Wolfking The Omnibus: Books 1-4

by Sarah Rayne

  But he hesitated, because it accorded ill with his position as an Elder of Tugaim to go inside such a place, but even so …

  Even so, surely his credit was sufficient for just this one visit? And there was the point that a man had a duty to know what went on in the world; how else should he guide sinners away from sin? Unaware that this worthy-sounding but possibly specious reasoning had been used by generations of gentlemen (and one or two ladies) who knew it their duty to guide fellow creatures away from sin but had sometimes been found doing so in some very questionable places, John Grady now moved forward.

  The doorway — they were surprised not to see a proper wooden door — was low and curved and quite narrow. Both men had to duck their heads to go through, and Muldooney, who was a bit bulky (all of it good solid muscle, of course) had to turn sideways. He beat down the sudden impression that he was descending beneath the ocean, and thought had you ever seen the likes of that Grady, as keen to get inside as a bull to a cow! And him an Elder! Muldooney might be a good many things, but one of the things he was not was a hypocrite.

  Once inside it was not quite as they had expected. It was also very quiet. It was ominously quiet, in fact. There was a waiting, a sense of unseen eyes, unseen minds, unseen hands ready to reach out and draw the humans farther inside.

  Yes, yes, farther in, Human Travellers, come farther in … farther in and farther down … down into the caves beneath the sea …

  Muldooney and Grady stopped and looked about them.

  “This is extremely odd,” said John Grady, and Muldooney agreed at once, because it was odd, it was surely the oddest thing out of the many odd things that had been happening of late. Where was the music? Where were the people? John Grady looked for the people and listened for the music, because he knew that taverns were heavily frequented. Muldooney looked for ladies of a certain reputation, because he knew that they were always to be found in taverns. He had never, of course, seen a whore, but he dared say he would recognise one if he did. To a person of perception these things were always apparent.

  They were standing in a low cavernlike place, with watertight rippling on the walls, and a faint bluish greenish light seeping in from somewhere. There was the muffled sound of water somewhere — the ocean! thought Muldooney, and was startled into fear, because wouldn’t it be a terrible thing altogether to be trapped down here if the ocean came rushing in.

  The oceans are our friends, Human Travellers … come inside and you will see … And then, as if in completion of a formula: You are expected.

  Neither man recognised the words which had once been almost ritualistic in the telling of fairy stories in the Lethe world. Neither man recognised the words, but both men recognised something … a threat? a menace? A whole unsuspected dark world yawned, a world where shadowy caves housed nameless evil, where silky voices invited the traveller to come inside, even where a place was laid ready at the table and a bed prepared … where the Lost Traveller was “expected” …

  There had been no door, but both men had the impression of a huge door, iron-clad, steel-studded, clanging to behind them.

  And now we are locked in with whatever inhabits these caves, and the ocean is above us, and the waterlight is all about us, and it is cold and dank and we are being drawn towards a forgotten world … Muldooney felt horror prickle his skin; he knew they were shut in with a something. John Grady, by now more deeply under the sidh’s spell than his companion, thought: I am getting closer to it.

  Both of them moved forward, Muldooney warily, though he did not see what else was to be done, for they could not go back — could they? — and it would not do to stand stockstill like a brace of idiots. And so they moved a little nearer to the soft light, a little nearer to the music’s heart.

  Come farther in, Human Travellers …

  The watertight rippled and stirred all about them, and there was a gentle lapping sound. The floor beneath their feet was damp and cold, and as they moved, a scattering of objects crunched and snapped with a brittle splintering twiglike sound.

  The Bones of Men, Human Travellers … cast up by the seas … but not until we have sucked them dry of their marrow, and not until we have taken their senses and their souls and woven them into our music … The music you hear is the music made from Men’s souls, Travellers, and from their eyes and their hearing and their speech … What shall we take from you, Human Travellers …?

