Paper & Blood

by Kevin Hearne

  Connor opened his eyes then—or, rather, Siodhachan Ó Suileabháin did—and he was openly weeping, overcome by her words.

  “Yes. Thank you,” he said, past an obvious lump in his throat.

  “Good.” She smiled, drew her head back, and the hand on his cheek tapped him three times in affection. “May harmony find you, sir.”

  And then Gladys Who Has Seen Some Shite began to fade like someone was applying a transparency filter to her body, but her smile lingered until the last. Neither Nadia nor the hostages had seen this disappearing act before, and while most of them simply gasped in astonishment, Nadia provided a running commentary.

  “Hey. Hey now, what? Where’s she—what’s happening? Al? Al! What’s the score here? That was not a receptionist just now. Receptionists do not do that shite!”

  Her increasing alarm and outrage mirrored my own. Because I thought I had a clue now of what Gladys must be, besides Canadian.

  Only one entity would command such instant respect and deference from deities: Gaia. That would be Herself, if I didn’t miss my guess. Gladys couldn’t possibly be Gaia, but she could be an avatar, a necessary pair of eyes and ears for Gaia in the human world. She could exist as a fragment of an incomprehensibly vast consciousness and thereby, as a fragment, be comprehended. And as such, on rare occasions, she could serve as a conduit for a message.

  I doubted there had been a need for an avatar in the old days. But I imagined that once humans began having a severe impact on the planet—colonialism and the Industrial Revolution serving notice that humans viewed the earth as no more than a thing to be exploited and pillaged—Gaia must have felt the need to understand what was happening, especially since there was only one Druid around at the time. She probably asked an elemental to untether and take human form, walk about the world, learn our language, and report. The avatar would have had to manifest somewhere, and Nova Scotia was as good a place as any.

  That was my guess, anyway, based on what I’d seen and heard. Perhaps she would listen to that guess later and tell me if I was right.

  [Let’s talk about her later,] I told Nadia. Because Connor and Ogma had locked gazes and it looked like the sort of staring contest that might lead to thrown fists.

  “I asked you more than nine months ago—more than a year ago, actually—to find a way to grow back my arm,” Connor said, “and not a word from you since. I got all this bollocks instead. You know, I could have called you out.”

  “I am not unprepared for that.”

  “You did hear Gladys Who Has Seen Some Shite say that you still owe me and you need to keep your word?”

  “I did. I merely said I am not unprepared to be called out.”

  “Ah. Yes. Very prepared. Prepared for me to call you out and prepared to do anything—kidnap sigil agents, arrange for old monsters to come back, set hundreds of booby traps—anything except the one thing I asked you to do.”

  “I attempted to honor the commitment. I journeyed beyond the veil and contacted Miach as requested. What he demanded in return for sharing his knowledge, however, was unreasonable.”

  “I don’t care about his demands, and I don’t even care about my request. What’s unreasonable is your response. Trying to arrange my death and make it look like an accident instead of talking to me about the problem is a huge dick move, just so we’re clear.” Connor pointed a finger and enunciated very clearly. “You. Are. A dick. I risked my life twice to do you favors, and this is how you repay me. You absolutely should be called out, but I’m not going to do that.”

  “No?”

  “No. Because life without my right arm has been difficult, and very different, but once I adjusted to my new circumstances, I came to realize my life still had the exact same value. There is no doubt that it’s hard and confronting what I’ve lost is unavoidable on a daily basis, but the core of who I am is unchanged. I love dogs and trees and fish and chips with dark beers; I love poetry and puns and making fun of the Toronto Maple Leafs; but above all, I still serve Gaia. If anything, I serve her better than I have in millennia, now that I’m not running from the gods. I even got an inkling of how selfish I’d been in the past—the desire to steal and hold on to Fragarach, that exquisite sword, created as many problems for me as it solved—and I hoped that I’d learned my lesson. You know, I actually thought that I’d only been doing good in the world since I landed in Tasmania! I lost my arm and unexpectedly found harmony. But now I learn that I set this in motion—your absolutely gross behavior that got innocent people killed—and I feel ill, because it was also born of my selfishness. I want no more of it, and I certainly don’t need it. I want to be free of it and free of you. So I’m letting it go and changing the deal.”

