by Sarah Rayne
It is not a comfortable thing to suddenly discover you have been watched and overheard for longer than you have realised, and it is very uncomfortable indeed to discover this when you’re at the edge of an ancient wood with night falling, and the air heavily laden with something that might well be magic.
The four travellers eyed the young man cautiously, and then Floy moved forward and said, ‘Good day to you, sir,’ which was quite an old greeting, but one which Snizort had always maintained the Earth-people had frequently made use of.
The young man appeared amused. He said, ‘Good day to you,’ but the others thought he said it more as one trying out something new and intriguing, than as if it was something he was accustomed to. And, although he used the same words and they could understand him perfectly easily, his voice had a different, softer timbre. But it’s rather attractive, thought Fenella, staring, fascinated.
Floy said, ‘May we know where we are?’
‘Are you lost?’
The young man moved closer, and the slanting blue-green dusk fell across his face, emphasising the curious bone structure. Fenella drew in her breath sharply, and the stranger glanced at her and grinned, but it was not a grin that was like anything she had ever seen on anyone’s face before.
Floy said, ‘We think we may have missed our way, a little,’ and stood still and waited.
‘You are in what we call the Wolfwood,’ said the young man, and made a rather mocking gesture with one hand, embracing the ancient sprawling forest, as if to say: and it is all yours, my friends.
‘Ireland?’ asked Floy, trying out the word.
‘Where else?’
‘Where else indeed?’ murmured Floy. ‘And-may we ask your name?’
There was a pause, as if the stranger was thinking it over. Floy was suddenly reminded of how Fael-Inis had possessed the same slightly disconcerting manner. As if the creatures of this world might have to adapt to the four intruders’ way of speaking and thinking in order to be understood. Floy could not decide whether it was disturbing or very slightly flattering to be studied and learned in this way.
At length, ‘I am Nuadu Airgetlam,’ said the young man. ‘That is, Nuadu of the Silver Arm.’ He lifted his left arm in an abrupt gesture, so that the long full sleeve fell back, and they saw that while the shoulder was flesh and blood and bone, the rest was pure, soft silver. ‘I lost it in a battle,’ said Nuadu, rather off-handedly. ‘The Court sorcerer is trying to find a spell to make it whole again, but since he is not a very good sorcerer, I am still waiting.’
Again there was the characteristic tilt of his head and Fenella was reminded of a listening animal. He is listening to us at some unseen level and on some unguessed-at stratum of awareness. A bit like a dog, thought Fenella. Or a fox. Or a wolf … ?
Floy was introducing them carefully and Nuadu listened attentively and repeated their names as if they were strange pronunciations to him. He took their hands, one by one, which was an unfamiliar, but not unpleasing gesture. Fenella found herself staring at him and saw that his eyes were dark and oddly angled, and that his hair grew close to his skull like an animal's pelt. And I believe that if I look, thought Fenella, in fascinated terror, I shall find that his ears are pointed … Only perhaps I had better not look.
Floy said, ‘Would you tell us what is that place there?' and indicated the glowing palace across the valley. For the first time, Nuadu Airgetlam seemed to hesitate. Then, ‘That is Tara,’ he said and, behind them, Snizort drew in a sharp gasp and said, ‘Of course.'
‘You know it?’
‘Not in the least, sir,' said Snizort, beaming. ‘But it is in the legends, you know. My word, yes. Wasn't it cursed at one time?’ he added, and Snodgrass looked doubtful, because this was not the sort of thing you ought to be saying.
But Nuadu only looked intently at Snizort, and then said, ‘Yes. Oh yes, it has been cursed. It was cursed at the very beginning, only the sorcerers wove enchantments to keep it safe, and the sidh bound it about with their own cold magic. But then,' he said, ‘the sidh have always been loyal to the Wolfkings.’ And smiled rather maliciously at them, as if he might be saying: well? It is your turn now.
Floy, who was by turns fascinated and thrown off balance by their companion, was trying to decide if they ought to divulge where they had come from. At length, he merely said, ‘We find it — unexpected to hear stories of wolves,’ and the others knew he had been going to say ‘hard to believe’.
