". . Good! Turn it inward. Inward…"
Jenna squeezed the cloch tighter, screaming against the resistance and the torture. She closed her eyes, crushing fingers together and shouting a wordless cry.
The sky went dark. The mage-lights vanished.
For a moment, Jenna gaped upward, back in her body again. Light flooded around her cupped, raised hands as if she were grasping the sun itself.
"Now," O'Deoradhain said, his voice loud in the sudden silence. "Let it
Jenna opened her hands.
A fountain of multicolored light erupted: from the cloch, from the scarred flesh of her arm, from her open mouth and eyes. It blossomed high above the valley, gathering like an impossible star for several breaths. Then it shattered, bursting apart into meteors that jetted outward along the energy lines of the other clochs na thintri, the star fading as the mete-ors flared and faded themselves, arcing into the distance and away.
There was the sound of peal upon peal of thunder, then their echoes rebounded from the hills and died in silence.
The valley was dark under a starlit sky, and the sparks lifting from their fire under the dolmen stone seemed pallid and cold. Jenna lifted the cloch that had fallen back around her neck-it burned cold, but it was dark. She marveled at her hands, that they were somehow whole and unblood-ied. The pain hit her then. She fell to her knees, crying out, and O'Deoradhain and Seancoim laid her down gently. "Riata?" she called out.
'He's gone," O'Deoradhain told her. "At least I think so."
"It hurts," Jenna said simply.
I know. I'm sorry. But it's done. It's done, Jenna.
She nodded. Her right arm was stiffening now, the fingers curling into a useless fist, sharp twinges like tiny knives cutting through her chest. She cried, lying there, and let O’Deoradhain place his arm around her for the little comfort it brought her. A familiar smell cut through the smell of wood smoke: Seancoim crouched down by her, a bowl in his hand.
"Anduilleaf," he said. "This one time."
Jenna started to reach for it. Her fingers grazed the edge of the bowl and then stopped. She shook her head. "No," she told the old man. "I can bear this."
What might have been a smile touched his lips beneath the tangle of gray beard. His blind eyes were flecked with firelight; Denmark flapped in from the night and landed on his shoulder. Seancoim dumped the contents of the bowl on the ground and scuffed at the dirt with his feet.
"You have indeed grown tonight, Jenna," he said.
PART THREE: The Mad Holder
Chapter 31: Taking Leave
A DIRE wolf howled its worship to the moon goddess from the next hill. A white owl with a wingspan as wide as a person's outstretched arms swooped down from a nearby branch and lifted again with a rabbit clutched in its talons. The wind brought the enchanting song of the trees at the heart of the forest. Mage-lights snarled the stars.
"I have to go," Jenna said.
Seancoim nodded. Denmark ruffled his wings on the old man's shoulder as Seancoim's pale eyes plucked moonlight from the air. "I know," he said.
"Do you know why?"
He sniffed, almost a laugh. "Well, let me see if I can fathom it… Because Lamh Shabhala aches to be used. Because Jenna herself is tired of hiding and sitting. Because you know that to the north are the people who are your father's fathers, and there also lies the knowledge that you lack as Holder. Because even though I tell you you're wrong, you're afraid that if you hide here too long, your enemies will come in too great a force for even Doire Coill to resist and you don't want harm to come to me or
the forest. Because the winter's chill is gone and the land calls you. Be-cause you see the magic at work here and want to see what it's done elsewhere. Because a blind old man is poor company for a young woman. Are those your reasons?"
Jenna laughed. "All but the last, aye. And more." And you'll be traveling with Ennis O'Deoradhain." It was more statement than question, and he was still smiling. "So that's the way it is, 'tis it? You've come to like the man."
"No!" The denial came quickly and automatically.
"Not at all. But he’s Inish, and knows some of the cloudmage ways and will help me get to the island. Do I trust him? I suppose I do to a point-he could have taken Lamh Shabhala from me easily when we were in Lar Bhaile and he didn’t but the man still has his own agenda and if I get in the way of that…" She shrugged. "And I don’t like the man, Seancoim. Not that way." And after Coelin’s betrayal, I’m not sure I’ll ever love anyone again that way, she wanted to add, but pressed her lips shut.
Jenna and O’Deoradhain had wintered in Doire Coill. Seancoim had scoffed at Jenna’s concerns that RI Gabair and Tiarna Mac Ard-or the RI Ard and Tanaise Rig themselves-might try to invade the forest. "The forest will take care of itself, as I told Tiarna Mac Ard when you first came here," he answered. "Now the magic is unleashed again, and the forest is more awake than ever. They bring their own death if they wander here."
And yet they had come. The mage-lights of the Filleadh had told those in Lar Bhaile where Jenna had gone after she fled the city. In the days immediately following her escape, troops were dispatched to search for her on the west side of Lough Lar and some even ventured into Doire Coill. As Seancoim had predicted, few of those who entered the oak forest returned. But strangely, after the initial fortnight, no one came searching at all.
Jenna had wondered about that at first. Then she realized. .
Nearly every night now, the mage-lights flickered in the sky, no longer only above the locus of Lamh Shabhala but from horizon to horizon, and the newly-released clochs na thintri fed on them. The Riocha were scrambling for possession of the stones-and learning to control them- which created such turmoil and contention that finding Lamh Shabhala and Jenna was temporarily a secondary concern. The night of the Filleadh, Jenna had opened three double hands of the major clochs (the Clochs Mor, O’Deoradhain had said they were called) and a hand of the minor stones-or clochmions-for each of the Clochs Mor: almost two hundred clochs na thintri all told were now active.
Nearly every night, too, Jenna yearned for the anduilleaf and the solace it would bring against the continuing pain of holding Lamh Shabhala. But Seancoim would not offer it to her again, and she
remembered too well the fog it had cast over her mind.
Little news reached Doire Coill from outside, but O'Deoradhain would sometimes go to search out a traveler alone on the High Road. He would bring back their tales to Jenna and Seancoim. Twice during their stay, other Bunus Muintir came to visit Seancoim-from Foraois Coill in Tuath Infochla, and the great island of Inishcoill off Tuath Airgialla-and they brought news of their own. Jenna knew from those contacts that word had been sent from Dun Laoghaire to all the tuatha that the Holder of Lamh Shabhala had been driven insane, that she had murdered a score of Riocha in Lar Bhaile including the Banrion Cianna herself. A hefty blood rice had been placed on her head, and it appeared that the Tanaise Rig no longer had any interest in his marriage proposal.
Jenna was now the Mad Holder, to be killed upon sight.
Two months ago, near the time of the Festival of Fomhar, the three of them had watched from the western fringes of Doire Coill as an army approached from the west and another marched out from Lar Bhaille to meet it. They had seen in the distance the smoke and dust of battle, and Jenna felt the surge of power from several clochs na thintri wielded as terrible weapons. From the travelers, they learned that other armies had been seen battling south and east, as well.