Wolfking The Omnibus: Books 1-4

by Sarah Rayne

  “This way,” said Flynn, turning at an intersection without hesitating, and Amairgen, following, thought: yes, he does know. Because he has been here before. When he was Finn, and when he was Dierdriu’s lover.

  Flynn said very quietly, “I should like to see her again, Amairgen,” and Amairgen jumped and felt the hairs rise on the back of his neck, because it was no longer Flynn’s voice, it was a softer deeper voice now, the cadences different, slower. Delight laced with fear touched him, and he thought he must be very careful not to say anything that would upset the fragile thread that bound Finn to Flynn. He must certainly not do anything to dispel the brief fusing of the two men. And then he thought: but how do I know that it is only a brief fusing, and the horror ran all over him.

  Flynn’s voice said with amusement, “It is entirely safe, my friend,” and Amairgen looked up, startled, and thought: yes, but which of them is speaking to me? and remembered that in all of the old stories, Finn of the Fiana had been powerful and sometimes merciless, and also that he had sometimes resorted to sorcery to gain his own way.

  But Flynn smiled, and it was the old, familiar smile, and Amairgen relaxed. When Flynn said, “Through here now,” Amairgen followed without the slightest pause.

  Flynn had no consciousness of leading them. He was distantly aware of that other presence and of Finn’s strength and his memories, but he was moving without thought and he was certainly acting without quite knowing why. When Amairgen asked, “Where are we going?” Flynn said at once, “To the Rock. To the very core of Tara,” and led them onwards, down stairs and through dimly lit corridors, until the rich marble galleries and the crystal windows began to be left behind, and the floor beneath their feet became rough hewn rock, and the stairs were hacked from granite.

  Down, down to the Rock on which Tara was built … Yes, and back, back to the days when Dierdriu charmed the sorcerers into raising the Bright Palace from the Wilderness, and when her constant companion was the great head of the Fiana …

  There was no sense of separateness between himself and Finn now; there was a single effortless fusing … I believe Amairgen is right, he thought; I believe that I truly was once Finn, and that he is now within me …

  They were within the massive foundations now, and all about them were great rocks, rearing and towering above them, faintly luminous with their own light. “And it is the light that permeates the whole of Tara,” said Flynn, and again Amairgen caught the unfamiliar cadences in his voice, and thought: yes, he speaks with sureness. He was there when it happened. And he shivered, for there was a sense of incalculable age about this place, and there was an oppressive weight of centuries all about them. Their footsteps echoed on the hard rock floor, and from somewhere close by came the faint steady dripping of water.

  Flynn’s eyes were shining with a hard clear light now, and Amairgen had to move faster to keep pace with him, for it would be beyond bearing to become lost down here. He was beginning to hope very strenuously that Flynn knew where they were going, but the thought had barely formed as they turned an intersection, and saw ahead a dark, still, underground lake.

  Directly in front of them, catching the uncertain light, gleaming gently with the unearthly phosphorescence down here, was the gold-on-rock tracery that had been created by Tara’s sorcerers in the first days.

  Amairgen stood very still and felt his skin prickle with fear and delight, for he knew they were seeing something rare and precious and so entirely beautiful that it was almost painful. He said, very softly, “Dierdriu?” and Flynn, his eyes fixed on the carved rock, said at once, “Dierdriu? No. That is Joanna.”

  *

  “No portrait ever did Dierdriu justice,” said Flynn, as they walked slowly from the underground cavern. “Artists came from every corner of the world, but not one of them ever managed to capture her. The strength and the fragility. The eyes that saw things others did not see. Mischief and authority and integrity all rolled up together. The delight she took in everything and anything. Nothing was ever too trivial for her, and nothing was too great for her to shoulder either. When she lived, Ireland was great, and when she died, a part of Ireland died with her. Forgive me, but I cannot look on that carving without remembering it all.”

