Cricket shrugged. “The principles are sound, and I have heard of this kind of ceremony before, but who knows? I’m afraid that for all our planning, we’re still playing this by ear.”
Essa joined them, slipping an arm around her husband. “I think you two worry more than some old men I know.”
“I am an old man, my dear,” Aled said with a grin. “So I’m entitled. Now if you’ll excuse me...”
Cricket watched the priest wander off, and then turned to his wife. “I wish you had stayed back at the caer,” he said.
“And miss this grand experiment? You should know me better.”
“I think I know you well enough.” He put his hand on her growing belly, shaking his head in wonder at the kicks he felt. “I’m just worried that the smoke could be bad for the baby.”
“I’m not going to be standing that close to the fires,” she said. “If it bothers me, I’ll move.”
“As you will.”
“Is there any other way?”
The sky began to lighten, revealing a sea of sheep, with their shepherds like scattered islands among them. “There are so many of them,” Cricket said, looking around. “I hope we can get them all through today.”
“Don’t worry, I have faith in you.”
He kissed her on the cheek. “Thank you, my love. But go on now, we’re about to start.”
Essa kissed him back and went towards a tent set up on a nearby hill where Mannath stood with his arms folded over his chest. Cricket watched her for a moment, nodded at his lord, then pulled Linnaia around and began warming his fingers on her strings. Brother Aled reappeared and said, “Are you ready?”
“As ready as I’ll ever be. Just remember to try and time it so that you light the fires right as the sun comes over the horizon.”
“I remember, I remember,” the priest said. “May the Creator bless us.”
“That’s what this is all about.”
Brother Aled took his place between the two fires, lighting a long torch that he held like a staff. Cricket moved towards the sheep, playing and feeling for the proper sub-harmonies, watching the horizon.
The sun appeared, a blazing red line that grew into a ball, and Cricket felt an answering warmth from the fires behind him. He saw Brother Aled move beside him, and then the priest began to pray.
“Oh Creator!” Brother Aled said, his voice amplified by Cricket’s music so that it boomed across the flocks. “We thank thee for watching over us and protecting us, for guiding us through our struggles! We ask thee now to bless these sheep, purifying them through thy holy flame, represented by these fires! We ask thee for this humbly, knowing that thy will, and thine alone, allows us to prosper. Amen.”
Cricket continued to play as the first shepherd led his flock between the bonfires, using his magic to keep the sheep safe from the flames. His sight folded, and he saw the fire form a tunnel, where gray animals entered on one side, and came out white on the other. He also saw two giants dressed all in white, invisible to the shepherds, striding among the waiting flocks, touching the occasional lamb with a glowing wand.
He shook his head, but the visions remained, and with them came a new sight: he found himself looking not at sheep, but at sparks that glowed in various colors. Most had a greenish tint, but some appeared yellow, and others looked blue or red. The ones that the spirits sought out had a sickly gray or brown cast, but became brighter and richer at their touch. And Cricket knew that he could change the hues himself, with his music.
Time retreated. He felt Essa touch him on the shoulder and ask him if he wanted to eat, but he just shook his head, too overwhelmed to speak. He played into the afternoon, only stopping when the last sheep passed between the fires.
When his fingers left the strings, he felt himself sag. Only Essa on one side and Brother Aled on the other kept him upright. “Are you okay?” the priest asked.
“I’m just tired,” Cricket assured them.
“I think we’d better get you home,” Essa said.
“Too far. Just lay me down here.”
“And have you get sick? I don’t think so.”
Brother Aled helped them get back to their room at Caer Arberth just as the sun went down, making sure that Cricket went straight to bed. As soon as he left, Essa lit a lamp and sat beside him, holding his hand. “I don’t know if I want you doing that again.”
“What?” Cricket said, struggling against his exhaustion. “I’m fine, really.”
“But you’re so worn out.”
