Holder of Lightning

. . she felt them loosen, and at the same time, aqua light blossomed near her. "I’m here, sister-kin, as I promised," a familiar voice boomed in her head, and she saw Thraisha lash out at the person holding Jenna while-through her eyes-she saw Thraisha clambering out of the water onto the broken pilings of the quay. In the cloch-vision, Thraisha was a darting, sleek blue presence, liquid and graceful, severing the threads surrounding Jenna and sending them recoiling backward. "There… "

Freed, Jenna staggered backward. A sinister, double boom reverberated in her head and red flares came streaking toward her: Mac Ard. She reached into Lamh Shabhala, imagining a wall, but Thraisha’s presence interposed itself before she could use the energy. Blue inundated red each pushing against the other. Mental sparks flew, like a grinding wheel sharpening a blade, energy flowing from both of them toward the point of impact. Thraisha moaned, and Jenna heard pain and weariness in the call. The net-weaver had returned, and strands were coiling around Thraisha.

Jenna sent her mind into Lamh Shabhala, and in her anger, she knew that this was the moment. She would smash Mac Ard now, overwhelm him and end this. End it forever. Thraisha’s vision had been false

… a noise. . not heard with the senses of Lamh Shabhala, but with her own ears. .

… a hammer blow between her shoulder blades, sending her crum-pling to the pavement. .

. . the shock of the blow loosening her grip on the cloch, so that it rolled free of senseless, stiff fingers.

. . scuffed boots in front of her face, and laughter. Jenna looked up to see the face of a Tuathian soldier

. . the pain coursing through her as she groped for Lamh Shabhala, a loss as intense as the moment she saw Ennis fall. She cried aloud, moaning and trying to reach the cloch, knowing that Thraisha was now alone against Mac Ard and the others, that Thraisha couldn't stand against them all…

. . The soldier's hand, grimy and broken-nailed, reaching for Lamh Shabhala as well. .

". . When you jell, the clochs turned to me, and I could not swim against that current…"

Jenna saw Thraisha's glimmering blue-and-black body skewered by scarlet lightning. The bolts ripped through the seal, nearly tearing her body in half. Her dying eyes seemed to stare at Jenna as the force of the strike from Mac Ard's cloch toppled her back into the water. Blood spewed from the riven corpse and stained the waves, and a silvery form wriggled away from Thraisha's open, silent mouth.

". . Their magic drowned me, and Bradan an Chumhacht swam from my mouth. So if it's destiny, then it's not only your death…"

Jenna wondered if death could hurt more than the pain of losing Lamh Shabhala.

"SO you're the Mad Holder. . and this must be Lamh Shabhala."

Jenna looked up from the ground to see the soldier holding the cloch, and the sight of it caused her mouth to open and release a wailing cry that sounded more animal than human. She shuddered, reaching use-lessly for the cloch, and the man kicked her scarred arm aside. He grinned down at her: a red-bearded face stained with black gore, a long cut down his left cheek and through one side of his mouth dripping blood. The deep gash through his lips widened sickeningly as he grinned at her. He was missing teeth, and his voice was slurred with his injuries. " Tis mine now, 'tis."

Jenna blinked, peering up through the acrid smoke that wrapped the harbor. The man didn't see the movement behind him. There was a flash of steel and the Tuathian's head was suddenly separated from its shoul-ders, rolling away. The body stood for a moment, fountaining blood from the stump of the neck before it collapsed, nearly falling on top of Jenna.

"Sometimes," she heard someone say, "it's just more satisfying to use a sword."

A hand was reaching for her-"Let's go, Jenna. ."-but she slapped it away, scrambling over to the body, tearing at the fist holding Lamh Shabhala’s chain and ripping the cloch away from lifeless fingers. "Mine!" she proclaimed, closing her right fist around it.

"Jenna!"

She whirled around at the shout, snarling. Lights flared wildly, confusingly, in the sudden cloch-vision. She started to tear Lamh Shabhala open, to send its power hurtling blindly at the person in front of her, but she could not hold the power; it burned her so that she screamed, her right arm in agony. Hands caught her as she fell.

"Mother-Creator, you've been wounded! Didn't you hear the call for retreat? Come on. ."

Jenna blinked away blood, trying to see the face.

"Ennis?"

"No, it’s MacEagan," came the soothing voice. "Lean on me, Jenna

That’s it; let me support your weight. We have to leave now. ."

. . there was the flickering of candles and the smell of wet stone, and a form moving in the twilight

"Here, Holder. Please sip this… "

She could smell the anduilleaf in the crude clay mug the old man was holding out to her. For a moment, disoriented, she thought it was Seancoim and her heart leaped inside her, but then her vision cleared and she recognized him as the Banrion’s healer. He held out the mug toward her; she pushed it away. "No, I won’t drink that."

"It will take away the pain."

"No!" She pushed at it again even though she could feel herself yearn-ing to drink it, to lose herself and the suffering in the leaf’s milky embrace. The healer grimaced and pouted, but he put the anduilleaf aside. Jenna was relieved; she didn’t know if she could have resisted if he’d insisted a third time. She tried to raise herself up, and the movement pulled at the stitched and healing wounds, making her cry out and bringing back all the anguish: in the wounded left arm, in the scarred right, her head, her stomach. .

. . her stomach. She touched her abdomen, relieved to feel an answer-ing stir. The healer grunted. "The babe is fine," he said, and responded to Jenna’s shocked look with a faint, conspiratorial smile. "Aye. The Banrion told me since 1 was looking after you and she felt I needed to know. But no one else will know unless you tell them. At least not until it’s obvious. That’s another reason you need to rest, Holder."

"I need to understand-"

"Understand what?" a new voice intruded. Someone had thrust aside a woolen curtain Jenna hadn’t noticed before, letting in a stream of sunlight that made her eyes water and blink, revealing the stone walls of a small cavern. The curtain dropped

down behind the silhouetted form and the room went dark again.

"Ah, Tiarna MacEagan," the healer said. "Holder, I'll leave you with your husband, then. Maybe he can get you to drink the infusion."

Husband. . Jenna found herself turning the strange word over in her head as the healer left the room. MacEagan walked over and sat at the edge of the blankets on which she lay. A long cut crossed his forehead, scabbed brown with the skin an irritated red along the edges, and one hand was wrapped in bandages. "Infusion?"

She shook her head. "You're hurt."

"Have you seen yourself?" he answered. "At least I'm walking. It's a rare person out there who isn't wounded, and there are far too many familiar faces missing." A sadness came over his own face.

"Alby?"

MacEagan smiled momentarily. "No, he's alive, though he took injuries like the rest. He wouldn't leave me, even though he's more a liability with the sword than an asset."

"I'm glad to hear that. I know how you would have felt if you'd lost him."

Again the smile came and vanished. "That's kind of you to say. Still, it was a terrible battle, and a terrible cost we paid."

The sounds and memories flooded back to Jenna in disjointed, uncon-nected fragments: the initial assault, the confusion, the bitter victory of killing Aron, the struggle with Mac Ard, Thraisha's sacrifice, the stunning moment when she lost Lamh Shabhala. . She reached for the stone with a gasp. Aye, it was still there, but drained entirely of power. "I remember. . You came, I think, and helped me up. ." She shook her head. "I don't remember anything past that. It's all gone. And it was only yesterday."

"It was two days ago," he told her. "You were badly hurt. I wasn't sure you were even going to live." He told her then: how the two of them together fended off another attack from Mac Ard and the Tuathian Hold-ers with Lamh Shabhala and his own cloch, falling back past the square and finally finding what was left of the Inishlander defenders near the base of the Croc a Scroilm; fighting their way through another wave of Tuathians; Kianna falling near the harbor and the Ri MacBradaigh severely wounded, but fighting his way to them; finally reaching the winding road to the keep, then making their way into the deep clefts beyond.

It was like a tale to Jenna, unreal. There was no memory of it in her at all. He might as well have been speaking of a battle fought a century ago with other people.

"Where are we now?" she asked after he’d finished.

"In the mountains north of the city." His lips twisted. "In the same caverns that Severii O’Coulghan used when he retreated after Mael Armagh’s attack. We can only hope that this will turn out the same. The Tuathians hold Dun Kiil for now. Scouts have told us that more ships are coming from Falcarragh, and that the banner of the Ri Ard flies above the keep."

Jenna sat up, grimacing as her body protested the movement. For a moment, the cavern whirled around her and she thought she might lose consciousness, but she closed her eyes until the spinning passed. She started to raise her left hand to MacEagan, then realized it was bound to her side. Instead, she reached out with the stiff lump of her right. She could see the scars of the mage-lights beyond the stained sleeve of her leine. "Help me up again," she told him.

"You should rest," he told her.

"There’s not time for that, and I’m not the only one hurt. I need to talk to the Banrion and I want to see those who fought with us." She reached out again. "Help me." She paused. "My husband."

He responded with a quiet smile. Then he stood, crouched down again, and took her hand and arm. "Let’s walk together, then, wife."

Jenna found that they were encamped in a narrow valley nestled between tall, steep slopes covered with purple heather and thickets. Bright rills capered down the sides to a small river curling through the valley bottom before vanishing into the misty distance, where the indistinct backs of more mountains loomed. The hillsides were studded with

hollows and shallow caves eroded from the soft limestone that protruded from under the thin skin of earth, and crude tents and lean-tos littered the ground. Campfires lifted columns of white smoke into the fog. The remnants of the Inishlander army had rejoined their families, but Jenna saw many tents where solemn-faced women hugged silent children to them. They would nod silently toward her as she passed. Jenna expected to see anger and blame in their faces, but there was none; there was only the aching loss. She wished she had words of comfort for the widows, for the father-less children. She could only gaze back at them, echoing their pain. One of them clutched at Jenna's cloca as they passed, and Jenna stopped. The woman could have been no more than a year or two older than Jenna, with a child nuzzling at her breast under the red-dyed leine of mourning, and a boy that might have been three years old at her side. "Holder, she said, "My son… he wanted to see you. ."

Jenna knelt down in front of the woman. The boy peered out at her from under his mam's arms; she pushed him forward. He held back for a moment and seemed to gather his courage, lifting his face and frowning sternly. He took a step toward Jenna.

"What is your name?" she asked.

"Mahon." The boy's voice was serious and quiet. "My da died."

"I know," Jenna answered softly, with a glance at his mam. "He was a brave man."

"Did you know him? His name was Deelan. Deelan MacBreen."

"No," Jenna told him. "I'm afraid I didn't. But I wish I had."

"When I'm older, I'm going to be a soldier like my da. Mam said she would give me his sword, and I'll come fight with you."

"I hope, Mahon, that won't be necessary." Jenna looked again at Mahon's mam. She was smiling, sadly, all her attention on the boy. She felt the pressure of Jenna's gaze and looked at her with eyes the color of the sea at night. "I'm so sorry for your loss," Jenna told her. "There aren't any words I can say that can give you comfort, I know."

The woman settled her baby at her breast, stroking the infant's head. "It was the choice he

made, Holder, the choice of any Inishlander." The woman’s face went grim and almost angry. "Drive them back out, Holder," she said. "Make sure his death wasn’t wasted. That would give me com-fort."

Jenna didn’t know what to say. She nodded without knowing why, she brushed the boy’s disheveled hair, and stood up again, grimacing with the effort that movement required. "We should go," MacEagan said. Numb and hurting, she let him lead her away.

And where they passed the soldiers who had been there at Dun Kiil- with arms bound or heads bandaged, limping or curled on their pallets, huddled with their families-she heard them whisper her name; saw them nudge one another as she approached. They looked at Jenna and they straightened, bowing. They lifted their sheathed weapons in quick salute. They smiled. They held out their hands to her as she passed. "Holder. ." they said. "So good to see you. , A good morn, ’tis it not?. . Pleased to see that you’re up and about. . We were praying to the Mother-Creator for you. ."

She nodded back, and tried to smile in return. She touched their outstretched hands and watched the tentative smiles widen.

"They saw the Holder of Lamh Shabhala fighting for them," MacEagan whispered to her, sensing her bewilderment. "They saw the power of the cloch, and they know that some of their own lives were spared because the Clochs Mor of the Tuathians had to contend with you and couldn’t be used against them. They saw you wounded and yet continuing to battle and that gave them strength to do the same. They watched you cover their retreat with Lamh Shabhala until both it and you were exhausted." He lifted his chin toward the valley littered with tents. "You’re quite the hero Jenna, whether you believe it or not. Some of the rumors. . well, you’d be amused."

