Holder of Lightning

"Tadhg saw that the clochs na thintri were being used primarily as weapons, that the possession and holding of them was the cause of dissent and war and death." Moister Cleurach continued, his voice reverberating from the dome above them. "He believed that they should be used not as weapons, but as tools. He and a few followers built the White Keep, using the powers of their clochs to create the buildings, erecting in a few years the work it would have taken hundred of laborers and artisans a dozen years or more to create. Yet as the Holder of Lamh Shabhala, he also could sense that the mage-lights were beginning to weaken, that the time was approaching when they would die completely and the power in the clochs would vanish with them. He was right, for that would happen in his son Severii's holding. Tadhg felt that there must be a repository, a place where knowledge of the clochs and how to use them could be kept alive over the long centuries of their sleeping. That was the public task of the Order-to keep safe the old knowledge, to be the place where the Riocha and others would come to learn the ways of the cloudmage."

"The Order's public task," Jenna said, emphasizing the word, and Moister Cleurach nodded as if pleased.

"Aye, and as you suggest, there was also a private

task. Tadhg envi-sioned the Order gathering to it most of the clochs na thintri after their magic was gone and forgotten. That, he knew, would be impossible at first, but as the years and decades passed and the clochs were given to sons and daughters, and then given to their sons and daughters, they would become pretty jewels, their power forgotten or dismissed. Then, Tadhg believed, they could be bought or acquired in other ways-when a tiarna sent his son or daughter here to be an acolyte of the Order, one condition was that the child be given the family’s Cloch Mor, should they possess one. And if that acolyte took the vows of the Order, then the cloch would be passed on not within the family but into the Order. As Tadhg perceived it, long centuries later when the Filleadh came, it would be those of the Order who held the majority of the Clochs Mor. It would be the Order that created the cloudmages. It would be the Order that en-sured that the wars and strife and fighting didn’t happen again. It would be the Order that put together a better world, one where the clochs na thintri were used not for death and fighting, but for life."

Jenna glanced up again at the statue, at the face of Tadhg, imagining him saying those words. It was easy to visualize that kindly face speaking. The words awakened an echo inside her. Yet. . "That’s an admirable goal," she said. "But not an easy one. And ’better’ for whom? The Riocha? That’s who holds the clochs, that’s who send their children to the Order, so even if the clochs hadn’t been stolen, you’d have been making cloud-mages of Riocha, and war is exactly what they’ve always used them for."

Moister Cleurach took a long breath yet didn’t answer. "This way," he said. "There’s more to see."

They went out from Tadhg’s Hall and back to the corridor. Moister Cleurach stopped before another door, this one simple, thick wood. "Try to open it," he said.

Jenna glanced at him, but went to the bronze handle of the door and Pushed, then pulled. The door rattled in its frame but wouldn’t open. "It’s tacked," she said.

"Keep trying."

Moister," O’Deoradhain interjected, but Moister Cleurach raised his hand, ringer to lips.

"It's nothing you didn't try, Ennis. Let her."

Jenna looked at O'Deoradhain; he shrugged. Jenna pushed and pulled again at the door, then again. The third time, there was a snap and sudden pain like quick sharp knives ran up her arm. "Owl" she exclaimed, step ping back and shaking her hand, which still tingled.

Moister Cleurach’s expression was solemn, but she thought she saw amusement in his eyes. "Most acolytes try the door at one time or an-other," he said. "The truly persistent and curious are the ones who feel it is that not so, Ennis?"

"Aye, Moister," O'Deoradhain answered. "Tis."

Moister Cleurach placed his hand on the door. Jenna heard him start

to speak, then he stopped and removed his hand. "You know the word

don't you, Ennis?" %

O'Deoradhain took a step back, his eyes a bit wide. "No, Moister. How would I. .?"

Moister Cleurach snorted derisively. "Don't treat me like a fool, Ennis O'Deoradhain. I'm not as blind as some of you Brathairs might think."