by M. D. Massey
“Cian and he were much the same, which is likely why màthair loved your da.” Lugh exhaled heavily. “I missed Cian sorely after he was murdered, his wisdom most of all. An’ I expect yer’ missin’ The Seer’s advice ’bout now, as well.”
“That would be the understatement of the year.”
“Show me, then,” Lugh said. I looked at him like he was crazy, and he raised his hand in the air. “I swear an oath not ta’ try an’ take it from ya’, whate’er ye possess. I only wish ta’ help ya’ understand the legacy he left for ya’, as my word is my bond.”
I scratched my head as I considered the wisdom of showing the journal to Lugh. “Ah, fuck it,” I said, reaching into my Bag. I pulled out the journal, hiding it so only he and I could see what I held.
Lugh let out a low whistle. “I canna’ tell ya’ what it is, but I do know there’s power within—as much as any mortal man was e’er meant ta’ wield.”
“If only I could get the damned thing open,” I replied testily.
He smiled sympathetically, motioning that I should put the book safely away. “Do ya’ think The Seer would give ya’ power an’ not make ya’ work ta’ earn it? ’Course he wouldn’t, ’cause he knew the dangers o’ doin’ such a thing. Power breeds madness in both men an’ gods, remember that. An’ there ain’t nothin’ madder than a power-crazed god.”
“Or goddess,” I remarked.
“Aye.” He leaned against the fortress wall, staring at the high cliffs that surrounded the plain on which the keep sat. “’Tis nice ta’ see some green here again. These lands were wasted on Tethra, that cunt.”
I chuckled despite myself. “Cunt is putting it kindly. He killed everything that entered these lands—hell, I’m pretty sure he killed everything that was here when he arrived.” Pausing to choose my words as carefully as possible, I gave the god a sidelong glance. “Is that my legacy, Lugh? To be nothing more than a killer like Tethra was, or to become a coldhearted cynic like Mom?”
His mouth twisted in a crooked smile, and he pointed across the killing fields. I followed his gaze to the trail that led from the plains beyond to this broad, round valley where Tethra’s fortress sat. The trail itself was a line of verdant green that zigzagged off into the distance.
“Does that look like the work o’ a killer or cynic? You an’ I are much the same, Colin McCool, half-Fomorian an’ half somethin’ else. Believe me, the blood song runs through my veins just as it runs through yer’ own. Yet, I chose ta’ be something else, somethin’ better. ’Tis yer’ own choice, which path ya’ follow.”
“If that’s the case, then why does death always seem to follow in my wake? Even Macha said so.”
He hissed softly. “I’d not trust anythin’ that one says, no more than I’d trust Badb. And as fer’ those who died tryin’ ta’ help ya’, ’tis a testament ta’ the kind o’ person ya’ are, that they should sacrifice themselves on yer’ behalf. Moreover, ’tis yer’ duty ta’ honor their sacrifice.”
“I often wonder if I deserve that kind of dedication, Lugh.”
“If ya’ didn’t question it, ya’ wouldn’t deserve it. Odd the way that works, eh?”
I tsked and flicked a pebble off the wall, watching it as it tumbled to the dry, cracked earth far below. “If I stay here and face them, more of my friends will die.”
Lugh smacked me on the back of the head. “Are ya’ daft, lad? How many do ya’ think’ll die if ya’ hand yerself o’er to ’em? Do ya’ think they’ll let yer’ friends and loved ones live? Nay, they’ll kill ’em all, rather’n risk bein’ blindsided later. ’Tis their way.”
“And if I fail? They’ll all die anyway.”
“Aye.”
“You’re not exactly filling me with confidence, Lugh.”
He clapped me on the shoulder and grinned. “Well, I’m not the god o’ pep talks, am I? Yet, I think ya’ can see the truth in what I say. Ya’ can fight now, an’ have a chance ta’ save yer’ friends. Or, ya’ can surrender an’ be forced ta’ watch ’em all be killed, an’ then be murdered by those twats anyway. ’Cause that’s what they’ll do. Yer’ call.”
“Not much of a choice.”
He pointed at my Craneskin Bag. “Figure that out, an’ maybe ye’ll have a shot. But until then, I’d advise ya’ ta’ recruit more o’ yer’ friends ta’ yer’ cause.”
