by Kevin Hearne
And is that warrior I see there the Iron Druid?
Yes, though he was not known as such at the time. He was living with the Goths, still hiding from the god Aenghus Óg and others.
Why are you showing me this? The Goth army was faring well in general, but the Iron Druid’s efforts truly broke the Romans and created space for others to take advantage.
Perspective. He has been around a very long time, and I have been around even longer. He has anonymously lifted up empires and brought them down. And I…have loved him. I do not wish to see him end his days in Australia.
Is that a concern?
It is. I cannot see his future well, and it troubles me.
What can I do about it?
More, perhaps, than you realize.
She stopped speaking, and the cries and clash of battle filled my head, jets of blood and flashes of steel among teeth bared in agony and rage.
What they were fighting and dying for saddened me so: an empire long dissolved, and a tribe long disbanded. Though, of course, they did not have the same perspective on the event as I did.
There. That thought. That is the crux of your current trial.
It is?
What you are facing in Australia now makes little sense but only because you lack the proper perspective. You must find a way to step back and see it from a distance. As must I. We do not have the proper vantage point to understand why Caoránach has returned. I see much that you do not. And mortals see much that I do not.
All I could see was men dying violently for reasons I could not appreciate. The Romans, no doubt, thought they represented order and civilization. The Goths looked underfed and perhaps thought they were battling oppression, though I didn’t know for sure.
Okay, I said, hoping that my acceptance would bring the slaughter to an end. But it didn’t. It kept going, and I had to watch these personal struggles and tragedies end in slashed throats and punctured rib cages as the Chooser of the Slain croaked over the Romans shortly before the Iron Druid mowed them down.
Please, I said, that’s enough. I get it. But my entreaty was either unheard or ignored. The slaughter kept going and going until I said, Please, Morrigan—stop this! And the battle crow banked around from the front of the fighting, red eyes blazing, and dove at me with her beak open wide as her chalky, scratchy voice filled my head.
Have you forgotten already, Aloysius MacBharrais? My name is Roxanne.
I screamed myself out of sleep, though in practice it was more of a short “Wha!” as I rose from the dirt. When I did, chest heaving, Ya-ping was standing nearby, staring at me with glistening eyes. The others were sleeping nearby.
“Nightmare?” she asked, her voice low and dull. At my nod, she said, “I’ve been there. Sometimes I think those are rites of passage too.”
When the sky slid from indigo to grey, heralding the dawn, the birds began to wake up and call about their urgent need for Wednesday coffee—or so I imagined. I certainly needed some, as a belligerent caffeine-withdrawal headache had taken up residence in my brain and likely had legal arguments against eviction. I got to spend thirty seconds or so dreaming of some heirloom beans from Ethiopia that were grown at a high elevation and prepared with a natural process to preserve their inherent fruity flavors of cherry and blackberries. Silky mouthfeel, brewed at 93.3 degrees Celsius, taken black, perfect with some breakfast haggis and some tatties, maybe a smear of marmalade. It was a far better dream than the one Roxanne had sent me.
But the birdcalls served to wake up the others, and we had our small tents packed up and ready to go by the time the sun peeked over the horizon. That chore was completed in near silence, as no one felt especially talkative before breakfast. We grimly tore the wrappers off protein bars, raised them in mock cheers, and bit into them with more resignation than gusto. Oh, how I missed proper food.
A woman’s voice caught us with our mouths full, the way servers in restaurants always manage to ask you how your food is tasting at the precise moment you’re unable to answer.
“Hello? Is it okay to approach?”
The dogs startled and barked, obviously annoyed at being surprised, and Connor was instantly on his feet, searching for the owner of the voice. Ya-ping, Buck, and I were close behind, but I already knew who it was: The voice had given her away.
It was Roxanne, dressed in Thea Prendergast’s orange threads, smiling winsomely at us and appearing totally harmless.
But Connor was wary. “Hold up there a moment, keep your distance,” he said. “Who are you?”
“I’m Roxanne.”
“The SES woman who was gored by an eagle bull and disappeared?”
“That was weird. And scary.”
I thought those were understatements, but Connor focused on something else. “Your name badge says Thea.”
“Oh, yeah. But you shouldn’t go around believing what name badges tell you. My name’s Roxanne. My uniform wasn’t available for this job, so I’m using Thea’s.”
I realized at that point that everything she had said so far was technically true while completely obscuring the actual truth. Half-truths, like Ya-ping and I had discussed the day before. It was a special skill of the Tuatha Dé Danann, and while I was certain Connor knew that, he didn’t know he was speaking to one of them right now.
“Fine. But you sustained a very bloody injury and disappeared for a day. We found your uniform empty on the forest floor. My hounds couldn’t track your scent. Now you’re here and in no obvious distress, when one would think after an attack like that you’d head back for help, or at least ride one of the ATVs that you abandoned. You have simple explanations for all of that too?”
Roxanne shrugged. “It was a flesh wound. Bled a lot at first, but it’s all right now. I thought the noise of the ATV might attract more monsters, so I didn’t want to do that. I can’t explain the tracking thing, though—would a eucalyptus-scented soap fool them?”
