by Sarah Rayne
“He had to be helped up and dusted down in full view of most of the Court and the entire Beastline,” said Dorrainge, displeased, and added that none of it was dignified behaviour for a Druid, and Cathbad’s Code of Entry might have to be reviewed at the next Solstice.
“Bother dignity and bother being a Druid,” said Cathbad, and went away to consider could they serve whole roast swan at the banquet, or would that be a touch discourteous. In any case, they would none of them be sitting down to the feast much before midnight at this rate, because nobody seemed to know how long the Ritual might be supposed to last, and so far nobody had seen the Queen.
“She’ll make a proper entrance when the proper time comes,” said Fintan.
The Beastline were deeply interested in the Ritual, and in the Stone of the Fál, and listened to everything that everyone had to say.
“They even listened to Fintan,” said Cermait.
“The Stone shrieks aloud, you see,” said Fintan, who had lost his original audience when Cathbad fell into the rabbit hole, and was preparing to start all over again with a new one. “When the true King embraces it,” he explained.
“Or the true Queen,” put in Cermait. “Don’t forget that.”
“I meant that,” said Fintan. “They knew I meant that. You did know, didn’t you? Mind you, I don’t know that I believe it,” said Fintan, who in fact believed devoutly in every sliver of myth and every shred of legend ever related, but who would not have admitted to this even in the face of torture of the most extreme kind. “And of course, we’ve none of us ever seen it performed,” he added for good measure, because it would not have done for people to have thought him credulous.
Taliesin was regarding the great rearing Stone. “I am sceptical about the entire thing,” he said. “But then I am a cynic and a rogue, and fit company for no man and certainly fit company for no myth.” He looked at the Stone thoughtfully. “I find it difficult to believe in Stones that cry aloud for chosen Kings,” he said.
“Or Queens,” said Cermait, and was told to hush.
But for all the doubts and for all the scepticism, for Taliesin was not alone, a feeling of anticipation was creeping over the twilit Plain. There was a sense of excitement, a feeling that something marvellous and mystical was about to happen. There was a faint humming on the air, and Bee, lifting her head, said, “The sidh. Or is it?” And frowned, because although the sound was a little like the sidh’s music, it was mingled in with the expectancy and the anticipation.
“But the sidh are certainly here,” said Rinnal. “Over there. See?”
“And it is their music,” said Bee, with contentment.
The music was all about them now; it was singing on the air, and it was mingling with the soft sweet twilight.
“Like music you can feel,” said Conn, who stood with Niall. “Like music you can eat and drink.”
“I’d rather eat and drink Cathbad’s banquet,” said Michael, but he did not say it very loudly, because he was as awed as the rest of the boys.
And then, just as the music and the anticipation and the excitement was reaching an almost unendurable pitch, and just as Annabel was thinking that she could not bear it any longer, Grainne, with Erin at her side, and Fergus and Raynor just behind, came walking slowly up the hill and stood on the far side of the Plain.
A great stillness descended on the waiting Court, because while they had never forgotten, not for a moment, that Grainne was the High Queen, the descendant of the great Rulers of Ireland, most of them had grown used to seeing her as she had been for the past weeks; informal, unceremonious. Dressed in plain dark breeches and leather boots and a cambric shirt, with her hair cut short. They had become accustomed to seeing her move about the camp, eating their ordinary camp suppers, joining in with the bonfire singing, listening when Fintan or Cermait related a tale or two.
Being one of them and being one with them, the soldiers had said, and had liked it. It had meant you had to curb your language a bit, and your drinking as well, but nobody had minded this. Everybody had known what was due to the High Queen. One of the soldiers who liked to think he had a bit of a turn for a good phrase had called her the People’s Queen, and this had been taken up.
Now, quite suddenly, she was none of these things. She was no longer the slender gentle creature who had helped them to serve supper, and who had laughed with them when Cathbad had added sugar instead of salt to a hare pie, and she was no longer the unassuming companionable friend who had helped in the plotting against Medoc and in the planning of journeys and in the drawing up of battle strategies.