‘There are such creatures,’ said Nuadu, who had resumed his negligent attitude and was leaning against the tree again, his arms crossed. ‘They are rarely seen in Ireland now, but my ancestors lay with them.’ He did not say this as if he was boasting or as if he was ashamed, or even as if he was trying to shock them. He merely said it as one imparting information. ‘That is why I possess the mystical wolfblood of Ireland’s Royal House,’ he said. ‘Only those who are not entirely Human can rule from Tara.’ He regarded them. ‘That is the immutable law. I did not make it and I do not necessarily agree with it, but there it is.’ There was the glint of amusement again. ‘And the Wolfkings ruled Ireland for a very long time.’
‘Ruled?’ asked Floy, and Nuadu regarded him closely.
‘That is astute of you,’ he said. ‘They do not rule now, for they have been driven out by the Dark Ireland, by the powerful necromancers who made use of the giantish race of Gruagach.’
‘How do you know all this?’ said Fenella, who thought that although this was probably the least of all the things they wanted to know, they had to start somewhere.
‘Because,’ said Nuadu, ‘I am a bastard son of the Wolfking.’ He smiled and unfolded himself from his position by the tree. ‘And if you are really lost,’ said the Wolfprince, ‘then I had better take you to the exiled Court.’
‘If you were to ask anyone in Ireland today about the Wolfkings,’ said Nuadu, leading them through the darkening forest, his every step light and graceful but also stealthy, as if he was wary of someone or something watching them, ‘you would find that every single person would glance uneasily over his shoulder, and deny all knowledge. Everyone you asked would certainly say, as you said, Lady, “Oh, but there are no Wolves of any kind left in Ireland today.” It is dangerous to believe such a thing now, you understand.’
He looked at Fenella, and again there was the smile that was not quite human and not quite wolfish. ‘You are very perceptive,’ he said. ‘Of course there are Wolves. It is just that some are a little more — Human than others. But to say that Wolves still exist here, might be to be overheard by the Gruagach and they are afraid of the Wolfkings. They were given Tara for killing my father, the Gruagach, although they will tell you they won it by their own strength. Even so, they have it, and they will not give it up easily.’
‘Tara?’ said Floy, and Fenella half turned to look again at the shining palace across the valley from them.
‘Ireland’s great and wonderful Court,’ said Nuadu, and there was bitterness in his voice now. ‘The Court of Tara, which is sometimes called the Court of Demons, although the only demons there now are those which the Gruagach cause the sorcerers to summon for their amusement. Demons can be amusing of course. If you can control them.’
‘Yes,’ said Fenella and Floy both together.
‘Of course you will have seen Tara, and possibly it even guided you, for it is the lodestar that guides all travellers. Over there, to the east,’ he said, pointing carelessly with the hand that was ordinary flesh and muscle. ‘It sends out its beacon of light to all.’
Floy said, carefully, ‘We have heard of the Gruagach.’
‘They are rather stupid creatures, as are all with giantish blood in their veins,’ said Nuadu. ‘They believe they rule Ireland, but of course they do not. The necromancers did not put them into Tara to rule.’ He studied the four travellers in the fading light. ‘But the Gruagach will have heard of your coming by now,’ he said. ‘It is their boast that they can smell Humans from seven miles away.’
And then, on a different, sharper note, ‘You are Humans, aren’t you?’
‘Yes,’ said Floy, returning the steady regard, and putting his chin up a little. He started to say, ‘What else?’ and then thought better of it, and merely said, ‘Why?’
Nuadu smiled again, and the dusk-light fell across the upper part of his face, hiding his eyes. ‘Humans are highly prized here,’ he said, and it seemed to Fenella that he moved more quickly, leading them deeper into the forest. ‘The Gruagach will almost certainly be planning to hunt you down. You should be wary.’
‘Hunt us?’ said Floy sharply.
‘For the Fidchell,’ said Nuadu. ‘One of their grislier games. They are over-sized children.’ He turned to look at Floy again. ‘Do you not have such things where you come from?’
‘We do not have creatures who hunt people for sport,’ said Floy, an edge to his voice, but Nuadu only said, ‘Do you not?’ and moved ahead of them.
