Bang. Bang. Bang.

Once, in the distant past of magic and mystery, there lived a man known as Fáolan. He was a merchant by trade, selling the hand made rugs, blankets, clothes and cloths he and his family and village made. He travelled the length and breadth of the world as he knew it, travelling on his tireless donkey through forests and swamps, crossing mountains and valleys, over rivers and lakes, selling his goods. It was a good life, but very hard, and it was often hard to find a good place to spend the night.

On one of these journeys, he passed through a small town, with a well-kept and respectable inn. It was nothing more than a few primitive bricks and a wooden roof, but it was better than sleeping in the cold. Although he had his reservations about how close the forest, the home of bandits, wolves and dragons was, he  left his donkey in the kindly hands of the stable-master, and headed into the draughty building, hoping for a good night's sleep.

Despite the howling wolves, and the bright full moon, and the chatter of people in the street and the incessant whistling of the wind and the spiders on the wall and the mouse crawling over his foot and the braying and mooing and bleating and neighing of animals, he managed to get to sleep for a good few hours. However, late  in the night, he heard three, loud bangs.

Bang.
Bang.
Bang.

He jolted awake, wondering if bandits had raided the inn, and were banging on his door. He swiftly grabbed a nightshirt and some shoes, and hesitantly looked through a tiny chink in the door. Seeing no-one, he opened the door. No-one there. He stepped out. No-one there. He thought he had imagined the sound, and went back to his bed, and went back to sleep, uninterrupted.

That day, he went around the town, selling his goods and talking to the locals. He came back to the same inn that night, and slept in the same room. When the moon was high in the sky, and he was comfortable and asleep in his bed, he heard a noise. He jerked awake.

Bang.
Bang.
Bang.

He quickly opened the door. No-one there. Again. He puzzled, looked around a little, and searched for the mysterious midnight visitor. He sighed, and headed back to his bed.

The next day, he headed out to the next town. As he was on his way through the road, his donkey caught her foot in a dip in the road. He tried to help her up, but her leg was badly injured. He gently picked her up, and slowly brought her back the short distance to the inn. He brought her to the animal healer, and he bandaged her foot. However, it was badly cut, and she had both lost a lot of blood and picked up an infection. He stayed with her into the night, but unfortunately, she died just as the moon rose.

He headed up the stairs, trailing his feet. He slowly got into his bed, tossing and turning. He finally got to sleep, when suddenly -

Bang.
Bang.
Bang.

Despite the events of the day, he jerked awake and headed out of his room. He looked right around the inn. He headed out, and looked around the outside. He looked round towards the forest. There he saw one of the druids of the forest. He approached him and asked if he knew what the three bangs were caused by. The druid paused and slowly replied,

         “I cannot tell you. You are not a druid.”

The man, puzzled, asked what he meant.

         “I cannot tell you. You are not a druid.”

The man asked again if he knew who knocked on his door.

         “I cannot tell you. You are not a druid.”

The man sighed. The druids' famous riddles never were very helpful. He sighed again, gave up, and headed back to his room.

The next morning, he found a strong grey mule for sale in the town market. He bought him with that week's earnings, and headed off for the next town.

* - * - *

Many years later, the man returned by foot, with his thick woollen robes keeping him warm from the winter chill. He returned to the very same inn, near the very same forest. As he approached, he saw the same druid again. He went towards him, and greeted him. He then asked again about the three bangs.

         “I cannot tell you. You are not a druid.”

         “But I am! I joined the brotherhood of the druids but a year passed.”

         “Then you may follow the trail and discover what it is that you seek.”

The druid held his arm out to show a previously unseen path through the forest. He nodded in thanks to the druid, and headed down the path. He walked over fallen logs and damp, musty piles of leaves. He plodded down the pathway, between the ancient trees. As the lightly paved road gave way to dusty path, the man came to a huge oak, blocking the path. Etched into the trunk were the words, 'Touch me with the bronze staff.' The man sighed, as he did not have a bronze staff, and headed back the way he had come.

When he met the druid again, he asked for the bronze staff. The druid handed it over with great reverence. The man took it, and headed back down the path. He went over  the fallen logs and damp piles of leaves and came up to the giant oak. He touched it with the bronze staff, and a large gap appeared in the trunk. He walked through, and it closed up behind him.

He continued walking. The path changed to a stony, cold, mountain path. He walked over rocks and snow, climbing up the side of the mountain. He finally got to the top, and found that the rock leered up , and that there was no-where to go but through a trapdoor in the ground. There was a panel on the door saying 'Touch me with the silver staff.' The man groaned inwardly, and headed back down the mountainside. He went over the snow and rocks and down the path. He went back through the tree, and to the druid.

