Wolfking The Omnibus: Books 1-4

by Sarah Rayne

  ‘I continue to do so, Master,’ said the Robemaker and, although there was not the smallest trace of subservience in his voice, Nuadu, listening intently, received the impression that the Robemaker was choosing his words with care, as if he was in some kind of thrall to this being.

  The Soul Eater said, ‘We shall meet again, Robemaker. In the Cavern of Cruachan, at the Court of my people.’ It spread its wings again, and the heavy dark beating of them filled the air. ‘There are many centuries before the debt is paid and the curse we placed on you lifted. There are many more nights when you will attend the Court of the Soul Eaters and render us homage.’ There was a deepening of the shadows and a swirling of something heavy and turgid and foul, and then the creature was gone and the Workshops were once again lit to crimson and the slaves turned back to their tasks.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Snizort thought he was getting on rather well. He had spent most of the day talking to the people of the exiled Court and had made copious notes. He had rather enjoyed it and it had helped him to keep his mind off what might be happening to Snodgrass and to Floy and Fenella. He had asked a great many questions of the exiled Court and he hoped, he said earnestly to Oisin, that they would not think him inquisitive. It was only that none of this was quite what he had been used to.

  Oisin said, very courteously, ‘Since our own Chroniclers and our Poets and Story Tellers were unable to follow us into exile, it is we who should be grateful to you for creating an account of what is happening.’

  This was extremely polite of Oisin and Snizort had been heartened. He would make a very careful and very thorough account of it all, he said. He had already made some notes about the battle, and about the Gruagach besieging Tara —

  ‘On the orders of the Robemaker and CuRoi,’ said Eogan sharply.

  ‘Yes, the Gruagach would never have done such a thing if it hadn’t been suggested to them,’ put in Feradach.

  ‘Or even if they hadn’t been well paid,’ added Tealtaoich. ‘I hear that Goibniu, the Gruagach High Chancellor, is quite the most venal giant you could ever meet.’

  ‘Giants are all venal,’ said Feradach.

  They were seated round the long oak table, with the remains of supper still spread out. Behind them, the Wolfwood was shrouded in the blue and violet shadows of the Purple Hour and Snizort could hear the night rustlings and scurryings and patterings of tiny woodland creatures. But within the clearing it was warm and safe-feeling; Clumhach had lit their usual fire, which was burning up brightly, and somebody had placed a cauldron of spiced wine to simmer over it. Snizort thought that this was probably the time of day that the Beastline enjoyed best; supping at the long oak table, making plans to regain Tara, drinking spiced wine or mead.

  At his side, Oisin said gently, ‘It is how we lived at Tara.’

  ‘Yes?’ said Snizort, who had forgotten this business of having your thoughts overheard.

  ‘The days were spent in — oh, many things,’ said Oisin, his dark, velvety eyes far away. ‘Hunting, perhaps, or travelling. Chasing the white stag through the forests — never catching it, of course, for it is a — a creature of legend, the white stag.’

  ‘Yes. Do go on,’ said Snizort, reaching for a newly sharpened charcoal stick.

  ‘Perhaps there would be guests to be welcomed — travellers, or merchants from the East who would display their wares of silk or gold or ivory,’ said Oisin. ‘Perhaps there would be studying for some of us, discourse with the druids or the sorcerers. For those who held Office under the King — that is, Chancellorships or Council positions — there might be meetings in the Star of the Poets.’ He looked at Snizort to make sure that Snizort understood and Snizort at once said, ‘Yes, we had our own governing people in Renascia. A Council of Nine we called it.’

  ‘Nine is interesting,’ said Oisin, thoughtfully. ‘It is a very mystical and very powerful number, although twelve is more frequently found. Although there are only six of us here now, once there were Twelve Royal Houses.’ He indicated the twelve carved thrones at the edges of the clearing, set into the immense Trees. ‘I do not know when those were carved,’ he said. ‘Our legends say that it was at the same time as the great Ebony Throne of Ireland.’

  ‘That is inside Tara?’

  ‘No. No, the Ebony Throne is lost to us, as so much else is lost to us,’ said Oisin.

