patterns in the air. As they moved closer to watch, despite her determination to keep this a day strictly for merrymaking, the sight of the juggler made Jenna think of the choices she was juggling herself: to side with the Banrion and attack the Tuatha now; to go back to the Order and learn more from Moister Cleurach, knowing that the Tuatha would almost certainly invade the island; to seek the path of Thall Coill and the Scrudu, wherever that might lead. Perilous choices all, with their own keen edges ready to cut, and she wondered how long she could keep them all in the air before she had to choose one.
"He's good, isn't he?" Ennis said. Jenna started, then smiled at him.
"Aye," she answered. "He is." She dropped a morceint in the juggler's hat; the boy grinned at her and tossed the torch high, letting it spin several times as he struck the ax head deep into a small log standing end up to his right, jabbed the dagger point first into the wood alongside the quiver-ing ax, then caught the torch before it hit the ground and blew it out. He bowed extravagantly. Jenna and Ennis applauded, as did the small crowd that had gathered around to watch.
"You make that look easy. What's the hardest thing about juggling?" Ennis asked the juggler as he laid the smoking torch atop the log.
The boy chuckled and reached down into a large cloth bag behind him. He brought out three leather balls, juggling them high and slowly so that they could easily see the pattern. "There's just one ball in the air and two in your hands," he said as he juggled. "It's that simple." He stopped and handed the balls to Ennis. "Try it," he said with a grin.
"Start with two in your right hand and toss one of them high over to your left hand."
Ennis shook his head and started to hand the balls back, but Jenna laughed. "No, no, no," she told him. "You asked the question. Now you have to try."
Ennis grimaced. Standing spread-legged, he tossed the balls up in the air-right, left, right-and they all plopped immediately to the ground. Jenna and several of the people watching applauded laughingly. The juggler grinned. "You just have to remember that the ground always wins, Tiarna, Bantiarna." He reached down, flipped the torch up and caught it. The Mother-Creator designed our world so that when you toss some-thing up, it comes back down. That makes juggling possible, but it also Cleans that no matter how good you are, eventually you’ll make a mis-take.". He pulled ax, dagger, and unlit torch from the log and started the cascade again: ax, dagger, torch, ax, dagger, torch, ax-but this time they saw the dagger spin a little faster, so that it turned over one and half time starting to come down into the juggler’s hand blade first. With a comic’ expression of horror, he snatched his hand back at the last instant. The dagger clattered on the cobblestones of the street. "You just have to know when something’s about to cut you and remember to let it go," he said
The boy adroitly slipped his toes under the blade near the hilt and kicked the dagger back into the air-and suddenly he was juggling again Jenna and Ennis applauded once more, watching for a bit before tossing another coin in the boy’s hat and walking on. "I think you missed a career as a street performer," Jenna told Ennis.
"I think you just enjoy seeing me make a fool of myself."
Jenna laughed and pulled him close, hugging him. "I love being with you," she said. "I enjoy not having to think about anything for a few hours." She felt Ennis’ muscles tense under her hand. "What?" she asked.
They stopped. Ennis pretended to look at the cloth hung at a weaver’s stall. "I can tell you want to say something," Jenna said. "What?"
"I spoke to Moister Cleurach this morning, before we left."
"And?"
"He feels very strongly that you should come back to Inishfeirm. He believes that the more of the cloudmage discipline you can learn before the invasion comes-and we all know it’s coming-the better chance we’ll all have."
"And what does he think of the Banrion’s plan?"
A shoulder lifted his cloca. "He understands her position but doesn’t agree. No army’s ever come to Inish Thuaidh and conquered it. And no Inish army has ever left here to invade the Tuatha."
"No army’s ever had this many Cloch Mor with them," Jenna answered. "And no Rl Ard has ever put together an alliance of all the Tuatha, and if this one has… "
Another shrug. They moved away from the weaver's stall to the next, a potter's booth, bright with glazed mugs and bowls. Ennis picked up a bowclass="underline" golden brown swirled with blue. "So you agree with the Banrion. strike first before they strike us."
Jenna sighed. "I don't know who I agree with," she said.
"Attack first, or wait. You don't have any other options. At least none that I can see."
There's Thall Coill… she thought, but didn't voice it, forcing the thought away. The day was bright and warm, and the festival atmosphere filled Dun Kiil, and she wanted nothing more than to forget for a few stripes the decision ahead of her and just enjoy herself. Her hand brushed Ennis', and she tangled her fingers in his. "Shut up," she said.
He looked at her, startled, and saw her smile gentle the words. "We don't have to talk about this now," she said. "Tomorrow is soon enough."
"gut-" he began, then stopped himself. He took her hand and put it behind his back, pulling her close and kissing her. Jenna leaned into him, reveling in his presence, in the affection that radiated from him. He had, all unexpected, become her sanity in this. When she was with him, she felt complete, as if he been designed to sustain a part of her, as Lamh Shabhala had fulfilled another part.
It was never like this with Coelin. Never. This is what my mam must have felt for my da. . With that thought came its corollary: And what she feels now for Mac Ard, also. She recalled her last sight of Mac Ard, screaming with the pain of his loss as they left Banshaigh and Lough Glas. Jenna's fingers convulsed around Ennis'. He returned the press of fingers, his other hand trailing down Jenna's spine as he held her, and she let the memory go.
"Let's not talk about anything but ourselves today," she whispered to him. "Let's just enjoy this."
He grinned at her. "That sounds wonderful to me," he answered. He took a long, appreciative sniff of the air. "Smell that?" he said. "Someone's making milaran."
Ennis grinned. "You don’t know what a milaran is? Well, it’s time you found out."
Jenna would find that a milaran was a griddle cake made with honeyed batter and drizzled with molasses and spices. It was both sticky and deli-cious, and part of the fun of eating one was to lick the clinging syrup from each other’s fingers and mouth. They watched a street magician make scarves appear from empty boxes and coins vanish and reappear seem-ingly at will. They laughed and shouted encouragement to a pair of dwarves fighting a mock battle with wooden swords and groaned with feigned disappointment as their chosen champion fell. They listened to the start of a storyteller’s tale and helped fill his bowl with coins so he’d finish the story. They ate a midday meal at an inn near the waterfront, and in the afternoon went walking along the harbor way.
"Look!" Jenna said. "Aren’t those Saimhoir?" She pointed to a trio of dark shapes in the water, moving steadily toward the shore. The glint of blue highlights shimmered in their black fur. Jenna brushed Lamh Shabhala with her right hand and laughed. "Thraisha!" she called happily, then tugged at Ennis’ hand. "Come on!"
They ran down the wharf to where the harbor ended in a jumble of dark rocks. The seals were just hauling out of the water as they arrived, and Thraisha gave a warble and huff of greeting. Jenna held Lamh Shabhala in her hand, opening the cloch so that the cloch-vision overlaid her own and Thraisha’s words came to her. Thraisha glowed brightly in the flow of the mage-lights’ energy.