“Who is it?” Fidgen asked.
“Bran.”
“But Bran is just a kern, a member of Math’s household.”
Fenella shook her head. “He claims the title by the ancestry of Don. And nobody in Caer Don has disputed it.”
Chapter 5: Leinath
It took two weeks to ride from Dun Esson to Caer Liadhnán in Cantref Killdare. It gave him plenty of time to digest the news that Fenella had given him. She didn’t have any specifics, but he was sure that they would slowly start trickling through the land.
As he rode, the wide grasslands gave way to rolling hills covered in fields of barley and wheat. There was an old saying that Duvnecht protected the land and Leinath fed it, and he could well believe it. A few areas were given over to sheep or cattle, but unlike the sprawling openness of the lowlands, the Leinathmen kept their herds in smaller, fenced pastures. And when he reached Caer Liadhnán he found that although it had nearly as many people as Caer Bath, it felt more like a city and less like a fortress.
Ollave Laoban macDommach was a tall skinny man, though he appeared shorter thanks to his stooped shoulders. But his eyes were kind, and he greeted Fidgen warmly. “Get settled, and take a day or two to get a feel for the caer and its inhabitants, and then we will begin your assessment.”
“Assessment?” Fidgen said.
“Yes,” Laoban said with a smile. “Most students have begun using magic by this stage, and my first task is to figure out how much you know, and how much control you have. Although officially only a year long, I have students who have been with me for over two now. It’s all a matter of control.”
The image of the fallen tower and his uncle’s dead eyes immediately spring to mind. He shook his head to clear it. “I can’t promise you much,” he said.
“What’s to promise?” Laoban said. “This is to determine what direction I need to lead you in, not which path you’ve travelled so far. So go on, and I will talk more with you later.”
The first thing Fidgen noticed about the people of Caer Liadhnán was that they talked about the weather constantly: what it was doing now, what had been like a year or a decade ago, and what might happen tomorrow. Listening more closely, he realized it all had to do with the crops and how they might or might not fare as the season progressed. The people also greeted him more warmly than they had in Duvnecht, with little suspicion or hesitation. When he asked Lithgen, Lord Killdare, if he could play for the hall, he responded with unreserved welcome and gratefulness.
He asked Laoban about it the next day. “You’ll find most Leinathmen to be like that,” the bard answered. “They have a great concern for their farming, and where and how to sell the crops, but are some of the nicest people around. I would warn you about the merchants, though; they won’t exactly steal from you, but you’ll feel that way after bartering with them.”
“Leinath is all traders and farmers, then?” Fidgen asked.
“As much as Duvnecht is all warriors and Airu is all priests, yes.” Laoban looked at him closely. “And you have the cast of Cairnecht, so you must be Cymry. Am I right?”
Fidgen smiled and said, “I am a student bard, and that is all.”
“And learning well, I see,” Laoban said approvingly. “So let’s get you going then. I have about twenty students right now, in all stages of training, but every one of them started like you will: with an assessment. The first step is to meet them all, which you will do this afternoon. Find me here after lunch, and I will take you there.”
“How should I spend my time until then, Ollave?” Fidgen asked.
“Find a quiet corner of the yard.” Laoban said. “Play your harp. Feel the subharmonies, get in tune with them.”
“Subharmonies?” Fidgen asked blankly.
“Bardic magic,” Laoban said. “We’ll talk about what subharmonies are and how to use them later.”
Fidgen found a few hay bales next to the outer wall. He sat and pulled out his harp, tuning it while he watched the bustle of the yard. Cows were being led out to pasture by cheerful men, and a frustrated boy coaxed a goat to what looked like a milking stool. Six women chatted loudly while churning butter, and three others sat nearby saying nothing while they concentrated on their mending. After the grey winter in the highlands, he appreciated the color and energy, and the fresh air.
He began playing, matching the music to the activity all around him. He felt the magic swirling around him strongly, but he could feel threads of it leading away, connecting him to the other students and Ollave Laoban. But he could also feel three other bards in the caer, and two children who sang rhymes that pulsed with power that they seemed unaware of.
