Wolfking The Omnibus: Books 1-4

by Sarah Rayne

  The needles were used by two Fomoire who were crouched at Echbel’s feet. They slid the needles beneath the skin, apparently loosening it from the flesh before the flat, thin blades were used.

  The skin was the colour of tallow now; grey-yellow. Echbel’s eyes were now only showing the whites; they had rolled back in his skull, and his mouth had fallen open, the tongue lolling out. Dead, or as near dead as made no difference. God take his soul, thought Andrew, and found a fleeting comfort in forming the familiar words. He half turned to Rumour, and felt a bolt of such triumph from her that, for a moment, he was very nearly blinded. But he thought: she has harnessed a spell of some kind! She has reached and caught something to free us! With the thought, he became aware that the bonds about his wrists were loosening, they were sliding over his hands, falling to the ground.

  The Fomoire were standing up, holding the pale empty skin aloft, reaching out from their cloaks with their little clawlike hands, beginning a triumphant dance.

  Andrew, Rumour at his side, leapt forward and fell upon them.

  *

  It was difficult, but not as difficult as they had thought. The Fomoire were taken by surprise; they were off their guard, and Andrew’s first furious blows fell hard and woundingly on the unprotected goblin-bodies within the Human skincloaks. The Fomoire fell backwards, the two that Andrew knocked down slipping in the grease-spattered floor. Andrew’s mind registered with horror that it was Human grease; the grisly drippings from the cage. Don’t think about it! He turned to where four more were circling him and, as he did so, he saw Rumour lashing out, her long, glittering nails raking down the bodies of those Fomoire trying to hold her. As they flinched, he saw delight flare up in her eyes; the tiny flame that had intrigued him at their first meeting kindled suddenly. He thought: she has managed to overcome the darkness! and with the thought, saw lightning spit from her outflung hand, and pierce the cave.

  Andrew, catching her exultant triumph, turned and reached for the dancing Fomoire, who were leaping out his reach now, grinning and egging him forward.

  He bounded forward again, spurred on by the knowledge of Rumour’s triumph, dragging open the skin cloaks, reaching for the scrawny necks, squeezing, throttling …

  Rumour was at his side, shouting to him to run, and Andrew flung the two Fomoire from him, feeling surging delight at the sudden crunch as they hit the cave floor.

  And then they were hand in hand, running from the cave, out into the dark tunnels, safe in the embracing shadows.

  Behind them, the Fomoire were dancing in fury, shaking their fists, silhouetted against the cave fires.

  ‘But they are not following us!’ gasped Andrew, pulling Rumour with him. ‘They are not following! Dear God, can it be this easy to escape them?’

  Rumour said, between breaths for air, ‘We defeated them! Andrew, we defeated them!’ And without thinking very much about it, flung herself into his arms, sobbing and crying with delight.

  Andrew’s arms tightened instinctively about her, and at once there was a strong, shameful response. His body had already been aroused by the violence in the caves, and now it throbbed at her touch, and the blood raced through his veins. He felt himself become charged and stiff with desire, and he let out a low groan, and pulled her to him. The softness of her breasts crushed against him and, as he felt them, his mind spun out control.

  For I have never felt a woman before, I have never known what it is to have a woman’s soft body pressing against mine …

  He brought his mouth down on hers, savagely, helplessly, and Rumour reached up, twining her fingers in his hair, feeling his arousal through her thin gown, wanting to reach down and caress him, knowing that they must certainly move further out of the tunnels, but still standing locked in his arms.

  And then Andrew put her from him, gently but firmly, and she saw that he was trembling.

  ‘Forgive me,’ he said, and his voice was suddenly remote and cold.

  Rumour said, ‘I see nothing to forgive.’

  ‘Yes, you do not know …’ He took a deep breath, and dredged up a smile. ‘We are not yet out of danger, I think.’

  ‘So it seems,’ said Rumour steadily.

  ‘Our escape was so easy!’ said Andrew, frowning.

  ‘A trap?’

  ‘Truly, I have no idea. But we should keep in mind that it could have been a trap.’

  ‘For what reason? Why would they let us go?’ said Rumour and, in the same breath, ‘But yes, of course, they might simply be driving us deeper into the Dark Realm. They might be feeding us to something lying in wait further alone.’ She stared at Andrew, her eyes huge.