  “Yes?”

  “Forget Miach and my arm. The new deal that you’re bound to honor to square your debt to me is that you answer my questions honestly without dodging, lead us all past your death traps safely, and never do or say anything in the future to harm me or my associates directly or indirectly.”

  The god of language waggled a finger. “That’s too broadly worded. How many questions, and regarding what?”

  “As many as I want, regarding your actions leading up to this meeting, but I only ask them now, not later. I think you’ll agree that answering some questions, leading us out of here, and then fucking right off is tremendously easier than whatever Miach asked for.”

  “Fine. Proceed.”

  “Did you decide that Caoránach should return to the living world?”

  Ogma’s jaw clenched. He didn’t like the question. “Yes,” he finally said, and then I realized what Connor had done. By asking about Ogma’s decision, he removed from the table all the wiggle room about how it was done and left the god with nothing but a yes-or-no answer. That was a neat phrasing, and I’d need to remember it the next time I had some questioning to do.

  “Now that she’s dead again, will she be able to return elsewhere?”

  “Not by herself. Only with help.”

  “Did you decide to kidnap sigil agents with the hope of luring me here to investigate?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you decided to set traps surrounding this area?”

  “Yes.”

  “Were chimeras released elsewhere that we need to worry about? In other words, do we have a huge containment issue to confront once we get out of here?”

  “No. Once I knew which direction the sigil agents were coming from, I knew that whoever searched for them would follow their path. The demon spawn were given explicit instructions to hunt only along that trail in that specific direction.”

  “How’d they get there through the traps surrounding this place?”

  “I would periodically lead one or more of them past the traps.”

  “Were the last ones a group of yak badgers?”

  “Yes.”

  Mei-ling cleared her throat and Connor raised an eyebrow at her in query.

  “Will you ask what happened to the barghest I sent in pursuit of Shu-hua?”

  “What happened to the barghest, Ogma?” Connor said.

  “I slew it. If you inform me of the packmaster, I will make sure they are compensated and you are not penalized for the loss of a hound.”

  Mei-ling nodded curtly in satisfaction, and Connor swept his gaze around. “Any other questions to relay?”

  I raised a hand and typed out my query. [Did Ogma decide to have someone take a shot at me in Tír na nÓg near where I emerged from the Old Way in Glasgow?]

  Connor gestured to Ogma that he should answer as if he’d repeated the question.

  “I did. But it was supposed to be nonlethal, and it was.”

  “Was it a Fullbritches or a Snothouse?” Buck interjected, but Ogma chose not to answer that, and since Connor didn’t insist, it was as if he hadn’t spoken. I had a more germane question
.

  [Why nonlethal?]

  “Because killing a sigil agent would have captured Brighid’s attention. The hope was that you’d pursue the hobgoblin and be delayed in Tír na nÓg long enough to allow the Iron Druid to proceed on his own. But you brought your own hobgoblin, and then this…”

  “Utter badass, I believe, is the phrase you were searching for,” Nadia finished, since he was looking at her.

  “Fuck sake,” Buck said. “Ye might as well say, I would have gotten away with it too, if it weren’t for you meddling Scots! But it sounds like ye’re gonnay walk away from this villainy with nary a consequence.”

  “What’s your name?” Ogma asked, narrowing his eyes.

