by Sarah Rayne
Yes, our land is beautiful, Human Child …
The sidh were still with her, flowing about her, pulling at her with their slender arms, and binding her with their soft flowing hair. Once or twice she caught again the glimpse of translucent skin, of slender arched feet, but the sidh kept to the edges of her vision, so that she never quite saw them.
The forest was quite unlike anything she had ever seen. There were blues and purples and there were gentle mists. To one accustomed to vast barren stretches of fields and burnt-out rock faces, it was beyond everything.
She moved on, half mesmerised by the music, fascinated by everything she saw. There were rustlings all about them, so that Joanna looked about her, hoping to see the creatures that had disappeared before her world began. Badgers and squirrels, and otters and beavers. Had they really existed? Would she see them now? Oh I do hope so, thought Joanna.
The trees were thinning now, and ahead of them was a great rearing building, darkly outlined against the sky, its turrets and towers clearly limned. Was this one of the Letheans’ huge marvellous cities? Had she after all only gone back to their time, or had she truly in some incomprehensible way gone back to Flynn’s magical ancient Ireland?
There were lights in the building — might it be some kind of fortress? — and Joanna was reminded of the tales of lighthouses; huge towering constructions with lights glowing from the topmost windows to guide sailors through dangerous coastlines. Joanna thought that the lights from the fortress were guiding her now.
The fortress was dark and forbidding. From the edges of the forest, Joanna could see that it had a massive, iron, studded door, and that the windows were narrow slits. As she came out of the forest, she saw that it stood on the other side of some kind of ravine, so that you had to walk along a little bridge to get to it. Someone lives there who does not want the world to get in, she thought. Or who wants to keep the world out … There is something in there that someone wants to keep very well hidden, she thought, and knew a sudden chill. But, I am not frightened, she thought, and clung to that thought, because it was a good thought to have when you were standing on the edge of a dark forest with a huge grim fortress directly ahead of you.
The mist was thicker here, so that the fortress swam in and out of her sight. Then that is settled, thought Joanna, relieved. I shall not need to go up to it, because I shall not be able to find it. The mist will hide it. But should she go back? Could she go back? Grope her way back through the blue and green lights, into the unfriendly world of Tugaim, to Muldooney waiting with his hot pig eyes and his thick fingers that prodded? What had those mist creatures said? A Time Curtain? How remarkable, thought Joanna. Perhaps I should at least see a bit more before I go back.
And although Flynn’s books had certainly included a fairy tale or two, salvaged from the world of the Letheans, Joanna had never really given them much credence. She thought she would not do so now. She thought it was quite important not to remember that strange sinister world, brimming with giantish castles approached by means of a narrow bridge, where doors swung open at a touch, and a deep soft voice from the darkness said, “Come inside, my dear.” It was very important indeed not to remember ogres who could smell the blood of humans at ten leagues, or of their cooks who made man-pies, or of witches who put children in cages and fattened them.
It was certainly sensible not to recall silly foolish girls who wore brave red cloaks and who went skipping through forests, heedless of danger, and who followed creatures such as wolves in the most ridiculously trustful way imaginable. In any case, there were no wolves left anywhere in the world.
*
There were no wolves left anywhere in the world, but there were wolves directly ahead of her. Lean grey creatures, who guarded the entrance to the narrow bridge, and who were watching her unblinkingly. The sidh drew back and there was a hiss of anger, but the wolves stood stockstill, only their eyes showing they were alive. Then the leader licked his lips, and Joanna caught the gleam of white pointed teeth.
All the better to eat you with, my dear …
She hesitated, uncertain of what to do next, for strange as the sidh were, there was at least a sense of safety about them. They might be luring her to all kinds of dreadful fates, but Joanna, child of the Brave New World, could not imagine anything worse than being made to lie in a bed with Muldooney. Or could she? Was there not, after all, some remnant of race memory, some thin vein of atavism remaining in the corners of her consciousness, so that fear awoke at the sight of the thin grey creatures, and she wanted to turn and run?
