The King of Sleep (45 page)

“To what end?”

“I'm attempting to inspire Dalan to help me on a certain matter. And I want him to act quickly.”

“Why don't you simply ask him?”

“This way is much more interesting,” Lochie shrugged. “And in any case I have made approaches to the learned Brehon. His progress is a little too slow for my liking.”

“I don't understand why you would have wanted us
to venture down into the caves,” Brocan said. “Why did you go to all this trouble?”

“To teach Dalan a lesson. And to offer you freedom from your affliction.”

“Affliction?”

“The Quicken Brew. I happen to know how you feel about the whole business. You told me. Remember?”

“I talked with Fineen about it,” the king recalled. “So that was you?”

“Indeed. I understand how you feel because I'm under the same sentence. However, I and my companion do have hope of escaping our bonds. With Dalan's assistance I believe we might be free before the end of winter.”

Lochie came and put a hand on Brocan‘s shoulder, but the king recoiled from his touch.

“You, on the other hand,” the Watcher went on, “have no hope of freedom. You will never know death. I cannot help but feel sympathetic toward you.”

“How do you know the Quicken Brew is so powerful? Not even the Danaan Druids can predict whether its effects will last indefinitely.”

“The truth is,” Lochie admitted, “I inspired the Druids to concoct the brew. I know what effect it will have because when I was of the Fir-Bolg, before I served Balor, I was among those who were instructed in the secret of its properties. That was long ago when I was a Druid myself.”

Brocan swallowed hard. “Why did you do such a thing? Why bring so much misery into the world?”

“I often ask myself the same question,” the Watcher answered. “I suppose it is because I was offered this task and took it on willingly. I could have refused but I chose to accept. It is in my nature to bring heartache to the folk I swore to hate. Just as you must act in the manner of a king, so I must be true to my vocation.”

Lochie threw up his hands in a gesture of helplessness. “Of course I had no idea I'd be doing this for more than a hundred generations,” he sighed.

Then his eyes brightened again. “The Quicken Brew was one of my finest tricks. On the surface it would appear to be a wonderful gift which fulfils the wish of every mortal. But of course, as you and I know, the price of immortality is a high one.”

“My soul will never find rest,” Brocan stated bitterly. “Without any chance of death, my spirit will be trapped in this body for all eternity.”

“That may be true,” Lochie agreed. “But there is an alternative to death. And I am willing to offer it to you.”

“Why should I trust you?”

“You have no reason to,” the Watcher laughed. “But let's say I have a compassionate streak in me even after all I've been through. Indeed, as it becomes clear that I may soon find the release of death, I've softened my attitude a little to your people.”

Lochie turned to face the Fomorian settlement where hundreds of tiny lights were still sparkling in the windows of the houses.

“Let me show you something,” he said, waving a hand across the scene.

The view changed before Brocan's disbelieving eyes. Suddenly, all the lights went out, the pathways disappeared and there was only the black icy lake with its blue reflections shimmering across the roof of the cavern.

As Lochie turned to face the king again a familiar form appeared at his side. The figure stretched and yawned as if waking from a deep restful sleep. Brocan recognized the man immediately but he was not convinced of his identity.

“Fineen?” he whispered. “Is that you?”

“Brocan? Where are we?”

“You are in the depths of the Aillwee caves,” Lochie informed him. “Don't you remember?”

The healer shook his head to clear it. “Have I been asleep?”

“You have.”

“For how long?”

“A week, no more.”

“Why have you brought Brocan to this place?”

The Watcher looked into the eyes of the Fir-Bolg king. “Brocan is seeking sleep. He wants to be free of the Quicken curse.”

Fineen thought carefully about Lochie's words before he asked another question. “Are you going to imprison him also?”

“I have a feeling the king will come here of his own free will. And I will return you to Aillwee if you wish,
though I regret that I cannot allow any recollection of this adventure to remain with you.”

