The King of Sleep (22 page)

The king touched his daughter on the top of the head and nodded.

“I will do what I can,” he told her. “But I want you to think carefully about Mahon. I'm afraid you may have been using him to attract attention to your cause.”

“That's not true!”

“Then how is it you were caught by your teacher in Mahon's bed? Why did you leave a harp by the fire untended? Weren't you meant to be guarding it?”

Aoife looked down in shame.

“It was nothing to do with Mahon. It was all my fault. I wasn't thinking of my duties.”

“This foolishness has to stop. If you are to be accepted into the Warrior Circle you must learn to take your orders from me. If you disobey me you will suffer for it.”

“I will do as you command,” she promised. “Just release me from this life of study.”

“I'm not sure you understand how serious matters have become,” Brocan pressed. “You were given over to the Druid Circle to pay a debt for a crime. The debt still has to be paid. Dalan will insist on a fine to buy you out of your obligation.”

“I'll repay you with my loyalty.”

“You'll raise cattle and reimburse me for every cow it costs,” the king told her. “If you do not strive to be a loyal, obedient warrior, the Brehons will have no
choice but to banish you. Do you know what that means?”

“No help from anyone. No word, no sign, no acknowledgment,” she answered grimly.

“You will simply cease to be. No one will dare to so much as look at you for fear they will be banished too. Think on that before you sleep tonight. That is the path you'll take if you're not careful. And you'll be beyond my intervention then.”

“Will you speak to Dalan for me?” Aoife asked anxiously.

“I will. Now go to bed.”

The young woman stood up, kissed her father on the cheek and wished him goodnight. Then she was out the door past Fergus before the king had a chance to change his mind.

When the veteran stuck his head inside the door the king shrugged.

“I wish I'd thought of that a long time ago,” he sighed.

“A little gentle guidance never hurt anyone,” Fergus replied. “Now, it's time I was going.”

“Very well then,” the king grunted. “I have something I'd like you to do for me after you've visited your mother.”

“What's that?”

Brocan stood up and went to a wooden box. He opened it and brought out a length of finely woven yellow cloth with a red, gray and black check design in the weave.

“Go to Dun Gur and present this breacan cloak to Eber. I know I asked Fineen to pass the message on but it's unseemly for a Danaan to be sent on the business of the Fir-Bolg.”

Fergus took the cloak.

“Don't tell anyone I've asked you to do this,” Brocan went on. “I want you to find out what bride price the Gaedhal would be willing to pay for Aoife.”

“What price are you seeking?”

“The knowledge of iron,” the king whispered. “So that our people are the equals of their allies.”

Fergus smiled at his friend. They embraced briefly, and then the veteran was gone into the night.

I
T WAS STILL DARK OUTSIDE WHEN
D
ALAN WOKE WITH A
start. Sorcha was standing by him in the firelight, kicking his foot lightly to stir him. It was a few moments before he sat up and stretched his arms to the ceiling.

Then he was overtaken by a sudden violent fit of coughing that had him gasping for breath.

“Bring up all that silt,” Sorcha soothed as she patted his back. “A night in a sod house with a peat fire burning does wonders for clearing out the chest.”

Dalan couldn't answer her but if he'd been able to he would have suggested that the thick smoke in the room could hardly be considered good for the health.

It was quite a while before the coughing passed and the Brehon was able to stand. Then he draped his cloak over his shoulders, grabbed his traveling pack and headed outside into the clean air.

“I'll wait for you out there,” he gasped.

The Druid woman grunted assent as she gathered her gear for the journey and piled the furs against one wall. The sky was beginning to brighten at the approach of sunrise by the time she joined Dalan outside.

“We must hurry if I'm to make it to the spring by dawn,” she told him. “Are you up to it?”

“I've completely recovered,” the Brehon stated confidently.

“You don't travel very much any more, do you?” she asked.

