Holder of Lightning tc-1

by S L Farrell Неизвестный Автор

  "This is good," it said. "Usually the Daoine are so weak." An Phionos looked at her, and it seemed to Jenna that its eyes saw past the surface of her skin and deep into her being. "But you're not just Daoine, are you? Part of you is also Saimhoir, and much farther back, there is also Bunus Muintir. Ah, that surprises you, does it? You're a mongrel, and mongrels are often the strongest."

  Then An Phionos came again with a roar; Jenna fought back in the form of the mage-creature, but An Phionos was immensely strong, far more powerful than any of the clochs she had encountered. In the space of a few breaths, her mage-creature was shredded and fading like smoke.

  Lamh Shabhala was nearly empty; there was nothing left but the dregs of power. Jenna was no longer floating in nothingness. The hard gray rocks of Bethiochnead pressed into her back, and she lay looking up at a storm-lashed sky.

  An Phionos hovered over her. "Now," it whispered, "even the mongrel falls."

  Jenna threw a final bolt at the creature. The attack was weak and slow; An Phionos pushed the flickering brilliance aside contemptuously. "You re an empty vessel, Jenna," it told her. "Do you remember Peria? Do you remember how I crushed her? Do you remember the sound of bones cracking and splitting and ripping through flesh? That’s what will happen to you now."

  An Phionos descended. It picked up Jenna in its talons as she beat futilely at the beast with her fists, the scales scraping the flesh from her knuckles. She felt the knife-edge points digging into her flesh. Its head came down; its too-human eyes regarded her almost sadly. "You came close," it said. "Closer than you know. Perhaps. ."

  Its claws closed around her, She felt them begin to tighten, felt her nA crack. An Phionos was inside her head now, its awareness flooding _ She was still holding Lamh Shabhala. Mage-energy crackled inside with An Phionos’ intrusion. "Now," it said gently. "You’ll be with him again. I promise you that much… "

  The pressure against her body increased. Jenna screamed in terror and pain. The mage-energy burned her. She tried to push back with Lamh Shabhala, but there was nothing there. She took her awareness deep into the cloch, deeper, to the utter bottom of the well, and there. .

  A glimpse… A hope. .

  "No!"

  The pressure was suddenly released. An Phionos dropped her, and Jenna gasped in pain and surprise as she fell back to the ground, strug-gling up to a sitting position with her legs folded underneath her. The beast coiled above her, the wings and body blocking the sky. "Why did you come here?" it raged at her. "I can take your life if you give it to me, but I can’t take a life that doesn’t come here willingly- She whose servant I am won’t allow that. Why would you do this?"

  It glared at her, mouth gaping dangerously, then the eyes and its voice softened. "You don’t know, do you?" it asked.

  Jenna shook her head. "I don’t understand. No."

  "Look," An Phionos answered. "Look within yourself."

  An Phionos gestured, and Jenna saw herself as the creature saw her: a form of energy and light, her heart beating like a candle fluttering in the wind, and in her belly, a tiny flame burned.

  "Mother-Creator. ." Jenna breathed. She cupped her abdomen, as if she could warm her hands in that small radiance.

  "Aye," An Phionos answered. "You're with child. You didn't know?"

  Jenna could only shake her head mutely. An Phionos snorted. It came to earth, resting again as she had first seen it: sitting on its haunches, the wings down against its body, the tail wrapped around one side, staring down at her as she lay in front of it. "There can be no finish to this Scrudu," it said. There was a note almost of triumph in its voice. "I let you live."

  "But I found the path," Jenna told the creature, still cradling herself and staring in wonder at the sparkle of life in her womb. She raised her head as the cloch-vision faded. "I saw the way to defeat you."

  An Phionos shook its head. "Perhaps," it said.

  "And perhaps not. You'll never know now."

  Why not?" Jenna asked. "I could come back, after the child is born. ." Ahe stopped, realizing that what An Phionos had said was the truth.

