Wolfking The Omnibus: Books 1-4

by Sarah Rayne

  ‘How did you get here?’ said Theo, and the Gristlen chuckled with a thick, wet-liquid chuckle.

  ‘Through the Gateway,’ it said gloatingly. ‘Through the Gateway between your world and the Dark Ireland.’

  ‘The Gateways are closed,’ said Theo firmly. ‘They were closed when the Sorcery Wars ended. We fought in the Sorcery Wars,’ she said loudly, so that the Gristlen-thing would know it was not dealing with what Great-grandfather called, ‘No-account magicians’. ‘We fought and we won.’

  The Gristlen chuckled its horrid, slurry chuckle again. It said, ‘I know of the Sorcery Wars, little girl. I fought in them, also.’ And half to itself, it said, ‘And lost so much.’

  ‘Did you fight on the side of the Lord of Chaos?’ whispered Theo. ‘In his Armies?’ and at once the Gristlen gave another dreadful, bubbly laugh.

  ‘Chaos is a weakling and a charlatan,’ it said. ‘He permits his lusts to cloud his true powers.’ The shadows moved again. ‘I was greater by far than Chaos,’ said the Gristlen, and there was a quite dreadful note of pride in its voice. ‘I had my own Armies.’

  ‘Well, where are they now?’ said Theo, knowing this sounded impolite, but thinking you could not let horrid whispery Gristlen-things get the better of you. ‘What happened to them?’ she said.

  ‘They will come back to me,’ said the Gristlen. ‘Once I have sloughed off the carapace cast about me by the Dark Lords, my people will return to me.’ A pair of huge-knuckled hands, covered in tough dark hide, reached from the shadowy comer. ‘And you look like a little girl who could help me to do that,’ it said, and now there was a soft, persuasive note in its voice. Theo shuddered and backed away to the far wall. Could she reach the Looms? She was standing almost directly beneath them, and she thought that if she stood on her tippiest tiptoe she might reach up.

  ‘What would I have to do?’ she said, keeping one eye on the hidden figure, and trying to assess how far up she would have to reach to the Loom.

  The Gristlen chuckled thickly and, without warning, it reared up out of the darkness, a giantish figure with great, clutching hands and pale, bulging eyes and a flat, snouted face that loomed up at her, impossibly close.

  And it is covered with a hide, thought Theo, shrinking back in horror. Whatever its true self is or was, it has been given a thick dark skin like old cracked leather. The carapace of a curse … This is the worst thing that has ever happened to me, thought Theo, trying not to panic.

  There was a lingering stench to it as well, something that made you think of tainted meat and badly cured animal skins.

  Dreadful! But Theo kept her eyes on the Gristlen, and said again, ‘What would I have to do?’

  The Gristlen chuckled and wrapped its long, fibrousy arms about its repulsive body. ‘Come into my embrace,’ it said, and there was a high-pitched whine to it now. ‘Come into my embrace and help me to tear off the accursed Gristlen skin and emerge as my true self again.’ It loped forward, no longer as giantish as it had first seemed, but moving in a crouching, hunchbacked way, brushing the floor as it came with one hand, leering and grinning with its flat, slash-like mouth.

  ‘The warm embrace of a Human,’ it said again, and quite suddenly it was not only frightening, it was pitiful and grotesque and there was a heart-wrenching sadness about it. The blurring lights of the chamber fell across it, and it held out its repulsive hands mutely, its eyes resting on Theo beseechingly.

  ‘Help me …’ it said. ‘Free me of the ugliness.’ Its bulging, glittering eyes were filled with entreaty, and Theo shuddered and reached up to the great Sorcery Looms.

  The instant the cool soft silver brushed her fingers, something that crackled and spat ran down her arms. But it was a stinging, sizzling something, sharp and brilliant and exhilarating. A bolt of rainbow light poured into the chamber from above as abruptly as if a huge trapdoor into the sky had been opened, and whiplashed about the Gristlen’s thick body, flinging it back against the far wall. There was a sickening wet crunch as the creature fell and the fight dissolved and ran into nothing.

  The Gristlen lay half against the wall, shaking its head and looking up in bewilderment.