“It’s a wonderful kind of worn out.” Cricket patted her hand. “If I did it every day, it might be a problem. But we’re talking about once a year.”
“Shut up and let me worry about you a little.”
Cricket settled back with a sigh. “I love you.”
“I love you too. Brat.”
Cricket felt better the next day, and Essa showered him with kisses and said she was sorry for the night before. The day after that she was mad at him again, and Cricket silently wished that she would go back to just being sick in the mornings. But the summer passed by easily enough, with his frequent forays into the countryside to check on the flocks and the many nights of playing for the caer. The twins, Gerralt and Catrin, came just before Samhain, and Cricket never felt prouder. CuChulainn also became a father, several times over.
Life fell into a comfortable cycle, with winters full of music and summers full of sheep. The flocks grew noticeably healthier, with greater numbers and better wool, bringing more money into the cantref’s coffers. Mannath hesitantly used the increase in wealth to make improvements throughout the land, repairing roads, bridges and buildings. He also gave his bard teulu a set of newly refurbished rooms in the caer itself, complete with a private grianan, as reward for all he had done. The twins were two when Essa gave birth to a baby daughter that they named Emmeline.
Between the love of his family and the joy he had in his harping, Cricket almost managed to forget what had brought him to Dyfed in the first place.
Chapter 24: Spies
Ard Righanna Elhonna swept into her grianan and twirled her new cloak in front of her consort. “What do you think?” she asked.
“Very nice,” Ewan said, looking her up and down.
“I meant the cloak.”
“I was talking about the cloak.”
She came closer and held out a corner to him. “Feel it. Isn’t that the softest wool you’ve ever seen?”
He rubbed it between his fingers, then lifted it to his cheek. “It feels more like cotton than wool. Where’d you get it?”
“A weaver named Tom Twice.”
“That’s a strange name.”
Elhonna undid the brooch and laid the cloak over a chair. “He’s from Dyfed. That’s where the wool is from, too.”
“Don’t jest with me,” Ewan said. “Everyone knows that Dyfed has the worst wool in Glencairck.”
“Not anymore it doesn’t,” she said, stroking the wool idly. “And that bothers me.”
“I don’t know why,” Ewan said. “I would think that you would be happy that one of your cantrefs is gaining in prosperity.”
“It rubs me wrong.” She paced about the room. “Until a few years ago, Dyfed was the poorest cantref in the land, and had been for ages. Now it’s blossoming like a flower in spring. I want you to send some bards down there, today.”
Ewan sat a little straighter. “You suspect something? Some kind of threat?”
“I’m not sure. But something is happening, and I want to know what it is.”
“Do you want them to go in disguise, or openly?”
“Send some of both. But make it quick.”
“I’ll find some people right now,” he said, standing up. “They’ll discover what’s going on within the month.”
Serca entered the hall of Dun Moryus and watched the people move about her. She had never received so many cold stares in her life, and smiling only made matters worse. She bowed before Chieftain Colwyn ap Dewi, and offered to play in
his hall for the evening in return for a place to sleep.
“You are welcome to my hall, bard,” he said. “All I ask is that you look to your code and follow it closely.”
“Of course,” she replied. “Shall I tell you the latest news from Taris?”
“I’ve never been to Taris,” he said with a smile. “Not really interested in anything that goes on there, either.”
“Well, perhaps you could tell me how things are in Dyfed. Yours is the first dun I’ve stopped at.”
He smoothed his moustache. “It rains a lot, but the sheep don’t seem to mind.”
“How about Caer Arberth? Have you heard anything from there?”
“No, but I’m sure Lord Dyfed’s sheep are doing fine, too.” He took a swig of mead and said, “Do you know ‘Glendower’s Battle’?”
Serca sighed and tuned her harp. She didn’t know all the songs that they asked for, but she played what she could, and tried not to scream at their condescending sympathy.
