by Sarah Rayne
“Of course I can be hurt,” said Cormac at once. “It is three generations since my ancestors lay with the wolves, and so the Human side of me is strong. It will probably be my grandchildren who will invoke the Enchantment and lie with the wolves, but that will be a matter for the sorcerers and the appointed judges to decides.” He looked at her. “There is a very exact balance to be maintained, you see.”
“Yes. Yes of course,” said Joanna, and Cormac smiled, and caressed the hand that lay in his, turning it over. Joanna thought: if I do not speak, perhaps he will go on talking. He has the most beautiful voice I have ever heard. Warm honey and firelight and deep soft velvet. What would it be like to lie beside him, to feel his hands on my bare skin … An exiled High King. I wonder how long he has been in exile? I wonder if I can ask him about Tara?
He caught that at once, of course, and rose from his seat, taking her with him. “Let me show you what I have lost,” he said. “Come.” He drew her to the narrow windows and stood looking down. “Do you see it? Over there, across the Forest of Darkness where the sidh sometimes dwell, and beyond the Plain of Fál. Do you see it, Human Child? The lights and the splendour of Tara?”
Tara, the Bright Palace …
Almost directly in line with the window, across a great valley, was a blaze of light and colour, and as Joanna blinked and stared, the lights seemed to shift and merge, prisms of hard brilliance, blending and blurring, pinks and blues and lilacs. There were pinnacles and spires and steep slender towers, and she was not at all sure that what she was seeing actually existed.
“It does exist,” said Cormac softly. “The Ancient Court of the Manor of Tara. Beautiful beyond bearing. Where every man and woman must have an art, for it is written that without an art, no one may enter Tara.” He looked down at her, and Joanna blinked, because it was a wolf smile, it was tremendously frightening, and it was also dreadfully exciting.
“I could show you it all, Human Child,” said Cormac, his lips close to her. “I could show you the wonders of my Court, Joanna.” He was standing very near to her, and he reached out and traced a line across her cheek and over her neck and shoulders. Joanna closed her eyes and thought: I am shivering. Is it from delight or from fear? I want him to stop and I wish he would go on.
He drew her back to the table and seated himself again, pouring more wine, leaning an arm on the table and watching her. The light threw shadows across his face, so that his eyes gleamed, and Joanna lowered her gaze.
“Tell me about Tara.”
“There are no words,” said Cormac, and again there was the aching sadness.
“You cannot bear to have lost it,” said Joanna softly, and was at once conscious of the inadequacy of her words.
His hand came out to her again. “Not inadequate, Human Child. Your mind conveys to me what your words cannot.” He sipped his wine. “Your ancestors lost much when they lost the art of the Mindsong. Words are restricting, language is finite. True emotions and true meanings cannot always be conveyed. That is why we have developed the Mindsong. The Samhailt.”
The Mindsong … the art of reaching the thoughts of others … The art of hearing the feelings of those to whom you are close.
“There is not a day, nor yet an hour when I do not miss Tara,” said Cormac. “There is not a day when I do not stand at the window and look out across the valley, for it was a part of the Council’s punishment that I should still be in sight of that which I had lost.” He drank wine. “In every age and at every Court there are plotters, you see. There are those who wish to replace the rightful ruler with their puppets, their straw kings. I was the High King by right of blood and by right of battle and by right of conquest. I ruled by power and intrigue and by sorcery.”
“Sorcery …”
“Child of a cold and barren future, there is much magic in the world. Even in your world it is still there, it is only that men have lost the knowledge. To serve the High King by sorcery is a coveted honour. I used sorcery, but I did not use the dark magic. I ruled my people well and I fought their battles and made safe the ramparts of the cities, and I drove back every enemy who tried to take Tara. But there were plotters at my Court; there were people who bore me a grudge and who harboured vengeance.” The thin beautiful lips took on a cruel line. “They replaced me with another of the Bloodline,” said Cormac. “Eochaid Bres — that is Eochaid the Handsome. He is of lion blood, and it is thought that fits him to occupy the High Throne. But he is ruled by his clever, sly Councillors, and by his mother who is ambitious, and also what your world once called a whore.”
