to his companions. Nerane put an arm around his shoulders.
“I'm sorry,” said Ilkar.
Nerane shrugged, a gesture expressing her despair. “And right now she's using the Al-Drechar as a conduit for that beacon she's placed in the orchard though she doesn't know it, of course. We don't dare ask her to remove it. That makes her so angry.”
“And you were hiding from her just now?” said Ilkar.
“Yes,” said Nerane. “It's silly, I know, to be so scared of such a small child but she can't deal with being told no and she wanted to wake Ephemere. When we wouldn't let her into the room, she flew into a rage and brought down half the roof in the ballroom. That was yesterday. We're lucky she hates the kitchen or I don't think we'd be here.”
None of them would catch Ilkar's eye, their embarrassment was acute. But he didn't blame them or think any less of them. Nonmages had absolutely no defence against magic and there was little else they could do but hide. Responsibility was a critical element in a mage's training. Lyanna had a great deal to learn.
“And none of you have been through that door since?” He indicated behind him.
“No,” said Arrin. “We know Aviana's dead. She's been gone for two days but Lyanna didn't want us to move her.”
“All right,” said Ilkar, holding up a hand. “Now look, there's things we really have to do now. Lyanna is with Erienne and out of the house. You have to get the dead mage out of there and tend to the ones still alive. Then you have to show me the state of this house. I've got more friends coming, about thirty, but there are Dordovans coming too and they want Lyanna dead. You have to help me make sure that doesn't happen. What do you think?” Ilkar felt like he was addressing children. “Please, you have to trust us. Erienne will persuade Lyanna to disperse the beacon and maybe the Al-Drechar can recover. I need to know if they'll be able to help at all.”
Arrin frowned. “Why would they want her dead?”
Ilkar sighed. “What you've experienced here has been visited on Balaia for seventy days and more. Thousands are dead, so many more homeless and the country is coming apart. Some think Lyanna's death is a way to stop that. Erienne and Denser think there's another way.
“So, will you help?”
“You don't even have to ask,” said Arrin. “We are the Guild Of Drech. We are pledged to the cause of the One.” He turned to take in the surviving Guild. “You've heard what needs doing. Finish your drinks, then two of you attend to Aviana. Two more to check Ephy, Myra and Clerry. Another two to begin a meal for thirty—see what you can find, and bake bread if it's all we have. I will go with Ilkar to view the house.”
Murmurs of assent ran around the table. Ilkar nodded and smiled.
“Thank you,” he said.
“No, thank you,” said Arrin. “Your coming has saved us all.”
Ilkar raised his eyebrows. “Not yet, my friends, not yet.”
Erienne let Lyanna lead her away from the house, away from the stench of death and into the fresh, wind-blown air of Herendeneth. The light misty rain swirled in the sky but it was warm, though not humid, and the sun was trying to break through rapidly thinning cloud.
Lyanna was content and she skipped occasionally as she urged her mother along the path that led to the hidden landing point.
“Daddy won't know which way to go,” she'd said and Erienne realised with a jolt that she was absolutely right; there was no obvious entrance to the small landing beach.
Most of the trees along the gently sloping and stepped pathway had blown down, some having been dragged or cut from where they had obstructed the path. Most though, had been pushed into the arms of those around them, and every gust sounded with the ominous creaking of trunks gradually slipping their grip.
Just before the path made a right turn to lead down to the beach, Lyanna led Erienne toward a steepish rock scramble of about twenty feet. She could hear waves below and the wind picking at the exposed shore.
“I'll show you, Mummy,” said Lyanna, slipping her hand from Erienne's and trotting to the rocks, which she climbed with considerable agility and surprising confidence.
“Who showed you this?” asked Erienne, standing anxiously below her and ready to catch her if she fell.
“No one,” said Lyanna, slightly breathless as she clambered, her little body straining to reach hand and footholds.
Erienne went cold. Who had been looking out for her child? She felt a twist of anger. She'd left Lyanna in the care of people who'd claimed she was too precious to leave anywhere else in the world. But they hadn't stopped her climbing rocks apparently unsupervised. One slip. Just one.
“Didn't anyone watch you?” asked Erienne.
“I wouldn't let them,” said Lyanna. She reached safe ground and stood. “See, Mummy, it's easy. Now you try.”
Erienne had no choice. She shrugged and started to scramble, finding it a good deal simpler than she had anticipated, her reach and strength making light of the climb. Lyanna watched her, the
smile broadening on her face.
“You're clever, Mummy,” she said when they stood together.
“Not like you, my sweet,” said Erienne. “It's difficult for little girls.”
Lyanna preened briefly. “Come on,” she said.
They walked a few steps across an uneven, pock-marked surface and found themselves staring out at the sea. To their right, the rock outcrop fell away to the landing beach, and to their left on to the unforgiving stone shores. Directly ahead, they looked over the reefs and into the channel that led ultimately to the Southern Ocean.
The rain had ceased for a while and the sun finally broke through the cloud. Away in the middle distance, the blue-grey sea, backed by stark black rock, had a splash of colour. A sail.
“Do you see the boat, Lyanna?” Erienne pointed.
Lyanna nodded. “Will Daddy be here soon?”
“Yes, he will,” said Erienne, an arm around Lyanna's shoulders as she crouched. “And all our friends who will help us.”
“Like the elf man inside?”
“That's right.” Ilkar's words echoed in Erienne's ears and the memory of the dining room returned to send a shiver through her body.
She sat down on the damp rock, her legs stretched out, her feet hanging just over the edge.
“Now, Lyanna, I need to explain something to you. Sit down, darling, there's a good girl.”
Lyanna sat on Erienne's lap and looked up at her. Her eyes held a depth that Erienne found disquieting. They removed the innocence from her otherwise perfect face.
“There are bad people coming here,” said Erienne. “And they would hurt us if they could. Take us away from here.”
“I know,” said Lyanna simply. “We would all die. Me and you and the old ladies.”
Erienne was quiet for a moment, digesting what she'd heard. Lyanna was only five years old, for god's sake. Too young to understand the concept of death, let alone accept it so readily.
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