Cricket's Song

by Michael A. Hooten

  The next morning, dressed in subdued but complementary colors, the trio made their way to the Elnsbruck pavilion on the edge of the fair. The chief steward greeted them and put them in a wagon with supplies going to the wedding party. They drove out of the fair and west, following the river to a greensward where servants busily hung garlands of fresh flowers and colorful ribbons.

  A short, balding man with a bushy grey mustache and plain clothes turned out to be the Lord Elnsbruck. “Good,” he said, looking them over. “A handsome lot. If you play half as good as you look, it will be a fine day. Indeed.”

  “We’re honored,” Asael said with a bow.

  “Well, fine,” Lord Elnsbruck coughed. “Go and meet the bride and groom, and then set up. Keep the music tasteful and simple, right. There’ll be dancing after the sealing of course, so be ready: we Leinathmen like to work out our joints. So.”

  Patkirk evidently took after his mother, being a tall, slim man with a freckled face. He shook hands all around, then laughed at their surprise. “I’m just a normal man in the end,” he assured them. A little nervous at the moment, but I’ve been told that’s also normal.”

  Encouraged by his openness, Cricket asked, “Forgive my curiosity, lord, but why don’t you have a bard or crossain attached to your retinue?”

  “We have a bard teulu, but he stayed back at Caer Coll,” Patkirk explained. “My mother’s sick, and his playing comforts her greatly.”

  “I’m sorry about your mother,” Asael said. “I hope she feels better.”

  “She’ll be fine,” the young man said. “Anyway, we didn’t expect to have any trouble finding musicians at the fair, so we didn’t worry about it. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to chase down my father and get him into his good clothes.”

  The trio met the bride next in a small tent where a dozen women hovered about her like chattering birds. A petite woman with large brown eyes and a square chin, Maeve looked as uncomfortable with the attention as her fiancée. After greeting them, she asked, “Do you know ‘The Rose above the Lake’? I’m sure it’s bad luck to request a song before the wedding, but it’s my favorite.”

  “My lady,” Cricket said, “Taliesin, the first bard, said that the wedding is for the bride. Anything that we can do to make it special for you, we will.”

  “Make it go by faster,” she said with a laugh.

  Asael winked at her. “We’ll have a word with the priest.”

  They set up to one side of the wedding bower, talking quietly about the music they might play while they tuned. “This ought to be interesting,” Cricket said. “I’ve never been to a wedding before.”

  “Well, we’d better do our best or we may never get invited to one again,” Asael said.

  “If you don’t stop flirting with the bride,” Leann said, “You might get us uninvited.”

  “I wasn’t flirting.”

  “Shut up, both of you,” Cricket said. “It looks like the guests are arriving.”

  For the next hour, they played soft background music, just enough to cover any silences. Leann saved her voice, and Cricket and Asael felt out the audience.

  When the bride appeared, the crowd sighed and Leann began to sing “The Bride of Bellnath”, the traditional wedding song. Patkirk appeared next, and after cutting the three ribbons separating him from his love, he laid his sword at Maeve’s feet. Taking her hand, he kissed the palm. The music ended as he led her onto the platform where the priest waited.

  The exchange of vows was marred only by Patkirk stuttering his lines a little. He seemed entranced by his lady, who spoke her lines calmly and clearly as she gazed into his soul. The priest wrapped the red sash around their joined hands and pronounced, “I now seal thee together, husband and wife, one in the sight of the Most High God.”

  The crowd cheered as the couple kissed, and Cricket played the opening of “The Rose Above the Lake” on his mother’s flute. Patkirk led Maeve in a solemn but happy dance as Leann began to sing and Asael laid a stronger foundation with his fiddle.

  As soon as the tune ended, Asael swung into “Peleg’s Reel”, a rollicking Leinath jig. The wedding party responded enthusiastically, and Lord Elnsbruck proved his word by being the most energetic, hopping around the field with happy abandon.

  After almost an hour, Patkirk cried, “Enough! To the feast!” The guests descended upon the tables that groaned under the weight of the food, and the trio slipped gratefully into the background once again.

