by Sarah Rayne
Nuadu said, quite calmly, ‘The Spell of Human Hands would not be strong enough to dissolve the powers of the necromancers. We shall not attempt to retrieve it,’ and Caspar, relieved, said, ‘Ah.’ Fenella, watching him, suddenly had the feeling that this was not quite what Caspar had been meaning, and when Caspar spoke again, was sure of it.
‘Begging your pardon all over again, Sir,’ said Caspar, ‘but which of the Gateways did you think of using?
Because there’s only one that is anywhere near to us.’
Nuadu said, ‘There is only one that would be possible to force open.’
‘Yes?’
‘The Gateway that lies deep within the Cruachan Caves.’
‘Yes, that’s the one I thought you meant,’ said Caspar. ‘And it would mean passing close to the Court of the Soul Eaters, wouldn’t it?’ he added. Fenella felt a tremor of fear go through the listening slaves.
‘It may mean passing through the Court,’ said Nuadu. ‘I do not see that it need deter me.’ He looked at Caspar coldly and Caspar said hurriedly, ‘Oh no of course not. But it’s only that I was thinking if you’re intending to make the journey without any — any magical help — ’ He stopped again and looked unhappily to where Fenella sat listening.
Nuadu said, as if the matter was of small importance, ‘To rescue an exiled Prince of Ireland, a Human must take an active part in the rescue. That is what you are thinking, perhaps?’
‘The Humans have always been the Kingmakers of Tara,’ said Caspar. ‘I know it’s an old belief, but it’s in all the ancient stories. How the Humans must never rule from Tara because of the ancient curse, but how they possess immense strength in the rescuing of exiled Kings. It’s actually happened here several times, hasn’t it? It happened in Cormac’s time and then again in Erin’s. I was brought up on those tales.’
‘So was I,’ said Nuadu politely.
‘And I was thinking,’ went on Caspar, not looking at anybody now, ‘that if you truly mean to go through the Court of the Soul Eaters and into the Dark Ireland to find the Prince, then — ’
‘Then I should take a pure-bred Human with me?’ said Nuadu. And then, turning to look directly at Fenella, he said, very softly, ‘But that is precisely what I shall do.’
Chapter Twenty-nine
At the centre of the Wolfwood, in the place called Croi Crua Adhmaid, the exiled Court was deep in a War Meeting. This was what Snizort, with delighted memories of War Councils and Coalition Governments and Pentagons and Congress and underground War Rooms, had said it was called. He had explained earnestly to Oisin about how the Earth-people had elected small bodies of people to run the land and decide on strategies and laws and how, when there was a war going on, the battle plans had always been kept secret.
‘Why?’ asked Oisin, who was interested in the ways of these curious people whom Snizort called ancestors, but who, as far as Oisin was concerned, had not yet been born. ‘Why did they have to be secret?’
Snizort had not been very sure. ‘But I think,’ he said, ‘that it was because of the possibility of information being let out to the other side.’
‘Oh,’ said Oisin, who found it difficult to visualise a war where you did not have all your armies massing and which would be over in the course of a day, or perhaps a couple of days.
‘They fought for years sometimes,’ said Snizort proudly. ‘With machines.’
‘What kind of machines?’
But Snizort was not very clear. ‘Only we do know that the machines ended in destroying nearly all the people,’ he said sadly. ‘I expect your way is much better, really.’
Tealtaoich and the Oak Tree Spirits had ranged themselves round the oval table and Clumhach had helped by clearing away the supper things and going round with a cask of their best mead, which Eogan said ought to have been beneath Clumhach’s dignity, but which Clumhach had quite enjoyed.
‘Because I’m a homely sort of person,’ he explained. ‘And I chose the mead very carefully. It’s the very best mead. I wouldn’t offer them anything inferior.’
‘The Trees won’t drink mead, will they?’ said Feradach.
‘I don’t see why not.’
In fact, the Trees had accepted the mead with grave courtesy and had sipped it with quiet pleasure, although the Silver Birches had become a bit giggly.
