Jenna nodded. "Banrion, I’m sorry. ." she began, then faltered. So much had happened that demanded an apology: that she hadn’t told the Banrion about the false Lamh Shabhala she and Moister Cleurach had Prepared; that she hadn’t trusted Aithne; that Aithne had been injured Protecting her… "I wish I’d told you before what the Moister and I had done."
"I wish you had also," Aithne said and the agreement cut deeper than any of the wounds. "But I knew, or at least suspected. And I understand why you kept your own counsel and didn’t tell me."
"Aron was your brother, and I didn’t know how you’d react. I thought it might work, and it was the
only way I could think of to get Ennis b u and. ."A deep sob racked her from the center of her being, a grief ' huge and terrible that for a moment she thought she couldn't bear ' Aithne put her arms around Jenna, pulling her close. Jenna wept on the Banrion's shoulder, letting the lamentation rise within her and give voice to her bereavement as Aithne stroked her hair and kissed the top of her head as her mam might have done.
Her mam. .
Jenna gently pulled away from Aithne, pushing the grief back down within herself. "Banrion, during the battle, Lamh Shabhala showed me the face of one of your brother's allies. It was Tiarna Padraic Mac Ard, of Tuath Gabair, holding the cloch they'd taken from Ennis. And the other clochs. . Moister Cleurach is certain that at least one of the other Clochs Mor was among those stolen from Inishfeirm."
Aithne's face went grim. "That's a strong accusation," she responded. "Aron is stubborn and foolish. He thinks mostly of himself. But you call him a traitor to Inish Thuaidh now. And that is something I find hard to believe."
"I know what I saw," Jenna answered. She gestured at the sullen orange embers of the pyre. "I'm also realizing, now, how the loss of someone you love can mark and change you. And your brother's right: I was responsible for that. I bear the blame."
Aithne said nothing. Her gaze went from Jenna to the pyre. Finally, she placed her hand over her Cloch Mor. "I've been told the name of this cloch is Scail," she said. "'Reflection,' because it steals the power from another Cloch Mor and uses that force to defeat the attack. Aron gave the cloch to me, after I returned from meeting you at Inishfeirm. He said that it had been in our clan for centuries, but though he was eldest and it belonged rightfully to him, he had another. I used the cloch with Aron so that I could learn to understand how it worked. In those few minutes when our clochs were linked and struggling against each other, I also saw Aron’s mind mirrored in my own." She paused, taking a slow breath an looking away from Jenna. "I saw the rot in his soul," she continued, don't think you made him that way, Jenna. I think Cianna's death on exposed that vein within him and gave him an excuse to turn to it mo and more. If the Rl Ard
promised Aron that he would be made RI in Dun Kiil, then my brother might well listen and betray kin, clan, and oath. I still hope not. I still hope that there’s some other reason why he would tolerate Mac Ard’s presence here."
Aithne sighed. She glanced up at the sky, then down at her cloch have much time, Holder," she said. "And whatever my brother is or whatever he plans, you will need Lamh Shabhala. Let’s use the mage-lights while we can, and worry afterward."
The day dawned surprisingly clear and warm. The field workers came out from Glenn Aill, staying well away from the encampment over which flew the banner of Dun Kiil and Ri MacBradaigh. Of Aron O Dochartaigh and his people, there was no sign.
Jenna let Lamh Shabhala open slightly; in the wave of cloch-vision she felt no other Clochs Mor aside from those with the Banrion and Moister Cleurach.
If Aron and Mac Ard were still lurking in the area, they weren’t where they could immediately attack.
Ennis’ pyre still smoldered in the field, wispy tendrils of smoke rising from the ash. "Holder?"
Jenna turned to see Aithne and Moister Cleurach already mounted on their horses. The attendants were packing the last of the supplies onto the pack animals and the Banrion held the reins of Jenna’s horse. "It’s time to go back to Dun Kiil," Aithne said. "We need to make plans. I’ll make certain that the Comhairle puts a watch on our coast immediately, but I don’t have much hope that we’ll catch Mac Ard before he returns to Talamh an Ghlas and tells the Ri Ard what’s happened here. If you’re right and my brother has allied himself with the Ri Ard and the Tuatha, then we can expect them to attack soon. Possibly before the Festival of Gheimhri and winter. I’ve been talking with Moister Cleurach; he wants you to go back to Inishfeirm at least through the month of Softwood to continue your study with Lamh Shabhala."
