by Sarah Rayne
And instantly came the answer: the Prince, for the Prince is far and away the more powerful of the two.
The strength was filling him up, exactly as it had done in Tiarna when he faced Coelacanth. Now, facing Coelacanth’s son, he could almost see the power and the force of the legendary Samildanach, he could feel it: pouring blue light forming the shape of a cloak, enclosing him with its ancient strength and its long-ago power.
It is not my strength and it is not my power, as it was not when I killed this creature’s sire. But it is vouchsafed to me and it is somehow filled with light and love and hope and I must use it …
For a moment the famous beautiful words of the One he served were all about him: I am the light of the world … And so walk while ye have the light, lest the darkness come upon ye …
I have the light, thought Andrew. For a breath space of time I have the light: the light of the world … Take it and grasp it firmly, for there will never be such another moment as this one …
The Samildanach, the Man of Each and Every Art who will cut a swathe of light through the darkness and drive back the Black Realm forever …
I don’t understand it, thought Andrew wildly, and at once came the answer as it had come before: You do not need to …
He did not need to understand. He needed only to turn it outwards, this soaring, pouring light, this immense, marvellous force.
The light of the world …
He moved forward, using the ash stick that was always with him, but moving swiftly to stand before the monstrous spawn of the Fisher King, Coelacanth’s son, the light-filled essence all about him. He was briefly aware that Theodora was nearby, and there was a sudden warm, pouring comfort from her, but there was a strength from another also … Andrew caught, on the edges of his vision, a blur of blue and green, the sudden, almost-blinding flash of a creature who had been enclosed in a Humanish carapace, but who was somehow composed not of Human skin and bones and hair, but of soaring, silken sleekness and mischievous, brilliant eyes, and the cool sea-magic of a close, secret race …
Slay the Prince, Humanish Monk, and I will deal with the other one …
Maelduin shot across the hall, a pouring, darting silhouette, and although Andrew was not conscious of having moved, he was standing before the Prince, and the evil, ugly thing was regarding him with contempt and amusement.
‘So you think to challenge me, Humanish Monk,’ said the glottal voice, softly. ‘You think to pit your puny strength and your paltry powers against me.’
Andrew regarded him for a moment, and when at last he spoke, his voice was stronger and sharper; it was filled with pouring golden light and soaring anger and with every strong emotion ever felt or dreamed or imagined. It was a voice unmistakably and beautifully Irish, the pure, lovely Irish of long-dead peoples: of the Cruithin who had spoken the untainted golden speech that had been in Ireland before Tara was raised from the rock; of the silver-tongued druids who had understood about harnessing light in everything they did, and had carried that light into their own, jealously guarded language; of the Celtae and the ancient race of Pretani and Qreteni who had traded with the East and been known as tribes of a misty blue and green northern isle; of the Lagin of the south and the Veneti of the north, and every other forgotten lost race of Ireland …
He stood before the Fisher Prince, and said, in the soft, ancient language, ‘Regard once more the Samildanach, Coelacanth,’ and saw fear, pure and undiluted, leap into the Prince’s eyes. ‘You remember the vow I once took to slay you and your House?’ he said. ‘I am here to make live that vow, Coelacanth.’ And with the words, leapt at the creature’s throat, exactly as he had done with its sire in Tiarna.
The Prince fell back, throwing up his hands, and the two of them crashed to the floor. Andrew’s hands were digging into the Prince’s thick, scaled neck, his thumbs were gouging deep inside the gills, choking the monstrous thing, shutting off its air, throttling the evil, tainted life out of it …
Light filled the great hall of the Grail Castle, and with it a silver, scaldingly beautiful music, gentle and pure and so lovely you would gladly die if only it would never stop, and so unearthly that you would be afraid to see it take shape …
Maelduin stopped in his tracks and half turned his head, and an expression of the purest joy shone from his eyes. He seized a Rodent Captain’s sword, and shot arrow-straight across the hall in a whirl of turquoise and silver and with the brief, blurred impression of a wingless dragonfly.
