by M. D. Massey
“Oh, heya, Colin,” the big Maori replied, lowering the sword with a grin. “Immaculate timing, as usual. Somethin’ big’s going down at Maeve’s.”
“I’m aware, and that’s why I’m here—to evacuate you, Maki, Maureen, and Ásgeir.”
“Ah, the troll. Met him, nice fella. Bit of a sore loser at checkers, though.” Just when I was about to ask him how he knew I was there, he beat me to the punch. “Air displacement, aye? Felt it when you popped in.”
“Makes sense. Where’s Maureen and Maki?”
“Fussin’ with the wards. Don’t think they can get any stronger.”
“No, they can’t. The last person to shore them up was Finnegas.”
Hemi frowned sympathetically. “Oy, sorry to hear about that. He was a right good fella.” I kept my mouth shut, fearing I’d lose my shit. After several agonizing seconds of silence, the big guy saved me. “So, I s’pose I could round up everyone, yeah? ’Cept the big guy. You’ll have to get him yourself.”
“Right,” I said, flipping the “closed” sign to face outward. “Meet me back here, and we’ll get the hell out of Dodge.”
I popped into the hall outside my old room, wary of appearing unannounced after my close call with Hemi. “Hey, Ásgeir—you awake?”
“I am conscious, yes,” his muffled voice replied. “What is happening outside, druid?”
“Badb and Fuamnach are attacking the local fae queen’s mansion. They think I’m there, and they’re trying to distract Maeve so one of their agents can abduct me.”
“But you are here,” he stated.
“Right. I foiled their plan by being nice. Long story, but I need to get you out of here.”
“I would much rather fight. As you know, I fear no god.”
I sighed and rubbed my forehead. “I appreciate that, but let’s save that option for a last resort, okay?”
Silence. “Are you taking me to that horrible place where the sun always shines?”
“Temporarily, yes. But don’t worry—I already have a cave prepared for you.”
More silence. “This is acceptable. Proceed.”
I popped into the room, grabbed him, and took him to said cave in the Grove. “Plenty of food in here, there’s a pine bough bed over there, and we added a freshwater spring in the back.”
“Perfectly acceptable. Please retrieve me when it’s time for the killing to start.”
“Ásgeir, you are downright spooky sometimes. See you in a few.”
I popped back in the office, where Maureen, Maki, and Hemi were waiting, spooking the lot of them. A second later, Maki had some sort of dark green fireball hovering between her hands, Hemi’s tattoos were starting to glow, and Maureen had drawn her cutlass from thin air.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa—chill, people. It’s just me. Hi, Maki.”
“Phew,” Hemi said.
“Might’ve cut your codpiece in two, boyo,” Maureen remarked, sheathing the sword.
“Or gotten cursed with rapid onset Ebola,” Maki added in a Kiwi accent. Being the Maori version of fae, she looked as Irish as Maureen, but she was a New Zealander through and through. “And hi right back atcha.”
“Oh, man, I need you to teach me that one, but it’ll have to wait,” I said. “Storm’s about to hit, and when it does, Badb and Fuamnach are going to go nuclear on Maeve’s manse.”
“Ya’ hafta’ be shittin’ me,” Maureen said. “Have they gone daft, declarin’ war on the Queen o’ the Fae?”
“It’s supposed to be a diversion so they can abduct me, but I’m pretty sure they’re punishing Maeve for helping me as well.”
“This is bad, Colin,” Maureen said, rubbing her chin. “Real bad. Maeve could hold her own against one o’ them, but both? Even on her own turf, it might go either way.”
“Packing a sad, are they?” Maki started rubbing her hands together, and she flashed the kind of feral grin that you normally only see on the criminally insane. “I’d like to go a few rounds with one of them—see what the Celtic gods are made of.”
“I love the enthusiasm, but save it for later,” I said. “I’m not quite ready to face them yet, and chances are good they’ll head here once they figure out I’ve escaped. We need to be long gone by then.”
“Where to, bro?” Hemi asked.
“Underhill. There’s someone I need to speak with, ’cause no one else has the answers I need.”
