"Not the place you remember, is it?" O'Deoradhain ventured. "You're certain there are people here?"
"Aye," Jenna answered grimly. "Near the tavern,
I think."
"I'd be drinking if I lived here."
Jenna gave him an irritated glance; he stared blandly back at her. Turn-ing her back on the man, she walked quickly to Tara's Tavern. The village square was overgrown and shabby, but peat smoke curled from the chim-ney of the inn and she could smell bacon frying. The stone steps leading up to the door were achingly familiar, and she pushed open the door and entered.
"By the Mother-Jenna?" Tara's voice cut through the dimness inside, and the woman set down a tray of glasses with a clatter and a crash, and she came running from behind the bar. She stopped an arm's length away from Jenna and looked her up and down, her mouth open. "Would you look at you-all dressed up in a Riocha's clothes, and that silver chain around your neck." Tara's gaze snagged on Tara's scarred right arm, and the mouth closed. Behind her, O'Deoradhain entered, and Tara took a step back. "You've. . you've not changed a bit," Tara finished, and Jenna smiled wanly at the obvious lie. "Sit down, sit down. You and your..
companion take that table over there, or any you want. It's not like we're going to have a crowd, though once people hear that you've come back, I expect we'll see as good a one as I've had all year. I have bacon going in the pan, and good eggs, and biscuits I just made this morning. I'll get me tea for you… Sit.. " Tara turned and scurried into the kitchen;
Jenna shrugged at O'Deoradhain.
"It's a better breakfast than we're likely to have for a while," she told him. "If it's not our last."
Jenna sniffed. "I know these people,
O'Deoradhain. They're my friends."
"They were once, aye. But friendship can be as hard to hold onto as a salmon in a stream." He didn't say more, but slid behind the table nearest the door. She noticed that O'Deoradhain sat with his back to the wall where he could see both the door and the rest of the room, and his hand stayed on the hilt of his dagger. She took a chair across from him.
They weren't alone. There were two other tables occupied, one by Erin the Healer, who lived to the north of the village. He nodded to Jenna as if seeing her was no more unusual than seeing any of the rest of Ballintubber's residents. At the other table were two men she didn't recognize; travelers, evidently, since they had packs sitting next to their chairs. A head poked out from the kitchen: Tara's son Eliath. He was a few inches taller than Jenna remembered, and a new, puckered scar meandered from his forehead to the base of his jaw. "Hey Jenna! Mam said you were out here."
"Eliath! It's good to see you. ."
He grinned and came over to the table. He glanced at O'Deoradhain, and the grin faded to a careful smile before he turned back to Jenna. 'Good to see you, too. Everyone thought you and your mam were dead, when the Troubles started. Is your mam. .
?"
"She's fine. She's in Lar Bhaile."
The grin returned. "Lar Bhaile? That's where Ellia went. She married Coelin Singer, did you know that?"
"I know," Jenna said, forcing a smile. "I saw her, big with child."
Tara had come up with a tray loaded with steaming mugs of tea and platters of food. She set them down on the table. "You saw my Ellia?" she asked. "Did she look well? Did she ask after us? We didn’t. ." Tara blushed. "I’m afraid we didn’t part on the best of terms, and I haven’t heard from her since."
She looked lovely and wonderful and happy, and they’re living in a fine house in the town," Jenna responded, giving them the lie she knew Tara wanted desperately to hear. "She’ll be a mam soon, probably already is by now, since I saw her last a few months ago. Coelin’s even sung for the RI, and for the Tanaise Rig when he visited there. She told me to give you her love when I came back to Ballintubber and to say that she missed you."
"Truly?" Tara sighed. "I should go there," she said. "The Mother-Creator knows there’s not much here. Not since the Troubles and all the death. I should go and see her and the babe. And your mam, too. Maybe this summer, once the spring rains have stopped."
She wouldn’t go, Jenna knew. Like the rest of them, she would never leave Ballintubber. "I’m certain they’d love that. Both of them."
Tara nodded. "You know, Jenna, I thought you were sweet on that Coelin yourself. The boy had half the young women of the village hanging on him, and my Ellia no different."
"I didn’t have a chance with him," Jenna answered. The smile was difficult to maintain. "Not with Ellia."
Another sigh. Then Tara stirred. "But here I am prattling on about things and your food’s getting cold. Eat, and drink that tea before it turns to ice-it’s a cold day for the season, ’tis." Despite the words, Tara seemed content to stay there, standing before the table. "Are you back home? Will you be building a new place on your mam’s land?" she asked, and her gaze drifted significantly to O’Deoradhain.
"No," Jenna said. "This is Ennis O’Deoradhain, Tara-he’s a friend, a traveling companion. We’re going north-"
O’Deoradhain cleared his throat. When she glanced at him, he smiled, though his eyes glittered warningly. "-and east," she finished. "Along the High Road up to Ballymote, then on to Glenkille and maybe even across the Finger to Ceile Mhor."
Tara 's eyebrows raised at the names. "So far? Child, I haven't been farther than a stone's throw from Ballintubber all my life, and you're going all the way to Ceile Mhor? It's not safe traveling. Not any more. Not with the fighting and the lights in the sky, and the strange creatures that have been seen.
Why, only the other night, Matron Kelly saw wolves with red eyes and as tall as horses on the hill near her house. A pair of them, howling and snarling and frightening her so that she was afraid to go out of her house for days. Killed four of her sheep-tore their throats out and picked them up in their mouths as if they weighed nothing at all. No, I wouldn't be traveling. Not me."
The two strangers had risen from their chairs. They passed by the table as they left without a word. Jenna saw O'Deoradhain's gaze following them as they opened the door and went out.
"I see you still have people stopping at the inn," Jenna said to Tara, nodding toward the door.
"Them? They're the first in a week. Came up from the south, they say, from Ath Iseal. The High Road's not as well traveled these days. And not
much business of a night, either." She shook her head, wiping her hands nervously on her apron.
"Not since. . well, you know. That was a bad time when those Connachtans came raiding. Killed Aldwoman Pearce, and cut down Tom Mullins and all four of his sons not a dozen steps from here when they tried to help. And poor Eli; one of them opened up my boy's face just because he didn't move fast enough when they told him to curry their horses. It was awful. They burned half the houses, and some of the women they…" Her voice trailed off. Remembered horrors drained the color from her face.
"Aye. I understand," Jenna told her.
"We thought you and your mam and that tiarna were all dead, too. We saw your house burning like the rest, and those that went to look said there was no one there alive, though there were dead Connachtans and your poor dog. We thought you'd been burned with the house."
Jenna shook her head. She found she didn’t want to talk about it. The days when the Connachtans had swept through in pursuit of the mage-lights and Lamh Shabhala had damaged Ballintubber but not truly changed the place. Ballintubber remained sleepy and forgotten; if it was lucky, it might stay so. For the first time, Jenna saw just how much she’d been altered by the events of the last several months. She was no longer the person who had lived here. This was no longer "home."