He fell on the blinded and dying Lord of Chaos and, lifting the sword aloft, buried it deep in the necromancer’s heart.
Chapter Forty-eight
Andrew moved slowly and warily through the silent Grail Castle, and felt the weight of its age and the heaviness of its memories descend about him. He thought it was not absurd to think that the Veil of Unknowing had smothered the Castle as well as its prisoners, and that with the slaying of the Monster who had for ten years dwelled within it, the memories and the legends were tumbling back through the vast halls and the immense galleries.
And I have completed my task, he thought. I have completed both my tasks: for Theodora will be safe, and I have slain the Monster of the Grail Castle, and ended the tainted House of Coelacanth, the Fisher King. I killed the creature, thought Andrew, exactly as I killed his sire.
And with the memory of that other killing, for a sudden, sweet moment, Rumour was with him again, and he could feel the cool ruffle of mockery and the soft, amused irony. Remembering me with sadness, Andrew? Remembering me as a part of the battles and the struggles and the deprivations?
And of course it was not how she would have wanted to be remembered. She would have wanted to be remembered with happiness. Music and wine and firelight and laughter … All the good things … Andrew paused in his slow search of the great, dark Fortress, and felt the beginnings of a smile lift his lips. She was gone, of course, that wilful, extravagant creature, and he would never see her this side of eternity …
But perhaps she was not completely gone from him. Perhaps he would hear the echo of her laughter, and perhaps he would remember her reckless bravery and her dauntless humour. Perhaps he would be able to remember her with happiness in time.
It is how I should wish you to remember, Andrew …
It was how anyone you had loved would wish you to remember.
The Samildanach’s mantle had left him as swiftly as it had come, and Andrew had fallen back from the Prince’s threshing, dying body, covered in the sour black blood that had spurted from its gills and its mouth. Andrew had staggered away from it, choking and shuddering. But Maelduin had not hesitated. He had plunged the sword into the helpless body of Chaos, again and again, before whipping round and setting about the Dark Lords. The eerily lit hall had become a place of gore and terror and dying agonies; it had echoed to the screams of the Rodent soldiers and the Almhuinians, and the eldritch squealing of the escaping Fomoire.
And then Maelduin had stood up and Andrew had seen that a brilliant, mischievous light shone in his eyes, so that they were glowing, slanting pools of colour, turquoise-blue jewels that gave his face such eerie beauty that Andrew wondered how he could ever have believed the boy to be Human.
Maelduin said, very softly, ‘We will fling the carcass of this evil one into the ocean, and it will return to its people if that is the gods’ wish.’ And there had been such radiance pouring outwards from him that Andrew and Theodora had both blinked, and Theodora had stared at Maelduin with sudden understanding, and the light had fallen about her small, heart-shaped face, making it so purely lovely that Andrew had felt a deep, secret pain twist his heart. He thought: she is dazzled by him. And in the same moment, had understood completely; for he too was dazzled by Maelduin.
And my task is ended, he had thought again. Theodora will be safe, the Dark Ones are dead, and I have found Quintus.
Quintus.
He had gone then, leaving the two of them together, seeking out Quintus, finally coming upon h
im in a kind of outhouse, perhaps a part of an old stable block.
‘You have lived — here?’ said Andrew, pausing in the doorway, seeing the dirt that was ingrained into the floor and the walls, seeing the bed of straw, the mean, sparse furniture: a straight-backed chair and a small deal table. It was cold and draughty, and what little light there was filtered uneasily through a thickly grimed window high up in the outer wall. So
Quintus had lived here, thought Andrew, he had lived here for all these years, the Fisher Prince’s dreadful curse eating his flesh, helpless beneath it, seeing himself become a thing of such loathing that people could hardly bear to look at him, feeling himself grow into the repulsive, vile creature that had terrorised the surrounding countryside.
‘You have lived here?’ said Andrew again, and this time did not try to keep the horror and the disgust from his voice.