Somewhere out of sight he heard a smith begin hammering a piece of metal, and he tuned his music to both the rhythm and the tone of it. His sight shifted again, leaving the bardic realm and seeing the people of the caer as bright motes making patterns all around him. And below it all, he could feel that the land had its own magic, pulsing with the seasons and the waxing and waning of the moon. It was a slower, deeper magic than he had felt before, and despite the strength, it also seemed to envelope him in security and warmth.
A touch on his shoulder brought him back to himself in a snap, and he found Ollave Laoban standing over him. “Most students,” he said, “work on their voice projection or their illusions. But you; I just saw you join your soul to the magic of Glencairck itself. Who are you, Fidgen?”
Fidgen turned the question over in his mind as he turned the harp over in his hands. “I’m not entirely sure anymore,” he said.
Laoban reached out and plucked the lowest string on Fidgen’s harp. The note hung there, and Fidgen felt the Ollave change it, expand it, so that the sound, barely heard, blocked out all others. “I know a little of what you have done,” Laoban said. “What I don’t know, what nobody knows, is what you’ll do next.”
“Neither do I,” Fidgen said. “I have lost my name, my family, my home. I have made a new name, found some who would call me family, but home is still a will o’ the wisp.”
Laoban nodded, and the magic began to fade, letting back in the noise of the yard. “I don’t think I want you around the other students right now. Come with me.”
He led Fidgen deep into the keep, down where the must of root vegetables mixed with the weight of ages. The room where Laoban settled was long and low, with a few bushels of leathery apples in one corner. “The walls here are thicker than two men are tall,” Laoban said. “We will meet here in the evenings. Spend today making sure you can find your way here and back, and I’ll join you after dinner.”
“Yes Ollave,” Fidgen said.
Laoban shook his head and left. Fidgen put his hand on the roughhewn stone of the wall, then his head. It felt like a mountain carved into a more useful shape, and he knew that the Ollave was trying to protect himself as much as his students.
They spent a week in the storeroom, during which time Fidgen learned a lot about what he had been doing up to that point. The subharmonies that Laoban had mentioned turned out to be the way he was able to change the music with his mind, and use the new tones to affect the world. Laoban had him use it to make his appearance more threatening, and then make his voice louder. At Laoban’s direction, he turned the harp music into the sound of every instrument he could think of, and then changed their voices to mimic Lord Killdare and all the members of his court. He practiced making illusions like smoky shapes in the air, and then blowing them away with a different subharmony.
On the evening of the eighth day, Laoban said, “I think that you’re ready to go wander about Leinath, much like you did in Duvnecht.”
“But I thought I was supposed to learn all about bardic magic,” Fidgen said.
“There isn’t much more I can teach you,” Laoban said. “I can tell you have more than just bardic magic at your disposal, and I can also tell that you haven’t used it around me. That’s good; you need to exercise your bardic skills. I cannot forbid you from using any talent you
have, but remember that you are training to be a bard, and conduct yourself accordingly.”
“Yes, Ollave,” Fidgen said with a bow. “Do you have any rules or restrictions before I set out?”
“Yes, and it’s a very important one,” Laoban said. “Be discreet and very careful about using magic, because most Leinathmen distrust it.”
Fidgen blinked. “So I’m supposed to practice bardic magic...” he said slowly.
“And do it subtly,” Laoban said. “Especially as a student bard, you will be asked to leave if you do anything showy or too obvious.”
“So how am I supposed to use my magic in a place where it is not encouraged or appreciated?”
“That’s part of what you’re going out to learn, isn’t it?” the Ollave said. “Trust me, opportunities will present themselves, often unexpectedly, and sometimes dramatically. I told you the people have little use for magic; the land itself is something else entirely.”
Fidgen shook his head, but said nothing more. He packed his few belongings and left the caer before the noon, headed east. His intention was to head for the coast, and then loop around the perimeter of Leinath. But the first caer he stopped in changed his plans.
