The King of Sleep (32 page)

“She will wed with Eber Finn,” Lochie told him.

“A Gaedhal?” Lochie nodded somberly. “I won't allow it. The Gaedhals are not worthy of wedding into our Fir-Bolg blood.”

“You haven't really considered your words so I'll forgive your hasty disrespectful manner.”

The lad cast his eyes to the ground in remorse and put a hand to his mouth. “I'm sorry, master,” he mumbled. “I meant no insult to you.”

Lochie waved a hand in the air to dismiss the incident. “In time you'll learn that anger, hatred and prejudice are the pastimes of fools. Such thoughts lead to wasteful conflicts. For now you must trust me when I tell you that the Gaedhals will be the saviors of your people.”

“They have invaded our island and brought nothing but war. They murdered Fergus.”

“As I recall,” Lochie smiled, “you were not all that fond of Fergus. What matter to you if he was killed in a fight with renegades?”

“We only have Eber's word that it was outlaws who attacked Rath Carriaghe,” Sárán pointed out.

“And why shouldn't we believe him?”

The lad looked up to the stars to avoid his master's eyes. It occurred to him that he was merely being stubborn in his distrust of the Gaedhals and their king. And if he was to be a worthy adviser to Lorn when he
attained to the kingship, he would have to remain unbiased. That was one of the greatest lessons Fineen the Healer had imparted to him.

“You have always said that forgiveness is the most effective healing salve,” Sárán recalled. “You taught me that it is often difficult to pardon those who have caused offense. I will always be grateful for the way you took me in after the crime I committed against you.”

He turned his attention back to his teacher and noticed an unusual glint in the healer's eye. The lad smiled at his master before he continued.

“I've often thought that if I hadn't lost my temper at the battleground and if my blade hadn't cut open your flesh I would never have been led along this path. I've never been happier than when I've been listening to you speak of all the things you've learned.”

“One day you will speak to your student in the same manner,” Lochie observed. “And perhaps you'll remember me then. For the moment you must try to understand that Eber Finn will protect your people from destruction.”

Sárán frowned, not comprehending what he was being told.

“I'm speaking of his brother in the north, Éremon,” Lochie went on. “He is a ruthless cruel man who has continually broken his treaty with the Danaans. He will not baulk at bringing battle to the south or the west if he believes it will benefit his people.”

“But Eber is his brother.”

“And so it is with many brothers,” the Watcher nodded gravely. “One covets whatever the other holds dear. áremon cannot be trusted. Eber is your only hope. A strong alliance with him and a swift attack against the north is the only way to secure the future of your people. A marriage with your sister will seal the pact.”

“But Aoife will never consent to such a match.”

“Would you rather see her marry young Mahon?”

Sárán shook his head. “I've never liked him. He's lazy and he's led her away from the Druid path.”

“She isn't suited to our way,” Lochie replied, placing a consoling hand on his student's shoulder. “She has no self-discipline or aptitude for the sacred journey. Her path leads elsewhere. And you must set her on that course.”

“Me?”

“If you're to be counselor to your king you'd best begin to practice now. I've asked your sister to come here to meet with me this evening to discuss her future. But you will speak with her in my place.”

“I can't,” Sárán objected. “I don't know what to say.”

“Think of your people. Consider that without you the Fir-Bolg could pass into legend and one day may be no more than a frightening tale told to children to keep them indoors after sunset. Is that what you would have happen?”

The lad shook his head. “I can bring myself to forgive the Gaedhals if that is what you wish,” he told his master. “I would do anything you asked of me out of
the gratitude and respect I have for you. And if you really believe it is best that Aoife be wed to Eber Finn, then I will accept what you say even if I don't fully understand the reasoning.”

“You'll make a fine counselor,” Lochie smiled, turning away from the ramparts to walk back to the house of poetry. “I will speak with you before you sleep,” he said as he disappeared into the darkness. “I expect a full report of your conversation.”