  Amairgen, choosing his every word now, terrified lest he disturb the delicate balance that existed between Flynn and the long-ago Finn, said, “The etching we saw? The gold carving on the rock —”

  “That is Dierdriu,” said Flynn. “It was created by her own sorcerers who loved her and who served her and who would have died for her. But also it is Joanna, Amairgen. When you meet her, you will understand.”

  For Joanna is the High Queen returned …

  The thought formed in both men’s minds, and Flynn spoke, “It is an ancient belief.”

  “That Dierdriu will return?”

  “Oh yes. Dierdriu never really died,” and for a moment, an expression of infinite happiness passed over his face. “Dierdriu never died,” said Flynn again, and this time there was complete conviction in his tone. “That was the legend and that is the belief.”

  “You are sure of it?”

  “I remember it,” said Flynn. “And I believe it is why Joanna has been brought back to her people, Amairgen. The High Queen has awakened. Until I stood here again,” said Flynn, “until I remembered, properly remembered, I did not realise it. But it is what has happened. It was no accident that Joanna came through the Time Curtain. She was taken. Something was waiting for her, and that something has her now.” He frowned. “It was always prophesied,” said Flynn, “that in times of great trouble, Dierdriu would return.” He looked at Amairgen. “I remember it all so well,” said Flynn, and again there was the other presence looking out of his eyes. “Dierdriu has awakened in Joanna, and so Joanna has been brought back.”

  Amairgen said, “But Dierdriu would not harm Joanna?”

  “Oh no,” said Flynn, but there was suddenly a note of doubt in his voice.

  “And if someone is using Joanna, then for the moment she must be safe.” Amairgen touched Flynn’s arm. “Flynn, you must believe that.”

  “Yes,” said Flynn. “Yes, for otherwise, it will be unbearable.” He looked at Amairgen. “If Joanna is lost to me, I shall stay here. I shall never go back to Tugaim.”

  They looked at one another. Amairgen said slowly, “But you promised.”

  “I don’t care. If Joanna is dead, then my place is here.”

  “And mine also,” said Amairgen, and felt for the first time, the strong pull of this strange place that ought to have been unfamiliar, and yet was not unfamiliar in the least. He thought he, also, had race-memory, and he thought he, also, was beginning to recognise things in this ancient world. Had he, as well as Flynn, once lived here?

  Of course you did, Human Traveller … of course you did …

  It came as silvery as the night and as insubstantial as the faint light from the rocks that surrounded them. But both men heard it, and both of them stopped at once. Flynn’s hand came out warningly. Don’t move. Keep very still. And as you value your soul and your sanity and your life, don’t look.

  From the corners of his eyes, Amairgen saw Flynn lower his head so that he was staring at the floor. Flynn said very softly, “Close your mind to them. And walk very slowly with me towards the door.”

  Do not leave us, Human Travellers. Stay with us, for we are the most desirable of all companions, and we can give you your hearts’ desires …

  Hearts’ desires … Flynn’s mind leapt, and he thought: Joanna! And heard with mingled horror and delight the strange cold music he had heard on Tara’s Hill with his father. He thought: the sidh! And even while his heart rejoiced in the beauty of the music, his mind was sending out warnings. Do not look! Do not listen! For they are the coldest, most inhuman creatures in the world!

  But we are so beautiful, Flynn … To see us would melt your soul and bum out your eyes, but you would count your soul’s loss as a small price, and you would never want
to use your eyes to look on anything ever again …

  Don’t listen! cried Flynn’s mind. To look on the sidh is madness and death.

  At his side, Amairgen said softly, “But it would be almost worth it, just once, just to see —”

  Flynn felt as if an icy dash of water had been thrown into his face. He thought: Amairgen is falling into their enchantment! And so strong, so frantic was the thought, so urgent the wish to protect Amairgen, that he almost fancied the thought took physical shape as it formed.

  Amairgen said rather unsteadily, “We should not linger,” and Flynn heard the cry that Amairgen’s mind sent out. Help me! Pull me to safety for I am drowning in their music and I cannot hold out against them much longer. He grasped Amairgen’s hand and began to edge them both nearer to the half-open door.

