"He’s gone, Jenna." Moister Cleurach’s voice, at her shoulder. "Jenna, I’m so sorry…"
He’s not gone! she wanted to rail at him. I won’t let him be gone. There has to be something, some way to change this. . But no words came out. She looked up at Moister Cleurach, stricken dumb, her mouth open as she shook her head.
She took Lamh Shabhala in her hand. She held the cloch, opening the small store of energy still left within it. She held the energy, not knowing how to shape it or change it so that she could bring his soul back from where it had fled. The brilliance of the mage-lights shimmered around her, and it meant nothing. She let go of the cloch and fell over Ennis’ body, weeping.
She lay there for long minutes until gentle hands pulled her away.
Chapter 49: Leave-taking
THE attendants, returning now that the battle was over, argued that with the rain it was impossible to cremate the body, but Jenna insisted that a pyre be built in the nearest field. Jenna watched as they sullenly constructed the pyre in the downpour, sitting by Ennis' body and refusing to move whenever Moister Cleurach or Aithne came to join her, though she didn't resist when they tended to her injuries. The tears came and went on some internal tidal rhythm; the grief filled her like a cold moon-less sea, heavy and deep. The sun sank below the mountains beyond Glenn Aill; the rain subsided to drizzle as mist and a few stars emerged between ragged clouds.
"The pyre's ready," Aithne said. Jenna felt the Banrion's hand on her shoulder. The woman had said little since the battle. She crouched down alongside Jenna and took her hands, still clutching Ennis' stiffening body. "They need to take him now," she whispered, nodding to her attendants. They came forward silently and took the body as Aithne helped Jenna to her feet. She stood unsteadily, her legs weak with exhaustion and hours of sitting.
They placed the body atop the framework of logs and branches, and placed the bodies of the gardai who had died to either side of him. One of the retainers came forward with a burning torch and touched it to the base of the pyre. A pale blue flame flickered then went out. "The wood is soaked, Banrion," he called. "We used what little oil we had, but.. There was a hint of pleasure in his words, the ghost of an unspoken reprimand.
"I'll do it," Jenna said. She shrugged away the Banrion's hands, drawing a breath as she found Lamh Shabhala’s chain, recovered from where it had fallen and around her neck once more. She lifted the cloch, closing her eyes and coaxing the remaining essence from deep within the well of the stone.
She imagined fire: a flame of elemental force, burning purer and hotter than a smelter's furnace. She placed the image under the pyre and released it. With an audible whump, the pyre burst into flame. White smoke bil-lowed as the moisture in the wood went immediately to steam and evapo-rated.
The pyre hissed and grumbled, but it burned so aggressively that the attendants all moved well back. Shadows lurched and swayed behind them as the flames leaped up to envelop the bodies, the light from it touching even the walls of Glenn Aill. Jenna poured the last dregs from Lamh Shabhala into the pyre; the flames roared in response, sending a whirling column of furious sparks pinwheeling into the night sky.
She watched as the flames devoured the corpses. She imagined Ennis’ soul soaring free, dancing in the glowing ash toward the sky and the Seed-Daughter’s welcome to the afterlife. She watched until the pyre collapsed in a tornado of sparks; until it was no more than glowing embers; until she saw above them the mage-lights snarling the sky and felt the yearning, seductive pull of Lamh Shabhala toward them.
"I know you’re exhausted and hurting, Holder, but you need to renew your cloch," Aithne said softly, startling Jenna. "Aron and the others will be doing the same, and it’s a long and possibly dangerous ride home."
Moister Cleurach, off to one side, had already opened his cloch to the lights. Aithne stood near Jenna, her face gentle and sympathetic. The Banrion looked battered and sore: a bruise discolored her cheek and puffed one side of her mouth. Her cloca and leine were scorched, torn, and filthy, and blood had soaked through along one arm where a long cut trailed down nearly to her wrist. She’d been burned on the other arm-Jenna could see the blisters that glistened on the woman’s left hand, running up beyond the sleeve of her leine.
Jenna nodded. "Banrion, I’m sorry. ." she began, then faltered. So much had happened that demanded an apology: that she hadn’t told the Banrion about the false Lamh Shabhala she and Moister Cleurach had Prepared; that she hadn’t trusted Aithne; that Aithne had been injured Protecting her… "I wish I’d told you before what the Moister and I had done."
"I wish you had also," Aithne said and the agreement cut deeper than any of the wounds. "But I knew, or at least suspected. And I understand why you kept your own counsel and didn’t tell me."
"Aron was your brother, and I didn’t know how you’d react. I thought it might work, and it was the
only way I could think of to get Ennis b u and. ."A deep sob racked her from the center of her being, a grief ' huge and terrible that for a moment she thought she couldn't bear ' Aithne put her arms around Jenna, pulling her close. Jenna wept on the Banrion's shoulder, letting the lamentation rise within her and give voice to her bereavement as Aithne stroked her hair and kissed the top of her head as her mam might have done.
Her mam. .
Jenna gently pulled away from Aithne, pushing the grief back down within herself. "Banrion, during the battle, Lamh Shabhala showed me the face of one of your brother's allies. It was Tiarna Padraic Mac Ard, of Tuath Gabair, holding the cloch they'd taken from Ennis. And the other clochs. . Moister Cleurach is certain that at least one of the other Clochs Mor was among those stolen from Inishfeirm."
Aithne's face went grim. "That's a strong accusation," she responded. "Aron is stubborn and foolish. He thinks mostly of himself. But you call him a traitor to Inish Thuaidh now. And that is something I find hard to believe."
"I know what I saw," Jenna answered. She gestured at the sullen orange embers of the pyre. "I'm also realizing, now, how the loss of someone you love can mark and change you. And your brother's right: I was responsible for that. I bear the blame."
Aithne said nothing. Her gaze went from Jenna to the pyre. Finally, she placed her hand over her Cloch Mor. "I've been told the name of this cloch is Scail," she said. "'Reflection,' because it steals the power from another Cloch Mor and uses that force to defeat the attack. Aron gave the cloch to me, after I returned from meeting you at Inishfeirm. He said that it had been in our clan for centuries, but though he was eldest and it belonged rightfully to him, he had another. I used the cloch with Aron so that I could learn to understand how it worked. In those few minutes when our clochs were linked and struggling against each other, I also saw Aron’s mind mirrored in my own." She paused, taking a slow breath an looking away from Jenna. "I saw the rot in his soul," she continued, don't think you made him that way, Jenna. I think Cianna's death on exposed that vein within him and gave him an excuse to turn to it mo and more. If the Rl Ard
promised Aron that he would be made RI in Dun Kiil, then my brother might well listen and betray kin, clan, and oath. I still hope not. I still hope that there’s some other reason why he would tolerate Mac Ard’s presence here."
Aithne sighed. She glanced up at the sky, then down at her cloch have much time, Holder," she said. "And whatever my brother is or whatever he plans, you will need Lamh Shabhala. Let’s use the mage-lights while we can, and worry afterward."