The King of Sleep (18 page)

It wasn't long before they passed beyond the part of the caves which had been excavated by the ancestors of the Fir-Bolg. The passages were becoming steadily narrower and the floor was very rough. Unrelenting in his pace, the Fir-Bolg king rushed on ever deeper into the bowels of the Earth. Soon he started taking abrupt turns and Fineen was sorely challenged to keep up.

Brocan climbed through a tiny opening in the rock wall, out into a wider gallery where he scaled a pile of silted sand and entered a chamber in the ceiling. This time he waited till Fineen had caught up before he moved on.

They struggled through a knee-deep torrent of a stream which tumbled out of one side of the cave,
crossed the cavern's breadth and disappeared down a thundering shaft at the lower end. Then they began to descend down a wide shaft cut into the wall to form an entrance resembling the stone gate on the surface. Brocan didn't slow his pace at all, climbing many walls and slithering down escarpments.

Fineen was sure they'd have to stop soon to rest. He was becoming convinced Brocan must be lost. They'd spent too much time underground—they must have walked more than a thousand paces by now.

As if he had heard the thought, Brocan turned around to the healer. “I'm not lost. I know exactly where I am. The place I'm taking you to is not much further. Try to keep up.”

Fineen nodded and put his reservations aside for the moment. At least he'd soon discover what old Brocan was making such a fuss about.

At last the king climbed up on a large boulder and disappeared from view.

“Where are you?” Fineen called out.

“Up here. Climb up, dear Druid. Join me. You'll think your eyes are lying to you. I give you my word, there's a wonder here which will certainly confound you. I'm sure of it.”

Fineen raised an eyebrow. He was keen to learn the answer to this mystery but he found it hard to be as enthusiastic as the king. He dragged himself up to where he could swing his leg onto a narrow ledge. Then he hauled his body up the rest of the way, out of one cave passage into the great hall of a shimmering
cavern. Ten paces away Brocan stood facing the inner depths of the chamber.

A small trickle of water from an insignificant spring had formed a pool across the floor. Brocan's rush light was reflecting off the ceiling in a spectacular display.

The sight was beautiful, Fineen conceded, but it hardly warranted the king's strange behavior, nor his hurry to return. The healer scanned the gallery, thinking he might have missed some other wonder.

But there was nothing else remarkable about the chamber at all.

“My lord,” he began, “I don't see any sights that would confound my senses. Am I missing something?”

“Indeed you are.”

“Then show me the wonders you speak of and let me judge with my own eyes. Old as they are, they have never lied to me.”

Brocan laughed. As he did so he slowly turned to confront the healer, gliding around in a graceful sweeping motion. With alarming speed a mist gathered its long fingers around the king, completely concealing him from view. Fineen gasped and took several steps back until he was pressed to the wall.

Then, just as suddenly as it had appeared, the mist lifted. The healer frowned, astounded at what he saw. Before him, where Brocan should have been, stood a tall, muscular man who somehow seemed familiar.

The features were known to him, though he could not place a name with the face. The stranger smiled as
if he understood the Druid's struggle. Then he began to stare at Fineen, as if observing him for the first time. Such was the intensity of his scrutiny that the healer felt as if his inner being was under examination.

“You'll do nicely,” the stranger stated with some satisfaction. “You don't seem too intelligent. I always find it easier to play down to the expectations of others.”

Fineen was so outraged at the insult he couldn't even mouth a response.

“I know your face!” Fineen stuttered finally. “You called yourself Lochie. You claimed to be a Druid from the north.”

The stranger nodded and politely bowed in affirmation.

“But you aren't a Druid, are you?”

Lochie held his palms up to the ceiling and rolled his eyes. It was gesture which conveyed both admission of the truth and delight that the game was going so well.

There was no other reply. And Fineen needed no further confirmation.

“You merely posed as one of the Druid kind. You're one of the Watchers.”

