Holder of Lightning tc-1

by S L Farrell Неизвестный Автор

  She imagined lightning striking the two riders. She visualized savage light darting from cloch to riders.

  It happened.

  Twin lightnings flared in searing lines from her fisted hand, slicing around Maeve and Mac Ard without touching them. The riders' swords shattered, molten shards exploding in bright arcs as hilts were torn from gloved hands and flung away. The lightning curled around the riders, lifting them in a snarling coil of blue-white and hurling them a hundred feet into the fields as their horses screamed and fled.

  Behind them, there were shouts of alarm. Jenna turned. Four more riders had come from under the trees. Jenna waved her hand, and the earth exploded at their feet, a line of bright fireworks erupting before them as horses reared and bucked. The riders turned and fled back the way they'd come. Jenna saw O'Deoradhain, back on his horse, riding wildly south across the fields and away.

  She let him go. The angry glare faded in her hand, and Jenna screamed, this time with her own pain, as every muscle in her right arm seemed to — lock and twist. She bent over in her saddle, fighting to stay conscious. You can do it. Breathe. Keep breathing. You can't stop the pain, no, but put it to one side. . The voice inside didn't seem be hers. Riata? She fought the inner night that threatened to close around her, pushed it away, and forced herself to sit up in the saddle. She rode to her mother. "Mam, are you all right?"

  Maeve nodded, mute. Her eyes were wide and almost timid as she stared at her daughter. "Jenna.

  " she breathed, but Jenna shook her head.

  Cradling her right arm in her lap, she flicked the reins with her left hand, going to Mac Ard. He was standing, his sword now held in his left hand, the point dragging on the ground, a spreading pool of dark wetness soaking his cloca at the right arm. Another cut spread a fan of blood across his forehead.

  "You look awful," she said to him. "Padraic."

  A fleeting smile touched his lips and vanished.

  "You haven't seen your-self, Jenna. I can ride, though. And we need to do that before those other riders decide to come back. Where's that bastard O'Deoradhain?"

  Jenna pointed away south, where a distant rider pounded away across the moonlit fields. Mac Ard spat once in the man's direction. Maeve came riding up, holding the reins to the tiarna's horse. She dismounted and went to Mac Ard. "We're binding this first," she said. "Riders or not, you're losing too much blood, Padraic. Jenna can watch for the attackers."

  She looked up at Jenna, who nodded. "I'm. . fine for now, Mam," she said, hoping it was true. The edges of her vision had gone dark, and her arm radiated agony as if the very bones had been shattered. She took deep, slow breaths of the cold night air-keep the pain to one side-and forced herself to sit upright. If the riders returned, she wasn't sure she could use the cloch again. She thought of the anduilleaf in the pack: As soon as we get to the town, you can have some, and that will keep the pain away. . "Go on. But you need to hurry, Mam. ."

  Maeve tore strips from her skirt hem, bandaging Mac Ard's arm and strapping the arm to his chest. "That will need to be stitched when we reach town, but it will do for now. Can you mount, Padraic?"

  In answer, Mac Ard grasped the saddle with his left hand, put his foot in the stirrup and pulled himself up with a grimace. Astride, he looked around them: the empty-saddled horses now standing a hundred yards down the road, the bladeless hilts on the road, the broken bodies of the two men sprawled in the awkward poses of the dead in the field, the black furrow torn in the ground up the slope from them.

  "So much for keeping this a secret," he said.

  Chapter 14: Ath Iseal

  JENNA could not imagine a city larger than Ath Iseal. To her eyes, which had seen only Ballintubber, the town was vast, noisy, and impos-sibly crowded, though she knew that Lar Bhaile, to the south on the east side of Lough Lar, was the size of several Ath Iseals put together.

  They ran into a squadron of men in green and brown, hurrying across the ford and up the road, having seen the lightnings and heard the fight-ing. On meeting Tiarna Mac Ard, three of the soldiers accompanied them across the ford, while the rest of the small force rode west in pursuit of the Connachtans. Tiarna Mac Ard, Maeve, and Jenna were taken to the Ri’s House-lodgings reserved for the RI Gabair should he come to Ath Iseal-and healers were sent for. Servants brought food and drink, and baths were prepared.