  ‘You hurt me … You hurt me when I wanted only your help …’

  The cringing puzzlement in its voice was unbearable. Theo choked back a sob, but kept her fingers curled firmly about the thin cool silver of the immense Loom above her.

  ‘Only to lose the ugliness,’ whimpered the Gristlen, rocking itself back and forth, shaking its head from side to side. ‘It was only so that I could slough off the accursed carapace. A Human embrace …’ It began to crawl across the floor towards Theo again, dragging itself by its great, disproportionate hands. ‘Pretty little thing,’ it said. ‘Pretty little thing has such beauty to spare …’

  Theo gasped and, without thinking, shot across the room, tumbling headlong through the Silver Door and slamming it shut behind her.

  *

  Andrew had stayed behind in the banqueting hall when the Amaranths left for their procession to the depths of the Porphyry Palace, because it had seemed a secret, rather closed Ritual that they were about to perform. His Order knew about secrecy and it knew about rituals, and Andrew, listening to his hosts, had found himself comparing the monks’ own daily hours of prayer to this strange Succession Rite the Amaranths were preparing to chant.

  Cerball had unrolled the Succession Ritual carefully and spread it on the table for everyone to see. Andrew had been interested; he thought that the thick, lovely parchment with its thin gold veining and the tiny winking lights had much in common with the painstakingly copied liturgical works of his Order’s Scriptorium.

  When the Mugain told how the early Amaranth Scholars would have set their apprentices to the copying and the embellishing of the parchment, Andrew had said, ‘We, also, have our skilled workers who spend much time in similar work,’ and a faintly eerie breath of familiarity touched him.

  He found the Amaranths with their long slender hands and their exotic looks unexpectedly attractive. They had narrow, brilliant eyes that seemed to see a little more than ordinary people’s, and pale luminous skins and glossy dark hair. And charm, thought Andrew, seeing their quick, unemphatic way of speaking, but seeing as well that they had a way of tilting their heads to listen, as if they might be able to hear the things left unsaid. They have charm and something faintly foreign and something strongly unHuman. Something that made you think they would be strong friends but dangerous enemies, and something that made you think you would do well to guard your thoughts in their company.

  When they left the banqueting hall, their faces intent, their eyes filled with deep inner concentration, Andrew had, half guiltily, moved to great double doors that led out of the banqueting chamber and stood in one of the deep window embrasures looking out.

  He saw the sorcerers set out, falling naturally and easily into line, the burning torches they carried flickering in the night wind. They had donned plain dark robes with deep concealing hoods and, as they crossed the courtyard, the pure sweet singing of the light-filled Descant they chanted came clearly to Andrew’s ears. Recognition prickled his skin again, and for a brief, aching moment he was in England again, with the great bronze mouth of the sonorous monastic bell chiming through the cloisters, and the monks walking in solemn procession to Vespers. Listening to the Amaranths, he heard not the ebb and flow of sorcerous ritual, but the monks’ plainsong, the lovely and simple music they had adapted from the Italian Ambrosian Chant and that they sung on festal occasions.

  I do not believe any of this, thought Andrew, watching the procession. I do not believe that there are sorcerers and people who can spin magic, and who have at their beck unseen powers and unguessed-at forces. I certainly do not believe in creatures who are not altogether Human. These are simply heathenish people who follow ancient beliefs, perhaps a branch of some little-known race from somewhere. The east, could it be? Yes, that would explain the narrow eyes, the exotic charm. And there were many
people throughout the world who followed ancient, apparently meaningless rituals. There were stranger methods of selecting the successor to a Royal Throne.

  And it would be a pity to destroy all of this … The thought slid unbidden into his mind, and he felt the pull of this dark, seductive world that lay deep in Ireland’s heart.

  A pity to destroy it … A pity to subject these people to persuasions and the arguments that would disturb the foundations of their ancient magical stronghold. It was a tiny, treacherous whisper. A pity to lose the ancient Amaranth enchantments …

  But I do not believe in magic, said Andrew firmly, and I have surely learned, by now, to turn my back on temptation. That is why I was chosen for this mission. Brother Stephen believed I could resist temptation. He trusted me.