He paused, and again there was the sudden inward slant of his eyes. “Yes, she is a whore, the Queen Mother,” said Cormac softly.
“And so for the moment it is Eochaid Bres who rules from the Seat of the High Kings, and I was brought across the Plain and through the Forest of Darkness, and I have been here for five years, Joanna, and I shall not bear it any longer.” He looked at her, and his eyes glowed. “I am caged here by the enchantment woven by my own sorcerers,” he said softly “and I cannot break out by myself.”
But with your help, Human Child, I could …
Joanna, hanging on to the remnants of sanity, said, “But you are — quite comfortable here.”
“Yes. I was allowed to bring my servants.”
“The people who brought our supper?”
“Yes, the Cruithin. They are human, the oldest of all the Irish races. They have served the High Kings faithfully since Tara first sprang from the rocks, and since Dierdriu ruled. When I was exiled, I was permitted to take with me those who would come.” Again the sardonic smile. “A small following for one accustomed to riding at the head of vast and powerful armies. But they came with me, and they serve me, and they are loyal, and so I am grateful.” He studied her. “You bear traces of their blood, Joanna: small, elfin, dark. Eyes that see more than most people. A mixture of fragility and great strength. Have you come from the future to break my exile, or have you only come to rejoin your people?” He smiled. “You could rejoin them, Joanna. They would accept you without questioning you, for the old race, the true Irish race, have the great gift of hospitality.” He moved in his chair. He is restless, Joanna thought. He cannot bear to be confined and caged out here. I wish he would touch me again.
Cormac had risen and begun to pace the hall, so silently and so gracefully that Joanna glanced involuntarily at the wolves, silent and watchful before the fire.
“Eochaid Bres will bring about the ruin of Tara,” said Cormac. “He is handsome, and for the moment he rules. But he is stupid and he is only kept at Tara by the strength of his Councillors and by his mother, and already they are plotting to topple him and bring in those enemies from the north that I fought so hard to keep out. Soon I shall have to raise an army and join with Eochaid’s people in battle.”
Joanna said, “Shall you? I mean do you have to?” and Cormac turned on her, his eyes glittering so that she shrank. “I only meant … you are very comfortable here. You have your own Kingdom. Everything you could wish —”
“Everything I could wish!” He came to sit close beside her, and Joanna thought — his face, his voice, his sheer presence is like no one else’s I ever knew in my life.
“Listen,” said her companion. “I am the last true Prince of an old old line, and Tara is my inheritance. The sidh sang on the night I was born, and the wolves of Tara awoke and banded together and swore to be my liegemen. The Great Stone of Fál, which cries aloud under the hand of the destined King shrieked in pain and ecstasy for nine days and nights when I touched it. Until I return, Tara can never be again the great and powerful Court it was in my father’s day. Eochaid is not strong enough to bind the people to him. His Councillors and his mother, the Queen, rule him.”
He paused, and Joanna thought; there is something in his voice when he mentions her. Hatred? Or something equally powerful but softer?
Cormac said, “Eochaid does not know it, but I know that his Councillors are sending
out secret messengers to Tara’s enemies in the north. To the powerful, evil sorcerers who would gobble up Tara and rule the land by bloodshed and terror and the darkest magics known to Ireland. My family stamped them out and sent them back into the mountains and into the caves, but they are still there. Eochaid will not be strong enough. But I can do it, Joanna. I can lead the armies again; I can ride out at the head of the great legions once more and I can defeat the evil that Eochaid’s Councillors and his mother are inviting back.” His eyes were glowing, and Joanna thought that in anyone else the words would have been arrogant. In him, they seemed statements of truth.
“Tell me,” she said, only half understanding, but swept along by his enthusiasm.
“There are those among the Council who wish to trade with the Old Ireland. The Dark Ireland.”
“Why?”
“For power. For the dark magic that lives in the caves and the mountains. Eochaid’s mother, the Queen, will do so for the power it will give her over men. The Councillors will do it for power over men’s minds.