  Something lying in wait … The Black Monk? thought Andrew, and felt a chill lift the hairs on the back of his neck. But he said, ‘Whatever is behind it, we have to go on.’

  They began to move forward, and as they rounded a curve in the rock, Rumour’s grip on Andrew’s hand tightened.

  ‘What is it … ?’

  ‘Look,’ said Rumour, sudden delight in her voice. And then Andrew saw it as well.

  Directly ahead of them, where the tunnel wound away to the left, was the cool, ice-fire, blue and green light of the sidh.

  The ancient underwater Kingdom of Aillen mac Midha.

  Tiarna.

  Chapter Fifteen

  The tunnels wound down and down, and the cool, blue-green light rippled gently against the rock walls.

  ‘We are beneath the seas now,’ said Rumour, softly. ‘We are entering the strange, under-ocean realm of Aillen mac Midha. The kingdom of the sidh. And I think,’ said Rumour, frowning, ‘that we should not stay there for any longer than we need.’

  ‘But — there is air?’ Andrew had been visualising some kind of secret kingdom deep beneath the sea-bed, but Rumour’s words gave him pause.

  But she said at once, ‘Yes, it is a — you could say a physical world. Secret and deeply buried. But it is no legend, no chimerical land.’ She glanced at him and smiled. ‘Tiarna exists,’ she said. ‘It is real. “Far beneath the ocean bed and deep beneath the world’s seas … ” One of our poets wrote that of it, and it is true. You have to go a long way down and you have to pass through strange hinterlands to reach it. But I suspect,’ said Rumour, thoughtfully, ‘that you pass through some kind of Gateway.’

  ‘But we shall surely know when that happens?’

  ‘Not necessarily,’ said Rumour.

  It had been precisely what Cerball and the Mugain had thought. To pass quietly through the Gateway and be barely aware of it.

  Rumour said, ‘You are silent, Andrew? Is it too unobtrusive for you? Should you have preferred great, glittering doorways sketched against the dark skies, and beacons of fiery light guarding the way?’

  Andrew smiled, but he said, ‘It seems odd, you must allow, to enter other worlds so easily.’

  ‘We have not entered it yet,’ said Rumour.

  The blue-green radiance was growing stronger, and they were both becoming aware of a feeling of immense desolation somewhere close by.

  ‘As if,’ said Rumour, softly, ‘something just out of sight and just beyond hearing is crying helplessly and for ever.’ She glanced at Andrew. ‘The sidh, dying, mourning for their lost music?’

  ‘Yes. An immense desolation,’ said Andrew, gently. ‘And intense pain.’

  As they walked on, water-light rippled and played on the rock walls, and they made out carvings on the hard rock walls, cave pictures of strange sea-beasts with homed heads and lashing, finlike tails and slanting eyes that peered sideways and saw secrets and chuckled to do so …

  ‘The nimfeach,’ said Rumour, as Andrew pointed to them. ‘The ancient sea-people who once dwelled in the City of Tiarna and were ruled by the Fisher King.’

  ‘What happened to them?’

  ‘The sidh, under Aillen mac Midha, drove them out,’ said Rumour. ‘They vowed to return one day, of course, as all dispossessed peoples vow to return. But it is so long ago that no one now knows very much about t
hem: where they came from or what their allegiances were.’

  ‘Or even if they existed?’ said Andrew, softly.

  ‘Oh, they existed, Andrew. The Fisher King and his minions existed. But it is so long ago that they are simply another of Ireland’s lost tribes. Ireland’s origins, like that of most worlds, are lost in the mists of Time, for Time now is so old that we cannot know what was in its genesis. There are lost peoples and ancient secrets and legends in all worlds, I think,’ said Rumour. ‘But perhaps Ireland has a little more than most. Or so the Irish would have you believe.’ She paused before the nearest of the wall carvings. ‘I believe that to have been the nimfeach overlord,’ said Rumour softly. ‘The Fisher King. Called in some legends “Coelacanth”.’

