S Farrell - Holder of Lightning

Maeve nodded, mute. Her eyes were wide and almost timid as she stared at her daughter. "Jenna.

" she breathed, but Jenna shook her head.

Cradling her right arm in her lap, she flicked the reins with her left hand, going to Mac Ard. He was standing, his sword now held in his left hand, the point dragging on the ground, a spreading pool of dark wetness soaking his cloca at the right arm. Another cut spread a fan of blood across his forehead.

"You look awful," she said to him. "Padraic."

A fleeting smile touched his lips and vanished.

"You haven't seen your-self, Jenna. I can ride, though. And we need to do that before those other riders decide to come back. Where's that bastard O'Deoradhain?"

Jenna pointed away south, where a distant rider pounded away across the moonlit fields. Mac Ard spat once in the man's direction. Maeve came riding up, holding the reins to the tiarna's horse. She dismounted and went to Mac Ard. "We're binding this first," she said. "Riders or not, you're losing too much blood, Padraic. Jenna can watch for the attackers."

She looked up at Jenna, who nodded. "I'm. . fine for now, Mam," she said, hoping it was true. The edges of her vision had gone dark, and her arm radiated agony as if the very bones had been shattered. She took deep, slow breaths of the cold night air-keep the pain to one side-and forced herself to sit upright. If the riders returned, she wasn't sure she could use the cloch again. She thought of the anduilleaf in the pack: As soon as we get to the town, you can have some, and that will keep the pain away. . "Go on. But you need to hurry, Mam. ."

Maeve tore strips from her skirt hem, bandaging Mac Ard's arm and strapping the arm to his chest. "That will need to be stitched when we reach town, but it will do for now. Can you mount, Padraic?"

In answer, Mac Ard grasped the saddle with his left hand, put his foot in the stirrup and pulled himself up with a grimace. Astride, he looked around them: the empty-saddled horses now standing a hundred yards down the road, the bladeless hilts on the road, the broken bodies of the two men sprawled in the awkward poses of the dead in the field, the black furrow torn in the ground up the slope from them.

"So much for keeping this a secret," he said.

Chapter 14: Ath Iseal

JENNA could not imagine a city larger than Ath Iseal. To her eyes, which had seen only Ballintubber, the town was vast, noisy, and impos-sibly crowded, though she knew that Lar Bhaile, to the south on the east side of Lough Lar, was the size of several Ath Iseals put together.

They ran into a squadron of men in green and brown, hurrying across the ford and up the road, having seen the lightnings and heard the fight-ing. On meeting Tiarna Mac Ard, three of the soldiers accompanied them across the ford, while the rest of the small force rode west in pursuit of the Connachtans. Tiarna Mac Ard, Maeve, and Jenna were taken to the Ri’s House-lodgings reserved for the RI Gabair should he come to Ath Iseal-and healers were sent for. Servants brought food and drink, and baths were prepared.

Jenna slept more soundly that night than she had since they’d left Bal-lintubber: only six days ago now, though it seemed far longer to her. When she awoke the next day, the sun was already high in the sky, masked by scudding gray rain clouds. She stood at the window, a blanket wrapped around her, shivering and yet delighting in the sharp cold and the fresh smell of the rain. The Ri’s House had been built on top of the river bluff, and from her window, Jenna looked down on the clustered town. She’d never seen so many buildings in one place, all crowded to-gether as if desperately seeking each other’s company, the streets between ’ them busy with people moving from place to place. A market square was just off to her left and down, packed with street vendors and buyers, bright with the awnings of the stalls. The sound of vendors’ calls and high-pitched bartering came to her on the air.

For a moment, looking at the untroubled life below, she could almost forget the events of the past fortnight. But a twinge of pain from her arm brought back the memories, and she stepped away from the window again. She must have cried out, for someone knocked at the door to the room. "Young miss, are you awake? May I come in?"

"Aye," Jenna answered. "Come in."

The door opened, and a young woman no older than Jenna entered, bearing a tray with a steaming pot, a cup, and tea. A tentative smile was on her plain face, but there was also caution in her eyes as she set the tray down on the bedside table and bustled about the room, pulling clothing from a

chest at the foot of the bed. She kept looking at Jenna as if Jenna" were some sort of mythical beast, or as if she were afraid that Jenna might suddenly order her head lopped off.

"Here, Bantiarna. This will be good; see how the brown matches your eyes? The tiarna's already been to breakfast, and the other bartiarna, too-she's your mam, isn't she? I think she's very lovely, not at all like my own mam-but they asked that you come to them when you wake. The healer will be back here in just a bit to look at your arm again; I'll make sure someone runs to find him as soon as I leave you. That arm of yours must hurt, the way it's wrapped. Did it give you problems sleeping? You've evidently been through a terrible fight, from what I've heard. Goodness, the rumors that have been flying around here all morning. ."

As the woman spoke, all seemingly in one gigantic breath, Jenna felt her arm cramp and tighten, her hand clenching involuntarily into a fist. She felt for the cloch-it was still there, hidden, and the feel of it caused her hand to relax, though the pain still radiated through her shoulder and into her chest. The servant was looking at her strangely, her mouth open though the words had stopped spilling out for the moment.

"Leave me," Jenna said abruptly before the young woman could take another breath and begin another monologue. "Those clothes are fine; I won't need your help."

The servant blanched, her face going white. "Young miss, if I've of-fended-"

Jenna waved her good hand to stop her. "You haven't. I just… I'd prefer to dress alone. Tell my mam and the tiarna that I'll be down shortly." She opened the door. "Please," she said, gesturing.

With a nod and bow, the servant left. Jenna closed the door behind her. She went to her pack, sitting at the side of the bed, and rummaged through it until she found the pouch of anduilleaf. She crumbled a bit of the herb and set it steeping in the teapot, then sank down on the bed. The bittersweet scent of anduilleaf wafted through the room, and that alone seemed to ease the pain a bit. For long minutes, she simply lay there, eyes closed, feeling the pain slowly lessen until she found she could move the fingers of her right hand again, then she went and poured her-self a cup of the brew. As she drank, she pulled

Eilis’ ring from the pocket, looking at it and turning it in her hand. She needed to know more, but she didn’t place the ring on her finger, uncertain. The specter of the an-cient Holder had seemed so bitter, so fey. Not someone Jenna would vol-untarily choose as an adviser. Come to where a Holder’s body rests, or touch something that was once theirs, and they can speak with you, if you will it. With the memory of Eilis’ words, Jenna sat up. She finished the anduilleaf tea, dressed quickly, and left her room.

She found her mam and Mac Ard in a parlor room leading out into an interior garden court, though when Jenna-directed by another servant- passed through it to get to the tiarna’s room, she found most of the plants were now brown and dead. The doors were shut, and a fire was roaring in the hearth. Mac Ard was standing near the fire, one arm still bound to his body and another bandage over his forehead. Maeve was sitting near him.