“I must stop them, Joanna. Eochaid is weak and vain, but he is my cousin and he is not evil. He is being betrayed.
“They are waking the terrible sorceresses of the north; The Morrigna, a trio of hell sisters who feed on the corpses that rot in battlefields, and who lure victims into their house and cage them.
“They are waking the most terrible figure of all the old stories. The Erl-King.”
Cormac paused, and Joanna felt a great listening silence descend on them. Had it been when he had said that last name? A cold stillness touched her heart, and she thought: now I am really afraid.
At length, she said, very softly, “How do you know all this? What is going to happen?”
“I know it because the wolves go into the forest and listen to the other creatures. The Councillors are using the hares as their messengers.”
“And you can — the wolves can …”
Cormac smiled. “Yes, Human Child, we can understand each other. Did I not tell you of the Mindsong? I can talk with the Beasts, with the creatures who listen and wait and know what happens at Tara, the Foxes and the Deer and the Wild Panthers of Gallan.
“As for the Erl-King …” He paused, and a tremor went through him, so that Joanna thought — in purest astonishment — he is afraid.
“Yes, I am afraid,” said Cormac, taking her hand once more. “I am very much afraid of the Erl-King.”
“What does he do?”
Cormac looked back at her, the firelight reflected in his eyes.
“He eats the children,” he said.
CHAPTER FOUR
Flynn was in an agony of despair. He knew that Joanna was in some terrible danger; he could feel her thoughts and her emotions soaking in through his skin and searing his soul, and he felt as weak and as impotent as a kitten.
He had sat at the centre of the Glowing Lands until his limbs were cramped and aching, and his eyes dry and sore from trying to pierce the shifting mists of the Time Curtain.
To no avail. The Curtain had closed and Joanna was sealed in some fragment of the past, and she was as far from him as she could be. He stumbled home as the night sky was beginning to streak with the rose and grey of a new day; uncaring of his appearance, heedless of anyone who might see him.
The old farmhouse closed about him like a blessing; he thought: there is a great sanity here. My ancestors lived here for hundreds of years; they weathered the terrors of Devastation here, and the appearance of the Apocalypse, and they survived. If I can find a way to reach Joanna, then I shall do so.
He thought he was drawing a strength from the old walls of his home, and he was obscurely comforted. Joanna would be reached. There would be a way. And she is not dead, he thought. I know she is not.
He poured milk into the jug, added a spoonful of honey, and laid twigs beneath the stove for the eggs and potato cakes that would constitute his and his father’s breakfast.
“For,” said Flynn, to Michael in the sun-filled room that his ancestors had called a morning room, “for, if we are to penetrate the Time Curtain, we must be well fed. Strong.”
Michael looked up. He said, “Flynn, we cannot. We are not permitted. It is the unbreakable law of the Keepers.”
“Pain of death? I should not care,” said Flynn. “I should not mind dying if by doing so I saved Joanna.”
“Lethe emotions, Flynn. You will incur the Elders’ displeasure.”
“Fuck the Elders,” said Flynn, and grinned at his father. “A Lethe word.” He helped himself to more of the potato cakes and drank some milk.
At length Michael said, “The Glowing Lands failed you?”
“Yes.”
“Have you tried any of the others?”
“No.” Flynn was heartened by his father’s words, and by Michael’s frown of concentration. He thought: the old man is not dismissing it. He is going to help.
Aloud, he said, “To try the other Lands would be difficult, I thought. It would mean venturing on to other people’s property. A journey. And I should probably be seen and caught.”
“Yes, there is the risk, and the Secret must be kept.”
“Also,” said Flynn, eating and discovering that he was hungry, “also, is it not true that each Land is its own Gateway? Our own Lands lead us to the Ancient Court of Tara — that is the legend. But others might lead to other places. To find Joanna, I must take the path she took.”
“Yes, of course. Forgive me,” said Michael, “I am not thinking properly. But, Flynn, the Secret must be kept. For another two or three generations anyway.”