The wolfhound actually growled at the insult. I noted that she’d left out some important facts, like the organ damage and her healing it, but, again, she hadn’t technically lied.
“No, scented soap wouldn’t fool them.”
“Oh. So, hey, have you seen the others?”
“Marcus is dead, as is one of the officers. The one named Campbell rode off chasing the creature that gored you and we haven’t seen him since.”
“Oh, that’s terrible. I hope he’s all right. So what are you doing here?”
Ya-ping shot a questioning glance at me. “Time to pull out the official ID?”
Connor shook his head and answered before I could. “Not yet.” To Roxanne he said, “We’re looking for the officer.”
I supposed that was true in the same sense that we were looking for a full Scottish breakfast to be delivered any second, along with some of that amazing coffee. It would be nice if it happened, but it wasn’t an expectation.
“Mind if I join you, then? Though you really should head back. This area’s dangerous.”
“Clearly. All kinds of strange things happening.” Connor paused and stared at her for a few moments, and Roxanne stared back. “Hmm. You look human.”
“You too. What a coincidence!”
“We haven’t been properly introduced. I’m Connor. Some people call me the Iron Druid. Would you be willing to shake hands, Roxanne?”
Ah, he’d checked out her aura but was still worried she might be Fae, or some other magical creature that would be disturbed by his cold iron aura. If she was she’d keep her distance, just as Buck was careful to do, but she shrugged. “Sure.” She strode forward, extended her left hand to seize his, shook it thrice, and let go. “Satisfied?”
“Not entirely. Why’d you scramble out of your clothes immediately after being wounded?”
“To wash the wound in the creek. That’s where I went.”
“And after you washed it, you came back to your bloody uniform, and then you didn’t return to Donnelly Weir and get reinforcements or help and didn’t even radio?”
“I didn’t have a radio—the officers did. And when I got back to the attack site, nobody was there. So, yeah, I went looking for my crew. Because if I went back and told my bosses that I lost everyone, they’d ask me if I looked, wouldn’t they?”
“But you were wounded and had no supplies.”
“A flesh wound!”
“Do you mind if I see it? I mean, you can’t possibly have seen it very well, since it’s on your back.”
The corners of Roxanne’s mouth tugged upward for a split second. She’d been expecting this. “Sure, Connor, you can see it.”
It occurred to me that I’d never seen the wound when Roxanne appeared to me yesterday. She’d faced front the entire time and said she’d healed it, so I assumed it must have been fully healed. Now she turned around, and the bloody hole in her uniform was unchanged. Through it could be seen a dark scabbed-over wound, with some seepage of blood and pus, and an ugly purple bruise. We could perhaps question how it had scabbed over so quickly, but she’d dismiss it and say that the wound hadn’t been as bad as it looked.
“That, uh. Wow, ouch. You need some antibiotics and a bandage.”
“I know, right? But apart from the ache, I feel okay so far. Getting it washed out quickly must have helped, I think.”
Connor clearly still had doubts but seemed aware that pushing it further at this point would appear to be more than mere caution. “All right, Roxanne, you’re welcome to join us. We’re sticking to the trail for now.”
“Are we not sticking to it later?”
“We’ll see.”
Four distant pops that sounded like gunfire made the lot of us look ahead on the trail.
“Sounded like a handgun, eh? I hope that means the officer is alive. Perhaps we’ll catch up.” Connor took point again with the dogs and murmured reassurances to them that they hadn’t screwed anything up and they were very good dogs.
Buck and I walked behind them, while Ya-ping walked with Roxanne. She had no idea who she was really walking with, and I couldn’t tell her. She offered a protein bar to Roxanne, who sounded perplexed.
“You just…eat this slab of…whatever this is?”
“You’ve never seen a protein bar before?”
“I’m used to a raw whole food diet.”
“Oh. Well, yeah. It’s got nutrients and all that. Not something you want to eat every day, but when you’re on walkabout it keeps you from having to cook.”
“Mmf. Um. It’s…uh,” Roxanne said.
“Horrible, I know. But it’ll keep your engine running.”
Ya-ping’s phone quacked, and a rustle indicated she had pulled it out of her pocket. She huffed in annoyance.
“What is the matter?” Roxanne asked.
“This boy. He thinks I’m blowing him off and he’s getting impatient with me.”
“I see,” Roxanne said. “And how is he expressing his impatience? Is he calling you names?”
“No, just asking why I haven’t responded to yesterday’s texts. I don’t know if he’s the sort to call names and escalate like that. I suppose this might be a good time to find out.”
“If he does call you a name, what will you do to him?” The anticipation in Roxanne’s voice was impossible to miss.
“Do to him? Nothing. I’ll ghost him.”
“Oh! You mean, you’ll…turn him into a ghost? That sounds exciting.”
“What? No. You’ve never heard of ghosting before?”
“Sorry, I haven’t.”
“It means I disappear like a ghost. I don’t respond to anything—I’m just gone.”
“Oh, because you actually believe that ghosts disappear. That makes sense.”
“Yeah, but…are you sure you feel all right?”
