by Caiseal Mor
Sorcha nodded determinedly.
“If you’re to serve my people in future days you can’t afford to foster any such attachments,” the Raven advised. “Remember you chose to come to us of your own free will. None among my kindred cajoled you or threatened you. It was your own decision. And you’ve always known the cost.”
“I understand,” Sorcha breathed. “Don’t worry. I won’t allow myself to become too attached to the Brehon.”
“You already have,” the bird mocked, clicking her beak to emphasize the point. “I warned you it would be difficult to follow this path, but you wouldn’t listen to me. Now you’re going to use the skills I’ve taught you for your own selfish purposes. I can’t say I’m impressed with this turn of events.”
“I’m not doing this for myself. I can’t solve the mystery of the Watchers alone. I need Dalan’s help. And you never told me I wasn’t to practice the skills I’d learned. What’s the point of studying the art of the shape-shifter if I’m not permitted to put it to good use?”
The Raven clicked her beak again and raised her wings so they spread wide.
“Very well,” the bird decided. “I’ll allow you to undertake this foolish venture. But I’m coming with you. And if I tell you to leave, you will obey me. Do you understand?”
“I do.”
“Then go about your preparations while I try to take a rest in the rafters. You won’t be ready to start your journey till long after sunset so I’ll have a chance to get some sleep. I’ve been on the wing all day at your behest. I think I deserve a little sleep.”
It was long afterward that the bird awoke to find Sorcha deep in a trance of the Frith. The Raven stretched her wings, yawned loudly and prepared to come to the Druid’s aid.
Dalan lay on the rocks with his clothes wet through for what seemed many hours. While the Quicken Brew worked healing wonder on his hurts he struggled to concentrate his thoughts on the journey he’d just undertaken.
It was almost completely dark in this part of the cave. The only light was reflected from the arch where the river poured out into the sunshine of a bright day. But the Druid could not bring himself to leave the gloom yet.
The darkness was unusually comforting. The Brehon felt safe here in this part of the subterranean world. Besides, he knew that the only way for him to leave the cave was to plunge into the freezing river again. He wasn’t ready to do that just yet.
As his body mended itself he stared at the cavern roof where a scattering of bright crystal sparkles were laid out like the stars. But his mind would not be reined in. It was overflowing with snippets of vivid recollections of his life and what he assumed were tantalizing flashes of the future.
He recalled what Sorcha had said before they’d set out on this expedition. She’d called this cave the Womb of Danu. The Goddess of the Flowing Waters was certainly present in this place. Her voice was the roar of the rapids and her breath was the unexplained breeze that wafted through the deepest caves.
Dalan felt about for his pouch and found the mead bottle. As he pulled out the stopper it struck him that to emerge from this cavern ejected by the river was like a rebirth, a new beginning. Certainly he would never be the same again. He’d discovered qualities in himself which he’d never recognized before. He’d been forced to admit that, despite his training, his discipline and decorum, he was capable of fear, anger and bouts of bitter temper.
As he made this admission to himself he sensed a presence nearby. His first thought was that the Fomor had come upon him again. But then he realized he sensed no hint of malevolence.
Indeed, as he let himself relax, the only sensation he experienced was of a pure nurturing love that enfolded him in the same way a mother’s love enfolds her child. Danu was his mother now, he understood. She had guided him throughout his life. She had dusted him off when he’d taken a fall and clothed him in her finest garments as he progressed through the many stages of his Druid training.
He was glad he’d left the Raven-feather cloak with Sorcha. When he emerged from the cave he would be naked as a newborn baby, ready to begin his next incarnation. Perhaps he would even feel capable of accepting the highest honor his order could bestow.
Dalan shook his head. There were more pressing concerns. The Watchers had to be dealt with. They were a danger that could not be allowed to roam freely in the land. He would wait until they were laid to rest before he took the title of Dagda.