  ‘I understand,’ said Snizort, who had lived in a world where entire civilisations had been lost and who had spent his life searching for fragments of them.

  ‘It happened not all at once, you understand,’ said Oisin. ‘Not as it happened to your people, in one immense disaster. It happened naturally, over many years, and always sadly. Our people were killed in battles such as the great CuChulainn of the Chariot Horses at the Battle against the Erl-King in the High King Cormac’s time. Sometimes they embarked on quests and did not return. Sometimes they were taken by the Dark Lords and imprisoned for ever in the Black Ireland. There were many causes and many reasons and nothing lasts for ever. And so now there are only six Royal Houses.’

  ‘That is very sad,’ said Snizort.

  ‘But twelve has always been a number of great meaning to us,’ said Oisin. ‘You will find it repeatedly. We have the Twelve Sacred Couches of Conchobar in the Hall of Light within Tara. And there were the twelve evil Lords who served the necromancer Medoc. And twelve stone idols surrounding the ancient monster-god, Crom Croich.’ Snizort, on his own account, offered the Twelve Knights who had sat at a round table so that no one of them should be at its head and no one at its foot.

  ‘That’s something I’ve never come across,’ said Oisin, his expression absorbed and interested.

  ‘And there were the Twelve Companions of Odysseus and the Twelve faithful Apostles,’ said Snizort. ‘And we know that our ancestors kept twelve days of revelry for some feast or other. We tried to keep those as well, in memory of them, although we did not know which part of the year they had their twelve days.’

  ‘Perhaps,’ said Oisin, ‘our worlds are not so very far apart.’

  ‘Go on about Tara,’ said Snizort.

  ‘Oh, Tara,’ said Oisin and the sudden, slightly mischievous grin lifted his face. ‘It was said to be the most brilliant Court in the western world. And although the days would be taken up with working and hunting and discussions, every evening we would gather in the Sun Chamber and every evening there would be a banquet of some kind. We would eat and drink and there would be entertainments and music and dancing and stories. Travellers and pilgrims and men of unknown cultures and religions would be there, for no one was ever turned away, and every creature was welcomed and given food and shelter and his story listened to. You and your friends would have been accorded places of honour,’ said Oisin, ‘for certainly you have one of the strangest stories ever told.’

  Oisin had managed to bring a number of books and chronicles out of Tara and Snizort had studied these during the afternoons. Eogan had told Snizort about the ritual mating between Humans and beasts, which could only be done under the strict control of the Court Sorcerers and the Panel of Judges, and Snizort had been entranced.

  ‘It’s fascinating,’ he said, scribbling away busily. ‘Now, have I got it quite right? I don’t want to make any mistakes. Every fourth or possibly fifth generation, the youngest son or daughter of each house has to appear before the Panel of Judges — ’

  ‘Sometimes it’s longer than four or five generations,’ said Feradach.

  ‘It depends on the strength of the blood, of course,’ said Dian Cecht.

  ‘My family could go for seven generations,’ said Clumhach. ‘In fact, I once had a third cousin — or was it a great-aunt … ?’

  ‘If the Bloodline is judged to have weakened, then the Ritual is ordered,’ said Eogan.

  ‘The — dear me — the actual mating with a fox or a — ’

  ‘Yes,’ said Oisin, and smiled. ‘Contrary to what you would think, it is rather a solemn occasion.’

  �
��I think it’s unnatural,’ said Miach, rather defiantly, from the other end of the table and Dian Cecht shuddered.

  ‘So unpleasant,’ she murmured. ‘And to one who has been delicately reared — ’

  ‘Of course,’ said Feradach loudly, ‘you do get the occasional bastard outside the Enchantment. They’re frequently mutants, because of the mating being done without the protection of the Enchantment. But sometimes it works.’

  ‘Like Nuadu,’ said Dian Cecht urbanely.

  ‘Well yes.’

  Oisin had drawn breath to respond to this, when Eogan, who had been looking towards the forest, suddenly said, ‘What’s that?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘There’s something moving in the Forest!’

  ‘I expect it’s the sidh, isn’t it?’