Tealtaoich had asked Miach to lay one or two Sentry Spells so that nothing could creep up on them unseen while they unrolled maps and drew up the battle plans and generally explained to the Tree Spirits what had been happening in Ireland and what they proposed to do about it.
This had greatly pleased Miach, because it showed that people were beginning to regard him as a proper sorcerer at last. He had walked around the edges of the clearing, muttering and drawing symbols on the ground and, although he had not been able to call up the strongest of Sentry Spells, he thought he had summoned one or two quite useful Snares and a couple of Traps.
Snizort, who had accompanied Miach on his walk, wanted to know what Snares and Traps looked like.
‘Well, they’re quite small,’ said Miach. ‘And they’re silver and black and they have jaws, clamplike mouths that will close on the feet of anybody that comes creeping up on us.’
‘Supposing it’s somebody like Nuadu or Floy coming back?’ said Snizort, worried, but Miach said the Snares and the Traps were meant to protect the Forest Court and would not attack friends.
‘I hope they don’t,’ said Snizort, casting a worried glance into the forest depths.
Tealtaoich had unrolled the maps of Tara and the surrounding countryside which they had managed to bring with them and had spread them out on the oak table. The Trees had been deeply interested and had listened in courteous silence when Tealtaoich had explained about the Gruagach taking possession of Tara and killing the King and how his son the prince had disappeared.
‘We fear that he is in the Dark Realm, perhaps held prisoner in one of the necromancer’s Black Citadels,’ said Tealtaoich, and the Tree Spirits had nodded, as if this was entirely possible.
‘I fear that we shall not look upon his face again,’ said Dian Cecht. ‘Ah me, our beloved Prince. He is lost to us for all time.’
‘I recall you once called him a spoiled cub and said he needed whipping,’ remarked Feradach, and the Tree Spirits appeared not to have heard this, which Snizort said was as fine an example of diplomacy as you could hope to get. ‘My word,’ he said to Oisin, pleased, ‘I never thought to see it quite so strongly alive.’
The Oak who appeared to be the leader, and who was almost always the Trees’ spokesman, said, ‘Son of the Panthers, we know a little of the ways of the Dark Lords and, if your Prince is indeed in their hands, they will keep him and make some use of him.’
‘That’s what we fear,’ said Eogan.
‘And the truth is,’ said Tealtaoich, ‘that we have no clear idea of whether we should go in search of the Prince, or whether we should rout the giants.’ He looked at the Tree Spirits and Snizort, who was seated at the table’s foot, busily taking notes, thought that the Beastline creatures were actually a bit lost without Nuadu to tell them what ought to be done.
‘I say we rout the giants,’ put in Clumhach. ‘I can’t be doing with the thought of them rampaging about inside Tara.’
‘You are right, Brother of the Bears,’ said the Oak, and Clumhach, unused to being agreed with, looked startled. ‘To defeat an enemy, you must first strike at the enemy’s weakest point.’
‘The Gruagach are weak?’ said Tealtaoich.
‘They are stupid and brutish,’ said the Oak. ‘Their appetites are coarse and clumsy.’ He inclined his wise head. ‘We would join with you in a battle against the Gruagach,’ it said, thoughtfully. ‘For the Gruagach are no friends to our kind.’
‘We would certainly join with you to vanquish the Robemaker,’ said one of the Elms, and a shudder of fear seemed to go through the rest of the Tree Spirits.
‘Well, thank you,’ said Tealtaoich.
Eogan said, ‘We had thought to assemble our people by night and take the Bright Palace by surprise.’
The Oak said, ‘Battles fought by night, particularly when there will be the forces of dark sorcery on the other side, are seldom victorious. To fight for your people by night would mean that you would be at the mercies of every evil enchantment abroad.’
‘Then,’ said Tealtaoich, ‘if we go openly and honestly by daylight, will you come with us? You have seen our plans; we intend to call up our Beastline creatures and mass a large army.’
Eogan said, ‘If you would join with us, it would make our army so much stronger.’
‘We will come with you,’ said the Oak, and everyone breathed a sigh of relief. As Oisin had said to Snizort, they were not any of them very used to planning a battle and he and the Oaks were carefully charting the journey they would all take back to Tara.
