Druid Blood: A Junkyard Druid Prequel Novel

by M. D. Massey

  “Can I show him the back now, Finnegas? Please?”

  He frowned slightly and rolled his eyes in mock annoyance. “Oh, I suppose.” Then his expression grew much more serious. “But don’t touch anything. Neither of you have started your training yet, and much of what I have back there is quite dangerous. So, no horsing around.”

  Jesse nodded. “I’ll keep bat boy here in check, scout’s honor.” She held up her right hand in a mock scout salute, and tugged on Colin’s arm as she jumped out of her seat and headed to the door.

  Colin protested weakly as she pulled him along. “But wait—I have questions! And what does he mean by ‘starting our training’?”

  Finnegas shooed them away. “As I said, there’ll be plenty of time for that later. I’ll come find you once the lass has shown you the sights.”

  Jesse led him through a door and into a hall that was just beyond the old druid’s office. They walked through a large warehouse area that was filled floor to ceiling with crates and boxes, many of which had markings indicating they’d been shipped from overseas. Other than that, the place looked pretty typical. It was just your basic warehouse with a forklift, boxes of stuff, and not much else.

  “Okay, this looks pretty boring. I don’t get what the big deal is.”

  Jesse winked at him. “Uh-huh. Well check this out, smarty pants.” She walked down a corridor made by two rows of floor-to-ceiling crates and stopped at the end. There, a tall wooden crate sat flush against the wall. She depressed a brick in the wall next to it, and the front of the crate swung out like a door.

  Colin nodded. “Okay, a secret door. I’ll admit that’s pretty slick. But what’s behind it?”

  Jesse turned to him with a grin. “Oh, you haven’t seen anything yet.” She ducked into the crate and Colin followed. To box opened into a short passageway though the wall, which led to a concrete hallway roughly ten feet long and six feet wide. Fluorescent lights illuminated the space, and an arched doorway and an iron-plated door of imposing proportions sat at its end. The door was locked with an enormous padlock, and a key hung right next to the door on a hook.

  “That’s some security system old Finnegas has here. All that trouble to hide this place, and the key is sitting out in plain sight. Brilliant.”

  Jesse thumped him on the skull with her middle finger. “Duh! No one can see the key but us, just like only people like us can see the fair folk. Also, Finnegas says the iron door keeps them out. Apparently, the fae really hate cold iron.”

  That had Colin sucking on his thumb, thinking back to when he’d first seen the war club’s true shape. Now it looked just like his old bat again, but he clearly remembered the large iron rings that banded the ends of the club, and the metallic scraping sound it had made when he dragged it across the floor of the mayor’s office.

  Jesse turned the key in the lock and removed it, and struggled to open the door. “A little help here? The hinges need oiling—Finnegas says no one has been back here since—well, since before your dad died.”

  Colin tried not to react to that information, and quietly helped her open the door. Behind it was a large room, about forty feet square, obviously part of the building next door to the warehouse. Jesse flipped a switch on the wall and the light fixtures slowly lit up overhead, just like in the gymnasium at school. The floors were polished wood—oak, from the look of them. There were skylights above in the high ceiling, letting in plenty of natural light, and somehow he felt like he belonged there.

  As he looked around, it was plain to see what the space was for; this was a place to train warriors. Colin had no doubt about it. There were wooden swords and other practice weapons in racks along one wall, and shields too. On the far side of the room, an archery range was set up, along with a larger target for practicing spear throwing. Along another wall were several posts wrapped in thick bands of rope on wooden bases. Colin recognized these from a report he’d written on medieval combat as ‘pells,’ which were used for practicing striking in sword fighting.

  In addition to the weapons areas, there was also a space with mats, similar to the martial arts flooring his dad had used to have in their garage at home. Here there were punching bags, kicking shields, and mitts for striking, as well as more esoteric martial arts weapons of the type he’d seen used in Asian martial arts movies.

