by Sarah Rayne
They were wizened and shrunken and shrivelled and it was possible to see that their legs were gristly and jointed, with reptilian feet, ending in three clawlike toes. They were sapless and juiceless and mummified and Fenella thought she had never seen anything so repulsive.
There were twelve of them. Of course there are twelve, thought Fenella, there are always twelve. And I believe that each one has twelve soldiers, she thought suddenly; each one has a guard of twelve of the rat-creatures who brought us here.
Nuadu, regarding the occupants of the Cavern with his head tilted arrogantly and his eyes glinting dangerously, had known the rat-creatures for what they were at once. He looked at them now, and thought: Rodent People! Vermin! The Rodent Armies of the Dark Lords! The warped greedy mutant creatures bred from rats and weasels and stoats, created by a jealous necromancer during the reign of Niall of the Nine Hostages. He saw, as Fenella had seen, that each of the twelve Soul Eaters had a guard of twelve Rodent creatures.
One hundred and forty-four Rat-creatures here with them in the great torchlit cavern with the merciless Soul-Eaters …
They stood as if to attention and, as the flaring torchlight fell across them, Fenella saw that although they were certainly partly Human, they were not Human in the way that the Bloodline People in the Wolfwood had been partly Human. Tealtaoich and Eogan and the others had been half-Beast and half-Human, and it had been a rather attractive blend. There had been Human features with a feline slant, or with aquiline features, and with fur and flesh and tail and paws gently and mischievously mingled.
The Rodent People of the Cruachan Court were a nightmarish mixture of fur-clawed viciousness and sly, creeping Human. They were made up of lithe bodies and harsh, bristly fur. Their features were a dreadful blend of Human and vermin; in several cases they had both ordinary, rather sly, Human eyes and slitted red rodent eyes as well, just beneath. Here and there were fleshy Human lips, but beneath the lips were rows of vicious, pointed teeth. The Weasels were particularly horrid; they had Human features which had been somehow distorted into snoutlike leers and their eyes were heavily lidded and lashed.
Fenella thought that here, for the first time since she had penetrated into the Robemaker’s terrible Workshops and seen the treadmills, was the real darkness that threatened Ireland; here was evidence that the spells that were abroad were not all good spells, that the magic which had survived from Ireland’s beginning was not all pure woodland magic.
Here was the frontier, the border, the boundary of the Dark Ireland.
Nuadu had moved forward and Fenella saw that his head was still held as imperiously as ever. The Rat People surrounding them did not move, but both Fenella and Nuadu sensed the ripple of watchfulness and felt the tensing of muscles. If they tried to run, they would certainly be caught at once.
Courage, Lady. It came as strongly and as warmly as ever and Fenella felt Nuadu’s hand brush her arm lightly and was at once strengthened.
Nuadu walked up to the stone table and placed his hands on it, palms downwards, the silver left arm gleaming redly in the glow from the wall sconces. Fenella, following, saw the flaring light fall more strongly on the Soul Eaters, so that the narrow, bony skulls were more sharply outlined and the dry leathery skin was thrown into horrid relief. She saw, as well, what she had not seen until now: beneath the folded wings, each Soul Eater possessed tiny, clawlike hands, delicately webbed, each finger ending in cruel pointed talons.
Nuadu said, quite politely, ‘We crave your pardon for intruding into your domain,’ and glanced to the half a dozen or so Rodent creatures who had brought them to the Cavern. A brief flicker of amusement showed on his face. ‘But you will allow,’ said Nuadu, gently, ‘that your invitation was difficult to resist.’ He studied their captors and the watching Armies moved warily, their claws scraping on the floor as they did so. Several of the Jackals turned their squat ugly heads and regarded Nuadu unblinkingly while the Stoats growled with a thick clotted sound.
The most ancient-looking of the Soul Eaters, who sat on the Throne at the centre, and who had short, hard, bone-like horns and cruel, curving hands beneath his wings, moved slightly, with a dry, papery, bone-against-skin sound that set Fenella’s teeth wincing.
‘Son of the Wolf,’ he said, and his voice was sapless and harsh, as if the saliva had long since dried out.