  A cascade of cold, triumphant laughter echoed round the cave …

  Brian Muldooney, honest, practical pig farmer, knew by this time that there was something quite dreadfully wrong with the cave. Wouldn’t it be as plain as a cowpat to anyone other than Grady the Landgrabber? But Grady was plunging off ahead, and so Muldooney followed, because you could not let a fellow man go off alone into a dark cave with queer lights and the strangest old feel to it. And anyway, Muldooney did not want to be left out here by himself.

  John Grady said, in a rather odd voice, “It has a strange atmosphere to it, this place,” and Muldooney thought that if he never heard another understatement in his life, at least he’d heard one now, because couldn’t you feel the evil of the cave soaking into your bones, and couldn’t you smell the danger as strongly as if it was an uncleaned pigsty. This was odd, because he had always prided himself on being down-to-earth, a great one for the practicalities of life. Wasn’t he known in Tugaim — yes, and a bit farther afield as well! — as the most practical pigman between Galway and the Boyne!

  But he knew that the caves, like the music, were wrong. They were very wrong indeed. Even so, when Grady said, “I suppose it won’t hurt to just see what lies ahead,” Muldooney said it would not hurt a bit, to be sure it would not, and thought that Grady looked as if he was a man in a trance. He ventured the suggestion that they were not, after all, in a tavern, and John Grady said quite sharply, “Of course we are not in a tavern! Don’t be a fool, man.” Muldooney thought this unnecessarily harsh. Any person of sense could see it was not a tavern, it was no more a tavern than Muldooney was a tinker’s donkey. It was a nasty dark cold tunnel they were walking along, full of echoing whispered laughter and billowing shadows; full of an odd tuneless music that froze a man’s blood in his veins, and set him thinking of those dark oceans again, and those endless chasms into which a man might tumble, down and down, until he came to the centre of the ocean and was trapped there forever.

  “But,” said Grady, in a whisper, “think of what you would see if that should happen,” and Muldooney jumped and stared, because it had seemed, just for a second or two, as if Grady, actually John Grady the Landgrabber, had known what he, Muldooney, had been thinking.

  John said softly, “I do know. I can hear and I can sense everything down here.” And then, “Listen,” he said, and put out a hand to grab Muldooney’s arm, so sharply that Muldooney thought he would very likely display a bruise for days.

  The whispers seemed closer now. They echoed and reverberated about the cave roof.

  Closer now, Human Travellers … and your senses are sharpening … you can hear and you can see and you can feel with heightened perception., with greater clarity than ever you thought possible in your bleak, far-away world … we are honing your senses, Travellers, for we do not take what is not of the best … we shall take your souls and your senses for our music … so come nearer and see us for we are lovelier than anything you have ever dreamed of …

  “Down here,” said Grady with a purposeful air, and Muldooney thought would you just look at the cheek of the man, taking them into something that would probably turn out to be very nasty indeed. And a terrible thing it would be to get lost down here. A man might easily wander about for longer than bore thinking of. A man might certainly lose his wits down here.

  Yes, yes, you will lose your wits and you will lose your soul for we are fishers of souls, we are greedy for your bodies and your souls, Men of the Desolate World … we send many a Human from these caves into a dark, hopeless world … we can take your sight, your spee
ch, your hearing … it is all one to us which we have, but it is what makes the music, and it is what makes our beauty, for beauty feeds on pain …

  Grady said, still in the same soft, wondering tone, “I have never heard anything so truly lovely in my life,” and paused and then moved forward again, Muldooney panting along after him, for wasn’t the man all but running now. When John said impatiently, “Do keep up, Muldooney,” Muldooney opened his mouth to protest, and then closed it again, because you had to keep all your energies reserved for the chase, in a situation of this kind. It would not do to get lost down here.

  Lost without a soul, Human Travellers … without sanity … for what is the difference between soul and sanity …

  “No difference,” whispered John Grady, his eyes fixed to the pinpoints of light ahead of them. “Oh, no difference at all.” The laughter echoed all about them again, and Muldooney received the eerie impression of snake-like blue and green arms reaching out to them. Like writhing smoke, like ice-cold fire. Really, this was a very strange place, and if this should turn out to be a tavern after all, then all that Brian Muldooney would say was that taverns were not what he had been led to believe.