The sidh had vanished, dissolving into the forest, blue and green streaks melting into the trees and the rocks. The music had gone as well, so that Joanna felt suddenly cold and very much alone. Should she turn and go back? Her mind shuddered away from the thought. Back into the forest where there might be badgers and squirrels, but where there would almost certainly be other things as well? The thread of atavism strengthened; Joanna did not know that the forest held dangers, but she sensed that it did.
Onwards then? Up to the iron-studded door, to request admittance? Cross the narrow bridge in the company of the lean watchful animals? Surely the person who lived there could not refuse her hospitality for the night? thought Joanna, accustomed to the ways of her own world, where men might perhaps be a bit unimaginative, but where there had existed, ever since Devastation, a strong comradeship, and an obligation to help one another. It did not occur to Joanna that the owner of this awe-inspiring place might refuse to give her shelter.
She moved forward and the wolves moved with her, as if, she thought afterwards, they were forming some kind of guard. She could feel the warmth of their bodies, and she thought they were curious and wary of her, but she still had to remind herself that she was not frightened.
The bridge was longer than she had imagined, and it was very much narrower. Joanna stopped once and peered down into the ravine. It was a terribly long way down. It was so long that you could not see the bottom. Some kind of moss grew up the steep sides of the ravine, and here and there, there was movement, as if tiny unseen creatures scuttled in and out of the crevices. Joanna shuddered and looked up.
The castle was very much bigger than it had seemed from the comforting depths of the forest. It reared up out of the rock, a massive, towering edifice of grey and black. Once, she hesitated and almost turned to run, because it seemed as if the turrets were toppling over on to her. Once, the flickering light from the wall sconces, burning on each side of the great door, flared wildly into life so that you imagined a huge breath had blown on them. Once, she had the feeling that the slitted windows were eyes, watching unblinking, and that nameless things moved behind them. Joanna took a deep breath; she reminded herself that she had never seen anything like the castle before (or had she seen it in her dreams?) and that anything unfamiliar was always a bit frightening. Not that she was frightened. Well, not very much.
There was a ring handle on the great door. Well, she thought, I cannot go back. I cannot go back into the forest, not now it is night. I may as well go forward. She reached out and grasped the handle.
The handle turned and the door swung open quickly and easily. As if, thought Joanna, it had been waiting for her.
She was standing at the top of a flight of steps, looking down on to a huge stone-flagged floor, lit by firelight and by the glow of the torches in the wall brackets high up. There was a scent of woodsmoke and warmth, and Joanna thought it was like going down into a warm dark cave.
The fire burned at the centre of the hall, and glancing up, Joanna saw, far above her, some kind of chimney hole in the dim vaults of the roof. There were fur rugs on the floor, and there was a long table set with dishes, as if for supper. She remembered that she was hungry.
At the far end was a dais, with a massive carved chair on it, and more of the thick skin rugs. He was sitting quietly in the chair, watching her, and the wolves were lying at his feet, their eyes calm, their fur sleek. Joanna paused, unsure of w
hat to do next, certainly unsure of what to say.
“Come inside, Human Child.”
To a child of the age called Lethean, the words would have struck instant terror; but Joanna, child of the New World, heard nothing threatening. She only thought: well, at least I have not been turned away, and stepped farther in.
The young man on the dais was like no one she had ever seen before. He sat, quite calmly, watching her approach, and after a moment, he smiled. Joanna caught her breath, for surely no one had ever conveyed so much by a smile. Strength and arrogance and ruthlessness and a queer inverted beauty. I am very much afraid, she thought, but I am also very much excited.
The man got up and moved from the dais to where she stood, and she saw that he was not quite as tall as she had guessed. He was dark and very slim, but despite the slimness, there was no suggestion of weakness. There was a whipcord strength about him that suggested it would be dangerous to make an enemy of him. Joanna thought: oh my! wouldn’t he be at your throat in an instant! and then was rather shocked at the thought. Even so, she received the impression of a tightly coiled spring, and she eyed him warily. His features slanted in his face, and his skull was high and rather pointed, covered with thick glossy hair that resembled an animal’s pelt. His lips were thin and exquisitely modelled, but they looked as if they could be cruel. Even so, thought Joanna staring, even so, I believe he is looking at me with gentleness.
