"Or you will kill him?" Mac Ard finished for her.
He stepped forward, putting himself between Jenna and the Tanaise Rig. One side of his mouth lifted. "I'm sure you could, Jenna. That seems to be your answer for any disagreement. Kill me, kill the Tanaise Rig. Then what happens when the Banrion or your new husband or the Moister do something you don’t like. Do you kill them also?"
"Be quiet.’" Jenna shouted at Mac Ard, wondering if he could even hear her over the shrilling, singing energy that filled her. The cloch pulled at her, struggling to be free of her grasp. The strain of holding them here was too much, too much.
"Don’t you see?" Mac Ard continued, and he was no longer talking to her but the others. "We are dealing with a rogue Holder. That isn’t some-thing I want to admit since Jenna’s the daughter of the woman I love, but none of us can deny it. She’s a danger to everyone around her. She can- she will-kill those she perceives as standing against her. She is mad. How long before it’s one or all of you that she turns on?"
"Shut up!" Jenna roared at him. She ached to strike at him.
Mac Ard glanced at her, almost pityingly. "I love her mam," he said to all of them. "I would have loved Jenna as a daughter, if she would have let me.
I tried to be a guide for her, tried to be like a da. But she rejected all of that. Even her mam is frightened of her now-she would tell you that if she were here. Holding Lamh Shabhala has been too much for Jenna. It’s turned her fey."
"No!" Jenna lashed at Mac Ard with the denial, the power arcing around him, and throwing him backward so that he slammed into the base of the statue. He fell on his side on the ground. He spat blood.
"End this?" Mac Ard said, speaking not to her but to the others. He wiped at his mouth, trailing red over the sleeve of his leine. "Aye, we can end this, if all of us work together. Lamh Shabhala is strong, but not as strong as all five of us."
Mac Ard struggled back up, one hand on the centuries-blurred stone of the statue, the other still holding his cloch. His hair was matted and bloody, and his dark eyes were intent on Jenna. She could feel him reach-ing for the energy within his cloch. She started to reach for it as well, knowing she could stop him, knowing that it didn’t matter that O Liathain was preparing to attack as well. But the others. . Aithne was staring at her, and Moister Cleurach, and MacEagan. In the charged atmosphere of Lamh Shabhala, she could hear
them, could feel their doubt and hesita-tion.
"Aye," O Liathain said. "If we are together, one of us will be the new Holder, and I promise this as well: however it ends, whichever one of us takes Lamh Shabhala, I will take the armies of the Tuatha home. Remove the Mad Holder, and we will have peace."
There was the same hunger in all of them. Despite the strong ties to their own clochs, the lust to hold Lamh Shabhala was still greater. Mac Ard knew the desire better than any and had tapped it. Jenna felt the change. No one spoke, but in that moment, four clochs attacked as one. The strands running from them through Lamh Shabhala to the mage-lights brightened and came together in Jenna's mind as if like a sinuous, multicolored dragon. The mage-demon snarled near the statue, fire burned near her, storm clouds gathered and lightnings flickered overhead, even a pale copy of Lamh Shabhala appeared.
They came at her at once. Jenna tried to hold them, tried to turn the energy but still it came, the mage-creature raking claws over her, fireballs slamming into her, the storm thundering. .
A creature of fire arose, standing in front of Jenna, and it leaped at the mage-creature, taking it down. "I promised I would stand with you no matter what," MacEagan's voice said. "My wife."
With MacEagan's sudden defense, Jenna felt momentary doubt grip the others. Their attack, for a moment, faltered. It was enough.
Jenna imagined her hand, seizing each of the Cloch Mors and stran-gling the link to the power of the mage-lights, spilling the energy within them.
Savage, unfocused energy exploded, striking the earth around them, scoring the black rock of the statue, charring the trees at the edge of the clearing, hissing over the cliff into the cold ocean. Jenna held them all, and they could not escape.
"You've all betrayed me," she said into their fear and despair. "You've all shown your true faces. Now. . now is my time."
They were huddled together: O Liathain, Mac Ard, Moister Cleurach Aithne. Jenna reached out with Lamh Shabhala; behind them, the statue of An Phionos shuddered, tilting as she ripped it from the
ground that had held it for so long. She brought it high overhead, dirt and rocks falling from the encrusted base. Its shadow was dark and massive. In Jenna’s head, the dead Holders shouted: "Let it fall. . kill them. . you must smash them to end the threat…" And Riata’s voice: ". . you must live with what you do. ."