  The sun stood less than two hands above the horizon when the final guests departed. Cricket shook his cramping fingers while Asael rubbed at his neck. Leann took pity on them, massaging Asael’s neck first, and then Cricket’s hands, loosening sore muscles but causing other areas to tighten strangely. Their embarrassment was relieved by the approach of the Lords Elnsbruck.

  “Byrn said you were good,” the elder man said. “Must admit, the man is sharp. Very.”

  Patkirk shook their hands again, looking relaxed and somehow older. “If it wasn’t Samhain, we would have gone all night,” he said. “Thank you so much, from me and Maeve both.”

  “You’ll be bards one day,” Lord Elnsbruck said. “Excellent.” He handed Asael a heavy purse, then slipped a thick gold and garnet ring off his finger and pressed it into Leann’s hand, folding her fingers around it. “My wife is going to be upset that she missed this. Quite.”

  “Thank you,” the singer breathed. “You’re too kind.”

  “Not at all!” the old man barked. “Honest, nothing more.”

  “If you ever make it to Cantref Elnsbruck, stop by Caer Coll, please,” Patkirk said. “We would love to see you again.”

  “And hear,” Lord Elnsbruck added. “Definitely hear. Now off with you to the Samhain fire. Hurry!”

  As they made their way back towards the fair, Asael said, “I know where I’m going when I finish with Duncan.”

  “I agree,” said Leann. “Cricket, say you’re coming too. We’re too good to split up.”

  “We have plenty of time to decide where we want to go and what we want to do,” Cricket said magnanimously. “Right now, though, all I want to do is see the Queen light the Samhain fire.”

  On the Taris side of the fair, a large field had been cleared of all but a huge pile of wood towering thirty feet high. People crowded around the outskirts, pressing dangerously close together. Several fights started, but kerns riding outside the circle and members of the Fianna within it quickly broke them up.

  As the sun went down, the crowd grew in size and boisterousness. Cricket, Leann, and Asael jostled their way between farmers, prostitutes, traders, pickpockets and crossains, most of them in one state of inebriation or another. Contrary to their expectations, Cricket led them through the edges, heading more towards Taris where the crowds disappeared. Going up the side of the sovereign hill almost to the city walls, he finally settled on a patch of soft grass.

  “Aren’t we a little far away?” Asael asked.

  “Yeah,” Cricket said, “but look at the view!”

  The field spread out below them, ringed by the roiling crowd. To their left, the sun touched the horizon.

  A horn sounded, magically stilling the people. A herald appeared and read something from a scroll that the trio couldn’t hear, but which caused a great shout to go up from the crowd. A large man in orange and scarlet came out next, carrying a harp. “The Pen Bardd,” the boys breathed. They saw him touch the strings, and watched jealously as the music rippled out through the audience like the rings a pebble causes in still water.

  Then they heard it clearly, a haunting melody calling to mind the cold and darkness of winter, but hinting the return of spring as well. “Magic,” Asael whispered.

  Cricket nodded, but his eyes were fixed on the tent flying the royal banner. Queen Elhonna emerged just as the Pen Bardd finished and the sun completely disappeared. Her long hair, unbound and falling below her waist, shone like the sunset against the plain white of her ceremonial gown. Two priests st
epped forward, one handing her flint and the other steel. She accepted the tools solemnly and strode towards the wood pile. Kneeling just before it, she struck sparks into a tripod made of oak, hazel, and rowan twigs. The crowd held their breath, waiting for the flame.

  The bright fire couldn’t be seen by the trio on the hill, but they saw the crowd relax, and four priests bearing long torches stepped forward to light them. Taking position at the cardinal points around the wood, they waited.

  Cricket noticed the Pen Bardd playing again, so he was unsurprised when he heard the Queen’s voice: “People of Glencairck! I bless this fire in the name of the Creator, the Most High God of Heaven and Earth! May he bless and protect us through the winter, kept warm by this holy flame!”

  The priests thrust their torches into the wood. For a moment, nothing happened, then smoke curled away from the top, followed quickly by a bright lick of fire. The crowd cheered and pressed forward, then backed away as the heat grew. A long line of runners, each bearing a torch lit from the fire, began streaming off to the four corners of the land to light the fires in every hall, hold, and hearth.