"I’m not a hero," Jenna said. "I’m not. . anything."

"But you are. You’re the First Holder, and you brought Lamh Shabhala back to Inish Thuaidh, defying the Ri Ard and defeating the mages he sent to stop you. You restored the Order of Inishfeirm to its glory. You routed the traitor of Glenn Aill, who conspired against the Comhairle and the Ri MacBradaigh. You went to Thall Coill to undergo the Scrudu and returned again triumphant. You’re the

Changeling who can be seal or eagle or dragon at will. You woke the Ri MacBradaigh from the slumber of his rule and gave his sword the strength of twenty men. You stood against the massed Clochs Mor of the Ri Ard and very nearly defeated them all."

Jenna had begun shaking her head long before MacEagan finished the litany. "But that's all wrong.

I didn't do those things. They're exaggera-tions, half-truths, or outright lies."

"It doesn't matter whether it's the truth or not. Not anymore. The point is that they believe it, and more. You give them hope and strength and courage." MacEagan frowned then, his face grim. "And right now, that's what we need most."

"I don't want this," Jenna insisted. "I never did."

"Want it or not, it's been given to you. Come, the Banrion's anxious to see you."

The Ri's tent was set near the river, its bright panoply of banners seem-ing to mock the weariness, loss, and pain around it. The gardai stood back as Jenna and MacEagan approached, and she heard a moan emerge from the flap held aside for them.

Inside, in the warm light of candles, was a bed holding the Ri, the Banrion sitting in a chair alongside. Jenna could smell the strong aroma of anduilleaf. She cradled her cold right arm to her waist.

"Any change with him?" MacEagan asked as they entered, and Aithne shook her head in answer.

"None. The healer says that it's a matter of time, that's all." Aithne chuckled, mirthless and short.

"It's strange. I had no respect for the man until now. From what I was told, he fought like a man possessed, scream-ing the caointeoireacht na cogadh and rallying everyone after Kianna fell-'There was a pile of bodies at his feet,' one of his gardai told me, 'so high that the Ri could not even step over them. He wouldn't leave until we had Bantiarna Ciomhsog's body, and even then he stayed at the rear protecting the wounded as we fled.' He was a poor husband and a weak ruler. But he found his strength in the end. I wish I'd seen it." She sighed, reaching over to brush away a strand of white hair curling over the Ri's forehead. Her eyes

found Jenna’s. "I’m glad to see you walking and somewhat recov-ered, Holder. We’ll need you now, more than ever."

Jenna must have shown confusion at that, as Aithne stood and came over to her in a rustle of her cloca. "We lost this battle," she said to Jenna, "but it cost them far more than they anticipated. They thought they would crush us completely with one, swift blow and never have to wage a cam-paign. They thought they had enough Clochs Mor to guarantee the fall of Lamh Shabhala, and enough troops to smash all resistance. They were wrong and they know that now. I suspect the RI Ard isn’t altogether pleased with his son’s generalship."

"Nevan O Liathain planned this?" She could well believe it-the glory of leading the combined forces of the Tuatha would have attracted the man as a guttering candle calls to a moth.

"Aye," Aithne replied, "that’s what we’ve been told, but his victory’s cold. None of our cloch Holders are dead and we’ve recovered another of the Clochs Mor. Eight of their Mages died-before you fell unconscious, you told us that-so seven of their clochs either have new, inexperienced Mages or were lost entirely in the harbor. They lost nine ships to the catapults and Stormbringer, and during the hand-to-hand fighting we de-stroyed at least a third of their forces. Winning the battle cost them so much that they couldn’t follow us, but were forced to wait for reinforce-ments."

Jenna heard little of the end of it. Talking of the battle brought back snatches of memory: Aron’s face, screaming in agony and frustration and anger as she killed him. . "Banrion, your brother… He was with them."

Her lips tightened and lines folded around her eyes. "I know," she said. "You told me that also."

"I’m sorry."

"No, you’re not," she answered. "You had no reason to feel anything but hatred for my brother."

"I’m still sorry for your loss. He was your brother;

I know you cared for him. And if I’d not come here-"Jenna stopped. "If I’d not come here, none of this would have happened. None of it."

The lines deepened in Aithne’s face. Her gaze flicked once toward Mac-Eagan, and she stepped forward, cupping Jenna's face in a hand and lifting her chin. "You came," she answered. "That can't be changed. And my brother made his own choices-you didn't force them on him, nor did you tell the Rl Ard and Tanaise Rig to bring their armies here. You're not responsible for their actions, Jenna, only your own. Do I mourn Aron? Aye, I do. I will miss him, and I'll always remember his strength and his love for our family. But I didn't agree with his last decisions. He knew when he chose to stand with the Rl Ard that his choice might mean my death as Banrion, and still he did so."

She released Jenna's face, going back to the chair by the bed and sitting "Let me tell you one other thing, Jenna, a choice I made. I saw you during the battle. I could feel the clochs set against you, and there was a moment when I could have come to your aid. But I didn't-because Aron was among those fighting you. Instead, I set my eyes elsewhere." Her hands were folded on her lap, her head tilted to one side as she stared at Jenna her gaze unblinking. "I did that knowing that my presence might be the difference between your living or dying, but I told myself that I would let the Mother-Creator decide. So you see, loyalty is a shifting and elusive thing, Holder. But I'm sure you realize that by now. Aron? — aye, I'll mourn him, and I'll remember what was good and try to forget the rest."

The Rl MacBradaigh moaned once more, and everyone's attention went to him, almost with relief. Aithne leaned over and took a washcloth from a basin of water, wringing it out and placing it over his forehead. "There's nothing we can do for him?" Jenna asked.

The Banrion shook her head. "Too many wounds, and some of them very deep. I'm afraid he's beyond the skills of any of the healers here. Moister Cleurach says that there was once a healing stone among the Clochs Mor, but he doesn't know who holds it. There were reputedly clochmion with the same skill though with less potency; Moister Cleurach is asking if anyone among us holds one, but he doesn't know that even a clochmions would have the ability to help. The Rl sank into deep sleep early yesterday and hasn't woken. In just the last stripe of the candle, his breathing's gone shallow and fast, as you hear it now. The healer thinks he'll be with the Mother-Creator by morning." Aithne took the cloth, moistened it again, and patted his cheeks with

it. "Perhaps it’s better this way. He’ll be remembered for his last acts, not the incompetence that came before."

"I talked with the rest of the Comhairle," MacEagan said to the Banrion. "They agree with us. We’ll meet tonight for the appearance, but we already have the votes."

"Agree with what?" Jenna asked, looking from Aithne to MacEagan.

MacEagan answered. "We sent runners to all the townlands when we learned that the fleet was coming. Many of the Riocha, especially those from the north and west, didn’t have enough time to muster and arm their people and come to Dun Kiil. But they’re coming in now-we al-ready have as many troops here now as we did for the first attack. The Banrion and I think that we shouldn’t wait for the Ri Ard to get his reinforcements from Falcarragh. We think we should counterattack now, as soon as we can. The Tuathians may well be expecting it, but they won’t ever be weaker than they are now." He paused. "Especially if Lamh Shabhala is with us."

"Attack again? So soon?"

"Tomorrow, so long as the mage-lights come tonight so you can restore your cloch, and we’d better pray that they do-by now word will have reached Falcarragh and ships could already be on their way. We can’t wait."

"Waiting was what allowed them to come here in the first place," Aithne commented, her thin lips pressing together after she spoke. Jenna felt the point of that rebuke and grunted in response.

Going into battle again. . Her whole body cried out in protest at the thought. Her wounds had just begun to heal, the arm that linked her to Lamh Shabhala throbbed and complained, her soul was heavy with the loss of Thraisha, and the pleasure that she thought she’d feel at avenging Ennis’ death with Aron’s life was diluted by guilt and remorse. The faces of the widows haunted her, and that of the boy Mahon, and the fierce loyalty of the soldiers who had crafted something from her that she was not.

Ennis, what should I do? Thraisha? Seancoim? But they were all gone, those whose advice she might have trusted. She had only herself. She could not even ask Riata or the dead Holders, silenced because of Lamh Shabhala’s emptiness. Aithne and MacEagan stared at her, and she could feel their eagerness and certainty.

An image came to her, as sharp as reality, and she had a sense that she was glimpsing the future: herself lying dead on the cold ground, the remnants of battle smoking around her. Jenna touched her stomach: the child lay unmoving inside her.

If you die, your baby dies with you. But you have no choice. No choice. You can't flee, and if they take Lamh Shabhala from you the pain of the loss will be more than you can bear…

Jenna cupped the fist of her right hand in her left, her gaze traveling along the swirled lines of white, dead skin until they reached the sleeve of her leine and disappeared under the white cloth. Her right hand felt like a frozen stone in her palm. She half-closed her eyes, willing the fin-gers to open. They obeyed only reluctantly, lifting until she could see folded lines crossing her palm then refusing to move farther. She moved the hand to her breast, leaning forward slightly so that Lamh Shabhala slipped between the fingers into the hand. She looked at it: the plain, ordinary stone trapped in its web of fine silver.

"Aye," she told them. "I agree with you. We can't wait."

Chapter 59: Death on the Field

THE mage-lights rippled and flowed, and Lamh Shabhala suckled at them like a ravenous infant, drawing down the power. Jenna sagged, her knees buckling with the sense of relief, the energy of the lights easing the aching of her muscles and the bitter chill along her right side. The world around her seemed saturated with color again, no longer so gray and dim. Her awareness seemed to swell out, encompassing the entire valley where the Clochs Mor of MacEagan, Aithne, Moister Cleurach, Galen, and the others were also renewing themselves; and at the outer edges of her senses she could feel the pinprick presence of the Tuathians’ clochs also feeding on the same energy-all of them linked to the sky, all of them tied together.

She could pluck them if she wanted, like the strings of Coelin’s giotar. She reached out with the cloch, found the blood-red strand of an ail-too familiar cloch, and followed it back. Faintly, she could feel the mind be-hind the energy-and that person sensed her at the same time.

"Jenna…" The voice was a dark husk, the tones familiar. "So you are still alive. 1 told them you were, but they still hoped…" "Aye, Tiarna, I’m alive. How is my mam? My brother?" She could feel the surprise in Mac Ard’s mind. "You know?"

"Lamh Shabhala told me." He didn’t respond. She felt him try to close his mind to her, and she pushed aside the curtains he drew over himself, enjoying the frustration and fear she felt in response. "You can’t hide from me, Mac Ard. I am your bane. You hold the Cloch Mor I gave to my lover, and I intend to take it back."

"It was mine first, as you know since it was you who stole it from me."

"Stole? Won it, perhaps, and only after you attacked me twice. If I’d been able to glimpse the future, I’d have killed you then. I left you alive only because of my mam. Tell me about her, Mac Ard."

Again, he threw up a shield; she broke it down as quickly. He tried to mask the flare of anger he felt, and that pleased her. Grudgingly, he an-swered. "Maeve’s well enough, and waiting in Falcarragh with my son."

The mention of the child, her half brother, made her think of the baby in her own womb, the child she would never see. "Your bastard, you mean."

"I love Maeve, Jenna, as I’ve told you before, and I treat her as well or better than any wife. I have acknowledged publicly that the child is mine; there’s no secret there. No matter what you want to believe, Jenna, I’m no monster. I never was your enemy. Never. You forced that upon yourself, like all the rest."

"Aye, none of this could possibly be your fault," Jenna taunted. "You’re so faultless and noble."

"Your mam misses you," Mac Ard said, ignoring

the comment, "and she is afraid for you. I think she may even be afraid of you after what you did in Lord Bhaile. And she hates this war."

"As do I."

"Then end it, Jenna. Surrender yourself and Lamh Shabhala and we can negotiate a peace. You can't win this, Jenna. Inish Thuaidh can't stand alone against all the Tuatha."

