“How do we know that you speak the truth?” Ewan demanded. “What is it that you want, and how do we know that you will actually help us?”
She turned to him, and her eyes held shadows of the grave. “Because more than anything else, I want to see Cricket die a slow and terrible death.”
A month later, Cricket sat beside a stream, playing his harp softly. The shepherd named Wil sat beside him, holding his dog in his lap. The little brown mutt, his eyes filmy with age, wagged his tail slowly.
“I’m sorry,” Cricket said. “He’s beyond my magic.”
“It’s okay,” Wil said, not looking up. “‘Twas a thought, nothing more. Mott’s been a good lad, but he’s old, and nothing can change that.”
“Do you have another dog?”
“Oh, aye, and one of Mott’s own brats. But it’s not the same.” He heaved a great sigh. “Mott and me, we’ve been together for a long time.”
“Again, I’m sorry,” Cricket said. He stood up, slinging Linnaia behind him. “Please, if there’s anything I can do...”
Wil smiled up at him. “You’ve done much. And I thank you for it.” He held out a hand, and Cricket shook it solemnly.
The bard walked back to his horse, where CuChulainn joined him. “What am I going to do when it’s time for you to die?” Cricket said, petting the great shaggy head. “What will happen if I ever have to bury one of my own children?” He looked around nervously, chilled despite the warmth of the day. “I think it’s time to go home.”
The ride to Caer Arberth took three days from where they were, but Cricket pushed himself and his horse, eager to hear his wife’s voice, and to hold her. He was so wrapped up in his own thoughts that he almost ran over Asaph on the road.
“Hold, bard!” the thin steward said. “I have news!”
Cricket pulled up sharply. Something about the man combined with all the emotion he had felt in the last two days, forming a knot of dread in his stomach. “What is it?”
“The queen. She visited Caer Arberth while you were gone.”
The blood drained from his face, and he clutched the reins tightly. “Is she still there?”
“No, she left yesterday. But now nobody can find Essa.”
Mannath watched his bard teulu pace around the room, eyes flashing dangerously. “You don’t know that Elhonna kidnaped your wife,” he said.
“Yes, I do.” Cricket kicked the wall in frustration. “She wants to hurt me, and she knows how to do it. She and the Pen Bardd.”
“Look, we’ll send a messenger, we’ll find out where she is, I know of men that can get in and out of places without being seen...”
Cricket shook his head. “It won’t work. They won’t be holding her just with walls or chains. They’ll surround her with magic. And they’ll act all ignorant and innocent if you send a messenger. No, it’s me they want.”
“So I’m just supposed to let you walk into what is almost certainly a trap?” Mannath demanded.
Cricket’s shoulders slumped. “I don’t have any choice. I swore to Essa that I would give her all that I had. And if that means my life, then so be it.”
“Well, I’m still going to send a couple of kerns with you. There’s no reason to be totally defenseless.”
Cricket smiled grimly and patted Linnaia. “I’m hardly defenseless, my lord. And I thank you for your offer, but I have no desire to endanger anyone but myself.”
The fians on watch that morning at the gates of Taris recognized him. “Hold, bard,” one of them said, blocking his path. “I have orders to escort you to the palace.”
Cricket pulled his horse to a stop. “I don’t need an escort.”
The man hesitated, and looked back to his companion for support. “But the queen said...”
Cricket had Linnaia ready at hand, and he placed his fingers lightly on the strings. “The queen said what?”
“The queen said that if we saw you, we were to take your harp, and escort you to the palace, by force if necessary,” the soldier blurted.
Cricket plucked a single note, letting it hang a moment before saying, “You would lay hands on a bard?”
The kern looked back at his companion again, but the other man made himself busy searching the pack of an innocuous looking peddler. “No... No, I wouldn’t.”
“Very well then,” Cricket said, relaxing his grip on Linnaia. “You do, however, have my word that I will go to the palace.”
“That will be fine,” the fian said, backing up. “Thank you, bard.”
Cricket rode through streets at once familiar and strange, innocent and foreboding. With all the crowds about, he felt very vulnerable, but he had decided that CuChulainn was better off at home, guarding the children. So he kept Linnaia in the crook of his arm, ready for quick action, and made his way to the White Owl.
He didn’t see anyone when he walked in, but a friendly voice called out, “Be there in a second!” Byrn came bustling out a moment later, wiping his hands on a rag. “What can I do for...? Cricket?”
“It’s me,” the bard said, allowing himself to relax.
“By the three blessed queens!” The innkeeper said, sweeping him up in a great bear hug. “The rumors said you turned renegade and fled the country! Where in Glencairck have you been? Wylla! Come out here, quick!”
Soon Cricket found himself assailed by questions and tears, letting the love of the moment sweep him along. When finally he convinced them that he was fine, and that his absence had not been entirely voluntary, Wylla demanded, “So what was it then? Either you had a choice or you didn’t.”
“It’s a long story,” Cricket warned.
Byrn looked around the empty common room. “We don’t seem to have much custom, and probably won’t for a while. So sit, and sing us a song or two.”
Cricket told them everything, from the geis to the sheep. He spun them an illusion that hung in the air of his wife and children, and explained why he had come to Taris.
