S Farrell - Holder of Lightning

The woman simply smiled. "That's simple enough to remedy. I don't think we'd allow the First Holder to remain common. Do you, Banrion?"

Aithne smiled at Jenna. "Hardly." She gestured to one of the chairs before the fire. "Please sit, Holder."

She brushed her fingers against Lamh Shabhala, hoping none of them would notice the quick grimace of pain as she let the cloch's energy drift quickly out. She immediately felt two holes in the field where Banrion Aithne and Kyle MacEagan stood: attempts at shields. The hole around Banrion Aithne was strong; the one about MacEagan much smaller. Tiarna MacEagan has a clochmion and the Banrion has a Cloch Mor that she didn’t t have on the ship. Where did she get it? Jenna wished now that she'd used Lamh Shabhala in the main hall to see how many more of the clochs na thintri were gathered here. Does Aron O Dochartaigh also possess a clock, like his sister?

Jenna smiled, letting her hand drop away, and took the offered chair, the Banrion took her seat opposite her, though the other two remained standing where they were. "I said I had a gift for you. I do. Here. ." She reached under her chair and brought up a small packet wrapped in paper and secured with a ribbon. Jenna untied the ribbon

and unwrapped the paper. A familiar smell wafted out as she did so, and she stared down at the pile of dried, brown leaves there. "On the ship, I saw the cost of using

Lamh Shabhala, so I asked my healer what the ancient Holders used to ease their pain. He said some of them used this, an herb that the Bunus

Muintir knew. You grind the leaves and make a tea

!!

"I know," Jenna said, perhaps a bit too harshly. "Anduilleaf. Thank you. I’ve. used it in the past."

It would be pleasant to use it, just once again, to fed all the pain and cold leave your body for a time. . She set the packet on a table next to her chair.

You’ll leave it there. You won’t pick it up. You won’t use it again… At the thought, pain shot up her arm again, and she grimaced. They watched her, reminding her of crows standing on a tree limb watching a dying rabbit. They’d take Lamh Shabhala from you in an instant, if they thought they could… "I assume there’s another reason I’m here, Banrion."

Aithne smiled; the other two chuckled as if sharing a secret joke. "Evi-dently Moister Cleurach has already told you that while my husband may have the title, the Comhairle actually reigns. And we three… we hold the Comhairle. Four more tiarna and bantiarna on the Comhairle have pledged their votes to us when needed. The Ri will sign what I place before him. So what we decide here-" her hands spread wide-"becomes law." Aithne glanced at MacEagan, and Jenna saw a look pass between them, an affection that made Jenna wonder whether there was more be-tween the two than simple concern for their land or friendship.

But Kianna stirred and drew Jenna’s attention away from them. "You realize that the Ri Ard won’t leave you alone here. The Rithe of the Tuatha are afraid of Lamh Shabhala, if not of you. They’ll come here, and they’ll bring an army of thousands, supported by all the Clochs Mor they can muster."

Jenna thought of Mac Ard and the Ri Mallaghan of Gabair. She thought of Nevan O Liathain and what he would advise his father, the Ri Ard. "I know," she answered.

"We remember the last time a Tuathian army came here. It’s been en-graved in the tales we tell our children, in the history the sages keep, in the

very bones of the land. We remember the battles and the destruction," Kianna continued. Her finely-chiseled face frowned, placing lines around her mouth and eyes. "We remember the deaths of our ancestors: men, Women, and children alike. We remember the smell of corruption and smoke when Dun Kiil was sacked and burned. We remember the flare of the clochs na thintri as they tore at the very land and changed it forever." Her eyes held Jenna's. "We remember, and we wonder how we can pre-Vent that from happening now. To us. To our children. To our towns and lands."

Jenna couldn't speak, held in Kianna's stern, unblinking gaze. She had no answer, didn't know what the woman wanted her to say. She opened her mouth, then closed it again.

"You frighten the Holder, Kianna," the Banrion said, her voice holding a soft amusement, and the spell was broken. "She's such a young thing. ." Kianna took a step back, though the frown didn't leave her face

"Young or no," she said, "she has to understand the cost of her being here-the cost to all of us."

"I'm sure she does," the Banrion purred. "Don't you, Jenna?"

"I do." Jenna put her spine against the chair's back, rubbing at her arm She could smell the anduilleaf, seductive and enticing. "I know they'll come. I don't want that, but I can't stop them. As long as Lamh Shabhala is here, they'll come."

'"As long as Lamh Shabhala is here. .'" MacEagan commented. The brogue of Inish Thuaidh sat firmly in his tenor voice. "Aye, that's the crux, is it not?"

"Would you have me leave, Tiarna?" Jenna asked him. She sighed. "Then give me a boat and I will sail for Ceile Mhor, perhaps, or-" She stopped as the man laughed.

"You misunderstand, Holder," he said. "If you leave, then the likelihood is that Lamh Shabhala will fall into the hands of the tuatha. If that hap-pens, then Inish Thuaidh will inevitably fall to the Rl Ard. We'd fight and resist, we'd run to the hills and hide, coming out to kill them when they least expect it. We would die to the last rather than submit but eventually we would be conquered, because we couldn't stand against the massed power of the

clochs and the army the RI Ard can raise. But while Lamh Shabhala is here, we might yet prevail." He moved across the room to the window, pushing the stained glass panels open. "Holder, I’d like you to see this."

Jenna rose, going to where the tiarna stood. Looking out, she could see the ramparts of the keep, built into a mountainside overlooking the har-bor. Everything was cloaked in mist from the rain, but Jenna imagined that on a clear day the view would be breathtaking: the blue deep water, the curving strips of white sand, the houses set in the lush green foliage that cloaked the mountainside, the sheer black rock of the cliff on which the keep perched.

"They call this Croc a Scroilm, the Hill of Screaming. When Mael Armagh of Infochla brought his ships of war to Inish Thuaidh, when his cloudmages brought him safely through the storms our mages called up to stop him, it was here his fleet landed, and here that the first battle was fought. Then, there was no keep, only the flat top of the mountain. The pregnant women, the young mothers and their children, the elderly and infirm of Dun Kiil fled here when the Infochla fleet sailed into the harbor and they watched the battle from above. We had no army waiting for them since it was thought he would come first to attack Inishfeirm, where Severii O’Coulghan, the Holder of Lamh Shabhala, waited. Here there were only a few hundred gardai and maybe a thousand pressmen, and only a single cloudmage with her Cloch Mor. It was a slaughter, and quickly over. Those Inishlanders Ri Armagh captured-men and women both, for many of the women fought alongside their men-he brought bound and hobbled to the base of the mountain below these cliffs where those gathered above could see. With a wave of his hand, he had his archers fire into the helpless captives, while those above wailed in sorrow and terror and helpless disbelief. Then, Armagh ordered his soldiers to climb the mountain; when they reached the mourning crowds, his sol-diers raped the women and their daughters and killed the sons and old men, throwing their violated bodies over the side of the mountain to join the bleeding corpses of their slaughtered loved ones. Some, according to the tale, jumped over the cliff on their own rather than submit. They fell, all of them, screaming… "