Jenna sent scorn hurtling through the mage-lights, not allowing him to see the doubts that his statement caused to stir within her. "Believe what you will. Tell Nevan that I remember his words at Lord Bhaile, how he said that everyone must know that the arm of Dun Laoghaire is long. Well, I know that now, but he will find that the arm of Inish Thuaidh may not reach as far, but it is stronger. Tell him that." Lamh Shabhala was full. She closed her eyes, reveling in the sense of completeness and power that the lights gave her. She released the cloch.

Mac Ard and the rest of the clochs na thintri vanished. The mage-lights began to dim in the sky.

The Ri MacBradaigh died that night.

The Comhairle met briefly in the Banrion's tent, deciding that the issue of a successor must wait, though they gave control of the Inish forces to Tiarna MacEagan. After a long conference, it was decided to strike Dun Kiil in three groups: the largest force taking the heights on which the keep sat, and two pincer arms coming in from the west and east alone the lower valley where the main roads ran. The west and east attacks would occur simultaneously, hopefully diverting the attention of the Rl Ard's forces and drawing them down toward the harbor so that the assault on the keep would have the advantage of surprise. They already knew that the Rl Ard, the Tanaise Rig, and most of the Tuathian Mages were in the keep, and it was there that the battle would be won or lost. There were secret passages into the keep that the Riocha had used for centuries to flee or enter in secret: the Banrion sent Tiarna O Beollain of Baile Nua along with several squads of soldiers along those hidden paths with the task of opening the gates and doors of the keep from the inside as the main force approached.

As for the cloudmages, two would go with each of

the initial waves both to protect them and so that they appeared to be legitimate attacks: Mundy and another Brathair were assigned to the eastern forces and Moister Cleurach and the new cloudmage with the west. MacEagan, Aithne, and Jenna would remain with the main force.

The encampment woke before the dawn and began to move, assem-bling in the narrow valley, then moving up toward the low pass to the south. Their faces grim and set, they left behind the tents of the camp followers and their families as well as those too seriously wounded to walk. Many of those who went with the army were limping or still bearing blood-stained bandages from the battle a few days before, Jenna no less than any of them.

She walked with the cloudmages in the midst of the column: Banrion Aithne, MacEagan, Galen, Moister Cleurach, Mundy, and two other Brathairs of the Order, one of them new to his Cloch Mor.

Jenna felt as if she were walking into the face of her own doom.

Not long after noon, they were within a few miles of the city. There, the forces divided, and the main group waited for a few candle stripes to allow the others to begin the encirclement. Finally, with the sun already lowering in the west, they rose and started to climb up the long slope to the plateau where Dun Kiil Keep stood brooding and weeping over its town.

Jenna plodded along with the others. There was very little talk, all of them lost in their own reveries, their own hopes and fears, wondering perhaps if they would still be alive after this day.

Jenna felt only a dull fatalism. The miles she’d trudged that day had been exhausting on their own, a challenge for the slowly healing cuts and scrapes of her body, for muscles torn and taken to their limits only a few days before. She shivered under her thick woolen cloca, and her right arm was a block of flesh-colored ice against her side.

If Jenna herself was quiet, the voices inside Lamh Shabhala were not.

". . this is too soon. The last time nearly killed you…"

". . you’ll be with us, one of the ghosts within Lamh Shabhala, yammering at the next Holder… "

"Be still!" The voice was a near-roar in the mental din: Riata's voice. "Leave her alone if you have nothing to say that will help her."

"Riata!" Jenna thought to him, closing her mind's ears to the rest of them. "I'm so scared."

"Those who are the bravest are those who know what they face and still go to meet it," Riata answered.

"I'm not brave," Jenna answered. "I just want this to be done and over, even though…" She couldn't say the words. But Riata knew or guessed her thoughts.

"If you want to live, then you must use what you've learned. Go deeper into the stone, Jenna. Remember where you went at Bethiochnead. Find that place again."

"I don't know if I can. I only glimpsed it once, in pain and desperation. Riata, I don't care if I live. Not anymore. It doesn't matter."

"Find it!" Riata insisted, then his voice was gone again, drowned in the babble of the other Holders. Jenna forced them away from her, shoving them back down into the recesses of Lamh Shabhala.

"Are you all right?" She heard MacEagan's voice only faintly. Opening her eyes, Jenna realized that her hands were clasped over her ears as if the voices of the Holders had been physical and real.

She lowered them, shiv-ering as the cold reality of the mountains returned to her.

"I'm fine," she told him. Alby was standing just behind the tiarna, his soft hands around the hilt of a sword. "Is it time?"

"Nearly." MacEagan's gaze moved off to the ridge beyond which the Keep stood. "No matter how this ends, it will be remembered. The bards will be singing of it for the rest of time."

"I hope you have the chance to hear that song."

He didn't notice the stress on the "you." "So do I," MacEagan answered. "Win or lose, I've sent too many people to their graves today." He smiled wanly at her. "Of course, if we lose, I won't have to worry about the guilt, will I now? And if we win, why, I can console myself with the necessity of it all. I wonder if every leader feels that way."

"I doubt most of them think of it at all," Jenna answered.

He chuckled quietly; at the same time, the bass growl of thunder rolled loud from the south and west of them. A thunderhead appeared there, dark against the bright sky. "Moister Cleurach and Stormbringer," he said. "It’s begun." Already the soldiers were rushing all around them, and the banner of Inish Thuaidh waved at the head of the column. They began to move quickly, a bright swarm over the rocks and mosses of the hills.

Jenna heard the faint clamor of battle as they crested the rise. The tri-towered ramparts of the keep were black outlines drawn on the sky, the town unseen past the cliffs of the Croc a Scroilm, but the wind off the bay sent to them the ringing of iron and bronze and the cries of the combat Jenna opened Lamh Shabhala as they reached the summit: aye, the Clochs Mor were awake now and fighting. So far at least, MacEagan’s tactics had been successful-the clochs were all intent on the two arms already attacking the town, perhaps waiting for Lamh Shabhala to appear in one place or the other. There were Clochs Mor awake in the keep and not yet engaged-Mac Ard’s among them-but she could feel their attention focused outward.

That could not last long, she knew. She wondered how close they would get before someone on the walls looked behind and saw them.

It wasn’t long. There was no outcry that Jenna heard, but she felt the shift in attention within Mac Ard. "Now!" she cried aloud to MacEagan and Aithne. "They know we’re here."

Gouts of too-red fire spat from the window of the northernmost tower, rushing toward the front ranks of the troops. Jenna stretched Lamh Shabhala’s fingers toward them, touching each with the cloch’s power: they exploded in brilliant flame a hundred yards short of the target. A cheer went up from the Inishlanders and they began to run toward the keep. Jenna heard the first ululations of the caointeoireacht na cogadh, shrieking from their throats as they charged toward the castle. .

. . she ran with them, half blind with the overlay of the cloch-vision. The rush carried her along, and she glimpsed MacEagan and Aithne near her. The air was loud with the keening and the rattling of mail and the thudding of feet on the earth. .

. . even as the last glare of the fireballs faded, Jenna ripped at the tower with the cloch as if tearing the stones apart with her own hand- great blocks tumbled away from the window where Mac Ard had been. He was a raging, throbbing scarlet in the cloch-vision, like a volcano spewing lava. Jenna could feel the heat of him, and she countered with the cold of the void, wrapping him in blue-white ice, placing more and more of it around him as he melted away each layer desperately. The glow was beginning to dim as he poured more energy from his Cloch Mor to keep her away, and for a moment, she dared to believe that she could end it here. .

. . they were close to the keep now, and arrows filled the air in a deadly rain. She saw the man beside her suddenly drop, a feathered shaft sprouting from his neck as blood spurted, but then he was gone under the rush. The main gates to the keep loomed ahead, but they were still shut. .

. . something snarled, and a whip of arcing yellow slapped down across her shoulders. Jenna whirled and saw a dragon's face, jaws open with needled teeth as it clamped down on her shoulder and coiled the rest of its body around her. Jenna howled, the teeth digging deep into her, the writhing scales flaying the skin from her body everywhere it touched. "MacEagan!" Jenna shouted, but even as she called, she realized that both MacEagan and Aithne were each struggling with a rival Cloch Mor and couldn't come to her aid. Mac Ard was nearly free of his confinement. Jenna imagined herself growing larger, her skin hard as stone, and energy flowed from Lamh Shabhala into her. The yellow coils of the dragon's body snapped and broke, and she followed fading energy back to its source-a young man, his face pale and frightened as he realized who he faced-but she saw him only for an instant as Lamh Shabhala tore at his Cloch Mor, draining it. She thought she could hear the young man whim-per, and Jenna wondered if she had killed him. .

. . The charge faltered with the sight of the closed gates, the front ranks spreading out along the walls as the arrows continued to arc down on them. "The doors were supposed to be opened!" someone shouted. "We can't go forward… "

. . furious now, Jenna swept the cloch-vision about, searching for Mac Ard, but she was given no chance to find him. The mage-demon landed just outside the keep, towering above the onrushing

Inishlanders, and it roared as it plunged into their ranks, tearing and ripping with its clawed hands and feet. She saw it storm forward and pick up a man bodily, legs and arms flailing, and rip the body apart as if it were a rag doll, blood and entrails splattering as it tossed the broken corpse aside. The war-keening faltered; the advance slowed like a tide striking a rising seabed. The beast laughed, its wings spreading and blotting out the setting sun, and it bent to its terrible task once more. Jenna shouted and unleashed Lamh Shabhala again, reaching out with arms of energy to pluck the thing up and smash it down on the ground again before it could react to the attack. She sent thunderbolts raining down on it, striking it again and again and yet again. The creature bellowed as she tore at it, and she heard the mirroring cries from its Holder within the keep. In the cloch-vision, a coiling line of gold led from the mage-creature back to the Cloch Mor which spawned it, and Jenna sent of blade of energy down on it, severing the link. The mage-demon howled once more and vanished, and Jenna would have finished it then. .

… the arrows no longer fell, but something else did: several hands of round balls arced over the walls, rolling into the midst of the Inishlanders. Where the jell, great cries of anguish went up. One fell near Jenna and she saw that it was not a stone but a severed head, the eyes still wide open, long black hair matted with mud and caked blood. She recognized the gory features even through the distortion of the death rictus: it was Tiarna 0 Beolldin, and she knew then that those who had been sent to open the keep from the inside had failed. The last glow of sunlight was fading; darkness was falling, and when she looked up at the walls of the keep, she saw the first stars glitter in the dome of the sky

. . light blazed all around her, suddenly. A half-dozen flares of power multihued and dangerous, Mac Ard among them. Jenna reflexively threw up shields as they attacked as one, and she was suddenly contending with attacks from all sides, the snarl and blinding light of mage-energy pound-ing at her. Mac Ard sent his fire; she caught it with Lamh Shabhala and threw the flame toward the great glowing wolf that was leaping toward her. Spears of golden sunlight cascaded from the shield, but she couldn’t respond fast enough to the others.

A stream of rich azure slithered through, burning her while a funnel of utter black whirled above, its

mouth twisting ravenously. She could feel the power of Lamh Shabhala being leeched away by the tornado. .

. . the war-keening had died. Around her, the soldiers milled, confused and stymied. Rams were brought forward to break down the gates, but archers on the walls cut down half the men wielding them. The gates shuddered with the impact but held. MacEagan's lava-creature-bright in the growing darkness- came lumbering forward to smash open the iron-barred wood, but the mage-demon, returning to the battlefield, met him, the two struggling before the gates so that none could get past. The moving shadows of their contest played over the faces of the soldiers, and Jenna could see the despair and resignation there. Jenna knew that the gates must go down now or they must retreat. To stay would mean being decimated by the archers on the walls and the Clochs Mor. .