“You've guessed right,” Lochie nodded. “But you'll never guess why I've brought you all the way down here beneath the Earth.”

Fineen took a quick glance over his shoulder in the direction he had come. There was only one way out of
this cavern and that was down the opening he had just climbed through. But where only moments ago there had been an opening, there was now only a gray limestone wall. He touched his forehead, realizing he was feeling very disoriented and confused.

“Have you taken the Quicken Brew?” Lochie asked.

“I was the brewer,” Fineen told him.

The Watcher smiled. This healer was the key he'd been searching for. Now there was a hope of disposing of Brocan as he had planned. “I am going to enjoy this,” he sniggered. “If only all those who cooked up remedies were also forced to take them. We're going to put your recipe to the test. I want to know to what extent the Quicken Brew will preserve life and limb. It must have its limitations.”

“If I tell you what you want to know, will you release me?”

Lochie could hardly believe his luck. He had intended to conduct a few tests of his own on this Druid. Now it seemed Fineen was willing to save him the bother and tell him everything he knew about the Quicken Brew.

“You're willing to divulge such information? I would've thought you'd want to guard it with your life”

“You'd find some way to learn the secret anyway,” Fineen noted. “You're a shape-shifter. It would be no trouble for you to find out anything you wished to know. So I might as well tell you and save us both a lot of bother.”

“You are wise,” Lochie conceded. “I'll allow you to leave when I have the information I am seeking.”

“Very well. I'll tell you all there is to know about the Quicken Brew.”

Lochie bowed in a gesture of thanks. He caught his captive's eye as he straightened up. Suddenly flames erupted and a small fire appeared between them. It was set in a fireplace constructed just like any central hearth.

Fineen was still gasping when he stumbled sideways onto a sturdy three-legged stool. He almost fell but caught himself and was left leaning heavily on it for support. His eyes were unbelieving.

“Take a seat and tell me your tale,” Lochie hummed as he squatted by the fire.

Hesitating a moment, the healer drew the stool up to the fire. Then he sat down to face the Watcher, ready to relate the story.

Of the many legends, tales, songs and epic poems, none were so ancient, so shrouded by the mists of time, as the story of the Quicken. Arcane motifs had been added to the telling of it and it was only a skilled tale-weaver who could discern their meaning.

When the empire of the Islands of the West was entering decline the Druid herbalists of that time stumbled on one of nature's great secrets. Afraid of the ramifications of their find the Druids jealously guarded the discovery. However, it was generally agreed by scholars of the histories that they'd hit upon some hidden key to the mystery of procreation. Whatever the
truth, within twelve seasons there were new grains being cultivated that could withstand high rainfall or dry spells.

Elated by their success the Druids applied to their assembly to continue investigations along this path. The Druid Assembly attested to the value of the work but expressed concern at such tampering with nature's ways. The herbalists were challenged to find an unquestionable advantage to justify the continuation of this study.

The wisest of the Druid healers were called in to help. And within nine summers the Quicken Tree was planted as a sapling.

It was claimed that a berry from this tree could cure all ills in man and beast alike. And what is more, whoever consumed its broth would live forever without blemish of time or mark of age.

The Druid Assembly were unanimously appalled at such a prospect and they outlawed the Druid herbalist who was custodian of the tree, banishing him beyond the waves. And for good measure they ordered all his work be censured indefinitely. The Druid healer left the Islands of the West and came to Innisfail. With him he brought some berries from the Quicken.

In time he was accepted by the Danaan folk for he had great skill as a healer and herbalist. In secret he cultivated his own Quicken, never speaking of its mysteries to anyone except his apprentice. That young woman guarded the tree throughout her lifetime
and passed the secrets on to her student.

And that was how, Fineen explained, he had come to be the latest in the line of healers whose knowledge descended from that first outlawed Druid. That was how he came to be the Guardian of the Tree, Keeper of the Quicken Berries. And only one other Druid alive knew the recipe for the healing brew.

