by Sarah Rayne
They’d been sitting round the fire and the Girl-Human had been telling them a bit about her own world; they’d listened to it carefully, because you never knew when a thing like that mightn’t come in useful. Fiachra Broadcrown had said to Arca Dubh that it almost seemed a shame to roast such a pretty little creature and was frowned at by Goibniu.
And then — no one quite knew how it had happened — they’d all dozed off, every last one of them, and when they came to wake up, not only had the Girl-Human and Caspar and the entire Gnome clan vanished, but Tara was actually in the hands of the Beastline again!
They’d all scratched their heads and been very puzzled indeed, but, of course, when you were confronted with such a display of force, there was only one course of action you could take.
Goibniu and Inchbad had gone off to the Star of the Poets (Goll the Gorm said they had been taken off, but this was untrue) to discuss something called terms with the six Beastline Lords and the rather odd person who appeared to take notes of everything.
Goll the Gorm said there was a powerful bad time ahead for them all, but in fact, when Goibniu and Inchbad emerged, it had all been quite reasonable.
They were to return to Gruagach, said Goibniu solemnly, adopting his old, truculent stance, legs planted apart, thumbs hooked in his belt. A very amicable arrangement, said Goibniu, and did not even look behind him at the four panthers and six bears, and at Clumhach and Tealtaoich and Eogan who stood sentinel.
They were to return to Gruagach and the Beastline would send with them a carefully chosen detachment of the beasts to help them drive out the Frost Giantess, explained Goibniu. They had signed a pact agreeing to this.
‘I signed it,’ said Inchbad, who felt it was time he made a contribution.
‘So you did, Sire, and very nicely too,’ said Goibniu, and Inchbad, who had not altogether followed the negotiations, and who had suspected Tealtaoich of making fun of him for most of the time, subsided. Goibniu would see to everything, of course. It might even be rather pleasant to be back at Gruagach. Providing, of course, that the Geimhreadh could be got rid of.
Goibniu was explaining, very smoothly, about how they had never really intended to stay at Tara for very long, and the giants were nodding and reminding one another of the Spring feastings just around the comer, and making a few plans for how they might celebrate it. Spring had always been very good at Gruagach.
Inchbad let Goibniu get on with it. They would none of them miss Tara, nasty draughty place. It would be grand to get back to a proper castle with decent-sized dungeons and the torture chambers and the Fidchell room with the heated squares properly built into the floor. Yes, it would be nice to be home.
He turned his attention to the really very interesting project of whether they might approach the nearly defunct Ogres of the Northern Isles, to see would Himself of the Ogres be interested in giving his daughter in marriage to the Gruagach.
On the whole, giants were better not tangling with Humans.
Except, of course, for the Fidchell.
Chapter Forty-nine
The immense gold-tipped Gates of the Palace of Wildfire soared high above them and the glow of the deep inner fires were turning the night sky to crimson and orange and amber for miles around, so that the strange, sleek lines of the Palace were sharply limned against the countryside. The will o’the wisp creatures came darting and circling about their heads delightedly, occasionally dancing in unexpected formation, so that elaborate and glittering patterns were formed briefly against the star-spattered, red-lit night sky.
Fael-Inis stood in front of Nuadu and Fenella, Flame and Floy, the Palace behind him framed in the fire-washed gates. The four salamanders who had ridden with them into the Dark Realm were at his side, sleek and glossy and somehow part of the pouring light, so that when he placed a hand on their silky necks, for a moment it seemed that his hand blurred into the fluid light.
Flame thought: I have truly never seen anyone like him. I truly believe there is nobody like him. What had Mother said? That he was arrogant and selfish and proud and imperious. But she had not said that he was wise and beautiful and that he had the reckless light in his eyes and the mischievous tilt to his mouth that would make you want to defy the world and tumble it about and turn it upside-down and challenge everything in it …
He is exactly what I thought he would be, and he is precisely what I hoped he would be, thought Flame, staring at him, and knowing that here was another who believed the world was there to be challenged … Was it too much to have found that with Floy — because Floy had certainly been brushed with this rebellious spirit — and then to find it here also?