  ‘The sidh are out there,’ said Feradach, looking searchingly into the trees. ‘But Eogan’s right. There’s something else out there as well. Something that isn’t the sidh. Can’t you hear it?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Oisin, after a moment. ‘There’s something moving in the shadows. Something huge … ’

  They were all scanning the forest’s depths now and Snizort saw that a sudden stillness and an intense wariness had stolen over them, as if whatever was moving out there in the Forest was strange and alien and menacing.

  Feradach and Eogan had both been right. Deep within the shadows of the Wolfwood, there were unmistakable movements; not ordinary movements as if somebody was walking quite normally and openly through the Trees, or even furtive movements as if somebody was creeping along, dodging between the Trees, hoping not to be seen. It might have been very nearly normal if the movements had been like that. Snizort thought you might very nearly expect creatures, beings, anything at all, to steal through a darkling forest and lie watching the strange group of people eating supper and drinking wine in the glow from the fire.

  The movements were fumbling and searching and somehow groping. It was as if there was something out there — or perhaps several somethings — struggling to break free of a force that had held them for a very long time. Things that had been yoked, harnessed, held down and held back by a power that was dissolving.

  Things that had for centuries slept without stirring, hut that were now stirring and waking and mighty at any moment, come prowling through the forest …

  Here and there they could see long, reaching arms, struggling dark shapes, the occasional ripple of something that was touched with silver by the moonlight, but that might be green-tinted and golden by day …

  It was the most remarkable thing any of them had ever witnessed. It was strong and deeply magical and filled with power and enchantment and with the twilit scents and the dusk-laden sounds that were part of the ancient Wolfwood. From somewhere quite close by they could all hear the faint, unearthly singing of the sidh and Snizort caught glimpses of blue-green iridescence and of shimmering wings beating on the air.

  ‘Yes, the sidh are close to us,’ said Tealtaoich softly, when Snizort touched his arm and nodded towards the sounds. ‘They are singing the Tree Spirits back into the world.’

  ‘Is that something they always do?’

  ‘Oh yes,’ said Tealtaoich, his eyes on the shadowy forest and the struggling Tree Spirits. ‘Oh yes, they would pour out their music for something so magical as this.’

  The Tree Spirits were discernible now; it was as if they had broken through a thick veil, through a smothering black curtain, and they were recognisable as distinct forms, moving slowly in and out of the forest. The Purple Hour had come and gone and it was full night now, so that moonlight lay across the forest, gleaming coldly, silvering the outlines of the Trees and the silhouettes of the awakening naiads and dryads.

  There were more of them now. Oisin, who knew a little of the theory of sorcery — ‘Although I have never aspired to its practice,’ he would have said modestly — knew that with the emerging of the first, the others would have gained strength and confidence. He knew, as well, that Tree Spirits cling tenaciously to their homes until those homes become untenable because of the Tree dying and drying and he thought that Miach’s spell must have been stronger than any of them had thought for it to draw the Spirits so fully and so firmly into the open.

  The Tree Naiads and Dryads were a curious blending of flesh and skin and muscle and bark and tree and leaf. You could not be quite sure where the Tree part ended and the Human part began, although nobody was sure if Tree Spirits possessed any Human blood. Most people thought they did not. In the main, the Spirits were Oaks; solid, not young forms, with rather benevolent and scholarly expressions. Their arms were half arms and half branches and their faces were part of the trunk part of the Tree. They did not have hair, but trailing fronds of leaves and bracken.

  The Elms, who seemed to stand next in line, were plain and sturdy, with pale-ish bark for skin and a good deal of greenery. They stayed close to the Oaks, as if they considered it their duty, and they looked as if they might find life a serious business.

  In between the Oaks and the Elms darted the Silver Birches, slender and frivolous-looking, with wild, shining white hair that streamed out behind them and mischievous features and trailing garments that might have been some kind of cloth, but might as easily have been simply their pale leaves. The watchers thought that the Silver Birches would certainly be a bit wild and probably without any moral sense at all and Clumhach thought he must remember to tell everyone about his great uncle who had succumbed to a Silver Birch one scandalous afternoon. It would not do to forget something so interesting.