  They were walking along some kind of low-ceilinged passage now, with Grady always leading. Muldooney thought they were winding even farther downwards, and the lapping of the ocean was all about them. It was to be hoped that there would be no fissures anywhere in the rocky walls of the passage. It was to be hoped, as well, that neither of them slipped on the wet, slippery rock floor. A turned ankle would be a very awkward thing to have down here. You had to be practical. Probably, of course, there would be a great old letdown at the end of all this.

  “Oh no,” said Grady. “Oh no, Brian, you will see,” and Muldooney felt the hairs stand on end on the back of his neck, because no one, no one, and especially not John Grady the Landgrabber, ever called him Brian. Something very peculiar was happening to both of them and it was especially happening to John Grady. Still, thought Muldooney — who was not fanciful but who was beginning to be frightened — still, I’d better stay with him.

  The tunnel widened into a stone chamber, and Muldooney thought they must be near to some kind of river, because a soft waterlight rippled on the walls. There was the faint far-off sound of water lapping gently on a shore.

  You are beneath the oceans, Human Travellers … you are in the water caves of the sidh …

  It would be better for Muldooney not to be seen. Muldooney was not the man to run away, of course, but even so, it would be better not to be seen. He would just conceal himself somewhere and wait for Grady to come to his senses again, when they could go peacefully home (couldn’t they?) and all would be normal again.

  And so he crouched down into a shadowy corner and began to feel chilled and afraid, and hoped there was not going to be any violence, and watched John Grady walk into the centre of the light. And although the light made your eyes ache, after a while it began to seem to Muldooney that there were shapes inside the light … figures … thin sensuous creatures with round, hard, sleek heads like seals, and slender silky bodies, and arms and hands that curled and beckoned like blue-green flames on the hearth fire on a frost-ridden night.

  They were not quite human, those shapes, but nor were they quite inhuman either, and Muldooney could not decide if that made it better or worse.

  We are not human at all, Men of the Desolate World … we have no human blood in us, only the music of the Old Gods and only the hunger of our lusts …

  Grady was at the very centre of the light now, and the sidh were all about him, tying him with thin silver cords, spreading his body out, the arms and legs outflung. The cords were tight; Muldooney could see them cutting into the man’s flesh.

  We must have you safe, Human Traveller, we must not allow you to escape us … None do escape us …

  Sanity was returning to John Grady’s eyes now, and with it, fear.

  “Let me go.”

  Laughter filled the cavern, and the waterlight rippled and danced on the ancient stone walls.

  There is no escape, Traveller, you are ours for all time … You are ours until we tire of you, until we have sucked you dry …

  Grady struggled and the cords bit tighter. Beads of blood flecked his skin. Muldooney thought: should I try to free him? But what about those blue and green creatures?

  The sidh were clustered about Grady, peeling off his clothes, their tendril hands and fingers caressing his skin. Muldooney saw that despite his fear, Grady was reacting to the caressing hands; the man was becoming aroused. Really, wasn’t it a terrible shocking thing to crouch here and witness a fellow man be given a stalk like an autumn crocus, even if it was only John Grady?

  The sidh were swarming all over Grady now, liquid and formless at one moment, nearly but not quite human the next. Muldooney thought it must be like feeling thin water pour over your body. Beautiful. But he thanked all the gods he believed in that it was Grady out there and not him.

  The sidh were lying across Grady now, four and five and six of them all together, and Grady was beginning to breathe a bit faster.

  You cannot escape us, you must stay here and love us until your loins are empty and aching, and until your mind is spinning … you cannot leave us without bequeathing to us one of your five senses …

  Muldooney was genuinely sickened at what happened next, and honestly horrified to find himself powerless to help. He had been really rather fascinated by the sight of the sidh pouring over Grady’s naked body; he had watched, unable to look away, while the blue and green fire licked the man’s body from head to heels, until Grady was all but enveloped by the icy flames.

  Give us your seed, Human, for there is nothing we like so well as the warm seed of a human spilling over us …

  As Muldooney watched, Grady’s body arched and jerked, and semen spurted between his legs, so that the sidh moaned in triumph and writhed.

