Holder of Lightning

"Nothing that will trouble you," he said. "A minute's conversation, that's all." When Jenna remained silent, he continued. "My name is Ennis O'Deoradhain. I'm not with the Taisteal; I have land nearby and happened to come here to see if the Taisteal had anything interesting to sell-my father was born here and also died here, several years ago. But in his youth, he wandered, and went to the west as a fisherman and came to the north. He married a woman there, and brought her back to Lough Lar."

"What has that to do with me?"

"My mam-may the Mother-Creator keep her soul safe-was an Inishlander. They say I'm more like her than my father. In some ways, I think that's true. They say one Inishlander knows another. Maybe

that’s true as well or maybe the mage-lights have just sparked something in me that was dormant all this time." He stopped, staring at her.

"I’m from…" Ballintubber, she started to say, then realized that might not be something to admit either.". . Lar Bhaile," she said. "Not Inish

Thuaidh."

O’Deoradhain nodded, though his eyes seemed unconvinced. "Mam always said that I had a weirding in me. She also told me that one of our ancestors was a cloudmage, and wielded a cloch na thintri under Severii O’Coulghan in the Battle of Sliabh Michinniuint. Of course, one never knows about family history that far back and to tell the truth it’s a rare Inishlander family that doesn’t claim a cloudmage or three among their ancestors, true or not. If all the stories are to be believed, the land must have been ankle-deep in clochs na thintri."

With the mention of the mage-stones, Jenna’s hand went to her waist, where her own stone was hidden. She immediately let her hand drop back to her side, but the man’s eyes had followed her involuntary gesture. He almost seemed to smile.

"Your arm-you’ve hurt it." He nodded at the bandages wrapped around her arm; it seemed to throb in response.

"It’s nothing," she said. "A cut, that’s all."

"Ah." He nodded again. He glanced over his shoulder, as if making certain no one was close enough to overhear them. "One wonders," O’Deoradhain mused, "where Lamh Shabhala will be found if the Filleadh has really come, since the eldest cloch was taken from the Order of Inishfeirm and could be anywhere in Talamh an Ghlas by now. But then, you probably realize that already, since Clannhri Sheehan tells me that you’re a Mac Ard. After all, your ancestors were once cloudmages themselves. I ’m not surprised to see a Mac Ard on the road where the mage-lights have been seen. Not at all."

Jenna wanted to be away from the man, wanted to be alone, wanted to take the cloch out and hold it, wanted to throw it away and never see it again. She’d understood little of what he’d said-all that prattling about "Inishfeirm" and some Order, but he spoke of "Lamh Shabhala," the same name Riata had used. . "You've had your minute, Ennis O'Deoradhain, and I'm tired."

True, I've had the minute, and more, and I've spoken honestly about things that I probably shouldn't, out here in the open." The man's left and moved close to the hilt of his knife, and Jenna wondered how quickly someone would get to her if she screamed. Not soon enough, she feared, if O'Deoradhain was skilled with his weapon. Her bandaged hand went again to the stone; she could feel its chill under the cloth, and her heart was pounding in her chest. If she brought the cloch out, if she could use it as she had with the men from Connachta…

But O'Deoradhain only smiled, gave a short bow, and turned to walk back toward the fire. For a moment, Jenna wondered whether she should follow and tell Mac Ard and her mam what had just happened. But she couldn't make herself go that way, not after what the man had said to her.

Instead, she went to her tent, half-running. Her arm throbbed and burned, and she boiled water over the tiny cook fire inside and made herself another cup of the anduilleaf tea.

The next morning, it was easy to forget the encounter. Maeve was there in the tent, sleeping alongside Jenna-she had wondered, after their con-versation, if Maeve might stay in the tiarna's tent that night. Jenna's arm still ached, and she heated another cup of the brew to take away the hurt before her mam rewrapped the arm with fresh bandages. Outside, a warm, late autumn sun was shining, O'Deoradhain was nowhere to be seen, and they found that Mac Ard had haggled with Clannhri Sheehan for the purchase of three of the Taisteal's horses. They looked old and slow, but a better prospect than walking the rest of the way to Ath Iseal. By the time the sun was well up in the sky, the Taisteal had packed away the tents into the wagons and were jangling and plodding south along the road while Jenna, Maeve, and Mac Ard rode north toward the ford of the Duan.