Laird Darin MacGarrod greeted him warmly, but as the evening wore on, Fidgen could tell that something was bothering him. “Laird,” said Fidgen, “is there anything I can for you or your people?”
Darin waved it away. “It’s not really for a student bard to worry about, and besides, my own bard is looking into it.”
“Where is your bard?” Fidgen asked.
“Well, that is a part of my trouble,” the laird answered. “I’m not entirely sure. I sent him to investigate some troubling reports from one of my duns, and he hasn’t returned yet.”
“How long has it been?”
“Just a week,” Darin replied. “I’m just surprised I haven’t heard anything at all. Perhaps you could go and find him? His name is Manus MacTeigue.”
“I would be honored,” Fidgen replied.
He left in the morning, headed south on a road that wound through low green hills. He rounded a bend and was surprised to find the outline of a huge horse on one slope in bright white lines. He wondered at first how it had been done, but as he got closer, he could see that the grass had been cut away to reveal the limestone beneath. He wondered at the meaning, since someone obviously spent time and effort to maintain it.
The dun he sought was on the far side of the hill from the horse portrait. He stopped at the gate, and called out. “What seek ye, stranger?” said the man who appeared at the wall.
“I ask permission to enter and play for the dun,” Fidgen said.
The man shook his head. “I don’t think so.”
Fidgen had never been denied entrance to a dun before. “May I ask why not?”
The man sighed. “Because something strange has been going on, and I’ll not risk a student bard when a full bard could not help us.”
“Are you talking about Manus MacTeigue? Do you know where he is?”
The man gestured to the hill of the horse. “Go to the top and you’ll find him. But don’t expect much; he’s under an enchantment of some sort, and sits with eyes open but sees nothing.”
Fidgen looked back at the hill. “I’ll do what I can for him, then.”
The man shuddered. “Better ye than me, lad,” he said, and disappeared back into the dun.
Fidgen turned his horse, and followed a weaving path up to the top of the hill. As the guard said, he found Manus sitting cross legged staring out at nothing. At least he assumed it was Manus; he was a fairly nondescript man, but he had a harp in his lap, and nothing Fidgen did made him even flinch. He waved his hands and danced around, and yelled in his ear. Even pushing him got no response; it was like pushing a tree, where he could feel some give, but Manus stayed upright.
Fidgen looked around, but saw nothing but blue skies and rolling green hills. It was a pleasant view, but nothing about it felt even remotely magical. He hobbled his horse, took out his harp, and began to play.
At first, he felt nothing, even when he turned the bardic magic on Manus. Despite the appearance of a strong enchantment, there was nothing that felt out of place. He finally realized that the lack of magic was the indicator he was seeking. His magic did not see Manus, because Manus was invisible, just another feature of the land. It was a strong and subtle illusion, like the one the Pooka had taught him, and Fidgen spent the next hour looking for any traces of the trickster. But if the Pooka were involved in any way, he could not find it.
The sun dipped towards the horizon, and Fidgen thought about finding a place to camp off the hilltop when Manus suddenly spoke. “Here she comes,” he said.
“Here who comes?” Fidgen said, but Manus just pointed in the direction he was staring. Fidgen looked, but at first saw nothing. Then between one blink and the next he saw her.
She rode a silvery horse at a slow pace, and her black hair fell almost to the ground. Her gown was a nondescript brown, but flowed with such grace that it put to shame the colorful dress of the Fairie. She was so beautiful that Fidgen felt his heart flip, and when Manus leapt to his feet and began chasing her, he grinned and jumped on his horse, knowing that he could beat the bard to her side.
He passed Manus easily, but could not catch up to the woman. She did not ride any faster, but the ground between them stretched out forever, and he could not close the gap, no matter how hard he spurred his horse. He heard panting, and turned his head to see Manus running beside him, keeping up with the galloping horse, but not able to pass. The incongruity of the situation made Fidgen start, and he felt like he was waking up from a dream.