I gathered everyone I could think of, anyone who Badb might harm to get to me, and whoever was willing to help hold the line. Luther came, of course, and he was delighted to bask in the artificial sun of Mag Mell. I forbade him from bringing his coven, but he brought his personal guard anyway—a half-dozen mature vamps who knew their way around a fight. They busied themselves with finding every nook, cranny, and hidey-hole in the keep from which they might spring an ambush.
Samson and Fallyn were next, although Lita practically had a fit about it. She couldn’t get directly involved, not without causing a war, as the Greek and Celtic pantheons had a millennia-old truce in place. The argument grew rather heated until Fallyn pulled her trump card, reminding her mother that she had promised not to interfere. Lita relented on the condition that Fallyn bring along her team from their werewolf assassin school, or whatever the hell they called it.
The wolves that I portalled in with Fallyn and Samson were the other four members of a five-person team. A large, bald, heavily muscled Albanian named Kreshnik was their weapons specialist, and he came with crates of gear and goodies I wasn’t allowed to touch. A Brazilian ’thrope by the name of Ana was their demolitions expert. She was fit, attractive, and missing half her third finger on her left hand and the tip of her pinky on the right. Sometimes ’thropes didn’t grow limbs back, I guess.
Seok was their close combat guy, a short, lean Korean werewolf with close-cropped hair and blades strapped everywhere but his codpiece. He was quick with a joke, and quicker with the steel he carried. A Native American who said to call him Henry was their comms person, and according to Fallyn, he’d been a code talker during WWII. I made a note to ask him about it someday, if we made it through the coming battle.
“You’re their team leader?” I said after getting them settled in at the fortress. “I should’ve known.”
“Had to fight for it,” Fallyn said in a noncommittal tone. “Ate a lot of shit before I earned the right.”
I tongued a molar as I noticed Kreshnik giving me the side eye. “One of these days, you’re going to have to tell me the whole story. Now, what’s your plan for when Badb and Fuamnach arrive?”
“Kreshnik will be on overwatch, with Seok watching his back. Ana’s going to wire the perimeter with mines, and Henry will monitor the battlefield to coordinate our activity.”
“And you?” I asked, narrowing my eyes. “Where will you be?”
Fallyn patted my cheek. “Wherever I can do the most damage, sweet cheeks. Don’t worry about me. Dad will be watching my back, as will Kreshnik. Just so you know, I have zero delusions about taking on either of those bitches head-to-head. If we can make a dent from a distance, we will, but our main job is to help free you up so you can deal with them.”
“Right,” I said halfheartedly.
“Your mom will be helping you with that, I take it?” Fallyn asked as she furrowed her brow. “You have worked this out with her, haven’t you?”
“Er, we’re not exactly on speaking terms right now,” I said as I chewed my lip.
“Colin McCool, you’d best get on speaking terms with her, and fast. She’s your best shot at ending Badb once and for all, bar none.”
“Alright, alright,” I said, waving my hands in a placating motion.
“Also, somebody has to deal with Fuamnach. I pulled every bit of intelligence we have on those two, and while she’s no Badb, she’s way too dangerous to be left as a wild card on the battlefield.”
“I’m aware. I got in touch with Crowley through Belladonna, and he says he can keep her occupied while I handle Badb.”
“I saw her down in the courtyard, bo
ssing people around as usual. No sign of the shadow wizard, though.” Fallyn held her hands up quizzically. “So, where is he?”
“No idea. Belladonna said he was working on it, and that’s all he’d say.” Fallyn looked unconvinced. “Look, I know he’s a dick, but he’s never let me down in the past.”
“Didn’t he try to kill you once?”
“Well, yeah—but that was a long time ago. Now that I’ve broken up with Bells, and since he figured out his adoptive parents were sociopaths, we’re cool.”
“If you say so. Just in case, I’ll have my team working on a contingency plan. Now, getting back to Badb. Her favorite tactic is stirring confusion among her enemies. How do you intend to deal with that?”
“Maureen and Maki are on that. Maki says she can’t get involved directly—more inter-Pantheon politics—but she helped Maureen set up some wards that should prevent Badb from putting the whammy on our troops.”