. . This was the end, Jenna realized, even as she fought the Clochs Mor arrayed against her, even as she tossed wild power around her and threw them all momentarily back. She was stronger, aye, but they would bear her down under sheer numbers. The Inish hope had been that the army could gain the keep, that sword and spear would cut down a few of the Mages or cause them to look elsewhere. Mac Ard's cloch attacked her again, and this time she could not push it aside. The force struck her, enveloping her in fire, and she screamed as the blow sent her reeling backward and her freshly healed wounds ripped open again. Unseen hands caught her and held her upright, but they, too, shouted in pain as they touched Mac Ard's blaze. Jenna held Lamh Shabhala aloft in futile defiance, gathering power in the fist of her mind and sending it smashing down to where she sensed Mac Ard standing-but the other clochs inter-posed themselves, shunting the energy aside or absorbing it themselves. She could feel their realization that victory was to be theirs, that they were enough to overwhelm Lamh Shabhala. Their colors circled her, like hun-gry wolves harrying an injured but still dangerous storm deer stag. They would come in for the final kill now, and Jenna found that the anger inside her, even toward Mac Ard, had dissolved into resignation. She hadn't wanted this fight in the first place, and people all around her were dying, all because of the cloch she held. .

the men around the mage-demon hacked at it,

but it kicked them aside as if they were bothersome flies. It leaped upon the lava-creature, and Jenna saw its clawed hands grasp the glowing head and twist it. A sound came like stones splitting, and MacEagan’s clock-created creature was gone. She saw MacEagan, several yards away, collapse as Alby wailed, dropped his sword, and sank down alongside him, cradling the unconscious tiarna in his lap. The mage-demon began rampaging through the Inishlanders closest to the gate, and Jenna saw men starting to retreat in panic into the gathering night, pushing back against the ranks behind them. .

. . her cloch-vision was filled with the lights of the Tuathian Holders. She gathered a shield around her; they broke it down. Lamh Shabhala was weakening now; she was using its stores quickly.

She could prepare a final stroke, perhaps aiming it at Mac Ard, or she could simply allow it to happen-quickly and hopefully without too much pain. The mage-demon had fastened its eyes on her, and was plowing through the soldiers between it and her. .

. . now. It’s better that we die now, she told herself and her unborn child. 1/ we die, this ends. The Tuathians will have what they want, and Inish Thuaidh will have to retreat and then negotiate for peace, but the battle will end. In the final tally, we will have saved hundreds of lives. Won’t that be better. .?

. . but there was something else in Lamh Shabhala’s vision now, mov-ing swiftly toward them from the tumbled rocks at the feet of the moun-tain close to the keep, and there was the sound of rocks clashing together in furious handclaps, a storm of sound, and mingled with it a musical warbling that Jenna remembered well. She blinked, wonderingly. The Creneach. .!

In their valley near Thall Coill, she had never seen them move this quickly. They were surprisingly graceful despite their size and appearance, their craggy bodies sliding among the amazed Inishlanders. The mage-demon howled, fluttered its leathery wings and flung itself at them; one of the Creneach slapped at it with a bouldered hand and the mage-demon shattered like glass. Several more of them went to the gates of the keen The archers sent a hail of arrows down at them, but the shafts clattered and broke on their smooth, dark skin. The Creneach placed their hands on the great doors and their fingers seemed to sink into the wood as if the oak were no more substantial than newly-churned butter: they ripped the gates open, splinters and shards of reinforcing metal flying, the portcullis torn out and flung aside as if it were made of sticks. The Inish troops cheered; they began to surge forward again. A ferocious battle was quickly underway at the ruins of the gate as the defending soldiers within came forward to meet the Inishlanders.

"Holder of the All-Heart!" Jenna heard Treoral’s voice, mingled with the warbling sound of its true language. "We tasted the need of the All-Heart, and so we came." Jenna wanted to answer, but the clochs had not forgotten her with the appearance of the Creneach; as she heard the call and felt Treoral’s presence approaching from behind her, they attacked again as one. Forms and shapes and colors swept over her like a tide, too quickly for her to do more than glimpse them. A dire wolf flew at her; she split it asunder with a blade of energy; lines of bright color wrapped around her like a snake; she tore them away. The yellow dragon coiled above her; the black funnel began to draw power from her; Mac Ard's fire spitting at her like great glowing meteors.

In the cloch-vision, an ebon wall interposed itself between Jenna and the others. They shattered against it, energy flaring in a mad explosion. For a moment, the wall held, but the massed clochs continued to strike, battering it. With her own eyes, she saw Terrain shamble forward to stand facing her, and she heard the shrill trill of Treoral’s voice. "The Soft-flesh must give in to the heart that you hold in your hand," it said. "Find Ceile inside. You must-"

"I can't," she told Terrain, not knowing if the Creneach could hear or understand her. "It's too late."

"If not for you, then for the life you carry,"

Terrain answered. "You can, if-" Its hand plunged into its own chest, ripping a fissure in its body, and emerged again holding a tiny blue crystal. "Give this to her. . Treoral’s voice went silent as the clochs broke down the wall. Jenna heard the sound of falling stone; before her, the bodily form of Terrain collapsed into a heap of rocks and boulders. The crystal fell to the ground.

The Clochs Mor surged toward her.

THEY hammered her down. They took her cowering to her knees. Jenna shrilled her pain to the world, nearly losing her grip on Lamh Shabhala as she fell. Her own sight was gone now; there was only the terrible light and agony of the cloch-world, and she sank down inside Lamh Shabhala as she had with An Phionos at Bethiochnead, desperately seeking a place to hide from the assault. The voices of the Holders shrieked at her or laughed or shouted contradictory advice.

She burrowed deeper, seeking escape. The Clochs Mor followed her. She tumbled into a crystalline, twisting well. The faces of the ancient cloudmage Holders flashed past her: the Daoines, then the Bunus Muintir, then tribes and peoples for whom she had no names at all, falling deeper into the past. And there, at the bottom. .

Lamh Shabhala throbbed like a live thing, waves of colors pulsating around her. This was the place.she had glimpsed during the Scrudu, the place she’d not been able to reach. She went toward it as the Clochs Mor continued to pummel her, and again she was held back. "No…" a voice whispered. "You’re not allowed here. You have not passed the test."

"Then I’ll die!" she shouted back.

The voice sounded amused. "We thought that no longer mattered to you." The energy of the Clochs Mor crackled around Jenna, and she pushed back at them. She could feel the baby in her womb, frightened and in pain because Jenna was in pain, suffering because she suffered. The voice at the heart of Lamh Shabhala seemed amused. "So that’s why you fight, even though you still don’t understand. What have you brought me?"

Jenna could only shake her head in confusion and terror. "I don't know what you mean? The clock?"

"No. There, in your hand." Jenna could see blue light radiating from between the fingers of her left hand-the crystal that Terrain had pulled from itself. She held it out, felt the presence take it from her. The light danced away in darkness. "Ah, such a gift…" The voice seemed to sigh "So my children ask me to help you. How can one refuse one's own…" The voice faded, and Jenna thought it had gone. Then the feeling of nearness crawled over Jenna's skin again. "AH the hearts of my children connect to the mage-lights through you. You fight yourself when you fight them."

"What do you mean?"

"I will give you a gift for the sake of my children, though I don't know if you are capable of using it. This once, in this moment, you must accept what they give you," the voice answered. It was sounding fainter now, and Jenna felt herself being pushed away, rising through the levels of the cloch once more back to reality. "Accept it…" the voice said again, a whisper.

Jenna lay like a broken doll on the cold ground before the keep. The power of the Clochs Mor played around her, keeping away the Inish sol-diers who were trying to reach her and pull her free. The pile of stones that had been Terrain were at her right hand, and the mage-lights had appeared in the sky above. She could feel the threads connecting all the clochs na thintri: running through Lamh Shabhala and into the sky, creat-ing loops of energy, endless circles and spirals. .

"This once, in this moment, you must accept what they give you…" That's what the voice of Lamh Shabhala had said.

Jenna let the shields fall. The energy poured into her and through her. She marveled at the feel of it. She seemed to have been thrown entirely away from her body into some new reality where she was with all the clochs, and their energy filled her, but it no longer hurt, not with the mage-lights in the sky. Instead, she had become a vessel, and they filled her to overflowing. She held the power in her hand.

She rose. She found five of the Clochs Mor and took hold of them.

She thought.

The wind blew cold and salty. The mage-lights flared and vanished, but

their radiance seemed to remain, illuminating the cliffside and the weathered, ruined statue of Bethiochnead.,

Six people stood there, each with a cloch na thintri in his or her hand all of them battered and bruised and bloody, all but one of them with confusion on their faces.

"Where are we?" Banrion Aithne asked. She stood next to MacEagan and Moister Cleurach, both of whom stared up at the statue. "Holder, did you do this?"

"Aye, I did," Jenna answered. "I think I did. I’m not entirely certain." Power filled Lamh Shabhala as it never had before, so potent that her body seemed to vibrate with it. She felt like a piece of parchment trying to hold back a frothing torrent. Is this what it would have been like if I’d passed the Scrudu? she wondered. How can anyone handle this? The energy buzzed in her head, making her giddy and delirious. Her face burned with it so that she was surprised that she wasn’t literally glowing. Her voice seemed too loud and too fast. She wanted to laugh. "Banrion, Tiarna MacEagan, Moister Cleurach, this is Nevan

O Liathain, the Tanaise Rig, and Tiarna Padraic Mac Ard. And this," she swept a hand about to indicate the cliffside on which they stood, "is the place they call Bethiochnead, in Thall Coill."

Before she’d finished talking, she felt O Liathain’s Cloch Mor open; before he could use it, she clamped an ethereal hand around it, letting the power flow not to his stone but to her, the Tanaise Rig gaping in astonish-ment as nothing happened. The feel and color of the energy was all too familiar to Jenna, and she did laugh now, high and maniacal. "Why, Ta-naise Rig," Jenna said. The power of his cloch wriggled in the grasp of her mind, and she saw him grimace in pain and cry aloud, falling to his knees. "So it was you who wielded the mage-demon. I should have known. I’m sorry, I really can’t allow him to walk here."

Mac Ard and O Liathain were truly frightened; she could see it in their faces. MacEagan, Aithne, and Moister Cleurach seemed bewildered,

un-certain of whether they should attack the Tuathians or wait. Jenna could feel all the clochs; she held the strings to them in her mind like puppets, but they were puppets who had wills of their own and who fought the control. She could not hold them long, not when the energy ached to be used, rattling the bars of her mind. She heard her voice again. "Tanaise Rig, you were right to name me the Mad Holder. You were right to call me dangerous. But you want to know why you're here now, don't you?" Jenna realized she was babbling, but she had to talk, had to find some way to dissipate at least some of the energy or it would consume her utterly. "That's simple enough. I will have an end to this war. Now."

Mac Ard and O Liathain looked at each other; O Liathain had risen shakily to his feet again. His voice, even through the fear, was still oily and smooth and dangerous. "That's what we all want, isn't it, Holder? But it wasn't us that started this, after all. After Lar Bhaile…" A shrug; a glance at Aithne. "Even the Banrion understands that, I'm sure. After all Cianna was your niece." His gaze went back to Jenna, but he kept glancing at the others. "Killing us also won't end the war, Holder. It will only convince everyone of how dangerous you are. Everyone."

Jenna was trembling now. "I give you a gift for the sake of my children, though 1 don't know if you are capable of using it. ."Jenna closed her eyes, trying to stop the buzzing in her head. Her scarred arm felt as if it were aflame, the pain crawling along the lines the mage-light had carved into her flesh; she had to bite her lip to keep from screaming. She could tell that the clochs wanted to return to where they had been; it was only Lamh Shabhala holding them here. It was as if she had lifted all five of them into the air: if she let go, they would return, falling back instantly to Dun Kiil; but the effort of holding them was draining her.

"You are Tanaise Rig," she said to O Liathain, and her voice was a shout, tearing at her throat. "You will be Rl Ard one day. You can end this. You will end it, or-" Jenna stopped.

"Or you will kill him?" Mac Ard finished for her.

He stepped forward, putting himself between Jenna and the Tanaise Rig. One side of his mouth lifted. "I'm sure you could, Jenna. That seems to be your answer for any disagreement. Kill me, kill the Tanaise Rig. Then what happens when the Banrion or your new husband or the Moister do something you don’t like. Do you kill them also?"

"Be quiet.’" Jenna shouted at Mac Ard, wondering if he could even hear her over the shrilling, singing energy that filled her. The cloch pulled at her, struggling to be free of her grasp. The strain of holding them here was too much, too much.

"Don’t you see?" Mac Ard continued, and he was no longer talking to her but the others. "We are dealing with a rogue Holder. That isn’t some-thing I want to admit since Jenna’s the daughter of the woman I love, but none of us can deny it. She’s a danger to everyone around her. She can- she will-kill those she perceives as standing against her. She is mad. How long before it’s one or all of you that she turns on?"

"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."