He could think again, but still nothing made sense. His horse had dropped into a trot, but Manus still did not pass him, and the woman rode on just ahead of them at the same slow pace, no nearer or further than before. He realized that he was caught as surely as Manus, and wondered if maybe both of them were really sitting on the hilltop, unseeing and uncaring. In frustration, he called out, “Great Lady! Please help us!”
She stopped and turned her horse. Manus darted ahead and reached her first. The woman leaned over and spoke quietly to him, and the bard looked at Fidgen and nodded. Then she kissed him on his forehead and he disappeared.
Fidgen reached her a moment later. “My lady,” he said, inclining his head.
“Well met, Gwydion ap Don, now known as Fidgen.” Her voice was as beautiful as the rest of her, and Fidgen suddenly wanted to hear her sing.
“You know my name,” he said instead, “but I’m afraid I don’t know yours.”
“I am Epona of the Horses,” she answered.
He dismounted and bowed low. The stories of Epona were rare, but she was known as a goddess nearly as powerful as the Three Queens. “I am truly honored.”
“Thank you,” she said will a small smile. “But I did not seek you out to hear your praise.”
“You sought me?” Fidgen said.
“I did,” she said. “Did you know that the Pooka is under my protection?”
Fidgen swallowed hard. “I did not.”
“He is still being chased by the Wild Hunt, and probably will be for some time.”
Fidgen bowed low again. “I meant no offense to you, Great Lady.”
She laughed. “Oh, I know that,” she said. “And truth be told, the Pooka needs to be chastised more often than I like. He has earned his current condition, I think.”
“Then why did you want to meet me?” Fidgen said.
She did not answer, but dismounted, standing right in front of Fidgen. He had to look up at her, and he could feel her power like heat radiating from a fire. “I have sought you in order to give you a gift.” She held out her horse’s bridle. “This is an epon, a Faerie horse, who can travel between worlds, and speak mind to mind with the one she is bonded with.”
Fidgen looked at the horse, who stared back with an intelligence that matched the Pooka’s easily. “It is an incredi
ble honor,” he said. “But I must decline.”
The epon cocked her head, and Epona said, “It is not an offer I will make again.”
“It is not an offer I refuse lightly,” Fidgen said. “Your gift is more than generous, but part of the bardic code is that we own nothing.”
“The bond between an epon and its rider is not ownership,” Epona said.
“Yes, but among humans, it would be seen that way.”
“But you have a horse right now,” Epona said.
“And I will, and have, abandoned horses as my need dictates,” Fidgen said. “No, my Lady, I cannot accept.”
She said, “You are a brave man to refuse me.”
“I think that I will be feeling very foolish about it myself,” Fidgen said.
“Then why do it?”
Fidgen reached up and stroked the epon’s nose. “I am trying to live the bardic code. It's hard, and I worry enough that I cannot meet the standards. I have much still to learn.” He looked into the epon’s eyes. “You would be a good friend, and I could certainly use one. But if I cannot be one in return, how heartbroken would we both be?”
The epon nodded, and then nuzzled him. Epona watched the exchange without expression or comment. She wrapped the bridle around her hand, and the epon backed up a step. “I was not trying to tempt you, or distract you from your studies,” she said. “It was, however, a test. I expected you to bond with the epon, and as Queen of the Horses, it would give me insight into your soul, and allow me to judge you better for myself.”
Fidgen said, “I’m sorry that I am not the man you hoped for.”
“I’m not,” she said with a smile. “You are more than expected, not less.”
“How can that be?” Fidgen said.
She put her arm around the epon’s neck. “This is not just a horse to me, nor even just a magical horse. This is my child, my hope for the future. The bond that the epon makes with its rider is like marriage, and like marriage, it works best if there is respect on both sides. You did not explain to me why you would not be her rider, you explained it to her. You treated her as an equal, not as a dumb beast.”
The Bardic Academy (A Bard Without a Star, Book 3) Page 6