The Bardic Academy (A Bard Without a Star, Book 3) (7 page)

The hut
appeared suddenly in front of him, on a peninsula that stuck out into
deceptively calm waters. When Fidgen looked out towards the horizon, he could
not determine where the water ended and the sky began. A light appeared in the
window, and then the door cracked open. “Come in, come in,” said the bent old
woman silhouetted there. “You’re a bit late, but nothing we can’t handle.”

“Are you
Cailleach?”

She clucked
her tongue. “And who else would I be? Stop jabbering and come in. I require
a tune from you, I do.”

Fidgen
crossed the threshold and stopped. He had heard stories of houses larger
inside than out, but he had never heard of one like this, which was smaller
inside than it had appeared. There was a smoky fire on one side, with a stool
that the old woman was pulling out for him, and barely a pace away a moldy
looking pallet. Every other spot had some kind of clutter or debris, from
broken boxes to dried bones and small animals desiccated into mummies. He
tried to get to the stool without damaging anything, but everywhere he put his
foot, something would crack or snap. “Pardon my clumsiness,” he said.

“Oh, no
matter, no matter,” the old woman said. “Nothing here that can’t be replaced in
one way or another.” She got him settled on the stool, and seated herself on
the pallet. “Now, before we begin, ask me your questions, my lovely little
bardling. They burn so bright behind your eyes!”

Fidgen felt
uncomfortable. Her manner was casual, but the power she radiated felt like a
furnace. “What are you the goddess of?” he said.

“Nightmares,”
she said, with a fanged grin. “Cold winds, scorched earth, desolate
wastelands. A baby’s terrified cry, a warrior’s vision of his own death
approaching. I rule the grey and the unknown, the void and the abyss.”

Fidgen
swallowed hard. “And why did you want to meet me?”

“Oh, my
sweet little bardling,” she said. “I have heard great things of you, and your
vaunted abilities. I have a need that only a true bard can handle, and I chose
you, lucky one.”

“But I’m
not a bard yet,” Fidgen said, knowing that it sounded whining, and not sure he
could have said it any other way.

“Being a
bard isn’t something granted, even by the Pen Bardd, though that one certainly
thinks he holds the keys,” Cailleach said. She scratched at a sore on her
hand. “You become a bard by being challenged, as I am doing now to you.”

“What can I
do for you, fair lady?” Fidgen said resignedly.

“A little
lamb, that’s what you are!” she cackled. “All I need is for you to sing me to
sleep.”

“That
doesn’t sound too hard,” Fidgen said slowly.

“Ah, but I
am picky, demanding, and a very light sleeper,” Cailleach said. “I’m not
looking for any old lullaby. And if I get irritated, or decide that you cannot
fulfill my needs, then I get to eat you.” She grinned again, and Fidgen had
the sudden image of her sharp teeth tearing into his arm.

“I will
play my best for you, my lady,” Fidgen said, bowing as much as he could.

“You’ll
have to do better than that, dearie,” the hag said, lying down. “I’m not sure
which I want more, sleep or a tasty bone to suck the marrow from.”

Fidgen
pulled his harp from its case and began tuning it. “Sleep is an elixir that
renews the soul,” he said.

“Yes, but
bones crunch so delightfully,” she said. “With a nice draught of blood to wash
it down with, oh! What fun!”

Fidgen did
not respond, but put his fingers to his strings, drawing out the first notes of
“The Mermaid’s Baby”, a traditional lullaby that he had learned from the
fishermen at Dun Keeldrin. He tried not to imagine how long the hag could take
to devour him, and a glance at her bright black eyes watching him did not help.

He began
using the subharmonies to shield him from the hag’s power, and although not
completely effective, it did ease his fear, and allowed him to think more
rationally. He knew that his power was being tested, so he decided to use all
the power he could. But before he did, he remembered the curse of Dyfed, and
how he had defeated it.

Smiling
grimly, he began feeding power into his tune slowly, watching the hag to see
her reaction. She cocked her head like she could barely hear what he was
playing. He kept the notes soft and soothing, but slowly increased the
subharmonies, releasing them in gentle waves that washed back and forth in the
tiny cottage. He dimmed the candles that Cailleach had lit, and even lowered
the flames in the fire. The light went from bright yellow to dim orange, and
the hag yawned.

He
continued playing, concentrating on making his music, both the heard and the
magical, as soothing as possible. The hag’s eyelids began to droop, but each
time she looked like she was going to close them for good, she shook herself
back awake, and started another round of nodding off.

