by Sarah Rayne
‘The Black Marshes?’ said Aed.
‘Yes! That is where we came through the Gateway! That must be where the fabric between the two Irelands is at its thinnest!’
‘Hurry!’ said Fenella, grasping Aed’s arm on Nuadu’s other side. ‘They are already out of the Castle!’
CuRoi and the Robemaker were riding hard down the mountain slope, crouching over their steeds. Crimson fire surrounded them and, even from here, it was possible to hear the ringing out of the NightMares’ hoofs on the ground. There was a grim, relentless, pounding about the sound. They would reach the Fields very soon.
Nuadu and Fenella, with Aed between them, began to push their way through the Fields again, moving as quickly as they could. Fenella, holding Aed’s thin arm firmly, found it very nearly possible to ignore the horrid smeary skin shreds and the slinking trails of white intestines beneath her feet. It was more important to help Aed, who was so thin and so frail-looking that Fenella found her heart lurching anxiously every time he stumbled. He was so weak that it seemed impossible that he would survive the journey to the Cruachan Cavern. She glanced back. Could they outrun CuRoi and his creatures with such a burden to slow them? Then she remembered that their only way of escape was through the Cave of the Soul Eaters and that Nuadu had made that specious bargain to bring back the King of Ireland, so that the Soul Eaters could take his soul … And we cannot endanger him! cried Fenella in silent anguish. He has suffered so much already!
She glanced at Nuadu, but Nuadu’s expression was unreadable; his eyes were deep unfathomable pits and his mouth was set in an uncompromising line.
It is the only way out, Lady …
They neared the road and Fenella began to scan the horizon for indications of where they might have come through the Gateway.
‘But there is nothing,’ she said to Nuadu, very nearly despairing. ‘And CuRoi and the Robemaker are closing on us.’
They were, and with them were the Harpies, swooping through the night skies, forming a fearsome pattern, their ravaged-woman faces grotesque on their vulture-bodies and their claws vicious.
‘Cruel things,’ said Aed. ‘But they cannot actually kill.’
Nuadu, who had been looking intently at the road ahead, stopped suddenly and looked first at Fenella and then at Aed. ‘Listen,’ he said, and there was a note of spiralling excitement in his voice.
Very distantly, as if it was a sound that must travel down a long echoing tunnel, or as if it was coming from behind a closed door, they heard the beating of leathery wings on the air.
The Gateway formed almost at once. There was a whirring, thrumming sound, the impression of an approaching dark force and the feeling of the huge shadowy wings of the Soul Eaters somewhere above them.
A string of glittering light stretched upwards in front of their eyes, splitting the crimson-streaked blackness in twain, and then a second string, exactly in line with it, appeared. As they stood together, watching, the third line appeared, joining the two at the top, and there before them was the immense Gateway through which Fenella and Nuadu had come earlier, and through which they must now go back.
Because it is the only way, Lady …
Into the Cruachan Cavern. Into the domain of the Soul Eaters who awaited the soul of the High King. Taking the frail weak Aed to the predators who would tear out his soul and fling his poor tormented body into the River of the Dead. And it was the only way back …
Fenella heard the leathery wings again and a great shadow fell over them. Nuadu, looking up, his hand shading his eyes, said, softly, ‘The Soul Eaters. They are with us.’
‘But why have they come now? They were to give us seven days! They promised!’ Fenella cried, angrily.
Nuadu looked at Aed. ‘They have sensed your presence, Sire. Perhaps they have scented it in the manner of all predatory beings. They know that we have rescued you and that we are fleeing to safety with you. Also,’ said Nuadu, with a sudden wry smile, ‘they do not trust me to fulfil my promise to them.’
‘Promise?’
‘I pledged that if the Soul Eaters would give us unchallenged passage into the Dark Realm, we would in return bring your soul to them.’
There was a sudden silence. Then Aed said, ‘I see.’
‘But of course they did not trust me,’ said Nuadu. ‘And so now they are coming for you and we must find a way of evading them.’
Fenella, who was watching the Gateway, said, ‘CuRoi and the Robemaker will certainly fight them for the King.’
‘Precisely,’ said Nuadu, grinning suddenly.