He sipped from the mead bottle. The sweet liquor tingled his tongue and brought a fire to his throat. And as it passed into his belly the Brehon understood that even the Watchers were nurtured by the hand of Danu. All things were in her care, whether they seemed good or evil.
“Thanks be to thee, Danu,” he whispered. “You who brought me from yesterday to today. I will bathe my face in the light of the sun as you’ve bathed me in your birth waters. Grant sweetness to my mouth, wisdom to my speech. Fill my eyes with love and my thoughts with benevolence. I would travel the land in the likeness of a deer or a horse or in a suit of black feathers if you but desired it.”
He took a deep breath and savored the taste of the air. Suddenly and unexpectedly the Brehon was overcome by an immeasurable sense of guilt. He was ashamed that he’d lost Eber Finn, Sárán and Aoife in the depths of the cave and failed them in his duty of care. Danu would never have deserted him in his need, he told himself. Yet he’d abandoned his charges to an unknown fate, giving in to the torrent when he could have fought it. When put to the test, his resolve had failed him.
Dalan had always been a hard judge of himself. That was why he excelled at his vocation. Most of the time his self-criticism was healthy and pushed him to greater achievements. But when coupled with a feeling of guilt it could turn him to the darkest thoughts and cripple him with cold lethargy. He was surely wise enough to recognize this trait in himself but he wasn’t perfect. There were times when he preferred to indulge himself in feelings of worthlessness.
This was one of those times.
The events of the last few weeks had worn him out. The daily tasks which marked the duties of his profession and the constant worry over the Watchers had taken a heavy toll on his body.
In the half-light of the cave he sighed to release his pain and he was surprised at how comfortable the stone floor felt beneath his back. He vowed to himself that in future he would strive to be more like his guide, the Goddess of the Flowing Waters, Holy Danu, the Mother of the Moon.
The Brehon’s eyes remained open, though the lids were heavy; his ears were pricked for the tiniest noise. Long afterward, when his mind had slowed, it struck him that he should still have been experiencing the effects of the sacred meal. The seeing brew was reputed to be quite powerful. Yet apart from some discomfort and a few minor delusions, he’d not really noticed any significant change in his perceptions. His mind seemed clear enough, even after the damage he had suffered to his body. He was not ready for such an experience, he concluded; Danu had protected him and kept him from harm.
Filled with shame that he had proved unworthy of the gift, Dalan sat up to listen more intently to the sounds of the eternal underground night. He soon began to feel a chill all through his body so he wrapped Sorcha’s cloak around his head and huddled in a ball underneath, his knees under his chin. The damp air had developed a bite as strong as the depths of winter and he was soon shivering uncontrollably.
His feet began to numb just as they might if he’d been foolish enough to go walking in the snow at midnight. Then he realized he was about to succumb to the effects of Sorcha’s sacred feast.
At first he was grateful that he’d proved worthy. But then his heart began to race as he worried about being alone on this journey. He had no experience of this induced madness, though he had known a few Druids who had set out on a similar journey of the senses, arrogantly believing they were wise enough to find their own road unaided. Precious few had returned to the land of living consciousness with more than a fraction of their mind intact.
Dalan’s
senses were as sharp as ever and he wasn’t sleepy. He thanked the Goddess his thoughts were relatively calm. If panic set in he knew he could lose his bearings and be lost forever in the realm of delusion.
It was usual for him to become drowsy before he entered the trance state of vision dreaming so Dalan was quite unprepared for what happened next. Just as he beginning to consider starting a small fire to light the area and keep himself warm, a low, ominous boom shook the ground beneath him.
He immediately threw the woolen cloak away from his head so he could hear each sound in the cave. But the rumbling had already passed like the low growl of far-off thunder. Long minutes passed before another roar shook the floor. It was far more intense and went on for much longer. The final shivers of this boom had just died away when a massive explosion filled the air. Dalan covered his ears, instinctively cowering to protect his head in case the roof should fall in on him.
Every part of the cave shook violently with the shock of the blast. Stones fell from above and splashed into the lake. The Brehon felt the vibrations shaking his stomach until he thought he would surely lose control of his bowels.