  People began swarming back into the fair for one last night of abandon. “Shall we join the festivities?” Cricket asked.

  “Leann?” Asael demurred.

  “Can we just stay here?” she asked. “We can have our own little celebration.”

  Cricket volunteered to go for food, and returned with a small feast. So the three friends sang and danced the night away, falling into an exhausted heap as the sun arose.

  Chapter 7: Betrayal

  Hoyle met them that evening as they came into the Hall. “Master Duncan would like to see the two of you.” Glancing at Leann, he added, “For several reasons, it would seem.”

  They marched back to the master’s office. Squaring his shoulders, Cricket knocked and opened the door. Duncan sat up when they filed in. “I’ve heard good things about you,” he beamed. “A certain Leinath lord sent me a very praising letter. I didn’t understand the reference to a singer, but now...”

  Asael showed him the girl’s title. “We bought her during the fair, master,” the fiddler said. “We would keep her with us, with your permission.”

  “Damnation, boy! Just where do you suppose she sleep?”

  “In the attic, with me, master,” Cricket said.

  “The attic, eh?” Duncan sat back. “Forgot you were up there. Will you pay for her food?”

  “How much?” asked Cricket.

  “Seventy five silver.”

  “Make it fifty,” countered Cricket. “She’s not as big as Manus.”

  “Neither is Manus these days,” Duncan laughed. “Very well, fifty it is.”

  Cricket counted out the money silently, although everyone present was aware that it was still enough to feed two people for the season.

  “Very good,” Duncan said, scooping the money into a drawer. “Very good indeed. One last thing, boys; in light of your recent successes, I would like to move you into the final phase of your training. That means certain schedule changes.” He laughed at their guarded expressions. “What, you think that I’m going to give my prize students more work? Well, that might be true, in a sense.” Stabbing his finger at Asael, he said, “You, be here in my office at the ninth bell. Cricket, I’ll see you at the tenth. That’s all the classes you’ll have anymore. And no chores, either.”

  Asael said slowly, “How could that be more work, Master?”

  “Because I expect a new song every day.”

  “A new one? Every day?” Cricket gulped.

  “If it’s too much, then maybe you aren’t as far along as I thought...”

  “A song a day is fine,” Asael said quickly.

  “I’m glad.” Looking gravely at them, he said, “This is very important. A crossain is expected to be able to come up with a song for a special occasion, sometimes with only hours notice. A song a day will stretch your skills until composition is second nature. Now if you would excuse me, I have work to do.”

  The trio left quickly, and climbed up to Cricket’s loft. “Welcome home,” he told Leann sheepishly. “I wish we could offer more.”

  “It’s wonderful,” she said. “I’ve never had so much.”

  “This isn’t all,” Asael assured her. “We’ll get you your own cot, and we’ll curtain off a section for privacy...”

  “And blankets,” Cricket added. “You’ll need lots of blankets.”

  “But where do you sleep?” Leann asked Asael.

  “Downstairs, in the student’s common room. It’s warmer, but much less peaceful.”

  “Smelly, too,” Cricket said.

  Asael pretended offense. “That’s not my fault. Besides, if it weren’t for curfew, I would sleep up here.”

  “I’ll talk to Hoyle,” Cricket said. Maybe I can get him to overlook your absence occasionally.”

  Leann looked like she might cry, and Asael cast about for something to say.

  “Come on,” Cricket said quickly. “I think I smell dinner. Wait till you meet our cook, Leann; Brista cooks better than we play.”

  “Better than the Pen Bardd plays,” Asael said. At ease again, they headed down the stairs, the hyperbole thick around them.

  As the winter deepened, the trio developed a comfortable routine. The boys went to their lessons with Duncan in the morning, and then spent the afternoons working on their songs, sometimes together, and sometimes apart. Leann took care of them, badgering them into getting enough sleep and wearing clean clothes, and providing an objective point of view when they thought too highly of themselves. In the evenings, they relaxed in the attic or went to the White Owl, laughing, joking, and making music.