Quintus was seated quietly on the straw, the dark cowl folded about him, but his eyes calm and steady. Andrew saw that, although the Monk’s skin was still raw and in patches still seeping blood, the Fisher Prince’s fearsome curse had receded a little. This was no longer the foul, suppurating creature that had crawled at the behest of the Prince and cast the black net of Torach about its prey. Andrew understood now that Quintus had lived alongside the Prince’s servants with full knowledge, and with complete understanding. Had it been easier for Quintus to know and understand what was being done to him? Or worse? Quintus had been spoken of as an outstanding Brother in the Order; he had possessed intelligence and sensitivity and he had had a deep appreciation of beautiful things. Was that one of the reasons he had fallen prey to the dark allure of the necromancers? He remembered the adage that the devil chooses the best when he scours the world for prey, and he understood that the devil, the Dark Lords, the necromancers of the Black Ireland had done just that when they had lured Quintus to this terrible thralldom.
Andrew was torn between compassion and anger against one who had succumbed to so much evil and who had sinned so deeply and caused such terror and such bloodshed. But even as the thought formed, a tiny voice inside him said, very quietly: but you too have sinned, Andrew. You too broke the vows you made and fell victim to temptation.
You too put another before your god. It is not for you to pronounce sentence or make judgement. And Quintus has surely made reparation.
Andrew stared at the quiet figure before him, and thought: but can I be sure that the evil has gone? Can I believe that Quintus has finally and for all time routed the black core, that the evil centre is gone? Dare I trust him?
Quintus said in a quiet voice, an exhausted, drained voice, ‘I do not know if you can trust me, Andrew, because I do not yet know if I can trust myself.’ He looked around the dim, dirt-encrusted room, and a deep and bitter agony filled his eyes. ‘I have tried to tear out the black evil that Chaos recognised in me, and that the Fisher Prince harnessed. I struggled to pluck it out in the depths of the Dark Lords’ Pit! I thought I had succeeded!’ cried Quintus in anguish, and torment flared in his eyes again. ‘I thought I was paying the debt, serving my penance. I have tried, Andrew,’ said Quintus very quietly. ‘May God forgive me, I have tried.’
Andrew, hardly daring to breathe, said, very gently, ‘But — you feel that you may not have succeeded?’ And waited, and presently Quintus said, ‘I feel I may not have succeeded.’ He lifted his head and looked directly at Andrew. ‘Help me,’ he said.
There was no other course of action open to him, of course. There was nothing to do but accept the weight of this new responsibility. Could he do it? Could he bring this tormented, tortured creature back to the ways of the Order? Could he snatch Quintus from the brink of the dark abyss on which he still — Andrew could feel it — hesitated?
He stood in the ancient quadrangle, bounded on all sides by the great Stronghold, and looked about him. A place of immense sadness and of brooding secrecy. But, for all that, a place where happiness had once flourished and, God willing, could flourish again.
He felt, as if it were a tangible thing, the sufferings and the torments and the despairing lonelinesses of the place, but he felt, as well, a hidden joy here. There had been happiness and contentment inside these walls; there had been years of scholarship and study, times when the Castle had been revered and sought-out, times when pilgrims and searchers after truth had travelled to it with eagerness and delight.
His mind went to the immense, book-lined room at the Castle’s western side, where surely a man — several men — could work and study and be at one with God. With sudden, startled delight, Andrew saw how the Castle was a place where a community, a small cloister, a whole Order could grow and flourish; where devout men could work and learn and imbue the old stones and the ancient bricks with tranquillity and prayer and calm.
And spread God’s word and Christ’s way of life into Ireland.
Just as Andrew had always intended.
*
Theodora sat curled into a deep, velvet-covered chair in the warm, firelit book room of the Castle, her eyes fixed on the slender, graceful figure of Maelduin, her cheeks flushed with delight and with the fire’s heat.
Maelduin regarded her thoughtfully, his head on one side. He was seated cross-legged on the floor before the fire, and the firelight was cascading over his slight, slender form, washing him with its soft radiance. Theodora thought she had never seen anything so utterly beautiful and so entirely inHuman as this creature of firelight and strange, subtle nuances and glinting, turquoise eyes.
