S Farrell - Holder of Lightning

"Shut up!" Jenna roared at him. She ached to strike at him.

Mac Ard glanced at her, almost pityingly. "I love her mam," he said to all of them. "I would have loved Jenna as a daughter, if she would have let me.

I tried to be a guide for her, tried to be like a da. But she rejected all of that. Even her mam is frightened of her now-she would tell you that if she were here. Holding Lamh Shabhala has been too much for Jenna. It’s turned her fey."

"No!" Jenna lashed at Mac Ard with the denial, the power arcing around him, and throwing him backward so that he slammed into the base of the statue. He fell on his side on the ground. He spat blood.

"End this?" Mac Ard said, speaking not to her but to the others. He wiped at his mouth, trailing red over the sleeve of his leine. "Aye, we can end this, if all of us work together. Lamh Shabhala is strong, but not as strong as all five of us."

Mac Ard struggled back up, one hand on the centuries-blurred stone of the statue, the other still holding his cloch. His hair was matted and bloody, and his dark eyes were intent on Jenna. She could feel him reach-ing for the energy within his cloch. She started to reach for it as well, knowing she could stop him, knowing that it didn’t matter that O Liathain was preparing to attack as well. But the others. . Aithne was staring at her, and Moister Cleurach, and MacEagan. In the charged atmosphere of Lamh Shabhala, she could hear

them, could feel their doubt and hesita-tion.

"Aye," O Liathain said. "If we are together, one of us will be the new Holder, and I promise this as well: however it ends, whichever one of us takes Lamh Shabhala, I will take the armies of the Tuatha home. Remove the Mad Holder, and we will have peace."

There was the same hunger in all of them. Despite the strong ties to their own clochs, the lust to hold Lamh Shabhala was still greater. Mac Ard knew the desire better than any and had tapped it. Jenna felt the change. No one spoke, but in that moment, four clochs attacked as one. The strands running from them through Lamh Shabhala to the mage-lights brightened and came together in Jenna's mind as if like a sinuous, multicolored dragon. The mage-demon snarled near the statue, fire burned near her, storm clouds gathered and lightnings flickered overhead, even a pale copy of Lamh Shabhala appeared.

They came at her at once. Jenna tried to hold them, tried to turn the energy but still it came, the mage-creature raking claws over her, fireballs slamming into her, the storm thundering. .

A creature of fire arose, standing in front of Jenna, and it leaped at the mage-creature, taking it down. "I promised I would stand with you no matter what," MacEagan's voice said. "My wife."

With MacEagan's sudden defense, Jenna felt momentary doubt grip the others. Their attack, for a moment, faltered. It was enough.

Jenna imagined her hand, seizing each of the Cloch Mors and stran-gling the link to the power of the mage-lights, spilling the energy within them.

Savage, unfocused energy exploded, striking the earth around them, scoring the black rock of the statue, charring the trees at the edge of the clearing, hissing over the cliff into the cold ocean. Jenna held them all, and they could not escape.

"You've all betrayed me," she said into their fear and despair. "You've all shown your true faces. Now. . now is my time."

They were huddled together: O Liathain, Mac Ard, Moister Cleurach Aithne. Jenna reached out with Lamh Shabhala; behind them, the statue of An Phionos shuddered, tilting as she ripped it from the

ground that had held it for so long. She brought it high overhead, dirt and rocks falling from the encrusted base. Its shadow was dark and massive. In Jenna’s head, the dead Holders shouted: "Let it fall. . kill them. . you must smash them to end the threat…" And Riata’s voice: ". . you must live with what you do. ."

"All I need do is release the monument," she told Mac Ard and the others, "and this is over. Do you think, Tanaise Rig, that your armies will stay when

I return your broken and crushed body to them? Will they continue to fight when they see the full might of Lamh Shabhala before them, or will they flee back to their Tuatha like scolded dogs? Tiarna Mac Ard, I won’t have to worry about you ever again. Banrion, Moister Cleurach, I won’t have to wonder whether your advice and actions are intended to help me or yourselves. I’ll demonstrate to everyone- everyone-that the Holder of Lamh Shabhala is not to be trifled with."

The energy within her could no longer be held. Jenna shuddered with the effort of holding it. With a cry half of fury and half of pain, she smashed the statue down with all her pent-up anger. The cliffside shud-dered and rocks and boulders fell away into the sea. The crash was deaf-ening, the impact so hard that the massive stone of the statue itself cracked, a fissure opening along the creature’s back.

Jenna sobbed.

The others stared at the statue, now plunged at an odd angle into the ground back where it had been. None of them spoke. None of them dared.

Finally, Jenna took a breath. "There is always a choice, and we cloud-mages have chosen the path of vengeance and death too many times al-ready. I choose another. I was told that the First Holder can sometimes change the course of her time, and perhaps that can be done without the Scrudu. Tanaise Rig. ."

His voice was small. "Holder?"

"You said that no matter how this ended, you would take your armies back. It’s ended, and I charge you to keep that pledge and to add to it: swear that you will never lead another army here to Inish Thuaidh. Will you do that?"

"Do I have a choice?" His face was grim and

twisted, as if he were tasting sour milk. He glared at her. "Aye, Holder," he answered. "You have my word."

"Then go and keep your oath." Jenna closed her eyes for a moment. In the cloch-vision, she found the thread of his Cloch Mor and released it from her hand, letting it free. She heard a gasp and a cry, and there was a sense of something torn away from her, leaving her weak. When she opened her eyes again, O Liathain was no longer there.

"Moister Cleurach?" The old man would not look at her. "Stormbringer fits you. Take your gloomy presence back to Inishfeirm, with your pledge that you will remain there for the rest of your time."

Moister Cleurach nodded; Jenna released him and with a crackle of distant lightning, he was gone, and with him, more of the power of the clochs.

"And what of me?" Aithne asked. A wry smile touched her lips. "Holder, I'd tell you that I was sorry, but that would be false. I made my choice, too."

Jenna's eyes were still closed from the effort of releasing Moister Cleurach. Wearily, she forced them open. "Would you make it again?"

The smile wavered, then steadied. "I tell you 'no' as I stand here and I mean it. But I don't expect you to believe that. And if the moment came again, in a different time and place, who knows?"

"That, at least, is honest," Jenna answered. She took a long breath, considering. "The Comhairle must elect a new Rl," she said finally. "Once I would have said that you should take your husband's place and simply be Banrion. But not anymore. I ask for your pledge that the Comhairle elect someone more suited to the task."

Aithne glanced at MacEagan before answering. "I give you my word," she said.

Jenna turned to MacEagan, holding out her left hand to him. She hugged him once, fiercely. "Husband," she said, smiling. "I would send you back with the Banrion, with my thanks for your help."

MacEagan grinned. "It was my duty," he answered. "And my desire." He nodded to Mac Ard, going somber. "But I don't want to leave you with

"I hold him," Jenna answered, "and you’re needed more in Dun Kiil. Alby will be worried."