For the Time Curtain is healing and the Lands are dimming …
Neither man said it; both were aware of it. Flynn thought: I dare not believe that the gap has closed for ever. I dare not.
Michael was eating his breakfast abstractedly. Flynn waited.
“There is only one thing to do.”
“Yes?”
“We must summon the Keepers.”
*
The mysterious alchemy that works in times of trouble, the unseen network of communication that all races and all ages have developed, regardless of time or technology, worked for Flynn now. He did not know and he did not ask how his father had reached the Keepers so quickly; he was only thankful that he had reached them. Twenty-four hours — two hours even — might make all the difference.
The Keepers in their hooded robes were solemn and silent. But they listened; they stood on the dark hillside, their heads bent courteously, their whole attitude that of people listening and thinking. Flynn thought: they cannot refuse to let me go back! They cannot! And then — Even if they do, I shall do it, he thought. The Lands are on my father’s property.
The leader spoke, and Flynn remembered his voice. Authority: absolute and unblurred, as impossible to mistake as it was to question.
“Our laws do not allow us to go back through the Time Curtain,” said the leader. “But, as with all laws, there are contingency arrangements.”
“Yes?”
The leader stood deep in thought, his hands clasped, and Flynn noticed the dull gleam of the heavy, rather ornate ring he wore. Was it some kind of precious stone? He remembered the stories of the Letheans’ priceless stones, all of them with fascinating names: sapphires, emeralds, topazes and amethysts.
At length, the man said, “There is a way.” He looked at Flynn with the direct stare Flynn remembered. “But it will be unpleasant and it may be dangerous.”
“That would not weigh with me.”
“No, the girl must certainly be rescued.” He studied Flynn, and Flynn knew what was coming.
“You have kept the Secret?” said the Leader.
“Yes.”
“The girl is not there by her own wish or will?”
“No.”
The man looked at Flynn for a moment longer. Then, “Very well,” he said, “in these conditions we are permitted to break our laws. Perhaps we are constrained to do so. Are you willing to go t
hrough the Time Curtain, Flynn?”
“Yes.”
“And to risk not being able to return?”
The old nightmare … But Flynn said, “Yes. Yes I will risk that.” For I would be with Joanna, no matter what world we lived in. “Yes,” he said again, more firmly.
“Good.” A pause. “You should not go alone,” said the leader, and Michael moved forward at once. “No,” said the man. “We dare not allow you to go, Michael. Two from the same family — you know our laws.”
“The Secret must be handed on.”
“Yes. To occupy a place on the Council of the Keepers is hereditary.” He turned back to Flynn. “The first Keepers decreed it, and it is a good law, Flynn. Secrets within families are always safer. And so we cannot permit your father to go into danger. But his willingness to do so is praiseworthy.” He smiled and touched Michael’s arm, and the heavy carved ring caught the thin light again. Flynn waited, and the man turned back. “Flynn, would you accept me as your travelling companion?”
Flynn was surprised, but he thought: I believe there is no one I would rather have. How extraordinary. I barely know him and yet I am trusting him with my life. “I should accept with gratitude, sir.”
“My name is Amairgen,”
“That is an unusual name.”
“Not really. After the Great Devastation, many of the survivors found that they had lost not only their homes and their possessions, but also their names. The Apocalypse had wiped clean their memories. That is one reason why we have so little knowledge of the Letheans. When the truth was discovered about the Glowing Lands, my ancestors were appointed as Leaders of the Council of Keepers. As with the Council itself, the office of Leader is hereditary. Father to son. They took their names from a great leader and traveller and scholar of Ancient Ireland: Amairgen, son of Mil, who journeyed from a distant land with companions into ‘the blue and green mists to bring peace to Tara.’ You see?” In the darkness, Flynn felt the man smile. “In view of what we are about to undertake, my name would seem appropriate. And your own name is probably a derivation of Finn, from the young warrior who was the High King Cormac’s champion and who formed the ancient and honourable and most formidable brotherhood of the Fiana. That also is appropriate.”
