The King of Sleep (10 page)

And that's how he came to be here on a narrow muddy path which led deep into a shaded forest. If Fineen the Healer was right, the Druid woman who made this glen her home held the final pieces of the mystery that had plagued him for so long.

With nimble fingers the Brehon rubbed his calf muscles. He'd been walking all day and his feet were rubbed raw in places from the wear of his new boots. It would take many more journeys before the leather
softened. Once his massage had soothed the soreness Dalan put his pack on the ground and listened carefully to the sounds of the woods. He heard the cries of many birds in the distance and the wind rushing through the leafy trees. Then his attention was drawn to the relentless voice of the water as it joyfully erupted from the dark earth into the sunlight at the spring.

An unexpected noise caught his attention so he cocked his head to one side like a fox listening for the hunter. Then his jaw dropped open in surprise and his hands stopped rubbing his calf muscles.

Dalan was certain he could hear a song on the air. The words were foreign to him but the voice was haunting. He strained to capture every note that came to him on the breeze.

And it was a delightful tune that serenaded his senses. The kind of melody that has you tapping your toes in time one second and stomping your feet the next.

The light-hearted song reminded Dalan of a warm sunny morning after a cold rainy night. The Brehon couldn't help grinning broadly in appreciation and twitching his fingers to the beat. The smile spread across his face as his head began to nod in time with the music.

This was like no tune he had ever heard. One moment the melody was dancing over flower-strewn fields. The next it was full of passion that threatened to engulf the listener in a flooding torrent of rising emotion.

The Druid felt his heart begin to race as his imagination invented countermelodies and harmonies. His eyes closed briefly but he knew this was not a dream vision that would become clearer if he shut the rest of the world out. A bird fluttered out of a tree nearby, distracting him from his reverie. In the next breath he sensed a large black shadow pass by at the furthest edge of his vision. He turned swiftly to catch sight of it before it disappeared into the cover of the woods.

But he was too late. The bird had gone.

A cold chill passed over Dalan. The shape he'd glimpsed seemed much bigger than any bird he'd ever seen. He shook his head to clear his senses. Then he realized he couldn't hear the tuneful song any more.

“You bloody fool!” he berated himself. “You should know better than to let down your guard in the forest. Who knows what spirits inhabit this place.”

His mind was full of memories of a night three summers earlier when he, Aoife and Mahon had fought off an attack from a horde of Otherworldly owls in the great woods to the south.

The memory made him very uneasy. With a long harper's fingernail he drew a quick gesture of banishment in the air directly in front of his face. Then he shouldered his pack and gathered up his black Druid cloak of Raven feathers so it would not drag along in the mud. For once he was glad not to be lugging a heavy leather instrument case around with him on his travels. This was one journey he was unlikely to be needing a harp.

Dalan sniffed the air and listened once more but he couldn't sense any challenge or hostility. Hoping the inhabitants of this forest would tolerate his presence, he set off to follow the path which led down to the spring.

It was not far to the bottom of the little glen but with such sore feet Dalan thought he'd never reach the pond which formed around the bubbling waters. But soon enough he stood by the boiling trickle of water that spilled over the rocks through a narrow crevice. When he had offered up a silent little prayer of thanks, he turned around to listen again. A long while passed before he cupped his hands to his mouth and called out a cautious greeting.

There was no answer save an echo from the rocks above and the murmuring of the spring as it filled the pool beneath it. There was no hint of a melody in its voice now, just a monotonous gurgling without any disciplined rhythm.

“Where is she?” the Brehon muttered to himself in frustration as he sat down on a flat stone at the edge of the pond.

In a few moments he'd pulled off his boots and was soaking his feet in the cool swirling flood. Soothed by the spring water he inwardly called down a heartfelt blessing on this place as cool healing ripples swirled about his ankles.

The day had been unusually hot. There had been no rain nor hint of it since the dark of the last moon. Dalan frowned deeply as he realized the silver orb of
night had almost returned to the dark part of its cycle again.