“I feel wonderful, apart from the injury. There’s a modern expression regarding fruit that indicates one’s general happiness, but I forget it now. It’s lemony or plummy or—”
“Peachy?”
“That’s the one! Yes. I feel peachy. So tell me, is ghosting what people normally do now when men become annoying?”
“Yeah, I guess. I don’t know, really. I mean, I’m still a bit new at this.”
“So there’s no flaying or harvesting of eyes, no ear removal, no scarring?”
“No! You’re joking, right?”
“Oh, ha ha! Joking.”
“Okay.”
I marveled at the equivocation. Roxanne hadn’t actually said she was joking. She only spoke the word joking aloud, as in noticing a concept that existed, and let context do the rest of the work for her. Still no actual lies. A few steps passed before Roxanne asked for clarification.
“But you don’t even give them a good scratch, just a nice rake of the fingernails down to the bone?”
“What? No! What are you into?”
“What I assume every girl is into. Rending the flesh of men, listening to their agony and fear, reveling in the scent of their blood, existential despair, normal things like that.”
Buck and I exchanged a wide-eyed glance of alarm. But Ya-ping laughed, and then Roxanne chuckled along. “You’re wild,” Ya-ping said, obviously interpreting Roxanne’s declarations of what she absolutely, positively was very much into as absurdities.
“Yes, I’ve been told. Well, I hope the boy will turn out to be the understanding sort.”
“Thanks. What about you, Roxanne? You have a significant other?”
“Not at the moment. I was…off the market for a while, I guess you could say. But I look forward to starting again.”
A faint cry from ahead drew everyone’s attention and caused the dogs to bark. Two figures stumbled out of the bush and onto the path, one being supported by the other. The one doing the supporting waved at us.
“A little help?” he called.
“Holy shit,” Connor said. “It’s Officer Campbell.”
I had questions. What had happened to his horse? Who was that he was keeping from collapsing to the ground? Why hadn’t he called in an air strike or something?
The second question got answered first, when Ya-ping cried, “Sara! He found Sara!” She was off running, and the rest of us trailed after.
Sara was not in great shape. She was dehydrated, scratched, filthy, and probably hadn’t eaten well, if at all, for a few days. But she had a blood-encrusted knife clutched in her left hand, and she wouldn’t let go of it.
“Who’s Sara, again?” Buck said to me.
[Shu-hua’s partner, who went looking for her.]
“Oh! Well then, this could be good news, eh?”
[Could be.]
Officer Campbell had questions for us too. “Why are you lot still out here? You were supposed to head back with Rory and Cherise. Are they okay?”
“They’re fine, so far as we know,” Connor said, as Sara recognized Ya-ping and cried out in relief. They hugged and each asked the other nearly simultaneously if she’d found Shu-hua. The answer was obviously no, and that disappointed them both, but they were glad to see each other.
Sara began to tell a story of being treed by a pack of smaller creatures, like pygmy goats with fanged snake heads. The hooves meant that they couldn’t climb up to get her, but she couldn’t get down either, and she’d been trapped up there for days. Officer Campbell had come along that morning—on foot, so the loss of his horse must have happened earlier—and shot a few and beat up another with his baton when he ran out of bullets. I was already thinking ahead to what had to happen next and pulled Buck asid
e.
[We need to get Sara to safety. The car park is most likely due south of here, probably less than ten kilometers. Can you get her there?]
“Ye mean teleport her all that way?”
I nodded, and the hobgoblin winced.
“I suppose I can, stringing some short jumps together, ye know. But I’m gonnay be useless after that, ol’ man. Throw me in the bin with a bottle and a bag of snacks, and check on me in a few days.”
[You’ll be saving her life. Worth it.]
“I cannae fight after this, ye understand? I want tae be clear.”
[It’s clear.] I withdrew a Sigil of Restorative Care from my field jacket. [But once you get her there and safely into her car, you need to make sure she takes a look at this sigil, or at least takes it with her to use later. It’s a healing thing.]
“Got it. Does she need one tae forget everything too?”
[No. She knows about sigil agents already. She’s going out with one. The officer, though—I don’t suppose you could take the officer too?]
“Naw. Only one, and that’s pushing it.”
[Okay, we’ll deal with him here somehow.]
When we returned to the group, Sara was already looking a little better, because Ya-ping had given her the same sigil I’d asked Buck to give her. But Officer Campbell was starting to insist that we all leave the area for our own safety—“There’s some, like, Dr. Strangelove stuff going on around here”—and I could tell we’d need to use a sigil or four on him to keep things moving.
[Hi, Sara, I’m Al,] I said. [One of Shu-hua’s colleagues.]
“Oh, the one from Scotland, right? Nice to meet you.”
[Likewise. We need to keep going after Shu-hua but would like to get you to safety first. My hobgoblin can take you quickly.]
“Did that guy’s phone just say hobgoblin?” Officer Campbell asked, but no one answered him.
“Yes, I guess it would be best. This is…too much for me. But you’ll find Shu-hua?”
[We’ll do our best.]
“Okay. Thank you.” She turned to Ya-ping. “I dropped my phone when I climbed the tree. I have it back now, but it’s dead. I’ll get it charged and then you’ll call me if you find her?”