Cricket's Song

by Michael A. Hooten

  “The other woman in your life,” Essa said. “My, won’t this be interesting.”

  “You aren’t jealous?”

  “Should I be?”

  Cricket hugged her tightly. “I wasn’t sure how you would react. I guess I am feeling guilty, at least for memories.”

  “You weren’t my first love either,” she reminded him. “I would be a fool to hate someone just because you had a relationship with her in the past. It is still in the past, isn’t it?”

  He hugged her again. “My wife, the mother of my children, my lover, and my best friend, and you think I could be with someone else? Impossible.”

  “I would kill you, it’s true.”

  “She’s looking at me funny.” Cricket laughed. “I guess having my wife on my lap is not good form for a bard teulu.”

  Essa whispered in his ear, “You’re a man, too.” She stood up and smoothed her skirt. “I think I’d like to meet this woman.”

  “I don’t know...”

  She shot him a cool look. “Just because I fell in love with one bard doesn’t mean you have to mistrust me around all the others.”

  He laughed in spite of himself. “Go on. You’re going to do what you want to, no matter what I say. I wonder why I even bother trying.”

  “Because you like to pretend you have a say in this marriage.”

  She danced away before he could grab her, and made her casual way over to Serca. Cricket tried to keep an eye on her, but just then Asaph needed him to answer question, then a contingent of children led by Gerralt and Catrin asked to hear a story, and by the time he looked for them again, the two women had disappeared from the hall. He began to feel more than a little nervous.

  They reappeared about the time the caer began to settle down for the night, with Emmeline riding her mother’s hip. “The other two are asleep,” Essa said, kissing him on the cheek. “Serca helped me get them down.”

  “It’s hard to believe those two are twins,” the bard said, brushing her hair out of her eyes. “All Catrin wanted was a kiss, but Gerralt... is he always that insistent about his stories?”

  Despite his anxiety, Cricket had to smile. “Did he make you say it just so?” he asked.

  “I must have repeated it five times before he was satisfied. But he’s a fine boy, Cricket, and I love your daughters, too.”

  Cricket’s heart leapt to his throat. “I—how did you know?”

  “I told her,” Essa said, laying her hand on his arm. “You can be mad later, but right now I think you ought to drop your disguise and greet your friend properly.”

  Cricket stood up, allowing the illusion to fade away. Serca nodded, looking as nervous as he felt, and said, “It’s good to see you. The real you.”

  “It’s good to see you, too. It’s been a long time.”

  Essa clucked her tongue. “If you two are going to stand here and trade meaningless formalities, then I’m going to have to hit both of you.”

  “You would strike a bard?” Serca asked with feigned shock.

  “It’s the only way to keep my husband in line. Now come on, there’s no reason to stand here in this drafty hall when we have a perfectly nice set of rooms.”

  Once settled with goblets of ale, Essa began feeding the baby while the two bards reacquainted themselves, telling each other about all that had happened in the intervening years. Serca listened to Cricket’s story with amazement; all she had done, she said, was travel with a couple of different companies and spend a couple of years as a free bard. “And there I was, in Taris, getting restless when Ewan MacDougall began scouring the bard’s quarters for volunteers.”

  “I wonder what tipped them off that I was here,” Cricket mused.

  “Nothing was said about you,” Serca replied. “He just told us to find out what was different about Dyfed that was making it so prosperous. Still, you know someone has spotted you by this time, despite that little illusion that you use.”

  “That’s just one of the things I’m afraid of,” Cricket said. “I knew my presence would get back to Taris at some time or another; I’m just surprised it took such an effort before it happened. But what really worries me is what Elhonna might do.”

  “It’s been four years, almost five, love,” Essa said. “Surely she’s forgotten about you. She even has a consort now.”

  Both bards shook their heads. “You don’t know the queen,” Serca said. “She’s a passionate woman with a long memory.”

  “And I gave her the ultimate insult,” Cricket added. “I refused to sleep with her. I don’t know how time will have affected her feelings towards me, but I doubt she’ll be forgiving.”