Then, without considering the wisdom of his actions, he got up and ran like the wind along a passage that led away from the lake edge. Another roll of booming thunder rattled the cavern floor and Dalan fell against the wall, burying his head in his arms. He wrapped the cloak about his head as if it could protect him from the heavy falling debris.
Rocks fell from the roof and crashed to the ground all around the Brehon. He flinched as small stones hit his head and shoulders, but all the while he kept his face hidden. Slowly the shower of rocks subsided and the thunderclap passed, leaving in its wake a profound silence. Tentatively Dalan took his cloak from over his head but almost immediately he had to shield his eyes from a blinding light.
When he could manage to look around him the Brehon was surprised to see that a large hole had been blasted in the wall opposite. Miraculously all the rock had collapsed around him instead of on top of him.
He stood up and kicked away the debris, relieved that he had found what might be a path back to the settlement of Aillwee. But when he saw what lay beyond the ruined wall, his relief quickly turned to amazement.
There were trees and flowers of every kind and the babbling of a little stream in the background. The air was bright, dry and full of every insect imaginable. Dragonflies of iridescent green and sparkling gold hummed in tune with the largest bees Dalan had ever seen. There were tiny flies whose bodies shone in every shade of blue and red. Butterflies danced around between the branches and crickets gave their merriment a rhythmic rise and fall.
The Brehon was awe-struck. A few minutes earlier he could have sworn he was far beneath the ground and yet here was honey-golden sunlight and all the living creatures of the world above. Entranced by the glimpse of this garden he slipped through the hole in the wall.
Immediately Dalan’s mood changed completely. His heart was filled with such joy that he thought it would surely burst. There was no fear in this place, and he felt an overwhelming urge to throw his arms wide and dance in delight.
As he twirled about the garden all cares dropped away until his head began to swim and he had to stop himself. His stomach was turning but it wasn’t the unpleasant retching urge he’d experienced with Eber. This was a drunken heady illness that might well be followed by a headache in the morning.
He forced himself to stand perfectly still so he could observe his surroundings and slow the spinning sensation that threatened to throw him off his feet. Presented to his unbelieving senses was a garden of dreams set among the most luxuriant well-trimmed lawns. There were trees of every variety the Druid knew, and many he did not.
The reddest roses vied for position with tall foxgloves of vibrant magenta, and all the fragrances melded together in an intoxicating mix.
Then he noticed a great gathering of golden butterflies exactly the same as the one he’d seen escaping Máel Máedóc’s corpse. It had never occurred to him that the Dealan Dé might delight in flocking together in this manner, hundreds of souls fluttering through the air in a wild frolic.
As Dalan struggled to take all this in, a thick cloud of minute orange beetles swarmed around his head so that he was completely disoriented in the midst of their thronging dance.
When he had managed to brush them away and pick the stragglers out of his ears, the Brehon caught the scent of lavender on the breeze. So enticing was this heady aroma that he had no choice but to follow it to its source.
Soon Dalan was making his way along a narrow, well-worn path that wove its way between apple, birch and oak. Nightshade bordered the path and violets were set behind them, but it was the scent of lavender that lured him on.
At length he stopped to catch his breath and take in all the beauty which surrounded him. As he was about to step out again a green apple fell from a nearby branch and to his amazement it ripened as it plummeted earthward. When he picked it up it was as red as any rose, though its brothers on the tree were still quite green. With that it finally struck Dalan that he must have strayed into the land of dream visions.
He knew it was wrong to eat or drink in that place but he was suddenly shaking with hunger and the apple was too tempting to lay aside. He held the fruit up to observe it and the apple seemed to him to be the most gorgeous thing he’d ever seen. Its skin was smooth, the red shot with traces of green and yellow in the grain. The fruit beckoned to him to take a bite and Dalan couldn’t fight against the urge to sink his teeth into its flesh. He lifted the apple to his mouth. His lips parted and his tongue prepared for the sensuous delights of its juices.