Dalan shook his head. “I seem to spend most of my time at King Brocan's side, helping him sort out his troubles. When I do go off journeying it's rare I have the opportunity to wander as I please. The joy of traveling seems to have deserted me so that even when Tm off trudging the roads my thoughts are not free to roam as they will.”

“Well this little adventure should change all that,” she slapped his shoulder. “It's probably time you got yourself fit again.”

She set off along the path to the spring, Dalan following close behind. With the approaching dawn lighting their way and knowing what to expect, the Raven idols were not as disturbing to the Brehon as they had been.

Dalan stayed close behind Sorcha nevertheless. The thought of becoming lost in this wild wood did not appeal to him. There was an ancient menacing spirit about the place, primal, savage and barbarous. And he wasn't ready to encounter it just yet.

By the time they came to the spring the sky was a light gray-blue and cloudless. Sorcha busied herself with preparations for the fire ritual of morning, a rite Dalan had only heard whispered rumors about.

When he was an apprentice Brehon, twenty winters ago, his teacher had warned him about the Ritual of the Sun. It was an arcane practice, it was said, which stirred the power within Sun and Earth. The energy thus raised by the celebrant was immeasurable and unpredictable.

It was this force, so the story goes, that led directly to the destruction of the Islands of the West in days gone by. For the Druids of old used it to their own purposes and the spirit of veneration which lay behind the ritual was neglected and forgotten.

There were some, of course, who always kept the true meaning and purpose of the ritual sacred. But they made their devotions in secret for fear of persecution.

The details of the practice were handed down the generations of Druids as a sacred secret to be shared with only one person, usually a student. So careful had the keepers of the ritual been that even one such as Dalan had never witnessed it. And he had traveled the length and breadth of Innisfail. He'd been nominated to the highest office in the Druid Circle. He'd met most of the traveling Druids of the orders and indulged in endless discussions about the forces of nature and how they might be summoned to a just cause. Yet still he had never seen the Ritual of the Sun.

Sorcha knelt down at the fire pit which had been gouged out of the rocks next to the spring. She carefully placed splinters of wood within, blessing each as she did so. Then she gathered some dry grass and leaves for kindling.

“May I learn from you?” Dalan ventured.

The Druid woman looked down to where he was standing by the spring.

“Come up here then,” she replied after a few moments consideration.

The Brehon was suddenly excited. He felt as though he was about to be initiated into a great mystery.

“Though the details and the practice have long been kept guarded,” Sorcha told him, “this rite requires no special knowledge or learning. Anyone may take part in it and feel the benefits immediately. But I warn you, it must be performed precisely or the energy which rises may take a dangerous form.”

Dalan made no comment as she began to prepare her sacred fire. Sorcha took a flint and struck it against a smooth river stone. A spark flew out and she deftly caught it in a nest of dry grass and leaves.

Then, as if she were breathing life into it, the Druid woman gently blew on the kindling until the grass began to glow. Suddenly a flame erupted. She whirled the nest of tinder around her head and it burst into flames. In an instant she had thrown the fiery mass down into the fire pit among the twigs. Then she carefully built the sticks up around the delicate fire until it was burning intensely.

Once Sorcha was certain the fire was well established she opened a wooden box that lay at her side. The box had two compartments. One half was full of butter, the other of what looked to Dalan like a dry compressed herb. Sorcha took a fine copper spoon and sprinkled some of the herb over the flames. Then she picked out a small quantity of butter and placed it in the middle of the fire.

That done, the Druid woman knelt down to stare at the horizon and wait. The Brehon was intrigued by the significance of these items and the meaning behind the ritual. But he was too respectful to ask her anything just now. He resolved to make a full inquiry when the time was right.

Dalan followed her gaze to the horizon and soon understood what she was waiting for. On a hill some four hundred paces away there was a lone standing stone. The top arch of the sun was already outlined behind the monument, its movement clearly visible.

The Brehon was surprised at how quickly the golden orb climbed up into the sky. The stone changed from blue to gray to black in a matter of moments as the sun rose higher above the horizon.