Snizort, who was trotting happily after the others, sniffing at the air, and occasionally turning round to admire the view of Tara, asked about Fael-Inis.
‘Oh, the Gruagach believe Fael-Inis to be some kind of god,’ said Nuadu. ‘They will not admit to fear of him, but they do fear him. And I do not know,’ said the Wolfprince thoughtfully, ‘that I disagree with them there. He is unpredictable and possessed of strange powers, that one. I do not think I have ever known anyone to cross him.’ He glanced at them. ‘He is said to have saved Tara in the past, and there are creatures in Ireland now who believe he will do so again.’
Floy said carefully, ‘It is very beautiful, Tara.’
‘Oh yes, it is the most beautiful place in the entire western world,’ said Nuadu, sounding bored, and rather as if he was reciting something once learned by rote. ‘And once upon a time they said that nothing that was not perfectly beautiful or beautifully perfect could ever be allowed to enter inside its doors.’
Fenella, who was walking between Nuadu and Floy, said, “‘Once upon a time … ’”
‘The words invoke a meaning for you?’
‘No,’ said Fenella, slowly. ‘Not really. But I have the feeling that they ought to.’
Nuadu sent her a sudden smile. ‘As for Tara, Lady,’ he said, ‘I go only by hearsay, for I have never been allowed inside.’
‘Why not?’
‘I am neither beautiful nor perfect,’ he said, regarding them. ‘As you have seen. Also bastard stock is never welcome anywhere and it is especially unwelcome in the home of its ancestors. I might try to lay claim to the Ebony Throne you see.’ He smiled again, and now there was no doubt about the bitterness. ‘That would be extremely awkward for everyone.’
‘But your family?’ said Fenella, unaccustomed to creatures who apparently possessed no father or mother, and Nuadu regarded her, his expression unreadable.
‘I have no family,’ he said at last. ‘My mother was a member of one of Ireland’s Noble Houses, she was a princess in her own right, and she was also the consort of the High King. But she transgressed the Sacred law and lay with a Wolf.’
Nuadu sent her the sideways glance.
‘They will tell you, in Ireland, that Wolves have not been seen since the reign of the High King Erin and perhaps they have not. But my mother travelled widely and trod strange paths.’ A sudden mischievous glint lit his eyes. ‘She was a reckless wild lady, my mother,’ he said. ‘But it is sure that my father was a Wolf, and although I am noble, I am also a bastard. Because of it, I was put out at birth to survive or die as the gods chose. The King would have welcomed his own bastard at Court, but he would never have welcomed his Queen’s. And so I grew up in the Wolfwood, where I am regarded as neither quite royal, nor quite of the people. It is a strange position to hold.’
Floy said, choosing the unfamiliar expressions cautiously, ‘But surely, if you were the Queen’s son — ?’
‘My mother is dead,’ said Nuadu in an expressionless tone. ‘She died at my birth. As for the King, he was slain by the necromancer, CuRoi. Tara no longer has a Wolfking.’
‘Had you no brothers?’ asked Floy, trying to remember what the procedure for inheritance had been and how these things had worked on earth. ‘Had the — the King no sons of his own?’
‘I had a half-brother. He was taken.’
‘Where is he now? Is he dead?’
Nuadu turned to look at Fenella, and his eyes glinted redly. ‘He is deep within the Dark Realm, Lady,’ he said, very softly. ‘He is held captive at its black heart by the necromancers CuRoi and the Robemaker, both of whom covet Ireland. He will never return to Tara; that has been ensured. For no one,’ said the Wolfprince, half to himself, ‘no one has ever been known to escape from the Dark Realm.’
As they went deeper into the forest, Fenella’s emotions alternated between fear and excitement. To read about giants and half-Humans and ancient enchanted forests in the safety of Snodgrass and Snizort’s house was one thing; to walk through a dark, old wood in company with a man who claimed to be half-Wolf and learn that such creatures did, after all, exist, and moreover were close by, was another thing altogether. I suppose I am not imagining this, she thought, sending a covert look at Nuadu. I suppose it is all happening. And then, darker and more dangerous still: I suppose he really is part Wolf?