The Brehon breathed deeply just as the skin met his Ups, and in the next instant his teeth were closing around the precious treasure. The skin crunched under the strength of his jaws and a succulent liquid poured into his mouth, more satisfying than a draught of cold water on a hot day, more sweet than any honey, more intoxicating than the finest mead.
In the same instant the juices touched his tongue, Dalan’s head began to spin and a flash of bright white light blinded him. It was so intense he covered his eyes and fell to his knees, dropping the apple as he curled up in pain.
But as suddenly as it had struck him the agony passed and he ventured to look around him once more. The garden was as tranquil as it had been a few moments earlier but the Brehon felt a renewed sense of wonder.
Where the colors had been merely beautiful before he had bitten the apple, they now had profoundly deeper shades. And every flower, every leaf and all the countless buzzing insects were surrounded by halos of pale light. Dalan held up his hand before his face and saw to his amazement that he was bathed in a golden illumination that shimmered through red, brown and violet. Sorcha’s cloak was no longer merely deep blue but painted in all the shades of the rainbow.
He searched around him for the apple, determined to take it home with him. But all he found was a brown soggy lump that fell apart when he tried to pick it up. The disgusting mess retained the aroma of the strange fruit but Dalan knew instinctively that it had lost all its magical properties once he’d taken a bite.
Despite the terrifying pain he’d suffered when he tasted the apple, he was completely refreshed and ready to continue his journey. The Brehon got to his feet and looked around him, struggling to understand what he saw.
The scent of lavender came to his nostrils again. Dalan shook his head, hoping to clear his mind, but instead the colors all around him blurred and a dizziness came over him that forced him to lean against the apple tree.
He recalled his childhood teacher talking of the subtle energies that emanated from all plants and creatures. A few individuals were sensitive to these energies and some were said to be able to see them. Dalan knew then that he’d been granted the gift of such sight, though it made him feel quite ill. He could only hope the talent would soon pass. He blinked his eyes but the colors intensified. He waited a moment, breathing deeply to balance himself.
As soon as he was feeling better he pushed away from the tree, ready to go on. It was then the Brehon caught a glimpse of a huge black shape among the branches. The figure was so dark that it seemed to swallow all light around it. Startled, Dalan took two steps back.
And then for the first time since he’d entered this garden a sensation akin to fear came over him. The black shape shook itself, spreading its wings to reveal its true nature.
It was a Raven.
There are some folk who believe all these birds look the same. Indeed it’s difficult for one not born of the Raven kind to tell each creature apart. But Dalan recognized the bird immediately. It had the same menacing presence as the Raven that had perched in the roof timbers of Sorcha’s house.
In unspoken acknowledgment the bird turned her head to one side so she could get a better look at the Brehon. Then she shook her feathers again, clicked her beak three times and, to Dalan’s initial relief, flew off.
But she wasn’t yet out of sight before he regretted her departure. She was the only creature he’d recognized in the illuminated garden. And she had spoken to him once in a dream. The thought struck him that the Raven might be able to answer the innumerable questions that had bubbled up in his brain.
Without another thought he forgot the sweet scent of lavender and took to his heels to try and catch up with the black bird. But the faster he ran the further on the Raven flew, until the Brehon almost lost sight of her among the higher branches of a great yew tree.
By now he had very foolishly strayed from the path and he became entangled in a huge, sprawling blackberry bush. Little thorns tore at his skin and cloak and the more he struggled the worse his situation became.
At last, with the Raven sitting in the yew tree watching him, he gave up the fight and let the blackberry bush hold him up. Dalan’s chest heaved from exertion, his head was spinning again and his throat was parched.
Before his eyes were half a dozen berries, sparkling dark buds of moisture. It didn’t cross his mind that it was the wrong season for these fruit or that he should be more careful. For the second time that day the Druid, who should have known better, reached out, plucked a fruit and stuffed it into his mouth.