by M. D. Massey
What do the Japanese call those? Tsukumogami?
It was a scene straight out of the Sorcerer’s Apprentice—that is, if Walt Disney had been smoking crack instead of his usual Lucky Strikes.
I rubbed my eyes again. Nope, still there.
“Okay, this is one fucked up dream. I’m going back to sleep.”
I closed my eyes and laid back down, pulling the covers over my head. Just as I was drifting off to sleep again, I sensed someone or something watching me. Moving ever so gingerly, I pulled the covers back to see who was there.
“Gah!” I cried, scrambling back toward my headboard and pulling the covers with me. “What the fuck, Click?”
The youthful-looking god-slash-magician was floating in the air above my bed, laid out prone as if he were lying face down on the floor with his chin propped on his intertwined fingers. Yet, he wasn’t contemplating a flower or a line of ants on the ground. Instead, he was staring directly at me.
The Welsh trickster slowly drifted downward, shifting his position in midair to sit on the foot of my bed. “Ah, the lad awakes! Ye’ve been asleep for”—he checked his wrist, although he wore no timepiece—“oh, thirty-two Earth hours and seventeen minutes, ta’ be precise. Not as though time matters in a place like this, but I was beginning ta’ grow concerned about ye.”
I gathered my wits, sitting up with a bit more dignity as I let the covers fall to my lap. “Ahem—and just where did you bring me, anyway?”
“Look familiar?” he asked as his lips curled up in a sly smile.
“Yeah, but I just can’t place it.”
“It should—we’re inside yer Craneskin Bag, after all.”
22
“Say what?”
“Yup, we’re inside the Bag—or, should I say, inside the pocket dimension that can be accessed via the portal that represents the open end of said Bag.” He opened his arms in an expansive gesture and looked around. “So, whaddya think?”
“Well, I’ve never been in a pocket dimension before, so—”
“What? O’ course ye’ have, lad. The druid oak’s interior is just such a place, in fact. And it would have been my first choice for a training location, since time moves at a snail’s pace inside there, fer sure. But, ye damaged it right good in yer tussle with the dryad, and now it’s not safe to venture there, what with the Void and all tearing away at its edges. Damned shame, ’tis.”
There wasn’t much to say to that. “I screwed up—so sue me. Still doesn’t explain why we’re here.”
“Why ta’ train ye, lad—or didja’ not just hear me say it?”
I leaned back and scratched my head. “Ah, chronomancy.”
“And chronourgy—don’t ferget that.”
“Well, Hideie did say I’d need to speak with you before I faced the wizard for the final time. But honestly, Click, I don’t have time to waste right now—I need to be going after the Eye.”
Click leaned forward and thumped me with his middle finger, right between my eyes. “Too much sleep has made ye daft, lad. Time doesn’t pass inside here, not like it does in yer realm. The whole place is one huge stasis spell, but a unique one in that beings like you”—he thumped me between my eyes again—“and me can function and act, independent of the standard stream of time.”
“So, while I’m here, time isn’t passing back in the real world?”
The Welsh trickster frowned. “What’s ‘real,’ after all? This is just as real to you as yer room back home, is it not? But that’s beside the point. Time is passing back in yer realm, but yer not currently in that time stream. Thus, when ye exit this pocket dimension, ye’ll re-enter yer realm’s timeline at the exact point ye left it.”
I considered what he’d just said for several seconds, then stretched out on the bed and pulled the covers back over my head.
“If that’s the case, I’m going back to sleep.”
“Yes, well—there’s going to be a problem with that.”
I peeked out with one eye and glared at him like a pirate. “What ‘problem’ might that be?”
Click grinned sheepishly. “Well, ya’ see, I brought ye here during yer natural sleep cycle. But now that’s done with, yer body won’t need sleep until ye leave here.”
“What do you mean by need?”
“Ah—I mean that ye won’t be able to sleep until I take ye back to yer own timeline.”
I sighed as my chin hit my chest. “At least tell me there’s a place to shower and a coffee maker here.”