But she only said, ‘Your world of Tiarna is spun into so many of our stories and so many of our legends, and yet no one from my world has ever seen it.’
‘And yet we have been together, working alongside each other, for ten years,’ said Maelduin.
‘Yes. The Veil of Unknowing.’ It still made Theo shudder when she thought how they had all lived unknowingly and unseeingly for so long under the Prince’s evil. But it did not do any good to look back. All you could do was look forward, and so she said, ‘Tell me about your world.’ And sipped the wine they were sharing, and watched the firelight play on his slender form, and felt the shadows of the Fisher Prince roll back a little further.
‘We guard our world,’ said Maelduin. ‘Particularly we guard it from the Humanish.’ He smiled at her, and Theo thought: his voice is like molten silver, or the pouring, sweet-scented fire rivers of the Mome Mountains …
Maelduin leaned forward, so that the light fell across the planes of his face, making it mysterious and unearthly. He said, very softly, ‘Tiarna is a place of soft, gentle radiance and rippling, silver water-light. But you would recognise it instantly, Princess.’
‘I — would I?’
‘Yes. For Tiarna is Tara’s heart-image, it is the Bright Citadel, the Shining Palace of the nimfeach who stole the sorcerer-architects’ designs for Tara and copied them.’ There was the glint of cool amusement again. ‘While it lived,’ said Maelduin, ‘before Coelacanth stole the music, Tiarna was filled with the elegant magic of my people and with the flowing, beckoning music created from Men’s souls and their senses.’
While it lived …
Theodora said, carefully, ‘You make it sound so beautiful.’
‘It is beautiful,’ said Maelduin, and Theo thought: and he will return to it all. Yes, of course he will. He will find a way to restore his people to life and he will return to it. Perhaps I could help him, or perhaps the Amaranths could. But I can have no part in his world, she thought. I can have no part in his world nor he in mine. He is a sidh, a cool, elvish creature of mischievous enchantments and gentle, fey music, and he is Tiarna’s Crown Prince …
And the ancient faery sidhblood could never mingle with the Amaranth Flame …
Maelduin said, very softly, ‘Will you come with me to Tiarna, Princess?’ and Theo looked up, because there had been something so intimate in his voice, and something so — what had he called his music? — so beckoning, that it was impossible not to feel its allure.
She stared at him and felt an entirely different delight, and knew that it would happen, he would take her there, and she would see for herself the shining, secret world, the heart-image of Tara, stolen all those, centuries ago, the Tiarnan Palace that lay through the ancient water tunnels and beyond the Silver Caves where the only light was the rippling water-light of the oceans …
When your people and mine are restored …
Maelduin thought: this remarkable creature is the most extraordinarily beautiful Humanish I shall ever know. She is fragile and slender, but beneath it all she is stronger than any Humanish I have ever seen. And her hair is like a raven’s wing, and when she laughs, her eyes glow, so that I can see the dark flame of the Amaranth power. I believe she has the power essence of the entire sorcerous House of Amaranths all rolled up into one …
He stood up and held out his hands, and Theodora stood up with him and felt the coolness of his skin against hers as his hands enfolded her own.
‘Come with me now,’ said Maelduin, his eyes glowing. ‘Come with me to find the lost music.’
*
The music …
As they went hand in hand through the Castle, Maelduin was listening and feeling and reaching out for that flurry of cool, elvish singing that had thrummed on the air just before he had killed the Lord of Chaos. He was strongly aware of Theodora at his side, and he was aware, as well, of the warmth and the strength of the ancient Amaranth Flame glowing within her. Sudden delight surged up in him, and he thought: together we would be invincible, she and I … The sea-magic of the sidh and the Sacred Flame of the Dawn Sorcerers …
Could it be done? Could I find a way?
But he thrust the thought from him, and turned his entire concentration towards the light, silvery thread that he could feel somewhere at the heart of this dark, Humanish stronghold. For it is somewhere here. I know it and I sense it and I feel it. And I will not leave this place until I have found it …