  Jenna slept more soundly that night than she had since they’d left Bal-lintubber: only six days ago now, though it seemed far longer to her. When she awoke the next day, the sun was already high in the sky, masked by scudding gray rain clouds. She stood at the window, a blanket wrapped around her, shivering and yet delighting in the sharp cold and the fresh smell of the rain. The Ri’s House had been built on top of the river bluff, and from her window, Jenna looked down on the clustered town. She’d never seen so many buildings in one place, all crowded to-gether as if desperately seeking each other’s company, the streets between ’ them busy with people moving from place to place. A market square was just off to her left and down, packed with street vendors and buyers, bright with the awnings of the stalls. The sound of vendors’ calls and high-pitched bartering came to her on the air.

  For a moment, looking at the untroubled life below, she could almost forget the events of the past fortnight. But a twinge of pain from her arm brought back the memories, and she stepped away from the window again. She must have cried out, for someone knocked at the door to the room. "Young miss, are you awake? May I come in?"

  "Aye," Jenna answered. "Come in."

  The door opened, and a young woman no older than Jenna entered, bearing a tray with a steaming pot, a cup, and tea. A tentative smile was on her plain face, but there was also caution in her eyes as she set the tray down on the bedside table and bustled about the room, pulling clothing from a

  chest at the foot of the bed. She kept looking at Jenna as if Jenna" were some sort of mythical beast, or as if she were afraid that Jenna might suddenly order her head lopped off.

  "Here, Bantiarna. This will be good; see how the brown matches your eyes? The tiarna's already been to breakfast, and the other bartiarna, too-she's your mam, isn't she? I think she's very lovely, not at all like my own mam-but they asked that you come to them when you wake. The healer will be back here in just a bit to look at your arm again; I'll make sure someone runs to find him as soon as I leave you. That arm of yours must hurt, the way it's wrapped. Did it give you problems sleeping? You've evidently been through a terrible fight, from what I've heard. Goodness, the rumors that have been flying around here all morning. ."

  As the woman spoke, all seemingly in one gigantic breath, Jenna felt her arm cramp and tighten, her hand clenching involuntarily into a fist. She felt for the cloch-it was still there, hidden, and the feel of it caused her hand to relax, though the pain still radiated through her shoulder and into her chest. The servant was looking at her strangely, her mouth open though the words had stopped spilling out for the moment.

  "Leave me," Jenna said abruptly before the young woman could take another breath and begin another monologue. "Those clothes are fine; I won't need your help."

  The servant blanched, her face going white. "Young miss, if I've of-fended-"

  Jenna waved her good hand to stop her. "You haven't. I just… I'd prefer to dress alone. Tell my mam and the tiarna that I'll be down shortly." She opened the door. "Please," she said, gesturing.

  With a nod and bow, the servant left. Jenna closed the door behind her. She went to her pack, sitting at the side of the bed, and rummaged through it until she found the pouch of anduilleaf. She crumbled a bit of the herb and set it steeping in the teapot, then sank down on the bed. The bittersweet scent of anduilleaf wafted through the room, and that alone seemed to ease the pain a bit. For long minutes, she simply lay there, eyes closed, feeling the pain slowly lessen until she found she could move the fingers of her right hand again, then she went and poured her-self a cup of the brew. As she drank, she pulled

  Eilis’ ring from the
pocket, looking at it and turning it in her hand. She needed to know more, but she didn’t place the ring on her finger, uncertain. The specter of the an-cient Holder had seemed so bitter, so fey. Not someone Jenna would vol-untarily choose as an adviser. Come to where a Holder’s body rests, or touch something that was once theirs, and they can speak with you, if you will it. With the memory of Eilis’ words, Jenna sat up. She finished the anduilleaf tea, dressed quickly, and left her room.

  She found her mam and Mac Ard in a parlor room leading out into an interior garden court, though when Jenna-directed by another servant- passed through it to get to the tiarna’s room, she found most of the plants were now brown and dead. The doors were shut, and a fire was roaring in the hearth. Mac Ard was standing near the fire, one arm still bound to his body and another bandage over his forehead. Maeve was sitting near him.

  They had evidently been conversing, but both went silent as Jenna entered.

