Holder of Lightning tc-1

by S L Farrell Неизвестный Автор

  She thought of all the clochs na thintri

  Cloch Mor or clochmion-having first been born in the Creneach.

  Truth or fable. . There was no way to know. All she knew was that the Creneach believed it, as Jenna believed in the Mother-Creator and Seed-Daughter, as Seancoim believed in the god he called Greatness, as Thraisha believed in her WaterMother. Perhaps they were all mingled, all shades of the same truth. Jenna looked around her at the Creneach, and inside each of them burned an undeniable cloch na thintri: that, at least, was truth.

  "I hold the All-Heart that was inside Ceile," she said, and Terrain nod-ded with slow precision.

  "I am Eldest here," it said. "This is my twelfth Awakening. I’ve seen the quick growth of soft-flesh things like you, who can change the very land. I have felt the All-Heart close by twice before: when I was Littlest, and also at the end of my last life." Jenna could hear the awe enter its voice, then, and its eyes were on the stone in her hand. "But this is the first time any of us here have actually seen it. It is a great gift for all of us, and for the Littlest."

  ". . my twelfth Awakening…" The import of that staggered Jenna-if true, the Creneach before her was unimaginably old. From Riata’s time to her own was thirteen centuries or more, and that would have encom-passed only a portion of two of Treorai’s "awakenings." Most of the voices within Lamh Shabhala were the more recent Holders; of the Bunus Muintir Holders, only Riata’s voice was easily heard, and he had been the last active Bunus Holder. There must be older, fainter voices buried deep within the cloch, going back and back to the dim mist of legend and myth.

  And here, one of the legends walked.

  Jenna glanced at Seancoim, who was leaning placidly on his staff, and then she bent down, looking at the smooth, shiny face of the Littlest in Treorai’s arms. She could feel the Cloch Mor shining in the chest of the infant, a jewel with a radiance stronger than the moon. She dangled Lamh Shabhala over it, as she might have with a child. It didn’t reach for the cloch, but its tongue darted from its mouth, sliding over the stone in its silver cage and withdrawing. The Littlest chirped then, birdlike, as if in satisfaction.

  "It will remember," Terrain said. "We will all remember the taste of the All-Heart. Soon enough, when the Littlest has grown, we will leave here, each on our own, to search for Anchead while the First-Lights still glow in this land, but we will remember."

  Terrain handed the Littlest to one of the other Creneach, and clapped his hands together again.

  "But I forget that the soft-flesh things are always in a hurry, for your lives are short. We could stay here for several darknesses, remembering all the old tales of the All-Heart and our long search, but you would grow old in that time, so-" Terrain stopped, abruptly. He turned away from her, as if he'd forgotten she was there, and lifted his gaze toward the sky.

  The first wisps of the mage-lights glimmered into existence, a feathery curtain dancing in the sky, and the Creneach responded, clapping their hands together once in unison. The resulting boom was deafening, and both Jenna and Seancoim put hands to ears as the Creneach clapped again, the explosion of sound repeating from the nearby peaks, each time fainter and more distant. The Creneach lifted their hands toward the sky and the brightening mage-lights, as Jenna felt the insistent pull of Lamh Shabhala and mirrored the gesture with her own right hand. The mage-lights curled and fused above the valley, lowering until their slow light-ning flowed around them in multicolored streamers. One stream wrapped itself around Lamh Shabhala, filling it eagerly; around her, Jenna saw the Creneach standing surrounded by the glow, their mouths open and the mage-lights swirling in as if they were swallowing them. The Creneach crooned, a twittering, musical sound almost like chimes stirring in a wind.

  Lamh Shabhala filled quickly, and Jenna released it with a gasp of min-gled pleasure and pain. The Creneach paid no attention to them at all, their attention all on the bath of light in which they were immersed. Seancoim came up to her, his arm supporting Jenna as she slowly let the cloch-vision recede.

  "We'll stay here tonight," he said. "Go on and rest, and I'll watch. ."

  Chapter 52: The Protector

  SHE was more exhausted than she’d thought. She fell asleep quickly and when she woke, it was dim morning, the sun lurking behind a thin smear of charcoal-gray cloud. The valley, in the daylight little more than a narrow canyon, was empty. Seancoim was poking at a tin pot boiling on a small campfire while Denmark pecked halfheartedly at the ground. Jenna’s right arm ached and throbbed. She grimaced as she sat up, rubbing at the scarred flesh.