  Aye," it said. "You nearly died this time, with no certainty that what you found would have helped you. Could you undergo this again, knowing that you might leave your child motherless and abandoned? The child will bind you here, Jenna. This time, you fought without caring that yo might die; the next time, your focus will be divided." Its voice was sad "There's but one time in your life to test yourself this way, Jenna. Now you must leave the Scrudu to some other. Perhaps to the child inside "

  Its voice became less heard than sensed, the years and decades and centuries seeming to pass as she watched An Phionos became simply a statue once more, its features eroding and fading. "You saw inside Lamh Shabhala. You glimpsed the possibilities. But you'll always wonder if you'd really found the way, Jenna," its dying voice husked. "And so will I… "

  The fog around them cleared. She was back in

  Thall Coill, kneeling on the cold ground with Seancoim hurrying toward her, and she let herself fall.

  Chapter 54: Fire and Water

  "JENNA!"

  Through half-opened eyes, she could see Seancoim hurrying to her, and Denmark cawing in alarm at her side as she rolled and pushed herself up on one side with her left arm. Scrapes and cuts oozed blood along her body; the smell of ozone hung in the air like the aftermath of a thunderstorm. She was still clutching Lamh Shabhala, but the cloch was empty and drained. Her world swayed around her and she steadied her-self, trying to keep from falling back into unconsciousness. Her head pulsed with a ferocious headache; her right arm, now that she released Lamh Shabhala, fell dead and useless at her side.

  She felt as if her body had been placed on the anvil of the gods and pounded.

  The spice of Seancoim's presence was at her side. His hands cradled her. "Jenna. . You're alive! I thought. ."

  "So did I," Jenna answered. The rocks dug into her side, her legs, her elbow. "Help me up, Seancoim."

  "Can you stand?"

  "I think so. Probably." Toryn had come over to her as well, and she felt both of them lifting her.

  'You passed the Scrudu," Toryn said, his voice awed. "You met the beast and defeated it. We saw the mage-lights, we heard your cries, saw you fighting with something unseen… "

  Jenna shook her head. The movement sent the world dancing again and she would have fallen if not for the hands holding her. "No," she said when the land settled once more. She glanced at the ruined visage of An Phionos. "No," she repeated. "I didn't win."

  "But you're alive," Seancoim protested. "The Scrudu kills those who fail."

  "Aye," Jenna answered. "But not me." She touched her abdomen. "Not us."

  "Us?" Seancoim asked, but Toryn interrupted before Jenna could ex-plain.

  "But you’ve found the full power of Lamh Shabhala," he said. "You wrestled with the beast and were given that gift."

  Again, Jenna shook her head. "No. I used every bit of energy within Lamh Shabhala. And I thought, for a moment. ." She tried to lift her right hand to the cloch and couldn’t. "Mother-Creator, it hurts. It hurts so much… "

  "Jenna, here. Sit." Seancoim lowered her to one of the rocks. "I’ll start a fire, mix some anduilleaf…"

  He hurried away. Toryn stayed with her, his gaze appraising and cold. "Lamh Shabhala is drained? The struggle must have been awful."

  Jenna shuddered at the memory. "Aye," she answered. Toryn nodded. Seancoim had gone downhill a bit to the edge of the forest. They could see him gathering deadwood, Denmark fluttering around him.

  "Let me help you," Toryn called. He walked down toward the old man, stooping to gather up branches. "Go on," Jenna heard Toryn say finally. "There’s a few more branches here. I’ll be right behind you."

  Seancoim started up the hill, one arm around a bundle of dry sticks, the other around his staff. Toryn turned as if to follow. Jenna saw the intention in the younger man too late. "Sean-.’" she began as Toryn swung the heavy oaken limb he held.
Jenna saw Seancoim fall an instant before the dull, sickening sound of the impact came to her.

  Denmark screeched, diving at Toryn as Jenna tried to stand. She forced her right hand to move as Denmark raked its talons over Toryn’s cheek;

  Toryn swung the crude club at the bird and missed. Jenna’s hand closed around Lamh Shabhala and she tried to open the cloch (the crow rising again in a fury of black wings, coming back to attack once more), but there was nothing there, no glittering store of mage-energy. Nothing.

  The club swung again, striking Denmark down to earth in a heap of ebon feathers. Toryn lifted it again and pounded it back down on the small mound. As Jenna cried out, Toryn flung the club aside. He spread his hands: fire erupted between them.

  He gestured toward the unmoving Seancoim.

  "No!"