Fallyn crossed her arms and tapped her thumb on her lips. “While we’re on the subject of troops, you don’t have enough. Even with Oisín’s fiann, you’ll have less than a thousand people on the ground. From what we’ve gathered, those bitches could show up with ten times that, everything from fae, to giants, to the undead. On open ground, those are piss-poor odds.”
“Hemi has that covered. Our strategy is to keep the majority of our troops within the fortress while we pare down Badb’s ground forces from safely within these walls.”
“That’s a losing strategy, Colin. She’ll surround us, and then we’ll be under siege. Knowing those two, they’ll block you from using the Oak to escape, and then it’ll just be a matter of starving us out.”
“Trust me, it won’t come to that.” I’ll make sure of it. “Just make sure you keep yourself away from Badb and Fuamnach. Let me deal with them.”
She stepped close enough for us to embrace, but we held back because her team members were watching. “If you get in a tight spot, I make no promises.”
“I’ll be fine, you’ll see,” I lied.
Fallyn caressed my cheek gently, then she grabbed me by the ear, yanking my head down, so she could whisper a warning. “If you get yourself killed, I swear I will find you in the afterlife specifically so I can kick your ass.”
“Ow, sheesh,” I said as she let go, rubbing my ear while her team members snickered in the background. “Alright, already. Order received and all that.”
“See you when this is all over?” she said, with just the barest hitch in her voice.
“It’s a date,” I said, portalling away before I broke down.
After that, I finished rounding up everyone else who was willing to fight. Guts and some of his fellow warriors from the Toothshank clan volunteered, as did half the Red Caps. Both groups wanted revenge for the attack on Maeve’s demesne, and they were out for blood.
Then, I called on Bryn, who jumped at the chance to provide air support, bringing along four of her sister valkyries to assist. They held a longstanding grudge against Badb, as long ago she’d prevented them from retrieving the souls of Vikings who fell in battle on Irish soil. It seemed a petty and sinister thing to do, denying someone their eternal reward in the afterlife. I sincerely hoped the valkyries have the chance to cleave their pound of flesh—if not from Badb, then from her minions.
Finally, I retrieved the Cryptids—Larry the Chupacabra, Dez the Jersey Devil, Vinny the Lizardman, and the Mothman himself, Moe. I put the four of them in charge of keeping Fallyn alive, and they swore to it as their solemn duty. Those fuckers were scary as hell, and they knew how to stay hidden. If anyone could watch her back and pull her out of harm, it was them.
Every preparation I could possibly think of had been made. Now it was simply a matter of me doing the impossible: opening the old man’s journal before I had to face a full-fledged god of war. Sadly, the odds were not stacked in my favor.
20
I retreated to the Grove, instructing the Oak to monitor Tethra’s lands for the arrival of Badb and Fuamnach. Then, I spent the equivalent of an entire day there attempting to open the book. When all was said and done, I’d tried everything I could think of to open the damned thing, but to no avail.
First, I tried unraveling the weaves but got zapped into temporary unconsciousness by feedback—the energy powering the wards was simply too strong. Next, I tried borrowing power from the Oak and Grove to brute force it open, but as I’d suspected, I lacked the energy to make it happen. Finally, I began spouting every “open up” word and phrase I could think of in Gaelic, thinking maybe Finnegas had used a code word as the key.
Hours later, I was mentally frazzled, and physically and emotionally spent. At some point I fell into a fitful, restless sleep atop the old man’s grave, journal in hand. An indeterminate amount of time later, a mental nudge from the Oak startled me awake.
The Oak sent me images of a giant raven, an old, twisted rowan tree shrouded in fog, and a massive number of ants swarming out of a hole in the ground. The raven, of course, represented Badb, the rowan tree was Fuamnach, and I could only assume the ants were the Oak’s way of conveying the size of their army.
I took the time to splash some water on my face and change clothes, throwing on a pair of fatigues, combat boots with zip laces, and a t-shirt featuring a leprechaun flipping the bird that said, “Fuck you, I’m Irish.” Then I grabbed my gear and strapped on my gun belt, throwing my Craneskin Bag over one shoulder and Dyrnwyn over the other. Finally, I stealth-shifted and portalled to the top of the wall, where Mom, Hemi, and Fallyn waited.