  Asael started courting Leann, or at least he said he did; Cricket teased him about it when she wasn’t around, and Asael always responded with, “Stop rushing me. I’m taking my time.” Cricket would respond with a scathing comment about people marrying when they were too old to enjoy life. The two were usually engaged in mock combat when Leann returned, and when she asked what was going on, Asael would flush and say, “Oh, nothing,” while Cricket made faces at him behind her back.

  Duncan proved to be a good teacher. He pressed the boys to constantly strive for better, and had them compose every type of song for every type of instrument. They rose to the challenge, coming up with private games to stimulate their imagination: word association, speaking only in rhyme, playing impromptu melodies. They practiced their singing with Leann, strengthening their voices and weaving subtle harmonies.

  Just before the mid-winter festival, Duncan gave them a new assignment. “Take a week, go to the festival, and write anything you like, on the instrument of your choosing. Listen closely to other musicians around you, but I want you two to separate, for a change; this is to be your song, and yours alone.”

  Cricket and Asael talked about it that night. “It’s going to be weird without you,” the young harper said. “I’m going to feel like I’m missing a limb.”

  “I know what you mean,” Asael said. “Have you thought about what you’re going to do?”

  “You mean what kind of song? No, I don’t even have a clue. Just that I’ll be playing Anlynna.”

  Leann spoke for the first time. “What about me?” she asked. “What should I do?”

  Cricket said casually, “Oh, I think you should go with Asael. You know how crazy I am; I might end up someplace a lady shouldn’t go.”

  Asael covered his joy with a great show of nonchalance. “I wouldn’t mind, but you are free to decide, as always.”

  The next morning, Cricket rose before the sun, and left the hall before anyone else had stirred. He hurried through streets filled with piles of grimy snow but empty of people. Down near the river docks, he found the man Byrn had told him about loading small casks onto a large sleigh.

  “Brewer Bannock?” he asked

  The big man didn’t even glance at him. “If you’re out this early, you must be wanting a handout or a ride. Whic
h is it?”

  “A ride.”

  Bannock stopped long enough to look Cricket up and down. Seeing the harp case he said, “I’ll not be trading a seat in my sleigh for music.”

  Cricket said nothing, but pulled out his purse and jingled it.

  Bannock spat into the snow. “You’re an odd one. What do you want?”

  “A ride to Salwick for the festival,” Cricket replied. “And back.”

  “All that, eh?” Bannock thought for a moment. “Fifteen pennies.”

  “Seven,” Cricket countered.

  Bannock started filling his sleigh again. “Don’t be wasting my time, boy. There’s no bartering a fair price.”

  Cricket shrugged. “I’m a poor man, Brewer Bannock, a student crossain. I have to try.” He opened his purse and counted out the money.

  Bannock tucked away the fare with a grunt. “I’ll be a few more minutes. Might as well go inside and warm up for the last time. It’s a long ride to Salwick.”

  “Inside” turned out to be a small office warmed by a peat fire in a heavy iron brazier. Noticing a kettle on a hook, Cricket made tea while he waited, handing a mug to Bannock when he came stamping in.

  “Many thanks,” the burly man said. “It’s a wee bit chilly out.” After sipping his drink with a sigh, he asked, “So who told you I make the run to Salwick?”

  “Byrn of the White Owl.”

  “Old meddler,” Bannock said cheerfully. “What else did he tell you?”

  “Just that you made a special batch of apple brandy for the festival.”

  “But did he tell you about Salwick?” Bannock pressed. “It’s the Queen’s winter palace, and the bards and crossains are bound to be thick about, each trying to catch the Queen’s attention at the festival. I doubt that you’ll find much place to play.”

  Cricket laughed. “I’m going to listen, Brewer Bannock. Any playing I do will probably be just for myself.”

  “I see,” he said skeptically. Looking out the window, he added, “Well, we’d best get started. The miles won’t pass just sitting here.”

  Just getting in the sleigh made Cricket’s heart race; the royal enclave at Salwick lay only three leagues away, but it had always seemed like halfway across Glencairck. Except for the Harvest fair, he had not been outside of the city since he had arrived two years before.