  Small, tiny blue flames erupted over Seancoim's figure; thin tendrils of white smoke rose and began wafting away toward the forest. Jenna screamed again and started running toward Seancoim, even as the flames thickened and went to orange and yellow, as the smoke began to billow in earnest. Seancoim didn't move. Jenna could hear the flames crackling, burning as if Seancoim were made of paper and tinder. In the space of her first two limping strides, he was engulfed in an inferno. The impossible heat washed over her, and she knew no one could survive that. Toryn, already running up the hill, caught her before she could move again.

  Jenna battered at Toryn with her fists, first trying to push past him to get to Seancoim, then tearing herself from his grasp and backing away from him. "Sometimes slow magic is quite effective," he said, grinning as she struggled. "Crow-Eye was a useless old man anyway, but he did make you quite a nice fire, don't you think?" She was still holding Lamh Shabhala in her hand, and she saw his gaze on it.

  "No," she said in a voice that trembled. "It's mine."

  His smile was lopsided. "I won't ask you to give it to me. I know that's something Holders can't do. But I will take it from you. It took me a full day to create the spells to hold the slow magic so I could use it at will, but I made two of them. Seancoim could have deflected the spell if he'd been awake-even old and decrepit, he was strong in the slow magic. But you don't have the slow magic, do you? All you have is a cloch na thintri that's been exhausted. I don't think a bit of fire will hurt Lamh Shabhala."

  Jenna continued to back away. She was alongside the statue as Toryn glanced back at Seancoim. The fire was already dying. Jenna could glimpse a blackened, withered skeleton through the smoke.

  "At least he was unconscious when it happened," Toryn remarked. "Can you imagine what it would feel like to be consumed while alive and awake?

  Your flesh crackling and turning black like bacon too long in the fire; the fat of your body hissing and sputtering as it boils, the flames feeding on your face. Flesh gone, muscle and tissue seared and crisped as you scream and shriek in agony. ." Jenna continued to back away; Toryn stalking her, step for step. She could sense the air at her back, could hear the crumbling edge of the cliff under her feet. Toryn stopped. "Are you sure you don't want

  to give me the cloch?" he asked, his hand held out to her.

  "No," Jenna answered. She touched her stomach. "I’m sorry," she said.

  Toryn seemed to shrug. He lifted his hands again, speaking a phrase in his own language. She saw the flames appear before him.

  Jenna turned away. The cliff edge was two steps away. She ran toward it, and leaped.

  She expected death.

  The wind rushed past her, roaring. And she felt her body changing altering as she plummeted toward the water. Her cloca and leine slipped away, torn from her new, sleek shape by the rushing of air, and she fell naked to the waves.

  She had almost no time to contemplate the alteration of her body.

  Jenna hit the water with a stunning impact that ripped the breath from her lungs. She expected to feel the shock of the frigid ocean, but somehow the water felt impossibly warm and pleasant. Still, the shock of striking the surface nearly made her lose consciousness; she was disoriented, her sense of direction lost underwater. Her body, already sore and battered, screamed with abuse; her vision seemed sharper yet somehow distorted. She could see the wavering light of the waves well above her and her lungs yearned for air. She reached out with her arms and kicked with her legs to stroke for the surface. They responded though the feel was strange, and she could not see hands or arms even though the light came quickly closer. She broke the surface with a gasp, swallowing spray along with the wonderful cold air. She almost immediately went under again.

  Something, someone was under her, lifting her. .

  She emerged into the air once more, coughing and spitting water, and she was held up as she retched and spluttered and finally took another shuddering breath. A head emerged from the waves.

  Jenna started to speak in surprise and relief-"Thraisha!" — but what emerged was a croak and moan. She looked back along the length of her own body.

  The chain of Lamh Shabhala gleamed against black fur touched with blue highlights, the caged stone still with her. Jenna barked in surprise; Thraisha’s eyes gleamed; she almost seemed to laugh. High above them, at the cliff edge, Jenna saw Toryn staring down, his face pale. Thraisha followed the direction of Jenna’s gaze, her body rolling easily in the white surf. She spoke, but with the emptiness within Lamh Shabhala Jenna understood none of it. Thraisha started swimming, pushing Jenna’s body

  in front of her, moving away from the rocks and outward. Toryn shouted something, his voice faint against the roar of wind and waves. Jenna tenta-tively tried to help Thraisha and swim on her own-the body ached and complained, but she managed a few strokes. They swam out beyond where the waves broke, and Jenna realized that Thraisha was making for the blue-gray hint of coastline to the south, where a tongue of land curved outward.

