by Sarah Rayne
Skirting the great walls of the Castle, Theo added portents as she went. You could not cheat, each portent had to be a definite step forward in your quest. Across the stable yard, dodging the light that beamed from a window unexpectedly (part of the sculleries?), gained a fifth, and managing to cross an unlit patch of cobbled yard was a sixth.
And then the stables were ahead of her, and she could have two more portents by the stable doors being unlocked and by nobody challenging her. The ninth portent would be actually getting inside.
And then she was across the yard, and she was inside the stables, and nobody had challenged her, and she had earned nine whole portents, which meant a very good omen indeed.
The stables were warm and had the friendly smell of the stables in the Porphyry Palace. Theo stood just inside the door for a moment, not making any abrupt movements, because this was something you always had to do, even when you had earned a good nine-portent omen. Horses could be alarmed by the sudden presence of a stranger. It would not do to have got this far and then cause a stampede which would bring everybody running out.
The horses were all rather big. They were much bigger than she had expected. Theo stared up at them in dismay, because she could not possibly ride any of these. She would never saddle or bridle them. Surely there were smaller horses, surely there were not just these huge, fiery-eyed stallions with their black, gleaming flanks and their ebony and jet manes and tails? A tiny voice inside her head said that, when Chaos rode out, he did so caparisoned in scarlet and armoured in black, and that he rode the NightMare Stallions. Theo looked at the black horses with fresh alarm, but these could not possibly be NightMare Stallions, because NightMare Stallions only came if somebody very powerful summoned them. They were magic and bad magic at that. Everyone knew it. These would just be ordinary marching horses.
Only, thought Theo, worried, I don’t think I can ride any of them. She would have to walk. She would have to walk all the way to Almhuin, and it would be dark and difficult and it would be a very long way. She was not quite sure how long it would take. When they were packing Rumour’s things in the bedchamber, Rumour had said something about several days’ journey, and Theo remembered that, when Chaos brought her through the Gateway, once inside the Dark Realm, they had had to travel across the terrible, War-torn countryside, making three or four camps on the way. Chaos’s night-camps had not been quite like anybody else’s; they had involved pointy-roofed, silk-hung structures which the concubines had told her were called ‘pavilions’, and there had been elaborate meals prepared by Chaos’s servants who had been waiting for him just within the dark Gateway. Theo had tried to count the days of the journey to Chaos’s Castle to find out how big the Dark Realm was, but it had been difficult, because of there not being any proper night or any real dawn.
And then, quite without warning, she saw the small sleek creatures at the far end of the stables, in a little part by themselves. Delight leapt in her, because after all the portent game that was not a game had worked. Surely, oh surely she could take one of these? She approached them cautiously, seeing that they were smaller and gentler than the others; seeing that they had manes of pale silk that waved gently as if a tiny wind were ruffling them, and how they had hoofs of silver and coats of ivory satin. Theo stood looking at them, and then, quite suddenly, she knew what they were.
The Uisce. The sleek beautiful sea-horses that the sidh rode, that were said to have borne Aillen mac Midha, the Elven King, into the world of the Humanish in a long-ago century. The Uisce, forced by Chaos into the service of the necromancers.
Theo went forward cautiously, seeing that there were four of the beautiful gentle creatures, not daring to think she could call them to her side, but thinking she must try.
They watched her approach, their cool, slanting eyes wary, and Theo understood that the Uisce would be held in thrall by Chaos’s evil spells, and that they would almost certainly have been ridden cruelly and hard by him and his guests. Would they obey her now? How strong was the spell that Chaos had used?
Theodora, growing up in the Porphyry Palace, curled into the warm, firelit corner of Nechtan’s workroom, had absorbed a remarkable amount of knowledge. Papa had said indulgently that she had a magpie mind, collecting all kinds of snippets and tag-ends of information, and probably none of it of any use.