  “Never mind that. I’m an associate of the Iron Druid that ye’re no supposed tae harm. I don’t like him either, tae be fair, because he’s a walking death trap tae me. But I’d never try tae kill him, and he’s right about one thing: Ye’re a wee dick, and ye should be ashamed of what ye’ve done and the innocent deaths ye’ve caused, but I know ye cannae feel empathy anymore. Ye’re too bloody old tae care about mortals or anyone else but yerself, and that is why ye’re standin’ there now thinkin’ I’m givin’ ye cheek rather than speaking the truth tae ye and why ye cannae see what an absolute shite bag of bones and fluids ye are. There’s abandoned cheese out there, ye know, back at Donnelly Weir. Abandoned cheese that some couple that was building a future was gonnay enjoy, and ye ended it all by bringing Caoránach and her demons here to save what sorry excuse for a reputation ye have left. And that Officer Campbell bloke who’s lyin’ deid upstream—he didnae deserve that death either.”

  I noted that Roxanne’s eyes dropped to the ground when Buck said that, but I was the only one who had a clue about what had really happened.

  Buck continued, “He thought the lot of us were off our heids, and he struggled with the idea that the world still has magic in it, but he was a better man than you, ya bastard, because he charged down tae help strangers who needed it, and you are the reason they needed help. I hope ye find that withered husk of a soul inside ye someday and nurse it back tae health so ye can feel a smidgen of the guilt ye should be feeling now, ya fucking wankstain masquerading as a god! Zeus is forever the absolute worst—I think the world can all agree—but ye’re a close bloody second. Try tae absorb that and be better from now on.”

  Ogma visibly seethed, but Connor piled on before he could say anything.

  “You deserve every word of that scorn. I think he said it better than I could have.”

  I nodded and gave Buck a thumbs-up so that he would know I agreed. I was beginning to appreciate hobgoblins’ cultural imperative to act as a check on power.

  Connor cast around again. “Any other questions for Ogma?”

  Shu-hua spoke up. “Our sigils and weapons and phones were confiscated. Do you have them?”

  Ogma tossed the canvas-wrapped bundle he’d been carrying to her and said, “They’re all in there. Please keep them wrapped up until I leave you.”

  Shu-hua did not reply to that, except to produce another question. “I am concerned that Ogma is a signatory to the treaty between the Tuatha Dé Danann and humanity yet is here on this plane without permission and apparently suffering no ill effects from the Sigil of Dire Consequence. Has he found a way to circumvent the treaty or to render the sigil ineffective?”

  “Have you?” Connor prompted.

  Ogma shook his head. “That question has no bearing on my actions leading up to my presence here. It is outside the scope of our agreement and I will not answer.”

  “Then I will answer for him,” Connor said. “Whatever the Sigil of Dire Consequence does—I imagine it delivers pain—it’s working on him now. But he is using Druidic techniques to compartmentalize it into a different headspace, and that allows him to continue to function. I was poisoned with manticore venom once, and I survived by isolating the pain in a different headspace so I could work on neutralizing the toxins.”

  The tiniest downturn of Ogma’s mouth told me that Connor had guessed correctly.

  “If that’s the case,” Mei-ling said, “and if the rest of the Tuatha Dé Danann can do this, that means the contract can be ignored at will.”

  “Ahahaha!” Roxanne burst out, then covered her mouth with her hand when everyone looked at her. “Sorry. I often laugh at inappropriate times.”

  Mei-ling had an excellent point. We’d need to investigate and perhaps revise our contracts, for it was a safe bet that the rest of the Tuatha Dé Danann could do the exact same thing. Most all of them were Druids—they were the first ones, in fact.

  “Then unless someone else has something to say, that is all,” Connor said. “I don’t want to know what Miach demanded or how you accomplished Caoránach’s return. I only want to serve Gaia from this day forth and do no harm. I’m going to help these sigil agents deal with the aftermath of your bollocks, and then I will go back to Tasmania and hope our paths will never cross again.” When no one had anything to add, he nodded once and said, “I understand we lost Officer Campbell in the battle. We’re going to make a travois to carry him, then we’d like you to lead us safely out of here.”

