The Bardic Academy (A Bard Without a Star, Book 3) by Michael A. Hooten Page 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?”
    “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