Thraisha grunted agreement. "He was right. But your blood runs strong with the Saimhoir strain and with the power of the mage-lights. You can stay this way until you will yourself to return to your birth form. But there’s danger in that, as well. The longer you remain Saimhoir, the more difficult it will be to make the change back. And I would believe that the longer you stay Saimhoir, the more likely it is you will lose the ability to use the cloch na thintri. Lamh Shabhala is a servant of the stone-walkers, not of the Saimhoir."
In the radiance of the cloch, Jenna could sense the faint stirring of the life inside her. She wondered what would happen to the child if she remained Saimhoir. "I need to go back. To Inishfeirm, perhaps." She looked at the cliffs of the headland, a hundred yards away from the rocks on which they lay. They were lower here than at Thall Coill-looming like a blue-green line of thunderclouds on the horizon at the end of the curving shore of the island-but still high. And beyond them, she knew all too well, were trackless miles of steep hills and drumlins.
She would be naked. With no resources but Lamh Shabhala. Without Seancoim. . The thought stirred the deep sorrow in her. You’ve lost the two people who cared most for you. You’re alone. Alone. .
Jenna found that while a Saimhoir could feel anguish and grief, they could not cry.
Thraisha stirred. "We could swim there, faster than you could walk. I would stay with you."
"I can’t ask that of you. You told me: the interests of the Saimhoir aren’t those of my people."
"You are both," Thraisha answered. "And we’re linked, you and I." She coughed, and the heads of two more blue seals broke the water near them. They hauled out of the water alongside Thraisha.
"It’s a long swim around the Nesting Land," Thraisha said. "Rest today, and feed yourself while the sweetfish are running. Then we’ll begin."
OWAINE often went down to the shoreline in the mornings. He'd help his da and his older brothers push the boat off the half-moon shingle where it was beached and tied every night, even though he knew that it was the burly arms and legs of his brothers and not his tiny form that was sliding the tarred and weathered wood along the wet sand. When the waves finally lapped at the prow, his da would ruffle his hair. "That's good enough, little one. We'll take it from here. Watch your mam for us until we get back." Then they would push the boat out into the swells, his da leaping into the boat last as his brothers rowed out a bit. He'd see his da readying the nets as the boat cleared the surf and headed out to the deeper water past the headland.
Owaine would watch until he could no longer see the boat-that would not be long, since his eyes were shortsighted and everything quickly became a blur-then he'd go exploring before his mam called him back to the cottage up the hill. Usually, he scrambled around the clear tidal pools that collected between the black rocks, trying to catch the small bait fish that were sometimes trapped as the tide went out, or poking at the mussels and clams. Sometimes he'd come across odd pres-ents the sea had tossed up on the shore for him to find: a boot lost by some fisherman; a battered wooden float from a fishing net; strange, whorled shells with enameled, sunset-pink interiors; driftwood polished by the waves and twisted into wondrous shapes.
Today Dwaine walked to the north side of their small beach, to where the waves broke against the rocky feet of the Inishfeirm. The wind was cold; the salt spray wet his hair and made him blink. Mam wouldn't let him stay out long today; he knew she'd be calling him back to help her and his two sisters: there was butter to be churned and the chickens to be fed. He half-slid, half-crawled along the rocky shoreline, wet to his thighs He thought he heard the call of seals just beyond a screen of boulders and he clambered over to them to see. Once his brothers had said they'd seen a family of blue seals on the shore, but Swain hadn't been there that day. Blue seals occasionally visited the island, he knew, and it would be exciting to glimpse them, since they were so rare. Bragging about it after-ward to his brothers would be best, though. . Maybe he could make it sound even more exciting than it was.
Dwaine pulled himself up the surf-slick face of the last boulder. Beyond was another tiny rocky beach. He caught a blurred glimpse of black fur sparkled with blue fire, but then movement at his end of the beach caught his eye. He gasped and nearly fell from his perch.
A young woman was standing there, walking out of the water. She was naked, her black hair hanging in wet, dripping strings, her body sheened with water. She seemed exhausted and her right arm appeared to be in-jured, scarred and hanging limp at her side. She wore a silver chain around her neck, with a pendant swinging between small breasts. To Dwaine, she seemed to be perhaps a little older than his sisters.
A naked lady on the beach was going to be a far better tale than blue seals, but he wondered if anyone was going to believe him.
He must have made a noise, for her head turned and she looked at him. "Don’t be frightened," she said, the words accompanied by a soft smile. Her voice sounded hoarse, as if she hadn’t used it for a long time. She made no attempt to cover herself; she didn’t seem to notice her nudity at all. She cleared her throat. "This is Inishfeirm, isn’t it?"
He nodded, wide-eyed.
"Good. I wasn’t certain, since I couldn’t see the White Keep from this side, but that’s what they said it was. Do you have a cottage near here?"
They? Dwaine wondered who she might mean but decided not to ask. Instead, he nodded solemnly.
"What’s your name?"
"Dwaine." He blinked as the apparition took a few steps toward him. He crouched, ready to jump down from the boulder and run. The woman walked gingerly, the way Dwaine did when he sat too long with his legs under him and they were all tingly and heavy. He decided he could stay where he was. "Dwaine Geraghty. Who are you?"
"My name’s Jenna. I need to go to the White Keep. Do you know it Moister Cleurach has
Dwaine shook his head. He'd heard that name, of course-everyone on Inishfeirm knew it-but his family had little to do with the White Keep and the cloudmages. He'd seen a few of the acolytes, even talked to them a bit when they bought the fish his da brought to the market, but he'd never seen the old Moister, who-his brothers and sisters all told him-was a cross and nasty man who sometimes liked to beat the acolytes with willow branches, just for fun. They told him other more imaginative and awful things about the keep and the Brathairs and their Moister and what happened to the acolytes there, but Dwaine wasn't sure how much to believe since, after all, none of his siblings had ever actually been to the White Keep. Still, some of it might be true and Dwaine couldn't imag-ine why anyone would want to meet Moister Cleurach, who seemed to be part monster.
Of course, this woman could be a monster herself, which might explain her appearance. . But the woman smiled again, and she didn't seem dangerous at all. "Don't worry, it's all right," she said. "How about you-do you have a home near here? Is your mam there?"
"She's back there in the cottage." Dwaine pointed to the whitewashed walls just visible high up in the green hills.
"Will you take me to her?" She seemed to have realized her state for the first time, one hand covering her breasts, her scarred and stiff-looking right hand over the dark fleece at the joining of her legs. "I suppose I need some clothes… "
Being in the White Keep reminded Jenna achingly of Ennis. She almost sobbed, seeing her own tiny room again. But Moister Cleurach arrived not a minute after the wide-eyed acolyte closed the door behind himself.
"I didn't think I would see you again, frankly," he said without pre-amble.
"I'm pleased to see you again, too, Moister."