Small with distance, Seancoim beckoned at the cavern entrance, and Jenna ran back up the hill toward him, as if a hell hound were at her heels.
"So you do hear them," he called to her, as the crow swept around her again before settling back on the old man's shoulder. "Some don't, or think it's only the wind moving the trees. But they sing, the oldest trees, the ones that were planted by the Seed-Daughter after the Mother-Creator breathed life into the bones of the land. They remember, and they still call to the old gods. It's dangerous for those who hear: the enchantment in their old voices can hypnotize, and you'll find yourself lost in the deepest, most dangerous parts of the wood. Most who go to listen don't return."
Jenna looked over the forest, listening to the eerie, breathy sound. "Should we leave?" she asked.
The old man shrugged. "The unwary should be careful, or those whose will isn’t strong enough.
That last, at least, doesn’t describe you, now that I’ve told you the danger."
"You don’t know me."
"Oh, I know you well enough," he chuckled.
Jenna shook her head. The wind shifted and the tree-song came to them louder than before, the chant rising in pitch. "What is it they’re singing? It sounds so sad and lonely."
Seancoim leaned heavily on his staff, as if he were peering into the dark. "Who knows? I certainly don’t. They speak a language older than any of ours, and their concerns aren’t those of humans." He turned, and his blind eyes stared at her. "There are other magics than the sky-magic you can capture in a cloch na thintri," he told her. He extended his hand toward Jenna. "Let me hold it," he said to her.
Jenna took a step back, clutching at the stone hidden in her skirt. "I know you have the stone," Seancoim said. "I saw the lights over the hill there, through Dunmharu’s eyes." Seancoim pointed at Knobtop. "I could feel the power crackling in the sky, as it has not in many lifetimes, and I feel it now close to me. You can’t hide a cloch na thintri from me, or from any of the Bunus Muintir. I can feel the stone. All I ask is to hold it, not to keep it. I promise that."
Jenna hesitated, then brought the stone out and laid it on Seancoim’s lined palm. He closed his fingers around it with a sigh. He clasped it to his breast, holding it there for several long breaths, then holding out his hand again, his fingers unfolding. "Take it," he said. "Such a small stone…"
"I’m sure it’s not powerful, like the ones the cloudmages in the songs had," Jenna said, and Seancoim laughed.
"Is that how you imagined them, with stones the size of their fists hung on chains around their necks, the way the songs and tales tell it?" The crow cackled with him. "Is that the source of your knowledge?"
Jenna nodded. "You must know how to use the
cloch," she said. "You have magic, too: using the crow for your eyes, the way you broke the tiarna's arrow or how you knew I had the stone…"
"I gave you the answer just a moment ago, but evidently I need to repeat it: there are other magics than that of the sky." He stared upward, as if looking at a scene only his blind eyes could glimpse. "Once my people knew them alclass="underline" the slow, unyielding power of earth; the shimmer-ing, soft gifts of water. Some of them we know still. Others aren't for us humans at all, but belong to others, like the oldest of the oaks here in Doire Coill, or other creatures who are sleeping for the moment." His chin tilted down once more, and he seemed to laugh at himself. "But you asked if I know how to use your cloch na thintri, didn't you? The answer to that is 'No.' Each stone teaches its owner in its own way; yours has already begun to teach you."
"You talk as if the stone were alive."
"Do you know that it's not?" Seancoim answered. He smiled, a darkness where teeth once had been, the few teeth left him leaning like yellow gravestones in his gums. The wind died, and the tree-song faded to a hush, a whisper, then was gone. "There, they've finished. We should go inside-it's late, and there are things walking out here that you don't want to meet. Your tiarna will want to leave with the morning, and you need sleep after this day."
Jenna could feel exhaustion rise within her with Seancoim's words. She yawned and nodded, following the man through the cavern's entrance. Seancoim continued on into the darkness past the fire, but Jenna stopped. Her mam and Mac Ard were asleep, next to each other even though on different pallets. Her mam's hand had trailed out from underneath her blanket, and it rested near Mac Ard's hand, as if she were reaching for him. She could sense Seancoim's attention on her as she stared, her breath caught in her throat. She wanted to smile, happy that her mam wasn't ignoring Mac Ard as she had the others, and yet afraid at the same time, wondering what it might mean for her.
"She is a woman and he a man, and both of them handsome and strong," Seancoim whispered, his voice echoing hoarsely from the stones. "I can tell that your mam is attracted to the tiarna, even if she resists the feeling. That's natural enough. It's been a long time for her, hasn't it, to feel that way about a
Jenna swallowed hard. "Aye," she said. "A long time. I just wonder. . Does he feel the same? After all, he’s Riocha, and we’re. . nothing."
Seancoim took a step forward. Bending close, he seemed to peer at the sleeping Mac Ard with his blind eyes before rising with a groan. "I think he does, as much as he can. He’s a hidden man, this tiarna, but there’s room in him for love, and if he’s Riocha, he’s perhaps less prejudiced than many with his lineage. But-" he stopped.
"But?"
Seancoim shrugged. "He’s also a man with his own ambitions."
"How can you know all that? You can’t see… I mean, is that magic, too?"
"Perhaps." Seancoim grinned at her. "Isn’t it what you want to hear?"
"I want my mam to be happy. That’s all."
"What about yourself?" he asked.
Jenna could feel heat rising from her neck to her throat, her cheeks burning. Her mam stirred on the pallet, turning, her hand sliding away from Mac Ard. Jenna let go of the breath she was holding. Twin tears tracked down her face.
"Too much has changed for you today," Seancoim said. Somehow, he was standing next to her again. "Too much changed in the space of one sun." His hand went around her shoulder. She started to pull back, then allowed herself to sink against him, the tears spilling out. His chest smelled of herbs and leather and sweat. She clung to Seancoim, weeping; still holding her, he went to the box next to his pallet. "Wait a moment," he said, and lifted the lid. A sweet, spice-filled aroma filled the air with the movement. Inside were several small leather bags, and Seancoim shuffled through them, muttering, before snatching one up with a cry and handing it to Jenna.
"Here," he said. "One day, you will need this."
"What is it?" Jenna asked, sniffing.
"Brew it as a tea, and drink it, and you will forget
what is most painful to you," Seancoim told her. "There are some things that no one should remember, be it in song or tale or memory. When that time comes for you, you'll know."
Jenna glanced again at her mam and Mac Ard. "I don't think I want to remember today," she said, and the tears started again. Seancoim let the lid of the box close, sat on it, then drew her to him again. They sat, and Jenna stayed with him, crying for Kesh and her home, for her innocence and for her mam, letting Seancoim rock her until sleep finally came.
In the morning, Jenna found herself curled up on a pile of straw and old cloth close to the fire, which had dwindled to glowing coals. Seancoim's small leather bag was still clutched in her hand. No one else was in the cavern, and pale light filtered in through the entrance. Jenna got up, put the bag in her skirt with the stone, wrapped her coat around her, and padded outside.