Wolfking The Omnibus: Books 1-4

by Sarah Rayne

  *

  Laigne heard the slow, solemn procession set out for Nechtan’s last rites.

  She was trying very hard to forget what had happened to her. She was trying not to remember how he had felt and how he had looked: Coelacanth, the Fisher King … There was that remarkable image of him standing over her, virile and strong, the stance of a masculine animal who has taken and given pleasure …

  Given pleasure …

  There had been a surprised knife-thrust of sheer physical ecstasy that had shaken her body to its core. There had been the feeling that her womb had opened of its own volition to accept the creature’s cold seed …

  Coelacanth’s seed. Coelacanth’s son …

  One hand strayed to her body low down, curving over her flat stomach, and the beginnings of a mad, secret smile lifted her lips.

  Chapter Thirteen

  As Andrew and Rumour drew nearer to the black-mouthed caves, they became aware of the steady rhythmic chanting again.

  The caves were still some way ahead of them. Beyond them, the rock tunnel snaked into shadow, and Rumour said, very softly, ‘Once we start to move, we should keep moving. Then, if they look out, they may think we are simply part of the shadows.’

  Andrew nodded. The firelit shadows leapt and pranced, and by moving smoothly and ceaselessly, they might blend with them. But if they moved and stopped and moved again, the Fomoire would see a break in the shadows’ pattern and would be at once alerted.

  The Fomoire were dancing round the fires at the mouth of the largest of the caves, singing their horrid Hunting Song. Their skin-clad silhouettes flickered grotesquely on the cave walls and on the rock wall, and they were grisly and so inHuman, that Andrew knew a moment of near panic. He thought: I do not believe we can get past the caves without them knowing. They will scent us, he thought, torn between anger at his own helplessness, and fear at what lay ahead.

  And then the old resolve surged back, and he thought: I will not despair! I will not believe that there is not some way in which we can reach the Dark Ireland! He glanced to Rumour, and saw that she was standing very still, her eyes narrowed so that the long lashes shadowed her cheeks, her expression absorbed. He felt at once that Rumour was summoning strength, just as he was summoning it. And although our sources are different; although we both mine a different quarry to find that strength, in the end, the result will be the same.

  The Samildanach, who will come to Ireland humbly and quietly, but before whom all gates will fall …

  Which of them had come first? Which was the grafted-on belief? The treacherous thought: does it matter? slid into Andrew’s mind.

  They linked hands, and began to move cautiously down the tunnel, keeping close to the right-hand side, treading in the lee of the rock, so that if the Fomoire should look out, the intruders would not be seen, and the Fomoire would see only the shadows cast by their fires.

  There looked to be five or six caves, and as they moved cautiously nearer, they saw that the firelight came from the large central cave, and that the others were in deep shadow.

  They were edging along with their backs against the rock wall, their eyes never once leaving the leaping figures.

  As they drew nearer, they could see that at the entrance to each cave were piles of white, gleaming objects with shreds of skin adhering to them, flung down in a tumble. Andrew felt a shudder go through Rumour, and knew the objects for Human bones. Skins hung at the entrances to the caves, whole pale Human skins, spread out and nailed to the rock by the hands and feet. The skulls had been left intact, with blank staring eyes and lolling tongues, and it was dreadfully easy to imagine that at any minute the poor sightless heads might lift, and the thin frail arms would beckon, and the pinioned ankles would writhe and struggle.

  A warm dry scent belched out from the caves. Andrew identified it as a cooking scent, rich and savoury, overlaid with a faint greasiness. He thought: I believe they are cooking the flesh of their victims! That is Human meat I am smelling. His mind was at once imprinted with a nightmare image of the Fomoire scraping the flesh from their victims’ skins, and casting it into a pot to bubble.

  The Fomoire were grouped in the centre cave. Inching stealthily forward, Rumour close behind him, Andrew felt again the immense gratitude for her presence, mingled with disgust at his selfishness. This was to have been my task, he thought; I should have approached it alone. I am taking her into a terrible danger. But as the thought took shape he felt Rumour’s response.

  You do not take me, I come of my own accord!