  "Where are the Creneach?" Jenna asked.

  Seancoim pulled the pot from the fire with a stick. He sprinkled herbs from a pouch into the boiling water and Jenna caught the scent of mint. He set the tea aside to steep. "Still here," he answered. He pointed with the stick in the direction of a rock pile against the cavern wall. "That is Terrain, I think."

  Jenna went over to the pile: undistinguished broken granite, glinting here and there with flecks of quartz-she would have walked past it un-knowingly a hundred times. The rocks were loose and in no semblance of any shape: ordinary, plain and common, as if they had tumbled from the cliff walls years ago and been sitting there since.

  The only hint that this might be something out of the ordinary was a lack of weeds or grass growing up in the cracks between the boulders. She started to reach toward it with her right arm, but a flash of pain ran through her with the movement, and she cradled the arm to herself, stifling a moan. When the spasm had passed, she touched one of the larger boulders with her le hand: it was rough and broken, not at all like the skin of the Creneach had been. "You’re certain?"

  "Aye," Seancoim answered. "When the sun rose, they all sat. As the light came, they seemed to just melt into what you see now. Before they went to sleep, though, Terrain told me that we would find the path to Thall Coill through the other end of the valley. It also said to tell you that the Creneach will always honor the All-Heart, and even the Littlest will always remember." Seancoim poured the tea out into two chipped-rim bowls and handed one to Jenna. "Here. You’ll need this: it’s kala bark."

  "Not anduilleaf?"

  He didn't answer |hat, simply gave her a grimace of his weathered face. "We have a long walk today."

  Jenna nodded, sipping her tea and staring at the rock pile as if it might reassemble itself again into Terrain. "We did see them, didn't we, Sean-coim?"

  The old man smiled briefly, the beard lifting on his flat, leathery face. "Aye," he told her. "We did."

  "And is it true, what they told me-that each of the clochs na thintri is the heart of a dead Creneach?"

  Seancoim shrugged. "It's what they said." He took a long draught of his tea, and tossed the dregs aside. He wiped the bowl and placed it back in his pack. "We should go. These mountains are best passed through in daylight."

  They packed quickly, then set off again. The path led upward toward a saddle between two peaks. Eagles soared above them, huge and regal, and Denmark stayed on Seancoim's shoulder, not daring to challenge them. Their pace was slow as they made their way through broken, trackless ground, sometimes needing to detour around cliffs and slopes too steep to climb. They reached the ridge by midday, and finally looked down over a long, curving arm of forested land spread out into the distance before them. Fogs and vapors curled from the treetops, indicating hidden streams and rivers and bogs below the leafy crowns. The sea pounded white against the rocky coastline, until it all merged into indistinct haze. It was cold in the heights, as if summer had never reached here, and Jenna shivered in her cloca.

  Thall Coill," Seancoim said, though he appeared to be looking well °out into the distance. "And there-on the coast-can you see the open rise where the cliffs lift from the sea? I can see it with Dunmharu’s eyes, but. ."

  Jenna squinted into the distance, where there was a speck of brown and gray against the green. "I think so. Is that where. . where 1 must go?"

  'Aye." He exhaled, his breath white. "That
place is called Bethiochnead, and it's our destination. But we won't get there standing here. Come o at least it will be warmer farther down."

  They took the rest of the day to toil downward

  over the intervening ridges, through fields of bracken and hawthorn into glades dotted with firs, and finally into the shadow of Thall Coill's oak-dominated fastness There was no sharp demarcation, no boundary they that they crossed but they could sense the ancient years lying in the shadows, the long centuries that these trees had witnessed, unmoving and untouched. By evening clouds of wind sprites were flowing between the trunks of the oaks like sparkling, floating rivulets, and a herd of storm deer swept over the last stretch of open field, their hooves drumming the earth.

  Jenna felt as she had in Doire Coill. This was a land alive in a way that she could not understand. There were places here older even than the ancient forest near the lough. As if guessing at her thoughts, Seancoim halted next to her. "We'll have no fire here tonight," he said. "I don't think the forest would like it, and I don't know what it can do. And beware the songs you might hear. Thall Coill is said to have a stronger, more compel-ling voice than the Doire. These trees were here when we Bunus came to Inish Thuaidh; they will still be here after you Daoine are as scarce as we are now. Thall Coill doesn't care about us-only about itself."