  More, Human, we want more …

  They closed in on him again, reaching their smoky hands for him, insinuating their slender boneless bodies against him.

  In the hours that followed, the sidh worked most cruelly and most pitilessly on John Grady, and Muldooney, cramped and cold in his corner, saw everything.

  To begin with, it was rather beautiful in a cold sinister way; the sight of the cave creatures, ever changing, never constant, was something he thought he could watch forever.

  But the sidh allowed their victim no mercy, and Muldooney began to feel rather sick after a while. Grady was brought again and again to abrupt and painful orgasm.

  John Grady let out a dreadful cry — “No more! Please … I am dry.” And Muldooney’s own thighs tightened in involuntary sympathy. Once Grady broke a hand free of the thin silver cords and clutched his groin protectively, but the sidh’s hands whipped out, and pinned his arm down again.

  More, Human, more … we will have your blood and your marrow and your juices, and when we have done, you will leave us your soul …

  Grady was moaning and sobbing. “I am empty. I am dry. Leave me be …” But the sidh were darting all over him, icy tongues of blue flame; they were bathing him in an eerie blue fire, and if it had not been so terrible, it would have been breathtaking.

  And then: Turn him over … we will wring you dry, Human, we will take every drop you have …

  They turned him on to his face, spreading his thighs apart. Wider … wider … we shall pleasure you in the ways of men with men …

  Muldooney choked, “Oh God,” and saw the snaking boneless hands reach between Grady’s buttocks.

  And, incredibly, Grady hardened again.

  There was a great exultant cry: Not dry! Not empty! Give us more, Human …

  But Grady was barely conscious now; as the sidh turned him on to his back again.

  We will have one last thing from you … we will take one last offering … we are fishers of souls and we are fishers of senses, and if we do not capture your soul, we will take one of your senses …
to feed our music and to feed our beauty, Human Traveller … One of the senses … we will take one of the senses … which shall it be? … sight, speech, hearing, taste, touch … Which? Which? … eyes, ears, nose, fingers, tongue …

  A pause. Then:

  TONGUE! Speech! We will take your speech, Human, and we will pour it into our music and the world’s music will be the richer for it … you will never speak again, Human … you will never be able to tell of what happened to you in the caves beneath the sea … you will never speak again …

  The blue and green fire reached up to his face and smokelike, ethereal fingers that felt like steel clamped about his jaw. He felt his mouth forced wider and wider, and he strained back, feeling his eyes bolting from his head.

  What were they going to do to him?

  And then the hands were reaching down into his mouth, down and down into his throat, so that he choked and retched and jerked away. But the fingers held his jaws wide apart, and he could not resist.

  He felt something in his throat tighten and strain, and then pain exploded inside his mouth, and agony tore apart his throat, a dreadful, raw, open agony that sent his mind spinning.

  His mouth was a huge wound, filling up with thick blood that ran down his throat and spilled from his lips, making him gag and vomit.

  The sidh released him at last, and he sagged on to the floor, vomiting blood and saliva, pain throbbing inside his mouth, his control stretched to its ultimate.

  Blood dribbled in great clotted strings from his mouth, and he thought: they have torn out my tongue.

  The thin thread of his control snapped, and a merciful darkness descended on the tortured plains of his mind.

  *

  Muldooney flattered himself that he was not often found at a loss — ah, you had to look a long way before you could match Muldooney — but he was completely at a loss now.

  They were standing on the road again, and he was clutching John Grady’s arm, poor mutilated soul, and trying to think what they had better do next.

  The dreadful thing was that he had seen it all so clearly, in fact he had seen it a great deal more clearly than he had cared for. But there had been no help for it; crouched in his corner, he had seen the sidh hold open Grady’s mouth wide, so wide it must have hurt his jaw intolerably; he had seen the blue and green sinuous arms dart into Grady’s mouth, and he had seen and, more terrible, heard tendons tear and skin rip. There had been a truly sickening glutinous sound as Grady’s tongue had been torn from his head, and there had been a kind of unwilling sucking sound.