“I'm not sure I wish to return,” Fineen cut in quickly. “I had the most wonderful dreams. And I've never rested so well. I don't want to go on living forever, watching the world change, witnessing the suffering of others and unable to make any real difference to their lives.”

The Watcher was beaming with joy. “Now perhaps you understand a little of what I've been subjected to all this time. I was a good man once, before I took on the duties of my vocation. I assure you that in time you will learn to free your soul from your dreams for a while and live other lives. You may never know death but the sleep I offer you will be sweet.”

“I will sleep, Lochie,” the healer decided without any further thought on the matter. “I was frightened of you before I knew any better. Now I'm grateful for your compassionate gift.”

“How can you trust him?” Brocan snarled. “He brought the Quicken Brew upon us. He drew the Gaedhals to our island. He has probably been behind every petty conflict that's beset Danaan and Fir-Bolg since the days of Balor.”

“It's true,” Lochie agreed pleasantly. “You shouldn't make any rushed decisions. You can't possibly be sure you can trust me. How do you know I'm not leading you into a trap from which there is no escape?”

“I certainly thought that at first,” Fineen conceded. “After you lured me down into the caves and left me,
it was a while before sleep came upon me, and so I had time to think carefully about my future. I have no desire to live forever. And since that is likely to be my lot, I would rather sleep and dream, far from the harsh world of war and want.”

Brocan strode up to the healer and threw his arms around him. He was solid. He smelled of dried herbs and physician's powders. And something in his eyes hinted that this truly was Fineen the Danaan.

The king turned to Lochie. “How can I be certain that all you say is true?”

“What is the alternative?” the Watcher shrugged. “Would you be happy with everlasting life? Could you learn to quiet your restless soul? How would you keep boredom at bay?”

Brocan dropped his chin to his chest and considered these questions. Eventually he looked up and asked, “Can I be certain my people will be well governed in my absence?”

Lochie laughed raucously. “You've already left the kingship in the hands of your son Lom. Nothing is certain in life.”

“You tricked me.”

“I admit it. But is there anyone else who could do the job better? Will Lom be such a disastrous leader? Don't you think he'll learn as he goes along? Isn't that what you did? Come now, if you really want to let go of life you must cut all your ties. Abandon all attachments to the world and your former ways. Then you'll be free to move on to new challenges.”

“That's what death is,” Fineen agreed. “All of those things.”

“And more,” Brocan pointed out.

“But for the time being my offer is all you can expect.”

The King of the Fir-Bolg looked once more into the healer's eyes. Then he turned and glanced at Máel Máedóc's corpse covered in his cloak at the back of the cave.

“Help me give this mortal the rites of passage,” the king asked. “When that is done I'll try this sleep of which you speak.”

“You have promised to renounce your kingship over the Fir-Bolg?” Lochie pressed. “And pass the title to your son?”

“And so I will.”

“Then I have a little surprise for you once we've dealt with the Gaedhal's burial,” the Watcher smiled. “I'm sure you'll be very happy with it.”

At that Brocan went to where Máel Máedóc's body lay, lifted the corpse in his arms and carried it down toward the lake. Lochie followed in silence with Fineen until they reached the water's edge.

Then, with great solemnity, they set about farewelling the spirit of Máel Máedóc, one-time counselor to the King of the Southern Gaedhals.

D
ALAN BEGAN TO FEEL VERY CONCERNED FOR THEIR safety almost as soon as they entered the narrow channel which poured out of the lake. As they paddled on they passed many half-submerged boulders, some bigger than the king's hall and all surrounded by vicious eddies that could spin the boat as easily as a leaf. Thanks to Eber standing in the stern with one oar to steer, they managed to avoid the worst obstacles. But the going wasn't easy.

The curragh was sturdy but it wasn't strong enough to carry four adults under these conditions. Eber Finn often had to stop paddling so they could scoop out water with their hands just to prevent the vessel from sinking.

