The King of Sleep (29 page)

“That would put my mind at rest,” the king nodded. “I know there are some hot-headed warriors on both sides who would eagerly take up the sword again. But that road leads to more heartache. It's taken three winters for us to recover from the last great fight and I fear a far more devastating conflict if we come to blows again.”

Brocan took the healer's hand in his. “Your people and mine are ancient enemies,” he told Fineen, and for a moment Lochie thought perhaps the king had guessed his true identity. “Yet I don't consider you a foeman. I would be proud to call you a Fir-Bolg. I am honored to have you at my council.”

Lochie bowed his head, genuinely moved at the respect shown for the healer. He had not heard such kind sincere words addressed to him for many generations.

“Thank you,” he murmured, touched by the compliments.

Then King Brocan turned to Dalan and Sorcha. “I trust you are all correct in your assumptions about Eber Finn,” he stated gravely. “I pray to Danu he knew nothing of the raid against Rath Carriaghe. But the instincts which guide me in my office tell me there is more to all of this than meets the eye.”

“What do you mean?” the Brehon quizzed.

“The southern Gaedhals possess a far larger fighting force than any the Fir-Bolg could field. If Eber has decided to eliminate our folk once and for all, there is little we can do to stop him. I just hope that the death
of my friend and champion was not the first blow in a bitter war which will see us all driven from the land of Innisfail forever.”

Then, before anyone could make further comment, Brocan left the hall. And long into the night he wandered the hills in the moonlight, giving over all his thoughts to the loss of his dear friend Fergus.

L
OCHIE HAD SO FAR MANAGED TO KEEP HIS TRUE IDEN
tity secret by his sharp wit and instincts. But he knew he wouldn't be able to sustain the ruse forever, especially in front of Dalan, a man who had known Fineen all his life and who had an uncanny sense for anything that might be out of place. It was time to move his plan into action.

When the council dispersed from the king's hall the Druids retreated to their own dwelling where they could be secluded from the rest of the tribes-people. There they'd be free to speak of matters which concerned only the initiated and the novices of their kind.

Dalan and Sorcha were already seated by the central hearth when Lochie came in and sat down with a nod. Sárán followed respectfully after, he and Aoife sitting by the door in the traditional place reserved for Druids in training.

No one spoke for a long while. At last Dalan signaled to Aoife with a wave of his hand and the young woman stood up to fetch his small Brandubh table from where it was hanging on the wall. She carefully laid it between her teacher and his guest, then placed each piece in its position ready to begin.

When she had done that Aoife brought out wooden cups, giving one to each of the initiated Druids. Then she handed a skinful of mead to Dalan who thanked her with a smile.

As she resumed her seat the Brehon spoke the words of welcome.

“Let us take a cup together to wash the dust of the road from our throats and to bid a welcome to Sorcha of the Spring who will stay a while with us.” He poured out the honey-gold liquid into the three wooden vessels then went on. “Though we have much to discuss, let us put all the cares of the world away for a while. As is the time-honored custom I would like to play a round of Brandubh with our guest. She is a woman of great learning, knowledgeable in the ways of the forest, the waters and the Ravens of the air.”

Lochie smiled at the Brehon. He enjoyed the quaint customs the Danaans and Fir-Bolg indulged in. It had been a long while since he'd had the opportunity to watch a game played and he was relieved not to be the focus of any attention.

“Fineen is a man of the healing arts,” Dalan went on. “It was he who was charged with the preparation
of the Quicken Brew and he who tends to the daily needs of the people of the Fir-Bolg of the Burren.”

Lochie raised an eyebrow and saw an opportunity to ingratiate himself with Dalan.

“The brew has had an astounding effect,” he commented. “All sickness and injury have been utterly banished from those who drank it.” He looked at Dalan with a grin. “Since I administered it to my own people, there has been no illness among them. Now I find my skills are not required. So it is I have come to live among the Fir-Bolg who refused the juice of the Quicken.”

“Indeed,” Dalan laughed, “your skill is so great you have made your very presence among the Danaan people unnecessary.”