  Food was laid out on a table near them, and Mac Ard waved at it with his good hand as Jenna entered. "Have you eaten?"

  "I’m not hungry," she answered. "What word is there on the Connach-tans or O’Deoradhain?"

  Mac Ard shrugged with one shoulder. "None. Three of the Connach-tans are dead-I know their faces, and the Ri Connachta won’t be pleased, as two of them are his cousins-and the others fled west, evidently leaving the High Road when it turned north. I sent men to the farm where we met O’Deoradhain-it wasn’t his land at all, it seems. There’s been no sign of him, and no freelander in the area knows him at all. I had someone find the Taisteal and speak with Clannhri Sheehan, who said that O’Deoradhain had come into the camp only a few hours before us. He was proba-bly a Connachtan as well."

  Three are dead, and two of them you killed. . Jenna swallowed hard, trying to keep her face from showing anything of her feelings. "There’s talk all through Ath Iseal about mage-lights, clochs, and the Filleadh," Mac Ard continued. "The sooner we get to Lar Bhaile, the better. I’d like to set out tomorrow, if you’re able."

  The thought of more travel made Jenna grimace,

  but she nodded. "Whatever you think best. Whatever keeps us safe."

  "You'll be safe now," Mac Ard told her. "From here, I can promise that. The Connachtans won't dare come this far east. I never offered you my gratitude, Jenna," Mac Ard said. "But I do now. That's the second time you've saved my life. It's a debt I'll do my best to repay."

  "There's no debt," Jenna answered. "The first time, what happened was out of my control, an accident. This time. ." She took a long breath. "I did it to save myself and my mam."

  "And me?"

  "Aye, and you. Because-" Jenna stopped, looking at her mam. Mac Ard's followed the gaze, his dark eyes glinting in the firelight. He nodded, as if he saw something in her face that he expected to see, and pushed himself away from the mantle.

  "The cloch of yours," he said, his voice carefully neutral. "I thought it was a clochmion, one of the minor clochs, one of the least. I think we both know better now. I think I could name the cloch you're holding."

  Jenna hurried to answer. "I didn't know, Tiarna Mac Ard. I just found it, that's all. I didn't know what it was."

  "If you had, would you have given it to me? Would you give it to me now?"

  Jenna didn't answer. She took a step back from him.

  "You don't have to say anything," he said. "I can see the answer in your face." His eyes held hers for a few breaths longer before he looked away. "I have a dozen things to attend to if we're leaving tomorrow. Jenna, I'm glad you're feeling somewhat better. If you'll excuse me, Maeve. ."

  He left the room, passing close by Jenna. She could feel the breeze of his passage.

  "Come here, darling," Maeve said as he left the room. She opened her arms, and Jenna sank into the embrace as if she were a small child again. As Maeve stroked her hair, tears came, surprising Jenna with their sudden-ness. She sobbed against her mother's breast as she hadn't done in years, and

  Maeve crooned soft words to her, kissing the top of her head. Finally, Jenna sniffed back the tears and pulled away, rubbing at her eyes with her sleeve. "How are you feeling this morning?" Maeve asked softly. Her eyes, concerned, glanced at the bandages around Jenna’s arm. "You used anduilleaf again," Maeve said.

  "I had to," Jenna answered. "It hurt too much."

  Maeve nodded. "You should know, Jenna. Padraic and I-"

  "You don’t need to say anything," Jenna told her.

  "I understand, and if this is what you want, then I’m happy for you. Just don’t let him hurt you, Mam."

  "He won’t," Maeve answered emphatically. Certainty tightened her face. "We talked for a long time. I know what he can do and what he can’t do, and I’m comfortable with that. I understand his position; he understands mine. We’re. ." Maeve stopped and Jenna saw a broad smile spread across her face, twinned with a blush. "We’re well suited for each other."

  Jenna hugged her again, and Maeve stroked her hair. "Padraic is wor-ried about you, Jenna," she said.

  "Padraic doesn’t need to worry." Jenna used his first name scornfully, as if she hated the taste of its familiarity. "This seems to be my problem, not his."

  "He’d take the cloch and its burden from you, if he could."

  Jenna’s eyes flashed at that, and she stood abruptly, taking a step away from her mam. In the hearth behind her, a log crashed in a whirling cascade of sparks. "He can’t have it. It’s mine."