Lochie listened to Fineen's account with rapt attention. When the healer had finished the Watcher asked the question that was at the forefront of his thoughts.

“Is there any way the effects of the Quicken Brew may be annulled?”

“If anyone who has tasted the brew should fail to take it at least once in every turning of the seasons, they may suffer some malady,” Fineen asserted. “But no one knows exactly what form that might take. The knowledge has been lost down the generations.”

“And any sickness may be cured by the brew?”

“If one who has taken the brew falls ill, the effects of the sickness will last but a short while, perhaps no longer than the time it takes for a small cauldron of water to boil.”

“And wounds are healed completely?”

“In a much shorter time,” Fineen confirmed with a nod.

“But does the brew keep hunger at bay?”

“No. In fact I find my appetite much improved since taking the brew.”

“And if, for instance, no food were available?”

“Do you mean what would happen if there was famine in the land?”

Lochie nodded.

The healer held a hand to his chin to consider the question. “I have no idea,” he admitted at last. “All I can say is that there have been a few occasions where I've been observing a fast as part of my duties and at each time IVe felt incredibly sleepy. Not merely tired but totally exhausted to the point where I had to be helped out of bed on the third morning of the fast.”

“Have others attested to this?”

“Yes,” Fineen answered. “Dalan and I were joking about it the other day.”

The healer stopped short. “I've told you what I know,” he said. “Now set me free.”

Lochie stood up and shrugged. Then he smiled and there was an unusual warmth in his expression.

“Fineen,” the Watcher began, “you've been most helpful. I'd be happy to release you.”

He paused, held out a hand to the fire and the flames dropped down.

“But the truth is, I can't afford to,” he went on. “I need to do some work among the Fir-Bolg and you have provided me with the perfect disguise. To that end I've decided I will keep you here for a while.”

“No,” Fineen whispered.

“I can't leave you any food but I can assure you the fire won't go out,” Lochie continued. “So you'll be warm and dry at least. The water from the springs in these caves is drinkable so you won't thirst.”

“How long do you intend to leave me here?”

“A few moons, no more.”

“I'll be missed.”

“No you won't. I'll be taking your place.”

With these words Lochie's face transformed before the healer's eyes. And for the first time in his life Fineen saw himself as others saw him. This was no mirror image glimpsed in a clear pool. This was how he appeared to the world.

His fascination overcame his panic. “What do you hope to achieve by this?”

“I don't want to let on just yet,” Lochie said, and his voice was Fineen's own. “All will become clear with time. Do not fear, I won't let any harm come to you.”

“Abandoning me here in this cave will hardly be good for my health!” the healer added sarcastically.

The Watcher came a little closer then and spoke in a sympathetic tone. “You may not believe me, but I would not wish anything to happen to you.”

“I'll be missed.”

Lochie shook his head. “No one will even guess that you are biding your time in the depths of these caves. Why would they when they will see you going about your normal daily business as if nothing was wrong? I must admit you could have posed me quite a problem. I mean to say, I can't kill you, can I? The best I can hope is to store you somewhere for a while.”

The Watcher looked around the chamber mockingly, his arms held wide. He smiled but managed to
restrain his laughter. When he spoke again his tone was threatening.

“There's no sense trying to escape. I've sealed the entrance to this cavern. None of Brocan's folk have ever come this deep so they won't notice the changes I've made. Go where you will within this domain. But you should understand you are beyond aid. No one can hear your cries nor witness your tears.”

“But what will become of me? I may drift into an unending sleep if there's no food for me to eat. No one really knows enough about the Quicken brew to state confidently whether there may be some adverse result.”

Fineen looked away in anguish.

“Well, my friend, we shall just have to wait and see.”

Lochie placed a hand lightly on Fineen's shoulder.

The captive turned to face his tormentor, but though Fineen could still feel the pressure of a hand upon his shoulder, the Watcher was already gone. The fire blew up, warming the healer but not cheering him.