She started
to rouse herself into full wakefulness, and Fidgen almost panicked. It took
all of his willpower to ignore her and work on the music, feeling the way the
notes went together to create an atmosphere of peace and calm. He could feel a
pattern emerging, like a light he could see out of the corner of his eye. He
switched three notes in a lullaby from Caer Bath, slowed it down a touch,
melded it with another lullaby that he remembered from his youth, and felt the
pattern click into the Chord of Sleep.

Even
protected from its effects it made him yawn, but he saw the hag go from
restless drowsing to deep rest in moments. He kept playing, afraid that he
might wake her if he stopped too soon. As her breathing slowed, she became
younger, turning from a crusty old hag into a beautiful young woman, with soft
skin and dark lustrous hair.

The cottage
changed as well, with the piles of trash turning into cascades of jewels, and
the pallet the hag slept on turning into a plush bed with silken sheets and a
sumptuous bedspread. The walls retreated, opening the cramped space into a
palatial room, with thick tapestries over stone walls. The windows went from
dingy parchment scraps to stained glass, and Fidgen could see that the sun was
just beginning to rise outside. He stopped playing and quickly moved to draw
the heavy velvet curtains so that Cailleach would not be woken by the light.

The door
creaked open, making him spin around. The face he saw, however, was familiar:
Mannanan MacLir beckoned him with one hand while he held a finger to his lips
with the other. Fidgen took care not to hit any of the random jewels or coins
scattered about as he crossed the room and followed the sea god out.

He found
himself out on the peninsula again, but the cottage was now a small keep, and
the sea and sky were quiet in the light of the rising sun. Mannanan closed the
door gently behind them. “You did well, Fidgen,” he said softly. “Now let’s
be away, lest we disturb the Lady’s slumber.”

As they
walked, the keep faded and the sounds of the sea returned to normal. Fidgen
felt that the weather had shifted again, and he said, “How long was I gone this
time?”

Mannanan
tapped his chin. “About nine months, I’d guess. It’s after midsummer already.”

Fidgen
sighed. “I’m guessing that my horse is long gone?”

“As is your
bag and supplies,” Mannanan said. “All you have is your cloak and your harp.”

“It’s all I
need really,” Fidgen said. “I just hope my horse found a good home.”

Mannanan
chuckled. “You’re such a bard.”

Fidgen
bowed low. “Many thanks, my lord, for such a compliment.”

“If that’s
what you think it was,” Mannanan said with a grin. “Would you like a ride in
my landship to wherever it is you’re going?”

“Ah, no,”
Fidgen said. “Unless you know of any more immortals who want to meet me, I
think it is time for me to return to Caer Liadhnán and Ollave Laoban. I’m
certain he thinks I’ve fallen off the edge of the earth.”

“Maybe,”
Mannanan said. “Or maybe some stories have been spreading about a student bard
meeting some improbable people.”

Fidgen shot
the sea god a dirty look. “My name already has too many stories attached to
it.”

Mannanan
shrugged. “A few more won’t hurt.”

“It might
in Leinath,” Fidgen said. “I’ll receive no welcome when they find out who I
am.”

“Oh, well,
I hadn’t thought of that,” Mannanan said. “They are a superstitious lot in
this corner of the land. My offer still stands about the landship.”

“I think I
can get there a better way without losing weeks or months,” Fidgen said. “Unless
you have some other special wisdom for me, I’ll be going.”

“Just to
take care,” Mannanan said. “And remember that things are not always what they
seem.”

“Don’t I
know it,” Fidgen said. He leapt into the air and shape shifted into a raven.

Even as a
bird it took him three days to get back to Caer Liadhnán, mostly because he had
less energy than he thought. He realized that his time with Cailleach must
have drained him more than he knew, and he did not push himself too hard. When
he reached the caer, he did not enter as a man, but stayed a raven until he saw
Ollave Laoban, and then waited until he was by himself before landing and
shifting back into human form.

“Ye gods!”
Laoban exclaimed. “Don’t do that!”

“Many
pardons, Ollave,” Fidgen said with a bow. “I was not sure of how I would be
received if I arrived in the typical manner.”

Laoban took
him by the elbow and steered him into the caer. “You’re right about that. Go
down to the storeroom, and wait for me there. I’ll be along when I can, but
whatever you do, don’t make yourself known to anyone else without good reason.”

