S Farrell - Holder of Lightning

The bridge fell, with the first of the riders on it. Horses and men screamed as they pinwheeled in air to the bottom of the ravine and crashed against the stones of Deer Creek.

There was a stunning silence. A gout of dust rose from the deep cleft-a gaped. The gardai trapped on the far side stared down at the broken bodies of their companions.

O’Deoradhain alone was free of the stasis. Jenna saw him move, heard groan with effort and pain as he pulled himself with his one good m onto her horse, even as Jenna swayed and nearly fell. His arms went round her, taking the reins. He slapped them against the stallion’s neck, kicked at its massive chest. "Go!" he shouted, wheeling the horse around.

Even as the first arrows arced toward them from across the ravine, they were galloping away toward the town, the onlookers staring in terror and fright. They fled.

Chapter 28: A Return

JENNA remembered little of the flight from Lar Bhaile, where O’Deoradhain took her or how they came to leave. There were flashes of images:

. . du Val, his face peering down at her concernedly. His mouth moved, but she heard nothing of what he said. There was another face behind the ugly dwarfs-O’Deoradhain? — and Jenna tried to struggle up, but hands held her firmly. .

. . the pain as she was lifted. She could see nothing, but she could feel herself moving. There

were voices: "We can't stay here. They'll be scouring the town in an hour. Not only the keep's gardai, but the Rl Ard's garrison as well" Another voice spoke. "A carriage, then? She can't ride, certainly." The first voice answered. "No, they'll be watching the High Road. If we could get across the lough… "

… a gentle rocking motion, the creaking of wood, the splashing of water and the smell of damp and fish. She looked up and saw stars above her, swaying softly…

There were still stars, and the smell of the lough and the sound of canvas rippling in a wind. Jenna sat up. She was in a small boat, a single small sail billowing in the cold night breeze. She was wrapped in blankets and she hugged them around her against the frigid air. O'Deoradhain was seated in the stern of the boat, the tiller in his hand, his left arm still bandaged tightly against his chest. Ahead, the shore was no more than a quarter mile distant. "Where?" was all she could manage to say. Her throat was raw and burning; the headache still pounded with every beat of her heart, and she wasn't certain she could move her right arm; it seemed dead- She touched her neck with her other hand: Lamh Shabhala was still there on its chain-that, at least, gave momentary relief. O'Deoradhain hadn't taken it from her.

"Nearly on the western shore of Lough Lar," O'Deoradhain answered. "And a bit north of Lar Bhaile as well. I've been looking for a good, low shingle where we can land."

"Anduilleaf… I need it…"

O'Deoradhain shook his head. "Don't have it. Du Val took it."

Jenna shivered at that. Anger burned, and she started to lift her hand to the cloch, but weariness overcame her. She sank back. "I'll die," she whispered. "I hurt so much."

"You might wish you died, but you won't. Not from the pain of Lamh Shabhala or withdrawal from the leaf. Perhaps from the Ri's soldiers, if they find us."

She remembered, suddenly, O'Deoradhain standing before the bridge, and it falling. . "The bridge," she said. "You said you knew other magics, but you also said they were slow and weaker. That was neither slow nor weak."

If Jenna’s praise pleased him, he didn’t show it.

His face was grim and sad. "Aye, much slower and weaker they are. But that spell was set earlier, before we met in the ravine and once the keystones were gone on the arches, the bridge itself did the rest. I thought that if we were to need to flee from the keep, that we would also need a way to slow up the pursuit. The spell took several at least a candle stripe or two of preparation, but then it was already done and set-all I had to do was speak the words."

He lifted his head to scan the shore, turning the tiller and adjusting the sail. "There, that’s as good a spot as we’re likely to find." A few minutes later, the keel grated on a tiny, pebbled beach along a small cove. Starlight dappled the tops of the trees on the shore while they held impenetrable darkness underneath, but across the lough and to the south, Jenna could see the yellow light of Lar Bhaile. O’Deoradhain leaped from the boat into the shallow water. Extending his good hand, he helped Jenna from the craft.

"I can’t walk far," she told him.

"I know, but come dawn we’d be all too visible on the lough’s shore." ’They’ll see the boat anyway and know where we landed." O’Deoradhain shook his head. "No," he said simply. He helped her up the bank to dew-wet grass. Then he went back down to the beach and shoved the prow of the boat away from shore. Jenna heard the bottom of the craft grinding against the bed of the lough, yet the boat continued to move outward. She saw two dark forms, blacker than the night, break the water’s surface alongside the hull. Blue light shimmered from their bodies Water splashed, the foam white, and the boat moved out into deeper water, floating free. The bow turned and faced south and east and it began to move away from them. O’Deoradhain came back to her and stood watching until they could no longer see the boat past the bend of the shore. He said nothing; Jenna decided she would not, either, though she wondered: Were those seals? O’Deoradhain held out his hand to her. "We need to go as far as we can tonight," he said. "They’ll find the boat tomor-row just south of Lar Bhaile, on the eastern side. If the Mother-Creator smiles on us, it will be a few days before they start looking on the western shore."

"And where are we going?"

O'Deoradhain shrugged. "North. To Inish Thuaidh."

"No," Jenna said.

"No?" In the darkness, it was difficult to see his face, but Jenna could hear his scowl and sigh of exasperation. "Holder, in the morning, all of Gabair will be out looking for you. When word reaches Dun Laoghaire, the Rl Ard will have his troops sent searching as well, and Tuath Con-nachta might very well consider this a wonderful opportunity to come look for you themselves. The other tuatha may do the same. Your only safety is to be gone from here as quickly as we can, and Inish Thuaidh is where you can best learn to use the power you have."

"No," Jenna repeated. She looked up, to where the wind tousled the heads of the trees. She could see nothing but the night sky and stars above them, but she could feel the first shy touch of mage-lights at the zenith. She knew that they would appear soon, no more than two stripes from now, and she was tired. So tired. No! she wanted to scream to them. Not tonight. I can't. .

She struggled to her feet, staring into the darkness of the trees. She remembered other trees, the dark twisted oaks that stretched close to the shore of the lough, Seancoim's tenderness and aid… "I'm going to Doire Coill."

O'Deoradhain loosed a scoffing breath. "I didn't snatch you from the Ri's gardai to have you die under the haunted oaks."

Jenna shrugged. She took a halting step-it took more effort than she thought. "I've been through those oaks once before. I think I'm safer there than on the road. If you don't want to come with me, then I'll thank you for your rescue, Ennis O'Deoradhain, and may the path to your home be easy." Another step. She forced herself to stay upright. She turned toward the trees and forced her legs to keep moving. Suddenly she felt O'Deoradhain beside her, his hand under her arm, supporting her. When she glanced at him, he was shaking his head.

"Is it true, what they say of Doire Coill?" he asked.

Jenna nodded. "Aye. And yet no. The forest is old and alive in a way that other woods are not, and things live there that are dangerous. But Doire Coill is also beautiful, and none of the tales that I heard ever spoke of that. I have a friend there…" She closed her eyes, the weariness coming over her again. She looked back across the lake to the town, as if she could see the commotion and upset there. She had thought she had a friend there as well and she had left behind the one person whom she knew loved her unconditionally. Mam, I’m so sorry. 1 hope I will see you again. . "At least I think he’s a friend," she finished.