Holder of Lightning

Jenna had wondered about that at first. Then she realized. .

Nearly every night now, the mage-lights flickered in the sky, no longer only above the locus of Lamh Shabhala but from horizon to horizon, and the newly-released clochs na thintri fed on them. The Riocha were scrambling for possession of the stones-and learning to control them- which created such turmoil and contention that finding Lamh Shabhala and Jenna was temporarily a secondary concern. The night of the Filleadh, Jenna had opened three double hands of the major clochs (the Clochs Mor, O’Deoradhain had said they were called) and a hand of the minor stones-or clochmions-for each of the Clochs Mor: almost two hundred clochs na thintri all told were now active.

Nearly every night, too, Jenna yearned for the anduilleaf and the solace it would bring against the continuing pain of holding Lamh Shabhala. But Seancoim would not offer it to her again, and she

remembered too well the fog it had cast over her mind.

Little news reached Doire Coill from outside, but O'Deoradhain would sometimes go to search out a traveler alone on the High Road. He would bring back their tales to Jenna and Seancoim. Twice during their stay, other Bunus Muintir came to visit Seancoim-from Foraois Coill in Tuath Infochla, and the great island of Inishcoill off Tuath Airgialla-and they brought news of their own. Jenna knew from those contacts that word had been sent from Dun Laoghaire to all the tuatha that the Holder of Lamh Shabhala had been driven insane, that she had murdered a score of Riocha in Lar Bhaile including the Banrion Cianna herself. A hefty blood rice had been placed on her head, and it appeared that the Tanaise Rig no longer had any interest in his marriage proposal.

Jenna was now the Mad Holder, to be killed upon sight.

Two months ago, near the time of the Festival of Fomhar, the three of them had watched from the western fringes of Doire Coill as an army approached from the west and another marched out from Lar Bhaille to meet it. They had seen in the distance the smoke and dust of battle, and Jenna felt the surge of power from several clochs na thintri wielded as terrible weapons. From the travelers, they learned that other armies had been seen battling south and east, as well.

The tuatha were fighting among themselves, and the clochs na thintri were among their implements of war.

Eventually, Jenna knew, someone would come searching for Lamh Shabhala, someone with an army or a few of the Clochs Mor or both at their backs, and they would stop at nothing to find her. Jenna had learned much about handling the cloch in the last months, but she didn't want to see Doire Coill at the center of a battle, even a victorious one.

And Seancoim was right. She was tired of hiding.

"When do you go?" Seancoim asked, his voice bringing her out of reverie. She shivered, then smiled at him.

"Tomorrow."

"Then 1 will enjoy tonight." Seancoim turned

solemn, twirling a finger in his beard before he spoke. "You must realize that I’m not the only one who can guess which way Lamh Shabhala would travel."

"I know that. We’ll be careful."

"Careful may not be enough."

She smiled at him and kissed his forehead. "Then come with us. I’d like that. Have you ever seen the Westering Sea, Seancoim? O’Deoradhain says that you look out, and see nothing but water and sky, all the way to the end of the world."

He shook his head sadly. "No. But this is where my destiny and my home are. I’m an old man, and I have my apprentice to train."

"Apprentice? Since when do you have an apprentice?" You’ve not met her. She stays on her own most of the time inside the forest. She’s learned most of what I have to teach her but not all. No, Jenna, thanks for your offer, but I’ll stay here and make certain that you have a place to which you can return one day."

They were standing at the northern edge of Doire Coill, near where Mac Ard, her mam, and she had first entered the forest-less than a year ago, though it seemed that everything had changed in that time. The High Road was less than a quarter mile away, turning here in a great sweeping curve to the north, where a day’s walk away waited Knobtop and Ballintubber. Jenna wondered about her home, wondered what they said about her and her mam when they gathered in Tara ’s Tavern of an evening. Perhaps there were already tales of the Mad Holder, and One Hand Bailey or Chamis Redface regaled anyone who would listen with fanciful tales of Jenna as a child.