  “So what do we do?” Essa asked.

  Cricket shrugged. “We wait and see what happens.”

  “Not me,” Serca said. “I think I’m going to disappear for a while, after I spread a certain song.”

  “Be careful,” Cricket said. “The queen and the Pen Bardd have a very long reach.”

  Essa looked from one to the other. “What? What is she going to do?”

  “I’m going to write a satire about women who turn on the men who refuse them,” Serca said. “I wish I could be the one to play it for the queen, but then again, maybe I don’t.”

  “She’s going to be furious,” Cricket said. “I would actually prefer for you to wait and see what she does about me first.”

  Serca flipped the hair out of her eyes. “What can she do? I’m a bard, and so are you.”

  “So why don’t you march into her grianan and play it for her yourself?”

  “Because being a bard means not being stupid,” Serca replied. “Besides, she’s had a lot of time to figure out all kinds of new and nasty things to put in a geis. So I think I’ll pass.”

  Essa sighed and stood. “It’s a bit much for a simple lass from Dyfed. I think I’ll put this one down, check on the other two, and then turn in for the night.” Kissing her husband on the forehead while he nuzzled Emmeline, she said, “Don’t stay up too late.”

  “I won’t,” he promised. He watched them until they left, then turned to catch a strange expression on Serca’s face. “What?”

  “You’re so happy,” she said. “I thought for sure I had more of an effect on you than that.”

  He laughed. “Your memory gave me sleepless nights for a year. Isn’t that enough?”

  “It’ll do.” Her eyes turned serious. “I am sorry that it didn’t work out, though.”

  “I am too,” Cricket replied. “But we were meant to be friends, not lovers.”

  “I wish I would find that special man.”

  “You will. Just probably not in Dyfed.”

  A comfortable silence settled between them, broken only by the hiss of the fire. Cricket stirred after a while and said, “I was serious about you not writing that satire.”

  “I know.”

  “It’s just that I don’t know what she might do, and there’s no reason to anger her.”

  “I know.” She tapped lightly on her bodhrán, a simple noise that spoke eloquently. “There should be no reason to fear her,” she said. “After all, you are a bard, maybe the last true bard.”

  “It’s not fear, it’s just not wanting to drag up anything that I don’t have to. And I’m not the only true bard in the world.”

  “Maybe. But you have stayed here and helped this people when you could have left as soon as the geis had been fulfilled. I wish I could say that I would have, but I don’t know.”

  Cricket touched her hand. “You and I are different. We have already talked about that. But you are a true bard, Serca, in some ways more than me. After all, I should satirize the queen for what she did to me, and instead I sing to sheep.”

  “Ah, yes, you make it all seem so glamorous. I am serious about not returning to Taris, though. And I know of other bards who will feel the same way when they see what you’re doing down here.”

  “But I’m not doing anything.”

  “No, just living up to the bardic code
, and doing it with dignity. Essa told me about your courtship.”

  “Then I don’t know why you think I have any dignity.”

  Serca shook her head, dislodging strands of hair that whipped across her face. “You don’t understand. The Academy teaches us to wink at our own code, and then we wonder why we’re losing respect. Not to mention the fact that everyone knows that the Pen Bardd shouldn’t be the queen’s consort, but that too was rationalized away. But some of us feel that we could be more. That we could be what Taliesin first imagined, and what Amergin proved again when he defeated Cathbar in the Third Bardic War.”

  “Then why don’t you say something?”

  “For the same reason you don’t. Because we’re few. And we’re scared of the queen. It’s all well and good for Taliesin and Amergin to lead the bards into war, but we’re afraid, Cricket. Afraid of losing our place, afraid of losing our lives. Glencairck has changed, and we decide that our old ways are just that: old. And so we compromise what we know is right.”

  Cricket felt hopeless. He had never seen Serca this way, and it scared him. “It’ll be okay,” he said. “You’ll see: everything will work out.”