Dalan had watched the dawn on countless occasions. It was his favorite time of day. The beauty of sunrise always touched him to the heart. But this was the first time the deep mystery of the event had struck him so deeply.

Sorcha made no move or sound until the upper rim of the sun just clipped the top of the stone. The monument
split the orb in two and light spilled out all around it. The Brehon had to turn away from the intensity of it.

And then he heard the Druid woman chanting. With a musician's ear he listened for words and melody but the language was strange to him. And the tune was just a monotonous repeated phrase.

Yet the Brehon sensed a power within the sounds that reminded him of the song-making of the Druid musicians at the Battle of Sliabh Mis. The warmth of the sunlight bathed his face and the force of it flowed through his body to his feet. His toes tingled no less than his fingertips and he breathed in deeply, savoring the sweetness of the air.

All his troubles faded. He felt refreshed, renewed and ready for whatever challenges lay ahead. So deep was the effect that the Brehon started to hum along with Sorcha under his breath.

The Druid woman paid no heed to the Brehon. All her concentration was focused on the flames of her sacred fire. Her mind's eye was traveling among the embers seeking out the hidden pathways to the Otherworld of the spirit.

The keeping of the ritual had been her duty for the greater part of her life. Her teacher had passed the secrets of its significance to her when she was but nine summers old. And since the old woman had passed away Sorcha had continued to kindle the flames whenever she was certain she would not be disturbed by others. This was the first time for many seasons
that a stranger had been present while she was engaged in the Ritual of the Sun. She knew instinctively Dalan would not understand the meaning behind the symbolism and was unlikely to judge her harshly for her dedication to this ancient practice.

As her thoughts became calmer the Druid woman drifted into a peaceful, euphoric state, the natural state of the soul. Singing all the while, she clearly saw in her memories the withered form of her teacher leaning heavily on a staff, speaking of the Oneness of all things, of the great creature composed of everything which drew breath and all that did not.

Sorcha was but a girl in those days and hardly understood the deeper meaning of the old woman's words. It was before her initiation, before she wore the brown robes of the Frith craft and before her head had been shaved across the forehead in the Druid tonsure. Sorcha clearly recalled the fear that had dwelled in her heart at being separated from her mother for the first time.

As the seasons passed Sorcha had grown to love her teacher as a soul-friend and developed a profound understanding of her view of the world. The Oneness her teacher spoke of was not easily discerned at first. It could not be perceived without dedication to the purpose.

Yet once an initiate was opened to an awareness of the Oneness the knowledge became an integral part of their being, affecting every action, thought and word.

As Sorcha watched the flames consuming her kindling she said a silent farewell to the spring and the forest where she had lived since her teacher's death. In her heart she thanked the woods, the waters and the Ravens for the knowledge she had gleaned from them. She wondered how long it would be before she was able to return to this place she called home.

The sun rose higher in the sky, scattering its warm rays across the sparkling stream. Sorcha looked at the ashes one last time and knew that despite taking the Quicken Brew she must one day return to the dust. She had no understanding of how this might come to pass. Then she glanced up at the world around her and was certain that the great living organism of which she was but a small part would guide her to that step when the time was right. Sorcha took a deep breath as the last of the embers died. Abruptly she ended her chant and looked around at Dalon.

“The ritual is done. Now I must wait for the fire to die down. The ashes have a special quality which rejuvenates and heals the sick.”

“I feel like I've never seen the sun rise before,” the Brehon whispered, his voice full of awe.

“I'll teach you all I know, if you've a mind to learn,” she offered.

“I'd like that,” he replied without hesitation. “I've suffered the Faidh all my life. I would dearly love to learn the skill of the Frith.”

Their eyes met as Sorcha returned his beaming smile.

“We'll be at Aillwee by sunrise,” Dalan told her.

“Go fill our water skins,” she said, turning back to the tiny dying fire. “By the time you've done that I'll be ready for the road.”