The man smiled again; he said, “I can be gentle, Human Child. That was perceptive of you,” and Joanna jumped, because he had seemed to pluck the thought from her head.
I can hear your thoughts, Human Child. To do so is the blessing and the curse of Tara.
“So,” he said aloud, “you have found your way here, have you?”
Found? Or been brought?
He caught that as well, for he said, “The sidh are not my people, but they owe some allegiance to me. They wait at the doorways that sometimes open between your world and this one and they lure with their music the souls of Men.”
“A doorway?”
“Yes. There are such things.” And said in such a normal, not-to-be-questioned tone, that Joanna thought: well, yes. Of course there are doorways.
“Do I frighten you, Human Child?”
“No,” said Joanna much too loudly, and then, more quietly, “No. But I should like to know where I am.”
The man regarded her again. At length, “You are inside Scáthach,” he said. “That is, the Castle of Shadow.”
“I see,” said Joanna carefully, not seeing at all. “And — if it is not impolite to ask — who are you?”
Again the pause. At last, “I am Cormac mac Airt,” said the man. “Whom some call Cormac Starrog.” He moved nearer, and Joanna saw how his features slanted. Like a wolf’s.
Cormac Starrog … Cormac of the Wolves … so, Flynn told the truth …
“Yes,” said the man softly, “yes, I have another name, Joanna. It is Cormac of the Wolves.
“I am the exiled High King of Tara, and the last of my line.”
*
Joanna sat in the firelit hall, at the long oak table opposite to Cormac mac Airt. She was wearing a fur-trimmed robe over her clothes. “For,” said her companion, “it will have been cold in the Forest of Darkness, and perhaps the sidh will have touched you with their icy breath.”
“What are they?”
“They are the most purely magical beings in Ireland. They live beneath the seas and in the rocks, and they are the scavengers of the world, for they are greedy for human souls. But they are also constrained to serve the High Kings at times, and their music is the strongest enchantment that has ever been known. For that reason they are tolerated, and for that reason, our sorcerers have never tried to drive them out.”
“What do they look like?” For there had been the briefest glimpses of strange blue and green creatures, slipping from one shape to another, never quite materialising. And there had been a rippling light that soothed your eyes and hurt your mind with beauty.
“That I cannot tell you. But our scholars say that to look on the sidh, to look on their cold inhuman faces, would ruin your mind. You would never speak or see again.” He drank from the wine goblet at his side. “They are insatiable for the seed of Men, but once a man has been drained of his seed by them; once he has known their cold fingers and their icy lips caressing his phallus, and felt himself empty into their wombs, he is no longer able to love his own kind.” He studied her. “Your cheeks colour when I say these things.”
“It is only that —”
“It is that our worlds are different. I had forgotten.”
“You know my world?”
“A very little,” said Cormac. “There have been wayfarers from time to time. Men and women who have travelled through the Time Curtain. Eat your supper.”
The food was hot and had been served to them, silently and very efficiently, by small, dark-featured people who came and went in the fireglow; who placed dishes on the table and bowed to their master as they retreated. Joanna had been fascinated, but Cormac smiled, and said gently, “Our ways are different to yours.”
“Better?”
“Different.”
The food was very good. There were peculiar, unfamiliar things cooked in rich spices, served with fruit and nuts; huge platters of meat cut into cubes and bowls of some kind of grain that she could not identify. There were no forks, but there were small sharp knives, made of what looked like bone. She noticed, that Cormac ate with great fastidiousness, cutting the meat into small portions before conveying it to his mouth.
Once he spoke, “This is bear meat. Prepared with the juices of autumn apples and with wild honey. It is very good.”
A little later, he said, “On feast occasions, such as Samain or the Great Feast of Dagda, the father-god, we would eat the flesh of the white stag which we had hunted by night, or of the great king-bulls who had been brought out to fight for our entertainment.”
“Fighting for entertainment?” said Joanna, child of a world that looked askance on all forms of violence.
