"Aye," Seancoim answered. "When the sun rose, they all sat. As the light came, they seemed to just melt into what you see now. Before they went to sleep, though, Terrain told me that we would find the path to Thall Coill through the other end of the valley. It also said to tell you that the Creneach will always honor the All-Heart, and even the Littlest will always remember." Seancoim poured the tea out into two chipped-rim bowls and handed one to Jenna. "Here. You’ll need this: it’s kala bark."
"Not anduilleaf?"
He didn't answer |hat, simply gave her a grimace of his weathered face. "We have a long walk today."
Jenna nodded, sipping her tea and staring at the rock pile as if it might reassemble itself again into Terrain. "We did see them, didn't we, Sean-coim?"
The old man smiled briefly, the beard lifting on his flat, leathery face. "Aye," he told her. "We did."
"And is it true, what they told me-that each of the clochs na thintri is the heart of a dead Creneach?"
Seancoim shrugged. "It's what they said." He took a long draught of his tea, and tossed the dregs aside. He wiped the bowl and placed it back in his pack. "We should go. These mountains are best passed through in daylight."
They packed quickly, then set off again. The path led upward toward a saddle between two peaks. Eagles soared above them, huge and regal, and Denmark stayed on Seancoim's shoulder, not daring to challenge them. Their pace was slow as they made their way through broken, trackless ground, sometimes needing to detour around cliffs and slopes too steep to climb. They reached the ridge by midday, and finally looked down over a long, curving arm of forested land spread out into the distance before them. Fogs and vapors curled from the treetops, indicating hidden streams and rivers and bogs below the leafy crowns. The sea pounded white against the rocky coastline, until it all merged into indistinct haze. It was cold in the heights, as if summer had never reached here, and Jenna shivered in her cloca.
Thall Coill," Seancoim said, though he appeared to be looking well °out into the distance. "And there-on the coast-can you see the open rise where the cliffs lift from the sea? I can see it with Dunmharu’s eyes, but. ."
Jenna squinted into the distance, where there was a speck of brown and gray against the green. "I think so. Is that where. . where 1 must go?"
'Aye." He exhaled, his breath white. "That place is called Bethiochnead, and it's our destination. But we won't get there standing here. Come o at least it will be warmer farther down."
They took the rest of the day to toil downward
over the intervening ridges, through fields of bracken and hawthorn into glades dotted with firs, and finally into the shadow of Thall Coill's oak-dominated fastness There was no sharp demarcation, no boundary they that they crossed but they could sense the ancient years lying in the shadows, the long centuries that these trees had witnessed, unmoving and untouched. By evening clouds of wind sprites were flowing between the trunks of the oaks like sparkling, floating rivulets, and a herd of storm deer swept over the last stretch of open field, their hooves drumming the earth.
Jenna felt as she had in Doire Coill. This was a land alive in a way that she could not understand. There were places here older even than the ancient forest near the lough. As if guessing at her thoughts, Seancoim halted next to her. "We'll have no fire here tonight," he said. "I don't think the forest would like it, and I don't know what it can do. And beware the songs you might hear. Thall Coill is said to have a stronger, more compel-ling voice than the Doire. These trees were here when we Bunus came to Inish Thuaidh; they will still be here after you Daoine are as scarce as we are now. Thall Coill doesn't care about us-only about itself."
Jenna shuddered, feeling the truth of the statement. "We can't get to that place you saw tonight," she said. "I think we should stay here and not go any deeper into the forest tonight."
"I think there may be a better place to stay." Seancoim plunged the end of his staff into the loamy earth. He took a long breath, and called out into the gathering dark as Jenna watched him curiously. There was move-ment in the shadows, and from under the trees, two Bunus Muintir emerged.
They were both male, one nearly as old as Seancoim; the other much younger. Like Seancoim, they were dressed in skins, their feet wrapped in leather. They had the wide, flattened faces of the Bunus, their skin the color of dried earth. The young one, with a matted and tangled beard, was armed with a bow and a bronze bladed sword; the older, his chin stubbled with patchy gray, had only a knife and an oaken staff. The expressions on their faces were suspicious and decidedly unfriendly. Ae old one held out his staff and spoke a few words in their guttural lan-guage. Jenna understood none of the words but the intent was clear: they were not welcome here.
Seancoim replied in the same language, and Jenna belatedly reached for Lamh Shabhala, so she could understand what was being said, gesture drew the attention of the younger man; he pointed to Jenna s a as he spoke to his companion, evidently noticing the scars there. He nocked an arrow and started to pull back the string of his bow. Jenna’s fingers closed around the cloch, ready to defend herself and Seancoim, but the older one grunted and gestured to his companion. The younger Bunus slowly released the tension on the bow, though he kept the arrow fitted to the string.
The old one spoke in the Daoine language, his voice even more heavily accented than Seancoim’s, his words slow and full of effort as he tried to find the words. "Go back,’* he said. "You should never have been brought here." He glared at Seancoim.
"She holds Lamh Shabhala, Protector Loman," Seancoim told him.
"I know what she holds, and I know who you are, too-Seancoim Crow-Eye. A Protector should stay with the forest he has been given to guard."
"My pledge-daughter Keira watches in my place," Seancoim answered. "I’m old, and Denmark is ancient for his kind. Soon I’ll be blind again. The Greatness has given me another task. Doire Coill is Keira’s, now."
Loman scoffed. "So Seancoim has abandoned his charge. ." He nod-ded to his companion. "You see, Toryn, this is what comes of being too close to the Daoine. You fail in your duty and give it over to someone who’s not yet ready, who is still learning the slow magics. Doire Coill will fail, like so many of the other old places." He lifted his grizzled chin. "But not Thall Coill."
"You underestimate Keira," Seancoim answered quietly. "You always did. She’s been away from me and doing the work of the Protector for over two hands of years now. I see you still don’t trust Toryn and keep him close so you can correct his mistakes."
Toryn visibly flushed at that, and the bow came up once more. Sean-coim lifted his staff even as Jenna started to open Lamh Shabhala. "Do you really want to match our skills, Toryn?" Seancoim asked. "It would be a shame. Loman’s getting too old to begin with a new pledge-child."
Toryn glared; Loman spat on the ground. "Put your bow away, boy," Loman said. "Don't let him goad you into foolishness. It's not Crow-Eye you have to worry about; it's the Holder. Slow magic can't stand against Lamh Shabhala, even when it's wielded by a girl-child." I m not a child," Jenna snapped back angrily.
Loman didn't answer directly, but his eyes showed his contempt. "You misunderstand if you think I'm being anything but kind to you, Holder. I’d love nothing better than to see you fail here-with none of your own People around you. It's been a thousand years and more since a Bunus uintir held Lamh Shabhala. I wonder. . what would a Bunus Holder be able to accomplish? Perhaps the Daoine could be made to regret why your ancestors did to us, eh?"