Wolfking The Omnibus: Books 1-4

by Sarah Rayne

  The Soul Eaters were moving into what appeared to be some kind of formation at the far end of the cave; the leader turned to beckon Nuadu and Fenella to stand with them and instantly the Rodent Armies parted to let them through. Fenella felt the touch of warm furred bodies as they brushed against the creatures and the dry, fetid scent, but she put up her chin and followed Nuadu and then they were through the lines of the army and standing next to the Soul Eater who had held most of the discourse with Nuadu.

  Nuadu looked at Fenella. ‘Ready, Lady?’

  Fenella was staring at the grisly figures of the Soul Eaters, seeing how the ancient evil gleamed in their eyes, seeing as well, that the nearest two had turned to regard their prisoners with malevolent glee. What are we going into? thought Fenella. What are they sending us into? She glanced at Nuadu, and thought, as well: and what do I really know of this half-Wolf creature whom I do not think I altogether trusty and who may well make sinister use of me in this dark other-world?

  Aloud, she said, ‘Is there a choice?’

  ‘There is always a choice, Lady.’ But his eyes were brilliant with anticipation and the wolf-look was more pronounced than it had been earlier on.

  ‘If we draw back now, these — creatures will kill us,’ said Fenella, casting a quick look at the Soul Eaters and at the serried ranks of the Rodent Armies.

  ‘Oh yes,’ said Nuadu, softly. ‘Oh yes, they will kill us — and it will not end there.’

  They will eat your soul, Lady, and to be forever soul-less is the worst, blackest, most eternal torment ever …

  ‘All right,’ said Fenella, staring back at the waiting Soul Eaters. ‘Yes, all right,’ and felt his hand close about hers.

  At the back of the cavern, the Soul Eaters had formed a half circle. The leader was standing with his scale-covered head sunk and his narrow shoulders stooping, leathery wings folded at his side. Fenella and Nuadu both felt at once that he was summoning up some kind of hidden power and Fenella saw the Weasels and Jackals flinch and knew they were feeling the approach of something invisible and malevolent.

  The Gateway to the Dark Ireland is forming …

  They both saw it the minute it started to take shape; at first there was only a thread of colour, the thinly traced outline of an immense door, livid against the dark rock … But, as they stood motionless, the thread thickened, became solid and substantial … it is becoming real, thought Fenella, staring.

  It was materialising into a huge soaring Gate, with black-tipped spires and with ebony and jet staves; it was wrought from crimson fire, streaked with scarlet and gold, powerful and ancient.

  The Dark Ireland’s Gateway forming …

  The most ancient Soul Eater was still standing in the shadow it cast, his head still sunk on to his chest, his eyes in darkness. As the Gateway stretched out into the darkness of the Cavern’s high roof, his eyes flickered open and he turned to face the Gate, rays of baleful light pouring forth from his eyes.

  At once, belching black smoke was emitted from the Gate and with it a thick clotted malignancy. There was a faint, far-off chanting, a sinister rise and fall of gloating voices. Slowly the chanting increased, and inch by tortuous inch, so that for a moment Fenella and Nuadu thought their eyes were deceiving them and their ears playing tricks, the Gate into the Dark Realm began to open …

  There was an enveloping darkness beyond and then Fenella glimpsed the Crimson Lakes and the Dark Fields and the Black Citadels, and knew that this, at last, was the terrible other-world, the fearsome mirror image of the Wolfkings’ Ireland, and that they must go into it. Panic seized her and there was a moment when she thought: I can’t do it! This is too much!

  And then Nuadu was drawing her forward and there was no turning back: the Gateway was directly ahead of them and they could see beyond it more clearly now; they could see the vast black mountains and the glassy lakes and the crimson fields with the waving blood-coloured harvests.

  Nuadu’s hand tightened about hers and Fenella caught his thought more clearly than anything he had yet poured into her mind.

  We have surmounted every danger and every enemy so far, Fenella … Why should we not do so again?

  She glanced at him and saw his eyes glinting and felt the excitement that was blazing within him and saw the wolfmask lying redly across his features.

  lam stepping into the Dark Realm of the necromancers and I am doing so handlocked with a Wolf, thought Fenella, wildly. I suppose this is really happening, is it? And again was the warm flurry of amusement touching her mind.