“There will always be a need for wisdom,” Sorcha interjected, raising her cup to toast the idea, “whether it be the experience you have gained as a healer or the good judgment that has come to you as a result of your hard study and dedication to your craft.”

Lochie nodded, surprised at the complimentary tone of her words. She must know Fineen quite well—he would have to be even more careful. He drank his fill of mead and placed his cup down beside the Brehon for a refill.

“There is none wiser than this man,” Dalan continued when he had drained his own vessel. “His heart is humble and his words well chosen. There is none
among his profession so caring and gentle. There is no one so respected. And there is none like him on this Earth. I would trust him with my life.”

The Watcher regarded the Brehon with suspicion for a moment, wondering whether Dalan might have seen through his façade. He quickly discerned the speech came from the spirit and relaxed again.

“You have already trusted me with your life,” Lochie noted. “I gave you the Quicken Brew which will make your life easy, long and without pain.”

“I trust Dalan knows it is his responsibility to make his life worthy of the gift,” Sorcha added.

The Brehon laughed, lifted the table around and placed it closer to his guest.

“You will take the white king,” he told her.

“If I take the white pieces the king will be a queen,” she informed him.

“As you wish. The winner will play against Fineen.”

“Then I shall look forward to the contest with the healer,” Sorcha smiled confidently.

“If you can be so sure of beating me,” Dalan laughed, noticing a bright twinkle in her eye, “then Fineen will not prove much of a challenge.”

“It is not the way of the Brehon judges to practice humility,” Lochie added. “Perhaps it is something in their training which makes them so. Or maybe they are already boastful and the profession of law is the only one which accepts such behavior among its advocates.”

“You have a sharp wit,” Sorcha giggled, warming to the conversation.

Dalan's smile dropped from his face and he realized for the first time that he desperately desired this young woman's approval.

“It is a strange thing,” she went on. “I studied the Brandubh when I was training. I know all about the strategy and tactics of the game. The rules are as much a part of me as my own name. The symbolism of the board and the pieces are clear to me. Yet I know nothing of the origins of the game.”

“There are few who do,” Lochie agreed. “It is a tale often forgotten and seldom spoken.”

“Do you know it?”

“I do,” he admitted. “Or at least some small part of it.”

Dalan raised his eyebrows. “I've never heard the tale of the origins of die game,” he remarked. “Where would you have heard it?”

“Just because it hasn't come to your ears doesn't mean it has never been told,” the Watcher gently rebuked him.

Now Lochie was fairly confident his trick had not been detected, he was beginning to enjoy his role as the healer. And he could clearly see Dalan was vying for the attention of Sorcha.

The Druid woman picked up one of the white pieces and placed it carefully down upon the board in a new position. As she nodded with satisfaction at the move her eyes caught Dalan's, and Lochie saw the sparkle of interest she flashed at the Brehon. Dalan locked eyes with her for just the briefest of moments
but it was enough to confirm Lochie's suspicions. The Watcher smiled to himself. He was pleased the Brehon was preoccupied with Sorcha. It would make his plan easier to implement.

Coughing for his audience's attention, Lochie began the story of the Brandubh. And well he knew this wonderful tale. For though he had been born long after the time when the Ancient Islands of the West were engulfed by the oceans, the story was still widely known in his youth.

He spoke of Manaanan mac Lir, King of the Depths, who brought the game to the Courts of the Four Kings in the Islands of the West. And of the famous sage who had taught its secrets to him. That learned soul was Tuam of the Long Days who outlived all his kinfolk. He who lived alone through the ages, aware of his changing forms and the passing of his soul into one vessel or another. Tuam the Eagle he was also called, for in the time of Manaanan this was the shape he held.

At this part of the story Lochie breathed deeply. It had been a long time since he had been asked to recite a tale. He loved to tell the old legends, though he'd had precious few opportunities in a dozen generations. So he savored the moment, conjuring the words in his mind carefully before he spoke.