‘But,’ said the Oak, very seriously, ‘you must all call up your Beastline creatures.’
‘Yes, we intend to do that.’
The Oak regarded Tealtaoich rather thoughtfully, but only said, ‘Then let us study the maps, Son of the Panthers.’
Eogan, who was seated next to Tealtaoich, suggested that, in the old days, armies had frequently sent in a threepronged attack: ‘It confuses the enemy,’ he said, and Snizort began to tell them about how, somewhere back in history, armies had done just this and had nearly always been victorious.
‘Air, sea and land,’ he said. ‘That’s what they used to do.’
‘How did they attack by air?’ asked Feradach, looking up at the sky.
‘Had they winged people in their armies?’ said Eogan.
But this was something else that Snizort did not know. He said, rather vaguely, that it had all been done with machines and they would probably do better with people out here. Tealtaoich began to draw up a list of three different armies.
‘Headed,’ he said, ‘by three different leaders.’
‘Which three?’ asked Feradach, and a discussion ensued as to whether the Trees should be all together to form one single army, or whether it would be better to divide them and make three detachments, with each detachment composed of Trees and Beastline people and their particular creatures.
Dian Cecht had drifted, in an apparently aimless way, to where the Copper Beeches were grouped and was now seated at their midst. Feradach said it was not by accident that she had chosen to seat herself with the Copper Beech Spirits at her feet — ‘As if she was holding Court,’ he said crossly — but Eogan said this was unjust. Even Dian Cecht would not try to compete with the Copper Beeches.
‘Oh, wouldn’t she just,’ muttered Feradach, but he said it quietly, because Miach was within earshot and everyone was treating Miach with unwonted respect since the waking of the Trees.
‘Because,’ said Feradach to Oisin, ‘I didn’t think he could actually call up the Tree Spirits. I’ll admit to it. I didn’t think he could do it.’
‘He’s even managed to lay a few Sentry Spells, did you know that?’ said Oisin. ‘He took rather a long time about it, but they’re out there. If you look carefully you can just see them, glinting in the forest.’
Miach was having a grand time. He had performed what he felt to be a really useful piece of sorcery in waking the Tree Spirits. It was true that he had hit on the right invocation by mistake and that he had actually been trying to pronounce a quite different spell altogether at the time, but this was not anything that anybody needed to know.
And whatever else they might be saying about him, they could none of them deny that he had done something no sorcerer in this Ireland (or the Dark Ireland either) had done for centuries (never mind that it had been by the purest good luck).
The Trees had all thanked him very politely for summoning them, which was what you would expect of Trees who were a whole lot better mannered than most of the Beastline. Miach had listened to what the Trees had to say by way of homage and had acknowledged their thanks in a very dignified fashion, which he had fancied became him rather well. Mother had been pleased with him.
The discussion had gone quite well. The Tree Spirits had been helpful and intelligent. They had discussed the various routes which ought to be taken and had asked Miach, very politely, if he would summon the rest of the Tree Spirits from their slumber.
‘Because,’ said the Oak, ‘you will see that we are still quite a small number.’
‘We should like our brothers the Ash Trees and Spruces and our sisters the Trembling Poplars to be with us,’ said the Elm.
‘Yes,’ said Miach, rather uncertainly. ‘Yes, of course.’
‘And,’ said the Oak, turning back to Tealtaoich, ‘and now, you should be ready to call up your Beastline Creatures, using the ancient Samhailt.’
There was a rather unexpected silence. Snizort, from his place at the foot of the table, saw sudden alarm reflected in every face. He had been intrigued by this idea of summoning the Beasts; Clumhach’s bears and Eogan’s eagles and Oisin’s wild deer and all the others, and he had been looking forward to seeing it happen.