  It is all happening, in truth, Lady, and is it not the greatest adventure yet … ?

  She understood that Nuadu’s strange ancestry was urging him on; that he was thinking that never before had any Wolfprince entered voluntarily into the terrible netherworld of the necromancers, and there was an unexpected response to that. Perhaps it will be exciting, she thought, and perhaps we shall find the one they call CuRoi and defeat him and find the one who is his half-brother and Tara’s rightful heir. We defeated the Robemaker, she thought suddenly. Yes! Perhaps it will be all right.

  And then a silence fell over the watchers and the Soul Eaters brushed the air with their huge wings, as if they were growing impatient, and there was nothing else to do but to step forward.

  Into the Dark Ireland.

  Chapter Thirty-four

  The Forest Court sat in worried conclave around the oak table with Oisin and Miach in command.

  ‘For once,’ said Feradach.

  ‘Well, Miach’s the proper person after all,’ said Eogan. ‘He’s the Court Sorcerer.’

  Feradach made a derisory noise and Dian Cecht, who was seated next to Miach, looked up.

  ‘Gimlet-eyed,’ said Feradach.

  ‘Better than ferret-faced,’ said Miach, who was not going to have Mother maligned by anyone.

  Snizort had been given a place next to Oisin and he was feeling extremely gratified, because it seemed to be taken for granted that he should play an integral part in these really very important discussions. The Oak naiads were there as well; they were not exactly seated at the table, because they did not seem to sit down anywhere. But they were in attendance. Snizort thought that was the nearest description you could give. ‘With us but not quite of us,’ said Oisin.

  Oisin was looking solemn and concerned. He had spread out the chronicles and the manuscripts he had managed to bring out of Tara and Miach had done the same. Nobody had said very much, other than the somewhat automatic sniping between Feradach and Dian Cecht, because everyone was very worried indeed about the failure to summon the Beastline creatures. When Tealtaoich said they were little better than useless, everyone nodded, and even Feradach, who could usually be trusted to provide a sharp remark, said nothing.

  ‘We failed,’ said Tealtaoich, who had curled himself into a chair and was glowering at the mead which Clumhach had poured for them all. ‘We failed roundly and soundly and ignominiously.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t think it was as bad as all that,’ said Clumhach, frowning anxiously.

  ‘Clumhach doesn’t know what the word means,’ said Feradach to Eogan.

  ‘Yes, I do,’ said Clumhach indignantly. ‘It’s just a bit difficult to explain.’

  ‘It means we are failures and losers. We were unable to call the Beasts and we were unable to invoke the ancient Beastline Enchantment,’ said Tealtaoich, as one explaining a simple truth to a very stupid child. ‘It means that the noble and mystical blood we thought we all possessed no longer has any power. Well, we might as well hand Ireland over to the Robemaker and CuRoi and have done,’ he said with a gesture of dismissal. ‘We’ll never hope to regain Tara just by ourselves. We need an army.’ He scowled at the table and Snizort thought that if he had possessed a tail he would certainly have lashed it.

  ‘Our Houses are at an end,’ said Dian Cecht, musingly. ‘Tara is forever doomed.’

  ‘Well, that ought to please you,’ said Feradach. ‘Because ever since I can recall, you’ve do
ne nothing but prophesy death and ruin. I suppose you’re quite pleased to see your prophecies come true.’

  ‘She didn’t mean any of it,’ said Miach, firing up at once. ‘You ought to know she didn’t mean it. She never does.’

  Oisin said, in his calm, cool voice, ‘We must be very sensible and very clear-sighted about all of this.’

  Tealtaoich said, ‘But we dare not let the Beastline Enchantment die. To do so would mean the end of Tara.’ He looked round the table. ‘You all know the words of the original curse,’ he said.

  ‘If ever a pure-bred Human should ascend Tara’s Throne, then the Bright Palace will crumble and die, and Ireland will be forever damned … ’

  ‘That is why the Beastline Enchantment was spun,’ said Tealtaoich. ‘So that a Human never would ascend the Throne. So that Tara would always be ruled by a creature with a little of the beasts in its veins.’