She wore the ceremonial robes of Tara; the gold and black, silk on velvet, and on her head was the thin gold circlet forged by the sidh centuries earlier for the great Niall of the Nine Hostages, and she was the granddaughter of Dierdriu, and the great-granddaughter of Cormac, and she was the descendant of the magical enchanted Wolfline of Ireland.
Every person present knew that the sudden hush and the sudden unspoken homage was due to far more than ceremonial silk and velvet and gold. It was the instinctive recognition of the centuries of seigneurial mastery that ran in her blood. It was breeding, heredity, and it was that remarkable blend of power and charm and cunning that had made the Wolfline great.
The power and the light and the strength of the Wolves …
The Wolves were with her, upwards of a dozen of them, walking obediently at her heels, sleek and lean and alert. Several people eyed them uneasily, because didn’t Wolves have the terrible way of altering their moods in the blink of a whisker! Nobody wanted to be eaten by the Royal Wolves, never mind it was the grandest thing ever that they’d returned, never mind that it had at one time been the most honourable death that could befall a man.
Taliesin, at Annabel’s side, thought, How does she control them? What does she do to make them obedient and wise? And, as he watched, he saw the thin pure light in Erin’s eyes, and knew that it was not Grainne who was controlling them, but the slight dark child at Grainne’s side. Erin … Eirann, Ireland’s Lost Prince …
And then, because it would always be in Taliesin to see the layer just below the surface, as he had seen that the light in the boy’s eyes was the silvered light of the Samhailt, he looked at the child again, more deeply. And now he saw the wolfmask that lay across Erin’s face, and he saw, as well, that Erin had Fergus’s smile and Fergus’s way of walking, and thought, So that is it. Is it? Yes, I believe so. How extremely sad, thought Taliesin. How cruel that those two should be siblings. He wondered whether Fergus would ever tell him of what had happened inside the Prison of Hostages, and then he wondered whether Fergus needed to tell him. There was a look of peace in Fergus’s eyes, the look of someone who has fought torments and waged struggles, and won.
Erin was as plainly dressed as his ancestor Cormac had always been. No ceremony, thought Taliesin, his eyes never leaving Erin’s face. But I believe he does not need any. He never will need any. His presence alone is a ceremony. How very curious, thought Taliesin, and felt Annabel slip her hand into his, and knew that their thoughts were running alongside, and remembered that, quite soon, after the banquet, he would take Annabel back to the tall narrow house in the Street of Money Lenders, and that she would curl up before the fire, and the fire would turn her hair to molten gold, and that he would never let her go …
Annabel was more or less aware of Taliesin’s thoughts, and she was filled with delight. To stay here, in this magical marvellous world, to be with Taliesin, to become close to these people: Grainne and Fergus and Raynor and the Beastline; Fintan and Cermait, and Fribble and Cathbad and the Druids. They will become close, thought Annabel, and knew it would happen. And then, because there was no room for anything more now, she turned her attention back to the Stone, and saw that it was beginning to glow, and thought that she was mistaken, because it was probably the twilight casting strange shadows, or perhaps even the sidh, and saw that it could not be any of these, and shivered with delight.
; The Stone waking …
*
The air was laden and heavy with enchantment now, and in every face was the utmost joy, because this was it. Wasn’t this at last the Old Ireland waking, the Ireland they had yearned for and sought, and tried to awaken; and hadn’t the Queen somehow woken it for them? This was the enchanted, mystical Ireland, the world of turquoise twilights and misty dusks, and of half-Men, who sometimes walked on all fours like beasts, and sometimes upright like Men; the land where people could spin magic, and where bewitchments could be had and where spells could be spun … This was the fabled land of Cormac of the Wolves and Niall of the Nine Hostages, and Nuadu Airgetlam of the Silver Arm; of Dierdriu and the sidh and the first Queen of all who was sometimes called the cursed Queen, and who had raised Tara from the rock by magic and charm and cajolery. All stirring and waking and living, and all there with them.