  She shook herself suddenly, smiling at him. “Of course it will. But I’ve kept you up too long. Your wife is going to wonder what we’re doing.”

  Thinking about bed made Cricket yawn. “You’re probably right. Goodnight, Serca.”

  She blew a curl out of her eyes. “Goodnight, Cricket.”

  He stopped at the door and looked back at her, but she did not turn around again.

  He undressed in the darkness of his own room, trying to be as quiet as possible. “Did you have a good conversation?” Essa asked.

  Cricket slid into bed next to her. “Pretty good,” he said, wrapping his arms around her.

  She laid her head against his chest. “I like her. But I’ll like her better when she’s gone, I think.”

  “I thought you weren’t jealous.”

  “I’m not, it’s just... you and she share things that make me feel like an outsider.”

  He hugged her tightly. “I’m sorry, my love. I should have noticed.”

  “It’s okay.” Her breathing slowed, and Cricket thought she had fallen asleep until she said, “Are we going to be okay? I mean, with the queen and all?”

  “Everything will work out just fine,” he promised. “You’ll see.” But he stared into the night for a long time before falling asleep.

  Chapter 25: Names

  Elhonna had just finished talking to an ambassador from Bangreen when Ewan came into the audience chamber. He watched as she took off her crown and her torc, laying them on a side table while she poured a glass of wine. “I hate that man,” she said. “He is pompous, arrogant, and absolutely inflexible.”

  “You handle him well enough.”

  She laughed. “Show him a little cleavage, and the man can’t think any more. I can only imagine what he must do at night.”

  “I know exactly what he does, with whom, and where.”

  “But that’s your job.” Elhonna sat on her throne again, sipping at her drink, watching her consort through her lashes. “Why do I think that you have bad news for me?”

  “Probably because you know me so well.” Ewan poured his own drink and drained it quickly. “The reports from Dyfed are beginning to trickle in.”

  “It’s about time,” she said. “What’s taken so long?”

  “Attrition in the ranks, I believe.”

  “I’m surprised, Pen Bardd. I thought your followers were absolutely loyal to you.”

  “So did I. But I think I may have discovered why my bards are going missing, and why Dyfed is prospering.”

  “The reasons are the same?”

  Ewan shrugged. “Probably.”

  The queen’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “Quit hiding the truth behind your back. I’m not in the mood for games.”

  “Very well.” He smoothed his moustache and stood straight. “In Dyfed, there is a bard teulu who serves Mannath, Lord of the cantref, a bard who has removed a curse from the land and who still sings to the sheep to help them grow. This bard is familiar to you; his name is Daffyd of Dun Aillel, also known as Cricket.”

  The blood drained from Elhonna’s face, and she gripped the arms of her throne. “He’s alive?”

  “And living by the bardic code, apparently.”

  “Impossible.”

  “I told you a long time ago that he was going to be trouble.”

  “Shut up, and let me think.” She stood and began pacing around the room, hands clenched at her side. Ewan watched her with hooded eyes, wishing he was somewhere else, but unable, and unwilling, to leave her presence. “Let me make a few inquiries,” she said at last. “I will need your help, but I think I have a plan.”

  “As my lady wishes.”

  A week later, Cricket woke from a deep and dreamless sleep feeling like someone had called him. Essa slept soundly beside him, and little Emmeline was quiet in her crib, so he got up and padded silently out of their room to check on the other children. Gerralt had twisted the blanket into a heap beside him; Cricket straightened it out and spread it over the sleeping boy. Catrin began tossing, moaning in her dreams, so he picked her up. “Daddy,” she said sleepily.

  “I’m here, little one.”

  “I saw the strangest woman, daddy. She had long pretty hair, but her face was all twisted up. She scared me, daddy.”

  “It was just a dream,” he said, rocking her.

  She wrapped her arms around his neck. “I love you, daddy.”

  “I love you, too.” He laid her back down and kissed her, and she snuggled back into slumber. Satisfied that his family was safe and secure, he crawled back into bed next to Essa, wrapped his arms around her, and was soon asleep himself.

