O Liathain, the Tanaise Rig, and Tiarna Padraic Mac Ard. And this," she swept a hand about to indicate the cliffside on which they stood, "is the place they call Bethiochnead, in Thall Coill."
Before she’d finished talking, she felt O Liathain’s Cloch Mor open; before he could use it, she clamped an ethereal hand around it, letting the power flow not to his stone but to her, the Tanaise Rig gaping in astonish-ment as nothing happened. The feel and color of the energy was all too familiar to Jenna, and she did laugh now, high and maniacal. "Why, Ta-naise Rig," Jenna said. The power of his cloch wriggled in the grasp of her mind, and she saw him grimace in pain and cry aloud, falling to his knees. "So it was you who wielded the mage-demon. I should have known. I’m sorry, I really can’t allow him to walk here."
Mac Ard and O Liathain were truly frightened; she could see it in their faces. MacEagan, Aithne, and Moister Cleurach seemed bewildered,
un-certain of whether they should attack the Tuathians or wait. Jenna could feel all the clochs; she held the strings to them in her mind like puppets, but they were puppets who had wills of their own and who fought the control. She could not hold them long, not when the energy ached to be used, rattling the bars of her mind. She heard her voice again. "Tanaise Rig, you were right to name me the Mad Holder. You were right to call me dangerous. But you want to know why you're here now, don't you?" Jenna realized she was babbling, but she had to talk, had to find some way to dissipate at least some of the energy or it would consume her utterly. "That's simple enough. I will have an end to this war. Now."
Mac Ard and O Liathain looked at each other; O Liathain had risen shakily to his feet again. His voice, even through the fear, was still oily and smooth and dangerous. "That's what we all want, isn't it, Holder? But it wasn't us that started this, after all. After Lar Bhaile…" A shrug; a glance at Aithne. "Even the Banrion understands that, I'm sure. After all Cianna was your niece." His gaze went back to Jenna, but he kept glancing at the others. "Killing us also won't end the war, Holder. It will only convince everyone of how dangerous you are. Everyone."
Jenna was trembling now. "I give you a gift for the sake of my children, though 1 don't know if you are capable of using it. ."Jenna closed her eyes, trying to stop the buzzing in her head. Her scarred arm felt as if it were aflame, the pain crawling along the lines the mage-light had carved into her flesh; she had to bite her lip to keep from screaming. She could tell that the clochs wanted to return to where they had been; it was only Lamh Shabhala holding them here. It was as if she had lifted all five of them into the air: if she let go, they would return, falling back instantly to Dun Kiil; but the effort of holding them was draining her.
"You are Tanaise Rig," she said to O Liathain, and her voice was a shout, tearing at her throat. "You will be Rl Ard one day. You can end this. You will end it, or-" Jenna stopped.
"Or you will kill him?" Mac Ard finished for her.
He stepped forward, putting himself between Jenna and the Tanaise Rig. One side of his mouth lifted. "I'm sure you could, Jenna. That seems to be your answer for any disagreement. Kill me, kill the Tanaise Rig. Then what happens when the Banrion or your new husband or the Moister do something you don’t like. Do you kill them also?"
"Be quiet.’" Jenna shouted at Mac Ard, wondering if he could even hear her over the shrilling, singing energy that filled her. The cloch pulled at her, struggling to be free of her grasp. The strain of holding them here was too much, too much.
"Don’t you see?" Mac Ard continued, and he was no longer talking to her but the others. "We are dealing with a rogue Holder. That isn’t some-thing I want to admit since Jenna’s the daughter of the woman I love, but none of us can deny it. She’s a danger to everyone around her. She can- she will-kill those she perceives as standing against her. She is mad. How long before it’s one or all of you that she turns on?"
"Shut up!" Jenna roared at him. She ached to strike at him.
Mac Ard glanced at her, almost pityingly. "I love her mam," he said to all of them. "I would have loved Jenna as a daughter, if she would have let me.
I tried to be a guide for her, tried to be like a da. But she rejected all of that. Even her mam is frightened of her now-she would tell you that if she were here. Holding Lamh Shabhala has been too much for Jenna. It’s turned her fey."
"No!" Jenna lashed at Mac Ard with the denial, the power arcing around him, and throwing him backward so that he slammed into the base of the statue. He fell on his side on the ground. He spat blood.
"End this?" Mac Ard said, speaking not to her but to the others. He wiped at his mouth, trailing red over the sleeve of his leine. "Aye, we can end this, if all of us work together. Lamh Shabhala is strong, but not as strong as all five of us."
Mac Ard struggled back up, one hand on the centuries-blurred stone of the statue, the other still holding his cloch. His hair was matted and bloody, and his dark eyes were intent on Jenna. She could feel him reach-ing for the energy within his cloch. She started to reach for it as well, knowing she could stop him, knowing that it didn’t matter that O Liathain was preparing to attack as well. But the others. . Aithne was staring at her, and Moister Cleurach, and MacEagan. In the charged atmosphere of Lamh Shabhala, she could hear
them, could feel their doubt and hesita-tion.
"Aye," O Liathain said. "If we are together, one of us will be the new Holder, and I promise this as welclass="underline" however it ends, whichever one of us takes Lamh Shabhala, I will take the armies of the Tuatha home. Remove the Mad Holder, and we will have peace."
There was the same hunger in all of them. Despite the strong ties to their own clochs, the lust to hold Lamh Shabhala was still greater. Mac Ard knew the desire better than any and had tapped it. Jenna felt the change. No one spoke, but in that moment, four clochs attacked as one. The strands running from them through Lamh Shabhala to the mage-lights brightened and came together in Jenna's mind as if like a sinuous, multicolored dragon. The mage-demon snarled near the statue, fire burned near her, storm clouds gathered and lightnings flickered overhead, even a pale copy of Lamh Shabhala appeared.
They came at her at once. Jenna tried to hold them, tried to turn the energy but still it came, the mage-creature raking claws over her, fireballs slamming into her, the storm thundering. .
A creature of fire arose, standing in front of Jenna, and it leaped at the mage-creature, taking it down. "I promised I would stand with you no matter what," MacEagan's voice said. "My wife."
With MacEagan's sudden defense, Jenna felt momentary doubt grip the others. Their attack, for a moment, faltered. It was enough.
Jenna imagined her hand, seizing each of the Cloch Mors and stran-gling the link to the power of the mage-lights, spilling the energy within them.
Savage, unfocused energy exploded, striking the earth around them, scoring the black rock of the statue, charring the trees at the edge of the clearing, hissing over the cliff into the cold ocean. Jenna held them all, and they could not escape.
"You've all betrayed me," she said into their fear and despair. "You've all shown your true faces. Now. . now is my time."
They were huddled together: O Liathain, Mac Ard, Moister Cleurach Aithne. Jenna reached out with Lamh Shabhala; behind them, the statue of An Phionos shuddered, tilting as she ripped it from the
ground that had held it for so long. She brought it high overhead, dirt and rocks falling from the encrusted base. Its shadow was dark and massive. In Jenna’s head, the dead Holders shouted: "Let it fall. . kill them. . you must smash them to end the threat…" And Riata’s voice: ". . you must live with what you do. ."