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

by Michael A. Hooten

  “Don’t give me too much credit,” Fidgen said. “It’s just that I have shape shifted to too many forms to ever assume that any creature is truly dumb.”

  “Not every shape shifter learns that lesson,” Epona said. “Look at how superior the Pooka fancies his native shape.”

  “My lady is very kind,” Fidgen said.

  She snorted. “Honesty is not kindness, even when it feels good.” She mounted the epon and said, “I would advise you to head southeast, towards the coast. There are others who would like to meet you.”

  “Why me?” Fidgen said with some apprehension.

  “Because you move through the land like a storm, and nobody knows if you will be healing rain or destructive gale.”

  “Which do you think?” he asked.

  “I think that like most storms, you will bless some and destroy some.” She reached down and stroked his cheek. “Be well, Fidgen. Perhaps we will meet again.”

  He took her hand and kissed it. “I look forward to it.” He then kissed the epon’s nose. “It was a pleasure to meet you as well.”

  The epon pushed her nose into his chest, and Fidgen clearly heard, “I enjoyed it also.”

  Epona clucked her tongue at them both. She pulled the epon’s head around, and they faded from view. Fidgen found himself back on top of the hill, and he let out a deep sigh.

  “She’s something else, isn’t she?”

  Fidgen turned, and found Manus watching him. “Truly.” The bard looked cleaner and heartier than he had before. “How long have I been gone?”

  “I have been up here every day for a week to check on you,” Manus said. “Epona told me that you would be coming back, just not when. I was also able to reassure the people of the dun, who are familiar with Epona, but seem uncomfortable with the fact that she visited so close by.”

  Fidgen’s stomach rumbled loudly. “You didn’t bring food, did you?”

  Manus grinned and held out a loaf of bread. Fidgen took it and began devouring it. Manus said, “I felt the same way after I came out of my enchantment. Thanks for your help with that, by the way.”

  “Glad I could do it,” Fidgen said around a mouthful of bread. He swallowed and said, “Could we go back to the dun? I suddenly want the company of regular people and a nice warm fire.”

  Manus shook his head. “I’m not sure that would be wise. Stories of you are already trickling into the area, and the people are wary of someone who both the Pooka and Epona have personally interacted with.”

  “So the horse in the hill...”

  “...is as much to shield the people as it is to honor Epona,” Manus said. “And this is horse country. Every stable gives offerings to the Queen of Horses.”

  “They just don’t want to meet her,” Fidgen said. He grimaced. “Or anyone who has.”

  Manus nodded. “I suggest you head more to the coast,” he said. “The people there are more tolerant of someone with your experience.”

  Fidgen said, “That’s fine. Epona said that I should head to the southeast.”

  “Sure, that’s a good direction,” Manus said, looking suddenly uneasy. “If you’ve got your bearings, then, I’ll be off.”

  “My horse?” Fidgen said. “And supplies?”

  Manus gestured to a path that led away from the dun. “There’s a copse down there where I have set up camp. You’ll find everything there, including food for your journey.”

  “Thank you,” Fidgen said.

  Manus looked him in the eye and said, “Thank you. I would have wasted away if you hadn’t come along.”

  “I don’t think Epona would have let that happen.”

  “Maybe, maybe not,” Manus said. “Any road, luck to you, and may your further adventures be less intense than this one.” He turned and almost ran down the path to the dun. Fidgen shook his head, and still chewing on the loaf Manus had given him, went the opposite direction to find his camp.

  Chapter 6: Magic

  Fidgen began heading southeast to the coast, but unlike in Duvnecht, he only stopped in larger caers, where his presence was both accepted and unremarkable. It was a new type of anonymity for him, but he found that he preferred the time between caers, when the solitude of the open road was his surest companion.

  The land began to change again as he got closer to the water, with large limestone outcroppings replacing the smooth green hills. It was not exactly mountainous, but the road wound through valleys that were faced with tall white cliffs that reflected sound strangely. It didn’t feel malevolent, just different; Fidgen played his harp as he rode, feeling how the land shaped the music, and forced him to find new patterns for familiar tasks like making his voice louder.

  He came out of one such valley to find himself looking down on plain that sloped down to the glittering sea. The day was exceptionally clear, and he could count a dozen duns and several caers, with the largest sprawling at the mouth of the river he rode next to. It looked to be several leagues away, too far to make before sundown, but he figured he could make it there by the next day. He still didn’t know what he was supposed to find.

  It found him instead, coming towards him at dusk: a long, low ship that rowed its way through the land as though it was water. Fidgen couldn’t see any rowers, but a tall man stood at the bow, watching him as the ship approached. A gold torc circled his neck, and a silver fillet held his long dark hair back. His clothes were shades of green and blue, and his cloak had the iridescence of mother of pearl. Fidgen bowed low in the saddle, which caused the man to start. He ran towards the stern as the ship passed by, and leaned hard on the tiller, bringing the ship around and to a stop, bobbing in the grass like it was sitting on a placid lake.

  The man called out, “I’m not mistaken then; you do see me, right?”