  She could not swim long and had to stop, exhausted. Thraisha stayed with her, patiently keeping Jenna afloat on the waves. Swim and rest; swim and rest.

  The journey took hours. The sun was nearly setting when they came to a table of low, wet rocks and could crawl out of the water.

  "You threw yourself from the cliff a stone-walker and landed a Saimhoir." Thraisha seemed amused by what she'd seen. "Welcome to the sea, land-cousin."

  The mage-lights had come; Jenna had been able to renew Lamh Shabhala, and with the cloch she'd regained her ability to speak with Thraisha. She was still in seal form-far more comfortable than any human one in this environment. She marveled at the new feel of the world around her and her heightened senses. She had never known that the taste of the ocean was so complex, that she could sense where the mouth of a river shed fresh water, or whether the bottom below was sandy or rocky, or where the kelp beds lay. Swimming unbounded by gravity was a luxuriant pleasure, the feel of the water against her fur like the stroke of a lover's hand. Underneath the water, she could hear the sounds of the ocean: the distant, mournful calls of whales, the splash of brown seals feeding nearby, the flutter of a school of fish turning as one, the grunts and chirps and clicks of a thousand unidentified animals.

  Yet her new body retained marks of the old: her right flipper was scarred and balky, the fur marked all the way to her spine with the shapes of the mage-lights. She still ached, every movement sending a reminder of the punishment she'd endured.

  "How long can I stay this way?" she asked Thraisha after she'd re-counted to the Saimhoir

  what had happened since they’d last talked. "Ennis, he said that most changelings were either Water-snared or Earth-snared, able to change for only a few hours."

  Thraisha grunted agreement. "He was right. But your blood runs strong with the Saimhoir strain and with the power of the mage-lights. You can stay this way until you will yourself to return to your birth form. But there’s danger in that, as well. The longer you remain Saimhoir, the more difficult it will be to make the change back. And I would believe that the longer you stay Saimhoir, the more likely it is you will lose the ability to use the cloch na thintri.
Lamh Shabhala is a servant of the stone-walkers, not of the Saimhoir."

  In the radiance of the cloch, Jenna could sense the faint stirring of the life inside her. She wondered what would happen to the child if she remained Saimhoir. "I need to go back. To Inishfeirm, perhaps." She looked at the cliffs of the headland, a hundred yards away from the rocks on which they lay. They were lower here than at Thall Coill-looming like a blue-green line of thunderclouds on the horizon at the end of the curving shore of the island-but still high. And beyond them, she knew all too well, were trackless miles of steep hills and drumlins.

  She would be naked. With no resources but Lamh Shabhala. Without Seancoim. . The thought stirred the deep sorrow in her. You’ve lost the two people who cared most for you. You’re alone. Alone. .

  Jenna found that while a Saimhoir could feel anguish and grief, they could not cry.

  Thraisha stirred. "We could swim there, faster than you could walk. I would stay with you."

  "I can’t ask that of you. You told me: the interests of the Saimhoir aren’t those of my people."

  "You are both," Thraisha answered. "And we’re linked, you and I." She coughed, and the heads of two more blue seals broke the water near them. They hauled out of the water alongside Thraisha.

  "It’s a long swim around the Nesting Land," Thraisha said. "Rest today, and feed yourself while the sweetfish are running. Then we’ll begin."

  OWAINE often went down to the shoreline in the mornings. He'd help his da and his older brothers push the boat off the half-moon shingle where it was beached and tied every night, even though he knew that it was the burly arms and legs of his brothers and not his tiny form that was sliding the tarred and weathered wood along the wet sand. When the waves finally lapped at the prow, his da would ruffle his hair. "That's good enough, little one. We'll take it from here. Watch your mam for us until we get back." Then they would push the boat out into the swells, his da leaping into the boat last as his brothers rowed out a bit. He'd see his da readying the nets as the boat cleared the surf and headed out to the deeper water past the headland.