He asked him for the silver staff, and the druid handed it over. The man asked,

         “Are there any other staffs that I will need?”

         “No.” The druid replied simply.

The man headed back down the path, over the logs and the damp leaves, through the oak, over the snow and the rocks and up the side of the mountain until he came to the wall. Panting, he reached the wall.

He touched the trapdoor with the silver staff, and a door appeared in the wall. He opened it to reveal a lush grassland, with the faint hint of a path running through it. He walked down, admiring the lions and zebras and other animals leading the way. He walked for what seemed like hours, until he came to A large rock gate blocking the way. There was a gold keyhole. A helpful note attached to the door handle read, 'You will need the golden key'.

The man stared at it in disgust, then, filled with the curiosity at what the three bangs were all about, he headed back. The animals followed at a slight distance, feeling his displeasure. He trekked for the many miles that lead the way back, stopping occasionally to eat and drink from the supplies in his backpack. He admired the flora and fauna on the way back, trying to keep his mind from the task ahead.

Finally, he arrived back at the entrance to the forest. He paused before the druid, catching his breath. He asked for the gold key, and was handed it.

         “Are there any other keys or staves or flying monkeys or any other object that I might need?”
         “No.” the druid replied, with what might have been the tiniest hint of a smile.

The man sighed for the thousandth time, and headed back. He went over the logs and the damp leaves, through the oak, over the snow and the rocks, up the side of the mountain, through the door in the wall, over the grassland, past the animals and up to the stone gate. He unlocked the door with the key, wondering for a second if he had the right key. The stiff lock eventually came loose, and Fáolan headed through.

The gate led to a long, dark tunnel. He walked along, and it felt as if it sloped down. The floor was slightly slippery with damp, and he had to try not to slip. He walked. And walked. And walked. And kept walking through the pitch black tunnel. He started to whistle to himself, but the sound just bounced back horribly, and made him feel terribly claustrophobic. So he carried on in silence

Finally, the tunnel opened out into a cavern. The walls were wet with a mini waterfall, and there was a large elaborate arch at the back. In front of the arch was a large, red dragon. It roared at Fáolan, who could do no more than blink in surprise. The dragon...chuckled. It seemed to smile. Then it spoke,

         “I suppose you want to enter, and find out about the three bangs.”

         “I do, good dragon. I am a druid, and I am allowed to enter.” He paused. “If you will let me do so.” He added hastily.

         “Not without the password, good druid.”

         Fáolan stopped. And thought. “Password?” He breathed. “Password?!” He shouted angrily, and spouted every curse he knew upon the druid, the dragon and anything else he could think of beginning with 'd'. He flung himself round, and stormed off through the tunnel.

He was muttering vile, vicious curses under his breath as he marched through the tunnel. He kicked the yellow lichen from the bottom of the wall, and was almost unable to stop himself from stamping on the beetle that had come to see what all the vibrations were about. He pushed the door back open with all his might, and stormed through the grasslands, the animals avoiding him entirely. The trail, when he had finished, was much clearer than before. He pushed open the door and headed back down the side of the mountain and down the path, kicking the patches of snow and the damp leaves, until he finally came to the druid. He calmed himself as much as possible, before he confronted the druid.

         “Druid. What is the password?”

         “The password? It is a secret.”

         “But I need to know to enter the room and find out about the tree bangs!” The man was angry, frustrated, and very, very tired.

         The druid leant down next to him, and whispered the password in the man's ear.

         “You must tell no-one.” The druid added sternly.

         “And there's nothing else I need to know.”

         “No.”

         “No passwords, objects, actions, or anything?”

         “No. This will be the last time you return for anything. Go and find the answer to your question.”

         “Finally.” The man replied with a hint of something which could have been mortal hatred.

He headed back to the dragon – over the leaves and the logs, through the oak, over the rocks and the snow and through the door in the wall, over the grassland, past the animals, through the stone gate, down the tunnel, past the beetle, through the silence and lots of time, and into the cavern with the dragon.

         “Good dragon, I have the password.”

         “Then tell me!”

         “But I must tell no-one.”

         “You are smart, young druid. You may enter the room.”

The man stepped between the legs of the dragon and through the arch. The dragon remained on guard while the man discovered what he came for.

A while later, he came out again, enlightened.

         “Thank you, kind dragon. I will be on my way.”

He headed back through the tunnel, over the grassland, down the mountain and the path and back to the inn.

Another person staying at the inn saw him leaving the forest wearing druid's robes and thanking the native druid, and was curious as well. This man had heard the three bangs as well. He went over to Fáolan, and asked him,

         “So, what does cause the three bangs, then?”

         The man replied,

         “Sorry, I can't tell you. You're not a druid.”