Wylla cried before it was all over, and Byrn looked a bit hopeless. “What can you do?” he asked. “She won’t let you go free, you know.”
“I know. But I have to rescue Essa.”
Wylla wiped at her eyes. “I just can’t believe it. Elhonna has been such a good queen for the most part.”
Cricket sighed. “I know. I loved her, too, but I guess she forgot that she can’t have everything, that being queen means thinking of the good of the country above her own desires.”
Byrn hugged his wife close and said, “Do you have a plan?”
Cricket winced. “Not really. I’m afraid that she has the upper hand for the most part. However... do you know of a crossain that you trust implicitly?”
“There’s Ethna, our regular. She’s a woman of honor, and very talented, too. Why?”
“I want her to spread a song for me...”
Night had fallen when Cricket walked to the palace. The kerns who challenged him at the gate did not wear the solid green of the Fianna, but the green and gold of the queen’s livery. They also demanded his harp, but relented when Cricket strummed a chord that made painful boils grow on their faces. After they promised not to touch him, Cricket cleared their skin with another song, and they led him through the palace, keeping a respectful distance from him.
He met Elhonna in one of the small audience chambers, where she sat on her throne with Ewan just behind her. “Cricket,” she said by way of greeting. “It’s been a long time.”
“Your majesty,” he answered with a bow. “I wish we could have met again under better circumstances.”
“I’m sure. Tell me, how did you like faerie?”
“It’s not any worse than your court. Just longer lived.”
Elhonna smiled tightly. “And the prince of the dead? How did you ever manage to find him?”
“All I had to do was go to Dyfed and serve the cantref lord. But I have also met with Arawn, and I’m sure he sends his regards.”
The Pen Bardd had blanched, but Elhonna just said, �
��I didn’t think you were the type to drop names.”
Cricket shrugged. “You seemed interested. But if we could dismiss with the pleasantries...”
“Ah, yes. I believe I have something you want.”
“Something you stole from me, yes.”
“You accuse the queen of theft?”
“Among other things. I also accuse your consort of dishonor and betrayal of the bards.”
“You always did like to speak your mind.” She nodded, and one of the kerns opened a side door. The woman who came out looked like Essa, but Cricket could easily sense the illusion.
“That is not who I came for.”
“Are you sure?”
“Positive.”
“Oh, very well.” She nodded again, and this time the real Essa stepped through, held on either side by a brace of guards.
Cricket looked her up and down, trying to sense if she had been hurt in any way. “Are you okay?” he asked.
She smiled bravely and said, “I will be when we get home.”
Cricket turned back to the queen. “Alright, you know what I want. So what do I have to trade in order to get it?”
“Just a little thing, really.” When Cricket stayed silent, she shrugged and said, “I want your true name.”
“I see. And what assurances do I have that you will honor your part of the bargain by freeing my wife?”
“You don’t trust the word of your queen?”
“I don’t trust you or the false bard behind you.”
Elhonna sighed dramatically. “I’m afraid you’re going to have to. Unless you just want to leave.”
Cricket looked at her, trying not to let his helplessness show. He thought about trying to use magic, but knew that Ewan would start playing the moment he touched Linnaia, and he had no idea if he was stronger than the Pen Bardd. “Very well,” he said. “Let my wife come over here, and I will give you what you want.”
“Fair enough.” She nodded, and the kerns released their hold on Essa, who ran to the comforting circle of Cricket’s arm. “Very touching,” Elhonna said. “But now I want what you promised.”
Cricket looked up from his wife. “My name,” he said slowly, “is Amyrian macRhodri.”
Elhonna relaxed, sitting back on her throne. “That’s all I wanted. You are free to go now, both of you.”
Cricket did not bother with formalities, but simply left, walking along as quickly as possible while Essa kept asking him what had happened. “Wait,” he told her. “Please, just until we get out of here. Then I’ll explain everything.”
He hurried her through the streets of Taris to the White Owl. After quick introductions all around, Cricket said, “The queen has my true name.”
Everyone looked at him blankly except for Ethna, who nodded sadly. “It figures,” she said.
“I still don’t understand,” Essa said. “What does a name mean? And why didn’t you tell me what your true name was?”
Cricket hugged her tightly. “I didn’t tell you only because I haven’t thought of it in ages. As for what it does, it gives the queen power over me.”
“It’s an ancient and evil magic,” Ethna said. “But it certainly confirms your story.”
“So what can we do?” Byrn asked. “Can we fight her somehow?”
“Only with what I’ve already done,” Cricket said. He turned to the crossain. “Are you sure you’ll be able to get that song around?”
“I belong to a tight-knit group of crossains,” she answered. “We’ve done this kind of thing before.”
Wylla looked at her suspiciously. “Is that why the owner of the Black Bull left the district so suddenly?”
“I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Ethna said innocently.
Cricket interrupted. “As long as you can do it without anyone tracing it back to you. I’ve already endangered enough people. Speaking of which...” He looked at Byrn and Wylla. “I’m worried about you two.”
“We’ll be fine,” Byrn assured him.
“We have handled crises before,” Wylla added.