  There was a plaque on the far wall above the equipment, with writing in an old-looking language that at first he couldn’t understand. Above the writing there was a strange triangular symbol over a sword crossed with a staff. After he looked at the sign for a moment or two he somehow knew what it meant, although he couldn’t quite say how. Translated, the plaque read:

  Truth in our hearts.

  Strength in our hands.

  Actions to match our words.

  It sounded exactly like something his dad had used to tell him. Colin’s eyes began to well with tears.

  21

  He wiped his eyes and turned to face his friend. “My dad used to train here, didn’t he?”

  Jesse shyly looked away, as if reluctant to answer his question. “I think so. Finnegas said he’d explain it all to you when you got released from the hospital.” She paused and gave Colin a serious look. “From the looks of it, your dad was more than a soldier, Colin. I’m pretty sure he was one of the fianna, just like Finnegas said.”

  They heard a voice from behind them. “Indeed, he was a rígfénnid, a leader of a fian.” Somehow, Finnegas had snuck in behind them without their noticing. “And, he was a good man.”

  Colin could see the obvious sadness on the old man’s face. “So I guess you knew my dad pretty well.” He said it as a statement more than a question.

  Finnegas nodded once. “Aye, I trained him, from the time he was about your age I suppose. He was fierce, but kind, and given over more to mercy than I might have liked. It cost him dearly in the end.” He looked at Colin as if to make a point.

  Colin met the old man’s gaze with a confidence he’d not known before the events of the previous week. “But, why? I mean, what did you train him for?”

  The old druid looked impatient, which Colin was beginning to realize was his default setting when questioned by curious teenagers. “Why do you think? Do you think this is the first time that the fair folk have meddled in human affairs? Do you think they’re content to be pushed aside by humanity, who once worshipped them as gods? No, they were always fickle and filled with spite, especially those more powerful than your garden variety brownie or hobgoblin. It’s those more dangerous and malicious representatives of the fair folk that the fianna have always protected humankind against. That’s why.”

  Colin was sucking his thumb furiously, which didn’t seem to bother Finnegas at all. Jesse piped in with a question that had been bothering Colin as well. “I don’t understand, Finnegas—why do they hate us so much?”

  The druid sat down on a wooden bench and began packing his pipe with tobacco. He looked up and gestured with his pipe as he responded. “It’s not necessarily hate that drives them, although some clearly do hate mankind. But for the most part, it’s just in their nature to do us harm.” He paused to light his pipe, and continued. “Ever been to the zoo?”

  “Sure, lots of times.”

  “Seen the gorillas? Maybe a tiger or a lion?”

  Jesse and Colin looked at each other. “Of course,” Colin replied.

  “And, people take care of them, right? But do their caretakers treat them like people?” He sat back and puffed on his pipe, content to wait on a response.

  “Well, no. I mean, they’re not people—they’re dangerous animals.”

  The old man nodded. “Would you say, unpredictable, even?” Both of them nodded likewise in response, and the old man continued. “Yet people are still fascinated with wild creatures, and those who are unfamiliar with them want to ascribe to them human traits. But they are not human. Certainly, wild animals can become fond of humans, and in rare instances bond with them on a certain level. But never
should a person make the mistake that they are anything but wild. That is the closest thing in our world that I can compare with the nature of the aés sidhe. Wild. Unpredictable. And, dangerous.”

  He breathed out billowy clouds of fragrant smoke, and went on. “What makes the fair folk most dangerous, though, is the fact that they often look so much like you and me. That in turn makes us want to think of them as being like us—we tend to think they have human traits and emotions. But, I can tell you for a certainty, they do not share our emotions. In fact, they are as alien in mind and heart to you and me as a shark is to a puppy. You should also know that many are highly intelligent, and even those that aren’t have had millennia to become cunning and devious enough to make up for it. Not a one of them can be trusted.”

  The old man blew out puffs of smoke through his nose, which made Colin reflect that without magical assistance, he’d have died of lung cancer long ago. “But that still doesn’t answer my question. Why do they want to hurt us?”

