Seancoim started up the hill, one arm around a bundle of dry sticks, the other around his staff. Toryn turned as if to follow. Jenna saw the intention in the younger man too late. "Sean-.’" she began as Toryn swung the heavy oaken limb he held. Jenna saw Seancoim fall an instant before the dull, sickening sound of the impact came to her.
Denmark screeched, diving at Toryn as Jenna tried to stand. She forced her right hand to move as Denmark raked its talons over Toryn’s cheek;
Toryn swung the crude club at the bird and missed. Jenna’s hand closed around Lamh Shabhala and she tried to open the cloch (the crow rising again in a fury of black wings, coming back to attack once more), but there was nothing there, no glittering store of mage-energy. Nothing.
The club swung again, striking Denmark down to earth in a heap of ebon feathers. Toryn lifted it again and pounded it back down on the small mound. As Jenna cried out, Toryn flung the club aside. He spread his hands: fire erupted between them.
He gestured toward the unmoving Seancoim.
"No!"
Small, tiny blue flames erupted over Seancoim's figure; thin tendrils of white smoke rose and began wafting away toward the forest. Jenna screamed again and started running toward Seancoim, even as the flames thickened and went to orange and yellow, as the smoke began to billow in earnest. Seancoim didn't move. Jenna could hear the flames crackling, burning as if Seancoim were made of paper and tinder. In the space of her first two limping strides, he was engulfed in an inferno. The impossible heat washed over her, and she knew no one could survive that. Toryn, already running up the hill, caught her before she could move again.
Jenna battered at Toryn with her fists, first trying to push past him to get to Seancoim, then tearing herself from his grasp and backing away from him. "Sometimes slow magic is quite effective," he said, grinning as she struggled. "Crow-Eye was a useless old man anyway, but he did make you quite a nice fire, don't you think?" She was still holding Lamh Shabhala in her hand, and she saw his gaze on it.
"No," she said in a voice that trembled. "It's mine."
His smile was lopsided. "I won't ask you to give it to me. I know that's something Holders can't do. But I will take it from you. It took me a full day to create the spells to hold the slow magic so I could use it at will, but I made two of them. Seancoim could have deflected the spell if he'd been awake-even old and decrepit, he was strong in the slow magic. But you don't have the slow magic, do you? All you have is a cloch na thintri that's been exhausted. I don't think a bit of fire will hurt Lamh Shabhala."
Jenna continued to back away. She was alongside the statue as Toryn glanced back at Seancoim. The fire was already dying. Jenna could glimpse a blackened, withered skeleton through the smoke.
"At least he was unconscious when it happened," Toryn remarked. "Can you imagine what it would feel like to be consumed while alive and awake?
Your flesh crackling and turning black like bacon too long in the fire; the fat of your body hissing and sputtering as it boils, the flames feeding on your face. Flesh gone, muscle and tissue seared and crisped as you scream and shriek in agony. ." Jenna continued to back away; Toryn stalking her, step for step. She could sense the air at her back, could hear the crumbling edge of the cliff under her feet. Toryn stopped. "Are you sure you don't want
to give me the cloch?" he asked, his hand held out to her.
"No," Jenna answered. She touched her stomach. "I’m sorry," she said.
Toryn seemed to shrug. He lifted his hands again, speaking a phrase in his own language. She saw the flames appear before him.
Jenna turned away. The cliff edge was two steps away. She ran toward it, and leaped.
She expected death.
The wind rushed past her, roaring. And she felt her body changing altering as she plummeted toward the water. Her cloca and leine slipped away, torn from her new, sleek shape by the rushing of air, and she fell naked to the waves.
She had almost no time to contemplate the alteration of her body.
Jenna hit the water with a stunning impact that ripped the breath from her lungs. She expected to feel the shock of the frigid ocean, but somehow the water felt impossibly warm and pleasant. Still, the shock of striking the surface nearly made her lose consciousness; she was disoriented, her sense of direction lost underwater. Her body, already sore and battered, screamed with abuse; her vision seemed sharper yet somehow distorted. She could see the wavering light of the waves well above her and her lungs yearned for air. She reached out with her arms and kicked with her legs to stroke for the surface. They responded though the feel was strange, and she could not see hands or arms even though the light came quickly closer. She broke the surface with a gasp, swallowing spray along with the wonderful cold air. She almost immediately went under again.
Something, someone was under her, lifting her. .
She emerged into the air once more, coughing and spitting water, and she was held up as she retched and spluttered and finally took another shuddering breath. A head emerged from the waves.
Jenna started to speak in surprise and relief-"Thraisha!" — but what emerged was a croak and moan. She looked back along the length of her own body.
The chain of Lamh Shabhala gleamed against black fur touched with blue highlights, the caged stone still with her. Jenna barked in surprise; Thraisha’s eyes gleamed; she almost seemed to laugh. High above them, at the cliff edge, Jenna saw Toryn staring down, his face pale. Thraisha followed the direction of Jenna’s gaze, her body rolling easily in the white surf. She spoke, but with the emptiness within Lamh Shabhala Jenna understood none of it. Thraisha started swimming, pushing Jenna’s body
in front of her, moving away from the rocks and outward. Toryn shouted something, his voice faint against the roar of wind and waves. Jenna tenta-tively tried to help Thraisha and swim on her own-the body ached and complained, but she managed a few strokes. They swam out beyond where the waves broke, and Jenna realized that Thraisha was making for the blue-gray hint of coastline to the south, where a tongue of land curved outward.
She could not swim long and had to stop, exhausted. Thraisha stayed with her, patiently keeping Jenna afloat on the waves. Swim and rest; swim and rest.
The journey took hours. The sun was nearly setting when they came to a table of low, wet rocks and could crawl out of the water.
"You threw yourself from the cliff a stone-walker and landed a Saimhoir." Thraisha seemed amused by what she'd seen. "Welcome to the sea, land-cousin."
The mage-lights had come; Jenna had been able to renew Lamh Shabhala, and with the cloch she'd regained her ability to speak with Thraisha. She was still in seal form-far more comfortable than any human one in this environment. She marveled at the new feel of the world around her and her heightened senses. She had never known that the taste of the ocean was so complex, that she could sense where the mouth of a river shed fresh water, or whether the bottom below was sandy or rocky, or where the kelp beds lay. Swimming unbounded by gravity was a luxuriant pleasure, the feel of the water against her fur like the stroke of a lover's hand. Underneath the water, she could hear the sounds of the ocean: the distant, mournful calls of whales, the splash of brown seals feeding nearby, the flutter of a school of fish turning as one, the grunts and chirps and clicks of a thousand unidentified animals.
Yet her new body retained marks of the old: her right flipper was scarred and balky, the fur marked all the way to her spine with the shapes of the mage-lights. She still ached, every movement sending a reminder of the punishment she'd endured.
"How long can I stay this way?" she asked Thraisha after she'd re-counted to the Saimhoir
what had happened since they’d last talked. "Ennis, he said that most changelings were either Water-snared or Earth-snared, able to change for only a few hours."