Jenna hurried to answer. "I didn't know, Tiarna Mac Ard. I just found it, that's all. I didn't know what it was."
"If you had, would you have given it to me? Would you give it to me now?"
Jenna didn't answer. She took a step back from him.
"You don't have to say anything," he said. "I can see the answer in your face." His eyes held hers for a few breaths longer before he looked away. "I have a dozen things to attend to if we're leaving tomorrow. Jenna, I'm glad you're feeling somewhat better. If you'll excuse me, Maeve. ."
He left the room, passing close by Jenna. She could feel the breeze of his passage.
"Come here, darling," Maeve said as he left the room. She opened her arms, and Jenna sank into the embrace as if she were a small child again. As Maeve stroked her hair, tears came, surprising Jenna with their sudden-ness. She sobbed against her mother's breast as she hadn't done in years, and
Maeve crooned soft words to her, kissing the top of her head. Finally, Jenna sniffed back the tears and pulled away, rubbing at her eyes with her sleeve. "How are you feeling this morning?" Maeve asked softly. Her eyes, concerned, glanced at the bandages around Jenna’s arm. "You used anduilleaf again," Maeve said.
"I had to," Jenna answered. "It hurt too much."
Maeve nodded. "You should know, Jenna. Padraic and I-"
"You don’t need to say anything," Jenna told her.
"I understand, and if this is what you want, then I’m happy for you. Just don’t let him hurt you, Mam."
"He won’t," Maeve answered emphatically. Certainty tightened her face. "We talked for a long time. I know what he can do and what he can’t do, and I’m comfortable with that. I understand his position; he understands mine. We’re. ." Maeve stopped and Jenna saw a broad smile spread across her face, twinned with a blush. "We’re well suited for each other."
Jenna hugged her again, and Maeve stroked her hair. "Padraic is wor-ried about you, Jenna," she said.
"Padraic doesn’t need to worry." Jenna used his first name scornfully, as if she hated the taste of its familiarity. "This seems to be my problem, not his."
"He’d take the cloch and its burden from you, if he could."
Jenna’s eyes flashed at that, and she stood abruptly, taking a step away from her mam. In the hearth behind her, a log crashed in a whirling cascade of sparks. "He can’t have it. It’s mine."
She pushed away from Meave, who let her go. "That’s what he said you’d say, that you wouldn’t, that you couldn’t, willingly give it up now, even though it hurts you." Maeve smiled sadly. "I wish you could. I would do anything to stop you from being in pain, Jenna. I wish. ." She looked away to the fire, then back to Jenna. "I wish you’d never found the stone. I wish Niall, your father. ." She stopped.
"What about my da?" Jenna asked.
Maeve shook her head. "Nothing. He said nothing of this to me, but in looking back on how it was, I think he was always waiting for that cloch himself. I wonder now if he didn't bring it to Ballintubber himself, from Inish Thuaidh or wherever he came from before. If he'd lived, it would have been him who was up on Knobtop that night, not you."
"And then Tiarna Mac Ard would have come."
Her mam gave Jenna a knowing smile. "I loved your da, Jenna. But it's possible to be in love more than once in your life. It's even possible to be in love with two people at once, even if it's dangerous and even though you know that those feelings will inevitably cause everyone pain. One day you'll realize that. I'll always love your da, and always cherish my time with him. After all, he gave me you."
"And I'm all that's left. All the rest that we had is gone. I have nothing." Her voice was wistful and sad.
"Most of it is gone, aye, except for a few things of his I took before we left. Wait here a moment." Maeve rose from her chair and left the room for a few minutes, returning with a small wooden carving in her hand. "Remember this?" she asked, holding it out to Jenna: a block of pine fitting easily into her palm and poorly carved into a representation of a 'seal and painted a bright blue, though wood showed through at several places where it had been scratched.
"Aye," Jenna said. "The seal I used to play with when I was a baby." She looked at Maeve. "Why that?"
"Your father carved it, before he left for Bacathair. When you lost inter-est in it, I kept it because it was his last gift to you. I’d forgotten I still had it until I was trying to find a few things to take when we fled. Here… it isn’t much, but you should have it back now."
Jenna held it in her left hand as memories surged back: sitting on her mam’s lap at the table and laughing with her mam as the seal bobbed in a pan of water; tossing it angrily across the room one night because she was hungry and tired, chipping a crockery bowl in the process-she’d never told her mam that, letting her think the bowl had been chipped some other time. "Da made this? I never knew."
Maeve nodded.
. . touch something that was once theirs, and they can speak with you, if you will it…
"Mam, may I keep this?"
Maeve smiled at her. "It’s yours, Jenna. It was always yours."
She did nothing until after the evening meal, when she was alone again in her room.
The sun had sunk behind the hills. The night was dark, the moon and stars hidden behind a screen of clouds. The air seemed heavy and cold. Jenna had dismissed the servant for the night and sat in a chair near the fire, feeding it peat until the blue flames rose high and the light touched the far wall of the bedroom. She took the carving of the seal from the stand by her bed and set it in her lap, staring at the fire for a time. Then she took it in her right hand.
She stared at the carving, at the marks her da’s knife had made shaping the wood, and seeing in her mind’s eyes the shavings curling away under the blade. She could almost hear the sound of the dry scraping of sharp iron against soft wood--
No. She could hear it.
She turned. Near the window, a man sat in a plain chair, holding a block of wood in one hand and a knife in the other. Shavings were piled in his lap.
She could see the wall behind through the ghostly
image. His face. . Jenna gasped, realizing that the man who sat there, hair the color of fire, was the same she'd glimpsed when she'd found the stone. "Da?" she whispered.
He looked up. "Who. .?" he asked. He seemed confused, looking around. "Where am I? Everything looks so pale. . Maeve, is that you? You're dressed so strangely, like a Riocha."
Jenna walked toward him, holding the battered, chipped seal out so he could see it. "I'm Jenna, Da. Your daughter. Seventeen years old now." He shook his head, wonder and fear and confusion all mingled in his gaze. His reaction was so different from that of Eilis, but then Eilis had held Lamh Shabhala when it was active and knew that the cloch contained its old Holders. When her da possessed Lamh Shabhala, it had been dead, just an ordinary stone wrapped in legend. Her da would have had no experience of the cloch's abilities.
"Wait," Jenna said. She imagined her memories opening to him, as if they were gifts that she could hand him, letting him see within her as Eilis had, only this time she directed the sharing, choosing what she allowed him to know. She could feel his gentle touch on her memories, and as he comprehended them he gasped, the knife and seal falling from his grasp. They made no sound, vanishing before they reached the floor.
"I'm dead. A ghost."
"Aye," she told him softly. "Or neither dead nor ghost, only a moment caught forever, like a painting. I don't really know, Da. But Eilis, the lady in the falls, told me that Lamh Shabhala carries its Holders. Which means you were one, too, even though the mage-lights weren't there for you. Here, do you remember?" She took the cloch out and held it so he could see the stone. He started to reach for it, then let his hand drop back.