"Then send me there, and I’ll do what should be done."

Again, Jenna submerged herself in the cloch-vision, finding Aithne and Kyle and loosing them from Lamh Shabhala’s grasp. Their departure burned her with its swiftness. Now the mage-energy no longer filled her, and she could feel the pain of her body: the wounds, the ravagements of wielding Lamh Shabhala, the weariness from lack of sleep and worry, the loss and grief.

She opened her eyes. Mac Ard stared at her. "So it’s just the two of us " he said. "What do you ask of me, Holder? What is my punishment?"

"Be my mam’s husband," Jenna answered. Exhaustion throbbed in her voice. The gift given to her was almost gone, and Jenna felt only relief. "Marry her."

"That’s all?"

Jenna nodded. It was too much effort to speak.

She couldn’t hold Mac Ard’s cloch much longer; it shivered in her mind, struggling.

"Then I will do that. I give you my word." Mac Ard sniffed, wiping his bloodied lips with his sleeve. He shook his head. "You should not be the Holder, Jenna," he said. "Everything you do tells me that. You’re weak."

Jenna’s cheeks colored. Her lips tightened. "Leave me, then," she said. She started to release him, to send him back as she had the others. But where the rest had departed willingly, Mac Ard did not. His cloch re-mained, burning red before her, the glow growing rather than diminishing. "You’re too weak," she heard his voice repeat, almost sadly. "Especially right now. But I will keep my word to you, Jenna. Take that with you to the Mother-Creator as some comfort. I will marry your mam, afterward."

She felt his cloch open and turn its power toward her. "No!" she screamed at him, but an inferno had already erupted. The mage-energy licked hungrily at her, the heat taking her breath. Mac Ard was sending everything toward her, emptying his cloch. She tried to throw up shields but they were weak

and late, the fire burning through them in an instant. There was little left in Lamh Shabhala, and Jenna knew that if she miscal-culated here, if she did not use enough of what remained to her, then Mac Ard would win. He would take Lamh Shabhala from her-he would kill her.

He would kill the life inside her. He would kill all that was left of Ennis.

"No!" Jenna screamed into the assault. She sent herself spiraling deep into the cloch, gathering all that she could of the mage-energy. There was no subtlety or finesse to her response; it was a blunt weapon, wielded with all the remaining strength she had. Even as the fires surrounded her, she sent it out, hurtling multicolored lightnings into the red center of Mac Ard.

They struck, blinding her. She heard him scream as the fire of his cloch vanished.

For several seconds, there was no sound but the wind and the faint crash of the waves far below, though her ears still rang with the furious sound of the clochs. Jenna blinked into the starlight above Bethiochnead. Mac Ard was lying on the ground a few feet away. She went to him, looking down into the open, staring, sightless eyes. His mouth was open, his chest still. Kneeling beside the body, she closed his eyes and took the Cloch Mor from his fisted hand.

"This," she said, "was never yours."

Jenna straightened. The movement made her momentarily dizzy, and she had to close her eyes to stop the world from spinning around her. She wanted nothing more than to collapse. But she couldn't. Not yet. Not here.

Only the dregs of the mage-energy were left. Lamh Shabhala couldn't take her back to Dun Kiil or return Mac Ard's corpse. She lifted her head, looking toward the moonlit oaks ringing the cliffside. "Protector Loman!" she called. "I know you're there watching. Step out!" There was no answer for several breaths and she started to call again. Then two figures emerged from the shadows and began walking slowly toward her, one of them leaning on an oaken staff. The Bunus Muintir stopped several feet from her.

"Holder," Loman said, but Jenna's eyes were on the boy with him, who would not look at her directly though she saw him glance with fright at the broken statue before sending his gaze back to the ground. She had expected Toryn to be with the old Protector, but this boy was blond and no more than fourteen, far younger than Toryn.

"Where’s your apprentice?" Jenna asked Loman.

"Toryn is… gone," Loman answered. His scraggly beard sagged as he frowned, and the boy with him shuddered. "When I learned what he had done to Seancoim Crow-Eye and you, I sent him to the oaks, the Old Ones. He feeds their roots now. I’m sorry, Holder. Seancoim was right; I chose poorly and taught badly for Toryn to do such a thing. Aye, I would gladly have allowed him take Lamh Shabhala if you’d failed in the Scrudu, but to kill Seancoim and to try to take the cloch by force…" He shook his head, grimacing. "I’m sorry if I’ve cheated you out of the revenge you might have wanted for that."

Jenna gave a laugh that sounded more like a cough. She gestured at the body between them. "I think, Protector, that I’ve had my fill of revenge."

The apprentice visibly brightened at that statement, venturing a small smile. Loman hummed, clearing his throat; his breath wheezed asthmatically. "Holder," he said. "How can I help you?"

"You know the way to the nearest Daoine village?"

A nod.

Jenna pointed again to Mac Ard. "Good. I know that you also know herb lore: I want you to treat this body so that it can make a long journey then take it to that village. Tell them there that the Comhairle wishes the tiarna’s body returned safely to Dun Kiil. That’s all. Consider it a partial payment for your poor choice of apprentice."

His eyes glared, a flash of irritation that he hid almost immediately "it will take several days to do as you ask," Loman answered.

"I don’t care," Jenna told him. "Do it." Neither of the Bunus Muintir moved. Neither of them seemed to want to be near her. Jenna lifted the cloch.

"Now," she said.

For an instant, she wondered if Loman, like Toryn, might try to use the slow magic against her.

But the ancient Bunus snarled something to his apprentice in their own language and the younger man moved quickly over to Mac Ard's corpse. He picked it up, draping the tiarna's body over his shoulder. His back bowed under the burden, he walked away toward the trees. "This will be good for the young one here. He has much to learn, and I… well, I don't have a great deal of time left to teach him." Loman bowed to Jenna, bending stiffly from the waist. "There is a cavern nearby where you can stay, Holder, until the body's prepared."

"I have my own way home," she told him. "Just do as I've asked." Loman nodded silently at that and turned to follow his new apprentice into the forest. Jenna watched until they had gone.

She wanted to sleep, to give in to the exhaustion and pain. But she forced herself to walk down the slope, away from Bethiochnead to where the cliffs lowered and she could find a way down to the water. She clam-bered down over the slippery rocks until the salt spray of the waves touched her face, refreshing her. The moon dappled the ocean as she stood on the rocks at the water's edge.

Not far out from the shore, a dark body lifted its head above the waves. Jenna heard the grunting cough of a seal. She brushed her fingers against Lamh Shabhala. There was barely enough power remaining. "Thraisha. .?" Jenna whispered hopefully into the wind, feeling the presence of Bradan an Chumhacht there.

"Not Thraisha," a voice said, the words sounding in her head as her ears heard more throaty gruntings. "Garrentha."

"Garrentha. I thought for a moment… "

Garrentha gave a bark, and in Jenna's head a sad laugh echoed, know," Garrentha said. "I was there at the battle, too, and we both saw my milk-mother die. When her body went back into the water, I saw Bradan an Chumhacht swim from her mouth, and I chased it and swallowed the power myself. I struggled with it for a day, then felt you gathering the power of the stones, and Bradan an Chumhacht allowed me

follow you here. A small foretelling…" Garrentha barked, and Jenna heard the laugh again. "I thought you would need me."

"I do," Jenna said. "More than you know."

"Then I’m here for you," Garrentha answered. "In that first foretelling, I saw more, as well, and I’ll tell you now: those who came here to wage war are preparing to leave. And tomorrow, the stone-walkers who live here will meet in their stone house."

"The Comhairle, aye. Kyle will be the next Ri," Jenna said, anticipating, but Garrentha’s head moved quickly side to side.

"They will not choose a Ri. They will instead elect a…" Jenna felt the touch of Garrentha’s mind on hers, searching for the word."… a Banrion to lead them."

"Aithne," Jenna breathed.

Again, a bark/laugh, making Jenna tilt her head in puzzlement. "No. Not Aithne herself, though the choice of person will be hers," Garrentha said. "But there’s time enough for you to worry about stone-walker things later. Now you should listen to the Saimhoir within you…"

Jenna nodded. She stripped away her filthy, tattered cloca and leine and pulled the boots and stockings from her feet, standing shivering and naked on the shore. She slipped the chain of Ennis’ cloch around her neck next to Lamh Shabhala and stepped into the water. The waves that lapped her feet were icy, and she drew in a hissing breath, but the cold vanished a moment later as she continued to walk forward, and suddenly she was no longer walking at all but diving into the waves.

Two sleek bodies swam away, black fur shimmering blue in the moon-light.

PART FIVE: Reunion

INISHDUAN was a barren flyspeck of an island pushing out of the waves halfway between Inish Thuaidh and Talamh An Ghlas. Over the course of history, it had been controlled by both Tuath Infochla and Inish Thu-aidh, but in fact no one much cared who owned the small tumble of rocks. No one lived there, no one visited except a few fisherfolk; the earth there was thin and unarable; the wind scoured entirely clean much of the single peak that formed the island. Someone had once tried to establish a herd of wild goats there; even the goats had been unhappy. Seals clam-bered over the rock at the shoreline while gulls, terns, and other seabirds nested in the steep cliffs rising out of the sea, spotting the gray rocks with white-the seals and birds seemed to be the only animals that much cared for the island.

Undesirable, empty, the isle was well-situated for this meeting. Stand-ing in front of a white tent billowing in the harsh, steady wind, Jenna watched the tiny rowboat approaching her from one of the two ships anchored just offshore, one flying blue and white, the other green and brown. A pair of gardai in green-and-brown cloca stepped out as Jenna's own gardai helped pull the boat onto the wet, narrow shingle. A woman was seated in the boat, stepping out once the craft was ashore. The pas-senger approached the tent slowly, and Jenna could see that she was hold-ing a baby in her arms. She seemed to glance from Jenna to the blue-and-white banner fluttering on the tent poles, then strode purposefully for-ward off the wet shingle, leaving the gardai behind as she came to a stop a few strides from Jenna.

"Mam. ." Jenna breathed. She started to move to her, to take her in her arms and embrace her.

Maeve had changed much in the intervening months. Her face was heavier and paler, the dark hair now liberally streaked with gray. Semicir-cles of brown flesh hung under her eyes, and she stared at Jenna with such scorn that Jenna stopped where she was, her hand still raised. Maeve's gaze went from Jenna's face to the golden tore around her neck, below to where Lamh Shabhala hung on its chain, and further down to her rounding belly.

"Married, and with child. A Riocha," she said. The last word was uttered as if it were a curse. "And more, They tell me you are now Banrion MacEagan. They also say that you rule alone, that your hus-band is not the Ri."

"That’s true," Jenna said. "It was the decision of the Comhairle."

Maeve sniffed. Her eyes shimmered with tears and she looked away. Jenna heard a sob, and she put her hand on Maeve’s shoulder. The baby stared at her from within its swaddling, the chubby face solemn. With the touch, Maeve sniffed and brushed at her eyes with a sleeve, the gesture almost angry. She took a step back from Jenna. "It’s too late for that," she said. "Maybe once. . Not now."

"Mam-"

Maeve shook her head. "I’ve always heard that the Inishlanders are strange, and you. . you fit them well. I can barely believe the stories I’ve heard about you." She stroked the baby’s head; Jenna could remember Maeve doing that with her, long ago. "I can barely believe even what I’ve seen. You’re the Mad Holder, the changeling, the warrior, the great cloudmage, the Banrion." She paused. Her breath hung for a moment like a white cloud between them before the wind tore it away. "The murderer of your brother’s da and my lover."

The cold air pulled tears from Jenna’s eyes. She wanted to answer an-grily: What about me? I’m your daughter, your own flesh and blood and all you have left of Niall, and he would have killed me. You’re talking to me like an unwelcome stranger. Have 1 hurt you that much? Do 1 mean so little to you now? She forced the anger down, taking a breath. "Mam… If I could have changed that, I would have. He gave me no choice."

