by Sarah Rayne
‘You seem to accept it very easily.’
‘It is not unknown here, the existence of other worlds.’ He looked at Floy. ‘For you, Floy, I think the very idea holds out great allure.’
‘I should like to understand more of it,’ said Floy, slowly.
‘You should not try to understand too much,’ said Nuadu. ‘For it is told that the Dark Realms are more beautiful and more sensuous than we can imagine. It is dangerously easy to fall under the thrall of the Dark Ireland. We have ballads that sing of the Dark Fields of Enchantment and tell of how, once you have supped at the tables of the necromancers and swum in their Crimson Lakes of Ancient Magic, you are for ever enslaved. You would never wish to return to the world, even if you could do so.’
For a moment, something dark and devilish glowed in his eyes and something so strongly and irresistibly alluring showed in his face that Fenella felt a sudden unwelcome suspicion unfold: Supposing, after all, this is a being from that Dark Realm, and supposing he is drawing us deeper and deeper into its embrace, and closer and closer to its terrible powers … ? She shivered suddenly, remembering how that other Darkness had called to them on Renascia and how they had slowly and terribly become aware of it, crouching in the skies, holding out its hungering arms …
And then Nuadu moved and smiled, and a log fell apart in the depths of the fire, sending out brightness and the warm, safe-feeling peat scent. The shadows receded and the impression of something dark and menacing vanished at once.
‘My brother is inside the Dark Ireland,’ said Nuadu and his eyes were in shadow again. ‘He is held prisoner in the Fortress of Illusions, the citadel of the greatest necromancer of them all, CuRoi.’
‘Can he not be rescued?’ asked Snodgrass, and Nuadu frowned.
‘No creature has ever been known to escape from the Dark Ireland, and certainly no creature has ever been able to come out of the Castle of Illusions, for it is sealed by strong magic every evening at sunset and there are no doors and no windows.’ He paused. ‘Perhaps the offering of a soul in return, for it is an age-old law, that, the taking of a soul in return for a soul.’ He stopped again, and his eyes glinted redly in the fireglow. ‘It would depend on the soul,’ he said. ‘For my brother is Tara’s heir and, therefore, a great prize. I do not think that CuRoi would easily let him go. The necromancers of the Dark Realm have always coveted Ireland and they have always been greedy for Tara,’ he said. ‘That is why they have taken the prince. They know of the ancient curse that was placed on Tara which warns against a pure-bred Human ever occupying Tara’s Throne. That is why the Beastline Enchantment was spun, so that Tara should be ruled by creatures not entirely Human. That is how the curse has been held at bay for so many centuries.’
‘But what is the Robemaker?’ said Floy. ‘What does he do?’
‘He is a very powerful sorcerer,’ said Nuadu, his eyes gleaming in the firelight. ‘Also, he is a necromancer-that is, one who deals in the dark magic and in the forbidden power over the dead.’
‘Why is he called the Robemaker?’ asked Fenella, and Nuadu smiled again.
‘He has dark underground Workshops where he keeps the Silver Looms that weave the enchantments,’ he said. ‘Have you such things where you come from? Enchantments and spells? No? Well then, you will not know that when a spell is created, it must be woven, like cloth, on a Silver Loom. All who study sorcery can do it, although some can do it better than others.’
‘Miach?’ said Fenella hesitantly, and Nuadu laughed.
‘Miach is a child,’ he said. ‘He could not control a Silver Loom to save his life. But the Robemaker has in his Workshops the Black Looms of Necromancy, and it is there he weaves robes of spells for the greedy and evil people who seek him out.’
‘Do you mean,’ said Fenella slowly, absorbing this, ‘that it is possible to — actually to commission a spell?’
‘Yes,’ said Nuadu.
‘Oh!’
‘But the Looms must be kept weaving constantly; they must never be still for an instant for, if they were, the power they draw down would be lost. The Robemaker knows this and he is constantly searching for poor defenceless creatures to work for him. If he had seen us,’ said Nuadu, ‘he would certainly have chained us by magic and thrown us into the Workshops.’ He looked at them very straightly. ‘To be captured by the Robemaker and sent to the Workshop of the Looms is one of the most terrible fates that can befall any living creature,’ he said. ‘The Robemaker is a merciless master; his slaves must work at weaving the robes of enchantment without ceasing. For them there is no night and no day and there is only the endless sound of the Looms.’