“Yes, Ollave,”
Fidgen said. He shifted to mouse form, and began winding his way down into the
basement. When he found the old storeroom, he discovered that it was half
filled with apples, carrots and potatoes. He shifted back his natural form,
ate an apple, and then made himself pallet from some discarded burlap bags. He
fell asleep quickly, and rested without dreams until Laoban woke him.

“I have
heard stories about you,” the Ollave said without preamble. “Now tell me your
version.”

Fidgen sat
up straight and began talking. It took two hours to tell it all, and in the
end Laoban looked both pleased and disturbed. “Meeting any one of the
personages you did would show that you had mastered enough magic to proceed to
the next phase of your training. But you met three, and discovered the Chord
of Sleep as well. That’s the most difficult of the three Chords, by the way.”

“I didn’t
know that,” Fidgen said.

“It’s a
good thing,” Laoban said. “It might have sapped your confidence at a time when
you needed all you could get.” The Ollave sighed. “No, you’ve shown excellent
self-control, and a mastery of this portion of our craft. It is time for you
to move on to Airu, where you will learn the law from Ollave Kyle macMairtin.”

“You do not
seem pleased by the prospect, Ollave.”

Laoban
snorted. “I’ve never had a student experience what you have. I know that the
Pen Bardd will hear of it before I send him a single word, but what will he
think?”

“He won’t
hold it against you,” Fidgen said.

“I’m more
worried that others will come to me expecting to learn how to meet the gods,”
Laoban said. “How am I supposed to teach that?”

Fidgen had no
answer for him.

When Fidgen arrived in Caer
Carrick just before Samhain, he discovered that he already knew Ollave Kyle
macMairtin. The red hair had begun to grey at the temples, but it was the same
bard who had been present so long before when he had first been named Math’s
heir apparent.

The Ollave
recognized him as well. “Of all the students I expected to see,” he boomed, “Gwydion
ap Don is the most unlikely!”

Many people
turned to see who the Ollave was talking to, and Fidgen held himself very
still, willing away both irritation and all the staring eyes. “That is not my
name,” he said. “I am Fidgen.”

“Keeping
incognito, eh?” Kyle said in the same loud voice. “Very wise. It’s still not
clear what caused your uncle’s death, and I’m sure there are a lot of people
who would like to get your side of things.”

Fidgen
cursed the man thoroughly in his mind, but said only, “I come seeking
instruction, Ollave.”

“Well
certainly!” Kyle said. “The student bunks are over there, by the orchard.
Meet the others, get yourself settled, have a look around a bit. Lessons start
first thing in the morning. Try to stay out of trouble until then, eh?”

In the
bunkhouse, three other students sat talking. His entrance caused them to
pause, and one, a burly boy with red hair said, “Are ye a new student then?”

“I am. My
name is Fidgen.”

The boy
waved his arm. “We three are the only others at the moment. So pick any place
where we’re not planted.”

Fidgen took
a bunk about equal distance from each, and the red headed boy said, “My name's
Donnel, that there’s Tagun, and she’s Fayla. We each got here in the last week
or so.”

Tagun had
dark curly hair, and Fayla had straight brown hair held back by a plain leather
thong. Fidgen shook hands all around, and said, “Do you know if any others are
expected?”

“Hard to
say,” Tagun replied. “We three have been in training together for the last
three years, but there have been several others who have come and gone.”

“We’ve
heard of you, though,” Fayla said. “Is it true that you defeated a laird in
single combat?”

“Yes,”
Fidgen said.

“And that
you met Epona, and Mannanan MacLir?” Donnel asked.

Fidgen
sighed. “Yes, that’s true too.”

“You don’t
seem happy about it,” Tagun said. “I think any one of us would be thrilled
with those experiences.”

Fidgen
shrugged. “I’m just trying to become a bard, not a legend.”

“Too late,”
Donnel said.

“Thanks.”

“It’s about
time for dinner,” Tagun said. “Would you like to join us?”

Fidgen
hesitated, but the offer seemed sincere and direct. “I would like that very
much,” he said. “Thank you.”