"Is that what you told yourself about Banrion Cianna also, Daughter?" Maeve retorted. "Would you say that to the widows of all the gardai dead because of you? ’Poor me! I had no choice!’ I tell you this, Jenna, because it’s what I thought every night since you fled Lar Bhaile: you should have stayed in Ballintubber. You should have given that stone-embodied curse you found on Knob top to someone else. Everything since you took Lamh Shabhala has turned to dust and ashes." Maeve barked a short, bitter laugh, looking at the tent. "Often quite literally." The baby stirred and gave a

cry; Maeve rocked him in her arms and he settled down once more. Jenna saw the face again briefly as Maeve brushed aside the swaddling-a mass of red curls, bright blue eyes, a small mouth with pouting lips: a handsome face. A tiny hand closed around one of Maeve's fingers. Jenna wanted to ask to hold the infant, to be able to look closely at him.

"That's my brother?"

Looking down at him, Maeve's face had softened for the first time. "Aye. His name's Doyle Mac Ard." She looked back to Jenna and the hardness returned to the lines around her eyes and mouth. "Padraic's final will gives the boy his surname and an estate-Padraic showed the document to me before he left Falcarragh and the Rl Ard has confirmed it. At least Doyle will have that, even though they will always whisper that he is 'the bastard Mac Ard child.'" Her gaze drifted past Jenna to the tent. "Padraic's body's in there?"

"Aye. I brought it with me from Dun Kill." Jenna's acknowledgment was less than a whisper. Maeve walked past Jenna. As she passed, Jenna started to lift her hand to touch her mam, but Maeve cast her a cold stare. Jenna watched her go to the tent, lift the flap, and walk inside. After a moment, Jenna followed her.

Mac Ard's body was wrapped in cloth saturated with unguents and oils: Loman's work. The gardai had laid it on a low pyre built of logs brought with them from Inish Thuaidh. The smell of oil was thick in the tent, cloying. Maeve didn't seem to notice, though Doyle started crying again. Maeve rocked him as she stood staring at the body, standing at the edge of the pyre. "It took weeks to bring him back from Thall Coill," Jenna said to Maeve's back. "I didn't know what you would want, whether you would want to send him to the Mother here or take the body home to whatever end he desired. Tell me what you want, and I'll have my gardai take care of it."

"What I want is for Padraic to be alive," Maeve answered, still facing the pyre. "Can you give me that, Jenna? Can the First Holder, the new Banrion, do that for me? Is that within your vast power?"

The questions tore holes in Jenna's soul. She felt the child inside her stir, and she placed her hands protectively over her stomach. "No." The wind snapped the canvas of the tent, punctuating the

Maeve swiveled. "What of the Cloch Mor that Padraic held? Give me that, so I can give it to Doyle as his legacy as a Mac Ard."

Jenna shook her head. "I can’t-I won’t-do that. It belongs. ."Jenna paused, taking a breath. It belongs to the child 1 carry. It’s Ennis’ legacy."… to Inishfeirm and Inish Thuaidh."

Maeve nodded, her mouth tightening. "Then can you at least manage to give me a torch?"

Jenna went to one of the tent posts, where two circles of copper held a smoldering brand. She pulled it from the rings and gave it to her mam.

"You may leave now," Maeve told her.

"Mam-"

Maeve shook her head vigorously, the flame flickering in her hand. "I’m not your mam. I’m the woman who loved your enemy. My allegiance is to the Ri Ard, not the woman who calls herself Banrion in the pigsty of Dun Kiil. Leave me to say farewell in private. Go back to your ship and your island and forget me. Give me that much."

Jenna’s mouth hung open; a dozen unsaid replies filling her head. A gulf wider than the Westering Sea separated them, and Jenna could think of no way to bridge it. The infant Mac Ard was crying again, but Maeve’s face reflected only a stoic suffering. Jenna started to take a step toward her but Maeve’s eyes narrowed warningly and she stopped. Finally, Jenna ducked her heard and left the tent, going out into the wind again. Her gardai were waiting for her. They looked at her questioningly.

"We’re leaving," she told them.

Jenna sat in the boat as they rowed back to their ship, gazing backward at Inishduan. She saw Maeve come out of the tent, Doyle cradled in one arm. Smoke gushed white around the central pole as Maeve walked down to the beach without looking back. A few seconds later, the first flames appeared, leaping high into the air. Smoke rolled gray with the oils, the wind smearing it west and south toward Talamh an Ghlas.

They arrived at the ship. Hands reached down to help Jenna up onto the deck. Standing at the rail, she looked back to the island: to the boat that was

carrying Maeve and Jenna's half brother back to their own vessel; to the conflagration rising high into the sky.

"Are you ready, Banrion?" the captain asked. Jenna nodded. "Aye," she said. "Take me home."

Appendices

Characters (in order of appearance):

A young woman from the village of Ballintubber Jenna's mam

Jenna Aoire

Maeve Aoire (nee Oldspring)

Tara

Kesh

Old Stubborn Halden

Coelin Singer

Songmaster

Curragh

Mother-Creator

Aldwoman Pearce Tom Mullin

One Hand Bailey

Erin the Healer

Maghera

Ellia

Matron Kelly Niall Aoire Chamis Redface

Rafea

Sean

Eliath

Padraic Mac Ard

Conhal

Mael Armagh

Owner of a tavern in Ballintubber

Jenna's herding dog

The ancient ram in Jenna's flock

A resident of Ballintubber, danced with Maeve at Corn Festival

A musician in Ballintubber Coelin's mentor, dead three years

Goddess: creator of the world

The oldest person in Ballintubber and the Teller of Tales

Ballintubber resident Ballintubber resident

Ballintubber resident A character in song and legend, female Tara's daughter, enamored of Coelin Ballintubber resident, keeps cows Jenna's da (father)

A Ballintubber resident who teased Jenna as a child

Ballintubber resident, weaves cloth Matron Kelly's son, brain-damaged by fever Tara's youngest son

A tiarna (lord) who comes to Ballintubber Mac Ard's horse

An ancient king of Tuath Infochla who tried to conquer Inish Thuaidh;

Mam of Rowan, Holder of Lamh Shabhala from 622-648

The Inish cloudmage who took the cloch from Rowan Beirne in the year 651

Bryth Beirne (nee Mac Ard) Garad Mhullien

Anrai Beirne

Ailen O'Curragh Sinna Mac Ard

Slevin Mac Ard

Galen Aheron

Baird

Murrin

Labras

Damhlaic

Gairbith

WaterMother

Garrentha

Flynn Meagher

Maister

Cleurach

Mundy Kirwan

Tadhg

O'Coulghan

Maher

Scanlan

Aithne MacBradaigh Ionhar MacBradaigh Thraisha Aron O Dochartaigh Kyle MacEagan

Kianna

Ciomhsog

Peria O RBain

Aidan

Terrain

Littlest

The tiarna who married Bryth Mac Ard — da of Rowan Beirne

Holder of Lamh Shabhala from 597-612

Original surname Hannroia, married to Ailen O'Curragh

and then Teador Mac Ard, mother of Bryth Mac Ard,

Holder of Lamh Shabhala from 612-622

Bryth's brother, and the ancestor of Padraic Mac Ard

Tiarna from Tuath Infochla, at the RB Gabair's Keep

One of Nevan O Liathain's men, a tiarna

The widow woman from whom O’Deoradhain rents a

room in Lar Bhaile

One of Cianna's gardai

Commander of the RB Gabair's forces

The chief god of the blue seals

The blue seal who rescues Jenna from an attack by an underwater creature A sailor from the village of Banshaigh Head of the Order of Inishfeirm

A friend of Ennis O’Deoradhain and a Brathair of the Order of Inishfeirm

Founder of the Order of Inishfeirm, and da to Severii, the Last cloudm Before

Librarian of the Order of Inishfeirm

Keeper of the Order of Inishfeirm, killed when the White Keep was invaded Banrion of Inish Thuaidh

RB of Inish Thuaidh

A blue seal on Inishfeirm, the First of the Saimhoir

A tiarna of Inish Thuaidh from the townland of Rubha na Scarbh, Heat

Cormorants

A tiarna of Inish Thuaidh from the townland of Be an Mhuilinn, Bay of A bantiarna of Inish Thuaidh from the townland of An Cnocan, the Hill

A Holder of Lamh Shabhala, from whom the cloch passed to Tadhg O'Coulghan A page from the Keep at Dun Kiil

"The Guide," one of the Creneach An infant of the Creneach

The Creneach name for the Mother-Creator

Literally, "Spouse," the companion Anchead made for Itself, and from whose body came the All-Heart, perhaps analogous to the Daoine "Seed-Daughter"

Anchead

Ceile

Loman

Keira

Greatness

Toryn

An Phionos

Dwaine

Alby

Keira

Mahon

MacBreen

Deelan MacBreen Tiarna O Beollain

Places:

An Cnocan

An Deann Ramhar

Ath lseal

Bacathair Ballintubber Banshaigh Be An Mhuillian Bethiochnead

Cat's Alley Ceile Mhor

Croc a Scroilm Doire Coill Duan Mouth

Dubh Bhaile Dun Kiil Dun Laoghaire Falcarragh Foraois Coill

The Bunus Muintir who is the Protector of Thall Coill

Seancoim's pledge-daughter in Doire Coill

The Bunus Muintir term for the Mother-Creator

Loman's pledge-son in Thall Coill

"The Punishment," the statue-creature in Thall Coill

A young child on the island of Inishfeirm

Tiarna MacEagan's attendant

Jenna's attendant in Tiarna MacEagan's household

A child whose father Deelan was killed at the Battle of Dun Kiil

Killed in the Battle of Dun Kiil

A tiarna of Baile Nua, killed in the assault on Dun Kiil Keep

A townland in Inish Thuaidh A townland in Inish Thuaidh

A village on River Duan, where the High Road crosses the river

Capital city of Tuath Locha Lein, on the west coast of the peninsula The village where Jenna was born A village on Lough Glas in Tuath Connachta A townland in Inish Thuaidh

The "Beast-Nest," the location in Thall Coill where the Scrudu takes pl A back street in Lar Bhaile

The far larger peninsula to which Talamh an Ghlas is connected by the of mountainous land

The "Hill of Screaming," the mountain that faces Dun Kiil Bay The "Forest of Oaks"

The mountain-girdled and long end of the River Duan,which ends in an bay

A city in Tuath Gabair, south of Lar Gabair on the Lough Dubh Seat of Inish Thuaidh

Main city of the peninsula, seat of the High King

Capital city of Tuath Infochla

Another old growth forest, in Tuath Infochla

A fortress mansion in Rubha na Scarbh (Inish Thuaidh)

The sea to the north of the peninsula A townland in Inish Thuaidh

Glen Aill Ice Sea

Ingean na nUan Inishcoill

Inishfeirm

Knobtop

Lar Bhaile

Lough

Crithlaigh

Lough Dhub

Lough Glas Lough Lar

Maoil na nDreas Nealmhar Ford

Rubha na Scarbh

Sliabh

Bacaghorth

Sliabh Collain Sliabh

Michinniuint

Talamh an Ghlas Thall Coill

Thall Mor-roinn

The Black Gull Thiar

Tuath Airgialla

Tuath

Connachta

Tuath

Eoganacht

Tuath Gabair Tuath Infochla Tuath Locha Lein Valleylair

A large island off the coast of Tuath Airgialla, entirely covered in old gi

A small island off Inish Thuaidh, home of the Order of Inishfeirm and o great-mam and great-da

A small mountain outside Ballintubber, on whose flanks sheep are often grazed

A city on Lough Lar, the seat of Tuath Gabair A lake on the northwest border of Tuath Gabair

A lake on River Duan, scene of one of the final battles between the Bun Daoine

A lake on the coastline of Tuath Connachta

"Center Lake," a large lake nearly in the center of the peninsula, very: Ballintubber

A townland in Inish Thuaidh

The crossing of the River Nealmhar, the Gloomy River, in Inish Thuaid

A townland in Inish Thuaidh, home of Aron O Dochartaigh and Banrion MacBradaigh

A mountain in Tuath Infochla near Falcarragh, where Rowan Beirne lo Shabhala

A mountain in a southern county of the peninsula, also the title of a son

The battle at the end of the previous incarnation of the mage-lights wl of Infochla were defeated by the Inishlanders

"The Green Land," the peninsula on which the events of the novel take The "Far Forest"

The "Far Continent," the distant mainland, of which Ta-lamh an Ghlas of yet another larger penin-sula, Ceile Mhor