  ‘And the Wolfkings have ruled ever since,’ said Eogan, very softly. And then, in a stronger, firmer voice, ‘I think there is no question but that we must try to re-create the Beastline Enchantment.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Oisin, shuffling the chronicles again. ‘Yes, it has become a larger matter than driving out the Gruagach and finding the King. It’s no longer just a — a brief war which, in the normal way, we’d probably win.

  ‘It’s a question of Tara’s whole future,’ he said very seriously. ‘Without the Beastline Enchantment, not only are we without hope of beating the Robemaker and CuRoi, but Ireland’s entire history is at risk. We must be able to summon the Beasts.’

  For a moment, no one spoke, partly because it was unusual to hear the normally quiet and gentle Oisin speak so vehemently, but largely because they were all so appalled at the thing that was happening. Without the Beastline Enchantment, the mystical golden power they had believed themselves to possess, they were helpless. The ancient prophecy that forbade a Human to rule would at last come true and Tara would crumble and fall.

  Then Tealtaoich said, ‘Miach. This is your territory. May we hear from you, please?’

  Miach was tom between gratification at being deferred to by Tealtaoich in this way and panic that he would not be able to do anything about this really terrible disaster. He had studied the few sorcery annals he had brought with him from Tara and he had talked earnestly with Oisin, who was quite knowledgeable, and also with the Oak Naiads who had been interested and concerned and sympathetic. ‘Although,’ they had said, politely, ‘it is for you to find the means to strengthen the Beastline Enchantment.’

  ‘Do you believe that it is lost?’ asked Miach, furrowing his brow.

  ‘That is for you to discover,’ said the Oaks, which, as Miach had crossly said to Oisin later, was not very much help.

  But it would not do to appear to be at a loss — Mother would have died of the shame of it — and so Miach shuffled his papers importantly and donned an air of gravity.

  ‘Don’t put on airs,’ said Feradach at once. ‘It doesn’t become you and it doesn’t fool any of us. Just get on with it.’

  If it had not been for matters being so very grave, Miach would have spoken quite sharply to Feradach, who needed putting in his place. He would not do so, however, because of not wanting to upset anyone any further. They were all upset enough as it was. Miach would make allowances.

  And so he pretended not to hear Feradach and explained that he had studied the annals and the manuscripts. ‘What you might call the recipes for sorcery,’ he said, which he thought imparted a nice, homely touch to the proceedings.

  ‘Sorcery isn’t a homely thing,’ said Tealtaoich, who could usually be trusted to hear people’s thoughts in the most vulgar way imaginable. ‘As Feradach said earlier, get on with it.’

  Miach said, ‘We do know that the Beastline Enchantment has wavered before.’ He looked down at his notes. ‘In fact, at one time it was believed to be lost altogether and the High Queen of the day set the sorcerers to weave a completely new one.’

  ‘I heard about that,’ put in Feradach. ‘It was during the reign of Erin, or perhaps it was just before.’

  ‘But it’s very probable,’ said Miach, ‘that the Enchantment is being smothered by the Robemaker’s darkness. As you know, this is the Trees’ idea,’ he said rather hurriedly, because although it would have been nice to have presented this as his own idea, everyone had heard the Oak Naiad say this, which meant that nobody was going to think it was Miach’s own deduction.

  ‘I haven’t many of the sorcery annals here,’ he said, ‘because there wasn’t time to bring much from Tara.’

  ‘Oisin managed it,’ said Feradach.

  ‘Yes, but Oisin’s bedchamber was near to Tara’s great library,’ put in Eogan. ‘It made it easier for him.’

  ‘But Miach ought to have made the sorcery annals his first priority,’ said Feradach.

  ‘I brought what I could,’ said Miach very crossly. ‘And if you remember, the Gruagach were actually in the courtyard at the time. They were about to use a battering ram on the main doors. And I must say that if Feradach’s going to be carping, then I shan’t weave any spells to help you, I just shan’t.’

  ‘Miach,’ said Dian Cecht to the company in general, ‘is such a sensitive boy. It is unkind of Feradach to bait him, particularly when Miach has worked so hard for us all.’ The great black eyes were turned on Feradach for a moment. ‘But then,’ said Dian Cecht sadly, ‘to suffer such discourtesies and such indignities is what I have become used to.’