“Um—would it help if I said ye won’t need either while yer here?” he offered cheerfully.
“Nope, not at all,” I said, throwing off the covers and swinging my legs over the side of the bed. “Still, I refuse to do whatever training it is you have planned in my Jockeys. If you want me to do participate in whatever it is you intend for us to do while we’re here, you’ll need to find me a clean set of duds.”
Click smirked. “Ahem—turn around.”
I slowly looked behind me. A complete set of the clothes I’d recently purchased came marching down the pathway toward us. It looked as though the invisible man had put my clothes on, and he was headed over to greet us. When my shirt, jeans, socks, and boots arrived, the clothes folded themselves neatly next to me on the bed, and my boots unlaced themselves and turned around, toes pointed away from me.
“Huh. I could get used to this. Now, if you could just rustle me up some breakfast—”
Click winced. “Eh, I’d be careful what ye eat here, lad, an’ how much. Although there’s no shortage of void space in which ta’ drop a load o’ shite, time stasis tends ta’ cause constipation. Plus—”
“Plus, what?”
He gave a wary look at the darkness that sat just on the edge of the pathway we were on. “There are things out there, in the Void, things better left alone. And human waste has a tendency to attract them.”
“Great,” I groused, rubbing my face with my hands. “So, I can’t sleep, eat, or take a shit while I’m here—is that all?”
“Er—don’t step off the paths?”
“Don’t tell me—I’ll start chanting ‘Ph'nglui mglw'nafh Cthulhu R'lyeh wgah'nagl fhtagn’ if I venture off?”
Click straightened and drew his eyebrows together. “What? Oh no, that’s just a myth, lad. But there would be a very slight chance ye’d be devoured by Yog-Sothoth—that is, if it happened to be passing by.”
“Holy fuck, you’re giving me a headache.”
“I aim ta’ please,” he said as he leapt off the bed to give me a small bow. “Now, get dressed so we can start yer lessons. I figure it’ll take, oh, six of yer timeline’s months in order ta teach ye the basics of time manipulation.”
“Any chance of arranging a conjugal visit during my stay here?”
The Welsh trickster looked at me with wide eyes, then clutched his belly and laughed out loud. “Oh, I suppose we might if there was a woman in any o’ the realms right now who’d be willing ta’ lay ye. But then again, ye’ve mucked it up wit’ every single one o’ yer female companions, and right handily, I should say.” He tapped a finger on his chin. “Then again, the she-wolf might still bed ye, although she was a bit miffed that ye spurned her outright. Hmm—let me think about it, lad. If it comes ta’ ye busting a gasket, I can always scrounge up a succubus or wood nymph for ye ta’ diddle.”
I didn’t know what frightened me more—being eaten by Yog-Sothoth or letting a trickster god arrange a date for me.
“Um, Click?”
“Yes lad?”
“Let’s never bring this topic of conversation up again, alright?”
“Certainly, lad, certainly. But the option’s always there if ye change yer mind.”
A truly indeterminate amount of time later—nearly a year according to the trickster, but no time at all according the passage of time back home—Click delivered me and my bed back to the junkyard warehouse.
“Well, yer not completely hopeless, lad—but yer close.”
�
��Ah, thanks—I think.”
He clapped a hand on my shoulder and smiled like a proud father sending his son off to college. “Don’t mention it. Now, I’m off to—well, I s’pose I’ve no idea. But I’ll think o’ something. Now remember, third chronourgic finger position requires a fifteen-point-seven-five degree angle at the last joint of yer pinky, else ye’ll cause a pin-sized wormhole that’ll slowly suck the planet into the other side o’ the universe. Good luck!”
With that, the youthful-looking deity winked out of existence.
I glanced at my phone, which was right on my nightstand where I’d left it. Just past midnight—plenty of time to catch some sleep before I figure out how to kill what’s-his-who’s-it. I started peeling off my clothes, which strangely were not the least bit ripe after having been worn for nearly a year. It occurred to me that it had only been a split second since I’d left.
