the magic of the sky. I realized then that my people had declined and no longer ruled this land. But someone held Lámh Shábhála, or the lights could not have returned. For unending years I called, every night the lights shone. Then, as they have before, the mage-lights died again, and I slept once more.” The shape that was Riata drew itself close to her. “Until now,” he said. “When the mage-lights have awakened again.”
“Then take the stone,” Jenna said. “It’s yours. Keep it. I don’t want it.”
Riata laughed again at that. “Lámh Shábhála isn’t mine, nor yours. Lámh Shábhála is its own. I knew it wanted me to pass it on as it had been passed to me. I could feel its desire even though the mage-lights had stopped coming a dozen years before I became sick with my last illness, but I held onto it. There were no more cloudmages left, only people with dead stones around their necks and empty skies above. I believed my cloch to be as dead as theirs; in fact, I prayed that it was so. I should have known it wasn’t. Lámh Shábhála is First and Last.” The voice was nearly a hiss. “And a curse to its Holder, as I know too well, especially the one who is to be First.”
The stone hung in the air in front of Jenna, held in invisi ble fingers. “Take Lámh Shábhála,” Riata said. “I pass it to you, Jenna of the Daoine, as I should have passed it long ago. You are the new First Holder.”
Jenna shook her head, now more afraid of the stone than of the ghost. Yet her hand reached out, unbidden, and took the cloch from the air. She fisted her hand around the cold smoothness as Riata’s laughter echoed in her head.
“Aye, you see? You shake your head, but the desire is there, whether you admit it or not. It’s already claimed you.”
Jenna was near to crying. She could feel the tears starting in her eyes, the fear hammering at her heart. The cloch burned like fiery ice in her hand. “You called it a curse to its holder. What do you mean?”
“The power of the land is eternal, as is the power of the water. Their magics and spells, for those who know how to tap and use them, are slower and less energetic than that of the air, but more stable. They are always there, caught in the bones of the land itself, or in the depths of the water. The power within the sky ebbs and flows: slowly, over generations and generations of mortal lives. It has done so since before my people walked from Thall Mór-roinn to this land and found Lámh Shábhála here. No one knows how often the slow, centuries-long cycle has repeated itself. There were no people here when we Bunús Muintir came to Talamh an Ghlas, but there were the standing stones and graves of other tribes who had once lived here, and we Holders could hear the voices in the stone, one tribe after another, back and back into a past none of us can see. The mage-lights vanished for the Bunús Muintir four times, the last time while I was still alive. The sky-power returned once for you Daoine, then vanished again. Now the mage-lights want to return again.”
Jenna glanced down the passage of the tomb. Multicolored light still touched the dolmen, brightening the valley. “The mage-lights have already returned,” Jenna said, but Riata’s denial boomed before she could finish.
“No!” he seemed to shout. “This is but the slightest hint of them, the first stirrings of Lámh Shábhála, the gathering of enough power within the stone to open the gates so that all the clochs na thintrí may awaken and the mage-lights appear everywhere. For now, the lights follow Lámh Shábhála—and that is the danger. Those who know the true lore of the mage-lights also know that fact. They know that where the lights appear, Lámh Shábhála is also there. And they will follow, because they want to hold Lámh Shábhála themselves.”
Jenna continued to shake her head, half understanding, half not wanting to understand. “But why hold the stone if it’s a
“Then take the stone,” Jenna said. “It’s yours. Keep it. I don’t want it.”
Riata laughed again at that. “Lámh Shábhála isn’t mine, nor yours. Lámh Shábhála is its own. I knew it wanted me to pass it on as it had been passed to me. I could feel its desire even though the mage-lights had stopped coming a dozen years before I became sick with my last illness, but I held onto it. There were no more cloudmages left, only people with dead stones around their necks and empty skies above. I believed my cloch to be as dead as theirs; in fact, I prayed that it was so. I should have known it wasn’t. Lámh Shábhála is First and Last.” The voice was nearly a hiss. “And a curse to its Holder, as I know too well, especially the one who is to be First.”
The stone hung in the air in front of Jenna, held in invisi ble fingers. “Take Lámh Shábhála,” Riata said. “I pass it to you, Jenna of the Daoine, as I should have passed it long ago. You are the new First Holder.”
Jenna shook her head, now more afraid of the stone than of the ghost. Yet her hand reached out, unbidden, and took the cloch from the air. She fisted her hand around the cold smoothness as Riata’s laughter echoed in her head.
“Aye, you see? You shake your head, but the desire is there, whether you admit it or not. It’s already claimed you.”
Jenna was near to crying. She could feel the tears starting in her eyes, the fear hammering at her heart. The cloch burned like fiery ice in her hand. “You called it a curse to its holder. What do you mean?”
“The power of the land is eternal, as is the power of the water. Their magics and spells, for those who know how to tap and use them, are slower and less energetic than that of the air, but more stable. They are always there, caught in the bones of the land itself, or in the depths of the water. The power within the sky ebbs and flows: slowly, over generations and generations of mortal lives. It has done so since before my people walked from Thall Mór-roinn to this land and found Lámh Shábhála here. No one knows how often the slow, centuries-long cycle has repeated itself. There were no people here when we Bunús Muintir came to Talamh an Ghlas, but there were the standing stones and graves of other tribes who had once lived here, and we Holders could hear the voices in the stone, one tribe after another, back and back into a past none of us can see. The mage-lights vanished for the Bunús Muintir four times, the last time while I was still alive. The sky-power returned once for you Daoine, then vanished again. Now the mage-lights want to return again.”
Jenna glanced down the passage of the tomb. Multicolored light still touched the dolmen, brightening the valley. “The mage-lights have already returned,” Jenna said, but Riata’s denial boomed before she could finish.
“No!” he seemed to shout. “This is but the slightest hint of them, the first stirrings of Lámh Shábhála, the gathering of enough power within the stone to open the gates so that all the clochs na thintrí may awaken and the mage-lights appear everywhere. For now, the lights follow Lámh Shábhála—and that is the danger. Those who know the true lore of the mage-lights also know that fact. They know that where the lights appear, Lámh Shábhála is also there. And they will follow, because they want to hold Lámh Shábhála themselves.”
Jenna continued to shake her head, half understanding, half not wanting to understand. “But why hold the stone if it’s a
Similar Books
