"Holder," Loman said, but Jenna's eyes were on the boy with him, who would not look at her directly though she saw him glance with fright at the broken statue before sending his gaze back to the ground. She had expected Toryn to be with the old Protector, but this boy was blond and no more than fourteen, far younger than Toryn.
"Where’s your apprentice?" Jenna asked Loman.
"Toryn is… gone," Loman answered. His scraggly beard sagged as he frowned, and the boy with him shuddered. "When I learned what he had done to Seancoim Crow-Eye and you, I sent him to the oaks, the Old Ones. He feeds their roots now. I’m sorry, Holder. Seancoim was right; I chose poorly and taught badly for Toryn to do such a thing. Aye, I would gladly have allowed him take Lamh Shabhala if you’d failed in the Scrudu, but to kill Seancoim and to try to take the cloch by force…" He shook his head, grimacing. "I’m sorry if I’ve cheated you out of the revenge you might have wanted for that."
Jenna gave a laugh that sounded more like a cough. She gestured at the body between them. "I think, Protector, that I’ve had my fill of revenge."
The apprentice visibly brightened at that statement, venturing a small smile. Loman hummed, clearing his throat; his breath wheezed asthmatically. "Holder," he said. "How can I help you?"
"You know the way to the nearest Daoine village?"
A nod.
Jenna pointed again to Mac Ard. "Good. I know that you also know herb lore: I want you to treat this body so that it can make a long journey then take it to that village. Tell them there that the Comhairle wishes the tiarna’s body returned safely to Dun Kiil. That’s all. Consider it a partial payment for your poor choice of apprentice."
His eyes glared, a flash of irritation that he hid almost immediately "it will take several days to do as you ask," Loman answered.
"I don’t care," Jenna told him. "Do it." Neither of the Bunus Muintir moved. Neither of them seemed to want to be near her. Jenna lifted the cloch.
"Now," she said.
For an instant, she wondered if Loman, like Toryn, might try to use the slow magic against her.
But the ancient Bunus snarled something to his apprentice in their own language and the younger man moved quickly over to Mac Ard's corpse. He picked it up, draping the tiarna's body over his shoulder. His back bowed under the burden, he walked away toward the trees. "This will be good for the young one here. He has much to learn, and I… well, I don't have a great deal of time left to teach him." Loman bowed to Jenna, bending stiffly from the waist. "There is a cavern nearby where you can stay, Holder, until the body's prepared."
"I have my own way home," she told him. "Just do as I've asked." Loman nodded silently at that and turned to follow his new apprentice into the forest. Jenna watched until they had gone.
She wanted to sleep, to give in to the exhaustion and pain. But she forced herself to walk down the slope, away from Bethiochnead to where the cliffs lowered and she could find a way down to the water. She clam-bered down over the slippery rocks until the salt spray of the waves touched her face, refreshing her. The moon dappled the ocean as she stood on the rocks at the water's edge.
Not far out from the shore, a dark body lifted its head above the waves. Jenna heard the grunting cough of a seal. She brushed her fingers against Lamh Shabhala. There was barely enough power remaining. "Thraisha. .?" Jenna whispered hopefully into the wind, feeling the presence of Bradan an Chumhacht there.
"Not Thraisha," a voice said, the words sounding in her head as her ears heard more throaty gruntings. "Garrentha."
"Garrentha. I thought for a moment… "
Garrentha gave a bark, and in Jenna's head a sad laugh echoed, know," Garrentha said. "I was there at the battle, too, and we both saw my milk-mother die. When her body went back into the water, I saw Bradan an Chumhacht swim from her mouth, and I chased it and swallowed the power myself. I struggled with it for a day, then felt you gathering the power of the stones, and Bradan an Chumhacht allowed me
follow you here. A small foretelling…" Garrentha barked, and Jenna heard the laugh again. "I thought you would need me."
"I do," Jenna said. "More than you know."
"Then I’m here for you," Garrentha answered. "In that first foretelling, I saw more, as well, and I’ll tell you now: those who came here to wage war are preparing to leave. And tomorrow, the stone-walkers who live here will meet in their stone house."
"The Comhairle, aye. Kyle will be the next Ri," Jenna said, anticipating, but Garrentha’s head moved quickly side to side.
"They will not choose a Ri. They will instead elect a…" Jenna felt the touch of Garrentha’s mind on hers, searching for the word."… a Banrion to lead them."
"Aithne," Jenna breathed.
Again, a bark/laugh, making Jenna tilt her head in puzzlement. "No. Not Aithne herself, though the choice of person will be hers," Garrentha said. "But there’s time enough for you to worry about stone-walker things later. Now you should listen to the Saimhoir within you…"
Jenna nodded. She stripped away her filthy, tattered cloca and leine and pulled the boots and stockings from her feet, standing shivering and naked on the shore. She slipped the chain of Ennis’ cloch around her neck next to Lamh Shabhala and stepped into the water. The waves that lapped her feet were icy, and she drew in a hissing breath, but the cold vanished a moment later as she continued to walk forward, and suddenly she was no longer walking at all but diving into the waves.
Two sleek bodies swam away, black fur shimmering blue in the moon-light.
PART FIVE: Reunion
INISHDUAN was a barren flyspeck of an island pushing out of the waves halfway between Inish Thuaidh and Talamh An Ghlas. Over the course of history, it had been controlled by both Tuath Infochla and Inish Thu-aidh, but in fact no one much cared who owned the small tumble of rocks. No one lived there, no one visited except a few fisherfolk; the earth there was thin and unarable; the wind scoured entirely clean much of the single peak that formed the island. Someone had once tried to establish a herd of wild goats there; even the goats had been unhappy. Seals clam-bered over the rock at the shoreline while gulls, terns, and other seabirds nested in the steep cliffs rising out of the sea, spotting the gray rocks with white-the seals and birds seemed to be the only animals that much cared for the island.
Undesirable, empty, the isle was well-situated for this meeting. Stand-ing in front of a white tent billowing in the harsh, steady wind, Jenna watched the tiny rowboat approaching her from one of the two ships anchored just offshore, one flying blue and white, the other green and brown. A pair of gardai in green-and-brown cloca stepped out as Jenna's own gardai helped pull the boat onto the wet, narrow shingle. A woman was seated in the boat, stepping out once the craft was ashore. The pas-senger approached the tent slowly, and Jenna could see that she was hold-ing a baby in her arms. She seemed to glance from Jenna to the blue-and-white banner fluttering on the tent poles, then strode purposefully for-ward off the wet shingle, leaving the gardai behind as she came to a stop a few strides from Jenna.
"Mam. ." Jenna breathed. She started to move to her, to take her in her arms and embrace her.
Maeve had changed much in the intervening months. Her face was heavier and paler, the dark hair now liberally streaked with gray. Semicir-cles of brown flesh hung under her eyes, and she stared at Jenna with such scorn that Jenna stopped where she was, her hand still raised. Maeve's gaze went from Jenna's face to the golden tore around her neck, below to where Lamh Shabhala hung on its chain, and further down to her rounding belly.
"Married, and with child. A Riocha," she said. The last word was uttered as if it were a curse. "And more, They tell me you are now Banrion MacEagan. They also say that you rule alone, that your hus-band is not the Ri."