‘Do they never try to escape?’
‘No one has ever escaped from the Robemaker,’ said Nuadu.
‘But there must be a way — ’
‘Floy, there is no escape. The enchantments the Robemaker casts to keep them prisoners are too strong. And once their bodies cease to be of use,’ said Nuadu, ‘he takes their souls and offers them to the Soul Eaters of Cruachan.’ He turned to look at them, his eyes brilliant in the firelight. ‘The sidh protected us from him this time,’ said the Wolfprince, ‘but I think it was with extreme reluctance and only because they were constrained to do so. And it is written that no one may call on the Draoicht Tarrthail more than a very few times in a single lifetime.
‘You should pray to whatever gods you have in your world that if we meet the Robemaker again, some other power comes to our rescue.’
Chapter Fifteen
The fire burned lower and there was the gentle scent of peat smoke on the air. Floy and Snodgrass seemed to have fallen into a discussion about the engravings in the Honeycomb Tunnels of Fael-Inis’s Palace, and Fenella thought that Snodgrass was suggesting that perhaps they could somehow persuade the salamanders to aid Nuadu and the others in the fight to regain Tara.
‘Always supposing,’ said Snodgrass, glancing at Nuadu a bit uneasily, ‘always supposing, that they are on the side of right, so to speak.’
In the flickering firelight, Fenella saw Nuadu smile as if this rather amused him. But he only said, softly, ‘Your friend is still very wary of me, I think. And your brother does not yet entirely trust me.’
‘Well,’ said Fenella, determined to be fair, ‘you can’t blame either of them. We don’t know very much about any of this, you know.’ She stopped, because she found herself wanting to say: and however much I trust you, Floy and Snodgrass don’t feel the same.
He heard that, of course; he leaned forward and took her hand, as he had done earlier and Fenella felt the delight wash over her again and frowned, because it was not to be thought of that she should fall quite so heavily under the dark romance of an unknown creature such as this. A piece of wood fell apart in the heart of the fire, and the light shifted, and a bar of shadow fell across the upper half of Nuadu’s face, so that she could not see his eyes. When he spoke, his words were like a caress brushing her skin. ‘You may trust me, Human Child,’ said the Wolfprince. And then, in the old, mocking tone, ‘But you already know that,’ he said, and Fenella, who did know it, but who was not yet prepared to admit it, said, ‘You don’t exactly behave as if we can trust you.’
‘No.’ He leaned forward. ‘Would you have me plead with you to help the exiled Court?’ he said. ‘Shall I beg you to give us your allegiance?’
‘Of course not,’ said Fenella sharply, and Nuadu smiled again.
‘I thought not,’ he said. ‘You do not admire weakness in any form, I think.’
‘You would never be weak,’ said Fenella involuntarily.
‘Floy is not weak.’
‘No. He will question things, however. He will certainly challenge you at every stage of this mission,’ said Fenella, mischievously pleased.
‘He is doing so already,’ said Nuadu. ‘I should not have wanted any of you for allies if you had come blindly and unthinkingly to our aid.’
‘Are we aiding you?’ said Fenella.
‘Oh, yes.’ His ey
es were on her, and there was the sharpening awareness of him again. ‘Oh, yes, Fenella, you are aiding us. There is a long-held belief at Tara — ’ he stopped, and frowned.
‘Go on.’
‘There is a long-held belief that only a pure-bred Human can help an exiled Wolfking back to the Throne,’ said Nuadu, and Fenella caught her breath, and said, ‘Your brother — ’
‘He may be beyond our reach.’
‘But you think he is not.’
He lifted the warm, fragrant wine to his lips again, watching her over the rim of the cup, and when he spoke, the caress was back in his voice.
‘Would you come with me into the Dark Realm, Fenella?’ he said, softly. ‘Travel with me in the Fields of Necromancy and across the Crimson Lakes of Sorcery?’