As the evening wore on, Serca resigned herself to just watching the interactions between the people. Young girls flirted with men twice their age, and the younger men laughed to cover their jealousy. The children ran about, getting under everyone’s feet, but they avoided the bard with giggles and whispers. Sheep dogs chewed on bones in the corners, and mothers fed their children with patience and fortitude. It reminded her of duns she had seen all over Glencairck, but every time she finished a song, everyone paused with her, turning bright eyes her way until she started something new.
She tried once more over breakfast the next morning. “Chieftain Colwyn, is there anything I should be aware of down the road?”
“It goes through some mountains in a few miles,” he said. “I don’t think there will be any snow this time of year, though.”
Serca bit back the scathing retort that she wanted to make, thanked him kindly instead, and fled for the comfort of the road.
As she made her way deeper into Dyfed, she asked herself again how the Pen Bardd had managed to talk her into making the trip. “Just look around, see if anything is out of the ordinary,” he said, and because she had already been in Taris for three months, she said yes.
And why not? She thought, kicking her horse into a short canter. Even now, the road is good, my horse is strong, and I have all the time in the world. She swung her bodhrán around and drummed her bad mood away.
That night she spied a small shepherd’s hut off the road, not unlike the ones she knew from Duvnecht. Smoke drifted from the chimney, bringing the smell of roast game and making her mouth water. A heavy shouldered horse and a pack mule were hobbled off to the side.
She approached cautiously, unsure of what kind of reception she might receive. “Hello?” she called out.
A man’s broad face appeared, and the large bulk of his body soon followed. “Do my eyes deceive me?” he said. “Are you truly a bard?”
“I am.”
He bustled out, almost running to wring her hand. “Thank the Creator!” he cried. “I’ve been in this god forsaken land for so long that I thought I would never see anybody but these crazy Dyfedians ever again.”
“It is good to hear a friendly voice,” she said. “And I’ve only been here for a couple of days.”
The man rolled his eyes. “They don’t like to talk much, do they?” he said. “Hospitable enough, I suppose, but aloof at the same time. Believe me, it only gets worse.” He slapped his forehead. “But forgive me! My manners have completely escaped me. My name is Eogan macFlynn, a merchant from Taris. I’m down here looking for suppliers of this fabulous wool they’re breeding, but I’ll be damned if I can get anyone to give me a warm word, much less make a deal with me. But come inside, I have a fire, and a haunch of deer that I bought from a shepherd earlier.”
Inside the cozy hut, Serca introduced herself and gave the merchant a brief description of her experience in the dun.
“I’m afraid you’ll find that to be typical,” Eogan sighed. “As a bard, you’ll get better treatment than I have, but they mistrust any foreigners, even other Cairnechtmen. But tell me what is happening in Taris! I haven’t been there in three months, and I haven’t heard a thing.”
Serca told him the latest gossip and innuendo while they ate, and Eogan devoured her words as ravenously he did the venison. After she had finished, she asked, “Is there anything you can tell me about the conditions in Dyfed?”
“I’m not sure,” the merchant answered. She handed him her wineskin, and he squirted a stream of it into his mouth. “I’m not a bard, so I’m sure I missed a lot that you’d see, but overall, I’d say the people are cautiously ecstatic about their change in fortunes. It’s hard to tell, though. The only thing that they show any real animation about at all is someone they call the boy harper.”
“Is he a bard?”
Eogan frowned and took another swallow of wine, which made him smile again. “Oh, I’ve missed this; all they have down here is beer and mead. But you know, I’m not sure if he’s a bard or not. All I know is that he wanders about the country side, playing to the sheep.”
“To the sheep?” Serca racked her brain, but it didn’t sound like anything a true bard would do.
“Believe me, it’s not the strangest behavior I’ve seen around here. There is this one man who talked to me, and I thanked all the gods I’ve heard of until I realized that he thought he was the Creator himself, or maybe some other all powerful personage. He rambled quite a bit, and I’m afraid I couldn’t figure it all out.”