He searched the skies but there were only a few white puffs of cloud on the horizon and no sign of relief for the land. The reading of the weather was not his special skill. He only knew a few little tricks to tell whether the next day would be wet or rainless. The sky in the west was shaded pink as the sun came closer to crossing the horizon. Dalan understood that meant the following day would be dry. He sighed deeply, resigned to the fact that there was nothing he could do about it. Then he slipped the cloak off his shoulders and lay down among the feathers to wait and rest by the pool.

Since the woman he was seeking was nowhere to be seen he decided to take advantage of this precious time alone. It wasn't often he was given a chance to relax completely.

He glanced at the rocks surrounding the pool. There was a bundle of dry twigs nearby and a stack of split timber. Fineen had told him that the Druid woman came back here at sunset every evening to perform her devotions. If that was true it would be only a short while before she arrived.

The water around his legs was so refreshing, tranquil and lulling he soon forgot about the strange song he'd heard earlier, or any thoughts of danger. His body was aching with exhaustion. His clothes stank of sweat.

The Brehon untied the thin leather strap that held
his tightly matted locks in place at the back of his neck. Then he scooped up two handfuls of water and threw them over his head. The locks fell about his face and he gently squeezed them until the water oozed out, carrying the dust of the road with it.

This style of hair was reserved for the most ascetic among the Druid kind. Each strand was twisted about into locks almost as thick as a harper's little finger. Dalan had decided to take on this style until he solved the puzzle of the Watchers, but only he knew the secret vow he'd made to himself. He would cut his hair on the day he freed them from their bonds and released them from this world. After three winters his hair was already shoulder length and had earned him the respect and awe of his fellow Druids.

He lay back on the cushion his locks provided for him. As Dalan the Brehon closed his eyes he didn't give another thought to the black shadow that had crossed his path. Nor did he think to keep his wits about him and stay on guard lest the spirits of the forest assail him. He was suddenly exhausted and all he desired was rest. His only thought was that this was the most beautiful, restful place on the whole island of Innisfail. His feet dangled listlessly in the pool. His eyelids grew heavy and the Brehon nodded off to sleep.

After a long while in the water Dalan's toes got cold. So he lifted his legs up onto the Raven feather cloak and lapsed into a deeper state of relaxation.

Perhaps he should have been more careful. Perhaps
it would have served him better to have stayed awake, at the ready for any sign of trouble. But even Druids and Brehons of great learning are capable of foolish mistakes.

The unintelligible muttering of the spring water dancing over the rocks put all care from the Brehon and he could feel himself gradually slipping into a dream trance.

Once in a while his conscious mind struggled to rally itself into readiness again. But there was a blackness that engulfed his senses. He had no fight left in him. His body was too weary from the journey. His spirit was free to drift up toward the treetops.

Just as his heart settled into a slow, steady, sleepy rhythm, Dalan crossed the mysterious threshold into trance. His spirit was free of the flesh and a bright strange world opened to his imagination. The next thing the Brehon knew he was wandering down roads at once familiar and frightening. And with every step he swore to himself he would not travel unprepared to this place again.

Led by nagging curiosity and wonder that his exhaustion had dropped away, he moved on through the Otherworldly landscape. In dreams such as this, time runs differently. Seasons may seem to pass in the span it takes the dreamer to draw a single breath.

At length Dalan's meandering soul came to the summit of a little rounded hill and there on the other side was an astounding sight. Before him was the most amazing and unusual tree he'd ever seen, either in this
world or the other. The wonder of it snatched his breath away. A gorgeous green luminescence lit the air all about its branches, creating a thin, shimmering cloak of dull light. All the grass about its feet lay bathed in this enticing glow.

Dalan sensed a strong spirit in the tree, an old wise soul sharply aware of everything and surely mindful of his incursion into its sanctuary.

As the Brehon moved cautiously closer to the bottom of the hill his eyes widened in awe at what was revealed to him. The trunk of this tree was enormous, larger than anything he could have imagined. The whole surface was covered in a thick, scaly brown skin.