‘I’m — not sure,’ said Fenella, staring at him, and he smiled.
‘It would be a perilous, darkly beautiful journey,’ he said. ‘And perhaps we would find our journey’s end, and perhaps we would not.’
Journey’s end …
‘And perhaps we would emerge unscathed, and perhaps we would not,’ said Nuadu, gently.
Fenella started to say something, although she was never, afterwards, quite sure what it would have been, when there was a stirring, a rustling of movement behind them in the Wolfwood.
‘The Trees — ’ said Fenella, turning to look. ‘Nuadu — are the Trees really waking?’
If he had recognised that this was her first use of his name, he did not react, nor did he betray any impatience that the thin, gently seductive spell he had been sending out to her had been splintered. He merely turned his head to look into the heart of the forest and narrowed his eyes. ‘Yes, they are waking. They are not fully awake; I think they have not been so for many centuries. But they are waking.’
‘It’s remarkable,’ said Fenella, who knew, quite well, that she had cut into his soft, alluring words, and was tom between wanting him to go on and wanting to feel safe again.
Nuadu said, with a suddenly more aware edge to his voice, ‘Come and see them.’ And stood up and held out his hand to her.
Floy and Snodgrass barely looked round as Fenella and Nuadu Airgetlam moved towards the forest fringe. But Floy said, ‘Do not stray too far, sibling,’ and sent her one of his grins. Fenella smiled, because sibling was a word that Floy did not very often use, only when he was being particularly protective and close, and she knew that Floy was wanting to tell her, without actually saying the words, that he was close by if she needed him. She did not need Floy, or anyone, to protect her, but all the same, it was a good feeling to have.
It was secret and exciting to walk like this, Nuadu’s hand holding hers, into the outskirts of the forest. Fenella had hesitated before following him. Curled up in front of the peat fire, discussing plans and strategies, she had seen, quite suddenly and very clearly, that two paths had opened up for her; the safe, familiar path which was with Floy and the firelight and the discussion about what they were going to do next. And the other path, the dark beckoning groves of Nuadu’s gentle seduction …
Because, said Fenella to herself, of course that is what he has in mind. I do know that. And stopped and looked very clearly at the two paths she could take. And saw that the familiar path with Floy and Snodgrass was not, after all, so safe, because nothing in this strange blue and green world was safe. And if I go with Nuadu now, that will not be safe either, thought Fenella. Only it will be unsafe in a different way entirely. It will be thrillingly unsafe, temptingly unsafe. And I think I want to find out what it is like to tread such an unsafe path. I suppose I could always turn back, anyway …
The dusky blue light poured in from overhead as they walked into the Wolfwood and Fenella could hear, much more definitely now, the soft susurration of the Trees. She found herself concentrating on this, because it would stop her from thinking about being here alone with Nuadu and how his hand felt, lying in hers, and whether he would move closer to her as they drew away from Floy and Snodgrass, and what she would do about it if he did.
There was a pattern in the forest sounds now, as if the Trees might be whispering to one another. As they walked, the branches were brushing neighbouring Trees, as if for strength and help. Here and there, the ground felt soft almost as if the Trees’ roots were beginning to move somewhere deep in the earth. Would the Trees truly move and wake and come surging out to them?
‘I don’t know,’ said Nuadu, looking about him. ‘Certainly their spirits will come out; naiads and dryads and hamadryads. The stories tell how they are beautiful and wild and filled with strange woodland magic.’
‘Are they,’ Fenella paused, searching for the right words. ‘Are they on the side of the Wolfkings?’ she said, and was pleased to hear that this sounded to be a perfectly natural and normal question.
Nuadu smiled. ‘They have always been so,’ he said. ‘Tealtaoich is right to be wary of them, but he is wrong to mistrust their allegiance.’ He stopped by a massive old oak Tree and leaned against it, looking at her. Fenella stayed where she was, but the blood was beginning to race in her veins and something seemed to be happening to her breathing. If she had to speak now, she was not at all sure she would be able to. She thought: this is the moment when he is going to reach for me, and this is the moment when I have to decide which of those two paths I shall take. I am not quite on that path yet, thought Fenella. I think I have set foot on it, but I think that is all.