“Are ya’ certain that’s a good idea?” Maureen asked. “It’s kind o’ Fuamnach n’ the Crow’s home turf.”
“I realize that, but trust me when I say this is necessary,” I replied.
“Ahem,” Maureen said with a long look on her face. “While I send an email ta’ tell the staff not ta’ come in fer’ a few days, ya’ might want ta’ have a word with your mam.”
Just then, the door to the office opened and my mother walked in. “No sense in clamming up and pretending,” she said. “I know you’re here.”
“Well, now it’s a party,” I snarked. “Everyone, meet my mother, Leanne McCool.”
A chorus of greetings were given all around the room, much to the amusement of my mom. While this was happening, Hemi leaned in and whispered in my ear.
“Psst… did you know your mother is a goddess?”
“Normally I’d make you pay for that, but today you get a pass. Yes, I know. Actually she’s a Fomorian, but yeah.”
“Aw, sweet as,” Hemi said, high-fiving me. “And don’t tell Maki, but she is kind of hot, in that Linda Hamilton in T2 kind of way.”
I gave him the brow. “Really, dude?”
“We can hear you,” the ladies all said in unison.
“Somebody’s gonna be in the doghouse,” I whispered.
“Can still hear you,” Maki said, monotone.
“Er, right. Hang on, everyone, we’re headed to Underhill.”
I had the Oak teleport us all to the safest location I could think of, which was inside Tethra’s fortress. On the outside, it appeared to be nothing more than a small mountain surrounded by a tall castle wall. However, that huge chunk of rock contained a maze of tunnels and passageways, making it the perfect place to hide my friends.
As for the Fomorian’s former home, it was pretty much what you’d expect. Plenty of stone, lots of weapons and skulls and other trophies adorning the walls, and not a stick of furniture besides a huge throne made from the bones of at least a dozen different species. My guess was that Tethra had slept in the chair. The dude had been weird, no doubt about it.
“I recognize this place,” Mom said. “Tethra’s mountain. Finally came around to my way of thinking, eh?”
“No, I carefully assessed the situation, gathering as much data as I could from as many sources as possible, which led me to the conclusion that I need to travel to Underhill.”
“In other words, yer’ mam was right,” Maureen said.
Traitor, I mouthed at Maureen behind my mother’s back. I cleared my throat to get everyone’s attention. “Okay, listen up. I need to find The Dagda, which shouldn’t be too difficult. While I’m gone, I need you folks to prepare for Badb and Fuamnach’s arrival. They don’t know we’re here yet, but they’ll figure it out eventually, and we need to be ready because I doubt they’ll show up alone.”
I looked at Maureen and Maki. “I’m putting you two in charge of laying wards and setting magical traps out on the Tethra’s killing fields. And don’t neglect the skies—last time I was here, Badb brought a dragon.”
“Don’t teach your grandma ta’ suck eggs, boyo. I’ve been layin’ wards with The Seer since before your nation was born.”
Meanwhile, Maki got that evil gleam in her eyes again. “Oh, this’ll be a blast.” She held her hand up to get my attention.
“Yes, Maki?”
“Is biological warfare out of the question?”
I thought about it a moment. “So long as it’s contained and you can clean it up later, have at it.” Maki clapped her hands and did a little dance. Wondering if I’d r
egret that decision, I turned to address Mom and Hemi. “I need you guys to dust off whatever crazy war machines that Tethra has and get them in working order and positioned on the walls. Feel free to juice up the ammunition with magic—hell, go crazy for all I care.”
Mom gave me just the slightest nod of approval. “Leave the munitions you took from the house. I can use them to lay traps for any of Badb’s troops that get past the magical defenses.”
“I’ll leave you everything but the 40mm grenades. I have plans for those.” I looked at Hemi. “After I’m done speaking with The Dagda, I’m going to recruit more bodies. Badb will likely have air support, along with a shit-ton of ground troops. We can’t match her numbers, but I think we can at least man the walls of the fortress.”
“Chur, bro,” he replied. “Anything else I can do?”