  The Fisher King of the lost tribe of nimfeach. He was depicted as being much taller than Humans — ‘What is called giantish,’ said Rumour — but he was slender and finely boned and covered with thin, translucent skin, so that you knew that if he stood before a strong light, you would be able to see the small, frail bones. Here and there were scales on his body, scattered between his legs, and across his upper limbs. Almost like armour, thought Andrew, or like the beginnings of a carapace forming.

  Rumour said, ‘He was neither quite Human nor quite Fish, but a blend of the two.’ She studied the carving for a moment before turning back to walk at Andrew’s side.

  Ahead of them they could glimpse Tiarna itself now; faint, uncertain images of shining spires and turrets and silver-tipped gates beyond the tunnels. Rumour said, very softly, ‘We are leaving our own world at last, Andrew; we are very close to the boundaries.’ Andrew nodded and understood her meaning and remembered about passing from one world to the next.

  He said cautiously, ‘Will it be difficult to get into Tiarna? Will there be —’ And stopped, because he was still trying to come to terms with the idea of sentries and prowling enchantments and invisible guards. ‘Will there be anything to prevent us from entering the City?’ he said at length. ‘Cerball and the Mugain spoke of a legend: the Black Monk …’

  ‘Yes, I have heard the name,’ said Rumour. ‘The Black Monk who guards one of the Gateways into the Dark Realm. It is quite a new legend,’ she said, thoughtfully. ‘And not so very widely known. But from time to time the Dark Lords entrap those they believe can serve them. They are usually poor husked-dry things in the end, those victims, for the Dark Lords are greedy masters. They will gratify the victims’ lusts, but there is usually a long period of servitude in return — sometimes several centuries of guarding a boundary or a fortress. It is possible that the Monk was one of those more lately caught.’

  ‘And legends have to begin somewhere,’ said Andrew, half to himself.

  ‘He interests you, that one, I think?’ said Rumour.

  Andrew hesitated, and then thought: why not tell her a little of the truth? ‘There is a belief that he was once one of my own Order,’ he said.

  ‘And — you would like to reclaim him for your strange religion?’ Rumour was interested. ‘Yes, of course you would like to do so, for the idea of returning a strayed sheep to the fold is always alluring and … What have I said?’

  ‘Only the mention of straying sheep. But yes, I should like to find him and bring him back if I could. My people believe that his evil ways may do harm to the new Teaching.’

  That is understandable,’ said Rumour. ‘But I do not think we will encounter him here. If he is in thrall to one of the necromancers — Chaos himself, perhaps, or the Crimson Lady of Almhuin — then he will be much deeper in the Dark Realm than this.’ She sent him one of her sideways glances. ‘We have scarcely begun to penetrate the Dark Realm yet,’ said Rumour. ‘Even this part, even Tiarna, is only one of the borderlands.’

  ‘Yes, I understand.’

  Rumour said, ‘The world of Aillen mac Midha has always been accounted the most fortified world ever known. That is why I do not think the Black Monk would be here. The sidh guard Tiarna themselves. They have never needed Humans.’

  ‘But now they are injured,’ said Andrew, thoughtfully. ‘Perhaps dead. That should mean that at least we can enter unchallenged.’

  But as they drew nearer, and as the cool turquoise light became stronger, they were both aware of a sense of unease and a creeping darkness. Rumour sketched a Banishing Ritual on the air, and with it some brief words in a tongue that Andrew thought was Gael. He glanced at her, and then joined his hands, and murmured his own plea.

  ‘“O God, the author of peace and lover of concord, defend us Thy humble servants in this assault on our enemies, that we, trusting in Thee, may not fear the power of any adversaries, through the might of Jesus Christ our Lord”.’

  The words flooded his mind with calm strength. He remained still, his head bowed, his eyes closed, and thought: still there. That inner reservoir of strength, that marvellous, bottomless well of love and succour and infinite understanding. If I forgot you, God, even though it was for a brief space, you did not forget me.

  There was a sense of something familiar and comforting; as if he had looked round to see a good friend whom he had not met for a time, or as if he had returned to a dearly loved place. Peace in the Lord and peace from the Lord. Of course this is right. How could I have thought otherwise? Forgive me, God, for I had almost forgotten how it felt to experience the strength and the power. The Everlasting Arms …

  He looked up then, his eyes meeting Rumour’s, knowing that, if she showed derision, or even incomprehension, he would feel the first stirrings of impatience and her allure would weaken.