And then Nuadu said, very softly, ‘Come here, Human Child,’ and Fenella knew that the moment was upon her and that she had still not chosen.
Nuadu smiled. ‘I shall not hurt you, Fenella,’ he said. ‘But come here and see and feel the stirring of the Tree Spirit.’ His eyes were gleaming and there was a mocking amusement in his expression. He was talking to her on two levels, of course, but it did not seem to matter, because they both knew that he was talking on two levels.
If he touches me I shan’t be able to go back, Fenella thought wildly.
And then Nuadu did touch her, reaching for her with the arm that was flesh and blood and bone; he pulled her closer, until she was standing before him, closer than she had been to him yet, and she could feel the warmth and the masculine strength and, so far from being worried now, the remembered delight was washing over her skin and nothing had felt so right and nothing had felt so natural ever before.
I believe, thought Fenella, I do believe that if he asked me now, I would go with him into the place they call the Dark Ireland. Into the Dark Fields of Necromancy and into the Crimson Lakes of Sorcery …
In the same velvet-on-iron tone he had used when he drew her into the forest, Nuadu said, ‘Were you thinking I brought you here to make love to you, Fenella?’
‘No,’ said Fenella, who knew he would not believe this any more than she believed it herself.
‘Were you not?’ said Nuadu, pulling her closer, holding her with the arm that was flesh and blood and bone, and Fenella found that she could no more resist than she could have flown.
‘The Gruagach will play games with you, Human Child,’ said Nuadu, his lips close to her ear, his breath warm and sweet and sending shivers of purest delight all over her skin. ‘They will know you for a maiden, Fenella, and that will delight them and excite them.’ He regarded her, his head on one side.
Fenella said, in a voice that was barely a whisper, ‘Should I be afraid?’
‘Of the Gruagach?’
‘Of you.’
He smiled down at her and, in the mist-shrouded, twilit forest, there was a sudden recklessness about him, and Fenella, staring at him, thought there was a slant to his eyes that had not been there before. The twisting shadows from the Trees fell across the lower part of his face so that, for a heart-stopping moment, it was not a slender, dark-haired young man who stood there, but a creature that would have high pricked ears and lean, silky flanks, and soft sable fur, and that might walk not upright like a Human, but on all fours …
‘In your world, Fenella,’ said Nuadu,
‘are there not tales that warn about maidens who walk in the woods with Wolves?’ And regarded her, his eyes glowing.
Fenella thought: he is doing this deliberately. I know he is doing it deliberately, because I can feel that he is. He is quite calculatingly letting the Wolf wake, because he believes it will lure me. And of course he is right, she thought. Even though I know he is doing it, it does not make any difference. Because the Wolf is there.
‘We do not have Wolves in our world,’ said Fenella.
‘But you know of them?’
‘Only in legends,’ said Fenella and hoped she had struck the right note; the one that said: and that will put you in your place!
But he sent her the three-cornered smile, as if he had heard her thoughts very precisely indeed, and when he spoke she was sure of it.
‘Are you afraid, Human Child?’
‘No.’
He took her face between his hands and began to kiss her, running his unharmed hand down over her body, the arm that was not flesh and bone holding her imprisoned against him, so that now she could feel the strong sweet arousal between his legs pushing against her.
‘You know what I am, Fenella?’ said Nuadu softly.
‘A Wolf.’
‘Does that frighten you?’
‘No,’ said Fenella, although she was not entirely sure about this yet and he smiled again and drew her down on to the forest floor.
I do not believe that this is happening, thought Fenella. I believe that this is some kind of dream. I am not here and he is not here and there is no forest and no purple-tinted twilight and all of this is a dream. She thought she ought to protest; she certainly thought she ought to push him away-only I cannot, thought Fenella, the blood singing frantically in her veins now, her heart slowing to a soft, sweet pulsing. She felt his hand unfasten the cambric shirt she had donned in Renascia — in another world and surely in another life! — and she felt the two hands then, one warm living skin and the other cold, silky, silver, caressing her naked breasts and then her thighs.