  Jenna shuddered, feeling the truth of the statement. "We can't get to that place you saw tonight," she said. "I think we should stay here and not go any deeper into the forest tonight."

  "I think there may be a better place to stay." Seancoim plunged the end of his staff into the loamy earth. He took a long breath, and called out into the gathering dark as Jenna watched him curiously. There was move-ment in the shadows, and from under the trees, two Bunus Muintir emerged.

  They were both male, one nearly as old as Seancoim; the other much younger. Like Seancoim, they were dressed in skins, their feet wrapped in leather. They had the wide, flattened faces of the Bunus, their skin the color of dried earth. The young one, with a matted and tangled beard, was armed with a bow and a bronze bladed sword; the older, his chin stubbled with patchy gray, had only a knife and an oaken staff. The expressions on their faces were suspicious and decidedly unfriendly. Ae old one held out his staff and spoke a few words in their guttural lan-guage. Jenna understood none of the words but the intent was clear: they were not welcome here.

  Seancoim replied in the same language, and Jenna belatedly reached for Lamh Shabhala, so she could understand what was being said, gesture drew the attention of the younger man; he pointed to Jenna s a as he spoke to his companion, evidently noticing the scars there. He nocked an arrow and started to pull back the string of his bow. Jenna’s fingers closed around the cloch, ready to defend herself and Seancoim, but the older one grunted and gestured to his companion. The younger Bunus slowly released the tension on the bow, though he kept the arrow fitted to the string.

  The old one spoke in the Daoine language, his voice even more heavily accented than Seancoim’s, his words slow and full of effort as he tried to find the words. "Go back,’* he said. "You should never have been brought here." He glared at Seancoim.

  "She holds Lamh Shabhala, Protector Loman," Seancoim told him.

  "I know what she holds, and I know who you are, too-Seancoim Crow-Eye. A Protector should stay with the forest he has been given to guard."

  "My pledge-daughter Keira watches in my place," Seancoim answered. "I’m old, and Denmark is ancient for his kind. Soon I’ll be blind again. The Greatness has given me another task. Doire Coill is Keira’s, now."

  Loman scoffed. "So Seancoim has abandoned his charge. ." He nod-ded to his companion. "You see, Toryn, this is what comes of being too close to the Daoine. You fail in your duty and give it over to someone who’s not yet ready, who is still learning the slow magics. Doire Coill will fail, like so many of the other old places." He lifted his grizzled chin. "But not Thall Coill."

  "You underestimate Keira," Seancoim answered quietly. "You always did. She’s been away from me and doing the work of the Protector for over two hands of years now. I see you still don’t trust Toryn and keep him close so you can correct his mistakes."

  Toryn visibly flushed at that, and the bow came up once more. Sean-coim lifted his staff even as Jenna started to open Lamh Shabhala. "Do you really want to match our skills, Toryn?" Seancoim asked. "It would be a shame. Loman’s getting too old to begin with a new pledge-child."

  Toryn glared; Loman spat on the ground. "Put your bow away, boy," Loman said. "Don't let him goad you into foolishness. It's not Crow-Eye you have to worry about; it's the Holder. Slow magic can't stand against Lamh Shabhala, even when it's wielded by a girl-child." I m not a child," Jenna snapped back angrily.

  Loman didn't answer directly, but his eyes showed his contempt. "You misunderstand if you think I'm being anything but kind to you, Holder. I’d love nothing better than to see you fail here-with none of your own People around you. It's been a thousand years and more since a Bunus uintir held Lamh Shabhala. I wonder. . what would a Bunus Holder be able to accomplish? Perhaps the Daoine could be made to regret why your ancestors did to us, eh?"

  "What would happen to Lamh Shabhala after I'm gone isn't my concern, "Jenna answered. "If I fail, I fail."

  "Then you have a death wish."

  "I'm not afraid of death," Jenna answered. "I've seen too much of it"

  Loman's eyes narrowed at that. "Maybe not such a child, now " he muttered. "But you've chosen a poor adviser if you're listening to Seancoim." His gaze went back to Seancoim. "You think she can survive Scrudu, Crow-Eye? You can look at this stripling and believe that?"

