Wolfking The Omnibus: Books 1-4

by Sarah Rayne

‘I think it’s more than that,’ said Snizort.

  The Black Chasm reaching out its greedy fingers towards them … The hungering monster of the skies bearing down on mankind once more, hungering for new victims …

  I won’t think that and I won’t look up! thought Fenella. I won’t look towards the Twilight Mountains and I won’t hear. It’ll just be the wind. And, in any case, Floy will make them hear us. They’ll unbolt the doors and let us in and we’ll be safe. It’s just Quilp being malicious for a time.

  Floy was ahead of them. He had reached the nearer of the shelters and he was already kneeling down to the grille. Fenella could see it quite plainly; a shuttered square, just large enough for somebody very small or very agile to slither through. Could they be heard?

  Floy said, ‘Shout together. All of us. As loudly as ever you can. When I signal. Ready?’

  He brought his hand down and they shouted and Floy hammered on the grille with a piece of rock.

  But there is no sound from inside, thought Fenella. If they hear the wind, then that is all they hear.

  ‘Again!’ cried Floy. ‘They must hear!’

  But the shelters remained locked and impassive and, at length, Floy straightened up and turned to face them, his hair whipped into a tangle about his head, his face bitter and angry.

  ‘There is only one thing we can do,’ he said and took Fenella’s hands as he looked straight at the other two. ‘We have to find shelter of some kind. We can’t be far away from the Chasm now. I can hear it,’ cried Floy.

  The houses — ’ began Fenella and, at once, ‘No, of course not the houses.’

  And then Floy looked at them suddenly, a new light in his eyes. ‘Of course!’ he cried, taking Fenella’s arm. ‘Quickly, all of us! It protected our ancestors on their journey here, and it may now protect us!

  ‘We must go to the Ark.’

  Chapter Six

  To begin with, Fenella thought, they would never do it. The wind was relentless now, tearing down on them from every side, so that whichever way they faced they were fighting it. There was the tainted, ancient stench deep within it and, although they had all wound scarves about their faces and Fenella had drawn the strings of her hood as tight as they would go, still the stench seemed to soak into their skins, so that they thought they would never be free of it.

  As they moved away from the familiar houses and streets and the two shelters where the Renascians sheltered in safety and warmth, they began to feel as if they were walking towards the heart of some giant panting monster, black and evil and menacing.

  Fenella, between Snizort and Snodgrass, thought that if you half closed your eyes you could very nearly see it. Rearing and snarling, with a thick scaly hide, and a hungering black maw, ready to devour the world …

  Floy was concentrating on reaching the Ark and he was forcing every ounce of his will to get Fenella and the two brothers inside it. He did not know whether it would protect them as well as the dug-outs would have protected them, but he could not think what else they could do. Perhaps they might have found shelter in the depths of the Twilight Mountains; Floy cast a glance towards the silhouettes of the Mountains directly ahead of them, limned in sharp relief against the livid skies, great towering shapes. People shunned the Mountains and whispered tales about them, but Floy knew that people had explored them at times; little parties had gone deep into the honeycomb tunnels, taking food and light.

  And sometimes did not emerge, said his mind …

  Sometimes were never seen again …

  There was no time to consider any of it. They were at the centre of a shrieking, whirling tornado, and the entire world was being turned slowly upside down. There was no time to think, there was only time to try to reach the Ark that had brought their ancestors out of danger centuries earlier.

  Yes, yes, mortals, out of the land of bondage and into the freedom of Infinity …

  To their left they could see the lake churning and spiralling, great walls of foaming water rising at its centre.

  ‘Faster!’ shouted Floy, half dragging Fenella across the scree. ‘The lake is rising! All of us! Quickly!’

  They half ran, half fell, over the rough ground below the Ark, stumbling and missing their footing, helping one another as they ran. Once Fenella slipped and fell headlong but there was thick springy bracken and she was only winded.

