Ephemere sat in the dining room, the pipe of Lemiir in her hand. In an adjacent anteroom, Myriell sat with Lyanna. There was no sense in leaving her in her own bedroom, she couldn't know the difference in her current state, and it was just that little bit easier for her dying watchers.

The old Al-Drechar's face cracked into a vague smile as she drew deeply on the pipe, feeling the herbal smoke smooth the edges off the pain she experienced every waking moment. So many hours they'd spent here, the four of them, arguing, talking, chiding and hoping. It was only now she realised how happy those times had been.

The smile faded. It had been five days since she had passed more than a few words of encouragement to Aviana on her way out and wished restful sleep to Myriell on her way in to Lyanna. She hadn't seen Cleress at all in that time. And with every passing day, they got weaker and weaker and Lyanna's Night showed no signs of passing.

The only encouragement they could draw was that it had moved to another stage but even that development meant more misery. Where Lyanna's mind's random usage of her enormous talent would have previously brought such trouble to her homeland of

Balaia, now that net had widened and encompassed Herendeneth too. It showed greater understanding and a modicum more control and direction by the child's unconscious, but its result was a battering of the whole archipelago under what was often a clear blue sky.

No longer were the winds irritated spats delivered by Lyanna as she dreamed; now the lightning crackled and fell to earth in an endless stream; the waves pounded the shores and swept up to within scant yards of the house; the wind thundered ceaselessly at shutters, windows and walls and, when the clouds did roll across, the rain was incredibly heavy, washing off the higher ground in rivers and pouring through the house on its way back to the sea.

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 naive 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 Lyanna's untrained but awakened mind. Her only consolation was that, even had they known, there was little they could have done, but at least they would have begun a little better prepared.

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.

Lyanna lay on her back on the bed they'd brought in for her. She hadn't opened her eyes for six days now, subsiding not long after Erienne went to find Denser and The Raven. Her favourite doll and a glass of water lay on a table at her bedside, symbols of hope and belief that she would come through her Night. But they'd changed the untouched water time and again and the doll was gathering dust.

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