  “Yes, I see you,” Fidgen said. “You’re rather hard to miss in your boat that sails the land.”

  The man grinned. “You’d be surprised. I’ve been cruising this plain for some time now, and you’re the first that has noticed.”

  “How is that possible?” Fidgen asked. “Your ship is huge, and you yourself are not exactly inconspicuous.”

  “Mortals have a remarkable capacity for ignoring what doesn’t fit their expectations,” he said.

  “You’re not mortal?” Fidgen said.

  “Mannanan MacLir, God of the Sea,” the man said with a sweeping bow. “A grandiose title, but it’s what I am, so it’s what I’m stuck with. And you are...?”

  “Forgive my poor manners,” he said with a bow. “I am Fidgen, a student bard.”

  “Fidgen fits you at the moment, I suppose,” Mannanan said. “But other names will come, I am sure. And your old one will return as well, Gwydion ap Don.”

  Fidgen scowled. “What’s the use of hiding your name when everyone seems to know it?”

  Mannanan laughed. “There are names, and there are names,” he said. “Ogmah gave you a mask, not a new face. That will come later. Or is it your true face he gives? I’ve never been quite sure how that works.” He lifted a gangplank into position, and lowered it right at Fidgen’s feet. “Would you care to come aboard?”

  “Do I have a choice?”

  Mannanan looked thoughtful. “I suppose I could just follow you around for a few days.”

  “I’ll come aboard,” Fidgen said quickly, dismounting. “Is there room for my horse?”

  “Plenty,” Mannanan said. “Just lead him up here, and we’ll get everyone settled.”

  Fidgen was a bit worried that the plank was too narrow, but as soon as he set foot on it, it seemed to widen two or three times, and was so solid that his horse did not even flinch on the way up.

  Mannanan helped him get settled, which was mostly making sure that his horse was hobbled with a nosebag of grain in the middle of the broad deck. There were no seats for rowers, and the oars barely protruded into the ship as it was. Going aft, Fidgen saw the tiller with some benches along the rail around it. “It’s a bit sparse for a god, isn’t it?”
r />   “I like simple things,” Mannanan said. “Would you like to give it a try?”

  “What do I do?”

  “Sit, and put your hand on the tiller,” Mannanan said. “Now, tell me what you see when you look out beyond the gunwales.”

  Fidgen looked over the plain, but instead of grass, he saw gently rolling waves that happened to be grass colored. When he looked at the limestone cliffs he had just come from, he saw high frothy waves suspended in perpetual threat of crashing down. “It’s not land anymore,” he said.

  “It’s all about perspective,” Mannanan said. “Anything is possible if you look at it in the right way.”

  Fidgen said, “My, ah, teacher, said that I needed to change my perspective often.”

  Mannanan nodded. “Math was an arrogant ass, but he did know a thing or two about magic. Turn towards the coast, and just tell the ship to go.”

  Fidgen pushed the tiller, and said, “Go.” The oars began rowing, a slow and steady motion that pushed them through the grass with a hissing noise. “How much do you know of me?” Fidgen said.

  “A fair amount,” Mannanan said. “Power attracts attention, and although you’ve never spent much time around my demesne, everything comes to the ocean eventually. I have been following stories of you for years. From your training, to your blood feud with Kyrnin, to the destruction of your uncle’s tower, to all of the things you have done in your training.”

  “Did you know Epona offered me an epon for a companion?” Fidgen said.

  “Really?” Mannanan sat cross legged on the deck and looked up at him. “I’m listening.”

  “There’s not much to tell beyond that,” Fidgen said.

  “Some bard you are.”

  “I’m only a student,” Fidgen said. “And besides, why should I tell you anything?”

  “Because I’m a god,” Mannanan said. “And it’s only polite.”

  Fidgen shook his head. “It’s not a compelling argument. As a bard, I could tell you the story of Deidre of the Sorrows, or the Race of Macha, but there is nothing that compels me to tell you the stories of my life. For that, we should trade: tell me how you know my uncle, and I will tell you about meeting Epona.”

  Mannanan nodded. “That seems fair.” He leaned back against the side of the boat and draped his arms on the rail. “Let’s see, it was about fifteen or twenty years into his reign. I had heard plenty of stories about the cantref lord who talked to the winds, and I determined to meet him. So I disguised myself as a fool, as I sometimes do, and started walking from Afron to Caer Dathyl. I could see the flags of the caer on the horizon when a raven landed in front of me and eyeballed me. I didn’t even pause my steps, but the raven turned into Math. ‘Where did you come from great lord?’ I said.

  “‘Don’t play dumb with me, Mannanan MacLir,’ he said. ‘For what purpose have you entered my realm?’

  “I considered continuing to act the clown, but I decided to come clean. ‘Curiosity,’ I said. ‘I wanted to meet you and see what type of man and leader you are.’

  “‘Here I am,’ he said. ‘What more do you need?’

  “‘Well’, I said, ‘it would be nice to see how you interact with your people.’