  ‘I apologise,’ said Feradach, after what was clearly an inner struggle.

  ‘Our good Feradach is as worried as the rest of us,’ put in Clumhach, who was not following all of this, but who thought it incumbent on him to smooth a few ruffled tempers. ‘He doesn’t mean any harm,’ he added, beaming. ‘And I am sure that Miach will know what has to be done.’

  ‘I hope he will,’ said Tealtaoich. ‘Miach?’

  Miach said, ‘It’s necessary to strengthen into the original Enchantment so that it can break free of the blanket of darkness that the Robemaker has thrown over everything.’

  ‘Yes?’

  Miach cast an unhappy glance at the Oak Naiad. ‘There seems to be only one way of doing that,’ he said.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘To invoke the original Beastline Enchantment,’ said Miach.

  There was a sudden silence, then Tealtaoich said, ‘But that means — ’ and stopped.

  ‘It means,’ said Miach, who was very upset about all of this, and was not, in fact, entirely sure of his ground, but had decided to be firm, ‘it means that we must recite the Ritual that was written at the beginning of Tara’s history and that one of you — ’

  ‘Must lie with the beasts,’ finished Tealtaoich, staring.

  ‘Exactly so,’ said Miach.

  ‘We’ll have to do it,’ said Tealtaoich, at last. ‘I’m quite sure that this isn’t the way it should be done — hastily and uncertainly, but if Miach believes it’s the only way — ’

  ‘Yes, I do,’ said Miach, rather truculently.

  ‘Then it had better be done at once,’ finished Tealtaoich and frowned. ‘Has anyone seen it done, by any chance?’ Nobody had, although Oisin remembered reading an account of the last time the Ritual had been invoked. ‘For the Red Foxes,’ he said. ‘Feradach’s people. It sounds rather solemn and serious. Not at all what you’d expect.’

  ‘Sorcery is a solemn and serious business,’ said Miach, because it might be a good idea to try to surround himself with a bit of mysticism if he could.

  ‘Do you know the Ritual?’ demanded Tealtaoich. ‘Have you got the exact words?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Miach. ‘It’s in one of the annals I did manage to bring,’ he said, with a nasty look at Feradach. ‘It’s actually a rather simple chant.’

  ‘We ought to do it at the Purple Hour,’ said Eogan. ‘Yes, we’ll need all the help we can get.’

  ‘Someone will need all the help he can get,’ said Feradach, and there was a sud
den and rather nasty silence.

  ‘Oh, I don’t think we need worry,’ began Clumhach, and then stopped uncertainly.

  Tealtaoich said, ‘No, Feradach’s right. If we’ve got to do it, then we’d better face it properly and sensibly.’ He looked round the table. ‘Who’s going to be the one to do it?’

  ‘I’m not,’ said Clumhach at once. ‘I think it ought to be Tealtaoich.’

  ‘Clumhach, if you think we can find one of the Wild Panthers out here — ’

  ‘It would mean travelling as far as Gallan — ’

  ‘Farther. Panthers haven’t been seen in Ireland since — well, for a very long time,’ said Oisin. ‘I remember once travelling to the ancient Mountain Palace of Tealtaoich’s ancestor — Cait Fian. The mountains overlook Gallan and it’s the most beautiful wild countryside you’d ever find. But the Palace is a ruin and the surrounding countryside was barren. There were no panthers.’

  ‘Well, that’s going to make it rather awkward for poor Tealtaoich when the Panel of Judges next decree that his line needs strengthening, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes, and as for catching an eagle — ’

  ‘Oh, you’d never do that. Also,’ said Eogan looking rather haughty and remote, ‘also, my family always said that ours was the most difficult of all the ritual matings.’ He looked round the table. ‘The eagle has to be held down,’ he said.

  ‘I suppose it sometimes pecks,’ said Tealtaoich, amused. ‘There have been cases of injury,’ said Eogan, coldly. ‘Well, if you want to put it like that,’ said Tealtaoich. ‘What about Feradach?’ asked Dian Cecht with what Snizort could not help feeling was more than a trace of malice. ‘There are enough foxes in the forest. Rather a common creature, the fox.’