But as Theo stood silently in the dark stables, she delved down into her mind, into the magpie assortment of spells and enchantments and bewitchments and lures, because out of all the spells she had heard Great-grandfather chant, out of all the enchantments she had listened to him recite, there had to be something that she could remember that would bring the Uisce to her side, and that would make it possible for her to ride them quietly and inconspicuously out of the Castle and on to Almhuin.
And then she knew exactly the right thing. A Halcyon — what was sometimes called an Ailcin in the old Gael tongue. A Halcyon was gentle and calming, but it also had woven into it a rather strong command of authority, which impelled its victim to obey.
She would try it. You had to say it very quietly and very softly, and you had to paint it in light, soft, cobweb colours, soft blues and greens and pinks. Theo would think about the underwater City of Tiarna, which no living Human had ever seen, but which was said to be the most beautiful place in any world ever, silver and blue and turquoise and filled with soft, pure iridescence.
She whispered the incantation of the Halcyon, enjoying the silky feel of the words, liking the way they formed fragile, spun-glass patterns on the air, grateful that the darkness of this place was not smothering it in the way the Draoicht Spiaire had smothered Rumour’s spells.
The Uisce were coming towards her, their beautiful heads bowed in submission, their pale manes rippling gently. Theo thought they were the most beautiful creatures she had ever seen.
The first Uisce stood before her, and bowed its sleek, soft head, as if to say: you have thrown about us the compulsion of the ancient Ailcin, and therefore we are yours to command. Hope surged up in her for the first time, because if she could ride these lovely, gentle, light-filled creatures across the Dark Realm, she could surely reach Almhuin and Andrew.
She thought she could find Almhuin Castle quite easily. You could see the Mountains even from inside Chaos’s Castle; it was a great jagged range, like jutting-up black teeth. There would surely not be more than one path leading into the Mountains and there would surely not be more than one Fortress.
She would have to take food and something to drink for the journey. You could not be knocking on people’s doors inside the Dark Ireland for these things, like the gypsies and the tinkers did at home. This was the realm of the fearsome necromancers, and you did not know who might come prowling and lurching to the door in answer to your knock. But this was rather a daunting thought, and so Theo put it from her, and looked instead to see was there any kind of food out here that she could put in Rumour’s tapestry box-bag.
Above the stables was a kind of loft which you climbed into by a narrow ladder. Theo remembered that there had been a similar arrangement in the Porphyry Palace and that it was where stable hands lived and slept so that they could be near to the horses. Where people lived, there was nearly always food.
She clambered up gingerly, listening all the while for the sounds that would mean Chaos had discovered her escape. It was probably being a bit foolish to linger even this long, but there was no point in setting off on a journey of several days without proper provisions. You might die of hunger and thirst on the way. And there, in a corner, was a kind of larder cupboard with a mesh covering. Inside were some wedges of rather stale bread, a crock of potted meat and a round of honey cakes. She packed as much as she could into the bag. There was a small milk churn; Theo carefully emptied out one of the small corked wine-flagons that had been in Rumour’s bag, and filled it with milk.
And then she was climbing on to the Uisce’s back, and looping the tapestry bag around her neck again, which would be the safest way
to carry it.
Theodora wound her fingers tightly in the silken strands of the Uisce’s mane, and they rode out through the doors of the Castle of Infinity and into the waiting night.
*
It was unexpectedly comfortable on the Uisce’s back, and it felt rather safe and friendly to be able to glance back and see the other three following. It was almost as if she was leading a tiny army of her own like this.
The Uisce did not quite shine in the darkness, but there was a soft, cool radiance from them. Theo thought that, wherever their hoofs touched the ground, they left a sprinkling of tiny, glinting light flecks. Lovely! she thought in delight. We are cutting a swathe through the darkness of this horrid place! And then remembered that it would be better not to attract too much attention to them, and guided the Uisce into the deep shadows that fringed the highroad, so that they would not be seen.
Once they were fairly clear of the Castle of Infinity, and the night had closed safely and darkly about them, Theo slipped from the Uisce’s back, because it might be politer not to assume they would carry her all the time. She felt quite safe walking between them.