  Creep away, Human Travellers, but we will follow you, we will find you … We will feed on your bodies and on your souls, and you will never again wish to walk in the world of men …

  Flynn said, “This door leads down to the Sun Chamber.”

  Amairgen, struggling to hold on to something real and ordinary and tangible said, “You are sure?”

  “I know it.” Again the certainty, the familiarity with the unfamiliar. I know it because I have lived here and I have died here, and I have walked these halls many times.

  But you know it as well, Human Traveller … you are Amairgen the Great Voyager, the one the Cruithin once called the Seafarer, and you once knew Tara so well … Come to us now, Seafarer, for we have sung to you on countless nights as you journeyed across the dark seas of the world … you have heard our music and you have glimpsed our reflections in the oceans’ mirror, and you have longed to follow us …

  Amairgen said in a low angry voice, “No. I won’t. You must let me go —”

  There was a ripple of amusement and both men saw, on the outer rim of their vision, the blur of blue and green.

  The sidh were forming …

  Follow us, Seafarer, follow us, for we are more beautiful than any human woman could ever be, and we are more loving and more passionate and once inside our caves you will cease to long for the world of Men, and once you have spilled your seed into us you will cease to desire human women …

  Flynn said loudly, “We are not listening,” but he did not move. At his side, Amairgen thought: to succumb to the sidh would be the greatest experience a man could ever have.

  Yes, yes, Seafarer, the greatest, the most exquisite pleasure in the Seven Worlds of Men … once you have seen us and tasted us … once you have lain with us in the caves beneath the sea and flown with us in the cities beyond the sky, the world of Men will be forever colourless and drab …

  The blue and green smoke was all about them, and Flynn kept his eyes resolutely closed. He could feel the cold silky arms all about him, and he could feel his own body responding, despite all his resolve. Even so, he knew it was Amairgen they wanted, and he thought that the pull on Amairgen must be very great indeed. Amairgen could surely not resist. The sidh were clustering about them now, their arms felt like thin spring water, straight from a mountain glade, silky and sinless, and so soft it would be the most exquisite pleasure to surrender to them …

  Come with us to the caves beneath the seas and the cities beyond the skies … dance with us across the clouds and drown with us in the waterlight … swim with us in the music, for music is a living breathing thing in our world … we are the creatures of Pan and it is our task to pour the music into the streams and the rivers of the world, and to lure the dying souls of Men to their Heaven, and to make easy the passing of the Dead …

  Flynn’s eyes were tightly shut, but the smoky blue and green shapes still impinged on his vision. He thought he would have given all he possessed to know that Amairgen was not staring into the light, but he sensed that Amairgen was lost to him. He knew the exact moment when the sidh had withdrawn their attention from him and directed their persuasion at Amairgen alone.

  Amairgen was indeed lost. The warm languorous scent of the sidh was all about him, and his heartbeat had slowed. He thought he was dying, and he thought that perhaps he was already dead.

  Not dead, Human Traveller, only at the beginning …

  He felt the cold silky kiss of the sidh and he felt his body so ablaze with longing, and stiff and charged with desire and he thought he knew himself to be lost for all time. His mind was spinning and the queer tuneless music was wrapping itself about him. The longing to look directly at these beautiful inhuman beings was nearly unbearable.

  Just for a second … if I could just see them for a second … if I could just be with them for an hour …

  For all of your life, Seafarer … for once you have given yourself to us, you will be ours for all time … let us lead you to our world, let us show you the pleasures of that world, and nothing will matter to you ever again …

  Amairgen was on fire, he was burning with longing and he began to move into the very centre of the blue and green mists. At his side, Flynn felt icy fear clutch his vitals and he reached out his hand.

  “Amairgen?” As he spoke, he heard Amairgen give a low moan, and he felt the last triumphant notes of the sidh’s music, and he felt the sidh’s withdrawal.

  He opened his eyes. The room was empty. The sidh had vanished, and Amairgen had vanished with them.