  They could see into the caves now, and they could see that they stretched back and back. Deep and dark and winding away into the ancient labyrinths of legend, thought Rumour, and remembered the tales of this strange between-world where half-Human beasts were said to prowl in the shadows. The firelight cast leaping shadows as the Fomoire danced and, as they moved closer, Andrew and Rumour saw that deep within the side caves were iron bars, sunk into the ground and stretching up to the cave roof.

  Iron bars, thick and harsh and so close together that once behind them it would be impossible to escape.

  The Fomoire’s dungeons.

  *

  The Hunting Song was all round them now, a grisly rhythmic chanting, and the red glow was falling across them, turning Rumour’s hair to pouring molten gold. Andrew held up one hand and saw that it, too, had been turned to fire, so that the skin seemed transparent and he could see the bones and muscle and the flesh beneath.

  They were nearly level with the first of the caves, and Andrew felt Rumour take a deep breath.

  Ready?

  Ready!

  They flattened themselves against the rock wall and began to inch forward, level with the cave’s mouth, part of the flickering firelight, melting into the shadows … This is the last stretch, but this will be the worst. Don’t pause, don’t stop, keep edging forwards … Andrew was repeating the words in his mind as if they were a prayer or a talisman. At any minute the Fomoire might look up, at any minute they might whip round and come pouring out of the cave.

  But I think we are going to do it! thought Andrew exultantly. Only another few feet, only a dozen more steps … This was only a part of their journey: the descent into the Segais Well had been the first part and this was the next. If we can only reach the blackness beyond the tunnels, then we shall have left this stage behind us and have embarked on the next. And each stage will take us nearer to the Gateway itself. Am I nearing the Black Monk? thought Andrew.

  His eyes flickered towards the tunnels. The deeper hinterlands, thought Andrew. The next stage. What lies within those tunnels, I wonder? Is it the borderland, the between-world where he prowls?

  Don’t think about it yet. Concentrate on getting past the Fomoire’s caves; concentrate on blending with the shadows and the crimson firelight … Almost there. Please God, let us be safe …

  He was bracing himself for the last, dangerous steps, when there was a check in the dancing, and the singing stopped as abruptly as if a door had been closed on it. A terrible cry went up.

  ‘Humans!’

  ‘Humans close by!’

  ‘I smell Humans!’

  ‘Out and after them!’

  ‘Get them all and into the cages!’

  The Fomoire came swarming out of the great, red-lit cave and fell upon them, knocking them to the ground, dragging them into the cave, and flinging them down before the fire.

  They circled the two prisoners, grinning gleefully, rubbing their clawlike hands together and occasionally aiming a kick at them with their dead Human feet.

  Rumour half struggled to her feet and lifted one hand to sketch a spell on the air, but the Fomoire were there at once, knocking her hand aside, and the spell, whatever it had been, was stillborn. Black fury rose in Andrew, and he bounded upwards, hitting out at the creatures, feeling a surge of exultation when his blows sent one of them reeling backwards, seeing two more flinch and cower. It flickered on his mind that he had in some way surprised the
m by the blow, as if they were unused to being physically touched, and he struck out again, feeling his clenched fist punch into the nearest, feeling it go beneath the half-concealing skin cloak and sink a little way into the creature’s body. There was a brief twist of nausea; it was exactly like jabbing into an overripe fruit, and feeling the crust split, and the rotten juices spurt out. For the space of a heartbeat, the Fomoire hesitated, and Andrew drew in a deep breath to hit out again, an unexpected part of his mind exulting in the angry violence.

  And then the Fomoire had recovered; they were on him again, binding him with thin, cruel ropes, tying his hands behind his back, dragging him into the cave’s depths. Iron cages lined the rock wall, serried rows of them, four or five all on top of one another. Small gates were inset into each one. Andrew and Rumour were lifted, and flung into a cage half-way up. The door was closed, and the key turned in the lock.

  *

  The sound of the key in the lock was the worst moment yet. They both pushed at the gate at once, finding it strong and firm.

  ‘As we knew it would be,’ said Andrew, striving for calmness, pleased to hear that his voice sounded reasonably untroubled.

  ‘It is as well to try,’ said Rumour. ‘Because, of course, we cannot stay here.’ She looked about her, her eyebrows lifted in disgust, but Andrew saw that, in the uncertain fight, her eyes were dark and thoughtful.