In the next breath he was gone. Sárán was left to wait the arrival of his sister and to consider carefully all that had been said to him. He understood the need for an alliance and that a marriage was the best way to strengthen such a pact. He could see that if Lorn was to be king the chieftains would not accept Fineen, his master, as chief adviser to the war-leader. The healer was a Danaan after all and not of Fir-Bolg lineage. But he couldn't quite understand what events could possibly lead to his father relinquishing the throne. He put that out of his mind for the moment—he had more important matters to resolve.

He considered Aoife and her foolish infatuation with Mahon. Since the treaty and the taking of the Quicken Brew three winters earlier she had all but abandoned her studies to follow her lover like an eager puppy. Dalan was constantly imposing penalties on her to discipline her behavior. She had become an embarrassment to her family and her vocation. She was just like her mother. Riona left Brocan because of Mahon's father, Cecht. She had since disappeared with
him and his folk into the Otherworld. She hadn't visited her children, nor had she expressed any desire to see her kinfolk again.

Their mother was blinded by her lust, Sárán told himself. And in the same way Aoife had so foolishly devoted herself to her beloved, an uncouth, ill-mannered layabout who was content to spend his days hunting for sport or drinking for pleasure.

Eber Finn, on the other hand, was a king in his own right. And if he was victorious against the northern Gaedhals he might be elected king over the entire island. Such a powerful ruler was always in need of advisers. And if his sister were Queen of the Gaedhals it would be natural she'd want her brother to act as counselor to her husband. There could be no more rewarding, challenging and comfortable position for any Druid.

There was just one problem with this dream, one beesting in the honeycomb. A terrible hostility had developed between himself and Aoife. She had no respect for him and he found her impossible to get along with.

If he was to have any chance of influencing her he would have to win her over. They were both as stubborn as each other, he could concede that. But if compromise would get him what he wanted, that's just what he'd do.

As it happened he didn't have another moment more to think about this problem. Just then he heard soft footsteps on the battlements behind him. Sárán
turned around, took a deep breath to ready himself and peered into the night.

“My dear sister,” he began the very second he saw Aoife materializing out of the darkness. “A very good evening to you.”

“Sárán?”

“It is.”

“What are you doing here?” she snapped. “I've come to meet with Fineen. We have a private matter to discuss.”

“My master is occupied with preparations for the testing at dawn,” Sárán lied. “He asked me to meet with you in his place and to pass on your concerns to him.”

The young woman muttered an obscenity under her breath before she spoke again. “I've nothing to say to you.” Then she turned around to head back to her lodgings.

“Whatever you would say to the healer,” he called after her, “you may say to me. I am your brother, after all.”

“You've been no brother to me these three winters past,” Aoife shot back. “You've turned into an arrogant, self-serving fool who has nothing but criticism for me.”

“I've been very harsh, I know,” he offered. “And I'm truly sorry. It has been just as difficult an adjustment for me as it has for you. I also had ambitions of becoming a warrior.”

His sister turned around and even in the darkness
he could plainly see the light of fury in her bright green eyes.

“You haven't had a good word to say to me since we were sentenced to our fates,” she hissed. “You've snubbed Mahon, insulted me and brought dishonor on your own name. But you're a hypocrite, Sárán. I know you resent the judgment Dalan brought down upon us as much as I do. Yet you pretend to have taken to your enforced vocation.”

“You're right,” he conceded. Though he knew she couldn't have been more wrong. “I've behaved badly toward you when we both should have sought each other out for support and encouragement.”

Aoife strode up to him until she stood only a few paces away. Then, quite unexpectedly, she slapped him hard across the face. Sárán gritted his teeth as the blow connected. He turned his face away and struggled to restrain himself from returning the slap.

“Do you feel better now?” he winced.

“I'll be in a better mood when I don't have to wear these Druid robes,” she told him. “I'll be happier when I can wield a sword, make love to Mahon and spend my days in warrior training without having to ask for Dalan's leave.”