  He turned back to the banqueting table, thinking he would permit himself a half-glass more of wine, when the great double doors at the far end were pushed open. A child, her eyes huge with fear, her face white with panic, stood there.

  *

  Theo had run as fast as she could through the dark narrow passages that wound upwards from the Sorcery Chambers. She had found her way to the banqueting hall — not really thinking where she was going, but knowing the banqueting hall was where everyone would be. They would all be eating and drinking and saying wasn’t it a terrible thing to think of Nechtan, may the gods preserve him, away upstairs dying, and was there any more wine to be had?

  Mama would exclaim and draw her lips tightly together in disapproval at Theo’s interrupting it all, but Theo would not mind this because of escaping from the Gristlen. And once she had explained to them about the Gristlen, hiding below in the Sorcery Chambers, it would be all right. Father and Uncle Mugain would push back their chairs and say they would deal with it at once, and Great-aunt Fuamnach would rap her hazel stick sharply on the ground and say, My word, how dared such a creature come into the Palace and threaten Theo? What would Rumour do? But Rumour would probably call down one of her dazzling extravagant enchantments and frizzle the Gristlen where it stood while everybody else was talking about what to do.

  It was disconcerting to find that they had already set off for the Cadence Tower, and to discover that there was only the unknown guest left behind. Theo had never encountered a monk, although she had heard Great-grandfather and Uncle Mugain talk about them. They were good people, monks. They were strict and silent, but they were good.

  Andrew was reassuring and surprisingly easy to talk to. He made her sit down next to him, and gave her a glass of water with a tiny sip of wine in, which she was not normally allowed to have, but which Andrew said would be reviving. Theo sipped it warily, and after a while managed to tell him about the Gristlen-creature, ugly and terrible but so pitiable you could not bear it, and about how it was trying to get rid of its terrible carapace.

  ‘Only it has to be embraced by a Human to be its own true self again,’ said Theo, in a small, rather trembly voice, because this had been almost the worst part of all, and the only bit worse still had been the puzzled way it had looked at her when she had sent it hurtling across the Chamber.

  Andrew turned out to be the kind of nice person who listened to you — really listened; not pretend, polite listening — and Theo began to feel better, because there was something reassuring about people who did that. Rumour always listened properly as well, which was one of the reasons Theo liked her.

  She was not crying, although her voice was still a bit trembly. But the wine was warming, just as Andrew had said it would be. Theo began to feel a bit more hopeful.

  Andrew was looking thoughtful. After a moment he said, in an expressionless voice, ‘Did the … creature touch you at all, Theodora?’ He had a nice way of saying her name, not shortening it as most people did, but saying it courteously and carefully, as if he thought the correct pronouncing of people’s names was important. ‘Did it reach you at all?’ he said, and Theo explained about managing to reach up to the Looms and send a bolt of light to smash the horrid Gristlen against the wall so that it was dazed and bewildered.

  ‘You did that?’ Andrew had only been amongst the Amaranths for a few hours, but he already understood that the powering of the immense Sorcery Looms was regarded as a massive undertaking. Something requiring enormous power and control. Had this child really been able to manipulate them, even for those vital few minutes?

  ‘It was only a very little bit of power.’ Theo did not want Andrew to think she was boasting. ‘And the Gristlen won’t be dead.’ Evil creatures did not die very easily, they lived for hundreds and hundreds of years, longer even than sorcerers. ‘It will still be there,’ said Theo, looking down at the wine glass and biting her lip.

  Andrew stood up, holding out his hand. ‘I think,’ he said, ‘that we must go in search of your people, Theodora,’ and saw her eyes fly upwards in mingled fear and alarm.

  ‘But they’re in the Tower. It’s the Succession Ritual because of Great-grandfather dying.’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘It’s a bit forbidden to go in the Tower,’ said Theo uncertainly. ‘I don’t think I could.’

  ‘Not if I came with you?’ Andrew had not planned to say this, he had not planned to be drawn into any of this. Because I don’t believe any of it! he cried silently.