  The Copper Beech Naiads were the most beautiful creatures any of them had ever seen. They were exquisite, rather fearless-looking creatures with manes of flowing red gold hair and skin the colour of an autumn sunset, long narrow eyes and slender, graceful arms and feet.

  As Snizort and the Court sat, barely moving, the Trees seemed to become aware of the watchers and, one by one, ceased to move and turned to regard them. A great hush fell over the entire Wolfwood, as if, thought Snizort, every living creature knew or heard or sensed what had happened and was waiting to see what the Trees would do.

  And I believe the Trees are judging us, thought Snizort. They’ve broken free and they’re turning to see what kind of creatures called them out of their enchanted sleep. They’re inspecting us and they’re considering what we are and whether we’re all right.

  Tealtaoich said, very softly, ‘You know, one of us must approach them.’

  ‘Yes,’ said several voices, rather doubtfully.

  ‘Had it better be me?’

  ‘Well, you’re next after Nuadu,’ said Feradach.

  ‘Yes, but he didn’t actually say — ’

  ‘He wouldn’t,’ said Eogan, his eyes still on the Trees. ‘He never accepted the leadership of us all, not officially. He wouldn’t appoint anyone to lead in his absence.’

  ‘Because he didn’t care?’ asked Clumhach anxiously.

  ‘No. Because he cared too much. And Tealtaoich is nearer to the Wolfkings than any of us. He’s the King’s cousin.’

  ‘I should not dream of putting myself forward in any way at all,’ said Dian Cecht. ‘But I do think that someone of authority should go into the forest and approach the Tree Spirits.’

  ‘All right,’ said Tealtaoich, suddenly. ‘I’ll do it.’

  He stood up and moved stealthily and warily forward and Snizort saw, for the first time, the sleek, feline grace. Tealtaoich was not exactly padding into the forest and he was not precisely slinking into it either. But the impression of dark, catlike prowling was there; the image of fur-covered paws and of sheathed claws and lashing tail. Snizort glanced at the others and saw in each of them, now, faintly but definitely the unmistakable traces of their lineage. As if something within them had sharpened to awareness, or perhaps as if the darkling forest had wakened their strange ancestry and quenched the Human side of them.

  I suppose it is all right, he thought. I suppose we are right to throw in our lot with them.
But there was no time to give this disturbing idea attention; Tealtaoich was nearly at the Trees and the Trees were grouped together watching him and waiting for him in complete silence and it was important not to miss a single instant of any of it.

  Tealtaoich had moved with a soft, measured tread towards the flowing, twining shapes, not once hesitating. ‘And,’ said Oisin softly, ‘it’s actually quite brave of him. We none of us know if the Trees are safe or not.’

  ‘Tealtaoich is far braver than he’d like you to think,’ said Feradach.

  Tealtaoich had passed through the twisting shadows and was standing facing the Trees now, a slender, solitary figure, silhouetted darkly against the massive solidity of the Oaks and the flowing silver-tipped hair of the Birches and the cascading russet leaf-hair of the Copper Beeches. The Tree Spirits were a great deal taller than Tealtaoich and, from out of the blending, shifting, gold and green and russet, their eyes were ancient and wise and beautiful.

  ‘And watchful,’ thought Snizort. ‘Bless my soul, they are certainly not to be lightly regarded, these creatures.’

  Behind the Spirits they could see the shapes of the Trees themselves, stark and empty-looking, rather dark and brooding, like abandoned houses whose windows stare blindly and blankly.

  The Oak Naiads were at the centre of the group, with the Elms in attendance. They’re Elders, thought Snizort. The Oaks are the Elders of the Forest and the others are aware of it. They’ll all have opinions and ideas and suggestions, but it’ll be the Oaks who decide and the rest will bow to their decision.

  The Silver Birches looked rather fun. They seemed to giggle and shrug and eye Tealtaoich mischievously and be unable to decide where they would like to sit. They darted about on the front of the group, their silver-leaf hair rustling like raw silk. On the edges of the Trees, the Copper Beech Naiads had simply sunk to the ground, their hair falling about their bodies in rich cascades of colour, making pools of glowing russet and brown all about them. They fixed their huge unreadable golden eyes on Tealtaoich.