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

by Michael A. Hooten

  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 al
ong 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.

  Chapter 7: Airu

  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.