‘Our scribes and our story tellers, the ollam, write that it is a truly awesome sight,’ Oisin had said to him, and Snizort had looked at Oisin rather thoughtfully, realising that this was something that none of them had ever had to do, something they had only read about. He studied the creatures seated round the table now and saw that the Tree Spirits were silent, clearly waiting for an answer. The Oak had looked at Tealtaoich in rather speculative fashion earlier and he was doing so now. Bless my soul, thought Snizort, bless my soul and boots and whiskers, I believe that there is something wrong here! He did not reach for his inkhorn and paper, which would have been extremely rude at such a moment. But he thought that he must certainly not omit to record all of this exactly as it was happening.
Tealtaoich was looking very straightly at the Oak and, although his elegant pose lost none of its grace, there was a tautness in him that had not been there before. Farther down, Clumhach was looking decidedly worried and Snizort thought that even Dian Cecht had lost some of her languor. They’re worried, he thought. They’ve never done it, they’ve never summoned the Beasts; and they’re worried.
The Oak said, quite tranquilly, ‘The Purple Hour is almost upon us and that is the hour when all magic is at its strongest.’ It stood back a little and the other Tree Spirits moved with it, so that they were grouped together, flowing green and gold and amber, against the darkening forest.
‘Our thoughts are with you and about you,’ said the Oak, and instantly, as if some kind of ritual had been pronounced, the other Tree Spirits said, ‘And ours, also.’
Tealtaoich looked at the others and Snizort had the strong impression of someone who has been edged into doing something that is slightly frightening and certainly alien. He knew, then, that his earlier judgement had been right; these creatures had never before had to invoke this strange-sounding ancient enchantment and they were fearful of failure.
But Tealtaoich stood up and looked quite calmly round the table, so that Snizort felt unexpected respect for him.
‘Well?’ said Tealtaoich. ‘As the Trees have said, it is up to us to add our strengths to the army. As the remaining Royal Houses of Ireland, it is for us to call up our kind and then to ride on Tara.’ His eyes flickered, but he said, ‘Shall we commence the Ritual? Shall we summon the Beasts?’
The Ritual of the Beastline … The ancient, mystical Samhailt, the Mindsong, the call of these strange half-Human, half-Beast creatures to their people. I only understand a very little about it, thought Snizort. But I understand enough, I think, to write about it. I believe I understand enough to know that they are all very fearful indeed of it. Had the Oak Naiad guessed this? Yes, of course he had. But he had subtly made it impossible for them actually to refuse; he had simply appeared to assume that the Ritual would be taking place quite soon and had, perfectly reasonably, suggested the Purple Hour for its intoning. Clever, thought Snizort, glancing to where the
Tree Spirits had gathered, watching. Clever and subtle and showing — what’s the word they would have used on Earth? — statesmanship, yes, that’s it.
And although it was a little unfair and certainly ungrateful to have put into definite thoughts the suspicion that Tealtaoich and the rest were perhaps just a little bit weak, Snizort found that he was thinking it. Hadn’t the Earth-people found, at some time in their history, that ancient aristocratic lines could eventually become a bit ineffectual? I wonder if that’s happened here? thought Snizort. I wonder if there’s been just a bit too much reliance on this inter-marrying and in preserving this ancient royal beastblood they seem to set so much store by, and if it’s let them down a bit now? But then he remembered Nuadu Airgetlam, who was certainly not weak and clearly not ineffectual. Still, he is bastard stock, thought Snizort. Dear me, this is all completely and utterly absorbing. I hope I can do justice to it. They’ll certainly want a proper record of it all.
The Beastline people were standing at the centre of the clearing and Snizort thought them a strange and impressive sight.
The Panthers and White Swans and Bears and Deer and Foxes and Eagles … The Six Royal Houses of Ireland, in the heart of the ancient enchanted Wolfwood, silhouetted against the Tree Spirits, the naiads and dryads and hamadryads, outlined against the darkening forest …
Tealtaoich stood a little to the fore, with the others making a half circle just behind him. Snizort and Miach moved quietly to the clearing’s edge and stood motionless in the shadows that had crept in from the forest.
‘For,’ said Miach, very softly, ‘I believe it is a very difficult thing to do, this Summoning. They will need every shred of concentration. We dare not distract them in any way.’ He looked suddenly very serious and very concerned.
‘What will they actually do?’ asked Snizort, hoping this was not an impolite question.