"All I need do is release the monument," she told Mac Ard and the others, "and this is over. Do you think, Tanaise Rig, that your armies will stay when
I return your broken and crushed body to them? Will they continue to fight when they see the full might of Lamh Shabhala before them, or will they flee back to their Tuatha like scolded dogs? Tiarna Mac Ard, I won’t have to worry about you ever again. Banrion, Moister Cleurach, I won’t have to wonder whether your advice and actions are intended to help me or yourselves. I’ll demonstrate to everyone- everyone-that the Holder of Lamh Shabhala is not to be trifled with."
The energy within her could no longer be held. Jenna shuddered with the effort of holding it. With a cry half of fury and half of pain, she smashed the statue down with all her pent-up anger. The cliffside shud-dered and rocks and boulders fell away into the sea. The crash was deaf-ening, the impact so hard that the massive stone of the statue itself cracked, a fissure opening along the creature’s back.
Jenna sobbed.
The others stared at the statue, now plunged at an odd angle into the ground back where it had been. None of them spoke. None of them dared.
Finally, Jenna took a breath. "There is always a choice, and we cloud-mages have chosen the path of vengeance and death too many times al-ready. I choose another. I was told that the First Holder can sometimes change the course of her time, and perhaps that can be done without the Scrudu. Tanaise Rig. ."
His voice was small. "Holder?"
"You said that no matter how this ended, you would take your armies back. It’s ended, and I charge you to keep that pledge and to add to it: swear that you will never lead another army here to Inish Thuaidh. Will you do that?"
"Do I have a choice?" His face was grim and
twisted, as if he were tasting sour milk. He glared at her. "Aye, Holder," he answered. "You have my word."
"Then go and keep your oath." Jenna closed her eyes for a moment. In the cloch-vision, she found the thread of his Cloch Mor and released it from her hand, letting it free. She heard a gasp and a cry, and there was a sense of something torn away from her, leaving her weak. When she opened her eyes again, O Liathain was no longer there.
"Moister Cleurach?" The old man would not look at her. "Stormbringer fits you. Take your gloomy presence back to Inishfeirm, with your pledge that you will remain there for the rest of your time."
Moister Cleurach nodded; Jenna released him and with a crackle of distant lightning, he was gone, and with him, more of the power of the clochs.
"And what of me?" Aithne asked. A wry smile touched her lips. "Holder, I'd tell you that I was sorry, but that would be false. I made my choice, too."
Jenna's eyes were still closed from the effort of releasing Moister Cleurach. Wearily, she forced them open. "Would you make it again?"
The smile wavered, then steadied. "I tell you 'no' as I stand here and I mean it. But I don't expect you to believe that. And if the moment came again, in a different time and place, who knows?"
"That, at least, is honest," Jenna answered. She took a long breath, considering. "The Comhairle must elect a new Rl," she said finally. "Once I would have said that you should take your husband's place and simply be Banrion. But not anymore. I ask for your p
ledge that the Comhairle elect someone more suited to the task."
Aithne glanced at MacEagan before answering. "I give you my word," she said.
Jenna turned to MacEagan, holding out her left hand to him. She hugged him once, fiercely. "Husband," she said, smiling. "I would send you back with the Banrion, with my thanks for your help."
MacEagan grinned. "It was my duty," he answered. "And my desire." He nodded to Mac Ard, going somber. "But I don't want to leave you with
"I hold him," Jenna answered, "and you’re needed more in Dun Kiil. Alby will be worried."
"Then send me there, and I’ll do what should be done."
Again, Jenna submerged herself in the cloch-vision, finding Aithne and Kyle and loosing them from Lamh Shabhala’s grasp. Their departure burned her with its swiftness. Now the mage-energy no longer filled her, and she could feel the pain of her body: the wounds, the ravagements of wielding Lamh Shabhala, the weariness from lack of sleep and worry, the loss and grief.
She opened her eyes. Mac Ard stared at her. "So it’s just the two of us " he said. "What do you ask of me, Holder? What is my punishment?"
"Be my mam’s husband," Jenna answered. Exhaustion throbbed in her voice. The gift given to her was almost gone, and Jenna felt only relief. "Marry her."
"That’s all?"
Jenna nodded. It was too much effort to speak.