The only inn on Inishfeirm

A city on the west coast, the seat of Tuath Connachta

The Tuath in the northeast corner of the peninsula The Tuath to the immediate west of Tuath Gabair

The Tuath in the south of the peninsula

The Tuath in which Jenna was born

The Tuath in the northwestern corner of the peninsula

The Tuath in the southwestern corner of the peninsula

A location in Tuath Connachta, famous for its ironworks

The "Eldest," a title of respect for the local repository of history

A plant from which an addictive narcotic can be obtained

Terms:

Ald

Anduilleaf

Banrion

Bantiarna

Before, the Black haunts

Blue seals

Bradan an Chumhacht

Brathair Bunus Muintir

By the

Mother-Creator

Caointeoireacht na cogadh

Ceil giallnai

Cinniuint

Cloca

Cloch Mor Cloch na thrintri

Clochmion

Clock-candle

Cloudmages

The feminine form of RB: "Queen"

The feminine form of tiarna: "Lady"

The time of myths, when magic ruled

The spirits of the dead who come and take the soul of the living when i die

Intelligent seals, black, but with a sheen of electric blue in their fur

"Salmon of Power," the blue seals' analogue to the clochs na thrintri, eating one of the Bradan an Chumhacht that a blue seal can tap the mage-lights

The title for those who have dedicated themselves to the Order of Inis

The "Original People," the tribes who first came to Ta-lamh an Ghlas, remnants still can be found in the hidden places

A familiar mild curse, as we would say "By God…"

The war-keening; the ululating and terrifying war cry of the Inishland charge their foes; the cry in con-junction with their ferocious aspect ha sent foes retreating in panic

The lower grade vassals of the RB Mael Armagh's ship

A long cloak worn by the RBocha over their clothing, usu-ally in the col Tuath

The major clochs na thrintri, the ones with large abilities

Literally, "stone of lightning," the stones that gather the power of the mage-lights

The minor clochs na thrintri with small powers

Device used to keep time: a candle of standard diameter with colored ¹ intervals; one "stripe" equals roughly one hour

Sorcerers of old who took power from the heavens to create their spell

The various Tuatha have colors that show allegiance:

Tuath Gabair = green and brown Tuath Connachta = blue and gold Tuath Infochla = green and gold Inish Thuaidh = blue and white Tuath Airgialla = red and white Tuath Locha Lein = blue and black Tuath Eoganacht = green and white

Colors

The Council of Lords, the actual governing body of Inish Thuaidh The "Conference of the Comhairle," the meeting of all chieftains in Inis Autumn feast in Ballintubber

Comhairle of Tiarna

Comhdail

Comhairle

Corn Festival Creneach

Currach

Da

Daoine

Dire wolves Draiodoir

Eneclann

Eraic

Feast of Planting

Fia stoirm

Ficheall

Fili

Filleadh

Fingal

Freelanded

Garda

Giotar

Great-da

Great-mam

Is ferr fer a chiniud

Literally, "Clay Beings," a race of sentient beings who inhabit the moun Thall Coill

A small, dug-out boat used by the fisherfolk of Inish Thuaidh Father

Literally, "The People," the society to which Jenna belongs

Large, intelligent wolves that speak a language

Those consecrated to serve the Mother-Creator, in essence, the priesth is not restricted by gender; the plural is Draiodoiri

Honor-price, the amount a person can owe by his/her status

Payment of blood-money from a slayer

One of the great quarterly festivals, taking place in late March

Storm Deer, a giant deer, previously thought extinct

A board game similar to chess

Poet

The "Coming Back," the prophesied return of magic To slay your own kin; one of the worst crimes

A term meaning that the land is owned by the person living there; to b to be one step down from being RBocha, or nobility

The police of the large cities, or the personal protectors of a tiarna, also "guard;" the plural is gardai

Stringed instrument, guitar Grandfather

Grandmother

"A man is better than his birth"

An analgesic used for headaches and minor pain, non-addictive, but no near as strong as anduilleaf

An extinct or mythical carnivore of the land The cloch na thrintri that Jenna holds A tunic worn under the cloca "Good morning!"

Knifefang Lamh Shabhala Leine

Maidin maith

Mam

Milaran

Miondia

Morceint

Oenach

Pledge-son/ daugh ter

Quern

RB

RBocha

Saimhoir

Scrudu

Seanoir

Siur

Stirabout

Taisteal

Tanaise RBg The Badger

Tiarna Tuath Turves Uaigneas Uisce Taibhse

Wind sprites

Saimhoir Terms:

Mother

A breakfast griddle cake from Inish Thuaidh, sprinkled with molasses.

The Lesser Gods A fairly large denomination coin

An assembly held on regular occasions to transact the private and publ the Tuath

A Bunus Muintir term, a younger person adopted by an Elder as his or

A stone mill using for grinding grain and corn King

The nobility

The name the blue seals call themselves

The test which allows a Holder to fully open all of Lamh Shabhala's cap fatal

The Eldest, the oak trees of Doire Coill and the other Old Growth fores

"Sister"

A meat stew

The "Traveling," an itinerant group of peddlers of anything, from orph to hard goods

The Heir-Apparent

A constellation used for navigation, as the snout of the badger always p north

The title "Lord"

Kingdom

Turf cuttings, peat

The Banrion Thuaidh's ship: "Loneliness"

Literally "Water Ghost," a race of intelligent creatures living in fresh-w sometimes antagonistic to humans

Nearly transparent, small and sentient herd creatures, once thought to be entirely mythical, nocturnal

Bradan an The "Salmon of the Mage-Lights," the analogue of a cloch na thrintri

Chumhacht

Bull Adult male seal, bulls are less common, and are "shared" by several ad

Adult female seal

Cow

Haul out Land-cousin

May the currents bring you fish Milk-mother

The term for leaving the water for the shore Those humans with Saimhoir blood in their ancestry

A common polite greeting

The cow who suckles a youngling, not necessarily the same cow who gave birth to the infant. In Saimhoir soci-ety, the young suckled by another cow. There is generally a stronger attachment to th than the birth-mother (unless, of course, they happen to be the same).

A seal who has shared the milk of the same mother

Milk-sister/bro

ther

Nesting Land

Saimhoir

Seal-biter

Sister-kin

Inish Thuaidh, only on this island the Saimhoir breed, on the northwest shores

The name the blue seals call themselves

The shark, which feeds on seals

A term of endearment

The cloch na thrintri A human

Sky-stones

Stone-walker

Sweetfish

Any of the small fish that make up the bulk of the Saimhoir’s diet

WaterMother

Winter Home

The chief god of the Saimhoir. It is possible, though not proved, that th is simply another manifes-tation of the human’s Mother-Creator

The peninsula of Talamh an Ghlas, where the currents

are warmer and the fish more plentiful during the coldest months

The Daoine Calendar:

The Daoine calendar, like that of the Bunus Muintir, is primarily lunar-based. Their "day" is considered to start at sunset and conclude at sunrise.

Each month consists of 28 days; there is no further separation into weeks. Rather, the days are counted as being the "thirteenth day of Wideleaf" or the "twenty-first day of Capnut."

The months are named after various trees of the region, and are (in translation) Longroot, Silverbark,

Wideleaf, Straightwood, Fallinglimb, Deereye, Brightflower, Redfruit, Conefir, Capnut, Stranglevine, Softwood, and Sweetsap.

The solar year being slightly more than 365 days, to keep the months from recessing slowly through the seasons over the years, an annual two-fold adjustment is made. The first decision is whether there will be addi-tional days added to Sweetsap; the second proclaims which phase of the moon will correspond to the first day of the month that year (the first day of the months during any given year may be considered to start at the new moon, quarter moon waxing, half moon waxing, three-quarter moon waxing, full moon, three-quarter moon waning, half-moon waning, or quarter moon waning). The proclamation is announced at the Festival of Gheimri (see below) each year — any extra days are added immediately after Gheimri and before the first day of Longroot. All this keeps the solar-based festivals and the lunar calendar roughly in line.

This adjustment is traditionally made by the Dralodoiri of the Mother-Creator at the Sunstones Ring at Dun Laoghaire, but the Inish Thuaidh Dralodoiri generally use the Sunstones Ring near Dun Kiil to make their own adjustments, which do not always agree with that of Dun Laoghaire. Thus, the reckoning of days in Talamh an Ghlas and Inish Thuaidh is often slightly different.

The year is considered to start on the first day of Longroot, immediately after the Festival of Gheimri and any additional days that have been added to Sweetsap.

There are four Great Festivals at the solstices and

Marks that true winter has been reached and that the slow ascent t warmth of spring has begun. Generally a celebration touched with a soml cause the rest of winter must still be endured.

equinoxes.

Lafuacht:

(in the first week of Straightwood)

Fomhar

(in the second week of Brightflower)

Meitha

(in the third

week of Capnut)

Marks the time to prepare for the spring planting to come and the birthing of animals. This festival was an appeal to the Mother-Creator and the Mi lesser gods) to make the crops grow and the live-stock fertile. A time c prayer.

Marks the height of the growing season. In good years this was the and happy festival, celebrating the plenty all around.

Gheimhri Marks the onset of autumn. This is a date fraught with uncertainty

(in the fourth as the crops are harvested and the colder weather begins. Though t

week of often spreadsover more than one day, it is also laden with solemn r

Sweetsap) ceremonies to placate the gods who awaken with the autumn chill.

The following is a sample year with corresponding Gregorian dates.

However, bear in mind that this is only an approximation and will differ slightly each year.

1st day of Longroot = September 23 (New Year’s Day)

1st day of = October 21

Silverbark

= November 18

= December 16

= 7^th day of Straightwood (December 22)

= January 13

= February 10 = March 10

= 11th day of Brightflower (March 20)

= April 7

= May 5 = June 2

= 19th day of Capnut (June 20) = June 30

1st day of Wideleaf

1st day of Straightwood

Festival of Lafuacht

1st day of Fallinglimb

1st day of Deereye

1st day of Brightflower

Festival of Fomhar:

1st day of Redfruit

1st day of Conefir

1st day of Capnut

Festival of Meitha:

1st day of Stranglevine

1st day of = July 28 Softwood

1st day of = August 25 Sweetsap

Festival of = 28th day of Sweetsap

Gheimhri: (September 21)

History:

Time of Though details and sometimes names vary, similar tales Myth are shared by both the Bunus Muintir and Daoine people, which indicate a common mythological base and possibly a shared tribal ancestry. The following tale is just one of many, and is the primary Daoine Creation Myth. The Mother-Creator had intercourse with the Sky-Father, and gave birth to a son. But their son was sickly and died, and she laid him down in the firmament, and his skeleton became the bones of the land. In time, the Mother-Creator overcame her grief and lay again with the Sky-Father, and gave birth to Seed-Daughter. Seed-Daughter flourished and in time became as beautiful as her mother, and she attracted the attention of a son of the Sky-Father, Cloud. From that triple union came the plants living in the soil that covered her brother, the Earth. Seed-Daughter was also coveted by Darkness, and Darkness stole her away and took her in violence. When Seed-Daughter escaped from Darkness and came back to Cloud and Rain, sorrowing, she was heavy in her womb, and from her time of confinement would come all the Miondia, the Lesser Gods. The Miondia spread out over the lands, and from their couplings emerged the animals in all their varieties. After the rape by Darkness, Seed-Daughter could conceive no more. She wept often, sometimes fiercely, which we see even now in the rain that falls.

Year The first of the Bunus Muintir tribes reach Talamh an -2500 Ghlas, after traversing from Thall Mor-roinn, the (appro mainland, into Ceile Mhor, the larger peninsula to which x.) Talamh an Ghlas is attached. These Bronze Age people created their society in Talamhan Ghlas, which lasted until the arrival of the Daoine tribes in Year 0.

Year The disappearance of the mage-lights for the Bunus

— 75 Muintir people. The mage-lights would not reappear

(appro again until after the arrival of the Daoine and the collapse

x.) of Bunus Muintir society.

Year Death of Bunus Muintir chieftain and cloudmage Riata.

— 70

(appro

x.)

Year o The first of the Daoine tribes enter Talamh an Ghlas,

crossing over the "Finger," the spine of mountainous land connecting Talamh an Ghlas to the peninsula of Ceile Mhor, and also arriving by ship at Inish Thuaidh, on the western coast at Bacathair and in the south at Taghmon. They would encounter and eventually displace (and in-terbreed with) the Bunus Muintir people.