  The cages were cunningly wrought so that they were not quite tall enough for a captive to stand up, and not quite wide enough to lie down in. The two prisoners found themselves half sitting, half lying, and they both knew that to be unable to stand or stretch would soon become almost intolerable. There was rock dust on the floor, and hunks of bread and pannikins of water in one corner.

  Rumour said, ‘Do they call that food?’

  ‘I am afraid they might.’

  ‘It looks quite disgusting,’ she said, and now it was the exotic sorceress who disdained all but the best, and who dined at the highest tables in Ireland, and would wear only the most costly silk and velvet and lace. Andrew heard this, and despite himself, smiled briefly.

  He said, hesitantly, ‘Is there perhaps a spell of any kind we could use to escape?’ and thought: I do not believe I am saying this! I do not believe that I am asking, hoping that she can summon up an enchantment to free us! Prayer is the strongest force of all! That is what I must turn to! And, even while he was thinking, he knew that sorcery existed, and he knew as well that if magic could free them, he would welcome it.

  Rumour said thoughtfully, ‘The Fomoire are the Spirits of Darkness, the essence of what we call Corrupt Evil, and Corrupt Evil is extremely difficult to fight. Perhaps it is impossible to fight. I think it will be very difficult to summon up anything that will beat back these creatures,’ she said. ‘You saw how easily the Fomoire knocked my hand aside when I raised it to begin a protection spell? There was more to it than just a blow.’

  Andrew said, carefully, ‘There is the sidh’s music,’ and Rumour said, ‘I had not forgotten it. But we are unsure of whether it can be used against an enemy, other than by the sidh themselves.’

  ‘Cerball and the Mugain said it would get us into the Dark Ireland. It must have great power.’

  ‘It will cut a path through the Gateway, certainly. Its light should do that, for the sidh are creatures of light. But I do not know if it can protect us from the Fomoire,’ said Rumour. ‘And there is the danger that if we use it and it fails, we have placed ourselves more surely in their hands.’

  ‘We have shown our strengths,’ said Andrew, understanding this.

  ‘Yes. I believe that if we are to outwit the Fomoire, we must forget sorcery,’ said Rumour suddenly. ‘We must defeat them by ordinary Human trickery.’ The sudden grin slanted. ‘That is by your Human trickery, and my partly-Human trickery,’ said Rumour.

  Andrew sat very still, and thought: of course she is not wholly Human. Of course I knew. Even so, it was a strange and not wholly comfortable feeling to be here in the cage, with the Fomoire banking up the fires, knowing that his strange, exotic companion had the blood of something unHuman in her veins.

  He had heard the amusement return to her voice, and he welcomed it. He was beginning to understand that she would show that surface flippancy in any situation she found herself in, but that in fact beneath it all she was not flippant in the least.

  He sat deep in thought for a moment, and then said, ‘When I hit those creatures out there —’

  ‘They flinched at once.’

  ‘Yes.’ He knew gratitude once again for her instant comprehension.

  As if to strengthen this, Rumour said, ‘And I think you were horrified to discover violence in your heart, Andrew.’

  ‘Yes.’ He did not say that it made him frightened about what else might lie undiscovered, but he thought she would know it.

  Rumour leaned over and took his hand. ‘But violence is in all Men,’ she said. ‘Perhaps for some it is never called into being, but it is the only difference. Some are never tested.’

  ‘My Teaching eschews violence.’ Andrew frowned.

  Rumour, who had already felt how much he was struggling to come to terms with this deep-seated anger against the Fomoire, said at once, ‘But that is a very arbitrary statement. There must surely be times when violence or anger could be justified.’

  ‘Our Leader showed anger more than once,’ said Andrew, and looked up. ‘Against greed or hypocrisy. Yes, especially against hypocrisy. There is a recorded case of how he hounded the cheating money-lenders out of the Temple, and how he overturned their tables, and set about them.’

  Rumour, watching his face, said, ‘That is a Leader to follow.’

  ‘Yes.’ Andrew smiled at her, and then said, thoughtfully, ‘Those creatures — they seemed almost afraid of being touched.’

  ‘And yet they touch us to drag us into the cages,’ said Rumour, considering this.