“Maybe, but I would feel better if I tried something.” He pulled Linnaia around and began playing, relaxing somewhat when he felt Essa’s hand on his shoulder.
He played a song of simple beauty, but he forged the sub-harmonies into a war song, seeing nothing but contention in the future. Feeling the magic sweep through him, he let it clear away his gloom, blowing it out the door. He felt the power flow through him, fusing with his fears and his love for his friends into an invisible palisade that ringed the inn. He sealed it in the stone walls and the wooden roof, a hedge to keep out anger and hold in the happiness. When he finished, he looked around the room, which seemed brighter somehow.
“What did you do?” Ethna asked. “I thought I felt something...”
Cricket looked at her. “Like a breeze?”
“Yes, like someone had opened the door and let a draft in.”
“That was magic,” he said.
“But what exactly did you do?” Byrn asked. “Is there anything we need to know?”
“Not really. Except that you should have less problems with fights.”
“We never had that kind of problem,” Wylla said sharply.
“Forgive me for implying otherwise,” Cricket said with a laugh. “But I have sealed your inn against hostility. People who come in your door will be... disinclined to do violence. And people wishing you ill will be unlikely to enter at all.”
“You did all that with just a song?” Ethna asked, her eyes shining.
Essa laughed. “It’s pretty routine for my husband.”
Later, in a room that Byrn had given them, Cricket kissed his wife deeply. “I missed you so much. Are you sure you’re okay?”
“They didn’t touch me,” she assured him. “But what did you mean the queen has power over you?”
Cricket sighed and held her close. “I wish I knew, but I only have the vaguest idea myself. I do know that she hasn’t finished with me yet.”
Essa began to cry for the first time since leaving the palace. “Why can’t she just leave us alone?”
Stroking her hair, Cricket said, “I don’t want to think about her anymore. Right now I just want to be with you.”
He kissed her tears away, and began to sing, a tune that only she knew, because it contained his heart.
Chapter 26: Torture
Cricket bought a horse for Essa the next day, and they left Taris at a canter. He kept looking over his shoulder, not quite sure what to expect, but knowing that Elhonna had not truly freed him.
They stopped in the evening at a small inn, talking quietly while they ate, enjoying each other and trying to ignore the tension that hung like a mill stone in their conversation. Finally they lapsed into silence, sharing thoughts on a different level. That night, they made love slowly, enjoying every touch, savoring every kiss.
Cricket woke out of a troubled sleep to find himself getting dressed. He tried to make his arms quit, but they continued in their task with the awkward moves of a puppet. He cried his wife’s name, and Essa sat up with a start. “Bar the door, quick!” he said.
“What’s going on?” she asked as she threw the heavy beam into place. “What are you doing?”
“I can’t control myself,” Cricket said, struggling inside of himself. He picked up Linnaia in her case, and turned towards the door.
“Stop!” she cried. “Why can’t you stop?”
“Elhonna,” Cricket gasped. “This must be why she wanted my true name.”
Essa jumped in front of him, trying to hold him back; Cricket watched with horror as his arm drew back and struck her, knocking her away. “That wasn’t me!” he cried. “By the Creator, you know I would never hit you!” His arms continued about their business of unbarring the door.
Essa sat on the floor, crying. “Can’t you do something? Isn’t there a song, or some magic, anything?”
“I—I can’t do anything,” Cricket said as th
e door opened and he stumbled into the hall. “Get back to Caer Arberth. Tell Mannath what happened.”
“But I want to go with you.”
“No!” He was staggering towards the common room, and Essa followed him, dressed only in a light shift. “The children need you! Now go!”
She tackled him from behind, and kissed him soundly before his limbs could react. He could taste the salt of her tears. She jumped up and said, “I love you, Cricket.”
He was up again, moving steadier. “I love you, too.”
“We’ll save you, somehow!”
He started to cry, not even noticing the inn door until he was through it, heading towards the road, and Taris.
For the next day Cricket stumbled in a daze, miserable and frightened. The stress wore him out, and he fell asleep, jerking awake with a start; he had not stopped or even slowed. He felt like he was caught in the geis again, except that he had been able to fight the curse somewhat, and he had had CuChulainn to keep him company. And although Linnaia bounced against his back, he could not touch her. The loneliness hurt him as much as anything.
As evening fell again, he entered Uislign, led along a dim path strewn with leaves and roots. He fell often, flailing about until the magic managed to get him upright again. He did not make any effort to help it. The light faded quickly under the trees, but he could soon see a fire ahead.
He came into the light, covered in leaf mold and bleeding from dozens of scratches. “The proud bard has arrived!” Ewan mocked.
The Pen Bardd stood off to one side, his harp in his hands. Elhonna stood in front of a crude stone altar with a woman dressed in mist. “Fairlin,” Cricket said.
“You remember me,” the faerie woman said. “I’m flattered. But don’t you have some greetings for your friends?”
Cricket said nothing, preferring to look at the ground.
“Have you been among the sheep so long that you’ve become one?” Elhonna asked. “I expected more from you.”
“Your majesty has often desired what I could not provide,” he said quietly.
“What you would not. Every man has a choice.”
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