Time travel is weird, I thought as I kicked off my pants. Ah, freedom.
I’d taken to going commando inside the Bag, since I didn’t need to bathe. But I hadn’t slept in the nude—or slept at all, in fact—in almost a year. So, I was looking forward to free-balling it while I went comatose for a day or two.
I was pulling back the covers when Click suddenly blinked into existence in front of me.
“Gah!” I shrieked, snagging a pillow from the bed to conceal my nakedness.
Thankfully, the trickster was oblivious to my state of undress, looking me in the eye as he spoke. “Oh, I almost fergot—remember ta’ take Dyrnwyn with ya’ when ye face that bloody, er, wizard! Yer goin’ ta’ need her, fer sure.” He glanced down at the pillow. “And put some clothes on, or ye’ll like to catch a cold.”
“Have you been standing there the whole time?”
“Well, I was tryin’ ta’ decide what ta’ do.” The youthful-looking deity scowled. “Oh, fer Arawn’s sakes, I weren’t standin’ here watchin’ you. No offense, but yer not my type.”
“Um, none taken.” I made a shooing motion with one hand, nearly dropping the pillow. “A little privacy, please?”
“Everybody does it, but alright—if ye need ta’ be alone ta’ yank yer pidyn, who am I ta’ keep ya’ from it?”
“I’m not—”
But, Click was already gone. I hesitantly probed the air where he’d been standing, then made a circuit of the room just in case. Once I was certain the little Welsh god had left, I changed my pillow case, then hopped into bed and started drifting off to sleep.
That is, until Finnegas came bursting into my room.
“What’s the meaning of you trying to kill that druid oak?” he blustered.
When Finnegas got mad it was easy to tell, because lightning flashed in his eyes and thunder rolled in the distance. Sometimes, the ground even shook a little. All that was going on and more. My bed was actually shaking from the tremors.
“Oh, holy hell,” I muttered, covering my head with my pillow. “You fucking immortals are going to be the death of me.”
Finnegas paced back and forth from one end of the room to the other, which wasn’t far—maybe three long paces, if that. “Damn it, Colin—how many times do we have to tell you, that druid oak is essential to your future existence?”
“I don’t know, I don’t care, and I don’t plan to care until I get some sleep.”
The old man ignored me, because he was on a tear. “And Maureen tells me you did it trying to kill Jesse. Jesse! For years, I’ve had to put up with your self-piteous whining over the fact that she died, and I’ve had to watch you mope around pining for the girl. Now, she’s back, and not only do you reject her advances—you try to kill her, too?”
“Well, that might have something to do with the fact that she’s batshit crazy and slightly homicidal,” I deadpanned.
“Do I need to explain this to you twice? I told you, as soon as you claim the druid grove she’ll likely regain her sanity. It’s the power that’s making her crazy, all that Tuatha magic. She’s not meant to wield it, but you are. For the life of me, son, I have no idea what’s going on in that head of yours these days!”
“Finnegas, have a seat, roll a cigarette, and calm down. I know I screwed up, and I’ll find a way to fix it. But right now, I have bigger fish to fry.”
“Bigger than the future of the druid order?” he asked, exasperated. Throwing his hands in the air, he grabbed a rickety old kitchen chair from the corner and sat down heavily. I waited, counting in my head.
One one-thousand, two one-thousand, three—
BOOM! A huge thunderclap sounded in the distance.
“And there it is,” I remarked. “Nicotine for you, caffeine for me, then we talk.”
The old man glowered at me, but I ignored him and got dressed. Finn had seen me naked dozens of times, so modesty was no concern around him. During our survival training, Finnegas would send me and Jesse off into the woods for days without a stitch of clothing or a single piece of kit. We went through our very own version of Naked and Afraid long before the show ever aired. I once considered suing the production company, but came to realize I’d never have a way to prove my copyright to the concept.
By the time I’d started heating the espresso machine up, he was rolling up a cigarette. “I’ll take a cup too,” he muttered. “Black.”
“No problem.”