‘Of course,’ said Fenella, staring at him in fearful hope. ‘If they engage in battle, perhaps we might slip through the Gateway unnoticed.’
‘It is what I had hoped,’ said Nuadu. ‘And it is our only chance of escape now.’
The Gateway was open to its fullest extent and the Soul Eaters were pouring through, a flight of great black predators, their huge wings spread, so that Fenella could see the scaly under-sides. They flew in a crouching fashion, their wizened bodies curled under their wings, talons poised to swoop on their prey.
There was no point in running now; to run would have made them more noticeable. The Soul Eaters and the necromancers would not lose sight of their three victims, but it might be possible to step lightly and stealthily back, a little at a time, until they were at the yawning Gate that would lead them into the true Ireland again.
At the sight of the Soul Eaters, CuRoi and the Robemaker had instantly reined in the NightMares, and the horses were rearing and prancing, their eyes glinting redly.
‘But they have them in control,’ said Aed, softly. ‘The Master is able to control them.’
‘Might they turn on him?’ asked Fenella, thinking this would be a good opportunity to move closer to the Gateway.
‘It is unlikely, Lady. The Master’s ways with disobedient or rebellious servants is known to all his creatures.’
Nuadu said, ‘Keep moving slowly towards the Gateway. If any of them look in our direction, stand absolutely still at once.’
The two necromancers were hurling light-shafts at the Soul Eaters, crimson and orange and flame spears that split the heavens and sent fire crackling across the dark terrain, lighting it to sharp and fearsome relief, and the Soul Eaters were swooping and diving to avoid the splintering fire. The Fields of Blood stood out starkly, so that the crimson-soaked, leathery harvest of the dark lords was blenched briefly to white.
The Robemaker was screeching curses at the Soul Eaters and his voice, rasping and ugly, came clearly to the three waiting below.
‘They will take the King! The Soul Eaters will take the King! After them! We must keep the King at all costs!’
The NightMares reared, sparks flying from beneath their hoofs, and, to the three trying to escape, it seemed that the two immense powers would converge and clash.
The Soul Eaters were massing above CuRoi and the Robemaker, their monstrous wings blotting out the livid skies, and so strong and so imbued with pitiless soul-less determination were they, that Fenella thought they must surely vanquish the necromancers.
But already the screeching Harpies were flying straight at the Soul Eaters, their talons extended, reaching to lacerate the dry harsh wings. The grinning, prowling creatures Fenella had glimpsed in the dungeons were there as well now, assembled behind their Master, leaping and prancing, jabbing at the darkness with their scissor-edged fingers, chuckling evilly. They linked hands and began to circle directly beneath the Soul Eaters and, as one of the creatures suddenly fell from the air, torn and mutilated by the Harpies, they fell on it at once, ripping it to pieces, flinging the scaly fragments of its wings high into the air, chuckling with malevolent glee.
Through the half-open Gateway, Fenella could see caves and flickering torchlight and surely, oh surely this was the moment to run, to flee for the cover of the caves and trust, to whatever gods could be trusted here, that they would somehow escape.
As if he had heard her thoughts,
Nuadu said, softly, ‘Not yet, Fenella,’ and, in the same moment, Aed pointed to the Gateway.
The Rodent Armies were tumbling through in answer to the plight of the Soul Eaters. They were red-eyed and feral and they carried spears and barbed hooks and spiny-backed halberds and lances. They poured forth over the terrain, flinging the spears and the lances at the dungeon-creatures, whirling the great hooks on the ends of ropes so that the vicious hooks flew upwards at the Harpies. The Harpies screeched as several of the hooks embedded in their flesh and three of them fell to the earth.
The Weasels were brandishing great glinting axes, double-edged, and the Stoats carried thin, wicked javelins. They slunk close to the ground and swarmed upwards towards the Castle.
CuRoi reined in his rearing black steed and lifted his arm. At once an immense wall of fire reared up between himself and the Robemaker and the Rodent Armies.
The creatures flinched away at once and CuRoi’s mocking laughter rang out clearly on the night.
‘Puny creatures!’ he cried. ‘Is this all you can send against me in your fight to take Ireland’s King! He is mine — and he will stay mine!’