‘Son of the Wolf, you disturb our nightly revel, and will certainly be brought to our table for us to feast on.’ The reptilian eyes studied Nuadu. ‘For that reason our servants caught you and brought you here. But, since you are of an ancient house, and since you possess the wolfblood, we do not, for the moment, bind and chain you and we will permit you a brief time to speak.’
The Soul Eater next to him said, ‘In your world, your House is regarded as an honourable one and, although we do not recognise such things in our domain, we recognise that you possess royal blood.’
Nuadu said, in a soft ironic voice, ‘You will accord a bastard Wolfprince royal standing, will you? You will hear me out before you eat my soul. I am indebted to you,’ he said, and the Soul Eater’s thin mouth stretched into a smile.
He said, ‘Precisely so, Nuadu of the Silver Arm.’
‘You will be served to us on a golden platter,’ said a third, and several of the Soul Eaters leaned forward, their talons curving.
‘Your Lady will accompany you,’ said the first.
‘We are both in your debt,’ said Nuadu with sardonic courtesy.
‘You will tell us why you seek us out, wolf-creature, when your world regards this place as one to treat with abhorrence.’
Nuadu appeared entirely at ease. He moved forward to seat himself with careless grace on the edge of the table, and the Soul Eaters rustled their wings uncertainly and eyed him. Fenella stayed where she was and kept her eyes on the serried rows of Rodent Soldiers. Directly above them were the flaring torches. Would it be at all possible to somehow bring down those torches and create a fire? I wish I could remember what frightens rats, thought Fenella. Does fire?
Nuadu had arranged himself comfortably on the stone table. He was sitting on it, one leg stretched out before him, the other bent, resting his flesh and blood arm on the bent knee. He was studying the Soul Eaters and appeared to be finding them interesting.
Then the leading Soul Eater said, ‘Your visit here is not, of course, purely from the curiosity of your kind.’
‘Of course not,’ said Nuadu, his voice tinged with amusement. ‘Although, I have always been curious about you.’ He regarded them, his head tilted to one side consideringly. ‘Your place in the legend and the lore of my people is an assured one,’ he said. ‘You have formed part of our storytellers’ repertoire for countless centuries. But you will know that.’
The Soul Eaters did not move, but Fenella had the sudden impression that they were listening very closely. Could it be this easy? Could Nuadu woo them and flatter them and somehow talk them both out of danger and on through the Gateway to the Dark Realm?
Nuadu was leaning forward, the flaring torches casting reddish shadows across his face. Fenella thought she had never seen him look so nearly evil before and repressed a shiver. She tried not to remember all the old stories about wolves and how they could unexpectedly turn on a friend.
Nuadu said, ‘I wish to go through into the Realm of that other Ireland which you guard.’
‘Yes?’ It was a cagey tone now, as if the Soul Eaters could not quite decide what to make of this strange traveller.
‘You have the power to open up the Cruachan Gateway,’ said Nuadu, and for the first time there was an authority in his tone which cut through the oppressiveness of the cavern like cold steel.
The Soul Eaters remained motionless, but Fenella saw several of the Weasels exchange glances.
At length, the Soul Eater with the horned head said, ‘You will tell us why you wish to enter the Dark Domain, son of the Wolves.’
‘You will also tell us how you have the arrogance and the insolence to r
equest such a thing,’ said another.
Nuadu smiled round at them and rearranged himself on the edge of the stone table. ‘My people have always been arrogant,’ he said.
‘That we know.’
‘Why do you wish to journey in the Dark Domain of the Necromancers,’ said the first Soul Eater.
‘For reasons which need not concern you.’
The first Soul Eater leaned forward, his little eyes glinting. ‘But your reasons do concern us,’ he said.
‘And,’ said another, ‘you should know that entry into the Dark Realm is never permitted without some form of payment.’ There was a lick of nearly sexual pleasure in its voice over the word payment, and Fenella shuddered.
Nuadu said, ‘I am aware of it. You could be called venal for it.’
‘The Wolfkings and Queens have rarely been noted for their altruism, Nuadu Airgetlam.’
Nuadu smiled gently, but remained silent, waiting.
‘If we agreed to open the Cruachan Gateway,’ said the first Soul Eater, ‘what would you offer us by way of payment?’
Nuadu regarded the Soul Eaters very straightly.