“It was not four seasons before the waves came to wash the Islands of the West away,” he went on. “It so happened that Manaanan was traveling the coasts of those ancient lands making inquiries about the
rising levels of the seas which had been noticed in the previous winter. One day he came to a small fishing settlement where a group of men and women were sitting in a circle listening to the words of a wise speaker.”

Lochie smiled as Dalan made his first move upon the Brandubh board. The Brehon took a dark piece, known as a Raven, and moved it thoughtfully to a new position.

“Manaanan sent his champion to ask the sage his name. The man returned to say it was Tuam of the Long Days whom people had come to hear and that he was speaking on the nature of the world from his own observations. The Lord of the Seas was very interested to hear what the old one had to say so he approached the circle, which parted before him with respect.”

Lochie took a sip of mead as the Druid woman decided her next move.

“Imagine his surprise to learn the speaker was an eagle,” he continued. “Perched upon a rock the wise old bird was answering the simple inquiries of the fisherfolk and the deeper questions of the older people.”

Lochie clapped his hands suddenly, startling Sorcha so much she dropped the white piece she had been about to reposition. She sighed, retrieved the little queen and placed her down again upon the board, satisfied her play would challenge Dalan.

“Then, before the eyes of all those gathered, Tuam
changed his form to that of an old man dressed in white whose face was shrouded in wild white hair and an unruly beard. But Manaanan had seen this done before so he was not impressed. In the Four Courts of the Islands there were many folk whose talents exceeded shape-shifting.”

Lochie knew he had Dalan's attention now for the Brehon was frowning deeply at him. The Watcher did not pause though. He went on to tell of how Manaanan mac Lir laughed at the wise sage called Tuam and called him a simple trickster who had taken these humble folk in with his enchantments.

“But within four seasons,” Lochie went on, “Manaanan was seeking out the eagle of wisdom to ask his advice on the fate of the islands. Warriors were sent out to look for the sage and they traveled the two halves and the three thirds of the land in search of Tuam.”

Dalan raised an eyebrow. He had never heard Fineen tell such a fine tale. He was impressed with the healer's suddenly acquired skill. Lochie sensed the Brehon's gaze and picked up the pace of his telling a little.

“In time they tracked poor Tuam down but he was nearing the end of his days in that particular form and he refused the summons to come to the Four Courts. So Manaanan went to the sage himself and begged for guidance, for it was obvious the world was changing and the seas had become a great threat.”

Then Lochie explained all that Tuam had told to his
noble pupil. The layout of the Brandubh board represented the known world. From around its borders came the Ravens of Death, the black birds who carry upheaval in the points of their beaks. For death was considered nothing more than a change of circumstance in those ancient times and no one feared their own passing but for the sake of their loved ones left behind.

“Tuam of the Long Days explained to Manaanan of the Seas there was nothing he could do to avert the coming disaster which would surely destroy their homeland. The best thing anyone could do was to accept that which they had no power to change and to find some way to salvage something from the wreckage while there still was time.”

The Watcher waited till Dalan had made his move then he finished the tale.

“And Manaanan insisted on knowing what the secret was, the great secret to all the wonders of the Earth and why all things must change with time. Tuam laughed and told the King of the Depths to hold out his hand. And the eagle gave the lord a grain of barley. That was his answer.”

“What does it mean?” Aoife interrupted.

“Hush, child,” the Brehon snapped. “You know better than to interrupt.”

“It's obvious!” Lochie laughed.

“Is it?” the young woman frowned.

“If you can't see the meaning straightaway, I'm not going to tell you,” the Watcher shrugged. “It's much
better you make such discoveries for yourself. When you think you have the answer, come and ask me. I'll tell you if you've worked it out right.”

“You're making that whole story up out of thin air and mead-brew,” Dalan grunted.

“I told it to you as it was told to me,” the Watcher insisted. “Are you calling me a liar?”

The Brehon shook his head and looked to the floor, ashamed he had questioned the honesty of his friend. As he did so Sorcha made her final move. In a moment her High-Queen was free from the threat of Dalan's Ravens and she had won the game.