Holder of Lightning

Two stripes and more passed while they walked to the west at as fast a pace as Jenna could manage. They crossed the High Road a half mile from the lough, moving across the stone fences into a field dotted with small trees that must have once been farmland but was now long abandoned. A line of darkness loomed at the ridge of the hills just beyond the field, and as they approached, they saw the twisted, tall forms of oaks against the starlit sky. "Doire Coill?" O’Deoradhain asked, and Jenna nodded.

"Seancoim said it came close to the lough at places. We’re lucky."

"Or not." O’Deoradhain scowled at the forest. "It feels like the trees are watching us."

"They are," Jenna answered. She glanced at the sky and thought she could see wisps of color curling above. "Hurry," she said. "I won’t be able to go much farther." O’Deoradhain glanced at the sky also, though he said nothing. His arm went around her waist, and he helped her forward over the rough ground.

The hill was steeper and taller than it had appeared from the High Road. As they climbed, resting often, the two could look back over the ground they’d covered and see Lough Lar glimmering beyond the trees and, faintly on the horizon, the hills where the city lay. There were trees now as they neared the ridge, still widely spaced but undeniably the off-spring of the ancient oaks of Doire Coill. As they started down into the valley beyond, the trees came suddenly closer together, and they had to walk carefully to avoid tripping over roots or being smacked in the head by

low-hanging branches. At the bottom of the hill, they came across a small stream meandering through the wood, and Jenna sank to the ground. "No more," she said. "I'm too tired."

"Jenna, we're two miles from the lough. Maybe less. We should move on."

Jenna shook her head. "It doesn't matter. They'll know where I am soon enough." She pointed to the sky overhead through the winter-dry leaves and netted branches. Light burned there, brightening even as they watched. As the mage-lights grew, Jenna felt the desire in her to take their energy grow as well, overwhelming the exhaustion. She struggled to her feet again and took the cloch's chain from around her neck. She placed the stone in her right hand, forcing the fingers to close around it.

The mage-lights seemed to feel Lamh Shabhala’s presence; they swelled, flashing like blue and green lightnings directly above her. She 1 heard O'Deoradhain gasp. The power of the mage-lights crackled and hissed in her ears, and it seemed she could almost hear words in the din, speaking a language so old that it awakened ancestral memories in her blood. The scars on her arm seemed to glow, echoing the patterns in the sky above, and she lifted her hand, watching the colors converge and fuse over her. A funnel, a tongue slipped down from the display, bending and 1 twisting until it touched her hand, engulfing it.

Jenna cried out in mingled] pain and relief as the power of the mage-lights poured into Lamh Shabhala. She didn't know how long the connection lasted: forever, or a stripe of the candle, or only a few breaths. She could see the force or the magic, brilliant as it surged into the niches within the cloch, as it filled the well inside the stone nearly to overflowing.

Once more. . Jenna realized. The next time the mage-lights come, Lamh Shabhala will be able to hold no more. .

But Jenna could hold no more herself. The primordial cold of the mage-lights burned her, and she could no longer bear it. She cried out, as the mage-lights danced above and waves of tints and hues fluttered in the sky. She pulled her hand away from the grasp of the lights, and there was a pulse of fury and thunder.

As Jenna fell away into darkness, she thought she

Chapter 29: Awakening

SOMEONE’S head swam in her vision, and she could smell a scent of spices. Jenna blinked, squinting to make the features come into focus. She seemed to be in a cave. Torches guttered against the walls, and she lay on a bed of straw matting.

The air was warm and fragrant with the smell of a peat fire. If O’Deoradhain was there, she couldn’t see him. "Seancoim," she whispered. "Is that you?"

"Aye," a familiar voice answered. "I’m here."

"Lamh Shabhala," Jenna said, suddenly panicked. She remembered holding it, her fingers opening. .

"It’s around your neck," Seancoim answered. She felt his fingers take her left hand and guide it to her throat. She felt the familiar shape of the cloch in its silver cage. The relief lasted only a moment.

"Anduilleaf," she croaked. "I need… the leaf potion. You must have some. Give it to me."

"No," he answered, his voice gentle yet firm.

’Please. ." She was crying now: from the pain, from the refusal. Seancoim, it hurts. . You don’t know how it hurts. ."