  ‘Not hurt,’ she gasped, as they helped her up. ‘Not — looking — where – I — was — going — Hurry — ’

  It was like being chased by some huge, ravening beast now. The sound and the wind and the steady rhythmic pulsating of the skies was engulfing them and, within the wind, was a great roaring sound.

  And the Black Chasm, the monster of infinity is almost upon us, it is rushing down on us, ravening and slavering for prey … A predator, a giant snare, a trap opening its jaws ready to bring its teeth slashing down on Mankind …

  Ahead of them was the sleek shape of the Ark, the strange, carefully preserved craft that had come from Earth, that had somehow been sent through the skies, thousands of miles, until it had come to rest on Renascia. It should be safe, thought Fenella, her heart pounding, her lungs ready to burst. It must be safe.

  She summoned her last reserves and together they ran across the last stretch of ground. Snizort and Snodgrass were still with them; Snizort was puffing and Snodgrass was perspiring and they had certainly fallen back.

  But they are with us, thought Fenella, with sudden gladness. Somehow they have kept up and they are with us.

  As if Floy had caught her thought, he stopped, his arm still about her, and they waited for the two brothers, who came trotting and gasping up to them.

  Snizort said, ‘Bless my boots, I’m getting a bit old for this sort of thing.’

  Snodgrass had managed to keep the supplies slung about his shoulder, which had pleased them both.

  ‘Inside,’ said Floy, with a worried look at the sky. ‘Quickly!’

  Time is slowing, and when the last grains have trickled out, it will turn back on itself and what then, mortals, what then … ?

  Floy was standing at Fenella’s side, tugging at the fastening to the small door that was set into the Ark’s side. There was a moment, heart-stopping, breathtaking, when they feared it would not open, and Fenella felt a spiral of panic. And then Floy’s hands pushed again and the door fell open and they were entering the strange empty craft that had come from the dying world, Earth. It was larger inside than they had expected and there was a strange, cold, sharp scent.

  ‘It’s like the cabin of a ship,’ said Floy, looking about him.

  ‘There’s plenty of room for us all,’ said Snodgrass, putting down his haversack. ‘Bless my soul, this is a remarkable thing.’

  The inside of the long-ago Earth-settlers’ Ark was lined with the pale, hard substance that the Renascians had never been able to reproduce or, indeed, identify. It was narrower than they had thought from outside, but it was long, and there were several odd-looking seats, curved to fit the body. To the left of the small door were rows upon rows of bewildering squares, all containing numbers and charts and patterns of various colours.

  At the centre was a column, the thickness of a man’s waist, with more of the enclosed charts and what seemed to be dozens of switches and handles. To their right was a further small door, partly open, through which they could see more of the same seats and what looked a bit like storage units or cupboards of some kind.

  But they were inside, and the raging storm was outside and, for the moment, there was stability and some kind of shelter.

  They reached the seats and fell into them thankfully. Straps protruded from the sides, a little like belts, but made of some pale, pliable substance.

  Floy at once reached for the fastenings and the others did the same.

  ‘Not rusty in the least,’ muttered Snizort. ‘My word, they knew how to make things, our ancestors.’

  The straps were not rusty, but they were cold to the touch, and they were diff
icult to clip into place. They stretched across the front of the chairs, holding the wearer firmly in place, and Fenella could not decide if this was worrying or comforting. Had the people who built this craft expected it to be so buffeted and so flung about that they knew they must be tied down to escape injury? It was something else not to explore too deeply, and Fenella thought they should just be glad to have such security. And it was quite a safe feeling to be anchored like this. If the Ark was turned upside down and thrown backwards and forwards by whatever was ahead of them, at least they would not be dashed against its cold, unyielding sides.

  The A rk had tiny circular windows, not made of glass as they were used to, but of something very slightly soft and immensely thick. Fenella peered through and thought that they gave a distorted view of what was outside. Then she wondered if it was not the glasslike substance that was distorted, but the outside itself.

  It was just possible to make out the dark, swirling clouds and the livid crimson streaks across the sky, and the rather terrible structuring of the skies, as if they were massing together for some grisly purpose.

  ‘But we can no longer hear any of it,’ said Fenella, staring out. ‘We can no longer hear it and we can no longer feel it, either.’ Fenella felt her spirits rising. Of course they would come through, and of course Renascia would not be destroyed.

  But it is coming nearer, Mortal, it is coming nearer with every second …

  There was the sudden feeling that whatever was over their heads was swooping down on them and the feeling of being poised on the edge of a precipice. Floy and Snodgrass moved to seats and, as they did so, they felt the Ark shudder with the force of the buffeting winds.

  Fenella thought, It is moving. I believe the Ark is moving. And waited, torn between fear and excitement, because this, surely, was the most immense thing that had ever happened and, surely, like this they must be safe.

  And we shall see! she thought suddenly. Whatever is happening, we shall be able to see it!

  And then, without the least warning, the storm ceased, and there was the sudden, silent feeling of a dark, thick cloak falling, and the sensation of weightlessness. Fenella thought the Ark moved again, and then was not sure.

  It’s so quiet, thought Fenella, staring at the others. I never imagined such quiet and such peace.

  Floy, seated close to Fenella, felt the peace and the sudden immense stillness at the same moment, and cold dread closed about his heart for he guessed the sudden, overpowering silence to be the silence of airlessness, and he thought: Renascia has been plucked from its carapace of air and sent spinning and tumbling through the skies. Somehow it has fallen out of its safe cocoon. We can no longer feel it, but we are hurtling towards something tremendous, something that will very probably shatter us for ever. Down into the depths of the Black Chasm? Yes, probably.

  Floy glanced quickly round the Ark’s interior and knew a brief comfort, because the Earth-people must surely have known about the airlessness of the skies and they would certainly have somehow rendered the Ark safe against such a danger. But we can’t exist without air for very long, thought Floy, his eyes raking the incomprehensible oblongs of maps and figures and handles to their left. There will be air in here for a time, but it will soon become stale and unbreathable. He thought there must be machinery in here to combat the airlessness, but it would long since have fallen into disuse and, in any case, they had no way of knowing how to use it. I cannot think what we can do! he cried in silent agonised frustration. I believe the means to help us to be here in this strange craft, but I have not the knowledge!

  And then the velvety blackness was split by blinding white light, veined with glittering orange and red fire. Great dust storms whirled before their eyes, dancing and beckoning, grotesque fantastical shapes that reared up and became grinning, threatening monsters, holding out impossible elongated hands, beckoning, reaching for them …

  Floy, staring, unsure whether his eyes were playing tricks, thought: I believe there must be air again! Those dust storms could not have been raised without air of some kind! Perhaps they had fallen into a pocket of air. I don’t know if I believe in strange, within-the-shadows creatures, he thought, but I do believe in dust and in storms. I do believe in swirling clouds and winds.

  There was a rushing sound as well, now, and Floy experienced a quick, deep thankfulness, for where there is sound there must certainly be air. But even as the thoughts were forming in his mind, there was a violent wrenching movement and they felt the Ark turn completely upside-down and hurtle down and down, twisting and spiralling as it went, faster than anything they had ever known, so that they were gasping and clutching the sides of their seats for safety. Light split the darkness once more, racing past them, blinding, dazzling, white-hot and streaked with fire like blood against a pale skin …

  Fenella saw a rushing, swirling curtain of gold and brilliance, a maelstrom of fire and light, with glittering shapes deep within it and they felt the swirl of the fire billow out and engulf the Ark. There was the sensation of being tom out of the ground and scooped up into the skies and the blackness was somehow behind them, as if they were shaking it from them like liquid. Rivulets of colour and light came rushing out to surround them and they felt the Ark lifted bodily, not harshly but gently and firmly, and carried forward.

  The light changed. It became tinged with pure, molten gold and there were eyes in the fire now, strange wise ancient eyes, as if there might be beasts who lived in the fire and who were not Human, who might well be dangerous, but who were certainly taking them forward, out of the black tunnel, on and on through the golden river of fire …

  Floy shouted, ‘Keep tight hold, all of you! Is everyone all right?’

  ‘Yes!’ cried Fenella. ‘What’s happening?’

  ‘I haven’t the least idea!’ cried Floy, and the others caught the wild delight in his voice as he turned to look at them.

  ‘We’re moving again!’ cried Snizort. ‘Aren’t we?’

  ‘Yes! Hold tight!’

  They were moving, swiftly and smoothly now, going down and down and round and round … Into the depths of the whirlpool, thought Fenella, tom between terror and excitement. Into the heart of the Black Chasm and probably, certainly, we shall never come out again …

  But there are eyes in the fire, thought Fenella, staring through the tiny windows, unable to look away. There are slanting golden eyes, neither Human nor animal, and just beyond the light I can make out strange, silken creatures composed of the fire and the light, eerily beautiful, but somehow friendly.

  The Ark was gathering momentum. They were going faster and faster and, at any minute, they would surely plunge straight to the Chasm’s core where they would be dashed to their deaths against its black heart …

  But it was possible to see more clearly through the tiny windows, now; it was possible to see that they were travelling along some kind of wide, high, rock tunnel, inside a surging golden River.

  Fenella thought: A golden pouring River, tumbling down and down inside a tunnel … I think we may be about to die, she thought, fearful and entranced. But I think this is the most exciting thing yet.

  And then there was a jolt and a tumbling sensation and a burst of light and the Ark came to rest, quite gently, in a vast cave, filled with the soft pouring light.

  They sat very still, not daring to move, hardly daring to speak, each of them thinking: are we safe? Has it stopped?

  Floy, peering through the windows, saw that the strange golden river was still flowing past them, but shallowly now, so that the Ark was only several inches deep in it. It was rather as if they had come to rest on the shores of some kind of sea or the banks of a deep, wide river. Thin light cascaded over the walls and ran along the sides of the cave, spilling over the edges of some kind of cliff. The whole cavern was soaked in soft, prismatic light that rippled gently, like water-light in an under-sea cave, but stronger, more glowing, streaked with flame and gold. Here and there, they could see clusters of hard br
illiance embedded into the cave walls and, at intervals, were deep alcoves, niches cut into the rock, each one bearing a strangely wrought flambeau, from which glowed spiralling flames.

  The light was pouring from the Ark's sides, as if it was rainwater running off it, and Fenella could see the tiny glinting droplets on the windows.

  It was Floy who moved first, unclipping the stout fastenings that had held them safely in the curved seats. He stood up, flexing his cramped muscles, and eyed them all.

  ‘Well, my friends? Nothing broken? Nothing damaged?’

  ‘I don’t think so,’ said Fenella, cautiously, and looked at Snizort and Snodgrass, both of whom beamed and said they were quite all right, aside from being a bit jolted. Snodgrass thought the contents of the portmanteau might be a bit tumbled, but other than that they were unhurt.

  ‘And I do think,’ said Snizort, ‘that we ought to explore outside.’

  Floy said, ‘Of course we are going to explore outside. Aren’t we?’

  ‘I don’t think,’ said Fenella, moving warily from the seat and finding that, apart from a bruise or two, she was perfectly all right, ‘I don’t think, you know, that this is anywhere on Renascia.’

  ‘No,’ said Floy, and they could hear the rising excitement in his voice. ‘No, it isn’t Renascia.’ He looked at them again with the glinting delight and Fenella caught his mood and knew that, although they might be in the most dreadful danger, this was the most exciting thing any of them had ever known. It suddenly seemed entirely and completely right to be here like this, with Floy and the brothers, somewhere in this strange place that might be anywhere at all, and which was certainly not like anything they had ever seen before.

  And then Floy moved to the small door in the Ark’s side and reached for the bolts and the wheels that had sealed it closed.

  ‘Ready?’ he said, and spun the wheels.

  They were standing quite close to the edge of the cliff and the golden flames were still pouring down the rocks and into the deep chasm. From where they stood they could just see that, far below them, was indeed a river, a great, surging fast-flowing torrent, sweeping its mighty way through the deep chasm.