  Far to the north and east, in a moonlit oak grove, Elhonna lowered her arms, sweating profusely. Ewan stopped playing upon his harp, and said, “Any luck?”

  “Nothing.” She leaned on the stone altar in front of her trying to catch her breath. With an angry movement she swept away the desiccated husks that littered the rough surface, all that remained of what had been honeysuckle and mistletoe. “I saw a little girl’s dreams,” the queen said in frustration. “Other than that, it was a complete waste of time.”

  “I don’t understand,” Ewan said. “This is old, well tested magic. What are we doing wrong?”

  “Nothing, except for everything,” said a woman’s voice. Ewan and the queen both searched for the person who had spoken, but the Pen Bardd saw her first.

  “It’s not fair hiding beyond the pale,” he said coldly. “Either show yourself, or depart.”

  A moonbeam solidified, and she stepped forth, still wrapped in stars. “My lord, my lady,” she said with a smirk.

  “How dare you interrupt us?” Elhonna demanded. “Who are you?”

  “You may call me Fairlin,” the faerie woman said. “That’s not my true name, of course.”

  “Of course,” Elhonna said.

  “Speaking of true names... You seem to be having a problem with the true name of a certain bard I know of.”

  “How do you know Cricket?” Ewan asked.

  She turned dark eyes on him, making him back up a step. “I have my own reasons for disliking him,” she said. “What’s important here is that I might be able to help you, in return for your assistance.”

  Elhonna narrowed her eyes. “What kind of assistance?”

  “Let’s just say that you humans are capable of certain things that I am not, shall we?”

  “And what kind of help do you propose?” the Pen Bardd asked.

  “Information, mostly. But also maybe some ideas on what to do next.”

  “What information?”

  “Oh, don’t you make a lovely watch dog for your lover! But I’ll tell you this much for free: the magic you attempted here is contingent on having Cricket’s true name. And you don’t.”

  “Of course we do,” Elhonna
said. “His true name is Daffyd.”

  “Your majesty is so confident, so sure of yourself. What a shock it must have been to discover that your little pet bard had his own teeth.”

  “You would do well not to offend me if you want my help.”

  “Many pardons,” Fairlin said with a flippant curtsy. “Now, in answer to your question, Cricket’s true name was hidden by a man who had reason to know of such things.” She turned to Ewan. “In fact, it was your former master.”

  “What?”

  “Don’t you remember Declan MacConn, the Pen Bardd who resigned because he didn’t like the way the Academy was teaching the new bards?”

  “I remember,” Ewan said with a frown. “I thought he died ages ago.”

  “Not so long as that, I’m afraid,” Fairlin sighed. “First he meddled in Cricket’s life. Not that he let it be known that a former Pen Bardd was teaching a young boy, of course. No, he went by the name of Harper, and passed himself off as a raggedy crossain. Even my brother and I, who have watched Cricket since his birth, did not recognize him until he bought a harp for the boy. We took steps after that, but even without Declan teaching him, he managed to become a bard.”

  “And you think Declan hid Cricket’s true name?” the queen asked incredulously.

  “I know it. Because I too have tried to bind him to my will, and have not been able to.”

  “So what do you suggest, great lady?” Ewan said sarcastically.

  “I suggest you learn some manners,” Fairlin snapped. “Beyond that, perhaps you should make a visit to your loyal servant, Mannath, Lord Dyfed.”

  “We could have figured that out ourselves.”

  “Oh really? And would you have known that any use of power against Cricket while still in Dyfed would backfire?”

  “What do you mean?” Elhonna said. “My power rules Dyfed as well as the rest of Glencairck.”

  “The land chooses for itself, my lady. Did not the Lia Fail pronounce you to be sovereign? Did not your arcane powers come from spending a night in the secret grove of Uislign? No, my lady, you will have to trick him out of Dyfed somehow, because the very mountains will fall on you if you try to defeat him in his own land.”