The great
hall had wicker partitions much like Caer Dathyl had, and the students
commandeered one to be able to talk more easily. Fidgen mostly listened at
first, as the three other students described their various exploits in
Cairnecht, Duvnecht, and Leinath. None had experienced anything like Fidgen,
but they told all their stories well, and Fidgen wished he had more like they
did, especially from Leinath. But he was able to compare notes with them about
Fenella and Laoban, and they had visited many of the same duns and caers
throughout the country. They shared many laughs and many more sympathetic
nods, especially when Fidgen began to share some of his stories as the dinner
wound down.

As the
dishes were cleared, the caer’s bard teulu began playing, and the four students
listened with admiration and some minor criticisms, generally enjoying being
the audience instead of the performers. But then Ollave Kyle asked for a turn,
and Fidgen watched the other three react with some interest. They had never
heard him play before, and he performed much like he spoke: loud, with a
pompous attitude and no care that his audience had gone from rapt interest to
polite tolerance within the space of one song. He also, unsurprisingly, went
on too late, unheeding of the growing restlessness of the people. The cantref
Lord seemed oblivious too, and when Kyle finally ended, he gave him a gold ring
in reward.

The
students made their way back to the bunkhouse, saying little until the door was
firmly closed behind them. Then Tagun said, “That was... interesting.”

“I never
dreamed an Ollave might be so tedious,” Fayla said.

Donnel
snorted. “Ye’re being too kind,” he said. “The man was bloody awful, and we
all know it.”

Fidgen
smiled, but only shrugged when Tagun asked what he thought. “I’ve encountered
the Ollave before,” he said when they pressed him for an opinion. “He hasn’t
improved with age.”

They began
asking him about when and how he knew Kyle, and he refused at first. But the
others had learned their lessons well, and he knew that they would come at him
from all different angles until they got the information they wanted. “Okay,”
he said with a sigh. “Since I doubt that Kyle will keep it to himself, I will
tell you how I know him, and under what circumstances I have heard him before.”

Donnel,
Tagun, and Fayla all quieted down instantly, making him laugh. “You look like
children who have just been told that they with hear the entire history of Finn
MacCuhal.”

“It’s a
rarer story we’re about to hear, I’m thinking,” Donnel said.

“That it
is,” Fidgen said. “This is the story of Gwydion ap Don, and how he entered the
Academy of the Bards.”

It took the
rest of the night, but he told them his story, leaving nothing out, from
becoming heir apparent and how Math trained him in both magic and warfare, to
becoming Tanist and what he did to Kyrnin and his cantref. He told them about
what he did in Caer Don, and what happened in Caer Dathyl at the same time. He
told them about the battle in the tower, and how he was judged for it, both by
himself and by the Pen Bardd and the High Druid. He continued on with the
choice he was given, and how Ogmah resolved it.

“The rest
you probably know,” he said. “Certainly I have heard it often enough in my
travels: my trials with the Pooka, my struggles with Chieftain Catriona and
Laird Fingal, and the gods I met in Leinath.”

The three
students sat wide-eyed and slack-jawed. Tagun roused himself first, saying, “Is
it all true, then? Are you all that you claim?”

“It is
true,” Fidgen said. “As for what I claim to be... I am still trying to find
that out, I think.”

“Why us?”
Donnel demanded.

“What do
you mean?” Fidgen said.

“I think he
means: why are you telling all this to us?” Fayla said, and Donnel nodded. “It’s
not like we’re anything special.”

“And ye met
us only a few hours ago,” Donnel said. “So why spill yer guts to us?”

“I don’t
trust Kyle,” Fidgen said bluntly. “He knows who I was, and who I am now. He
has little regard for others, and I don’t trust him not to put my story
together in a way to make himself seem more important and me less.”

“It’s still
a risk,” Tagun said.

Fidgen
spread his hands. “What would you have me do? I have to trust someone
eventually.”

“And we’re
pleased you chose us,” Fayla said, putting her hand over Tagun’s. “We will try
to honor that trust as best we can.” Donnel and Tagun both nodded, and a great
knot began to ease in Fidgen’s heart.

As the
winter progressed, Fidgen knew he had made the right decision. The three
friends welcomed him into their group without hesitation, and made him feel
like he had always belonged. He loved Donnel’s brashness, and Fayla’s calm
assessment of any situation. And Tagun felt like a brother, mirroring him in
humor and intelligence, but with a patience that he had never had.