As if in contempt, the Soul Eaters flew straight into the fiery wall, passing through it with apparent ease, and the Weasels and the Stoats burrowed deep into the ground, cutting themselves tunnels through which they would burrow, to emerge on the other side of the flames.
‘Ours, necromancer! The King is ours. He was promised to us, and we have come to claim his soul … ’
The Soul Eaters were circling CuRoi and the Robemaker, avoiding the fire, making their dry bone-against-skin sound.
Nuadu took Fenella’s hand, and looked at Aed.
‘They are intent on their battle,’ he said very softly. ‘This is our only chance. The Cruachan Cavern is empty for the moment. We must go through it and out into the passages.’
‘Can we do it?’
‘Let us see if we can,’ said Nuadu. He glanced back to where the Soul Eaters were still hovering above CuRoi and the Robemaker, greed glinting in their tiny eyes. ‘Ready?’ he said, and slowly, stealthily, they moved towards the Gateway.
There was no time to look back at the battle; they were at the yawning Gateway and through it they could see the dark tunnels of the Cruachan Caverns.
Freedom! thought Fenella. Isn’t it?
There was a moment when they paused in the immense, light-filled Gateway, seeing ahead of them the Cruachan Cavern and the dark winding tunnels, but seeing, as well, the glittering Castle of Illusions in the Realm they were leaving, seeing it beautiful and sinister, sharply limned against the dark, blood-veined skies.
CuRoi and the Robemaker were retreating, turning the great black NightMares about and riding hard towards the Castle. A great howl of triumph went up from the Rodent Armies as they surged forward in pursuit.
Fenella saw, through the pouring, feral Rodents and the swooping, angry Soul Eaters, the immense Castle begin slowly to rotate.
‘The sealing,’ said Nuadu at her side.
‘And the Soul Eaters and their Armies will be shut out.’
‘They will not breach the Master’s magical defences, Lady,’ said Aed.
‘Then the Soul Eaters and their Armies will soon return,’ said Nuadu, leading them into the Cavern and through into the tunnels that Fenella remembered. ‘Therefore we have not much time.’
‘What about sentries?’ said Fenella, suddenly. ‘The Rodent Armies might have left sentries behind?’
‘Yes, that’s true,’ said Nuadu. ‘But if we are stealthy and quick we may evade them. We must melt into the shadows. There are only three of us.’
‘And the sound and the lights of the battle out there will serve to quench any noise we make,’ said Fenella, nodding. ‘Yes.’
The Caves were silent and brooding and they could feel the miasma of evil all about them.
‘But I think there are no sentries here,’ said Aed, softly. ‘You were right to think of it, Lady, but I think the Soul Eaters called upon every shred of their strength to defeat CuRoi.’
They were walking in single file now, Nuadu padding along ahead of them, and Fenella in the middle. Aed was keeping pace, but as they drew farther away from the raging battle, he stumbled and fell. Nuadu caught him. Fenella at once took Aed’s hands, and saw that his face was white and strained, that he had the look of a creature driven beyond endurance. As if he had caught this, Aed opened his eyes and sent her a smile that was uncannily Nuadu’s and said, gently, ‘I shall hold together for a little longer, Lady. Although we are nearly at our journey’s end.’
Journey’s end … Fenella thought: but does he simply mean our journey back to the True Ireland, or does he mean something more?
Between them, they carried the barely conscious King, and Fenella saw that Nuadu’s eyes were dark and shadowed. She thought: he cares very much that the King is weak and perhaps dying. He does not know him, but he cares. This is hurting him quite dreadfully.
As if in answer, Nuadu said, very gently, ‘My mother’s son,’ and Fenella said, ‘Yes. Of course.’ And hoped that this did not sound insensitive or inept.
Ahead of them the tunnel was widening and becoming tinged with blue and violet shadows and they could see the familiar magical purple dusk.
‘Closer with every step,’ said Fenella. ‘Shall we come out onto the Island?’
‘Truly I have no idea,’ said Nuadu. ‘It is said that there is only one entrance to the Cavern of the Soul Eaters, but that there are many exits.’
Many exits …
As the purple light poured into the cave mouth, heavy and heady, laden with the ancient magical Twilight Enchantments, they moved towards it and emerged into the pouring mystical Purple Hour.