The red boots that the concubines had given her were rather fun. When you walked, you could see your feet quite clearly, even in the horrid, swirling darkness of the Black Realm. They were a nice, clear red: a strong, vivid cherry, and you could stomp them down on the ground as you walked. Theo felt very nearly brave simply by wearing them. They would reach Andrew and Andrew would know what they ought to do. In a world that suddenly and unbearably did not contain Rumour,
Theo was clinging to the memory of Andrew. She had discovered that, if she concentrated very hard on Andrew, and on reaching him, she could very nearly shut out the terrible memory of Rumour being dead at the Draoicht Spiaire’s hands. She understood that Rumour had died because she had taken one last huge gamble against the Spiaire, and that the gamble had failed. It was precisely how anybody who knew Rumour would have expected her to die.
Because sometimes it works and sometimes it does not … Theo could hear Rumour saying it.
The Realm of the necromancers, Ireland’s fearsome and grisly underworld, was silent and deserted. Theo had heard the whispers about the War that raged outside Chaos’s Castle, and she had half expected to find herself encountering battles and terrible marching Armies, or perhaps bands of prowling sentry spells. But either Chaos’s enemies and Chaos himself were mustering their forces for a fresh attack somewhere, or the War was over.
Theo, clinging to the silken floss of the Uisce’s mane, wondered who had won the War if it was over, and thought that the Dark Realm was exactly how you would expect a land to look after a huge War had rampaged across it. Everywhere were burned-out buildings; empty, ravaged turrets with gaping windows like eyeless sockets, great scorched fields. Here and there, the highway was pitted as if scalding liquid had been poured across it, and the trees were leafless; horrid, skeletal outlines that waved their black branches as if they were greedy hands that would reach down to pluck Theo from the Uisce’s back. To the east was a sinister shimmer of crimson, as if something that was the colour of blood — something that might actually be blood — was tainting the dark, smothery skies. It was all very grim and very terrible, but there was no means of knowing if the Dark Realm was always like this on account of being the land of the Dark Lords, or if it was on account of the War or if it was something else entirely.
When they stopped, the Uisce did not sleep, but simply formed a protective square about Theo so that she could rest. It was not what you would choose, to go to sleep in the open countryside of the Dark Realm, where anything at all might come prowling out at you, but it could not be helped. Theo rested when she felt tired, and ate the bread and the potted meat and drank the milk gratefully, and offered some of it to the Uisce, who shook their glossy heads as if politely refusing.
The Castle of Infinity was behind her; if she looked back, she could still see its spires and its towers, and the turrets, but it was fading into the distance. But it was quite a long way away now. She could no longer see the little jutting wing with the warm lights that was the Saraigli. It felt odd and a bit lonely to be out here and remember the time she had spent there. It had all been rather boring, but Theo would not have minded being bored just now because it was cold and dark and very scary out here.
And ahead of her was Almhuin.
*
She had not been entirely sure about Almhuin. She had heard the stories told by the concubines, partly giggling, partly fearful. They had clutched one another and shrieked in terrified delight, and told how the Crimson Lady sent her servants out into the mountain passes and the townships of the Dark Realm in search of prey. Theo, listening round-eyed, had thought that Almhuin must be the most terrible place of all the terrible places in the Black Ireland.
But Rumour had smiled softly and secretly at the mention of Almhuin; and she had told Theo, quite positively, that Andrew was there. Theo had guessed that Rumour had intended to return to him.
Almhuin was directly in front of her; the Black Mountains were enclosing her now, dark and silent and forbidding. Mountains were rather frightening because you did not know what might lurk and creep inside them. But at least she was hidden from view. If Chaos and his people came hurtling across the grim, burned-out countryside, they would not be able to see her.
