Holder of Lightning tc-1

by S L Farrell Неизвестный Автор

  The two cloch Holders ignored O'Deoradhain and instead turned their attention to Jenna and Lamh Shabhala. Their clochs were now open; in mental view, she could see them, twin expanding ripples in the white of Lamh Shabhala. The sea-foam color of one moved more rapidly, urging for the center that was Jenna. "Don't let it reach you. Go toward " The voice spoke in her head: Riata, she realized, come to her on his own. The other voices were there as well, the voices of all the Holders, a babble of contradictory advice: one telling her to flee, another to make the first strike now, yet another insisting that it was too late already. . She ignored them and found Riata's voice again. She moved toward it, not physi-cally but with the cloch…" She let her awareness slide forward. .

  The impact nearly stunned her. She was surrounded by howling winds and a hand that seemed to grasp at her, squeezing the very breath from her lungs. Jenna gasped and struggled. She could feel more and more energy pouring from the attacking cloch, then-in support-lightning arced

  from its partner. Jenna screamed with the pain, the electricity arcing through her, her body convulsing as all her muscles contracted and the burning spear coursed through her. The aqua light continued to pummel her like a gigantic fist as she felt the other cloch gathering itself again.

  Yet she could also sense that with each attack, the clochs, including Lamh Shabhala, grew weaker, that there was less force left for them to use. "You are stronger. . You can hold more of the mage-light’s power than they can…" She thrust back at the blue-green constriction that had wrapped about her, unwrapping it like a sticky rope laced around her body. She could feel energy draining from Lamh Shabhala as she fought back, but the crushing pressure was easing. She pushed, and the cloch fell back. She lifted an ethereal arm and slammed it down; waves of pain and alarm radiated from the center of the cloch’s influence. The red cloch released another bolt of lightning; shifting her attention, she sent her own to intercept it and a momentary sun flared between them. The aqua cloch was pushing back now, the two of them grappling mentally like wrestlers searching for a hold. The ruddy one held back, and Jenna realized that Mac Ard was waiting, deliberately allowing the other cloch to drain as much of Lamh Shabhala’s power as it could.

  He s planning to wait until I weaken myself dealing with the other cloch, then strike… I wonder. . She sent her awareness racing to the center of the other cloch: she could see a face, strained and hurting as it fought her: Damhlaic Gairbith, the Ris commander. He tried to push her away; she would not let him. She shouted at him, feeling her throat go raw with the near-scream. "Mac Ard’s using you, Gairbith! He intends to let you die fighting

  Gairbith didn’t reply-couldn’t reply, she knew, for handling the cloch was taking all his concentration. But his eyes went wide with fear and suspicion, and he looked away toward where the other cloch pulsed blood red, watching and waiting.

  The truth was enough. Jenna felt Gairbith’s focus shift and with that the defenses he’d set around himself weakened. Jenna cried out, releasing a new flood of energy from Lamh Shabhala. It raged forward, overwhelm-ing Gairbith. The mental connection between himself and his cloch snapped. Through her true eyes, she saw one of the men sway in his saddle and fall. In the middle of the field,

  O'Deoradhain and another man were fighting, steel clashing as a sword rang against the Inishlander's long dagger.

  Jenna nearly fell with Gairbith. The sudden release of pressure made her gasp and Lamh Shabhala was nearly drained. Weary, she turned her attention to Mac Ard.

  "We don't have to do this, Jenna." She heard Mac Ard's voice as if he whispered in her ear. "I don't want to hurt you. Give up the cloch. Let me take it and I'll let you go or take you back to your mam. Whatever you want. I swear it."

  The thought of losing the cloch was worse than contemplating death. "No," she answered. "Lamh Shabhala is mine. It stays mine."

  She heard no more words, but she felt his sadness.

  Jenna could feel Mac Ard's cloch opening and knew he was readying a strike. She didn't wait for it; she grasped at the dregs of power within Lamh Shabhala and flung them at him. The energy shattered against his cloch, absorbing the lightning he hurled toward her. As it crackled around him, she could feel Lamh Shabhala sucking the rest of the life from his cloch until there was nothing left. She saw Mac Ard's face go suddenly wide-eyed with fear.