Directly to the east, no more than a mile from them, were glinting spires and red-tipped gates and a soft radiance that lit the darkling skies.
The Palace of Wildfire.
Fael-Inis’s country.
They laid Aed carefully on the ground and straightened up, the rainbow-tinged light streaming into the cave mouth, both of them breathing in the clean cool night air with delight. They felt the sweet scents of the Purple Hour and the gentle warm enchantments soaking into their skin.
‘Safe,’ said Fenella at length. ‘Aren’t we?’
‘Yes, for we have only to cross to Fael-Inis’s country.’ Nuadu’s eyes were blazing with sudden excitement as he looked across to the shining towers and the fiery walls. ‘The Palace of Wildfire,’ he said, half to himself. And then, as if pushing the delight away, bent to the still form of Aed.
Aed’s eyes were filmed and his skin was cold to Fenella’s touch. I believe he is dying, she thought. He used his last reserves of strength to come with us out of the Dark Realm. He did not falter until we were in sight of the True Ireland, she thought, with angry pain. He reached his journey’s end.
Aed did not open his eyes, but he said, in a thread of a voice, ‘You are right, Lady. It is unthinkable that a King of Tara should die in that place. I could not be content until I stood on the threshold of my own world and until I could look upon my own Realm once more.’
My own Realm … This Ireland, thought Fenella; this twilit land, this strange magic-laden world of enchanted forests and dark sorcery and half-Human creatures who prowl the woods and the mountains. It is this that was his journey’s end.
She looked down again and saw that Aed was watching Nuadu and although his eyes were pain-filled, they were clear. He said, ‘Nuadu — we should have known one another — ’
‘That we did not was neither your fault nor mine,’ said Nuadu, and Fenella heard the bitterness in his voice and hoped he was not being cruel. But Aed seemed to understand. He reached for Nuadu’s hand: ‘My father was a good ruler but a hard man.’
‘Yes.’
Aed moved weakly, and Nuadu slid his arm about his shoulders, propping him up. ‘Nuadu — Ireland — ’ The dark gentle eyes rested on Nuadu and Fenella saw the two of them look at one
another very steadily and very straightly and something seemed to pass between them.
Then Nuadu said, ‘Ireland will be safe, Sire.’
‘You promise it?’
‘I promise it,’ said Nuadu. And then, in a voice that was so low Fenella could never afterwards be sure she had heard it, ‘On the memory of our mother, I promise you that Ireland will be safe,’ he said.
‘Then I am content,’ said Aed, and his head fell back and the life and the light faded from his face.
Chapter Forty-three
The exiled Forest Court, under the direction of Tealtaoich and the eldest of the Oaks, had decided that the best thing to do was to march on Tara at dawn. Dawn, said Tealtaoich, his eyes glowing, wasn’t that the time to be sweeping down on the unsuspecting Gruagach and catching them all by surprise? Wouldn’t they all of them be still a-bed, lazy creatures, and now that they had woken the Beasts, wouldn’t they be able to re-take Tara with the utmost ease?
They had been very nearly overwhelmed by their success with the Beastline Enchantment; even Feradach had shaken Miach’s hand and admitted that Miach had succeeded in surprising them all, which, coming from Feradach, was quite a large compliment.
Dian Cecht had withdrawn from them all after the Ritual, seating herself apart at meals, staring soulfully into the forest depths.
‘It’s all a pose, of course,’ said Feradach to Snizort. ‘She would really like a silk-hung couch to recline on and slaves to kneel before her with food and wine. That’s what she’d really like.’
Snizort thought this was very probably true. He had spent his time busily setting down the story of the Ritual. He had shown the results to Oisin, rather worriedly, because he had not wanted to get any of this very important matter wrong, but Oisin had thought it extremely well written and said Snizort had captured the spirit of the strange Beastline Enchantment exactly.
‘When all this is over, we shall arrange for your writings to be bound in vellum and added to the great library in Tara,’ Oisin said, and Snizort beamed, because he had not looked for such very gratifying recognition. He would have discussed this further, and he would certainly have tried to talk to Dian Cecht about the Swans and their history, but the Court had been thrown into further disarray by the unexpected arrival of Caspar and the freed slaves.