S Farrell - Holder of Lightning

Seancoim replied in the same language, and Jenna belatedly reached for Lamh Shabhala, so she could understand what was being said, gesture drew the attention of the younger man; he pointed to Jenna s a as he spoke to his companion, evidently noticing the scars there. He nocked an arrow and started to pull back the string of his bow. Jenna’s fingers closed around the cloch, ready to defend herself and Seancoim, but the older one grunted and gestured to his companion. The younger Bunus slowly released the tension on the bow, though he kept the arrow fitted to the string.

The old one spoke in the Daoine language, his voice even more heavily accented than Seancoim’s, his words slow and full of effort as he tried to find the words. "Go back,’* he said. "You should never have been brought here." He glared at Seancoim.

"She holds Lamh Shabhala, Protector Loman," Seancoim told him.

"I know what she holds, and I know who you are, too-Seancoim Crow-Eye. A Protector should stay with the forest he has been given to guard."

"My pledge-daughter Keira watches in my place," Seancoim answered. "I’m old, and Denmark is ancient for his kind. Soon I’ll be blind again. The Greatness has given me another task. Doire Coill is Keira’s, now."

Loman scoffed. "So Seancoim has abandoned his charge. ." He nod-ded to his companion. "You see, Toryn, this is what comes of being too close to the Daoine. You fail in your duty and give it over to someone who’s not yet ready, who is still learning the slow magics. Doire Coill will fail, like so many of the other old places." He lifted his grizzled chin. "But not Thall Coill."

"You underestimate Keira," Seancoim answered quietly. "You always did. She’s been away from me and doing the work of the Protector for over two hands of years now. I see you still don’t trust Toryn and keep him close so you can correct his mistakes."

Toryn visibly flushed at that, and the bow came up once more. Sean-coim lifted his staff even as Jenna started to open Lamh Shabhala. "Do you really want to match our skills, Toryn?" Seancoim asked. "It would be a shame. Loman’s getting too old to begin with a new pledge-child."

Toryn glared; Loman spat on the ground. "Put your bow away, boy," Loman said. "Don't let him goad you into foolishness. It's not Crow-Eye you have to worry about; it's the Holder. Slow magic can't stand against Lamh Shabhala, even when it's wielded by a girl-child." I m not a child," Jenna snapped back angrily.

Loman didn't answer directly, but his eyes showed his contempt. "You misunderstand if you think I'm being anything but kind to you, Holder. I’d love nothing better than to see you fail here-with none of your own People around you. It's been a thousand years and more since a Bunus uintir held Lamh Shabhala. I wonder. . what would a Bunus Holder be able to accomplish? Perhaps the Daoine could be made to regret why your ancestors did to us, eh?"

"What would happen to Lamh Shabhala after I'm gone isn't my concern, "Jenna answered. "If I fail, I fail."

"Then you have a death wish."

"I'm not afraid of death," Jenna answered. "I've seen too much of it"

Loman's eyes narrowed at that. "Maybe not such a child, now " he muttered. "But you've chosen a poor adviser if you're listening to Seancoim." His gaze went back to Seancoim. "You think she can survive Scrudu, Crow-Eye? You can look at this stripling and believe that?"

"Riata believes it," Seancoim answered.

Loman made a sound like a kettle too long on the fire. "Riata's long dead."

"His body, aye, but his spirit is still restless and he has spoken to Jenna. He seems. . impressed by her."

Loman snorted again. "The Daoine are a weak race. They conquered us only because they were so many and we were so few. They conquered us because their swords were iron and ours were bronze. But even with steel and numbers, they still wouldn't have won had our clochs na thintri not been decades asleep when they came." One shoulder rose and fell. "We would have pushed the Daoine back to Ceile Mhor and beyond if the clochs had been awake. But go ahead, Crow-Eye. Let her try. I think Toryn would be a good Holder, afterward."

The youth grinned at that, cocking his head appraisingly toward Jenna. "It’s about time that Lamh Shabhala came home to Thall Coill," he said. His voice was thick and low, blurred with the Bunus Muintir accent, a voice of confidence and certainty. "I’ll be happy to escort the two of you to Bethiochnead, and afterward. ." He grinned again, showing his teeth. "Lamh Shabhala will come back to us, and perhaps we can obtain a few of the Cloch Mor, then who knows? It may be that the Bunus Muintir win emerge from our forests and hills and take back what was once ours, an age ago." Dreams flashed in his eyes, widening his smile.

"Come with me, Holder," he said. "Let me show you Thall Coill.

It was Toryn who led Jenna and Seancoim through the trackless forest, Loman refusing to accompany them. "I’ve no interest in watching J° Daoine die," he told Seancoim. "That’s your task, since you brought here. And I’m too old to want Lamh Shabhala." The forest…

A spine-backed form slunk away through the snarl of seedlings to their right. A patch of moonlight struck blue highlights from a whorled shell taller than Jenna, glimpsed in a meadow bordering the shoulder of a black stream. The smell of sulfur and rotting meat wafted from a fissure bound in vines. Air colder than winter or the heights of the mountains spread from a pond whose glowing water was the color of buttermilk fresh from a churn. Calls and hoots and shrill cries erupted from the darkness around them.

And the tree-song. . Jenna heard the call of the ancient oaks, the green life in the most ancient and lost hollows of Thall Coill, a compelling whisper that rustled the leaves above them, that caused the oaks to bend down with many-limbed branches, that hushed the call of the mage-lights nearly invisible under the canopy of the forest. Thall Coill had a stronger, more insistent voice than Doire Coill, a call that echoed down in the very fibers of Jenna’s being. The voice of the forest awoke primitive echoes, as if pulling at impossibly ancient ties between the trees and her most distant ancestors. More than once, Jenna found herself straying from the path, wandering away as Seancoim and Toryn continued on. The first time it happened, Seancoim called to her, breaking the spell, and Toryn laughed. "She’s weak," he told Seancoim. "The Old Ones would snare her, and we’d find her bones years later, sitting against their trunks."

Jenna flushed, embarrassed that she could succumb to the trees' sing-ing, but she noticed as Toryn turned away that there were tufts of moss in his ears, and that Toryn pushed them in deeper as he strode away.

You're not the only one. . Seancoim nodded to her, with a quick smile; he had noticed as well. "Everything beautiful is also dangerous," he said to her before turning to stump along after Toryn.

As Jenna followed along behind them, she tried to see the forest with Seancoim's eyes. It was beautiful in its way, she had to admit. The oaks, their massive trunks wound with vines of mistletoe, with girths so wide that two people could not have encircled them with their hands, were survivors from when Thall Coill, Doire Coill, and the few other old growth forests had dominated all of Talamh An Ghlas, penetrating far into Ceile Mhor and even to the great continent of Thall Mor-roinn. The Daoine were still in their homelands then; the Bunus Muintir were nothing but a series of family-based clans scratching out a subsistence exis-tence under the trees, their culture just starting to coalesce.

Walking here, Jenna felt as the first peoples must have felt: insignificant arid small in the midst of this ancient life. The forest was a single creature, a vast and intricate organism in whose bowels she walked, and within its body was mystery, danger, and, aye, great beauty. If the forest desired, it could crush her with its sheer weight. It tolerated her because she was small to do it any real harm.