Fael-Inis had beckoned to Nuadu, although it did not seem to Flame as if he had made any particular gesture. He had simply looked at Nuadu, and Nuadu, who had been standing with the Wolves at his heels, at once walked forward. He was still covered with the blood of the creatures he had slain in the battle against the Robemaker and the Geimhreadh; his clothes were blackened from that last desperate ride through CuRoi’s fearsome enemies, and his dark hair was untidy and falling across his face. But Flame felt the silence from the other two and felt, as well, the sudden awareness of the Wolves and the obedience that radiated from them, and knew that there was something different about Nuadu now. He was no longer entirely the same creature who had ridden recklessly through the Gateway and led them to CuRoi’s Castle of Illusions. He was Ireland’s High King …
As Nuadu moved forward to stand before Fael-Inis, the firelight fell across his face and the wolfmask stood out clearly. As he moved, the Wolves followed him with their eyes.
Fael-Inis studied Nuadu. ‘Sire,’ he said, at last. ‘Your Majesty.’ And held out his left hand and touched Nuadu on the right breast, and Flame drew in a breath, because this was the ancient symbol of homage to Ireland’s King, rarely seen, never commanded, but almost always present at a Coronation ceremony.
Nuadu regarded Fael-Inis, his head tilted, and then said, in his lightest, most casual voice, ‘A reasonable battle, don’t you think? The enemy slain and the Ebony Throne regained for Tara.’
Fael-Inis said, with unexpected gravity, ‘Ireland will be proud of you, Nuadu Airgetlam,’ and Nuadu stared at him and forgot about being light and mocking and felt the beginnings of something approaching humility because, after all, perhaps he could take his place in the line of Wolfkings.
Fael-Inis seemed to understand his thoughts; he said, ‘You are not as unworthy as you think, Wolfprince,’ and then grinned. And some of the gravity fell from him and the mischievous light shone.
‘Did I not tell you,’ said the rebel angel, ‘that the means were to hand? And did I not say I could not help you unless you first helped yourself?’ He tilted his head consideringly. ‘Only when the odds against you are greater than you can match, am I constrained to help,’ he said, and glanced down to the Wolves at Nuadu’s heels. ‘You called to them at last,’ he said. ‘And it is certain that they helped you to slay the necromancer, CuRoi and his dark servants. They will stay with you,’ he said. ‘They will obey you, as they have obeyed every High King of Ireland, for they are the Royal Wolves of Tara, and unless you had called to them and they had answered you could not rule. It is as much a part of your kingship as the acceptance by the Ebony Throne of Erin.’
‘Yes,’ said Nuadu. ‘Yes, I see.’
Fael-Inis nodded, as if he had expected no more, and turned to Fenella and Floy, holding out his hands. They moved to stand before him.
‘Mortals,’ said Fael-Inis, and now the amused affection was strongly there. ‘Always it is Mortals, Humans, who help to save Ireland from the Dark Realm.’ He studied them, his head on one side. ‘You will assuredly have your place in Ireland’s long line of Mortals who have come here and found their destinies bound up with the Wolfkings,’ he said. ‘You will certainly miss your own world; that is natural and right. But it is sometimes necessary for worlds to die and for Humans to begin their history on a new page. The Dark Lodes
tar, the Angry Sun, has touched many worlds, and it will continue to do so. But always something survives. And you have been brave and resourceful; you have helped us to destroy some of the evil of the Dark Realm and for that Ireland will certainly salute you.’
Fael-Inis turned to Fenella and his eyes widened suddenly in a very knowing smile. ‘Fenella,’ he said, gently. ‘Did you know, my dear, that in the history of Tara, it was always the Humans who were the King-Makers, and that it has frequently been a Human who has helped restore an exiled King?’ His eyes flickered to where Nuadu was standing with the Wolves. ‘You will not find him easy to handle, my dear,’ he said. ‘You will wonder, at times, what kind of creature you have by the tail.