There was a humming on the air now; something that was not the sidh’s music, something that was ancient, and that had been ancient when the world was young, and something that was filled with deep pure magic and with strong bewitchment.
The Stone waking …
Erin moved forward then and, as he did so, Grainne fell back, and the humming and the anticipation grew in intensity, and Annabel thought that she could not bear it much longer.
Erin reached out and embraced the Stone with both arms. There was a sound, as if hundreds of great birds were flying past, or as if an immense wind was blowing on the Plains.
Annabel, who had been unable to look away from Erin’s steady approach to the Stone, felt undiluted joy wash over the watchers, and saw in their faces such pure pleasure, and such immense happiness, that for a second there was a sharp loneliness, and a feeling of isolation, because she was not one of them or one with them, and this was something she could not share completely with them. She thought, They are becoming my friends, every one of them, but still, this is something they are born to, it is their heritage, and it is something my world has never known … We lost the magic and the enchantment, thought Annabel. We lost the heritage we should have had, and inherited only destruction and sickness and a dying world.
And then she looked to where Grainne was standing, and saw Grainne smile at her, and saw that it was a smile that included Annabel in all of this, and that within it was the shared memory of how they had fought Medoc and the Dark Lords, and stood together against the dangers, and delight unfolded within her, because of course she was a part of it, and of course she was sharing it. How marvellous it all is, thought Annabel. And then: And how fortunate I am to be here with them all. She could hear the great Stone beginning to hum now, and there was an uncanny music in the sound, and she knew that she was hearing an old, old enchantment, and she felt the happiness surrounding her, because for sure they were all welcoming Erin, they were acknowledging him as their Prince …
There was a rushing sound above them, the feeling of something powerful and swift approaching — Immense wheels riding across the sky, thought Annabel, and so strong was the image that she looked up to the skies, and saw that others were doing the same, and strained her eyes to see, because surely, surely he would be with them at such a moment …
And then he was there, briefly and insubstantially, but he was there, golden and glowing, his eyes slanting, seeming to be on fire … The rebel angel travelling through the skies … The Time Chariot hovered for a moment to the east, splendid and unearthly, aflame with the Fire of Fael-Inis’s music and, for a breathspace, they heard again the silvery fragile music of the silver pipes, and felt the pull of Fael-Inis’s enchantment.
Come with me, Mortals, and we will challenge the world and tumble it about, and will win, Mortals, we will win …
And so we did win, thought Annabel, and smiled, and found that tears were streaming down her cheeks, and did not care, and then brushed them away impatiently, because she would not bear it if she did not see everything of the Ceremony.
The Stone was crying now; it was shrieking aloud, and Erin’s face was intent and absorbed, as if he might be drawing power out from the Stone.
“Or,” thought Annabel, more intrigued than she had ever been in her life, “as if he might be pouring it in.”
And she stayed quietly where she was, and looked at the others: at Grainne, whose face was shining with more happiness than Annabel had ever seen in any creature’s face ever before; at Raynor, at her side, calm and strong and gentle and wise. At Fergus, who stood a little apart, but with a look in his eyes as he watched Erin that was proud and humble and grateful and filled with the contentment of someone who has fought some strange inner battle, and been victorious.
The Druids were nodding and watching, happy to see such an ancient tradition honoured, and the Cruithin were on the far side, their eyes bright, their heads tilted in the characteristic alertness. The Beastline creatures were nearby, quiet and absorbed in everything.
Last of all, Annabel looked to where Taliesin stood beside her, and the deep joy welled up and threatened to spill over, because surely, oh, surely, this was more than anyone could ever expect to find in a single lifetime.
And then Erin stood back, and turned to look at them all, and his eyes were alight, and his whole being was transformed, and there was a glow about him, and every person present fell to his knees in homage to Ireland’s Lost Prince.