“Oh, I don’t know. There are a ton of bones out there on Tethra’s killing fields. Can you do anything with those?”
His face split into the widest grin. “Does Māui have stones the size of coconuts?”
Chuckling, I slapped him on the back. “Have fun, brother. I’ll be back after I have a chat with the god of druidry.”
Little did they know, my plan was not to make a final stand at Tethra’s fortress. Instead, I fully intended to leave them all there while I went to deal with Badb and Fuamnach. The hell if I was going to sacrifice my friends to save my ass, no matter what Hideie said.
To succeed in that regard, I’d need to find out how to open the book the old man left me. As far as I knew, there was only one being who might be able to help me with that. The Dagda created druidry, so if anyone could help me with that book, it was him.
But if I was going to be dealing with gods, I needed someone to watch my back—someone who was savvy to their tricks. I made a pit stop at the junkyard to grab an item I needed, then I popped into the Grove to get Ásgeir. When I arrived, he was in his cave, pacing back and forth.
“Hey, buddy, everything okay?” I said as I entered.
“Oh, thank goodness. You’ve been gone for ages, and I was going stir-crazy in here.”
“Ew, sorry about that. There’s a time differential. Ah, heck, I should’ve come for you sooner. Sorry.”
“Apology accepted. Is it time to do some killing yet?”
“Not quite, but we’re close.” I threw him a pair of welding goggles. “Put these on. I have to go talk to The Dagda, and I’m gonna need a second pair of eyes while I’m visiting his lands.”
“Ah, the one who is like our Odin. If you are visiting him, it is wise to have someone watch over you.” He examined the goggles with interest. “But what do I need these for?”
“The place we’re headed is a lot like the Grove, all full of magical sunshine and crap. It won’t hurt you, but I figure the goggles will make it a bit more bearable.”
After putting them on, he looked around and nodded sagely. “You are a considerate employer and friend.”
“I try,” I said with a sincere grin. “Hang on, we’re about to portal out of here.”
A split second later, we were standing outside the Dagda’s cottage in Underhill. I’d left the Oak planted inside Tethra’s fortress, since it was the safest place for it outside of hiding it in the Void. Leaving the Oak on Earth was too risky right now. Besides, my link with the Oak wasn’t very strong between planes. I needed it with me in Underhill to jump around down here—or up here, depending on your perspective.
As for The Dagda’s farm, the place hadn’t changed, except it was harvest time now or near to it. The wind carried a crisp fall scent that was a mixture of moist soil, dried oak and maple leaves, and wood smoke. The wheat stalks in his fields were heavy with grain and the trees ripe with fruit, their leaves displaying brilliant shades of red, brown, and gold. Even his big fat pig looked a bit more rotund, snorting at us as it wallowed in the mud inside its pen.
After a quick visual scan of the area, I spotted him sitting under a large oak tree at the top of a small hill that overlooked his fields. I left Ásgeir to patrol the base of the rise, close enough to be on guard while allowing us some privacy. The Dagda sat on a rough-hewn bench, his massive shoulders slumped, elbows resting on his knees as he rubbed a length of fine red cloth between his fingers.
On cresting the hill, I sensed something was off with The Dagda’s mood. His body language was completely incongruent with our previous meetings, and his brow was deeply furrowed as his hands worried at the item he held in his huge, hairy hands. His club leaned against the bench at his right hand, and a wine barrel with its lid smashed in sat on the ground nearby.
It struck me that, even seated, he dwarfed me in my human form. Although I stood several paces away, he could grab his club and easily close the distance to strike me, perhaps in as little as a single step. At that moment I realized I’d placed myself in quite a vulnerable position. If The Dagda chose to attack me now, there would be little I could do short of portalling away, and I wondered if he might be able to block that ability as well.
Colin, you idiot—he knows Aengus is dead.
“Didja’ do it, lad?” he asked in a deep, rumbling voice that was ragged with grief. “Didja’ kill my boy?”
Shit… I’d best step carefully here.
“No, I didn’t. But I’m not going to lie and say I didn’t try.”