  “‘I don’t think so,’ Math said. ‘You have a habit of humiliating leaders in front of their people, and I will not have that.’

  “‘And how can you stop me?’ I said with a laugh.

  “‘By commanding you as lord of my land to depart to your own realm,” he said.

  “Well, that set me back. It is not well known that I have little power on land except what is allowed me. Most mortals assume that they cannot stand against a god, and do not try, but mortals are connected to the land, and I am not. So they can command me, and Math knew it. ‘May I ask how you learned this?’ I asked him.

  “‘The wise man listens when others speak,’ he said, which is the exact advice I once gave Taliesin. So I bowed to him and left.” Mannanan scratched his ear. “I never have visited Caer Dathyl, and now I hear that there is a new lord, one that will establish himself at Caer Don, and leave the tower fallen.”

  “Bran,” Fidgen said.

  “What do you think?” Mannanan asked. “How would he handle a visit from myself?”

  “Hard to say,” Fidgen said with a shrug. “He keeps his own counsel, that one.”

  “Interesting,” Mannanan said. “Perhaps I’ll visit Gwynedd again after this. Now, you were going to tell me how you met Epona, and what she offered you.”

  Looking out over the waves of grass, Fidgen told his story, using all the techniques he had learned in Duvnecht, but being careful not to stray from the truth in any way. When he finished, Mannanan looked thoughtful. “Epona is one of those people who is awfully hard to impress,” he said. “It sounds like you were able to, and that means you have another powerful ally.”

  “Ally for what?” Fidgen said. “I’m just trying to become a bard, and figure out how to resolve my past. What does everyone see in my future?”

  “Me?” Mannanan said. “I see one of the most promising men in many generations, who could be a great force for either good or ill.”

  Fidgen sighed. “I don’t want to do anything right now but earn the star.”

  “And I’m sure you will,” Mannanan said. “But there is the rest of your life after that, you know.” He looked out over the plain. “We’re about to the coast. Tell the boat to stop, or you’ll ground us in the surf.”

  He looked, and sure enough, he saw the sea ahead, but instead of waves lapping the beach, he saw sand lapping waves that looked like turf. Two great white horses harnessed to an ornate chariot munched the white caps contentedly. “Stop,” Fidgen said. The oars dipped straight down, slowing them rapidly, and Mannanan instructed him to turn the tiller so that they ended up parallel to the shore. He lowered the gangplank over the side, and Fidgen led his horse off the strange ship. As soon as he stood on land again, his sight shifted back to seeing the land as solid and the ocean as moving, but the ship and the chariot still sat on patches that defied the natural order.

  Mannanan stepped up next to him. “Confusing, isn’t it?” he said.

  “Yes,” Fidgen said. “But I imagine you get used to it.”

  “You know, I’ve had many mortals ride in my landship, but few could make it move,” Mannanan said. “Amergin was the last, I think, but he had to work at it. You just did it without even thinking about whether it was possible.”

  “You seemed to think I could,” Fidgen said. “So I did.”

  “It was actually supposed to be a test. Don’t worry; you passed it quite easily,” he said with a wink.

  “Is it my imagination, or is it colder here?” Fidgen said.

  “Ah, that.” Mannanan rubbed the back of his head, and looked a bit sheepish. “I forgot to mention that time sometimes shifts a bit when mortals spend time with gods.”

  “How long have we been gone in mortal time?”

  Mannanan sniffed the air. “About six months. It’s nearly midwinter.”

  Fidgen rubbed his eyes. “Okay,” he said. “Is there anything I should know?”

  “Yes,” Mannanan said. “There is one other immortal you need to meet, and you should go there directly. She is neither patient nor forgiving.”

  “Who is she?”

  Mannanan said, “Cailleach the hag.”

  Fidgen travelled south along the coast, moving away from the plain and into a rocky area where the waves beat against the shore, kicking huge plumes of spray into the sky. The air smelled of salt, and Fidgen was sticky with it. Mannanan had told him to look for a hut between the sea and sky, and even though Fidgen had no idea how such a thing could exist, he trusted that it could be found.

  He thought back through all the stories he knew as he rode, trying to remember anything he could of the hag. She was never central to any tale, but appeared as a curse, or a caution. She wound through the history of Glencairck like a tendril of mist, touching and blurring the edges of
things. He wasn’t sure why she wanted to meet him, but he had resigned himself to his fate, especially when Mannanan indicated that she would seek him if he didn’t find her first. He had shuddered when he said it, and Fidgen didn’t want to know what would cause a god to fear.

  The light began to fade, and he retreated a bit inland until he found a patch of green grass for his horse to dine on. He ate little, looking out instead towards the slate grey ocean, trying to absorb the small yellow flame from his fire. He wrapped his blankets around himself and fell asleep.

  He awoke to find himself in a strange place, where all had become grey, and although he could hear the pounding surf, he could not see the water. He looked around, but his horse and his pack had disappeared, leaving only his harp, tucked safely under his arm. He knew he should feel some fear, but he felt more resigned than anything else. He got up, and began walking towards the sound of the ocean.

  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!”