“But what about this harper?” Serca said. “Do you know anything else about him?”
“Just rumors. They say he’s not from Dyfed, but the respect he commands makes that hard to believe. And they also say that he healed the land, whatever that means.”
“Confusing,” Serca said.
“This is just not a good place for sane people,” Eogan said. “I’ve decided to give up any hope of finding a supplier. I’d be better off dunking my head in the Lannae River in order to catch fish.”
When Serca woke the next morning, Eogan was already up, gathering together his gear. “It’s foggy this morning,” he told her. “You’ll find a lot of that down here, along with the taciturn people. Fog and rain.”
“That’s okay,” she assured him, stretching the sleep out of her back. “I’ve been in Cairnecht before, and it’s all like that.”
“Well, its clear skies and friendly people for me,” the merchant said. “I’m headed home today.”
“Your help has been invaluable, even if you did drink all my wine.”
He flushed and said, “Sorry about that. I just got carried away, like I often do.” He threw his bags over his shoulder and Serca followed him outside.
“Don’t worry about it,” she said. “I’ve given a lot more for far less.”
Eogan snorted and climbed onto his horse. “I know you bards don’t travel for the money like I do, but I wish you luck with whatever it is you do get from your wandering. You’re going to need it in this cantref.”
She just smiled and said, “Good travel, and good luck, merchant Eogan.”
“Good travel, bard Serca. And may you find a kind word in Dyfed other than mine.”
She watched him ride down the road, where he was quickly swallowed in the roiling mists. She went back in and stirred up the fire, then sat back to decide what to do next. With what Eogan had told her, she decided that her best bet would be to head straight for Caer Arberth, and if she couldn’t find anything, to head up to Gwynedd. After all, the Pen Bardd asked her to look around, but he didn’t say anything about how long she had to stay.
It had taken some practice, but Cricket had mastered the ability to maintain an illusion for hours at a time. He didn’t particularly like the deception, but he had seen several bards who didn’t wear a cloak of six colors, and several free bards who seemed more intent on asking questions than playing. He didn’t know if they were looking for him specifically, but he didn’t want them reco
gnizing him, either.
So he looked like an older, bearded Dyfedian when Serca walked into the hall, and even so, he broke into a cold sweat. While Asaph left to get Mannath from his study, she ambled over. “Are you bard teulu for Lord Dyfed?” she asked.
“I am.”
She grimaced. “Are you a real bard, or just like all the rest of your people?”
“I am a true bard,” he said.
“Then gossip a little,” she said. “That’s the only way I’ll know for sure. And if you tell me that the sheep are doing well, I will strangle you.”
Cricket held back a laugh, imagining what she must have gone through, and said, “You obviously have something you want to ask about, because to be honest, the sheep are all we worry about.”
“How about the one they call the boy harper? Surely Lord Dyfed’s bard knows something about that.”
Cricket almost choked, wondering how much she had heard. “He wanders about, full of fizz,” he managed to say, and felt relieved when she looked exasperated, but not suspicious. “Just another one of us crazy Cymry.”
“I should have known,” she muttered. “A Dyfed bard is still a Dyfed man, full of riddles and vagaries.”
“We are what we are,” he replied. Having her so close played havoc with his emotions, and it took all of his bardic training to keep a calm appearance.
Mannath came into the hall, and she excused herself to ask his permission to play for the evening. He watched her walk, amazed how her every movement brought back memories.
A kiss on the back of his neck made him jump. “You’re acting guilty, love,” Essa said, taking Linnaia’s place in his lap. “Have you been pinching the maidservants again?”
“Only you,” he said. “But there is someone you should know about.”
“As long as she doesn’t steal your heart away.”
“Well...” Cricket pointed towards Serca with his chin. “Do you see that bard over there? I told you about her.”
“Your first love? Did she recognize you?”
“No, which makes me more confident in my illusion.”
Cricket's Song Page 26