And his
patience was tested often with Kyle as a teacher. The Ollave knew the material
well enough, but his lectures were often boring and rambling, requiring all
four students to compare notes afterwards to get the full gist of what had been
said. Fortunately Caer Carrick had an excellent library, and they spent many
evenings there debating what Kyle had meant. They learned the tenants of the Seanchus
Mor, which was the civil law, and of the Cain Adomnain, which codified the
ecclesiastical law. As bards, they were expected to know when to apply each,
and to be able to defend their actions. Kyle gave them plenty of cases from
history to debate, and they did so in class while Kyle just smirked at them,
always ready with the right answer when they had exhausted themselves.

But the
fierce arguments they had with each other were only a game and a show for the Ollave,
for each of them disliked him for their own reasons.

Kyle
treated Donnel as he might a slow child, mostly due to Donnel being an
unrepentant highlander, and Donnel responded with little but contempt. Fayla
disliked the way he raked her with his eyes, and then treated her
patronizingly, as though she were not attractive enough to merit his favor.
Tagun hated him for the way he treated the others. But despite their own
feelings, they hid them from the Ollave, mostly because Fidgen asked them to.
And he asked it of them so that they would not get the same treatment the
Ollave gave him.

It didn’t
matter what Fidgen did, or didn’t do, Kyle spent half of his lectures berating
him for some wrong. Fidgen took it as meekly as he could, but would
occasionally blow up, yelling at the Ollave about how wrong, how unfair, or how
pig-headed he was, Kyle seemed to relish the outbursts, using them as an
excuse to hand out punishments like working in the kitchens or the stables.
Although losing his temper was real enough, Fidgen knew that the extra work was
Kyle’s way of humiliating him.

But he did
his part to goad the Ollave as well. He asked as many questions as he could,
seeking clarity and understanding, but what he found was that Kyle’s knowledge
of the law was not as thorough as the Ollave pretended. And when challenged,
Kyle responded with a temper of his own, swearing that Fidgen would never be a
true bard. The hatred between them remained a festering, untreated wound
throughout the winter and into the spring.

As the
weather changed, so did Kyle’s attitude. He didn’t let Fidgen’s probing get to
him, instead responding with a smugness that Fidgen didn’t understand. He
still didn’t trust the man, and both he and his friends tried to figure out
what Kyle was up to without success.

It became
clearer when Kyle gathered his students two weeks before Beltane and said, “It
is about time to go out and practice what I have attempted to get through those
thick skulls of yours. This will not be like the other fifths, however; I have
specific instructions for each of you. I want to see each of you, alone, in
this order: Donnel, Fayla, Tagun, and lastly, Fidgen. Come with your packs
ready to go; you’ll be leaving as soon as I give you your assignment. I’ll
send a page when I’m ready for you. Don’t make me wait.”

They went
to the bunkhouse together. “I wonder what he’s up to,” Tagun mused.

Fidgen
shrugged. “It’s just him being controlling again, I’d guess.”

“I’d guess
it’s more than that,” Donnel said. “He wants to see ye last, which cannot be a
good sign.”

“I’m not
worried,” Fidgen said. “It’ll be good to be away from under his evil eye, and
that’s enough for me.”

They
started packing their few things, and Fidgen could hear them whispering behind
him. He turned around to find all three ready to go, but avoiding his eyes. “What’s
going on?” he asked.

“Just
saying goodbyes,” Donnel said.

“And we’re
worried about you,” Fayla said.

“I’ll be
fine,” Fidgen said.

“You say
that, but you don’t know,” she said.

Tagun gave
the other two a warning look. “We’re not saying you’re not capable,” he said. “We
just think that Kyle is going to try to make your life as miserable as he can.”

There was a
knock on the door, and Donnel shouldered his pack and his harp. “I’m off then,”
he said. “Luck to you all.”

“And to
you,” they replied.

When he was
gone, Fidgen said, “As long as I don’t have to deal with Kyle every day, I’ll
be fine.”

Tagun took
a breath to respond, but Fayla cut him off by saying, “I’m sure you will.”
This time the warning look was from her to Tagun. He just shut his mouth and
nodded.

The three
friends sat in uncomfortable silence until there was another knock at the
door. “My turn,” Fayla said. “Be well.”

“And you,”
they replied.

Without
her, Tagun seemed to struggle with wanting to say something. Fidgen sighed. “Just
spit it out,” he said.

Tagun
grinned. “You know me well.”

“Enough to
know that the three of you are planning something,” he said.

“Maybe,”
Tagun shrugged. “Mostly though, we just think that whatever Kyle has planned,
it’s going to be as bad for you as he can make it.”