She couldn’t hold Mac Ard’s cloch much longer; it shivered in her mind, struggling.
"Then I will do that. I give you my word." Mac Ard sniffed, wiping his bloodied lips with his sleeve. He shook his head. "You should not be the Holder, Jenna," he said. "Everything you do tells me that. You’re weak."
Jenna’s cheeks colored. Her lips tightened. "Leave me, then," she said. She started to release him, to send him back as she had the others. But where the rest had departed willingly, Mac Ard did not. His cloch re-mained, burning red before her, the glow growing rather than diminishing. "You’re too weak," she heard his voice repeat, almost sadly. "Especially right now. But I will keep my word to you, Jenna. Take that with you to the Mother-Creator as some comfort. I will marry your mam, afterward."
She felt his cloch open and turn its power toward her. "No!" she screamed at him, but an inferno had already erupted. The mage-energy licked hungrily at her, the heat taking her breath. Mac Ard was sending everything toward her, emptying his cloch. She tried to throw up shields but they were weak
and late, the fire burning through them in an instant. There was little left in Lamh Shabhala, and Jenna knew that if she miscal-culated here, if she did not use enough of what remained to her, then Mac Ard would win. He would take Lamh Shabhala from her-he would kill her.
He would kill the life inside her. He would kill all that was left of Ennis.
"No!" Jenna screamed into the assault. She sent herself spiraling deep into the cloch, gathering all that she could of the mage-energy. There was no subtlety or finesse to her response; it was a blunt weapon, wielded with all the remaining strength she had. Even as the fires surrounded her, she sent it out, hurtling multicolored lightnings into the red center of Mac Ard.
They struck, blinding her. She heard him scream as the fire of his cloch vanished.
For several seconds, there was no sound but the wind and the faint crash of the waves far below, though her ears still rang with the furious sound of the clochs. Jenna blinked into the starlight above Bethiochnead. Mac Ard was lying on the ground a few feet away. She went to him, looking down into the open, staring, sightless eyes. His mouth was open, his chest still. Kneeling beside the body, she closed his eyes and took the Cloch Mor from his fisted hand.
"This," she said, "was never yours."
Jenna straightened. The movement made her momentarily dizzy, and she had to close her eyes to stop the world from spinning around her. She wanted nothing more than to collapse. But she couldn't. Not yet. Not here.
Only the dregs of the mage-energy were left. Lamh Shabhala couldn't take her back to Dun Kiil or return Mac Ard's corpse. She lifted her head, looking toward the moonlit oaks ringing the cliffside. "Protector Loman!" she called. "I know you're there watching. Step out!" There was no answer for several breaths and she started to call again. Then two figures emerged from the shadows and began walking slowly toward her, one of them leaning on an oaken staff. The Bunus Muintir stopped several feet from her.
"Holder," Loman said, but Jenna's eyes were on the boy with him, who would not look at her directly though she saw him glance with fright at the broken statue before sending his gaze back to the ground. She had expected Toryn to be with the old Protector, but this boy was blond and no more than fourteen, far younger than Toryn.
"Where’s your apprentice?" Jenna asked Loman.
"Toryn is… gone," Loman answered. His scraggly beard sagged as he frowned, and the boy with him shuddered. "When I learned what he had done to Seancoim Crow-Eye and you, I sent him to the oaks, the Old Ones. He feeds their roots now. I’m sorry, Holder. Seancoim was right; I chose poorly and taught badly for Toryn to do such a thing. Aye, I would gladly have allowed him take Lamh Shabhala if you’d failed in the Scrudu, but to kill Seancoim and to try to take the cloch by force…" He shook his head, grimacing. "I’m sorry if I’ve cheated you out of the revenge you might have wanted for that."
Jenna gave a laugh that sounded more like a cough. She gestured at the body between them. "I think, Protector, that I’ve had my fill of revenge."
The apprentice visibly brightened at that statement, venturing a small smile. Loman hummed, clearing his throat; his breath wheezed asthmatically. "Holder," he said. "How can I help you?"
"You know the way to the nearest Daoine village?"
A nod.
Jenna pointed again to Mac Ard. "Good. I know that you also know herb lore: I want you to treat this body so that it can make a long journey then take it to that village. Tell them there that the Comhairle wishes the tiarna’s body returned safely to Dun Kiil. That’s all. Consider it a partial payment for your poor choice of apprentice."