*
In the chronicles of Ireland, there is a chapter much read and much related and considerably loved by the Irish. It tells, in the beautiful simple language of the Cruithin, how the gentle and much-loved Grainne, sometimes called Grainne the Gentle and sometimes also called the People’s Queen, gave up the Throne in favour of her son, and how she lived to a wise and tranquil old age in the Grail Castle with her beloved Raynor of the Eagles, and of how the castle, in their time, became a place of pilgrimage, and of light and laughter and music and learning and of how they helped many poor and deprived people in the land.
It tells, as well, of how Fergus, the mighty Captain of the Fiana, stayed at Tara, acting as Regent to the child Erin, schooling him and guiding him and polishing him into the famous and strong High King he was to become. It tells of how Erin’s companions were Conn and Niall and Michael and all the lost boys who came out of the terrible Prison of Hostages into the worldy and who served Ireland and Erin faithfully and welly and were rewarded with high honours.
But always, always, in the telling of this remarkable and stirring chapter of Ireland’s history, the story-tellers will end with the same words:
“And it was only when the Lost Prince came to Tara that the Enchantments woken by Grainne truly began to live and it was then that Ireland saw the birth of the Golden Age of Erin.”
Erin. Eireann. The Once and Future King.
Rebel Angel
Chapter One
The Renascian Council had discovered that the Star patterns were changing. They were changing so rapidly and so drastically that the Star Maps, the marvellous ancient charts made by their ancestors, the long-ago Earth-people, bore hardly any resemblance to the skies any more. And although the Old Settlement had by now been explored fairly thoroughly, the Renascians had not discovered how the Earth-people would have coped with great jagged holes where stars had once been, or with the strange livid sunsets, or with the gradual leeching of daylight and the lengthening nights.
‘Whatever it is, it’s been happening for some time,’ said Floy, facing the Council along the long, polished oak table and spreading the ancient Charts out for them to see.
‘And whatever it is that’s disturbing the stars,’ he said, ‘it’s getting closer.’ He leaned forward, tracing the patterns on the original Star Maps of their ancestors, and comparing them with the ones they had so carefully drawn themselves, using the machine brought from Earth by the first Settlers that was called a sextant.
Floy looked round at the Council rather challengingly, and Quilp, who had been part of the Council ever since most people could remember, said it was all very interesting
, but it surely could not be anything to worry about, that there were much more important matters to discuss in Council Chambers.
‘I disagree,’ said Floy. ‘There’s something wrong about it all. Can’t you feel that there’s something wrong?’ And then, looking up at them, ‘How do we know that the last days of Earth did not begin like this?’ he said, and a rather dreadful silence fell. Everyone knew of the terrible ending of Earth. Earth was still there in the heavens, a dead, dark world that they could just glimpse from the Twilight Mountains, though most people found it eerie and distressing to do so. But they all knew of the holocaust that had sent their ancestors fleeing and destroyed almost all forms of life. The optimists maintained that some of the people had survived and that there would still be life of some kind on Earth, but nobody could be sure about this. They only knew about the few who had managed to escape and reach Renascia.
It had not been so very long ago since it had happened, either, which made the difference in the charts even more puzzling. And since the Council did not seem as if it was intending to explore the matter, Floy had taken the Star Maps back to the house on Renascia’s outskirts that had belonged to his and Fenella’s parents.
‘The stars form a pattern,’ he said to her, unrolling the Maps on the table and frowning at them. ‘A recognisable structure in the skies. Can you see it? It’s like an intricate and very beautiful mesh. A lattice. The Earth-settlers charted them when they came here. I suppose they wanted to see how everything looked from Renascia as opposed to Earth.’ He traced the pattern again. ‘But now it’s as if an immense hole has somehow been punched through the lattice.’
Fenella, looking over his shoulder, saw what he meant. The stars had formed their own cobweb structure against the skies; you could see quite clearly their framework in the first Maps. As Floy said, it was rather beautiful. But when you looked at the new maps you could see the difference. There was a jagged centre, a blankness, a sickening absence of colour and light, so that you found yourself thinking of yawning chasms and bottomless wells.