The thundering rumble of a rushing rapid was building in intensity, though they had no inkling how far ahead it might be. Dalan told them to be ready for a rough ride and to cling to each other if the boat tipped over.

Aoife was shivering with the cold. Sárán was shaking with apprehension. Eber Finn was proud and resolute. He showed no emotion whatsoever, no fear, no feeling. It was only when his gaze strayed to the young woman who sat opposite him that any glimmer was reflected in his eyes at all.

Once or twice she caught him glancing at her and at last they exchanged a smile. After that Aoife stole many glances at the strong confident warrior who stood at the stern guiding the little craft on its way. Here, she told herself, was a man who embodied all the values she held dear in life. He was no untried boy like Mahon. He had sailed with his clanfolk across the seas from their homeland and carved out a kingdom for himself in this land. Even though she'd once thought of him as the enemy and held his people in contempt, she couldn't help but admire his calm resolve in the face of danger.

If Sárán was right and their father was planning to marry her to Eber, it would free her from the Druid path once and for all. Besides, she thought with a glint in her eye, marriage to such a man might satisfy more than just her ambitions. She would speak with her father at the first opportunity.

Until that moment she hadn't missed Brocan but now she suddenly wondered where he could be. “What became of my father?” she asked.

Dalan was about to answer her when Eber cut him off.

“I owe my life to your father,” he declared. “If it hadn't been for his sacrifice I would most certainly have been killed. I am in debt to him and to his kinfolk.”

“It is by no means certain that Brocan is lost!” the Brehon protested.

“What chance does he have?” the Gaedhal reasoned. “Even if he manages to escape danger he will likely be hopelessly lost among the twisting passages of the deeper caves.”

Then he turned to Aoife and as his eyes met hers she felt her cheeks blushing.

“Do not fear. You will never want for anything while I am alive. You are the daughter of Brocan and I will do whatever I can to make your life comfortable. I can't replace your father but I'll be your protector.”

Aoife bridled at this last comment. She didn't need a protector. But her pride cooled almost immediately and she felt flattered, even a little excited at the prospect of this fine young warrior taking care of her.

“Thank you,” she answered. “You're an honorable man.”

At that instant the boat was spun around violently and they were all soaked in a spray of freezing water. Aoife lost her grip on the side of the craft and was flung face first onto the soft leather floor.

Before she knew what was happening she felt a
strong hand grab her arm and pull her back to her seat. She spat out a mouthful of water and looked into Eber's eyes again. He smiled and sat her down beside him. Then, seemingly unflustered, he picked up his oar and steadied the curragh as best he could.

He didn't say anything for a long while after that but her attention never left him for a moment. Aoife could still feel a burning sensation on her arm where he'd touched her. She'd never experienced anything like it before.

When Eber did speak again it was a somber warning.

“There is white foam on the river ahead,” he declared.

The noise of tumbling water grew louder and louder. Dalan gripped his seat in terror. He'd never mastered the art of swimming. Though he could keep his head dry in a calm lake, he'd always avoided the sea for fear of being overpowered. Now he was about to be tested in white water.

At length they could all feel a fine spray on their faces and this made Dalan's heart beat faster than ever. It was a sure sign that the rapids ahead would be particularly rough, but as he didn't want to frighten the others he kept this fact to himself.

It was Eber who broke the tension among them by holding out his oar so that everyone could grasp it.

“Hold onto this tightly as the boat starts down the rapids,” he advised. “If you keep a firm grip we won't be separated.”

The others did exactly as he told them, and just as their fingers touched the pole the boat jolted from its first encounter with the raging torrent. Suddenly the vessel spun around in a circle, and when it stopped Dalan could see sunlight streaming into the caves from somewhere in the distance.

“We'll soon be out of this mess!” he cried, taking his hand off the oar to point.

Just as he did so the curragh was shaken again, this time across its bow. The Brehon made an attempt to grasp the oar once more but his hand missed and he was thrown backward out of the boat with such fury that he had no chance to resist.