Holder of Lightning (76 page)

Jenna’s mouth hung open; a dozen unsaid replies filling her head. A gulf wider than the Westering Sea separated them, and Jenna could think of no way to bridge it. The infant Mac Ard was crying again, but Maeve’s face reflected only a stoic suffering. Jenna started to take a step toward her but Maeve’s eyes narrowed warningly and she stopped. Finally, Jenna ducked her heard and left the tent, going out into the wind again. Her gardai were waiting for her. They looked at her questioningly.

“We’re leaving,” she told them.

Jenna sat in the boat as they rowed back to their ship, gazing backward at Inishduán. She saw Maeve come out of the tent, Doyle cradled in one arm. Smoke gushed white around the central pole as Maeve walked down to the beach without looking back. A few seconds later, the first flames appeared, leaping high into the air. Smoke rolled gray with the oils, the wind smearing it west and south toward Talamh an Ghlas.

They arrived at the ship. Hands reached down to help Jenna up onto the deck. Standing at the rail, she looked back to the island: to the boat that was carrying Maeve and Jenna’s half brother back to their own vessel; to the conflagration rising high into the sky.

“Are you ready, Banrion?” the captain asked.

Jenna nodded. “Aye,” she said. “Take me home.”

APPENDICES

CHARACTERS (in order of appearance):

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TERMS: