by Sarah Rayne
‘Double-sided,’ nodded Snodgrass. ‘That’s why we were so pleased when Floy looked like overthrowing him.’
‘By waging a war on him?’ asked Fael-Inis with interest. ‘No,’ said Floy, a bit regretfully, the others thought. ‘No, that was not our way. It would have been done by plots and intrigues,’ he said, and Fenella suddenly realised that Floy would have secretly enjoyed a war in the ancient traditions of the Earth-people.
‘It is one way of living,’ said Fael-Inis, who appeared to be interested. He glanced at Fenella, and said, ‘He was a rebel, your brother.’
‘Oh yes.’
‘I think you were also something of a rebel, Mortal.’
‘Well, I think I might have been,’ said Fenella, grinning and remembering the secret meetings in the Mnemosyne and the plans to storm the Council Chamber.
Fael-Inis returned the grin, as if he understood all about secret meetings and subversive plottings. But he only said, ‘Life is not always easy for rebels.’
‘That shouldn’t stop people rebelling.’
‘I do believe you are a lady after my own heart,’ said Fael-Inis. ‘Through here, now. We are almost at our destination.’
Snodgrass muttered to Snizort that he hoped they weren’t walking into something very nasty. ‘I don’t know that I’d altogether trust this one,’ he said. ‘Wild. Look at his eyes.’
Snizort said he wished they knew where they were being taken.
‘We’ll soon find out,’ said Snodgrass sepulchrally. They walked along the fire-drenched tunnels, seeing, here and there, curious etchings and symbols carved into the tunnel walls.
‘Battles,’ said Fael-Inis. ‘From before the beginning of Time.’
‘Who carved them?’ asked Snizort.
‘I did,’ said Fael-Inis, suddenly remote and unapproachable again.
The tunnel widened unexpectedly into a vast, cavernous structure. The fire was stronger here; it poured down over the walls, and there was a strong, sweet perfume. Floy, who was a little ahead of the others, thought he could hear, quite distantly, the slow, steady breathing of huge, unseen animals. So vivid was the impression that he stopped and tilted his head, trying to make this out.
‘You are hearing the salamanders,’ said Fael-Inis.
‘Yes?’
‘But then, you have already met them briefly.’
‘We did not see them very clearly,’ said Fenella.
‘You will see them shortly,’ said Fael-Inis. ‘They are steeds of fire and light and speed. They draw the Time Chariot for they are able to travel faster than Time, and they are able to pass unscathed through the white-hot fires of Time.’
‘Were they once called Fire beasts?’ asked Fenella, who had been wanting to ask this for some time.
‘There have been worlds who called them so,’ said Fael-Inis, in a matter-of-fact tone.
Directly ahead of them were immense, glistening gates. Beyond the gates they could see soft, rippling light, so pure they could look straight into it. Fenella received the impression of glittering pinnacles and fire-tipped spires and of golden turrets.
The gates were lit by hundreds upon hundreds of tiny glowing creatures who darted and swooped, leaving the imprint of brilliant swathes of colour where they flew, so that in front of the eyes of the four travellers were ever-changing patterns and kaleidoscopes of blurring shifting light.
‘Fireflies,’ said Fael-Inis. ‘In some worlds they are called will o’ the wisps, or, in the ancient language of the Cruithin, Tine Ghealain. There is a belief that they can lead Men to their hearts’ desires.’
‘Can they?’ asked Floy.
‘I have never followed them to find out,’ said Fael-Inis with perfect courtesy.
The will o’ the wisps were tiny winged creatures with delicate, beautiful bodies, not quite transparent, but not quite solid either. They darted about the travellers, and Fenella thought they beckoned.
‘They will beckon,’ said their host, studying the Tine Ghealain. ‘They are mischievous and entirely unreliable.’ He said this as would an indulgent parent regarding wayward but charming children. ‘If you try to follow them, they will lead you on an endless, exhausting journey. You might find your heart’s desire at the end of it,’ he said thoughtfully, ‘but I do not believe that anyone has ever managed to reach the journey’s end.’ He sent them another of his brilliant enigmatic smiles. ‘But I am remiss as a host,’ he said. ‘The gates of the Palace of Wildfire are before us. Let us enter.’
He led them forward, through the gold-tipped gates, and they saw, properly now, that beyond the gates was a glittering, fire-washed palace, bathed in incandescent light, every window lit by flames, and with spires of glowing colour spiralling upwards.
At the front of the palace the drawbridge had been lowered.
Fael-Inis stopped and looked at them and the smile that was not Human slanted his eyes.
Fenella and Floy shared a thought: can we trust him?
But we have no other choice, thought Floy, and took Fenella’s hand.
‘Come inside, Mortals,’ said Fael-Inis, his eyes glittering, and, as they moved forward, the gates swung silently to, shutting them in.
Inside the Palace of Wildfire it was quiet and warm and there was the feeling of moving deeper and closer to the heart of something more alive and more aware than anything they had ever known.
Fael-Inis walked ahead of them, catlike, his head tilted as if he might be listening for something. The four travellers, silent and wary, followed.
To Snodgrass and Snizort, and particularly to Snizort, who had studied the fragments of the Earth-people’s civilisations, the Palace of Wildfire was very slightly Eastern in structure. There were pointed arches through which their host led them, and there were more of the niches and alcoves with copper flambeaux and small bright torches of flame. Here and there, silk hangings masked rooms, and, in several of the rooms, weird and fearsome creatures were etched into the floors and the walls. Snizort paused to examine a great rearing beast carved into the wall of an octagonal chamber, and Fael-Inis turned to look at him.
Snizort said, ‘What — ’ and Fael-Inis said, in a voice that had no expression at all, ‘That is the One whom your ancestors termed the Light Bringer,’ and appeared to wait for a response.
Snizort said, ‘The Light Bringer … ’ and then, ‘Lucifer?’ he said, cautiously.
‘That is how I saw him before he was cast from Heaven,’ said Fael-Inis. ‘But he can assume many guises, for he is a shape-changer like most truly evil creatures.’ A brief smile touched his lips. ‘He thought he would overthrow Heaven,’ he said. ‘He was arrogant and beautiful and proud, and he marshalled an immense force and led his armies fearlessly-and he was so nearly successful.’
‘But he failed, and was cast out,’ said Snizort, thoughtfully. ‘Isn’t that the legend?’
‘Yes. Perhaps, if I had declared for him, there might have been another outcome … ’
Fenella, who was not entirely following this, but who was intrigued, said, ‘You declared for-for Heaven?’
‘No. I walked away from the battle. I did not declare for either side. That is why I was called the rebel angel. I had no allegiance then, and I have none now.’ The golden eyes darkened briefly, and then he appeared to lose interest and, as Snizort said in an aside to Snodgrass, you did not really feel that you could question him any further.
‘Although I’d like to know more,’ he said wistfully.
Snodgrass said hadn’t they enough to contend with as it was, without Snizort wanting to find out about ancient battles and strange beings.
Floy was finding the inside of the Palace exotic and fascinating, but he thought they ought to be asking where they were, and where they might be going. He thought that he would question their host about this, and then he glanced at the remote profile of Fael-Inis and thought perhaps he would not.
Fenella, walking between Floy and Snizort, was quiet and withdrawn. She thought she was deeply happ
y and she was certainly completely enthralled. I do not really believe that this is happening, she thought. I think I am inside a dream, mine or somebody else’s. But perhaps, thought Fenella, if I do not speak, and if I do not do anything to upset things, I shall not wake up. The thought of waking up and being on Renascia again, where Quilp and the Council had plotted and at the end shut them out to leave them alone with the vortex, was almost unbearable.
And then Fael-Inis was ushering them into an oval-shaped room, the scents were stronger here, and before them was a table set for five.
‘Food and wine,’ said their host. And then, unexpectedly, ‘Do sit down,’ he said. ‘And eat and drink whatever you wish. I don’t know about you,’ said the rebel angel, suddenly and rather disarmingly human, ‘but I am quite extraordinarily hungry.’
The table was much lower than they had been used to on Renascia, and it seemed to be expected that they should sit on the floor, on the heaped silk and brocade cushions. This was, in fact, more comfortable than it looked, although Snodgrass had to repress a gasp as a twinge of rheumatism caught his knees.
There were dishes of food, strange spiced sauces and platters of fruit unlike any fruit they had on Renascia. The elaborately carved flagons held warm, fragrant liquid.
‘Wine?’ said Snodgrass, hopefully.
‘Silkmead,’ said Fael-Inis, pouring them each a chaliceful. ‘And also Tawnyfire and Flamewine.’ He handed them each a chalice.
Fenella wondered who had prepared the food, but Snizort was busy trying the Silkmead, and Snodgrass was investigating the dishes of food, and it did not seem the right moment to ask. And also, thought Fenella, curled up on a scarlet silk cushion, also I’m not at all sure that I want to have this explained, or not yet anyway. I can be logical and practical later, and I can start to wonder where the light comes from, or what’s behind the walls, or through that archway, later.
But, just for a little while, I think I’ll just enjoy everything. I’ll even believe that there might be shadow beings that come and go here, and lay tables and pour wine and cook food. She looked up to find Fael-Inis’s eyes on her.
‘Perhaps there are,’ he said gravely, and Fenella began to think that this understanding of people’s thoughts was not entirely comfortable.
Snodgrass and Snizort were interested in the manner in which the meal was served.
‘Eastern,’ said Snizort, nodding. ‘They always sat on the floor to eat, you know. On cushions. I’ve read about it. My word, this is all very interesting.’
‘I embrace all the cultures,’ said Fael-Inis, who was eating a portion of some strange, honey-flavoured dish with industrious pleasure. ‘I am glad you find it interesting.’ He helped them to portions of the fruit and handed them each a goblet of wine.
Floy said, ‘Would you tell us more about how we got here?’
Fael-Inis regarded him thoughtfully. ‘Would you believe that you came into my domain by chance?’ he said, and then smiled and said, ‘No, of course you would not. I have told you that you were brought to me by the salamanders.’
‘On purpose?’
‘They are guardians,’ said Fael-Inis. ‘They swim in the Fire River and they are the sentinels of the Time Corridors.’ He looked at them, and Floy remembered how, as they neared the brink of the Dark Lodestar, he had felt Time slowing down and running out and how he had seen it as a great gold-and-crimson-veined tapestry, unrolling and stretching out before them.
‘A good analogy,’ said Fael-Inis, studying Floy. ‘Time is a tapestry, after all. It is stretched out on a giant loom, and the history of all the worlds is spun and woven into it.’ He sipped his wine, the golden glow casting shadows on his face. ‘The Dark Lodestars that exist are warps in the fabric, you see. So that when your own world was poised on the rim of one of those Lodestars, when it began to spiral downwards into the vortex, Time began to spin more slowly until, finally, it ceased to exist. That was when the salamanders found you.’
He looked at them and appeared to wait, and Floy said, slowly, ‘You are making it sound almost as if the salamanders were looking for us.’ And fixed their host with a straight stare.
‘Perhaps they were,’ said Fael-Inis lightly, as if it was not very important.
‘Why?’
‘You have an enquiring mind, Mortal,’ said Fael-Inis. ‘It is something you should strive never to lose.’ He sat back, cross-legged, the wine goblet held loosely between his fingers, wholly at ease. ‘It is possible that the salamanders were looking for you,’ he said. ‘For there have been times when people of your race — that is, Humans — have saved other worlds from immense evils.’ He regarded them. ‘Perhaps you are needed to rout an evil,’ he said lightly, and Snodgrass murmured to Snizort that it was impossible to tell if he was serious or not.
Floy said, ‘But what of our own world?’
‘What of it?’
‘What will have happened to it?’
‘Worlds must sometimes die,’ said Fael-Inis gently.
‘You could not have saved it. It had played its part, it had been woven into the tapestry, and its time to die had come.’
‘That is hard,’ said Floy.
‘Who told you life was intended to be easy?’ He sipped the wine in his chalice consideringly. ‘When I brought the salamanders out into the world with me, it was so that they should stand guard at the endless echoing Time Corridors, and that they should steer lost travellers to safety. Sometimes they bring the travellers to me, as they brought you.’ He smiled mischievously. ‘You should be grateful for that, Mortals. If the salamanders had not found you, you might have been travelling the worlds for ever, and that is not an enviable fate. You might have fallen or been dragged into the River of Souls. Or you might,’ he said suddenly, ‘have been caught by the Robemaker, and fed to one of the Soul Eaters.’
There was an unexpected wariness in his voice, and Fenella, who had been enjoying the unfamiliar food and the soft, sweet Silkmead, and who could have listened to Fael-Inis’s soft beautiful voice for hours without tiring, felt a chill. If she had not been afraid so far, she was afraid now.
‘But,’ said Fael-Inis, appearing to give himself a shake, ‘the Robemaker is rarely seen out in the world. Also, he does not take Humans so very often.’ He sipped his wine again, watching them over the rim of the goblet.
‘Can we go out from this world?’ asked Snodgrass. ‘To other worlds?’
‘Yes. You must do so, for you cannot stay here. I could lead you out.’
‘Will you?’ asked Floy.
Fael-Inis leaned forward, the long slender fingers curling about the stem of his wine chalice. ‘I can do whatever I wish,’ he said. ‘I am the creature of fire and light, and I can go in and out and through Time.’
‘The rebel angel seeking his salvation,’ murmured Snizort, and Fael-Inis at once said, ‘Yes. But I shall not find it until the world ends, Mortal.’
‘Which world?’
‘Who knows?’ He sat back on his cushions, watching them. ‘So they still tell that story of me, do they?’ he said. ‘Even in your strange distant world, they tell of me.’
‘The creature who witnessed the splitting of the heavens, and who would not fight on either side,’ said Snizort, with wholly unexpected poetry. ‘I have read of the legend.’
‘I am the legend,’ said Fael-Inis and grinned. And was suddenly neither the strange, fire-washed creature of the Honeycomb Roads, nor the eerily beautiful half-Human who had witnessed the world’s birthing, but a young and rather amusing companion. Fenella smiled and relaxed and felt extremely safe, and Floy found himself thinking that here was one who would be a very useful person to have on your side.
‘I am on no one’s side,’ said Fael-Inis instantly. ‘But for the moment, you are my guests, and you are supping in my Palace of Wildfire, and I believe I shall guide you out of here.’
‘Where to?’ said Floy.
‘You have fallen into a strange land, Mortals,’ said Fael-Inis. ‘There are
many worlds into which you might have fallen, but there has always been a nexus between your world and the world you are about to enter.’ He paused. ‘You are on the borderlands of a world that is peopled by beings who are not quite Human, but not quite beast either.’ He leaned forward again, his eyes hard and gleaming.
‘You are in what is, to you, the Ancient past,’ said Fael-Inis.
‘Are we — on Earth?’ said Fenella, who had not dared to ask this until now.
‘Oh yes,’ said Fael-Inis, softly. ‘Oh yes, Mortal, you are on Earth.
‘You are in Ancient Ireland in the Deep Past. This is the Ireland of Tara, the Bright Palace of legend, the Shining Citadel which was raised from the rock by the sorcerers at the beginning of Ireland’s history. It is a land peopled by creatures with the blood of the beasts in their veins. The Ireland of the Twelve Royal Houses, each one of them part beast, every one of them noble and imperious and just very slightly dangerous.’ He stood up and held out his hands to them.
‘You are in the Ireland of the Wolfkings,’ said Fael-Inis.
The Ireland of the Wolfkings.
A host of images tumbled through Fenella’s mind; vivid pictures and visions, some learnt and some remembered, and some simply inherited by some queer streak of race-memory or atavism.
The Deep Past … the long-ago Ireland of the Wolfkings …
Fael-Inis said, very softly, ‘Oh yes, my dear, you are right. You are right to believe. Your people know only a fragment of your history, but there are legends and myths, and palaces and sorcerers and strange half-Human creatures, and Royal Houses. They existed in your mythology long before your ancestors burned their world. They are a part of your heritage.
‘And now you are to meet them.’
He rose, indicating to them to follow him, and, as they moved, he led them out of the oval room with the silk cushions heaped before the table and the fragrant warm scents of the wine.
‘There is only one way for you to go deeper into this world,’ he said. ‘You must ride astride the salamanders, for only they can take you through the Honeycombs safely, and only they can ford the River of Souls.’