‘But for all that, I think you must accept what he offers you, Fenella.’ He paused, and then said, so softly that Flame barely heard the words, ‘He will offer you Ireland, my child,’ said Fael-Inis. ‘He will offer you Tara. And if you accept, then Ireland will thank you.’
‘Yes,’ said Fenella. ‘Yes, I see,’ and Fael-Inis smiled again, as if he understood very well what Fenella was thinking and feeling.
To Floy, he said, ‘So you will have my daughter, will you, Mortal?’
‘Yes,’ said Floy, returning the golden regard very straightly.
‘You should remember that she is the daughter of mixed blood,’ said Fael-Inis. ‘And that blood is a very strange mixture indeed. It was not a mixture that was ever intended to happen.’ A gleam of mischief showed. ‘And it would not have happened,’ said the rebel angel, ‘if I had not, for one night, been — let us say a little more Mortal than usual.’ The grin slid out, wickedly impudent.
‘A good way of putting it,’ said Floy, gravely.
‘Well, she was very lovely, Reflection, although we never could agree about anything.’ Again the grin. ‘But Flame is therefore Amaranthine on her mother’s side; fire-creature on her sire’s. At times the two sides may war and it may not always be easy for either of you.’
‘But,’ said Floy, with a sudden grin, ‘who said that life was intended to be easy?’
Fael-Inis looked at him very intently and then smiled. And Flame had the sudden feeling that her father had rather liked Floy for saying this.
Fael-Inis moved back and Flame thought: of course it was absurd to think he would even notice me, and it was ridiculous to imagine he would want to speak to me. I did nothing at all in the battle, thought Flame. I didn’t help or think of a plan. I might have muttered the Banishing Ritual of Mab inside CuRoi’s Castle, but it wasn’t so very much. They would have managed without it anyway. All I did was run away with Floy and make the entire situation a hundred times worse. And anyway, probably he only came into the battle because of the pageantry and the brilliance, thought Flame. Mother had been right all along. It was important to remind herself that it did not matter in the least little bit, that she did not expect Fael-Inis to notice her. It was very important indeed to remind herself that she was not going to cry because there was nothing in the world to cry about.
Fael-Inis turned and looked straight at her, and something infinitely soft and gentle touched his face, and a smile of sudden, achingly sweet intimacy shone in his eyes. Light streamed outwards from him and surrounded Flame. He held out his arms wordlessly and Flame gave a sob and ran straight into them.
‘So, child, you are free at last.’
‘Yes,’ replied Flame.
‘And,’ said the rebel angel, thoughtfully, ‘is the Palace of Wildfire to your liking, after your mother’s remarkable Court?’
‘It is the most beautiful place I ever thought to see.’
‘The Fire Court is dazzling, of course,’ said Fael-Inis, and looked at her and appeared to wait.
‘I think, now, that it was over-bright,’ said Flame. ‘I think it was tasteless,’ she said firmly, and waited to see how this was received, because she was still strongly aware of being a little adrift in a very new, very unexpected world. It might not be very polite to be too disloyal about the place she had lived in all her life.
But Fael-Inis nodded, as if this was entirely acceptable. ‘And now,’ he said, ‘you will brave the heat of the Eternal River with the Mortal, Floy?’
‘Yes,’ said Flame again.
Fael-Inis nodded, as if satisfied. ‘He has a good deal of the buccaneer, that one,’ he said. ‘I should not have permitted you to go to one who was not, in part, a rebel, my dear. Would you have fought me if I had tried to dissuade you from marriage?’
Flame considered this and then said, ‘Yes, I would have fought you. But I think it would not have been necessary, because I should not have wanted to be joined to one who was content with the world, and who never questioned its ways, or wanted to make it better.’ She did not say: because I had grown up with the legend of the most dazzling rebel and the most remarkable buccaneer ever, and every man would be measured against that legend, but she thought that he heard her thoughts easily.
‘Complacency leads to death, Flame, death of the mind and of the senses. And too much contentment has more than once killed civilisations and destroyed worlds.’ He lifted the wine chalice to his lips again, so that the shadow from the deep golden wine cast a light over his face and Flame, listening, utterly entranced, thought: I do not quite know if he is an angel or a devil, and I do not quite know whether I believe him, or even whether I trust him.