  “Why not? They see themselves as superior to us. To them, we are like ants, or at best little toys to be played with and tossed aside at their whim and fancy. And, after centuries or even millennia of living, they simply grow bored. If you’ve ever seen a mean-spirited child pull a leg off a grasshopper, just to see it hop around in a circle, then you have some idea of why they do what they do.”

  Jesse and Colin sat down on the bench beside Finnegas. Colin didn’t look at the old man as he spoke, but instead stared out into the training hall. “So I suppose you want me to fight them, like my dad did.”

  Finnegas shook his head remorsefully. “My boy, if I could spare you from it, I would. However, you’re marked by druid blood, and the fair folk are drawn to your family like iron filings to a magnet. You could travel to the ends of the earth, and they’d still follow you and meddle in your affairs, playing their cruel tricks simply to watch you jump around in circles. Whether you choose to accept it or not, it is your destiny, although I hesitate to use such a grand term to describe what amounts to a rough lot in life.

  “I’ll not sugar-coat it for you, boy: McCool men die young. I’ve rarely seen a McCool live to see the far side of fifty, although not for a lack of preparation, that’s for sure. I’ll do everything I can to prepare you for what lies ahead, but your life is bound to be filled with battles against the fae, from now until they lay you to rest. And that’s the raw truth of it.”

  Colin gave the old man a quizzical look. “So what’s the upside to all this? I mean, there has to be something of benefit here.”

  “Spoken with the true attitude of youth, who assume they’ll live forever no matter what.” He nodded and grinned. “Well, the training is tough, and as I said the pay for druids is not great. But you’ll develop skills that most people could only dream of.”

  “Meaning…”

  “Meaning, you’ll learn to use magic. Not to master it, mind you, but you’ll learn the most basic of spells, the ones most likely to be of use. And, you’ll learn how to fight, whether empty-handed or with weapons. Finally, as you mature you’ll find you’re a bit stronger and faster than the average person, and more resilient as well.”

  Colin frowned. “You told me I didn’t have super powers.”

  Finnegas rolled his eyes. “You don’t, at least not like some fae. No, you’re just a bit hardier than the average human. Some say it’s genetics, while others say human champions are blessed by powers beyond mortal comprehension. Regardless, as you grow into manhood you’ll become that much harder to kill.”

  Colin looked peeved. “Man, you mean I have to fight evil elves and save the world, and I don’t even get super powers? This blows.”

  Jesse snickered behind her hands, while Finnegas merely looked at him in mock disapproval. “I dare say you’re not ready to save the world yet, boy. You’ve a lot of training ahead of you.”

  Colin looked genuinely offended. “But I just did!”

  “That was a fluke, and if I’d had my way you’d never have been put in that situation without adequate training. However, the Avartagh’s escape was unplanned and unexpected, and I honestly thought it would take him another decade to chase down all the rabbit trails and false leads I’d set up for him.”

  Colin narrowed his eyes. “So that’s what you were doing after Dad died.”

  “Yes, but a fat lot of good it did.” He stopped and raised a finger in exclamation. “Oh! There’s one thing I forgot to mention—you do get to choose some help.” He then looked over at Jesse expectantly.

  Jesse jumped up and pointed a finger in Colin’s face. “Guess what, bat boy? You’re stuck with me.” She grinned from ear to ear, and placed her hands on her hips as if to dare him to argue about it.

  Colin shook his head. “I don’t know if I want to put someone else in harm’s way like this. I mean, it’s bad enough that I have to do this stuff. How could I live with myself if something happened to anyone else?”

  Finnegas shrugged. “Well, it’s too late for that. Once you chose to involve her in your quest, her fate became inextricably entwined with your own, and she’s as much a part of your fianna now as you are.” He smiled and patted Colin on the shoulder. “Congratulations, you’re the first rígfénnid in generations to choose a female warrior as your lieutenant.”