Cormac smiled. “It is sexually arousing to the men, and usually to the women as well.”
There were dishes of wild mushrooms: “Agaric and Amethyst,” said Cormac; and bowls of the tiny, sweet, wood strawberries she had gathered with Flynn in another life.
Joanna drank the wine and began to feel warm and content and unlike herself, and began, as well, to feel entirely unafraid.
“Why do you call me ‘Human Child’?”
“It is what you are.”
“And you?”
As always, there was the pause, as if he was considering his reply. Then he said very gently, “My dear, you must have seen that I am not entirely human.” The dark eyes flickered over her, and flared into golden life, and Joanna felt a strange secret delight stir. “Do not trust me,” said her companion softly, “for I am of wolf blood, Joanna.”
“Is that — possible?”
“Oh yes. You see?” He touched his eyes, and Joanna had the impression that his face was sharpening, becoming crueller. “How do you know I will not leap on you and do to you what men in your world call rape, Joanna? How do you know I will not devour your soul, Human Child?”
Come into the music, Joanna, for we are fishers of souls, and we would gather up your soul for our master …
Yes, but supposing a man were to enter Paradise, and there pluck a rose …?
Joanna said loudly, “I don’t know it,” and her companion smiled.
“If I had not been of wolf blood, I could not have ascended to the Ancient Throne of Tara,” he said, and setting down his wine, reached across the table for her hand. “Tara can never belong to the humans, Joanna. For a purebred human to ever occupy the High Throne would mean that Tara would crumble.” A frown touched his brow and anger glittered in his eyes for a moment. “And I shall never allow that to happen,” said Cormac.
Joanna, utterly and completely fascinated now, said, “Will y
ou tell me?” and Cormac smiled at her and turned her hand over in his, so that it lay palm uppermost.
“Tara is cursed,” he said. “It was cursed many hundreds of years ago by a very powerful and very evil sorceress who had been defeated in battle by the first High Queen of all — Dierdriu.” He released her hand gently and reached for the wine again, lifting it to his lips, so that the red glow cast a shadow over his eyes. “In the ages to come,” he said quietly, “I believe it is the one thing that will be remembered about Tara. That it was forever cursed.” For a moment, his eyes took on the inward-looking expression again, and then he looked back at her. “Curses can never be destroyed, you see. They can never be killed. They can only be set aside.”
“Deflected,” said Joanna, and Cormac smiled.
“Yes. And because the curse was directed at a human, our own sorcerers wove a very strong and very subtle enchantment so that humans could lie with Beasts.” He smiled the slanting smile again and reached for her hand.
“My ancestors lay with the wolves, Joanna, and so I am part wolf. I have the best and the worst of both sides in me.”
And do not trust me, my dear, do not trust me …
Joanna said cautiously, “It is a — rather a difficult idea for me to believe in.” And looked at him again, and thought: but of course, I do believe in it. He is partly wolf …
“By lying with the Beasts, we were able to produce what is called the Bloodline,” said Cormac. “The Ancient Royal Houses of Tara. The six families upon whom was bestowed the Enchantment of the Bloodline. It is a very great honour and a very rare and precious thing to belong to one of those families.” Again the smile. “And so because the Royal Houses of Ireland are no longer purebred Human, the curse cannot work against them. It can only work against a Human. That is why a Human must never occupy Tara’s High Throne.”
Joanna said, “Tell me about the six.”
“They are my people,” said Cormac, and again there was the fierce possessiveness in his voice. “The Six Ancient Houses of the Bloodline. The Wild Panther People of Gallan. The Eagles. The White Swans and the Deer. The Chariot Horses.” A pause. “And the Lions,” he said, and Joanna looked up, because there had suddenly been a great bitterness in his voice. But he only said, “And there are lesser Houses now; families who have been admitted into the Enchantment as a reward for some special service usually. The Beavers and the Hares and the Red Foxes of the forest.” Again the pause and the flicker of anger. “But it was the Lions who betrayed me,” he said, and his fingers curled involuntarily, and Joanna flinched, and thought that he would be a very dangerous enemy indeed, but thought as well that he could be hurt.