I served him a double-shot espresso, fully caffeinated, and prepared the same from a half-decaf blend for myself. Then I sat on my bed facing him, sipping my coffee while he settled down. Halfway through his second cancer stick, he broke the silence.
“I know things are hard on you,” he offered. “I just wish you’d listen to me, is all.”
“I do listen to you, Finn, more than you know. But you don’t know everything that’s going on with me, not anymore. I’m a grown man now, in case you haven’t noticed. So, no matter how much it irks you, I’m going to make my own decisions.”
He looked at me with hooded eyes. “I know. I probably don’t say it enough, but I’m proud of you. You’ve grown into a fine young man. In many ways, you’re still a pup in my eyes, but then again, Fionn was leading entire armies at your age.”
I sipped my coffee, considering what he’d said. “I won’t let you down, old man.”
He shook his head and blew smoke from his nostrils. “That’s not what concerns me. What worries me is that I’ve let you down to this point by not preparing you for the challenges you’re facing. That’s why I need you to claim the grove, so we can accelerate your training and give you a fighting chance to survive.”
“Survive what? Obviously there’s something you’re not telling me, so spill.”
He chortled at that. “As if I were the only one keeping secrets.”
“I have my reasons.”
“So do I, but I s’pose it’s time you knew. You’re going to figure it out anyway, before long.” He took a long drag off his coffin nail and blew smoke out his nose again. “Remember when the Fear Doirich showed up, and I disappeared for a while?”
“How could I forget? That’s when you left me the Gremlin.”
“Yeah, well—I never did tell you what I found out, when I went off looking for answers to those questions I had.”
I chortled. “Hell, old man, you never even shared the questions.”
“True,” he said, taking a sip of coffee. “I went to spy on the gods.”
“Huh,” was about all I could muster. “You can do that—watch them without being seen?”
“Yup. Although it got pretty hairy there a time or two. Thought the Morrígna were onto me, but it was really just Badb I had to worry about.”
“Ah. I never did really understand her—er, them. Different gods, but the same or something? It’s weird to me.”
Finnegas flicked ash off his cigarette and shook his head. “No, they’re different entities, of that you can be sure. Badb the Raven is the trickiest of the three, although you really don’t want to mess with any of them. Nemain will take you out directly if she doesn’t like
you, Macha will curse you—and believe me, her curses last. But the Raven—she’s another matter entirely. She loves to cause confusion and strife for her enemies, weakening them until she decides to go in for the kill. And you’ll never see her coming.”
“Sounds nasty,” I said. “And like you know her well.”
Finnegas mumbled incoherently.
“Uh, what was that?” I asked, although I had a pretty good idea what he’d said.
“I said, I might have slept with her once,” he grumbled, looking away from me.
“Glad I’m not the only one with questionable taste in women.”
Finn’s eyes snapped back to me. “You’ve only been with two women, both of them good, honest folk. Be kind.”
“I was only making a joke about you know who.”
“She can’t help herself. And if you won’t help her…” Finn let his words trail off.
“You know how I feel about that,” I said with an air of finality. “Now, you were about to divulge deep and guarded secrets concerning my health and well-being.”
The old man went back to glowering, but this time he didn’t mean it. “Smart-ass. As I said, I went to get some answers. I’ve been around long enough to recognize the signs of divine meddling when I see them. Somebody had been pulling strings from on high, sending you trouble at every chance possible. And it’s only gotten worse with the passing of time.”
“Go figure.”
“Yep. So, I spied on the gods and found out a few things. One, that the Avartagh studied under the Fear Doirich. Two, that the dwarf was his one and only son. And thirdly, that the Dark Druid was the one who raised him from the dead—turned him into one of the neamh-mhairbh. In fact, that was when he first turned to necromancy. Not that he wasn’t an evil bastard before.”
“Weren’t you the druid they consulted before they brought Fionn in to kill the Avartagh the first time?”
Finnegas nodded. “Yep. And the first time around, we hid the Avartagh’s grave but good. This meant we unwittingly prevented his father from raising him again—although we didn’t make the connection between the two at the time.”