Holder of Lightning

"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.