Jenna walked over to them and took the reins.
She swung herself up on the horse, tucking the long cloca between her legs. She stared at the Pyre, then lifted her gaze away from Glenn Aill to the north and east where mountains lifted stony heads in the sunshine… You can determine the shape of this age…"… It doesn’t have to be this way…" I don’t think my path leads to Inishfeirm or Dun Kiil," she said.
Moister Cleurach followed the direction of her
gaze, and his mouth tightened under his beard.
"You can't be thinking of Thall Coill. Jenna, don't be stupid-"
He stopped as Jenna's head snapped around and she glared at him. "If you think that I'm at all concerned about the possibility of dying, you're mistaken, Moister."
He sniffed and frowned. "I didn't think that at all, First Holder. In fact, it doesn't surprise me at all that you'd choose a suicidal course So f your recent choices haven't proved to be particularly wise."
The words stung, her face reddening as if he'd slapped her across the cheek. "The difference between us is that I don't judge wisdom by ho little the action might cost me."
Aithne gave a short laugh, but Moister Cleurach’s eyebrows lowered like white thunderheads over the sea. "Jenna," he said, his placating tone at odds with his face, "at Inishfeirm, I can show you what the other Hold-ers of Lamh Shabhala have said about Thall Coill and the Scrudu. Why neither Tadhg or Severii O'Coulghan would attempt that, not after Tadhg witnessed Peria's death, and Tadhg was one of the most accomplished cloudmages."
"So you believe that because Tadhg was afraid of the Scrudu, I should be also. No doubt that's more of what you call wisdom."
"Tadhg watched the woman he loved die there," Moister Cleurach an-swered, all the softness gone from his voice. It was steel and bone. "You of all people should appreciate that. Don't push away those who are only trying to help you, Holder. You need us more than you can imagine."
"Don't try to impose your will where it doesn't belong. I am the First Holder, not you."
The two glared at each other. The Banrion rode up between them, so that their horses shifted and the eye contact was broken. "I think the Holder is fully aware of your feelings, Moister Cleurach," she said. "Jenna, I won't presume to tell you what course to follow. I only ask you to consider this: if you go to Thall Coill and fail, then you leave Inish Thuaidh open to the Ri Ard."
"If I don't, then probably Inish Thuaidh falls anyway. And right now, Banrion, I have to say that I find I don't really care. Inish Thuaidh was my great-mam’s home and I love this land, too, but ultimately the land will remain, no matter who is called RI in Dun Kiil. Will the lives of these people change?" She gestured at the field workers. "They’ll just switch one master for another, that’s all. No matter who rules, the crops will have to be planted, tended, and harvested, and the stock will have to be fed an watered. I know. I was once one of them and
I cared nothing for the Riocha in their keeps and estates. When you say Inish Thuaidh will fall, you mean yourself."
If Aithne felt the lash of Jenna’s words, she showed none of it. "Then perhaps you made a mistake not handing over Lamh Shabhala to y brother yesterday," she answered with a gentle reproof. "The Ri &r interest in Inish Thuaidh is mostly because you’re here, after all. If you’ve given him Lamh Shabhala, it might be that no army would come here at all."
Jenna’s hand had gone protectively to her bre
ast, where the cloch was hidden under her leine.
"Jenna," the Banrion continued, "there are times we’re drawn into something all unwillingly. No matter what you do, the Ri Ard considers you now to be part of Inish Thuaidh. You’re their enemy; nothing you say or do will change that, not until you no longer hold Lamh Shabhala." Aithne stopped then, her gaze sliding to Jenna’s right hand and past to the white ashes of the pyre. "You had something I’ve never had, however short the time," she said.
"I envy you that, Jenna. What do you think he would tell you? Can you hear Ennis’ voice?"
"Aye," Jenna answered immediately. "I listened all night for it, asking him the same question. I heard the answer."
"This is nonsense," Moister Cleurach said. "Banrion, we have no time to waste here."
"Should I tie the First Holder to her horse and drag her back to Dun Kill?" Aithne answered. "Is that something you want to try, Moister?"
