Jenna glanced down the passage of the tomb. Multicolored light still touched the dolmen, brightening the valley. "The mage-lights have already returned," Jenna said, but Riata's denial boomed before she could finish.
"No!" he seemed to shout. "This is but the slightest hint of them, the first stirrings of Lamh Shabhala, the gathering of enough power within the stone to open the gates so that all the clochs na thintri may awaken and the mage-lights appear everywhere. For now, the lights follow Lamh Shabhala-and that is the danger. Those who know the true lore of the mage-lights also know that fact. They know that where the lights appear, Lamh Shabhala is also there. And they will follow, because they want to hold Lamh Shabhala themselves."
Jenna continued to shake her head, half understanding, half not want-ing to understand. "But why hold the stone if it's a curse?"
A bitter laugh. "The one who holds Lamh Shabhala gains power for their pain. Some believe that’s more than a fair barter-those who have never held the cloch itself. It’s the First who suffers the most, not those who come after, and you are the First, the one who will open the way. So watch, Jenna of the Daoine. Watch for those who follow the mage-lights, for they aren’t likely to be your friends."
Jenna thought of the riders from Connachta, and she also thought of Mac Ard. But before she could say more, Riata’s shape stirred. "The mage-lights beckon," he said. "They call the stone. Do you feel it?"
She did. The cloch was throbbing in her hand. "Go to them," Riata said. His shape was fading, as was his voice, now no more than a whisper. "Go. ." he said again, and the apparition was gone. She could feel its absence, could sense that the air of the tomb was now dead and empty. She called to him-"Riata!" — and only her own voice answered, mocking. The mage-lights sent waves of pure red and aching blue-white shimmer-ing down the passage, and Jenna felt the stone’s need, like a hunger deep within herself. She walked down the passage and out into cold fresh air again. The mage-lights wove their bright net above her, a spider’s web of color that stretched and bent down toward her, swirling. She raised her hand, opening her fingers, and the light shot down, surrounding her, enveloping her in its flowing folds. The whirlwind grabbed her hand in its frigid gasp, and she screamed with the pain of it: as the brilliance rose, a sun caught in her fingers, consuming her.
Hues of brilliance pulled at her. Knives of color cut into her flesh. She tried to pull away and could not, and she screamed again in terror and agony.
A flash blinded her. Thunder filled her ears.
Jenna screamed a final time, as the cold fire seemed to penetrate to her very core, her entire body quivering with torment, every nerve alive and quivering.
Then she was released, and she fell into blessed darkness.
Chapter 9: Through the Forest
"JENNA?"
The smell was familiar-a warm breath laden with spice. Jenna opened her eyes to see Seancoim crouching alongside her. The dolmen towered gray above her, rising toward a sky touched with the salmon hues of early morning, and Denmark peered down at her from a perch on the capstone. Jenna blinked, then sat up abruptly, turning to look at the tomb behind her. *Riata," she said, her voice a mere hoarse croak. Her throat felt as if it had been scraped raw, and her right arm ached as if someone had tried to tear it loose from its socket. She could feel the cloch na thintri: cold, still clutched in her fist, and she slipped it back into the pocket of her skirt, grimacing with the effort. Something was wrong with her right hand-it felt wooden and clumsy, and the pain in her arm seemed to emanate from there.
"You saw him?" Seancoim asked, and Jenna nodded. Seancoim didn't seem surprised. "He walks here at times, restless. I've glimpsed him once or twice, or I think I might have."
"He. ."Jenna tried to clear her throat, but the effort only made it hurt worse. She wanted to take her hand out from where it was hidden in the woolen skirt, but she was afraid.". . called me. Spoke to me."
Seancoim's blind eyes narrowed, but he said nothing. He opened the leather bag at his side and rummaged inside, pulling out a smaller leather container capped with horn. "Here. Drink this." Jenna reached out. Stopped. The skin of her right hand was mottled, the flesh a swirling pattern of pale gray and white, and the intricate tendrils of whitened flesh ached and burned. Her fingers were stiff, every joint on fire, and the damaged skin throbbed with every beat of her heart. She must have cried out, for Denmark flew down from the capstone to Seancoim's shoulder. The Bunus Muintir took her hand, examining it, pushing back the sleeve of her blouse. The injured area extended just past her wrist.
"Your skin is dead where it's gray. I've seen it before, in people who were caught in a blizzard and exposed to bitter cold," Seancoim said. Jenna felt
tears start in her eyes, and Seancoim touched her cheek. "It will heal in time," he said. "If you don’t injure it further."
"Jenna!" The call came from the ridge above them. Maeve and Mac Ard stood there, her mam waving an arm and scrambling down the slope into the valley, Mac Ard following more carefully after her. Maeve came run-ning up to them, glancing harshly at Seancoim. "Jenna, are you all right? We woke up and saw the lights, and you were gone-"
She noticed Jen-na’s hand then, and her own hand went to her mouth. "Oh, Jenna. ."
Jenna turned the hand slowly in front of her face, a contortion of pain moving across her features as she flexed her fingers slowly. The swirling pattern on her hand echoed the carved lines of the dolmen. Her mam took her wrist gently. "What happened, darling?" she asked, but Jenna saw Mac Ard approaching, and she only shook her head. He had the cloch in his hand, and he gave it back to me. . Mac Ard came up behind Maeve, putting his hands on her shoulders as she examined Jenna’s injury. Jenna saw Mac Ard’s gaze move from her hand to the carvings on the dolmen, then back again. For a moment, their eyes locked gazes, and she tried to keep her emotions from showing on her face. Watch for those who follow the mage-lights, Riata had said. She wondered how much Mac Ard knew or guessed, and if he had, did he regret not keeping the stone when he had it.
"I’m fine, Mam," she said to Maeve. "The pain’s easing already." It was a lie, but Jenna forced a small smile to her face, pulling her hand gently away from her mam.
"I’ll make a poultice that will take away the sting and speed the heal-ing," Seancoim said. "There are anduilleaf flowers still in bloom in the thicket near the camp." His staff tapping the ground ahead of him, he shuffled away between the barrows.
"Jenna," Mac Ard said. "We saw the lights. Did the stone. .?"
"I hold the stone," she answered, far more sharply than she intended. Belatedly, she added: "Tiarna."
His eyes flashed, narrowing, and his hands dropped from Maeve’s shoulders. "Jenna!" her mam said. "After all the tiarna’s risked for us. ."
"I know, but we've risked our own lives as well," Jenna told her, watch the wood. The last time I passed by the valley of the tombs, with a bright moon above, I saw him walking restlessly outside near the dolmen, look-ing up at the night sky. When you came, I realized that it might be that the Last Holder needed to meet the new First, so I made certain our path went by the tombs."
"You know about this cloch, then," she said. "He called it Lamh Shabhala. Can you tell me-what will it do to me? What does it mean to be the First?"
Seancoim shrugged under his furs. "I know the magic of the earth, not the sky, and they're very different. Jenna, it's been four centuries since the mage-lights last came, and you Daoine had Lamh Shabhala then. For the Bunus Muintir. . well, the last time we possessed the cloch you hold was not long after you Daoine came here, an entire age ago. and all the tales have been so twisted and distorted in the tellings and retellings that much of the lore can't be trusted, or is so wrapped with untruths that it's difficult to separate the two. Each time, the cloudmages must learn anew. I can tell you very little that I know with a certainty is true."