‘The soul of Ireland’s High King,’ he said at last. ‘If you will allow me to go through the Cruachan Gateway, I will bring you the soul of the imprisoned Prince, my half-brother. I will serve him to you on a golden platter and you may eat your fill before you fling his drained body into the River of the Dead.
‘And then,’ he said softly, the wolfmask lying strongly across his face, ‘and then, Soul Eaters, Tara will be within my grasp.’
Chapter Thirty-three
Fenella stared straight ahead of her. It was extremely important not to look at any of the Soul Eaters, and it was even more important not to look at Nuadu.
I will bring you the soul of my brother, and then Tara will be within my grasp …
Of course it is only a ploy, she thought. Of course it is nothing more than that. She forced her concentration back to what was happening, because it was not to be thought of that she would miss any single shred of this.
Nuadu had leaned forward, his eyes fixed on the Soul Eaters. He said, very softly, ‘I understand you, Soul Eaters. I understand your needs. You are not greedy, but you need Human souls to survive.’
‘They are our life-blood,’ said the Soul Eater, and a murmur of assent went through the others. ‘If our kind is to survive, then we must suck dry the souls of — ’
‘Humans?’
‘They do not have to be Humans,’ said the Soul Eater, a sudden grating lust in his voice. The opaque eyes inspected Nuadu. ‘The soul of Ireland’s Crown Prince would be a very great prize.’
‘Better,’ said another who had not yet spoken, ‘than the puny, half-dead things brought to us by the Robemaker, after he has wrung out their sap on his treadmills.’
‘Better by far than the shrivelled, ineffectual souls we weigh for him on the Silver Scales of Sorcery,’ said yet another.
‘He has ten thousand years of his curse yet to endure. That is a great many souls he must bring to us. A great many warm, living souls for us to feed upon.’ The Soul Eaters laughed with such malignancy that Fenella thought that if she could, with safety, have turned and run, she would have done so. Nuadu did not appear to move, but Fenella saw the skin on his hand whiten as if he might have clenched his fist. But when he spoke his voice was as silky and as persuasive as before.
‘Better by far, sirs,’ he said. ‘For I am as aware as you that there are different qualities of soul.’ He leaned forward again. ‘But the soul of Ireland’s uncrowned King,’ he said, and the soft, caressing note was back in his voice. ‘The soul of one who is descended from the first High Queen, Dierdriu the Great, and from the famous Cormac, and Erin the Wise and Grainne the Gentle. From Niall of the Nine Hostages and from every Wolfking and Queen who ever ascended to the Throne of Tara. The hereditary High King. The one who has the right to ascend the ancient Throne of Tara.’ He regarded them. ‘I have not that right,’ he said. ‘For although I have royal blood, and although I have wolfblood also, I cannot claim such ancestry.’ The thin wolfsmile touched his lips again. ‘That is why my half-brother must be removed. Unless and until he is dead, Tara will elude me,’ he said. ‘And so I would bargain with you. Just as the necromancers bargain with you for extra powers, so will I bargain. If you will allow me, with my companion, to go through the Cruachan Gateway, then I will bring to you the imprisoned Crown Prince and you may take his soul and hold the greatest feast you have ever known.’
He looked at them and, at length, the leading Soul Eater said, ‘What of your companion?’ and there was a greedy rustling of wings and the hard bony heads turned to Fenella.
‘She is a Human,’ said Nuadu. ‘A pure-bred Human. You will assuredly know my people’s beliefs that the Humans are Kingmakers. You will doubtless recall the many times in our history when a Human has rescued an exiled or imprisoned High King? Cormac of the Wolves himself owed his freedom to a Human lady from another world,’ said Nuadu, smoothly. ‘The High King Erin the Just was only able to ascend Tara’s Ebony Throne because of another Human brought from the Far Future by his Court.’ He made a brief rather off-hand gesture to where Fenella stood listening. ‘If I am to reach my half-brother, I shall need the Human,’ he said.
‘The necromancers will assuredly fight against you,’ said a Soul Eater slightly smaller in stature than the others, but with such ancient, evil knowledge in his eyes that Fenella shuddered.
‘They will not wish to let their captive go,’ said the leading one, eyeing Nuadu and Fenella intently. ‘Whatever prison they have devised for him will be difficult to penetrate.’ He paused. ‘It may not be a prison of bars and walls.’
‘I am aware of that,’ said Nuadu levelly.
