Holder of Lightning

A fountain of multicolored light erupted: from the cloch, from the scarred flesh of her arm, from her open mouth and eyes. It blossomed high above the valley, gathering like an impossible star for several breaths. Then it shattered, bursting apart into meteors that jetted outward along the energy lines of the other clochs na thintri, the star fading as the mete-ors flared and faded themselves, arcing into the distance and away.

There was the sound of peal upon peal of thunder, then their echoes rebounded from the hills and died in silence.

The valley was dark under a starlit sky, and the sparks lifting from their fire under the dolmen stone seemed pallid and cold. Jenna lifted the cloch that had fallen back around her neck-it burned cold, but it was dark. She marveled at her hands, that they were somehow whole and unblood-ied. The pain hit her then. She fell to her knees, crying out, and O'Deoradhain and Seancoim laid her down gently. "Riata?" she called out.

'He's gone," O'Deoradhain told her. "At least I think so."

"It hurts," Jenna said simply.

I know. I'm sorry. But it's done. It's done, Jenna.

She nodded. Her right arm was stiffening now, the fingers curling into a useless fist, sharp twinges like tiny knives cutting through her chest. She cried, lying there, and let O’Deoradhain place his arm around her for the little comfort it brought her. A familiar smell cut through the smell of wood smoke: Seancoim crouched down by her, a bowl in his hand.

"Anduilleaf," he said. "This one time."

Jenna started to reach for it. Her fingers grazed the edge of the bowl and then stopped. She shook her head. "No," she told the old man. "I can bear this."

What might have been a smile touched his lips beneath the tangle of gray beard. His blind eyes were flecked with firelight; Denmark flapped in from the night and landed on his shoulder. Seancoim dumped the contents of the bowl on the ground and scuffed at the dirt with his feet.

"You have indeed grown tonight, Jenna," he said.

PART THREE: The Mad Holder

(Map: Inish Thuaidh)

Chapter 31: Taking Leave

A DIRE wolf howled its worship to the moon goddess from the next hill. A white owl with a wingspan as wide as a person's outstretched arms swooped down from a nearby branch and lifted again with a rabbit clutched in its talons. The wind brought the enchanting song of the trees at the heart of the forest. Mage-lights snarled the stars.

"I have to go," Jenna said.

Seancoim nodded. Denmark ruffled his wings on the old man's shoulder as Seancoim's pale eyes plucked moonlight from the air. "I know," he said.

"Do you know why?"

He sniffed, almost a laugh. "Well, let me see if I can fathom it… Because Lamh Shabhala aches to be used. Because Jenna herself is tired of hiding and sitting. Because you know that to the north are the people who are your father's fathers, and there also lies the knowledge that you lack as Holder. Because even though I tell you you're wrong, you're afraid that if you hide here too long, your enemies will come in too great a force for even Doire Coill to resist and you don't want harm to come to me or

the forest. Because the winter's chill is gone and the land calls you. Be-cause you see the magic at work here and want to see what it's done elsewhere. Because a blind old man is poor company for a young woman. Are those your reasons?"

Jenna laughed. "All but the last, aye. And more." And you'll be traveling with Ennis O'Deoradhain." It was more statement than question, and he was still smiling. "So that's the way it is, 'tis it? You've come to like the man."

"No!" The denial came quickly and automatically.

"Not at all. But he’s Inish, and knows some of the cloudmage ways and will help me get to the island. Do I trust him? I suppose I do to a point-he could have taken Lamh Shabhala from me easily when we were in Lar Bhaile and he didn’t but the man still has his own agenda and if I get in the way of that…" She shrugged. "And I don’t like the man, Seancoim. Not that way." And after Coelin’s betrayal, I’m not sure I’ll ever love anyone again that way, she wanted to add, but pressed her lips shut.

Jenna and O’Deoradhain had wintered in Doire Coill. Seancoim had scoffed at Jenna’s concerns that RI Gabair and Tiarna Mac Ard-or the RI Ard and Tanaise Rig themselves-might try to invade the forest. "The forest will take care of itself, as I told Tiarna Mac Ard when you first came here," he answered. "Now the magic is unleashed again, and the forest is more awake than ever. They bring their own death if they wander here."

And yet they had come. The mage-lights of the Filleadh had told those in Lar Bhaile where Jenna had gone after she fled the city. In the days immediately following her escape, troops were dispatched to search for her on the west side of Lough Lar and some even ventured into Doire Coill. As Seancoim had predicted, few of those who entered the oak forest returned. But strangely, after the initial fortnight, no one came searching at all.