  Mac Ard's horse reared up as he yanked at the reins. Faintly, she heard his cry of pain and frustration as he fled, galloping into the trees and over the rise. Within Lamh Shabhala, there was still power left, enough that she could feel Mac Ard's cloch moving away until she could no longer sense it at all.

  She let go of the cloch. It was a mistake, she realized immediately, for it was only the residual energy within Lamh Shabhala that was keeping her upright. With the release of contact, a doubled wave of severe pain and exhaustion swept over her. She could still see O'Deoradhain fighting close by, but the edges of her vision had gone black, the scene before her shrinking and condensing until it was only a pinpoint. Thunder roared in her ears, and the drumbeat of her blood. Her right arm felt as if it were on fire. She tried to lift it, tried to call out, but the darkness closed in around her and she felt herself falling.

  She didn’t feel the impact of the ground at all.

  Chapter 34: The Gifting

  "YOU see, she’s weak and stupid. She doesn’t deserve to be Holder…" I "You can’t be seriously thinking she could survive the Scrudu…"

  "Next time they come after her, she’ll die. The only thing that saved her was the inexperience of the others, and they’ll learn… "

  "She doesn’t have the discipline… "

  "Lamh Shabhala has chosen poorly this time…"

  "Be quiet, all of you. She will learn, she may take the Scrudu in time, and she is stronger than you think… "

  "Riata?" With the word, the voices faded. She could see nothing. Her eyes refused to focus though there was a whiteness all around her, and she was being jostled. She tried to move her hands or her legs and could not-something held her. She remembered the last thing she’d seen:

  O’Deoradhain and the other man fighting. If O’Deoradhain had lost. . had she been captured? Had Lamh Shabhala been taken from her? She closed her eyes, gathering her strength.

  This time, she could see. The whiteness was a cloth draped over a wooden framework above her face, the sun shining through it. She could lift her head, and saw that she was reclining on a crude carrier-canvas stretched and tied between two saplings. She could hear the slow clopping of two horses’ hooves and smell their ripeness-the carrier she was in was being dragged along behind one of the animals, the saplings evidently tied to the saddle, and the jostling was the device bumping and lurching over the broken ground. Someone had tied her into the frame as well.

  Her body felt as if it had been bruised and battered and she could easily have slipped back into unconsciousness. Her right arm throbbed as if someone were rhythmically pounding it with a hammer of ice. She wanted to scream for someone to bring her anduilleaf, the old yearning for the drug rising from the suffering. She gritted her teeth to stop from crying out, forcing herself to take long, slow breaths, sending her aware-ness deeper. She

  did cry out then, in relief rather than pain.

  Lamh Shabhala was still around her neck. She could feel the cloch, as drained as she was, but alive and with her. It will always be part of you now. . The last of the voices whispered to her… to lose your cloch is like losing your child. You can't imagine that pain. . "O'Deoradhain?" she called. Her throat felt as if someone had scrubbed it with a steel file.

  The horse came to a sudden halt. She heard someone dismount, then footsteps. The cloth was pulled away from the frame, and Jenna was blinking up into a bright sky as a dark face eclipsed the sun.

  "You're finally awake." The voice was familiar and deep.

  "Finally?"

  "It's been nearly two days," he told her.

  "Two days?" She repeated the words wonderingly. "So
long?"

  "You learn to bear using the cloch against others as it happens more. At least that's what I was taught. We can hope that Tiarna Mac Ard suf-fered the same fate, though I suspect he's had more practice than you." He crouched down in front of her. "Can you stand? Here, let me loosen these ropes…" He unlashed her, and helped her out of the contraption. Her knees were wobbly but they supported her; O'Deoradhain, after help-ing her to rise, let her go as she took a few tentative steps. She recognized none of the landscape around her: tall, grassy peaks with steep rocky outcroppings, and limestone-boned ground underfoot. There was an odor in the air that she couldn't identify, a fresh, briny scent. "Where are we?"

  "In Tuath Connachta above Keelballi, near the northern border with Tuath Infochla. We're perhaps five or six miles from the sea. I'm hoping to reach a fishing village where we can find someone who'll take us to Inish."

  "Mac Ard? The others?"

  "I don't know what happened to Mac Ard or the other one who fled. The rest… are dead."