‘It may be a prison of dark enchantment.’
‘Yes, I understand that also,’ said Nuadu. ‘It is one of the reasons why I shall require the Human’s assistance to free my half-brother. After we return with him, you may do with her what you will.’
The first Soul Eater said, thoughtfully, ‘You know, Wolfprince, that it is CuRoi, the one they call the Master, who is believed to hold your half-brother? CuRoi is the most powerful Dark Sorcerer ever known.’
‘I am aware of that.’
The Soul Eater whom Fenella had thought to be the most ancient said, ‘You have heard of CuRoi’s fortress inside the Dark Realm? And how, no matter where he might be, he may still chaunt a spell to seal his fortress? So that any creature who has been able to breach it by day will be locked in with the darkness once the sun has set?’
‘I know,’ said Nuadu carefully, ‘that CuRoi was once a great chieftain of Ireland, but that he took to wandering in the annals of the darkest sorcery known to the Court. He was banished by Erin at the same time as the one you know as the Robemaker.’ He paused. ‘He is said to be the greatest illusionist my people have ever known,’ he said. And then, eyeing the Soul Eater who had spoken, ‘None of that makes him invincible,’ said Nuadu. ‘I shall enter his fortress and I shall find the Prince and bring him out.’
He smiled. ‘And then you shall have his soul.’
There was a silence. Fenella, hardly daring to move, almost not daring to breathe, saw they were thinking it over. They had retreated into their dark, wizened minds and they were thinking over this extraordinary and imperious request. She glanced at Nuadu, and felt the sliver of a thought from him. Courage, Lady. I believe we have them beaten …
The leading Soul Eater stood up and spread his wings and Fenella flinched, seeing the size and the power of the creature, and wondered how on earth they had dared to oppose such beings and how they were managing to escape unscathed this far.
But the Soul Eater said, ‘We will open up the Gateway for you and the Human, son of the Wolf,’ and Fenella felt the bolt of relief go through Nuadu.
‘We will open up the Gateway and we will permit you to enter the Dark Realm and seek out CuRoi, whose fortress is sealed at sunset e
very night,’ said the Soul Eater. He stopped, and the one next to him took up the pronouncement.
‘But we charge you, and we bind you by our own magical powers, to return to us within seven days with the Prince, and to render up his soul for our feasting.’ The dark, basilisk stare devoured Nuadu and Fenella for a moment. ‘We shall savour your return,’ said the Soul Eater.
‘We shall so return,’ said Nuadu, and the Soul Eater stretched its narrow lips in the travesty of a smile. He moved closer and Nuadu stood his ground.
‘If you do not return, son of wolves,’ said the Soul Eater, ‘then we shall make use of the ancient Summoning of Medoc, created by the greatest necromancer of them all. Medoc could pass in and out of the Dark Realm at will and his necromancy was the strongest in all the Dark Realm. But perhaps you know of him?’
‘Oh, yes,’ said Nuadu, softly. ‘Oh, yes, I know of Medoc and the dark cruel, beautiful sorcery he once spun over all of Ireland.’
‘We plundered Medoc’s Black Citadel and took his necromantic annals for our own,’ said the Soul Eater with sudden relish. ‘The corrupt Dark Starred Book of Enchantry and the priceless Codex of Necromancy that was Medoc’s own creation, for he was one of the Scholars, Medoc.’ It leaned forward, the stench of its ancient withered body gusting towards Fenella and Nuadu. ‘If you do not return to us with the prince,’ it said, ‘we shall weave the dark Summoning of Medoc. Wherever you are, it will reach out its talons towards you and entrap you and bring you to us.
‘You will be caught by the beautiful and cruel Beckoning of Medoc which no living creature has yet been able to resist.
‘That is how we shall ensure your return.’
As the Soul Eaters moved from their carved thrones, a wave of awareness went through the serried ranks of the Rodent People and, with it, a shudder of fear. To Fenella, this was the most frightening thing yet, because if the Soul Eaters’ dreadful armies were afraid of the Gateway into the Dark Ireland, then surely, surely the Dark Ireland must be something so immensely and overwhelmingly evil that she could never hope to survive it. Almost immediately she felt the now-familiar ruffle of amusement from Nuadu: can you think I should risk the ignominy of failure, Lady? Of course we shall survive …
