She put water over the hearth fire to boil, holding the packet on her lap and watching the steam start to curl from the small iron pot. When she heard the first chatter of the boil, she took two of the leaves, crushed them in her left hand, and sprinkled them into the pot. The bitter smell of anduilleaf filled the room and she sniffed it gratefully, already feeling the pain easing in her arm and shoulder. She poured some of the thicken-ing tea into a mug.
For a long time, she sat there, just holding it and inhaling the aroma. She could almost taste it. She felt her body yearning for the brew, her hands trembling around the mug, and yet she waited. She could hear the voices in her mind, the voices of all the old Holders.
… go ahead. I was a First Holder and it’s what I needed, too. .
. . aye, and you were mad with it a mere five years later, Caenneth-homicidal, fey, and insane, and hated by those around you. . I could take it or not. I was never in thrall to it. . that’s what you wanted to believe. . that’s not what they said after you were dead. . it was all that kept me from going crazy with the pain. .
The arguments echoed in her head, contradictory. Her arm throbbed and sent stabbing flashes through her shoulder and chest. Finally, she started to lifted the mug to her lips.
There was a harsh knock on her door. "Jenna! Please open the door. I need to talk with you."
"Go away, Ennis."
"Jenna, open the door. I'm not going away." Again, the knocking came. With a sigh, Jenna set the mug down and opened the door. Ennis walked in. His right arm was bare to the elbow, and she could see the markings of the mage-lights beginning to scar his flesh as it had hers-not as deep, not as defined, but they were there. Seeing her gaze, he rubbed at the arm.
"It aches and throbs when I use the cloch or call the mage-lights to me," he said. "But it's bearable. I don't hold Lamh Shabhala. I didn't have to open the clochs na thintri to the lights. I don't have to bear the power you wield." He glanced at the mug steaming on the table. "Is that what you need?" he asked softly.
"I don't know." She bit her lower lip. Her right hand was shaking, and she pressed it against her stomach. "I'm afraid, Ennis," she said. "It hurts so much, and the leaf. . the leaf keeps the pain away, at least for a little while, but I wonder… I wonder if I hadn't been taking it… the Banrion… I was so confused, so angry.." She stopped. Her breath was coming in short gasps, her chest tight. The room swam in unshed tears.
He was close to her, but he wouldn't touch her. "You can't change what happened, Jenna. You didn't have a choice then."
"But I did." Her voice was nearly a whisper. "And I have a choice now."
"About the anduilleaf?"
She shook her head. "No."
"The Comhairle, then?"
A nod. "I told Moister Cleurach. ."
"I know. And he told me. What do you think?"
Jenna lifted her head. "I think they're right. There will be war, no matter what we do, and if we strike first, we have the best chance of prevailing. I also I think it would be horrible and I don't want to be part of it. The clochs na thintri shouldn't be weapons of war, Ennis, but that seems to be all they're ever used for-to gain power."
"Then tell the Banrion and the Comhairle that your answer’s ’no.’"
"And there’s even more death as a result. Right here. For good or ill this is my home. This is where my ancestors came from, and Ballintubber’s lost to me now. The RI Ard and Tanaise Rig both stand against me There’s nowhere I can go in Talamh an Ghlas. This is my home, the only one I have. Shouldn’t I defend it?"
"You’re arguing against yourself, Jenna, and that’s an argument you can’t win." A gentle, sympathetic smile touched the corners of his mouth creasing his cheeks. His hand lifted, brushed her cheek, and fell away. "Listen to your heart. What does it say?"
Jenna gave a bitter laugh. "I don’t know. I can’t hear it through all the confusion." She picked up the mug of anduilleaf.
"Will that help you hear it, or just cloud your mind more?"
A shrug. "Right now, I need something to lean on. To help. This is what I have."
"You have me."
Jenna started to speak. Blood pounded at her temples. She took a breath. "Ennis. ."
His hand closed around hers on the mug, so tightly that she gasped. "If you need this, then fine. I trust your decision and won’t stop you. But I’ll be here, too. I’ll give you what I can, whatever you want to take from me. I’ll stand with you in whatever decision you make. I’ll. ." He stopped. He was very close, his green eyes not letting her look away.
"Let go of the mug, Ennis," she told him. For a moment, he continued to stare. Then he took a step back, letting go of her hand.
She looked down at the milky brew inside the cup, at the promise it held. Very softly, she set the mug down again. She walked over to Ennis, put her left hand around his neck and pulled his head down.
She pressed her mouth to his. He tasted sweet, and she opened her mouth to him, an urgency and need rising in her. His arms went around her,
drawing her close, his hands tangling in her hair.
Her lips clung to his, moist and soft, as he lifted his head.
"Jenna. .?" he husked.
"Aye," she whispered back to his question. "This is what my heart says. And for right now, anyway, this is what I want."
Chapter 43: The Dream of Thall Coill
SHE was there, in the upheaval and the blood. .
Sliabh Mlchinniuint, the Mountain of Ill Fate, burned as if it were an ancient, slumbering volcano come to vile life, spewing rivers of molten lava down on its blackened and broken slopes, the earth steaming with gray-white mists under the assault. Only this was no natural fury; this was the terror of a battle of cloudmages. Beneath black clouds the armies clashed, and she was one of them: an Inish clanswoman roaring her defi-ance at the armored troops of Rl Mael Armagh, shouting her hatred of the banners of green and gold gathered in a writhing island of steel and flesh in the valley below. She rushed down on them from the slopes among the hundreds of her fellow clansmen, her throat raw with the battle cry they called "caointeoireacht na cogadh," the massed sound of it like the thou-sand-throated scream of an angry god. Overhead, the cloudmages called down lightning and fire as great explosions clawed at the mountainside with shrieking hurricane winds and twisting black funnels. She and her fellow clansfolk slammed into the Infochla troops with an audible clash of iron on iron, bronze on bronze, the impact stunning. Her first slash hewed off the sword arm of a young Infochla soldier. The soldier-no doubt a pressman boy of no more than fourteen, his face still pimpled- screamed a thin shriek of terror and shock, the arm pinwheeling to the ground still clutching the sword, blood spraying wildly over both of them. A blow struck her from the side, the bronze shoulder plates of her leathers dimpling under the impact. She went down on her knees, crying out as she swung her own weapon, blinking away the blood and seeing the edge of her sword slice through the thin mail of her attacker and cut deep in his abdomen. She struggled to her feet, knowing she was screaming feeling the sound ripping her throat but hearing none of it in the ferocious din of the battle. There was blood everywhere and no way to know if n was hers or her enemy’s. She saw a flash of green and gold; she slashed at it blindly. All around her, Infochla soldiers fell, and still the Inishlanders pushed forward, trampling the dead into the mud underfoot. Above and around them, the clochs raged, illuminating the battlefield with their bright, awful lightnings. Something struck the ground near her with a deafening ka-RUMPH: she saw searing, yellow light and a dozen and more soldiers, Infochla and Inishlander alike, screamed as the fire consumed them in an awful moment, leaving behind nothing but blackened skele-tons that stood in an eerie imitation of their last poses for a few seconds before dropping to the ground like broken dolls.