At once, Fael-Inis said, ‘You may believe me, and you may trust me, child, although whether I am quite angel or devil was never proven, you know.
‘But do not look to find me with you always, for I shall not always be here.’
He walks by himself, Mother had said, contemptuously …
And then, without warning, his mood changed and the mischievous light poured out and he leaned forward and reached for her hand and said, ‘But there will be times, Flame, when we shall harness the salamanders and ride the Fire Chariots of Time together … I shall show you the worlds, Flame, and I shall teach you to challenge the gods.’
Flame said, very softly, ‘And between us we shall tumble the world about if the mood takes us and re-write history if we have to.’ And looked at him, and sent him the grin that was so nearly his own.
And there is Floy, she thought, her heart warm with sudden delight at the memory of Floy. I shall have Floy when my Father is gone.
The Honeycomb Tunnels were lit to warm, soft light as Floy and Flame, Fenella and Nuadu followed the slender radiant figure. Fael-Inis moved ahead of them, light and graceful, and although the tunnels were lit by the flambeaux, Fenella and Floy both thought that, as Fael-Inis walked, he sprinkled a soft radiance everywhere.
They could see, quite clearly, the ancient, rather beautiful wall carvings, and the pictures etched into the sides of the tunnels, and there was a swift, strange surge of memory, because this was where it had begun, this was where they had started, falling into the rebel angel’s world which was neither quite outside Time, nor quite inside it.
As they emerged from the Tunnels, into the wide cavern with the golden waterlight, Flame thought it should have been stifling down here; it should have been smothering and suffocating to be here, below the earth, surrounded by leaping fire, close to the ancient immortal River of Time. But it was none of these things. It was beautiful and friendly and immensely comforting.
Fael-Inis had moved to stand before the arched, fire-washed doors and his eyes went to Flame. ‘Do you hear it yet, child?’ he said. ‘Listen hard, and you should hear it beyond the singing of the fire.’
Flame stood very still, her eyes half closed, and at last she turned to him, her eyes shining.
‘Yes! Yes, I hear it.’ And then, frowning, struggling for expression, ‘A kind of rushing, pouring sound. Cascading fire and what sounds like great torrents of water, only I do not think it is water at all. Beautiful. And also,’ said Flame, seriously, ‘also rather terrifying.’
Fael-Inis smiled as if this was the answer he had wanted. ‘I am glad you can hear it,’ he said softly.
‘And I am glad that you recognise it for what it is. Beautiful and powerful, but to be a little feared. As one who possesses the fire-blood — even a little — it was unthinkable that you should not hear it and understand it.’
Flame returned the regard steadily. ‘Was that a test?’ she asked at last. ‘Did you think that Mother had cheated you?’
‘There was always the possibility. Reflection is not known for her fidelity,’ said Fael-Inis lightly. ‘Although I did not think it so very likely.
‘Shall we go on? There is only a very little way to go.
‘The River of Time flows nine times nine around the Palace of Wildfire,’ said Fael-Inis, as they moved on. ‘It is -you would perhaps say it is the converse of the River of Souls through which you journeyed on your arrival, when you encountered the soul-less creatures who are chained there. That River is the dark underside of this one, rather as the Dark Ireland is the underside of the true Ireland. The River of Time is endless and immortal, or so the legend tell.’ He glanced back at them and, in the flickering torchlight, the mischievous three-cornered grin lit his face. ‘But,’ said the rebel angel, ‘I hardly ever believe legends, and so I can not be sure about any of it.’
‘Marvellous and terrifying,’ said Flame. And then, ‘I suppose it is safe, is it?’ she said, suddenly. ‘The River?’
‘No,’ said Fael-Inis, ‘it is not entirely safe.’ He glanced at Floy. ‘Life is not intended to be entirely safe,’ he said softly.
They moved on and, as they did so, Fenella and Nuadu and Floy heard the sounds of the River.
As they came out from the last tunnel, the fiery light from the Stables still casting red shadows and amber warmth everywhere, they fell silent.
