Chapter 3: A Song at the Inn
JENNA had just lit the candles on the shelves to either side of the fire-place. The sun was down or lowering-the rain persisted, and the sky slipped from the color of wet smoke to slate to coal as the interior of their house slowly darkened. Maeve was peeling potatoes; Jenna was carding wool. They both heard the sound of slowly moving hooves through the drumming of rain, and Kesh lifted his head from the floor and growled. Leather creaked, and there were footsteps on the flags outside the door. Someone knocked at the door and Kesh barked. Maeve looked at Jenna.
"Mam, I forgot to tell you. There’s a tiarna who was at Tara’s. ." Maeve set down her paring knife and went to the door, brushing at her apron. She opened the door. Mac Ard stood there, a darkness against the wet night.
"I’m looking for Maeve Aoire and her daughter," Mac Ard said. His voice was deep and gruff. "I was told this was their home."
"Aye, ’tis," Maeve answered, and Jenna heard a strange, awed tone in her mam’s voice. "I’m Maeve
Aoire, sir. Come in out of the wet, won't you?"
Maeve stood aside as the man ducked his head and entered. Kesh growled once, then slunk away toward the fire. "Jenna, put your coat on and take the tiarna's horse out to the barn. At least it'll be dry there. Go on with you, now."
By the time Jenna got back, Mac Ard was sitting at the table with a plate of boiled potatoes, mutton, and bread, and a mug of tea in front of him. Kesh sat at his feet, waiting for dropped crumbs. His boots and cloca were drying near the fire. Maeve sat across from him, but she wasn't eating. Her face was pale, as if she might be frightened, and her hands were fisted on the table, fingers curled into palms. She glanced up as Jenna came through the door, shaking water from her hood and sleeves. "It's not raining as hard as it was," she said, wanting to break the silence. "I think it'll stop soon."
Her mam simply nodded, as if she'd only half heard. Mac Ard had turned in his chair, the legs scraping across the floorboards. "Sit down, Jenna," he said. "I'd like to talk with you."
Jenna glanced at her mam, who gave her a slight nod. Jenna didn't sit, but went over to Maeve, standing behind her, and resting her hands on her Mam's shoulders even as Maeve reached up to pat Jenna's hand reas-suringly. One corner of Mac Ard's mouth lifted slightly under the beard, as if he found the sight amusing.
"I didn't expect to hear the surname Aoire, so many miles from the north," he commented. He stabbed a potato with a fork, brought it to his mouth, and chewed. "It's an uncommon name hereabouts, to be certain. Inishlander in origin."
"My husband was from the north," Maeve answered. "From Inish Thuaidh."
"Husband?"
"He's dead almost seventeen years, Tiarna Mac Ard. Killed by bandits on the road."
Mac Ard nodded. He blinked, and the dark eyes seemed softer than they had a moment before. "I'm sorry for your loss," he said, and Jenna thought she heard genuine sympathy in his voice. "For a woman as well-spoken and comely as yourself, he must have been an exceptional person for you to never have remarried. This is his daughter?"
Maeve touched Jenna’s hands. "Aye. She was still a babe in arms when Niall was murdered."
Another nod. "Niall Aoire. Interesting. Niall’s not an Inish name, though. In fact, my great-uncle was named Niall, though he was a Mac Ard." The tiarna sipped at the tea, leaning back in his chair. He seemed to be waiting, then took a long breath before continuing. "Four nights ago, I was standing on the tower of the Ri’s Keep in Lar Bhaile, when I saw colors flickering on the black waters of the lough. I looked up, and I could see the glow in the sky as well, to the north and west beyond the hills. They were nothing I’d ever seen before, but I’d heard them described, in all the old folktales. Mage-lights."
He drummed the table with his fingers. "A dozen or more generations ago, I’m told, my own ancestors were among the last of the cloudmages as the mage-lights in the sky weakened. Then the lights vanished entirely, and with them the power to perform spells. If you listen to the old tales, with the lights also went other magics as welclass="underline" that of mythical creatures and of hidden, ancient places. Now half the people think of those tales as myth and legend, no more than stories. At times, I’ve thought that, too. But looking at the lights, I felt. ." He tapped his chest, leaning forward, his voice dropping to a hoarse whisper. "I felt them calling me, here. I went running down from the tower, and dragged the town’s Ald back up so that I could show him. ’By the Mother-Creator, those are mage-lights, Tiarna,’ he said. They can’t be anything else. After so long…’ I thought the poor old man might cry, he was so moved by the sight of them. So I asked the Ri’s leave to come here, because they called me, because I wanted to see where they’d chosen to return." His eyes found Jenna, and again she felt the shock of that contact, as if his gaze could actually bruise her. "I’m told that you were up there that night, on Knobtop."
She wanted to shout denial, but couldn’t, not with her mam there. "Aye," she started to say, but the admission was more squeak than word. She cleared her throat. "I was there."
"And what did you see?"
"Lights, Tiarna Mac Ard. Beautiful lights, rippling and swaying." She could not stop the awe the memory placed in her voice.
"And nothing more?"
"They flashed at the end, brighter than anything I'd ever seen. Then they were. ." Her shoulder lifted. "Gone," she finished. "I told Kesh to bring the sheep along, and we came back here."
Mac Ard ruffled Kesh's head and fed him a piece of the mutton. "Strange," he said. "And nothing else happened? Nothing else. . un-usual?" His eyes held her. Jenna found herself thinking of the stone hid-den in the wall in their bedroom, not six strides away from Mac Ard, and of the cold lightning that flared from it and the red-haired man. She could feel her cheeks getting hot, and her mouth opened as if she wanted to speak, but she forced herself to remain silent as Mac Ard continued to stare. She thought that he could see through her, could sense the lie of omission that lay in her gut, burning, all the worse because now she was lying to a Riocha, one of the nobility of the land. Mac Ard's nostrils flared on his thin nose and he almost seemed to nod. Then he blinked and looked away, and the terror in her heart receded.
"How odd," Mac Ard said, "that the mage-lights would choose to reap-pear here."
"I'm sure neither of us know why, Tiarna," Maeve told him.
He pursed his lips. He glanced back once at Jenna before turning his attention to her mam. "I'm sure you don't. Tell me this, Widow Aoire, did you know your husband's family well?"
Maeve shook her head. "I was born and raised here. The truth, Tiarna, is that I know very little about them, and never at all met any of them. The farthest I've ever been from Ballintubber is Bacathair, a few months after my husband's death. I went there to see if the gardai could help me find out more about how he died, and who the murderers were."
"And did the gardai help you?"
Jenna saw Maeve's head move softly from side to side. "No. They had nothing more to tell me than I already knew, nor did they care much about the death of 'some Inishlander.'"
Mac Ard nodded slowly, contemplatively. "I've taken enough of your time and hospitality," he said. "Let me repay you. I understand that there's a
young man with an excellent voice who sings at the inn where I'm staying tonight. Come back there with me; be my guests for the evening, both of you. We can talk more there, about whatever you'd like."
Jenna had to stop herself from grinning, both from relief that the tiar-na's interrogation seemed to be over, and at the suggestion to go to Tara's. Coelin had promised her a song, and she hadn't wanted to ask, with the awful weather. But if the tiarna insisted. .