Dalan walked around it, counting out his paces as he went. He put his foot down at fifty and shook his head in disbelief. He'd never known a tree to grow so large.

In the next second he found his attention entirely captured by the elegant shape of the leaves, the little red fruit and the white flowers. The whole tree gently moved in time with the fluttering breeze.

The Brehon frowned when he realized he couldn't name the tree. He would have said this was a rowan but it was too high and wide. Its branches twisted about in a contorted shape he had never seen before in that species.

With a trembling hand Dalan reached out, plucked a flower and held it to his face to feel the softness of the petals against his skin. He smelled the scent of
rowan stronger than he could ever recall. Then he took a berry between his fingers and, with great reverence for the wonder contained within, broke it open with his fingernails. Inside was hidden a star shape with six points. This was confirmation enough for him.

“Rowan,” Dalan declared.

“Indeed it is a rowan,” a woman replied, and the Brehon wasn't in the least startled to hear another voice.

He turned his head in a slow, dreamy movement to look for her. But all he saw, all that filled his field of vision, were two dark, wet enticing eyes beckoning to him.

Dalan felt the stirring of a passion deep within his being. A craving came over him such as he hadn't felt since he was a younger man. And for all his learning, for all his mastery of the poet's art and the musician's craft, he could find no word to describe this sensation.

The woman's smile was immediately comforting. Her face recalled to him all the folk he truly loved in this life. Her hand beckoned him closer with a gentle, calming gesture. The Brehon took a step toward the woman. The shadows began to lengthen, heralding the approach of night. And above in the darkening sky a bright star shone out.

The first star. The Evening Star. She who watches over all on Earth.

“Who are you?” Dalan asked, his mouth dry with anticipation.

The woman laughed. It wasn't a mocking sound but one of mirthful, childlike teasing. And there was such an innocence and purity in it that the Brehon could not help but join her chorus of joy.

So together they stood laughing with each other long after tears had filled the Brehon's eyes. In those moments Dalan could have believed all the cares of the world had dropped away from his spirit. He forgot fear. His consciousness was filled with only light, warmth and hope for the future. Nothing else mattered but the delight which overwhelmed his senses.

When the laughter passed, Dalan's heart still thumped cheerfully in his breast. His skin tingled with pleasure. The subtle green glow around the tree intensified, demanding the Brehon take notice of it. But he could look only on the form of the most beautiful woman he had ever met.

Her long, dark green cloak flowed over her body like the water running over the rocks from the spring into the pool. Her hair was as white as her skin, contrasting sharply with the deep dark blue wells of her eyes.

Dalan frowned as he struggled to recognize her. He was certain he had met her many times in this fantastic vision-world. But he had unaccustomed difficulty recalling her name.

“Curse my feeble memory,” he muttered to himself.

She smiled at him as if she were indulging a little child who was trying to learn a new skill. “You have
no need of recollections here,” she told him in a voice that was like a sweet humming sigh. “We are beyond the realm of thoughts, actions and deeds. Don't be surprised if some things you hold in your memory refuse to come to mind.”

Dalan grunted. His forehead wrinkled as he listened to her familiar tones.

“I am Cuimhne,” she told him. “I brought you once to the Stones of the Watchers.”

“The Watchers?” Dalan repeated in a daze of confused concern. “Are they here?”

“No.”

“Then why have you brought me to this place?”

“You came of your own free will. No one summoned you. No one expected you. I've been sent to watch over you while you are here and to see to your well-being.”

The mention of the Watchers reminded Dalan that he had a duty to perform. They were the reason he had traveled to this spring in the forest.

“I'd like to return to where my body lies resting,” the Brehon told her. “There's someone I should meet there. Can you show me the way?”

Cuimhne nodded and took Dalan by the hand. Her strong reassuring presence enveloped him in love and care and he was overwhelmed with gratitude. Suddenly he was a child again and this woman was a doting parent.