  But Rumour had joined her own hands, not quite in the Christian attitude of prayer, but in something closely akin to it. She had listened intently to the short prayer, not trying to join with it, not quite identifying with it. But sharing in it. When she spoke, she said thoughtfully, ‘Those are stirring words, Andrew. There is a remarkable comfort in them. That is a God I could trust.’

  And Andrew knew that she did understand, and knew, as well, that the sinful, seductive threads still held him in thrall. He said, carefully, ‘It is a strong force, prayer.’ And then, in a different voice, ‘There is a feeling of distortion ahead of us. Would it be the sidh?’ And then at once, ‘No, of course it is not the sidh, for they are helpless without their music.’ And barely paused to wonder at how normally he was discussing enchantments and their powers.

  ‘It’s something more than the sidh,’ said Rumour, frowning. ‘I am not sure what it is, other than that it is dark and extremely ancient.’ She glanced at him, and in the soft turquoise and silver light, her eyes were amused. The iridescence had turned her hair to rippling blue-green, woven with silver, and her eyes were lambent. ‘Are you thinking you would prefer to return, Andrew?’ said Rumour softly. ‘To go back to your safe, ascetic world, where the rules are set down and all you have to do is follow them?’

  Andrew stood very still and looked at this exotic, beautiful being and thought: she is taunting me. She is doing so deliberately and mischievously in order to provoke the response she wants. And even though the response that Rumour wanted had long since been evoked; even though he ached to touch her, he said, quite calmly, ‘I believe we should go on. Remember that behind us are the caves and the cages of the Fomoire.’

  ‘And therefore we are between a rock and a hard place,’ said Rumour, thoughtfully. ‘I daresay that is something your Teacher would have known about, Andrew. What would he have advised?’

  ‘Prayer,’ said Andrew, after a moment. ‘Resolve. Faith. Certainly the determination to rout evil.’

  ‘What of violence?’ said Rumour, musingly, pulling her cloak round her more firmly as if a cold breath of air had touched her. ‘What would he think of violence? Because, Andrew, I think that whatever is ahead of us must be vanquished — and perhaps physical force will be necessary.’

  ‘The defence of one’s self is permitted,’ said Andrew. ‘Also, violence which will defeat evil is permitted. And,’ he added, ‘there is Theodora to be reached.’r />
  ‘I do not forget,’ said Rumour. And then, taking his hand, ‘Do not worry about transgressing your creed, Andrew,’ she said.

  *

  They approached the gates of the ancient under-sea City of Tiarna in silence, still hand in hand. Andrew, who had been vividly aware of the touch of Rumour’s soft slender hand in his, was aware that a deeper, warmer emotion was starting to bind them. There was no seduction in the touch of Rumour’s hand against his, and no sexual edge to it. It was a closeness; the touch of one sentient creature seeking comfort and assurance from another. He thought: we are both extremely apprehensive, and we are both reaching out for warmth.

  When Rumour said, ‘I am glad you are here, Andrew,’ Andrew at once said, ‘I am more than glad you followed me to the Well.’

  He knew he should not permit it for very long, this warmth, this pleasure in being close to another creature in this way. Already I have gone too far, he thought. Already I am taking such strength from her and such delight in her presence. It must not be. His Order decreed that a man must walk alone and cleave only to One; nevertheless, thought Andrew, for the moment, I am thankful for her warmth and her closeness and strength and humour.

  The tunnels widened and the blue-green light strengthened, and there ahead of them was the fabled underwater City of Tiarna, its light gentle and muted, filled with such unearthly beauty that Andrew and Rumour stared at it in awestruck silence.

  The ancient City of Tiarna. The secret kingdom of the sidh; the world that the Elven King had wrested from the long-ago Fisher King and the nimfeach …

  It echoed softly with the sidh’s cool, elvish magic, and it was wreathed with shreds and curls of their misty turquoise enchantments. Directly ahead of them were the City Gates, still twined with the sidh’s ice-fire spells, still misty with the soft rainbow light. But silver droplets were already appearing on the glinting Gates as the ice melted, and there were tiny hissing flames as the fire licked at the dissolving ice.