  ‘But through the skin cloaks.’ Andrew sat up. ‘They only touch us through the skins, Rumour. Is there something — some weakness in them that we could use? Could it be so easy? What exactly are the Fomoire?’

  Rumour said slowly, ‘I have only glimpsed them through the skin cloaks, but they are tiny and dark and wizened. We all saw that.’ She looked at him. ‘I believe them to possess goblin blood,’ said Rumour, and grinned as Andrew stared. ‘Do you not accept such things, Andrew? You should, for there were once goblins and demons and imps in Ireland, and they walked abroad openly and easily and fought with the first Irish peoples.’

  ‘Tell me.’ Because surely the more they knew about their grisly captors, the more chance there was of outwitting them.

  ‘The goblins dwelled in the forests and the caves,’ said Rumour. ‘They were creatures of the earth, dark and ancient, and they lived near to the ground. They were always vicious and greedy and black-hearted; there was one very old family of goblins who were known as the Black HeartStealers, in fact.’ She paused. ‘The legend is that, hundreds of years ago, they inter-married with a distant branch of the Amaranths. I think you may have met the descendants of that marriage in the Porphyry Palace.’

  ‘Yes, I recall. Tall and rather brutish-looking.’ Andrew remembered that he had felt a coldness and a greed from them.

  ‘Cerball and Laigne were careless to allow them into the Palace,’ said Rumour. ‘Although perhaps they did not learn of their presence until it was too late. Every branch of the Amaranths had assembled for the Succession Ritual, you see.’

  Andrew said, ‘I think there is a vein of evil blood in all families somewhere.’

  ‘There is very little known about the goblin strain,’ said Rumour, keeping her voice low, occasionally glancing to where the Fomoire were seated about their fire. ‘But it is known that they were imbued with what is called Corrupt Evil — which is extremely difficult to defeat — and that they were scouts for the necromancers; messengers who prowled the woods and the caves and the mountains, searching for prey for their overlords.

>   ‘When the first true Humans, the Cruithin, came to Ireland, the goblins were driven back, but they were not driven out. They hid themselves in the undersides of the earth; in the deep caves and the labyrinths and the underground tunnels.

  ‘The Cruithin were good and gentle, and filled with the strong woodland magic that pure-bred Humans can sometimes command,’ said Rumour. ‘They served Ireland faithfully and well, but they, in their turn, were driven out many centuries later. The Cruithin have almost vanished from Ireland now, although you may find traces of their descendants in remote hill farms, or mountain villages. I believe that there is a community of their descendants on the western coast, within the Moher Cliffs. They are small, dark-haired, rather attractive people, and they have a slightly elfin look to them.

  ‘But the goblins — occasionally chronicled as ginid, although that is a feminine term — did not vanish,’ said Rumour, absorbed in her story now. ‘The legend is that they traded with the necromancers, and were finally given the lands that lay between the Dark Realm and the True Ireland.’

  ‘Hinterlands,’ said Andrew thoughtfully, and Rumour said, ‘Yes.’

  She looked at him. ‘I think we are in those hinterlands now, Andrew,’ she said. ‘And I believe that the Fomoire are halfgoblins; perhaps the blood-descendants of the original ginid and some strange alliance made since.’

  ‘You are very knowledgeable,’ said Andrew, and Rumour grinned.

  ‘I hold a very high degree in the subsidiary magical art of story-telling,’ she said. ‘If we escape, Andrew, one night I will spin for you the Tapestry Enchantment which I created many years ago. Woven into it are the legends and the myths and the folklore of Ireland. It took me many years to finish it — although it will never really be finished, of course, because there will always be more to add. But it is marvellous and magical and enthralling.’ She did not say this as if she was boasting, or as if she was expecting him to compliment her. She merely said it as though stating a fact. ‘Occasionally I have unrolled it at ceremonious gatherings, although it is rather fragile and has to be treated with care. But it is a very beautiful enchantment,’ she said, seriously, and then, grinning at him, ‘And, of course, it is one I can turn to good advantage if I have to. Telling a story, properly and fully, so that your listeners are held completely spellbound can be extremely useful. I have talked my way out of many a difficult situation,’ she said, and then, grinning, added, ‘And there have been occasions when I have talked my way into one as well.’