His eyes glared, a flash of irritation that he hid almost immediately "it will take several days to do as you ask," Loman answered.
"I don’t care," Jenna told him. "Do it." Neither of the Bunus Muintir moved. Neither of them seemed to want to be near her. Jenna lifted the cloch.
"Now," she said.
For an instant, she wondered if Loman, like Toryn, might try to use the slow magic against her.
But the ancient Bunus snarled something to his apprentice in their own language and the younger man moved quickly over to Mac Ard's corpse. He picked it up, draping the tiarna's body over his shoulder. His back bowed under the burden, he walked away toward the trees. "This will be good for the young one here. He has much to learn, and I… well, I don't have a great deal of time left to teach him." Loman bowed to Jenna, bending stiffly from the waist. "There is a cavern nearby where you can stay, Holder, until the body's prepared."
"I have my own way home," she told him. "Just do as I've asked." Loman nodded silently at that and turned to follow his new apprentice into the forest. Jenna watched until they had gone.
She wanted to sleep, to give in to the exhaustion and pain. But she forced herself to walk down the slope, away from Bethiochnead to where the cliffs lowered and she could find a way down to the water. She clam-bered down over the slippery rocks until the salt spray of the waves touched her face, refreshing her. The moon dappled the ocean as she stood on the rocks at the water's edge.
Not far out from the shore, a dark body lifted its head above the waves. Jenna heard the grunting cough of a seal. She brushed her fingers against Lamh Shabhala. There was barely enough power remaining. "Thraisha. .?" Jenna whispered hopefully into the wind, feeling the presence of Bradan an Chumhacht there.
"Not Thraisha," a voice said, the words sounding in her head as her ears heard more throaty gruntings. "Garrentha."
"Garrentha. I thought for a moment… "
Garrentha gave a bark, and in
Jenna's head a sad laugh echoed, know," Garrentha said. "I was there at the battle, too, and we both saw my milk-mother die. When her body went back into the water, I saw Bradan an Chumhacht swim from her mouth, and I chased it and swallowed the power myself. I struggled with it for a day, then felt you gathering the power of the stones, and Bradan an Chumhacht allowed me
follow you here. A small foretelling…" Garrentha barked, and Jenna heard the laugh again. "I thought you would need me."
"I do," Jenna said. "More than you know."
"Then I’m here for you," Garrentha answered. "In that first foretelling, I saw more, as well, and I’ll tell you now: those who came here to wage war are preparing to leave. And tomorrow, the stone-walkers who live here will meet in their stone house."
"The Comhairle, aye. Kyle will be the next Ri," Jenna said, anticipating, but Garrentha’s head moved quickly side to side.
"They will not choose a Ri. They will instead elect a…" Jenna felt the touch of Garrentha’s mind on hers, searching for the word."… a Banrion to lead them."
"Aithne," Jenna breathed.
Again, a bark/laugh, making Jenna tilt her head in puzzlement. "No. Not Aithne herself, though the choice of person will be hers," Garrentha said. "But there’s time enough for you to worry about stone-walker things later. Now you should listen to the Saimhoir within you…"
Jenna nodded. She stripped away her filthy, tattered cloca and leine and pulled the boots and stockings from her feet, standing shivering and naked on the shore. She slipped the chain of Ennis’ cloch around her neck next to Lamh Shabhala and stepped into the water. The waves that lapped her feet were icy, and she drew in a hissing breath, but the cold vanished a moment later as she continued to walk forward, and suddenly she was no longer walking at all but diving into the waves.
Two sleek bodies swam away, black fur shimmering blue in the moon-light.
PART FIVE: Reunion
INISHDUAN was a barren flyspeck of an island pushing out of the waves halfway between Inish Thuaidh and Talamh An Ghlas. Over the course of history, it had been controlled by both Tuath Infochla and Inish Thu-aidh, but in fact no one much cared who owned the small tumble of rocks. No one lived there, no one visited except a few fisherfolk; the earth there was thin and unarable; the wind scoured entirely clean much of the single peak that formed the island. Someone had once tried to establish a herd of wild goats there; even the goats had been unhappy. Seals clam-bered over the rock at the shoreline while gulls, terns, and other seabirds nested in the steep cliffs rising out of the sea, spotting the gray rocks with white-the seals and birds seemed to be the only animals that much cared for the island.
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