Part 20 of Rob Donovan’s free serialised story set in the same world of Frindoth as his newly released book “Ritual of the Stones”. In this story we follow the journey of Pewtory the Lesser bard as he travels to Lilyon to witness the Ritual.
Pewtory the Lesser Bard part 20 – Training
Pewtory approached the bowl in the corner of the room. He knew that both Willow and Wisp were aware of his presence, but both fish refused to acknowledge him. He scooped the bowl up and cradled it against his face. The action was tender and the fish swayed only slightly with the water.
Wisp’s long blue fins swished in the artificial current as if blown by a light breeze. He thought of all the times that Wisp had thrilled audiences with that long flowing tail of hers. They had worked hard to achieve the level of excellence his performances demanded. He thought they had forged a symbiotic relationship. He knew what they wanted and he thought they knew his mind. Their current disagreement was a burden on his soul that outweighed any dilemma or threat the stranger had demanded of him.
He walked back over to Archie and sat on the bed, the bowl on his arm. A single tear escaped his eyes and ran down his cheek. It hovered there for a moment before plopping into the bowl. Neither fish appeared to notice.
Throughout this interlude in his story, Archie did not speak. Whether it was a respectful silence or something with more caution Pewtory could not say with any certainty. The peddler sat on the chair and sipped his water at regular intervals, the whiskey long abandoned.
“Do you have any idea what continued isolation does to a man? No? You wouldn’t I guess. Not unless you have endured it yourself. At first you relish it. You draw comfort from it. Alone with your thoughts and no distractions you are able to do a lot of soul searching. You get to know your inner self. Know him and accept him.
This doesn’t last as long as you’d think. By the second week the hunger for interaction is unbearable. Men are sociable creatures. We may not like to talk as much as women but we need to communicate and exercise our minds.
Practicing singing and narrating tales and having your voice rebound off the walls back at you is great for assessing your performance, but it is not long before I craved a real audience.
After the first month when I abandoned all thoughts at conversing with the boy who brought my meals, I began to hallucinate.
My mother, who had passed from this life, came to see me often. I enjoyed my conversations with her. She would make suggestions on how I could improve my delivery. Her criticism was constructive and valuable.
She was not the only one that paid me a visit. The characters from my stories also came. Great kings of our history showed up and stayed to listen to me: King Gregorian, King Calvin and Warlord Christof were the most frequent, but the most beautiful of all was Arabella, one of the eleven queens of Frindoth. Arabella was every bit as beautiful as the scrolls described.
Oh I know they weren’t really there, but they were company you know?” Pewtory said.
Archie nodded. “It explains why you are able to do King Gregorian’s voice so well I guess.”
“Yes!” Pewtory said unable to contain his excitement. “That is exactly why. Speaking to him regularly allowed me to pick up his thick accent and all the nuances in his dialect.”
Pewtory beamed at the Peddler. Was his friend finally beginning to understand all the bard had endured? It encouraged him to continue more freely.
“After a while, well quite soon actually, I realised that the fish were responding to everything I did. I’ve often thought it remarkable how fish always seem to know when you are about to feed them, they shoot around the tank and linger near the surface in anticipation.
When you spend as much time with them as I did, you come to appreciate them more. They react to an awful more than food. A raised voice for example, would send them to the far side of the tank, whilst a soothing tone would draw them near. Rubbing my fingers together, mimicking the action of giving them food would bring them to the surface.
Did you know that when a fish opens its mouth and then shuts it quickly and then opens it mouth twice for longer periods, it means that the fish doesn’t like someone and wants me to kill them?”
“Really?” Archie said staring warily at Willow and Wisp.
“Nah, I’m just messing with you. It means sod all.”
A splash came from the fish bowl and Pewtory chuckled.
“But they are remarkable creatures though,” the bard paused. Both fish had begrudgingly turned to look at Pewtory. He pretended not to notice. “It wasn’t long before I was able to get Willow and Wisp to obey the simplest of instructions. After that it was just a question of patience and trial and error.
It was the leaking water that gave me the inspiration for my finale. I had just taught the fish to jump, not with any flare mind, just a simple leap. Anyway, I had positioned the clay pots to capture the dripping water. Every week I emptied the pots to catch the drops again. I was about to pour the water away when the idea struck. Less than two months later, Willow and Wisp had mastered the trick.
As my relationship with the fish developed, I was visited less by my mother and the ghosts of the past. I found that I could communicate with Willow and Wisp quite confidently. Wisp was more forthcoming but Willow soon joined in.
We devised more and more elaborate set pieces. We worked on our timings to elicit the most laughter. Believe me Archie you have not seen half of what these fish can do.”
Pewtory smiled to himself and stared at Willow and Wisp reliving those days underground. Outside the night was cloudy, which meant the night was free from the influence of the moons. The dark was always more pronounced it seemed when this happened.
“How did you get out?” Archie asked. Pewtory noticed the man had switched back to whiskey in his glass. Pewtory sighed he swirled the remainder of his drink in the glass and then drained it.
“One morning, exactly a year after I was first woke up in the cellar, the hatch opened as it usually did and the rope came down. This time there was no basket attached. I looked up expecting to see the boy, but there was no one there. Piercing sun light penetrated the hole. It always hurt my eyes when that hatch opened, so I usually kept well away from it until the lid was shut.
It did not close however. After an hour when no one came, it appeared that the intention was to set me free. I hesitated, a year in confinement will give you trust issues. I tested the rope and it seemed sturdy enough to support my weight.
The fish were unsure but I realised my time in the cellar was at an end. This was my chance, my opportunity for the next stage of my life. I was going to be a bard, one of the most famous bards of all time. I gathered the fish and the mandolin, grabbed hold of the rope and ascended.
Pewtory was not expecting a round of applause after this stage but he expected more than silence from his friend. Archie sat there and stared at him instead.
“One year later?” Archie said.
“To the day.”
“I thought you said it was two years before you escaped the asylum.”
“I did,” Pewtory replied and seeing the confusion on the Peddler’s face continued. “My dear friend, I have not even reached the part about the asylum yet. I chose to be down in the cellar for the year. How else was I going to learn my trade?”