  Ogma didn’t speak a word to anyone after that. I couldn’t fathom if he felt any remorse or if he would change his behavior after this failure, and I certainly had no idea of what Gladys Who Has Seen Some Shite might ask of him or whether it would be a penance of any kind for the damage he’d done. But he led us all out of that valley without further harm, directly to where Nadia had parked her rental car on the trail.

  Of much deeper interest to me was the fact that Roxanne insisted on hauling Officer Campbell’s body out of the valley along with Connor. The travois was really more of a makeshift stretcher, with two eucalyptus branches serving as the supports for a bed of shredded bark that Connor magically bound together to serve in lieu of canvas. He took the left side, and she took the right, and only Buck and I knew that this was the Morrigan walking alongside the man she had professed to love once.

  After we retrieved our packs at the top of the ridge, I stole three whole glances back at Connor and Roxanne during the hike out of the valley, during which they didn’t speak. Connor’s face was expressionless each time, but the Morrigan’s—Roxanne’s—was different. At first she wore a tight-lipped mask of regret as she gazed down at the body of Officer Campbell, and that alone separated her from Ogma. He had caused many innocent deaths and she had caused one, but only she expressed any guilt over her actions. The horror of what she’d done hadn’t left me, but that acknowledgment of wrongdoing gave me hope that she would not be the same terrifying creature of nightmares that she had been in elder days.

  The second time I looked back, I caught a tear coursing down her left cheek, which she wiped away as soon as she realized there was a witness. What had that been for? Something from her past life? Mourning Officer Campbell’s death in this life? The impossibility of a relationship with Connor? It didn’t truly matter to me so much as the existence of the tear itself, for it indicated a basic humanity and a deep well of emotion that Ogma lacked.

  And the third time I looked back, she was nearly beaming at some distant thought, her expression suffused with optimism and hope. Perhaps she was imagining someone saying to her how kind and thoughtful she was. Perhaps she was thinking of consuming the heart of some man who offended her. I did not care, in all honesty. What those three separate glimpses proved to me was that Roxanne was a creature of emotion who could feel pain and elation in equal measure, and while her reaction to pain might be wholly terrifying, it might also turn out to be wholly pure. She was entirely unpredictable, but, curiously, I would trust anything she said to me, because she had not actually lied to anyone since returning to this plane.

  Technically, Ogma had not lied to anyone yet either, but I would not trust him to boil an egg. What was the difference?

  I suppos
ed it was the difference between wishing to be better and wishing to be best. They are not remotely the same thing.

  Roxanne clearly wanted to be something better than what she had been yet had made a decision that confirmed her old prejudices and habits. She saw, at least, what she had done and how walking old roads would bring her back to a place she didn’t want to be. A tightened circle of narrowed probabilities, to hearken back to her conversation with Ya-ping.

  Ogma simply wanted to win. Which was not, in itself, a poor thing to want. But what he was willing to do to win—anything—made me distrust him. His willingness to do what the enemy wouldn’t might make him an excellent warrior, but it also made him a terrible person.

  Roxanne was willing to lose. Lose everything, in fact, in hopes of winning a different game someday. I didn’t know if she would be successful—she’d made a rather huge misstep, and she might be playing a game she couldn’t win—but I cherished the idea that she wished to reinvent herself.

  Which made me wonder if I could do the same, should it become necessary. If I ceased to be Al MacBharrais in some real sense that didn’t mean actual death, perhaps the curses on my head would cease to apply. It was a long shot and probably not a viable proposition but worth a smidgen of investigation. The alternative was to find out who’d done the deed and confront them. If I did, would I behave like Ogma and win at any cost? Would there not be a curse in stooping down to his level to win? What if winning meant I had to cross a line I could never step back over? Would that truly be a win?

  It would be for Buck, to be sure. His welfare had to be my priority. But surviving without a family was possible for me—I’d already been forced to do it and had found new family. And there was no great need, apart from my own pride, to train my replacement. Eli’s apprentice, or either Ya-ping or Hsin-ye, could very capably take over my territory anytime I wished to retire.