the seething well at its heart, and she seemed to stand on a precipice, looking down into a maelstrom, a thunderstorm so bright that it nearly blinded her. The well was nearly full now-no more than three or four more nights, and it would overflow, filling the cloch. .then. .
She knew what was supposed to happen, knew that Lamh Shabhala was to "open the other clochs na thintri." But she didn't know how, didn't know what that would do to her, how it might feel or how it might hurt her or what it would be like afterward. She wondered if Tiarna Mac Ard might know, but she couldn't-or wouldn't-ask him. She was grateful to him for what he'd done to save her and her mam, and she knew that Maeve loved the man and seemed to be loved in return, yet she found herself holding back when she might speak to him. There was no one she trusted enough to ask that question who would know the answer.
There were the dead Holders, of course. Riata she might ask, but she had nothing of his to bring him back; Eilis was too fey. Her da she'd already asked, but he had never held Lamh Shabhala while it was alive-he knew less than she did.
She trembled, looking down into the depths, at the raging energy trapped there. She ached to know, she needed to know, if only to steel herself for the ordeal.
She let go of the cloch, and the image of it faded in her mind, leaving only the darkness of her room.
She threw aside the bedclothes, shivering in the cold, and went quickly to the chest holding her clothing, pulling out the tore Cianna had given her. Her hands tingled with the feeling of the presence within it, and she thought she heard her name called, a yearning summons. They feel you just as you feel them. .
She went back to her bed, wrapping the quilts around her and snug-gling her toes under the heated plate of cotton-wrapped iron Aoife had placed beneath the covers to warm the bed. She placed the torc around her own neck, grimacing as the cold, burnished metal touched her skin.
Sinna. .?
Torchlight swam in the darkness.
Sinna, come to me. .
Jenna trembled, tugging the blankets tightly around her. She was in her room, but the portion in front of her was overlaid with a hazy image of another time. There, the fireplace was roaring; torches were set in their sconces along the walls, and embroidered hangings covered stone walls no longer plastered and painted. In the shadows, someone moved, a woman with plaited, long gray hair, wearing a leine of yellow under a long cloca of green. Around her neck was the torc Jenna wore and from Under the gold a fine chain held Lamh Shabhala. She stepped forward into the firelight, and Jenna saw that her movements were slow, her pos-ture stooped, her face lined with the furrows of age. Her right arm was marked to the elbow with swirling curves of scars, in the pattern Jenna knew all too well.
"Ahh," the specter said, looking around. "I remember this room, though it’s much changed. So it’s happening to me, now-new Holders are calling me back." The smile was bittersweet. "I’m to be used as I once used others." Jenna felt the touch of the woman’s mind on her own, and at the same time Jenna reached into her. "You’re Jenna. . and a First."
"Aye. And you’re Sinna."
The woman nodded. "Aye. And long dead, it would seem. Nothing more than dust and a memory. Have you called me back before?"
Jenna shook her head, and the apparition sighed. "Good," she said. "At least I’m not replaying an old scene. I always hated that, myself, having to explain again who I was and what I knew. No wonder the dead are often so angry and dangerous. You’ve already learned to keep most of your mind closed off, so I assume at least one of us has given you a nasty fright before. And the cacophony of voices within the cloch…" She shivered and yawned. "It’s summer here, and I’m still cold, and every joint in my body is aching. Being old is worse than being dead…" She shook herself out of her reverie and peered at Jenna again. "You’re young, though-have they married you off yet, Jenna? Is that why you’re here in Lar Bhaile’s Keep?"
"No," Jenna answered. "And they won’t marry me against my will. I won’t allow it."
Sinna laughed at that, her voice husky. "Then you do live in a different age. In my time, you were
fortunate if you married for love. I was lucky enough to have loved once: my dear, poor Ailen, who gave me this." She lifted the cloch, and at the same time, Jenna felt Lamh Shabhala pulse on her own chest, as if the cloch remembered the touch. "But the second time. . Well, a Holder is a political prize, and Teador Mac Ard was Rl."
It gave Jenna a strange satisfaction to learn that Sinna hadn't fallen in love with Teador, as Padraic had told them, that it had only been a mar-riage of convenience. "You were the Holder of Lamh Shabhala. How could they make you marry him?"
Sinna shrugged. "I suppose they couldn't, not if I utterly refused. But a Holder who is a woman must also know how to play the game, if she wishes to stay the Holder. A Banrion is a powerful thing, too, and to be both Holder and Banrion. ." Sinna smiled. "Teador and I found love elsewhere, but we were well suited to be Ri and Banrion. What we had wasn't love, but we understood each other well enough, and for the most part we both wanted the same things. That was enough. And when my daughter was old enough, we used her to strengthen an alliance." She sighed and smiled inwardly, then her gaze focused on Jenna, who saw hat one eye was cloudy and white with a cataract. "Why did you call me back First Holder? What is it you wanted to ask me? Ask, and let this ghost go back to sleep."
Jenna flipped away the bed quilts. Suppressing a shiver as the cold air touched her, she swung her legs over the side of the bed and walked to where the old woman stood. "I'm First, as you said. And the other cloch na thintri aren't yet opened. I want… I want to know what will happen when Lamh Shabhala is full and wakes the other stones."
"No one has told you?"
"They hint, but they don't say. Or perhaps they truly don't know," Jenna answered. "I've even talked to the Ald here. He says he doesn't know-it's been so long since the mage-lights came that the knowledge is lost."
Sinna sighed. Her hand lifted as if she were about to touch Jenna, then dropped back. "So they do use you," she said. Her voice was soft. "Your time isn't so much different, then. I wasn't a First, Daughter. When I held Lamh Shabhala, the clochs had been active for generations and genera-tions, nearly all the way back to when the first Daoine came to this
land. I can’t help you with that…" She stopped, turning slightly from Jenna and holding her hands out to the image of the fire, as if warming them. "Tell me, did I give the cloch to Bryth, or did someone else take it?"
"No," Jenna answered. "Bryth was the next Holder, and her son after that, your grandson."
Sinna nodded, firelight reflecting on her wrinkled skin and over the coarse gray hair. "That’s good to know," she said. "It’s a comfort, even though I’ll forget as soon as you release me. I’m going to Tuath Infochla in a fortnight to meet her, and I intend to pass it to her then. So it seems I manage to do so."
"Another Mac Ard would like to hold Lamh Shabhala now," Jenna said, and with that Sinna turned back to her. "Ahh. ." she breathed. "So the line continues."
’Not Bryth’s," Jenna told her. "Your son’s. Slevin."
Her face changed with that, as if she’d tasted sour fruit. "Slevin," she said, and the word sounded harsh and bitter. "Strange how distant we can become from our own children. ." She stopped. "Jenna, do you feel that?"
"What?"
Sinna turned, her half-blind eyes peering toward the south window of the room. "Perhaps I can teach you something after all. See with the cloch, Jenna. Imagine. . imagine that your skin is alive with its power, that it’s like a shell around you, expanding, and you can feel everything that it touches, can see the shape of it as the power within you wraps around it. Can you do that?"