And then they rounded a curve in the path and there, ahead of her, was the great bulk of Almhuin Castle, its huge sprawling shadow falling across the path, quenching a little of the Uisce’s light. Theo guided the Uisce carefully along the last stretch of the road and straight to the Castle’s centre, because you always entered a Castle at its centre.
As she neared the portcullis, she was holding very firmly to the thought that Andrew was here. Rumour had said he was, and Rumour was somebody you could trust. Theo would trust her, she would ride up to the Castle, right up to the rather horrid-looking gap at the centre, which would be the portcullis, and she would go inside and Andrew would be there.
Even so, it took a very great amount of bravery to approach the terrible Fortress. It was important not to remember the tales about the Crimson Lady who bathed in people’s blood. Probably they were not even true. It was important to remember that Andrew was going to be here and that she had trusted Rumour and she trusted Andrew, and everything would be all right.
The darkness of Almhuin closed about her the minute she rode under its portcullis. A tiny, whispery voice inside her head said: so at last, little girl, you are inside the BeastWoman’s Citadel, which was horrid. Theo slid from the Uisce’s glossy back, and stood a bit uncertainly in the shadowy hall, where Andrew and Rumour, surrounded by their Almhuinian captors, had stood; she felt, as they had felt, the thick, fetid evil.
At the far end of the hall was a movement, an unexpected, rather shuffling movement, and a wavering light appeared. Theo gasped, and began to move backwards, away from the light and the person who was walking so oddly towards her.
Theo shrank back, feeling the silken warmth of the Uisce’s flanks and, as she did so, the light bobbed nearer, and quite suddenly, in that minute, it was filled with strength and friendship and hope.
Andrew, leaning heavily on the ash crutch, stood in the archway, and Theo sobbed and flew across the stone hall into his arms.
Chapter Forty-three
Having Theodora with him inside the Castle afforded Andrew more delight than he would have thought possible.
They had gone at once into the little, firelit stone room, and Andrew had piled logs on to the fire and drawn the child nearer to it. There was a flagon of wine which he mixed with water, and there was the remains of his noonday meal — good, strong broth he had made that morning, which could be reheated over the trivet on the fire.
Theo found these small, homely actions friendly and unexpectedly comforting. She drank the soup and sipped cautiously at the watered-down wine, and looked at Andrew who was exactly as she remembered, except that something had woun
ded his leg so that he had to walk leaning on a stick. She gulped in a deep breath, because here at last was something that had not changed, and something that was safe and real and that could be trusted. Andrew would know what to do.
She managed to explain about Rumour, and although her voice came out a bit wobbly, she told the tale properly and clearly, as Rumour would have wanted it told; how Rumour had taken her out of the Saraigli and how they had stolen through the great shadowy Castle of Infinity. How the Draoicht Spiaire had stalked them, and confronted them. And how Rumour had entered into that last, remarkable gamble.
Andrew listened intently, his eyes never leaving Theo’s small, absorbed face. Once he said, ‘So she died as she lived, in a blaze of extravagant defiance.’ And turned away for a moment, pretending to mend the fire which did not need mending, because the pity of it and the loss of it and the terrible gaping wound it had inflicted on him must not show. Somehow he must endure this.
Rumour is dead. And I do not think I shall bear it.
But it had to be borne, somehow it had to be borne, because life had to go on, and there were still tasks to be undertaken. There was Theodora to be thought of now.
He took the child in his arms, feeling her small body wracked with sobs now, feeling his own tears mingle with hers. He held her to him, trying to infuse her with warmth, but knowing that he was himself cold with a deep, lonely coldness that was not physical.
Bone-cold. Heart-cold. I shall never be warm again.
As he prepared a bed for the child, and as he made his nightly vigil around the Castle, lighting the wall-torches in the great hall, building up the fire in the stone room, the cold stayed with him. And there was an ache, a deep, bruised agony that would somehow have to be faced and would have to be overcome.
Never to see her again. Never to hear her voice, never to breathe in the special skin-scent of her. Never to look up and see her watching him with that amused mockery.