“Nice to see you could finally make it,” Mom remarked. “Do you have a plan for how we’re to deal with Badb and Fuamnach, or are we winging it?”
“I’m working on it,” I said testily as I rested my elbows on the embrasure next to her. “Now, please be quiet and let me think.”
Mom hissed in response, while Hemi and Fallyn walked off to inspect a ballista. I ignored them all, focusing my attention on the army that was staging on the other side of the valley. Rather than march across the plains, Badb and Fuamnach had opted to portal their forces in atop the cliffs that overlooked the valley, or crater, or whatever the hell this place was in topographic terms.
Huge portals sat open on those cliffs, revealing Fuamnach’s dreary, desolate lands beyond like gaping wounds in the green, verdant landscape. Our enemies poured out of the gateways like ants, just as the Oak tree had described. I tried to gauge their numbers and stopped at ten thousand, deciding that it would be too disheartening to have an accurate count.
The valley floor below us had been turned into a literal minefield, both by Maureen and Maki’s magic, and by Ana’s munitions. Most of the actual explosives had been set up closer to the walls, but I wondered if it would be enough. The bulk of their troops were of the undead variety, so the goddesses would have zero problem overrunning our defenses with zombie fodder until all our wards and traps had been sprung.
“For all our preparations, we’re just delaying the inevitable,” Leanne observed. “They have the numbers to crash through our defenses and scale the walls.”
“Ya’ think?” I gazed across the cliffs, gauging the point where most of their forces had gathered. “Watch my back, and make sure nobody jumps me while I’m under.”
I knelt in seiza, feet tucked under my butt and resting on my ankles and knees. It wasn’t as comfortable as the lotus position, but it was easier to stand up from seiza in case of an attack. Once settled, I closed my eyes as I slowed my breathing, reaching my druid senses out across the valley.
As I did, I felt something fluttering on the edges of my awareness, a presence that brushed against my consciousness before flitting away. Ignoring it, I probed the cliffs to find weaknesses and faults, noting each as tucking the info away. Then, I drew on the Oak’s power, softening the earth beneath those areas by turning it from hard sandstone to mud.
I heard a distant roar, and as I opened my eyes, I saw a half-mile stretch of cliffs crumble in a cloud of dus
t and disappear. Vibrations and aftershocks echoed across the valley, shaking the walls of the keep. When the dust cleared, fully half of Badb and Fuamnach’s forces were gone.
Mom grunted in what could’ve been approval. “Impressive. Now we’re only outnumbered twelve to one. Too bad you can’t do it twice. It appears the sorceress is already casting a working to protect the remainder of their positions.”
“I figured as much. Question is, how are they going to get the rest of their troops down to the valley floor?”
My mother pointed to the cliff walls that remained standing. “Look.”
Badb flew high above her troops on the back of a car-sized crow. Wherever she pointed, smaller portals appeared beneath her, both on the cliff’s edge and below where the cliffs met the valley floor. Undead troops began to pour through those gateways, forming into a large, unruly horde that began making its way toward the fortress.
“The battle has begun,” my mother said in a detached, solemn voice.
As the horde progressed, they triggered all manner of magical traps and wards. Some exploded, dismembering zombies and ghouls and sending body parts flying. Other traps resulted in large, circular conflagrations dozens of feet across, filled with fire so hot that nothing remained but charred bones when the flames died out. And others filled large sections of the dry, sandstone plain with a green acidic mist that melted everything it touched.
Still, the horde advanced.
“Hemi, I think it’s time to start using those war machines,” I yelled.
Mom raised one finger in the air. “Not yet. The great lumbering lout was good for more than trying to tell a 3,000-year-old war-maiden how to wage war. Wait and see what he has wrought.”
I trained my eyes on the steadily advancing masses of undead that were making their slow, inexorable march toward our position. From this distance, it was difficult to make out individuals, as the lot of them looked like a roiling sea of gray, rotting flesh. But when they were halfway across the valley, I began to note disturbances cropping up among their ranks, small areas where the undead mass seemed to part, like bubbles on the surface of a boiling stew.