“Ah, so you had help.” He ran the shiny crimson cloth between his fingers, caressing it with a gentleness that belied the size and strength of his hands. “Might I ask, who attacked first?”
“He came after me with Moralltach. I was forced to defend myself.”
A half-truth, not a lie.
“If I asked the sword, would it tell me otherwise?”
Only if you ever found it.
I shrugged. “He sought me out. I never went after him looking for trouble.”
The Dagda exhaled heavily. “No, you never do. Aengus was many things. Arrogant, a braggart, quick-tempered and slow to yield when he was in the wrong. But he was my son.”
“I’m sorry, Dagda. I didn’t want this—any of this.”
He remained silent for a time, and I wisely resisted the urge to fill that silence with idle chatter. Finally, the god of druidry spoke. “This was his cloak, you know. It was the blanket Boann swaddled him in, and when he was older, she fashioned it into a cloak to protect him.” He laughed, short and bitter. “Likely where those comic book writers got the idea. They stole much of their ideas from myths and legends, after all.”
The Dagda fell silent again, and I gave him quiet to process his grief. When he spoke again some minutes later, his voice was firm and filled with a hardness that he hadn’t previously displayed toward me.
“When I gave humankind druidry, it was meant to balance the scales, to protect them from being slaughtered by my kind. I never intended it to be a weapon that could be used against us. In truth, I thought that at most it would be a deterrent—something to give entities like Badb and Fuamnach pause before they levied their magic against the sons of Míl Espáine. Never did I consider that it might be the cause of my son’s death.”
“I—it wasn’t druidry that killed him,” I stammered.
He released Aengus’ cloak with one hand, motioning for silence. “And yet, a druid was involved in his death. The last druid, in fact. Now, he comes to me for assistance in his time of need, and I ask myself, ‘Why should I give him the help he requests’?”
I choked down my fear, looking him in the eye even though he still hadn’t matched my gaze. “Because if you don’t, druidry will die out. Isn’t that why you’ve helped me all along?”
“Yes, but perhaps it’s time for me to reconsider. Maybe it’s best that druidry should pass from the world altogether.”
“Dagda, you don’t mean—”
He rose from his seat, fists clenched and shoulders set, glaring at me. “Don’t tell me what I mean, stripling!” he roared, his voice echoing across the land. I stood stock still, never lowering my gaze. A moment later, h
is shoulders slumped. He sat heavily on the bench once more. “I’ll not work against you, nor take from you what has been given. Yet from this day forth, druidry is in your hands. It will live or die by your own doing.”
“I—”
“Go, druid. Leave me. I have nothing for you and no more knowledge to share with the slayer of gods.”
With no other choice but to respect his wishes, I headed down the hill to retrieve Ásgeir.
17
The troll hid in a copse of trees, positioned where he could watch every approach to the hill without being seen. Using his natural glamour, he’d blended into the surrounding landscape, and I only noticed him because he waved to get my attention. As I neared his hiding place, he stood and brushed off his pants.
“I take it your meeting did not go well,” Ásgeir said, more as a statement than a question.
“You take it right,” I replied. “He was not in the mood for granting favors. Honestly, I can’t blame him.”
“Hmm,” the troll said, tapping one of his sausage-like fingers on his scarf-covered chin. “The gods are not like us. Their ways are foreign, and their motives are often unclear. The only constant when dealing with their kind is that ultimately they will stick together, no matter what others of their kind have done or how wrong their position remains.”
“I’m starting to see that, although I guess I knew it all along,” I said as I kicked at the dirt. “Call it blind hope, but I’d allowed myself to think that there might be one or two of them who are worth trusting. I guess I was wrong.”
Ásgeir grunted in response, then he pointed a thick finger across the meadow. “One approaches who is not a god.”
Glancing in the direction he indicated, my eyes were treated to a sight that warmed my heart. Jesse glided toward us, picking her way through the tall grass and undergrowth, careful not to snag the green satin gown she wore. The dress was form-fitted and stitched in silver around the square neckline and hem in a Celtic knotwork pattern. It also had loose, puffy sleeves with long cuffs and a silver satin sash that gave it a definite renaissance fair look.