Free Holder of Lightning by S. L. Farrell Page B

than any of ours, and their concerns aren’t those of humans.” He turned, and his blind eyes stared at her. “There are other magics than the sky-magic you can capture in a cloch na thintrí,” he told her. He extended his hand toward Jenna. “Let me hold it,” he said to her.
    Jenna took a step back, clutching at the stone hidden in her skirt. “I know you have the stone,” Seancoim said. “I saw the lights over the hill there, through Dúnmharú’s eyes.” Seancoim pointed at Knobtop. “I could feel the power crackling in the sky, as it has not in many lifetimes, and I feel it now close to me. You can’t hide a cloch na thintrí from me, or from any of the Bunús Muintir. I can feel the stone. All I ask is to hold it, not to keep it. I promise that.”
    Jenna hesitated, then brought the stone out and laid it on Seancoim’s lined palm. He closed his fingers around it with a sigh. He clasped it to his breast, holding it there for several long breaths, then holding out his hand again, his fingers unfolding. “Take it,” he said. “Such a small stone . . .”
    “I’m sure it’s not powerful, like the ones the cloudmages in the songs had,” Jenna said, and Seancoim laughed.
    “Is that how you imagined them, with stones the size of their fists hung on chains around their necks, the way the songs and tales tell it?” The crow cackled with him. “Is that the source of your knowledge?”
    Jenna nodded. “You must know how to use the cloch,” she said. “You have magic, too: using the crow for your eyes, the way you broke the tiarna’s arrow or how you knew I had the stone . . .”
    “I gave you the answer just a moment ago, but evidently I need to repeat it: there are other magics than that of the sky.” He stared upward, as if looking at a scene only his blind eyes could glimpse. “Once my people knew them all: the slow, unyielding power of earth; the shimmering, soft gifts of water. Some of them we know still. Others aren’t for us humans at all, but belong to others, like the oldest of the oaks here in Doire Coill, or other creatures who are sleeping for the moment.” His chin tilted down once more, and he seemed to laugh at himself. “But you asked if I know how to use your cloch na thintrí, didn’t you? The answer to that is ‘No.’ Each stone teaches its owner in its own way; yours has already begun to teach you.”
    “You talk as if the stone were alive.”
    “Do you know that it’s not?” Seancoim answered. He smiled, a darkness where teeth once had been, the few teeth left him leaning like yellow gravestones in his gums. The wind died, and the tree-song faded to a hush, a whisper, then was gone. “There, they’ve finished. We should go inside—it’s late, and there are things walking out here that you don’t want to meet. Your tiarna will want to leave with the morning, and you need sleep after this day.”
    Jenna could feel exhaustion rise within her with Seancoim’s words. She yawned and nodded, following the man through the cavern’s entrance. Seancoim continued on into the darkness past the fire, but Jenna stopped. Her mam and Mac Ard were asleep, next to each other even though on different pallets. Her mam’s hand had trailed out from underneath her blanket, and it rested near Mac Ard’s hand, as if she were reaching for him. She could sense Seancoim’s attention on her as she stared, her breath caught in her throat. She wanted to smile, happy that her mam wasn’t ignoring Mac Ard as she had the others, and yet afraid at the same time, wondering what it might mean for her.
    “She is a woman and he a man, and both of them handsome and strong,” Seancoim whispered, his voice echoing hoarsely from the stones. “I can tell that your mam is attracted to the tiarna, even if she resists the feeling. That’s natural enough. It’s been a long time for her, hasn’t it, to feel that way about a man?”
    Jenna swallowed hard. “Aye,” she said. “A long time. I just