Year The Battle of Lough Dubh, where RB Crenel Dahgnon de-105 feated the last Bunus Muintir chieftain Ruaidhri.

Year The first recorded mage-lights appear over Inish 232 Thu-aidh. The Inishlanders would eventually learn to harness the power of the mage-lights through the cloch na thrintri, the "lightning stones" of Bunus Muintir legend. This is the beginning of what will be popularly called the "Before" by the people of Jenna Aoire’s time. Year Mael Armagh, RB of Tuath Infochla, sets out to conquer 711 Inish Thuaidh, and is defeated and killed in the Battle of Sliabh Michinniuint by Severii O’Coulghan, the In-ishlander chieftain.

Year Last reported sighting of mage-lights over Inish Thuaidh. 726 End of the "Before." Over four centuries will pass before the mage-lights return.

Year A reputed cloch na thrintri is stolen from Inishfeirm by 1075 an acolyte named Niall (last name unknown) and is given as a pledge of love to Kerys Aoire.

Year Niall Aoire, son of Kerys Aoire, arrives in Ballintubber 1111 and meets Maeve Oldspring, whom he will marry.

Year Jenna Aoire born in Ballintubber.

1113

Year On the 18th day of Longroot, mage-lights reappear over 1129 the village of Ballintubber in Tuath Gabair. This heralds the beginning of Filleadh — the "Coming Back."

The Holders of Lamh Shabala

(Dates given face indicate in Daoine years and in chronological order. Entries in bold- the cloch was active during the time of Holding.)

The Bunus; Muintir Holders (from Year -160) -144 Lasairiona (F)

to

— 160

— 129 Oengus (M)

to

— 144

— 113 Davali (M) to -129

— 113 RBata (M) The last Bunus Muintir holder of an to-70 active cloch. The magelights failed in the last

years of his Holding, and Lamh Shabhala would rest again for three centuries.

— 70 to None. During these years, the cloch remained in RBata's

— 63 tomb.

— 63 to Breck the Tomb-robber (F) For two days, until she was

— 63 caught and executed.

— 62 to None. Again, the cloch rests in RBata's tomb.

— 53

— 53 to Nollaig the One-Handed (M). Nollaig, like Breck, stole -42 the cloch from RBata's tomb but held it for years, until he was caught pilfering other items from the chieftain Lobharan's clannog. The cloch and other items once belonging to RBata as well as from the other tombs there were found among Nollaig's belongings. Some of the treasure was returned to the tombs, but Lobharan kept the stone. Nollaig lost his hand.

— 42 to Lobharan (M)

— 27

— 27 Ailbhe (F) Lobharan's daughter. to-15

— 15 to Struan (M) Ailbhe's son, father of Cealaigh.

11

11 to Cealaigh (M) First war chief of the Bunus, who were now 37 actively fighting the Daoine in the north of Talamn an

Ghlas. He would wear the cloch in battle under his armor, and was never defeated on the field — he died of an illness.

37 to Mhaolain (M) Mhaolain was Cealaigh's successor as war 42 chief, who (like Cealaigh) wore the cloch as a talisman for victory. When he was finally defeated by Dyved of the North Holdings' army, the cloch passed from Bunus Muintir hands to those of the Daoine.

The Daoine Holders

42 to Dyved of the North Holdings (M)

57

57 to Salmhor O-Dyved (M) Dyved’s son, killed in battle 59 against the Bunus Muintir. The cloch was among his effects, but none of Salmhor’s heirs seems to have inherited the cloch. From here, it passes out of history for nearly two centuries until the magelights come again in 232.

49 to The Lost Years. Sometime during this period, the cloch 232 was moved from the North Holdings (a small kingdom in what would later be part of Tuath Infochla) to Inish Thuaidh. No one knows for certain who held the stone during this time, though several people in later years would claim that their ancestors had been among them. Since none of the Daoine had seen the mage-lights, it’s doubtful that they understood the significance of the stone beyond its recent history as a talisman of the Bunus war chiefs. There is a legend that the Bunus Muintir recovered the cloch after Salmhor’s death on the battlefield, and that the Bunus themselves took the cloch to Inish Thuaidh to hide it. Anotherlegend claims that the cloch was thrown into the sea, and that a blue seal brought the cloch to Inish Thuaidh. The truth of any of these claims can’t be verified.

232 to Caenneth Mac Noll (M) The first Daoine cloudmage, and 241 the return of the mage-lights in the skies. Caenneth was not of royal lineage, but a simple fisherman of Inish Thuaidh, yet he would come to understand the sky-magic, and would reactivate the other cloch na thrintri. Caenneth would die in Thall Coill, attempting the Scrudu.

241 to Gael O Laighin (M)

263

263 to Fearghus O Laighin (M)

279

279 to Heremon O Laighin (M) — died testing himself against the

280 Scrudu.

280 to Maitlas O Ciardha (M)

301

301 to Aithne Lochlain (F)

317

317 to Nuala Mag Aodha (F)

329

329 to Ioseph MacCana (M) Died testing himself against the 333 Scrudu.

333 to Lucan O Loingsigh (M)

379

379 to Naomhan McKenna (M)

382

382 to Kieran MacGairbhith (M)

392

392 to Eilis MacGairbhith (F) Killed in the Battle of Lough Lar

401 by Aod hfin " Liathain, and the control of the cloch moves south from Inish Thuaidh to the mainland of Talamn an Ghlas.

401 to Aodhfin O Liathain (M) RB of the small kingdom of

403 Bhaile.

403 to Dougal Woulfe (M)

416

416 to Fagan McCabe (M)

432

432 to Eoin O hAonghusa (M)

459

459 to Eimile O hAonghusa (F)

463

463 to Donal O hAonghusa (M)

480

480 to Maclean O hAonghusa (M)

487

487 to Brianna O hAonghusa (F)

499

499 to Lochlainn O'Doelan (M)

515

515 to Maitiu O'Doelan (M) Perhaps the only Daoine from

517 Talamh An Ghlas to attempt the Scrudu. He came to Thall Coill stealthily via ship in company with his good friend Keefe Mas Sithig. He did not survive the attempt.

517 to Keefe Mas Sithig (M)

529

529 to Conn DeBarra (M)

541

541 to Barra O Beoillain (M)

577

577 to Uscias Aheron (M)

591

591 to Afrika MacMuthuna (F)

597

597 to Ailen O'Curragh (M)

612

612 to Sinna Mac Ard (F) The young lover of Ailen O'Curragh,

622 who after O'Curragh's early death married Teador Mac Ard, then the RB of a fiefdom within what is now Tuath Gabair.

622 to Bryth Beirne (nee Mac Ard) (F) Daughter of Sinna and 648 Teador Mac Ard. It is during Bryth’s holding that the

Inish cloudmages began to secretly plot to bring the cloch back to the island. Negotiations were begun with Bryth, including possible ar-rangements of marriage to the RB of Inish Thuaidh, but she refused despite RB Mac Ard’s interest in that political union, and eventually married Anrai Beirne, a tiarna of Tuath Infochla.

648 to Rowan Beirne (M) Bryth’s son Rowan foolishly allowed 651 himself to be drawn north out of Falcarragh to a

supposed parley with the Inishlanders, where he was ambushed and murdered by assas-sins in the employ of the Inish cloudmage Garad Mhullien. Lamh Shabhala was taken from Rowan’s body and brought to the island. 651 to Garad Mhullien (M) The cloch returns to Inish Thuaidh.

662 Garad would die testing himself against the Scrudu.

663 to Rolan Cileachair (M)

669

669 to Peria O RBain (F) Mother of Severii, lover to Tadhg 671 O’Coulghan. She died in Thall Coill testing herself against the limits of the cloch with the Scrudu. Tadhg would take the cloch from her body and become Holder himself.

671 to Tadhg O’Coulghan (M) Founder of the Order of 701 Inishfeirm based on the tiny island of the same name just off the coast of Inish Thuaidh. Tadhg was the da of Severii, the Last Holder. It was Tadhg who began the process of codifying and bringing together all the lore of the clochs na thrintri, as well as Lamh Shabhala.

701 to Severii O’Coulghan (M) The last person to hold an active 730 Lamh Shabhala until the mage-lights returned in 1129. The mage-lights had ebbed to nothing by 726.

730 to Loman Blake (M) Lover of Severii, and a wastrel who

731 sold Lamh Shabhala to pay off gambling debts.

731 to Donnan McEvoy (M) Kept Lamh Shabhala, hoping that 741 the mage-lights would return. They didn’t. Donnan, a gambler, was killed in a tavern brawl in Dun Kiil, after which the stone passed into the possession of Kmnat Morain, who owned the tavern and confiscated the dead McEvoy’s belongings.

741 to Kinnat Morain (F)

753

753 to Edana O Broin (F) The daughter of Kinnat Morain, who 779 found the stone in her mam’s jewelry chest after her death due to the Bloody Flux. Edana and her husband took over the tavern. She had no idea that the stone was Lamh Shabhala; she kept it only because it had been her mam’s. She happened to be wearing it on the day Doyle Baroid came to Dun Kiil on business and stopped in the tavern for a drink and a meal.

779 to Doyle Baroid (M) A Brathair of the Order of Inishfeirm, 831 who recognized that the unprepossessing stone around Edana's neck was similar to the description of Lamh Shabhala in the Order's library. He purchased it from Edana, and brought it back to Inishfeirm. He would eventually become Maister of the Order. On his death, the cloch was put in the collection of the Order.

831 to During these two and a half centuries, there was no single 1075 Holder of the stone. The stone resided in the Order of Inishfeirm's collection of clochs na thrintri.

1075 Kerys Aoire (F) Kerys fell in love with a man named to Niall, one of the Brathairs of the Inishfeirm Order. Niall, 1093 as a pledge of his love, stole the cloch and gave it to

Kerys. Because the Brathairs were contracted by their families to the Order and were forbidden to marry,

Kerys and Niall fled Inishfeirm. Their small currach foundered in a storm; Niall drowned, but Kerys, pregnant, survived. She would give the cloch to her son, also named Niall.

1093 Niall Aoire (M) In traveling, he came to Tuath Gabair to and the village of Ballintubber, where he fell in love with 1113 and married a woman named Maeve Oldspring. Niall would lose the stone (or perhaps the stone lost him) while walking on Knob top, a hill near Ballintubber.

All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.

This book is printed on acid-free paper.

First printing, January 2003 123456789

DAW TRADEMARK REGISTERED U.S. PAT. OFF. AND FOREIGN COUNTRIES MARCA REGISTRADA

HECHO EN U.S.A.

PRINTED IN THE U.S.A.

My appreciation to Padraic Lavin, Treasa Lavin, Daragh O'Reilly and Johnny Towey, who comprise the musical group OSNA, whose self-titled CD Osna (Celtic Note, CNCD 1002) I purchased while in Ireland. When-ever I wanted some special inspiration or needed to fall into the mood of the novel, I put their CD in the player. I've been unable to find any other recordings by this group in the U.S., but this is one fine effort. Thank you for the sonic inspiration! You can find Celtic Note at http://www.celticnote.ie on the internet.

And while I'm mentioning the music which was always playing in the background, I should also give a nod to Capercaillie and Cherish The Ladies, both groups which also found quite a lot of time on the CD player during the course of the writing.

THE CELTIC WAY OF LIFE by the Curriculum Development Unit (The O'Brien Press Ltd., 1998), is a small but interesting book giving an overview of daily life among the Celtic people of Ireland, and it served as a quick source of inspiration for some of the aspects of life in the fictional Talamh an Ghlas.

For a more detailed and in-depth look, THE COURSE OF IRISH HISTORY by Professors T.W. Moody and F.X. Martin (Roberts Rinehart Publishers, 1995) proved invaluable. The book is essential reading for anyone interested in a detailed and well-researched overview of the history of Ireland.

My apologies in advance to speakers of Irish Gaelic. Through the book, I have borrowed several terms from Irish and though I've made my best attempt, any mistakes in usage are my own and are due to my limited understanding of the language.

Many thanks to Sheila Gilbert for seeing the story and loving it, and for making me part of the "family" at DAW.

If you're connected to the internet, my web page can be accessed from www.farrellworlds.com you're always welcome to browse through.