Moister Cleurach glowered but said nothing.
The Banrion gave Jenna a soft smile. The tore about her neck glinted with the movement. "Your Ennis spoke to you, truly?"
Jenna nodded. "I hear him here," she said, touching her breast.
"Surely you're not thinking of telling her to go," Moister Cleurach said. "That would be a tragedy for all of us, including Jenna."
Aithne sighed. "It's not a decision any of us need to make yet. Jenna, the High Road to the townland of Ingean na nUan is still two days' ride from here, and that's the road you'd need to travel to An Ceann Ramhar and eventually Thall Coill. We'll ride together at least that far, then we'll see." She looked at Moister Cleurach warningly. "And we'll speak of this no more today. A few days of thinking might do us all some good."
Chapter 50: Roads Taken
THERE were barrows where their path met the High Road, which was little more than an unmarked trail heading vaguely northeast down from the hills. In the storm and rain, Jenna had noticed neither the High Road nor the barrows when they'd passed before. The mounds were over-grown, appearing as stony, weed-infested hillocks in the field alongside the path, the low sun draping long shadows behind them.
"They're old Bunus Muintir graves," Banrion Aithne said, noticing Jenna's attention. "There are a few barrows here in Rubha na Scarbh, and more in the northern townlands. As children, we were told they were haunted. We were warned to stay away from them or the wights would rise from their slumber and come for us. No more than tales, I'm sure. I know that I was shooed away from them more than once, and Aron as well. They say there are still Bunus living in the hills and people still saw them occasionally, though I never did." She inclined her head to Jenna. "There's only another hour or two of light. There's an inn we could reach in that time and stay in dry and warm rooms."
"On the road to Dun Kill?"
A nod.
"I'm staying here tonight," Jenna said. Moister Cleurach groaned au-dibly.
"I don't care to sleep another night with rocks digging into my back, he said. "I'm an old man and I've been too many days away."
"Then go on," Jenna told him. "Leave me here.
I'm going no farther today."
Moister Cleurach looked at the Banrion. "Rocks," he said. "In her head,
too."
"If we stay out here, anyone can see our fire from the hills around us," the Banrion said to Jenna. "I know those with my brother will have eyes out there, reporting to him where we are. I doubt he would dare attack after the last time, but I don't know that for certain. He'd be less likely to do so if we're in a village, where others might be more inclined to side with the Ri in Dun Kill."
Jenna said nothing, sitting on her horse and staring down to where the High Road led off through the heather. She felt more than heard the Banrion's sigh.
"We'll stay here," Aithne told the attendants. "Make the camp ready."
The mage-lights that night were faint and weak, soft filaments that glowed fitfully and vanished. Jenna watched them while sitting between the bar-rows, away from the encampment and the fire, a blanket around her shoulders. Both the Banrion and Moister Cleurach had come to her ear-lier-Moister Cleurach demanding and gruff, Aithne soothing and under-standing, but both attempting to convince her to return to Dun Kiil. To both of them she gave the same reply: "I'll decide by morning."
She didn't know what she expected to happen during the night to ease the conflict within herself. The thoughts chased themselves, ephemeral and changing, impossible to hold or examine. She felt the conflict deep in her soul; when she tried to muddle through the choices in front of her, Ennis' face rose before her and the grief welled up again, overcoming her.
Once, she opened Lamh Shabhala, but there was only more confusion and contradiction in the voices of the old Holders and she closed it again quickly, returning to the near-silence of the night.
In the darkness there was the rustling of dark wings. A form appeared on the barrow to her left, a particle of night with black eyes that stared at her. A yellow beak opened. The creature cawed once.
"Denmark?" At the name, the crow cawed again and spread wide wings, gliding down to land in the grass in front of her. Its head cocked inquiringly at her. "Denmark, is that really you?"
The crow cawed once more as she reached out toward it. It didn’t move, but let her touch the soft, black feathers of its head and back. She glanced about her. "Seancoim, is he here, too?"
