so did Ceile's life and those of the Creneach. When the First-Lights had gone completely, Ceile and Its chil-dren and grandchildren fell down lifeless, and the wind and rain wore away the form of their bodies until all that was left were their gleaming hearts.
The soft-flesh things came, and they took away many of the hearts they found for themselves, for they loved the way the hearts looked-Ceile's heart was one of those that was taken.
And so it was until finally the First-Lights returned again from their unsuccessful search for the lost Anchead. The First-Lights found Ceile's heart and they went to it, filling it once more. But the soft-flesh things held the heart now and the First-Lights could not bring Ceile back, nor any of Its children or grandchildren who had also been taken. But the All-Heart that had been within Ceile was able to stir and waken the hearts of all Its children and grandchildren: those hearts the soft-flesh things pos-sessed could hold the power of the First-Lights, but only the few who had not been touched by the soft-flesh things could revive and have form and shape again as Creneach.
Without Ceile, though, none of the Creneach could take of themselves and make children. The First-Lights saw that and sorrowed, and so they gave a gift to the Creneach: they found a pebble that was like the heart of the Creneach and gave it life and form, and that one was the Littlest, and its light shone as bright as the first children of Ceile.
That is the way it has been ever since: the First-Lights go to search now and again for Anchead and we Creneach die. Our bodies crack and crum-ble to pebbles and dust, and the hearts within us fall away. Those hearts the soft-flesh things find and take will never live again as Creneach. When the First-Lights return from their search, they go first to the All-Heart and awaken it once more, and the All-Heart in turn awakens all of Its children and grandchildren. Then the First-Lights find the hearts that have not yet been touched and bring us back.
And they also wake a new Littlest or two. .
Jenna found herself staring at Lamh Shabhala as Terrain finished the tale, still cradling the infant in its arms. She tried to imagine her cloch burning with the mage-lights energy inside the god Ceile, only to be found after the long, slow erosion of her body.
She thought of all the clochs na thintri
Cloch Mor or clochmion-having first been born in the Creneach.
Truth or fable. . There was no way to know. All she knew was that the Creneach believed it, as Jenna believed in the Mother-Creator and Seed-Daughter, as Seancoim believed in the god he called Greatness, as Thraisha believed in her WaterMother. Perhaps they were all mingled, all shades of the same truth. Jenna looked around her at the Creneach, and inside each of them burned an undeniable cloch na thintri: that, at least, was truth.
"I hold the All-Heart that was inside Ceile," she said, and Terrain nod-ded with slow precision.
"I am Eldest here," it said. "This is my twelfth Awakening. I’ve seen the quick growth of soft-flesh things like you, who can change the very land. I have felt the All-Heart close by twice before: when I was Littlest, and also at the end of my last life." Jenna could hear the awe enter its voice, then, and its eyes were on the stone in her hand. "But this is the first time any of us here have actually seen it. It is a great gift for all of us, and for the Littlest."
". . my twelfth Awakening…" The import of that staggered Jenna-if true, the Creneach before her was unimaginably old. From Riata’s time to her own was thirteen centuries or more, and that would have encom-passed only a portion of two of Treorai’s "awakenings." Most of the voices within Lamh Shabhala were the more recent Holders; of the Bunus Muintir Holders, only Riata’s voice was easily heard, and he had been the last active Bunus Holder. There must be older, fainter voices buried deep within the cloch, going back and back to the dim mist of legend and myth.
And here, one of the legends walked.
Jenna glanced at Seancoim, who was leaning placidly on his staff, and then she bent down, looking at the smooth, shiny face of the Littlest in Treorai’s arms. She could feel the Cloch Mor shining in the chest of the infant, a jewel with a radiance stronger than the moon. She dangled Lamh Shabhala over it, as she might have with a child. It didn’t reach for the cloch, but its tongue darted from its mouth, sliding over the stone in its silver cage and withdrawing. The Littlest chirped then, birdlike, as if in satisfaction.
"It will remember," Terrain said. "We will all remember the taste of the All-Heart. Soon enough, when the Littlest has grown, we will leave here, each on our own, to search for Anchead while the First-Lights still glow in this land, but we will remember."
Terrain handed the Littlest to one of the other Creneach, and clapped his hands together again.
"But I forget that the soft-flesh things are always in a hurry, for your lives are short. We could stay here for several darknesses, remembering all the old tales of the All-Heart and our long search, but you would grow old in that time, so-" Terrain stopped, abruptly. He turned away from her, as if he'd forgotten she was there, and lifted his gaze toward the sky.
The first wisps of the mage-lights glimmered into existence, a feathery curtain dancing in the sky, and the Creneach responded, clapping their hands together once in unison. The resulting boom was deafening, and both Jenna and Seancoim put hands to ears as the Creneach clapped again, the explosion of sound repeating from the nearby peaks, each time fainter and more distant. The Creneach lifted their hands toward the sky and the brightening mage-lights, as Jenna felt the insistent pull of Lamh Shabhala and mirrored the gesture with her own right hand. The mage-lights curled and fused above the valley, lowering until their slow light-ning flowed around them in multicolored streamers. One stream wrapped itself around Lamh Shabhala, filling it eagerly; around her, Jenna saw the Creneach standing surrounded by the glow, their mouths open and the mage-lights swirling in as if they were swallowing them. The Creneach crooned, a twittering, musical sound almost like chimes stirring in a wind.
Lamh Shabhala filled quickly, and Jenna released it with a gasp of min-gled pleasure and pain. The Creneach paid no attention to them at all, their attention all on the bath of light in which they were immersed. Seancoim came up to her, his arm supporting Jenna as she slowly let the cloch-vision recede.
"We'll stay here tonight," he said. "Go on and rest, and I'll watch. ."
Chapter 52: The Protector
SHE was more exhausted than she’d thought. She fell asleep quickly and when she woke, it was dim morning, the sun lurking behind a thin smear of charcoal-gray cloud. The valley, in the daylight little more than a narrow canyon, was empty. Seancoim was poking at a tin pot boiling on a small campfire while Denmark pecked halfheartedly at the ground. Jenna’s right arm ached and throbbed. She grimaced as she sat up, rubbing at the scarred flesh.
"Where are the Creneach?" Jenna asked.
Seancoim pulled the pot from the fire with a stick. He sprinkled herbs from a pouch into the boiling water and Jenna caught the scent of mint. He set the tea aside to steep. "Still here," he answered. He pointed with the stick in the direction of a rock pile against the cavern wall. "That is Terrain, I think."
Jenna went over to the pile: undistinguished broken granite, glinting here and there with flecks of quartz-she would have walked past it un-knowingly a hundred times. The rocks were loose and in no semblance of any shape: ordinary, plain and common, as if they had tumbled from the cliff walls years ago and been sitting there since.
The only hint that this might be something out of the ordinary was a lack of weeds or grass growing up in the cracks between the boulders. She started to reach toward it with her right arm, but a flash of pain ran through her with the movement, and she cradled the arm to herself, stifling a moan. When the spasm had passed, she touched one of the larger boulders with her le hand: it was rough and broken, not at all like the skin of the Creneach had been. "You’re certain?"