S Farrell - Holder of Lightning

She pressed her mouth to his. He tasted sweet, and she opened her mouth to him, an urgency and need rising in her. His arms went around her,

drawing her close, his hands tangling in her hair.

Her lips clung to his, moist and soft, as he lifted his head.

"Jenna. .?" he husked.

"Aye," she whispered back to his question. "This is what my heart says. And for right now, anyway, this is what I want."

Chapter 43: The Dream of Thall Coill

SHE was there, in the upheaval and the blood. .

Sliabh Mlchinniuint, the Mountain of Ill Fate, burned as if it were an ancient, slumbering volcano come to vile life, spewing rivers of molten lava down on its blackened and broken slopes, the earth steaming with gray-white mists under the assault. Only this was no natural fury; this was the terror of a battle of cloudmages. Beneath black clouds the armies clashed, and she was one of them: an Inish clanswoman roaring her defi-ance at the armored troops of Rl Mael Armagh, shouting her hatred of the banners of green and gold gathered in a writhing island of steel and flesh in the valley below. She rushed down on them from the slopes among the hundreds of her fellow clansmen, her throat raw with the battle cry they called "caointeoireacht na cogadh," the massed sound of it like the thou-sand-throated scream of an angry god. Overhead, the cloudmages called down lightning and fire as great explosions clawed at the mountainside with shrieking hurricane winds and twisting black funnels. She and her fellow clansfolk slammed into the Infochla troops with an audible clash of iron on iron, bronze on bronze, the impact stunning. Her first slash hewed off the sword arm of a young Infochla soldier. The soldier-no doubt a pressman boy of no more than fourteen, his face still pimpled- screamed a thin shriek of terror and shock, the arm pinwheeling to the ground still clutching the sword, blood spraying wildly over both of them. A blow struck her from the side, the bronze shoulder plates of her leathers dimpling under the impact. She went down on her knees, crying out as she swung her own weapon, blinking away the blood and seeing the edge of her sword slice through the thin mail of her attacker and cut deep in his abdomen. She struggled to her feet, knowing she was screaming feeling the sound ripping her throat but hearing none of it in the ferocious din of the battle. There was blood everywhere and no way to know if n was hers or her enemy’s. She saw a flash of green and gold; she slashed at it blindly. All around her, Infochla soldiers fell, and still the Inishlanders pushed forward, trampling the dead into the mud underfoot. Above and around them, the clochs raged, illuminating the battlefield with their bright, awful lightnings. Something struck the ground near her with a deafening ka-RUMPH: she saw searing, yellow light and a dozen and more soldiers, Infochla and Inishlander alike, screamed as the fire consumed them in an awful moment, leaving behind nothing but blackened skele-tons that stood in an eerie imitation of their last poses for a few seconds before dropping to the ground like broken dolls.

This was chaos. This was slaughter.

"This was how it was, Holder. This is how it would be. ." The voice seemed familiar, one of those who spoke to her when she used the cloch. "Severii?" she asked, knowing that he’d been there at the battle, but she was now somewhere else, standing at the edge of a high cliff in a small open space surrounded by the dark, brooding presence of ancient oak trees. Nearby there seemed to be a presence, but she could not see it. It was as if there was a blank spot in her vision where the presence lurked, so that it vanished whenever she tried to look directly at it. Is this Doire Coill? she wondered, and someone answered as if she’d spoken aloud, a woman’s voice this time.

"No, this is Thall Coill. This is the source and the place of Scrudu. ." Jenna turned around-there was nobody with her. And yet… there was. She saw them: a couple-a woman and a man, perhaps in their early twenties, both of them leaning against the trees at the edge of the clearing as if impossibly weary. They panted, their breath steaming about them in clouds although Jenna herself felt warm. Around the woman’s neck, out-side the soiled, ragged cloca, was Lamh Shabhala. Jenna’s hand went to her own breast: no, Lamh Shabhala was still there, on its chain, and yet… "Hello?" she called to the two, but though the woman's eyes were searching the cliff top, she didn't seem to see Jenna standing there or to hear her voice. She took a step forward, staggering to where Jenna sensed the presence, and fell to her knees. The man started to come forward and she raised a hand to hold him back.

"No, Tadhg, I have to do this myself. Stay back. Please. ."

Tadhg. . The name hit Jenna with a shock-could this be Tadhg O'Coulghan, the Founder of the Order? Jenna could see the conflict in the plan's face, the love and concern for the woman.

"Peria, come back. You don't need to try the Scrudu. You hold enough power with Lamh Shabhala the way it is now. We can go back, be content with ourselves. Think of Severii if you won't think of me; the boy will never know his mam…"

Jenna had the sense that this was an old argument, one that both of them had been going over and over for many days now, the protest and responses so automatic that they weren't even heard. The woman was shaking her head into Tadhg's argument, pushing herself up from the muddy ground. "I may be the Last Holder, Tadhg," she told him. "I've told you what the voices say-it's the first few Holders or the last few who have Lamh Shabhala when it's the strongest. By undergoing the Scrudu, the Firsts can create the path for the others to follow; the Lasts can forge a legacy to last until the mage-lights come again. I have to try."

"Almost all who try, fail. You told me that's what all the old Holders said, Peria."

"I won't fail."

"You don't know that. You can't."

Tadhg started forward again, and again she lifted her hand. He stayed, but Jenna could see him trembling with fear.

Taking a long breath, Peria moved to stand near the edge of the cliff and then turned her back to the sea, standing within an arm's reach of Jenna yet not reacting to her at all. Again, she looked all around her, her gaze passing through Jenna as if she weren't there. She stared at the place that was dark and blank in Jenna's sight.

The woman took Lamh Shabhala in her right hand, the loose sleeve of her leine falling back, and Jenna saw the familiar scarred flesh mirroring her own damaged arm. Grimacing with pain, Peria closed her stiff fingers around the cloch, her eyes closing as she opened it to her mind. Above the meadow there was a sudden burst of brilliance, a showering of stars that sent black shadows racing away into the forest. Peria's face lifted, the radiance forcing her to squint as she looked up. The mage-lights, brighter and more colorful than Jenna had ever seen them, twisted and writhed above her, their forms bending toward her, dancing downward

. . touching. .

Peria screamed, a long, drawn-out ululating cry, a wail of despair and desperation. Peria's eyes were wide open now, staring fixedly into the glare of the mage-lights. Jenna didn't know what Peria saw in her mind through the cloch-vision, but it obviously terrified her. Her mouth was working, pleading silently with something or someone that only she could see or hear, and Jenna saw her hand clench tighter around the cloch as if she were forcing herself to hold onto it when every instinct was telling her to let go, to release the power and save herself. Tadhg evidently saw the internal struggle also, for he surged forward with a cry. With his first step toward her, the mage-lights flared, an arc of blue fury lashing out to strike the man, hurling him backward. He got to his feet and tried once more; again, the mage-lights threw him back. This time, he didn't rise.