“Is that what you came to talk to Fineen about?”

“Your master is a sympathetic man,” Aoife went on. “I came to ask him for help with my plight.”

“What kind of help?”

“I want to take the test tomorrow.”

“You wish to go into the caves with Eber Finn and our father?”

“It's the only way I can prove to Dalan that I'm worthy of the warrior path. It's my only hope of being freed from the bondage of this vocation.”

Sárán shook his head. “The healer would never agree to it. He might well understand your motivation but he couldn't allow you to do such a thing without Dalan's consent.”

“And the Brehon would certainly never give that,” she grunted.

And then a thought struck her. She looked intensely into her brother's eyes. “But you're his apprentice. You could obtain a draught of the Druid brew he's preparing for the morning. And you could be my guide in the underworld of the Aillwee caves.”

Sárán felt a cold shiver of fear spread across his shoulders. He had a terrible feeling his sister was leading him into another disastrous adventure.

“I haven't forgotten what happened to Fearna that night when we tempted him out into the snow. He lost his life because of our negligence and youthful foolishness. Is this to end in another such mishap? And who will be endangered this time?”

“We've both taken the Quicken Brew,” she reminded him. “No harm will come to either of us as long as we take care not to become lost in the depths. It's fear I wish to conquer. I want to show I'm worthy.”

“And so you shall, surely. But are you certain that taking the test will prove your worthiness? I can imagine
Dalan would be outraged if he found out that's what you were planning.”

She leaned in close to him and put a firm hand at his shoulder. “But he isn't going to find out. Is he?”

Sárán stared back at her, drawn to the vibrant green of her eyes. Her gaze was unflinching and utterly determined. And he knew he had little choice but to agree to help her if he was to have any chance of bringing his own dreams to fruition. Besides, this test might just be as beneficial to his own standing as to that of his sister. If they undertook the challenge successfully they would earn the respect, albeit grudging, of all the Fir-Bolg. And they would need that if they were going to change their lives for the better.

“Do you want to be a humble healer forever?” Aoife asked as if she had been listening in on his thoughts.

Her brother shook his head.

“This is our only chance to free ourselves from bondage. You will move on to greater challenges as a respected member of the Draoi class. And I will be allowed to take up the vocation that has always called to me.”

“Do you know that Father has been negotiating a marriage between yourself and Eber Finn of the Gaedhals?” Sárán asked.

Aoife's expression of surprise showed that she had not heard any such thing, but she wasn't about to admit that to her brother. “If it buys me my freedom, I'd be a fool not to consider such a proposal.”

Sárán's eyes narrowed as he carefully considered
his next words. “If I help you it might be best for you to no longer live among the Fir-Bolg. A marriage with Eber might be the only alternative left open to you. What will happen to Mahon?”

“A well-trained dog goes out when he knows he's about to be thrown out,” she declared.

“As Queen of the Southern Gaedhals you would wield a great deal of influence,” Sárán went on. “And Eber Finn may yet rule all the Gaedhals of this island. When he's cold in his grave you'll still be as youthful as ever, and so will Mahon. Would you be prepared to wait for that day?”

His sister smiled. “I have always admired the ingenious way you approach problems,” she complimented him. “I could wait. But I'm not so sure that Mahon would be of the same mind. I'm not even sure I'd want to spend the rest of eternity with someone like him.”

“He'll have time enough to cool his injured pride. One day you may thank Danu for his company.”

Aoife smiled and nodded.

“If you should ascend to the throne of the Kingdom of the Gaedhals,” he added, “you would certainly stand in need of a good adviser.”

“And who better than my own dear brother?” she laughed, but her expression soon turned pensive again. “There's just one problem. Father will be so enraged that a further penalty is certain to be placed upon us both.”

“I have a strong feeling he won't be King of the Fir-Bolg
for much longer. My master has indicated that our father is considering abandoning his office. Lorn will likely be elected in his place if I can manage to persuade the chieftains.”