  "Riata believes it," Seancoim answered.

  Loman made a sound like a kettle too long on the fire. "Riata's long dead."

  "His body, aye, but his spirit is still restless and he has spoken to Jenna. He seems. . impressed by her."

  Loman snorted again. "The Daoine are a weak race. They conquered us only because they were so many and we were so few. They conquered us because their swords were iron and ours were bronze. But even with steel and numbers, they still wouldn't have won had our clochs na thintri not been decades asleep when they came." One shoulder rose and fell. "We would have pushed the Daoine back to Ceile Mhor and beyond if the clochs had been awake. But go ahead, Crow-Eye. Let her try. I think Toryn would be a good Holder, afterward."

  The youth grinned at that, cocking his head appraisingly toward Jenna. "It’s about time that Lamh Shabhala came home to Thall Coill," he said. His voice was thick and low, blurred with the Bunus Muintir accent, a voice of confidence and certainty. "I’ll be happy to escort the two of you to Bethiochnead, and afterward. ." He grinned again, showing his teeth. "Lamh Shabhala will come back to us, and perhaps we can obtain a few of the Cloch Mor, then who knows? It may be that the Bunus Muintir win emerge from our forests and hills and take back what was once ours, an age ago." Dreams flashed in his eyes, widening his smile.

  "Come with me, Holder," he said. "Let me show you Thall Coill.

  It was Toryn who led Jenna and Seancoim through the trackless forest, Loman refusing to accompany them. "I’ve no interest in watching J° Daoine die," he told Seancoim. "That’s your task, since you brought here. And I’m too old to want Lamh Shabhala." The forest…

  A spine-backed form slunk away through the snarl of seedlings to their right. A patch of moonlight struck blue highlights from a whorled shell taller than Jenna, glimpsed in a meadow bordering the shoulder of a black stream. The smell of sulfur and rotting meat wafted from a fissure bound in vines. Air colder than winter or the heights of the mountains spread from a pond whose glowing water was the color of buttermilk fresh from a churn. Calls and hoots and shrill cries erupted from the darkness around them.

  And the tree-song. . Jenna heard the call of the ancient oaks, the green life in the most ancient and lost hollows of Thall Coill, a compelling whisper that rustled the leaves above them, that caused the oaks to bend down with many-limbed branches
, that hushed the call of the mage-lights nearly invisible under the canopy of the forest. Thall Coill had a stronger, more insistent voice than Doire Coill, a call that echoed down in the very fibers of Jenna’s being. The voice of the forest awoke primitive echoes, as if pulling at impossibly ancient ties between the trees and her most distant ancestors. More than once, Jenna found herself straying from the path, wandering away as Seancoim and Toryn continued on. The first time it happened, Seancoim called to her, breaking the spell, and Toryn laughed. "She’s weak," he told Seancoim. "The Old Ones would snare her, and we’d find her bones years later, sitting against their trunks."

  Jenna flushed, embarrassed that she could succumb to the trees' sing-ing, but she noticed as Toryn turned away that there were tufts of moss in his ears, and that Toryn pushed them in deeper as he strode away.

  You're not the only one. . Seancoim nodded to her, with a quick smile; he had noticed as well. "Everything beautiful is also dangerous," he said to her before turning to stump along after Toryn.

  As Jenna followed along behind them, she tried to see the forest with Seancoim's eyes. It was beautiful in its way, she had to admit. The oaks, their massive trunks wound with vines of mistletoe, with girths so wide that two people could not have encircled them with their hands, were survivors from when Thall Coill, Doire Coill, and the few other old growth forests had dominated all of Talamh An Ghlas, penetrating far into Ceile Mhor and even to the great continent of Thall Mor-roinn. The Daoine were still in their homelands then; the Bunus Muintir were nothing but a series of family-based clans scratching out a subsistence exis-tence under the trees, their culture just starting to coalesce.

  Walking here, Jenna felt as the first peoples must have felt: insignificant arid small in the midst of this ancient life. The forest was a single creature, a vast and intricate organism in whose bowels she walked, and within its body was mystery, danger, and, aye, great beauty. If the forest desired, it could crush her with its sheer weight. It tolerated her because she was small to do it any real harm.