Almost as if he had sensed this, Nuadu glanced towards her and, in the soft green light, something that was certainly not Human looked out from his eyes. As if, thought Fenella, the Wolf was waking a little more strongly with the deepening of the twilight. Hadn’t all the ancient tales warned against trusting Wolves? And, in those tales, wasn’t it always the half-brother, the illegitimate son, who was the most villainous of them all?
Surely, oh surely, you did not, if you had any intelligence, go walking into the depths of an ancient twilit wood with a young man whose eyes were dark and occasionally glinted redly in the twilight, and who moved with swift, lean grace through the undergrowth, and who had a way of tilting his head to listen to you that was definitely and disturbingly not Human … ?
The forest was quiet and brooding, but Fenella had the feeling that, just beneath the surface, creatures were stirring and waking and watching. Were they? Was it only her imagination, or was she really glimpsing three-cornered faces here and there, peering out from the trees … ?
Who are these creatures? Are they of interest to us? Are they Human? Can we use them?
Nuadu said, ‘This way, Lady,’ and stood back to allow them to walk forward to where the forest path widened.
‘Where is this?’ said Fenella.
‘Croi Crua Adhmaid,’ said Nuadu, very softly, ‘the Place of Ancient Enchantments. The Forest Court of the Six exiled Royal Houses of Ireland.’
Greenish light poured in from overhead, purple-tinged and shadowy, and the trees fringing the clearing were ancient and so immense that their branches interlaced high above them and the light that poured in was dappled, and smoky. On the far side of the clearing were caves, nearly but not quite obscured, vanishing into the deep blue shadows.
The Homes of the Exiled Royal Houses. The Forest Court of the Six Noble Lords …
At the centre of the clearing was an immense carved table; Fenella thought it was oak, although she could not be sure. But it was long and ornate, with six high-backed carved chairs drawn up to it, and the remains of some kind of meal still set. There were great silver dishes, and engraved plates, and chalices. Snizort’s eyes lit up at the sight and Fenella knew he was remembering how the medieval Courts of Earth had feasted exactly like this; in state and splendour, with elaborate cups and goblets, with flagons of wine and mead, and with great platters of roasted meats: beef and pork and venison and boar.
The clearing was bounded by twelve immense and ancient trees, and half set into the trunk of each one was a kind of rough, half-formed seat.
And then Nuadu said smoothly, ‘Allow me to present you to the Six Royal Houses of Ireland,’ and Fenella saw that six of the roughly hewn thrones were occupied.
Chapter Twelve
Fenella was not precisely afraid, but she discovered that she was extremely glad to have Floy at her side as they moved forward to the centre of the clearing. There was not really anything to be afraid of, of course. Probably these people would be very friendly and interesting. Nothing nasty had happened to them yet, in any case.
She found herself looking round for Nuadu Airgetlam who had at least been reasonably friendly. Or had he? Had he, after all, led them into a trap? Fenella caught herself remembering how he had looked slantwise at them in the Wolfwood, and said, ‘You are Human, aren’t you?’ and had to suppress a shiver.
But there did not seem to be anything else to do but go forward, and Fenella held up her chin, because even if you did not feel brave, you could at least pretend to be brave. It would not be quite as good as the real thing, but it would be better than nothing. Also, they were certainly not going to be intimidated by anyone, and they were definitely not going to be intimidated by a group of exiled half-Humans from out of the Ancient Past.
The Six exiled Royal Houses of Ireland, seen by twilight, seen in the deepening dusk of an ancient, spell-ridden forest, were cruel and beautiful and faintly sinister. Once you had looked at them, you could not help but go on looking, and once you had been looking for a very short while, you could not help seeing, without any question at all, that they were only partly Human. Both Fenella and Floy found themselves wondering about this, but for the moment, there was not time to wonder, there was only time to allow Nuadu to lead them forward and search their minds for suitable greetings.
Nuadu was looking remote and rather bored, as if he found all this inexpressibly wearying. But he said, quite courteously, ‘Allow me to present you to the Six Royal Houses of Ireland.’ And paused and added, ‘Once there were Twelve, but in the battles against the Gruagach, many were killed and others captured.’ His eyes were perfectly steady as he said this, but Fenella caught, without warning, a sudden strong emotion, and looked up, startled.