  Jenna touched the cloch. O'Deoradhain's eyes followed the gesture. "The cloch Gairbith had. .?"

  "Was that the man’s name?" O’Deoradhain shrugged, then reached into a pocket under his cloca. "Here. . It’s yours now." He took her left hand, turning it palm up and placing in it a gold chain. At the end of the chain was a turquoise gem, faceted and gleaming and far larger than Lamh Shabhala. "There’s his cloch na thintri. I took it from the body after. ." He stopped.

  Memory of the battle was coming back now. Jenna remembered Gair-bith’s cloch going silent, and the man falling from his horse. "He wasn’t dead " she said. "The cloch was drained, but Gairbith wasn’t dead."

  "He is now." O’Deoradhain’s lips pressed together.

  She stared at him; his eyes, nearly the color of the gem in her hand, returned the gaze, as if daring her to object. "You could have let him go," she said. "Taken the cloch from him, aye, and his horse-"

  "Jenna…"

  ". . but you didn’t have to kill him. Without the cloch, he wasn’t-"

  "Jenna!" he said sharply, and Jenna blinked angrily, closing her mouth. "I don’t expect the person who murdered the Banrion to lecture me about the choices 1 made. We aren’t children playing a game, Holder. What do you think this Gairbith would have done with you, had the positions been reversed? Do you believe the Banrion’s assassin was only going to threaten you? Do you think the Connachtans who came to Ballintubber would have left you alive after they plucked Lamh Shabhala from your neck? Frankly, from what I’ve been taught, a cloudmage would prefer to be killed rather than have his or her cloch taken."

  He snorted derisively, his hand slashing air in front of her. "You did the right thing with the Banrion, because if you’d left her alive she might have been the one to kill you later, or more likely, to have ordered your death. Now she can’t. And as for Gairbith-he doesn’t have to bear the pain of having his Cloch Mor ripped away from him, and he won’t be able to seek revenge."

  Jenna looked at the gold links pooled in her hand. She closed her fist around them. "I’m sorry for you, O’Deoradhain. I’m sorry that you live in such a

  harsh, self-centered world. There is a time for mercy."

  "I've learned that mercy and forgiveness will usually get you killed, Holder. I notice that you 'murdered' the riders with Mac Ard without worrying overmuch about that action."

  The lightning striking them down… "I did what I had to do. The differ-ence is that I regret that action, even if it was necessary."

  "I also do what's necessary to keep me-and you-alive, and I don't regret that. I don't intend to die because I was too busy worrying about whether I should defend myself."

  Jenna lifted her head. "We all die, O'Deoradhain, when the gods say it's our time." Gairbith's cloch na thintri was heavy in her hand. She looked down at the stone: beautiful and clear all the way down into its emerald depths, captured in a finely-wrought cage of silver and gold.

  Unlike Lamh Shabhala, this gem would be precious even if it couldn't draw the power of the mage-lights from the sky. She looked back at O'Deoradhain. "Why did you give me this?"

  "It's yours. I didn't win that battle. You did."

  Her fingers closed around it again. "Can I… can I use it?"

  "No," he told her. "A Holder can use only one stone, and you have Lamh Shabhala-why would you take a lesser stone? But while you keep this one, no one else can use it against you. It's one of the Cloch Mor; better you have it than your enemies."

  Her gaze went back to him, and she suddenly felt ashamed of her doubt and suspicion of the man.

  He's done nothing but tell you the truth: about Coelin, about Mac Ard, about everything. He helped you even when it put him in danger, and he could have taken Lamh Shabhala from you several times now. He could have taken this cloch na thintri just as easily, and yet he hands it to you. . "O'Deoradhain, I'm sorry if it seems I don't trust you. I certainly-"

  He wouldn't let her finish, shaking his head into her words. "You should be careful with your trust, Holder. You haven't exactly made good choices in the past."

  "Give me your hand," she told him. His eyes narrowed and his lips tightened again. He held out his right hand, and she took it in her own. She placed Gairbith's cloch in his palm and closed his fingers around it. "Tonight when the mage-lights come," she told him, "take this and fill it as I fill Lamh Shabhala. Become its Holder."