  She pushed away from Meave, who let her go. "That’s what he said you’d say, that you wouldn’t, that you couldn’t, willingly give it up now, even though it hurts you." Maeve smiled sadly. "I wish you could. I would do anything to stop you from being in pain, Jenna. I wish. ." She looked away to the fire, then back to Jenna. "I wish you’d never found the stone. I wish Niall, your father. ." She stopped.

  "What about my da?" Jenna asked.

  Maeve shook her head. "Nothing. He said nothing of this to me, but in looking back on how it was, I think he was always waiting for that cloch himself. I wonder now if he didn't bring it to Ballintubber himself, from Inish Thuaidh or wherever he came from before. If he'd lived, it would have been him who was up on Knobtop that night, not you."

  "And then Tiarna Mac Ard would have come."

  Her mam gave Jenna a knowing smile. "I loved your da, Jenna. But it's possible to be in love more than once in your life. It's even possible to be in love with two people at once, even if it's dangerous and even though you know that those feelings will inevitably cause everyone pain. One day you'll realize that. I'll always love your da, and always cherish my time with him. After all, he gave me you."

  "And I'm all that's left. All the rest that we had is gone. I have nothing." Her voice was wistful and sad.

  "Most of it is gone, aye, except for a few things of his I took before we left. Wait here a moment." Maeve rose from her chair and left the room for a few minutes, returning with a small wooden carving in her hand. "Remember this?" she asked, holding it out to Jenna: a block of pine fitting easily into her palm and poorly carved into a representation of a 'seal and painted a bright blue, though wood showed through at several places where it had been scratched.

  "Aye," Jenna said. "The seal I used to play with when I was a baby." She looked at Maeve. "Why that?"

  "Your father carved it, before he left for Bacathair. When you lost inter-est in it, I kept it because it was his last gift to you. I’d forgotten I still had it until I was trying to find a few things to take when we fled. Here… it isn’t much, but you should have it back now."

  Jenna held it in her left hand as memories surged back: sitting on her mam’s lap at the table and laughing with her mam as the seal bobbed in a pan of water; tossing it angrily across the room one night because she was hungry and tired, chipping a crockery bowl in the process-she’d never told her mam that, letting her think the bowl had been chipped some other time. "Da made this? I never knew."

  Maeve nodded.

  . . touch something that was once thei
rs, and they can speak with you, if you will it…

  "Mam, may I keep this?"

  Maeve smiled at her. "It’s yours, Jenna. It was always yours."

  She did nothing until after the evening meal, when she was alone again in her room.

  The sun had sunk behind the hills. The night was dark, the moon and stars hidden behind a screen of clouds. The air seemed heavy and cold. Jenna had dismissed the servant for the night and sat in a chair near the fire, feeding it peat until the blue flames rose high and the light touched the far wall of the bedroom. She took the carving of the seal from the stand by her bed and set it in her lap, staring at the fire for a time. Then she took it in her right hand.

  She stared at the carving, at the marks her da’s knife had made shaping the wood, and seeing in her mind’s eyes the shavings curling away under the blade. She could almost hear the sound of the dry scraping of sharp iron against soft wood--

  No. She could hear it.

  She turned. Near the window, a man sat in a plain chair, holding a block of wood in one hand and a knife in the other. Shavings were piled in his lap.

  She could see the wall behind through the ghostly

  image. His face. . Jenna gasped, realizing that the man who sat there, hair the color of fire, was the same she'd glimpsed when she'd found the stone. "Da?" she whispered.

  He looked up. "Who. .?" he asked. He seemed confused, looking around. "Where am I? Everything looks so pale. . Maeve, is that you? You're dressed so strangely, like a Riocha."

  Jenna walked toward him, holding the battered, chipped seal out so he could see it. "I'm Jenna, Da. Your daughter. Seventeen years old now." He shook his head, wonder and fear and confusion all mingled in his gaze. His reaction was so different from that of Eilis, but then Eilis had held Lamh Shabhala when it was active and knew that the cloch contained its old Holders. When her da possessed Lamh Shabhala, it had been dead, just an ordinary stone wrapped in legend. Her da would have had no experience of the cloch's abilities.