Denmark hopped backward, then flapped away again to the barrow, alighting there and cawing again. When Jenna got to her feet, the crow flew up again and landed just past the end of the grave, moving away from the fire and the encampment. Another caw. Jenna glanced back to where the Banrion and Moister Cleurach were sleeping, then followed after the bird. Fly several feet and wait; fly several feet and wait. The pattern went on for some time, until Jenna was well away from the camp moving steadily down and east into a wooded valley. Denmark led her along the bed of a stream tinkling merrily as it descended the slopes until it finally merged with a river wending southward through a stand of sycamores. Denmark cawed again, loudly this time, and flew off with a great flapping of wings, circling high and disappearing into the leaves of the trees.
"Jenna!"
The call was soft in the darkness, the voice familiar. She saw a flickering gleam of white beard in the shadows, and Seancoim stepped out toward her, leaning on his staff of oak.
"Seancoim!" She rushed to him, enveloping him in her arms and taking in the familiar smell of spices and herbs that exuded from his body and clothing.
"I can’t believe you’re here. How did you know, how did you get here. .?"
The old Bunus Muintir seemed to gaze past her with his cataract-white eyes, his hand holding hers. Denmark came flapping down from the branches above to land on his shoulder in a flurry. "You still overlook the slow magics," he told her. "It was always the fault with most of you Daoine. You’ll likely ignore them entirely now, with the power you
wield with the clochs na thintri." He took a long, slow breath and let it out again. "I saw, I heard," he said. "Once this was Bunus Muintir land, and some of us still live here, hidden." His blind eyes looked aside, but Denmark regarded her with steady, bright eyes. "I came as quickly as I could. But it seems I've come late. I saw the pyre two nights ago, and I felt your anguish. I'm sorry, Jenna. I knew that there was to be love between the two of you. Even when you denied it back in Doire Coill, I knew.
I m sorry."
The tears came again then, sudden and hot, pushing from deep within her. She'd thought that she cried away all the pain, but it returned now, redoubled, and she realized how much she'd been holding away, hiding it from Aithne and Moister Cleurach and herself.
"You'll always feel this pain," Seancoim murmured in her ear as he held her. "It will always be with you. You'll hear a sound or smell something, and it will remind you of him and you'll feel the loss all over again. But 1 will stop hurting you so much. You'll get used to carrying the grief, as you're starting to carry the pain of Lamh Shabhala without thinking
about it."
"I was there. I saw them kill him and I couldn't do anything to stop it."
"I know. And that's not your fault. You need to mourn, but you also need to move past the grief. You're still here, Jenna, and while you are, you can't forget this world. If you're going to Thall Coill, I knew I should be with you."
"Thall Coill. ." She repeated the name, sniffing and wiping at her eyes. "That's what some of the Holders told me. Riata. ."
"I know. I saw his spirit, wandering restless from his grave and looking north. Come with me; we have a long way to travel and night is the best time." He hugged her again, then started to move away into the trees. Jenna began to follow, then glanced back up into the hills, where the campfire glimmered like a yellow-orange star. "You can choose only one path, Jenna," Seancoim said.
"How do I know which is the right one?" Jenna asked him.
"You don't," he answered. "And you never will
know. Not until the Seed-Daughter calls your soul back to Her and whispers the tale of your life in your ear. But you need to choose now. Go with them, or with me."
"I’ll go with you," Jenna answered, and with the words she could feel the doubt dissolve within her. She gave a final glance back at the campfire, wondering whether the Banrion or Moister Cleurach realized yet that she was gone. Soon they would, but Jenna felt certain that she knew what the Banrion’s decision would be: We can’t waste time searching for the Holder. She’s made me a promise, and she’ll keep it if she can. We return to Dim Kiil. .
Jenna turned to Seancoim, and followed his shuffling steps into the deep shadows of the sycamores, Denmark flitting ahead above them.
As Seancoim had indicated, they moved by night and rested by day, slip-ping through the landscape while the people in the villages and farms slept.
They met other Bunus Muintir: they crossed the River Teann in a currach oared by a Bunus they met on the shore, apparently waiting for them. Seancoim and the other man spoke in their own language briefly, the Bunus occasionally glancing at Jenna, but he either didn’t speak the Daoine language or had nothing he wanted to say to her. When she thanked him for his help, he merely grunted and pushed his boat away from the shore, paddling back the way they’d come. Jenna remembered the maps she’d seen in Inishfeirm and Dun Kiil.
Holder of Lightning tc-1 Page 44