  Jesse turned to Colin with her hand held high and with a huge grin plastered across her face. “High five for women’s lib!”

  Colin ignored her enthusiasm and rubbed his face in his hands. “Man, what have I gotten myself into?”

  22

  The next day, Finnegas picked them up after church in an old pickup truck, and took them out to a remote section of hills in the woods beyond the park.

  Colin knew wherever they were going, it must have had something to do with the events of the previous weeks. “So, are you going to tell us what’s up?”

  “I thought you’d want to be around to see the Avartagh laid to rest for the final time,” he replied. “This is actually part of your training—you need to see how it’s done, in case this ever happens again. Which, after today, I doubt will be a problem. But it never hurts to be prepared.”

  “Speaking of which—where are we going to find the time to do all this training you have planned?”

  The druid harrumphed as he pulled down what looked to be a freshly-made dirt road. “Didn’t the lass tell you? You’re both working for me now, as warehouse help. That should be a sufficient cover story for you, especially with Jesse’s dad working in my employ as well.”

  Colin snickered. “You’re a sneaky old coot, you know that?”

  The old man nodded. “The sneakiest. It comes with the territory.” They pulled into a clearing on top of a low hill, where a large hole had been recently excavated with large machinery. “Now, help me unload the crate before the concrete truck gets here.”

  They got out and walked to the back of the old pickup, where Finnegas pulled back a large tarp to expose a metal box roughly the size of small refrigerator. The box was wrapped in chains, and those were secured with heavy locks the size of Colin’s meaty fists. Someone had written ‘this side down’ on the outside of the box, with an arrow pointing in the direction the box should be buried.

  “I took the liberty of preparing this while you were holed up in the hospital. He’s been wrapped in iron chains, bound in iron shackles, and once he’s in the ground we’ll plant briars so thick around this area no one will ever know it’s here.” They attached the box upside down to a hook on the end of an excavator that sat off to the side of the hole in the ground. Finnegas worked the controls from the cab, and lowered the box into the ground. Jesse had to climb on the shovel to release the box, but otherwise it went off without a hitch.

  Colin looked down into the pit, which was quite deep. He estimated that the Avartagh would be surrounded by at least five feet of concrete on all sides, even on the bottom, since someone had cleverly lined the bottom and sides of the pit with concrete rebar, so the box was nestled firmly
off the bottom by about two feet. He’d be encased in a cold grave of iron and concrete, which Colin guessed would hold him long after he was dead, which was fine by him.

  They stood around and watched as a concrete truck pulled in and backed up to the hole to deliver its contents. The workers never said a word, and never even bothered to look in the pit to see what they were covering. Or, if they did, they never said anything about it.

  Jesse arched an eyebrow at the strange behavior of the workmen. The old man spoke softly as he explained. “These gentlemen work for a rather industrious criminal enterprise in the city. Their boss owes me several favors, and a generous payday combined with some simple illusory magic means they’ll never tell a soul what happened here today.”

  Colin shook his head. “I don’t even want to know how you got mixed up with the mob. In fact, I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that last part.”

  When the job was finished and the concrete crew had left, Colin breathed a huge sigh of relief. “Well, I’m glad that’s over with.”

  The old man laughed as he lit his pipe. “Enjoy this brief respite while you can—I’m sure we’ll be dealing with some other mess brought on by the fair folk and their mischief in no time.” He waggled his eyebrows comically at them. “Now, who’s in the mood for burgers and shakes? All this skullduggery always makes me work up an appetite.” He headed over to the truck without waiting for an answer.

  Jesse went to follow, but Colin stopped her with a gentle hand on her arm. “You sure you’re ready for all this? I mean, I bet if you wanted to back out we could figure something out.”

  She punched him lightly on the arm and smiled a slightly wicked grin. “What, and let you have all the fun? This is the most excitement we’ve had in this town in, like, forever! No way I’m missing out. Like I said, slugger—you’re stuck with me.”