Part 21 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 21 – Committed
As Pewtory witnessed the look of disbelief on Archie’s face, his stomach sank. He thought the Peddler had begun to understand him. He had even commented on how he thought it was good that Pewtory was able to perfect Gregorian’s accent. So why could he not understand it was Pewtory’s choice to isolate himself?
“You entered the cellar voluntarily?” Archie said. A frown formed on his head that threatened to touch the bridge of his nose.
“Of course. I stumbled across the cellar by accident one day. The boy had fallen through the hatch and had twisted his ankle. He had been down there for at least four days and was close to death. I rescued him and took him home to his village nearby. His father was the stern sort and hated to owe anyone anything. He insisted the boy stay with me until I had deemed myself suitably rewarded. Of course I insisted that it was not necessary but the father was adamant. It struck me that if I did not find a suitable task for the boy, than he would have shamed the man and he would have beat his son.
I did not want to have the burden of the child accompanying me so I asked him why he was down the hole and who it belonged to. Turned out it belonged to no one according to the boy and my subsequent discreet enquiries. I was not wealthy but nor was I impoverished either. I paid the boy the last of my money to feed me every morning and every night for exactly a year. At first…”
“Pewtory stop!” The Peddler slammed his hand down against the table causing the bard and the fish to jump. The man’s glass toppled and rolled along the surface of the table. Archie stopped it before it fell off the edge.
The Peddler took a few deep breaths to calm himself and then continued in a more controlled manner. “Help me out here. You are asking me to believe you are sane. I want to believe you are sane. The more you talk though, the more you are dispelling that belief. Why did you choose to stay down there by yourself?”
Now it was Pewtroy’s turn to stare in disbelief. How could Archie not see? It was obvious. The isolation was necessary. Pewtory chose his words carefully. He spoke slowly as if explaining to a child.
“I am a man dedicated to my craft. Any professional in their field is a little off kilter in the head. Some label this as eccentricity. It is not, that is just a lie people use to explain their own laziness. To be the best at something, you have to live and breathe it. You have to become obsessed with everything on the subject until it consumes you. If you are not prepared to be that dedicated then that is fine, but you are fooling yourself if you think you will ever be elite at what you choose to do. Genius’s are not eccentric they just care more.
I made a promise to the boy that I would enter that cellar a caterpillar and emerge a butterfly and that is exactly what I did. Did you know that the legend that is Pewtory never spoke other than when he performed so that he could preserve his voice? This only made people crave to hear his voice more. What you see as madness I see as devotion. I am not crazy Archie, I long to be as famous as my namesake that is all.”
Archie lifted the bottle to pour yet another drink and then thought better of it. Instead he stood up and paced around the room. He shoved his hands in pockets to give them something to do. Pewtory watched him stride up and down. He had no idea what was going on in the man’s head. In truth Pewtory had forgotten what he had been trying to achieve with the story in the first place. Pewtory had wanted to explain his past to the Peddler. To let him know that he had wrongfully accused of being crazy before and he would not tolerate it again. But did it matter? He wanted Archie’s approval but if he did not get it, he would not he change his mind – there was no option.
“I am not crazy,” Pewtory repeated.
Archie stopped his pacing and reluctantly looked the bard in the eyes.
“Yet some thought you were before,” he whispered.
Pewtory nodded. His eyes filled with tears and he angrily brushed them away.
“When I pulled myself out of the cellar, there was a group of men waiting for me, must have been fifteen in total. They were led by the boy’s father and they all carried clubs. There was a prison carriage there with some officious looking soldiers and a spectacled man. Why do the managers of these asylums always have spectacles?
I was not even given a chance to explain before I was threatened and marched to the carriage. The man with the glasses read out some spurious charges as to why I was being committed to an asylum, something about being unwittingly insane. I tuned the man out and focussed on the boy who had brought my food. He stood at the back of the crowd but could not look at me. There was shame plastered all over his face.
I was incarcerated for two years but allowed to keep all my possessions. It was not too bad I got to improve my performance. Of course I only practised with the fish when I was alone at night. I guess they thought I was talking to myself so it didn’t help my plight.”
“How did you acquire the fish? So far I have heard two different stories. What is the truth?” Archie said. The question confused Pewtory for a moment. It was an odd thing to ask given the stage he was at with his story.
“You are not going to ask me how I escaped from the asylum?” Pewtory asked.
“No I am not sure I believe you. How did you acquire the fish?” Archie said again. Pewtory noticed his friend now had his hand rested on the pommel of his sword.