  *

  Amairgen had not been aware of the moment when he passed through the finite barriers that bounded Tara and entered into the infinite world of the sidh. He had fought the music and he had fought the sensuous pull of the singing and the sweet strong allure of the blue and green mists, but he had known that the moment when he would surrender was fast approaching. He knew he would go into the bewitchment, and he knew he would go willingly — to save Flynn? said a tiny cynical part of his mind. But he knew that it was not to save Flynn, even though Flynn would escape unscathed. If he surrendered now, it would be because he wanted to, because his body was lulled and fired, and aroused beyond all endurance.

  There was a low blurred laugh at his side, and then the sidh were pulling him through the boundaries, and all he could see were star-spattered skies — hundreds of them, one for every world that ever lived and ever died, he thought — and there was a whirling impression of silver and of blue and green — the Gates of Paradise, studded with jasper and chalcedony and pearl — where had he read or remembered that? and for a moment he thought the Time Curtain glittered ahead of them, so that he thought: home! I am going home! And felt a wholly unexpected surge of pleasure.

  And then lightning cracked and hurt his eyes, and the darkness parted and he was lying on a couch so velvet soft that it was like spring water on his skin, and there was soft green light rippling over the walls, and the floors, and there was such triumph in the sidh’s voices now that a tiny pulse of fear sprang up. I am in their world and I am at their mercy, and it is said that no man looks upon the sidh and lives, that no man experiences their embraces and keeps his sanity.

  But it will be worth the loss of your sanity, Amairgen, and it will be worth the loss of your life … Let us take your body and let us take your mind, and let us teach you to forget the world and forswear the love of humans for ever …

  Amairgen was beyond all control; his desires had been stirred and his body had been caressed. He lay back and looked at the sidh and saw them in their terrible beauty, and his eyes burned at the sight.

  “Love me,” he said in a whisper, and held out his arms.

  “Love me.”

  Triumphant blue and green music filled the caves as the sidh swarmed over him.

  *

  In the deepest level of the Sorcery Chambers, Bricriu raised his head and listened. After a moment he smiled. The sidh had not let him down. They had taken the one called Amairgen, and Bricriu knew, as all knew, that no man may dwell in the distant land of the sidh and keep his soul or his sanity. Amairgen might return, for the sidh would cast him out when they had no further use for him, but he would no longer be a thre
at to Tara or to Bricriu’s plans.

  That only left Flynn to deal with.

  Flynn would die on the Beltane Fire.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  If Amairgen had been with him, Flynn could have set aside the aching worry for Joanna, and enjoyed, for a little time, the preparations for Beltane. He would have been interested in the traditions and the rituals; in the careful selection of rowan and agaric and woodbine for the fire; in the rule that every fire in the land must be extinguished on the eve of the ceremony.

  “For,” explained Bolg, who was rather sorry for the young companion of the captured Amairgen, “the only fire that can burn on Beltane is the Sacred Fire. From midnight all other flames will be quenched.”

  But Flynn was encased in misery and numb with grief, and more alone than he had ever been in his life. He would have liked to be part of it, for the excitement running through the palace was so intense as to be almost tangible.

  The people of the Court were friendly and sympathetic; they made him one of them, and included him in their plans for Beltane. Sean the Storyteller kept him a place at his side at mealtimes.

  “It’s a terrible thing to lose a friend to the sidh,” he said to Flynn. “Terrible. But there was nothing you could have done to save him. The sidh take what they want. Not that that’ll make you feel better, I know. Dear me, it’ll be a grievous loss, I daresay.”

  Flynn liked Sean, and tried to question him about other travellers who came to Tara. Did women ever come? And what happened to them? But Sean was vague. It had been different in Cormac’s time, he said. Everyone was made welcome then. But Eochaid Bres and Bricriu the Fox did not care for strangers at Court. It was all very depressing. And what about a flagon of mead while they sat talking?

  Flynn drank the mead and talked to the others, but no one seemed to know anything about lone travellers, and when Flynn pressed them for the story of Dierdriu, and the legend that she would one day return, they avoided his eyes and glanced uneasily to where Bricriu sat at the head of the table. Better not to say too much about the old ways, they said. Safer.