  But Theo said at once, ‘Oh yes, that would make it all right.’ And slid off her chair and held out her hand to him.

  Chapter Three

  As they walked through the Palace, Andrew talked to Theodora, reassuring her and trying to calm her. He asked her about the Palace, which he said he found beautiful and unusual, and he listened with interest to what she said.

  He did not refer specifically to the Gristlen, but he said in an ordinary, unworried voice that there were a great many things in the world that were evil and wicked; Theo should not be too frightened because there was Somebody who watched over good people always and especially over children. It did not matter that you did not know about the Somebody, because He would always be there for you.

  ‘A king?’ said Theodora hopefully. ‘A great warrior who comes storming and galloping in to kill everyone?’

  But Andrew said, No, the Person was not precisely a warrior or a king, but somebody who had lived a very long time ago and done a great many good things, and who still lived in people’s hearts and who looked down from Heaven, which was where Andrew’s own people believed you went after you died. He had been gentle and immensely good and more powerful than anything in the whole world, this Person. He loved everybody, but He especially loved children, said Andrew, his eyes serious and his expression intent. He loved them all and after He died, He had made a special place for all children in Heaven.

  This was very interesting indeed, and Theo would have liked to hear more, because the notion of a Somebody who looked down on you and guarded you from evil creatures was quite the most reassuring thing ever. Andrew said they would talk about it properly later on, but for now they had to go across to the Cadence Tower; it was a good thing they had thought to bring one of the branched candlesticks from the banqueting hall, because it meant they could see their way quite easily.

  *

  The ill-starred Cadence Tower, Nechtan’s infamous dark Tur Baibeil, was wreathed in scudding clouds and shrouded in darkness.

  Theo knew the legend; she knew how Great-grandfather had created it out of sorcery that was whispered to have been just a little bit dark, twisting into it fearsomely strong incantations, and raising it higher and higher, so that it would reach the unseen lands beyond the skies, or the fabled Cities of the dead. It was when the Tower had reached its highest point that the Cadence itself had been lost; sliding beyond their grasp, so that they could no longer call upon the marvellous, mystical Sorcerous Tongue, the silver-tipped, convoluted Language of Magic bequeathed to them by the sidh centuries earlier. People like Uncle Mugain said sadly that Nechtan had overreached and underestimated; in creating the Turk Baibeil, he had unwittingly opened up one of the fearsome dark Gateways
into the necromancers’ realm. The rescinding of the Cadence and the abrupt descent to a single language had been the punishment.

  It was through the Tower that the fearsome Human-hungry Fomoire had last come into Ireland, pouring up from the subterranean depths of the Dark Realm. They had come prowling and creeping out from the black-mouthed caves in the bowels of the earth; up through the ancient Well of Segais, and through the tunnels and the dark catacombs that twisted beneath the Tower’s foundations. It had all happened a long time before Theo had been born, but nobody would ever forget it. Everyone who had ever heard the Fomoire’s grisly Hunting Song, and seen their terrible whirling dancing as they circled their victims, said it had heralded the beginning of Ireland’s dark age.

  But of course, the Fomoire had long since been driven back and the Gateway to the Dark Ireland was sealed forever.

  *

  The Tower was directly ahead, and Theo’s hand tightened in Andrew’s, because this was not as exciting as she had always thought it would be.

  At the centre of the great rearing bulk was the portcullis, the massive iron grille that sealed the Tower. At the height of the Sorcery Wars, the Fomoire had held the Tower for their own, operating the portcullis with screeching glee, causing it to rise and fall so that they could drag their struggling victims beneath the spikes and take them down into their caves.

  The portcullis had been raised, and Andrew, looking up at the jagged iron teeth, half sunk into the stonework, thought: well, at least the Amaranths got this far. At least we are going in the right direction. And then: has my quarry been this way? he thought, suddenly. Would he have been tempted by the shining Amaranth Palace as I was tempted by it, and would he have been drawn by the strange darkness of this Tower? As they approached the dark, yawning maw of the entrance, a tiny sour wind scudded across the night skies, huffing dry, rank breath into their faces; and Andrew shivered, and drew the thin woollen habit more closely about him.