  Her hand stayed on his, and he didn't move it away. His gaze searched her face, and she felt herself blushing under the scrutiny. You like this man more than you want to admit, and the realization brought more heat to her cheeks. What she felt wasn't what she had once felt for Coelin; the heat inside her was different. With Coelin, the attraction had come from his flattery of her and his handsome face, and she knew now how false and shallow that had been. What she was feeling now came at her from all directions, and she found herself looking at O'Deoradhain with new eyes, and wondering if he were feeling what she was.

  "This isn't the cloch I want to possess," he said gruffly. "You know that."

  "Aye," she answered. "I know. I also know that if you take the one you want, it will be because I can no longer use it. And I also know that will be due to some other person's deed, not yours." She pressed his fingers more tightly around the stone, and smiled at him. "I think I'm making a good choice, this time."

  Slowly, he nodded. His hand slid from her grasp and he put the cloch a thintri’s chain around his neck. The jewel gleamed on his chest for a moment before he placed it under his tunic.

  "If you can ride," he said, "we should be moving. I'd like to make the coast by tomorrow evening. He won't let us rest." O'Deoradhain didn't need to tell Jenna who "he" was-she knew. "He'll follow us, as soon as he's able, and the next time he attacks he'll be more careful."

  "I know he will," she agreed. "But we'll be stronger."

  Chapter 35: O'Deoradhain's Tale

  THEY stopped to eat and rest near a narrow and long lough cradled between close green hills. The sun was high and peeked out occasion-ally between the clouds sweeping across the sky. Cloud shadows raced over the slopes, and the smell of the sea was in the wind from the west. Well out toward the western end of the lake, two fishing boats bobbed on the waves where the lough curved north and away toward the endless water of the ocean. Dark fingers of smoke smeared across the sky around the hills behind them, and underneath was a cluster of white dots.

  "People," Jenna said. "I’m not sure I remember how to react around them anymore."

  "If we’re lucky, we won’t meet too many of them," O’Deoradhain an-swered. "We’ll make for that village. Maybe there’s an inn where we can stay and clean up, and if we’re lucky, find someone to take us up the coast. But they’ll be asking questions of strangers." He nodded at Jenna’s right arm and the swirl of scars. "You’ll need to cover that arm of yours, and we’ll need to devise a story to give them. And we can’t show the clochs. Ever. Not here."

  "I agree. But let’s rest here for a
bit. Tis beautiful, this."

  "Aye. If you’d like to look about, go on. I’ll take care of the horses and our food."

  Jenna walked down to the shore of the lough as O’Deoradhain hobbled the horses. The lough’s waters were fairly clear, not peat-stained like the waters of Lough Lar, and the water shifted from green to deep blue as the bottom fell away quickly. She sat on a rock that protruded out a bit into the water, taking off her boots and leggings and letting her feet splash in the cold water. She stroked the smooth surface of Lamh Shabhala: she had renewed its reservoirs with the mage-lights the night before, and O’Deoradhain had done the same with his cloch. She opened Lamh Shabhala slightly, letting its aura spread out over the lough, feeling for the presence of other clochs na thintri. She could sense O’Deoradhain close by and feel the powerful emanations of his cloch even through the wall he had tried to erect around it; she could perceive the fisherfolk in their boats, their thoughts altering the pattern of faint energy she placed around them; and at the very edge of Lamh Shabhala’s range, the

  clustering of many people in the village. But there was no one else. No one with inten-tions toward her.

  Except…

  There was something. Rising toward her, drawn to her, its attention steady on her.

  Rising from below. .

  Fingers gripped Jenna's ankles, still dangling in the water. They pulled, hard and sudden.

  Jenna had no time to cry out. Instinctively, she turned her body, trying to cling to the rock even as she was dragged down into the lough. Frigid water hammered at her lungs; she took a gulping breath as her head went under, her hands still scrabbling for purchase. Invisible, frigid hands pulled at her legs, her waist, her breasts, and finally closed around the chain of Lamh Shabhala. Her desperate fingers found a knob of rock, and she pulled herself up even as the hands tried to hold her down and rip away the cloch from around her neck. Gasping, Jenna's head broke the surface as she flailed for a higher handhold, pulling herself up. She screamed, letting go with her left hand and striking at her assailant.