“It’s going to be the rules of the battlefield, lad. We should be going in there with a thousand naked warriors who fight like wet cats with dodgy bowels.”
“You can go naked if you want,” the bastard says to me, ignoring my advice. “I’m wearing pants.”
I sigh and back off for a moment. If I’m going to get through to him, I’ll need to try a different angle. And there are things that need saying.
“Meara, would ye mind givin’ us a bit o’ time to talk amongst ourselves?” I asks her.
“Aye. I’ll walk the dog,” she says, getting to her feet.
Oberon says. I don’t answer him, but I assume Siodhachan does, for the hound stands and wags his tail.
The two of them trot away into the trees, and Siodhachan is doing his best to look unconcerned about what I’ll say next.
“I’ll be needin’ honesty from ye now, lad. Are ye bein’ contrary with me because ye have genuine objections to being prepared, or is it merely because you’re trying to get back at me for all those knocks to the noggin I gave ye as an apprentice?”
“Can I say it’s both?” he says. “Or neither? That’s quite the false choice you’ve laid out there.”
“Nothin’ false about it. Going in with three people means we’re unprepared for a fight, and it doesn’t matter that you’re the most powerful Druid who ever lived.”
That makes him take notice. He whips his head around like I’d stuck me tongue in his ear. “Pardon me?”
“Yes, you heard me.” Eye contact might be too intense for this next bit, either for him or for me, so I turn me head and face the forest, talking in low tones but being careful not to mumble. “I know I’m a proper bastard, Siodhachan, but that’s only because I’m not afraid to speak unpleasant truths. The truth was that you used to cock things up on a regular basis. But it was also true that you were more gifted and brilliant than anyone I knew.”
There is silence for a time as I stare at the treetops and he stares at me. The intensity of his regard kind of burns the side of me face. “If you’re not being sarcastic,” he says, “you neglected to tell me that last part. Ever.”
I shrug my shoulders. “It’s why nobody ever liked me. I always forgot to speak the pleasant truths.”
Siodhachan doesn’t have an answer. I see peripherally that his lips tighten and his jaw clenches as he looks away and down at the ground. Silence stretches between us again, and I can see I haven’t said enough. I suppose I really must have scarred him, and if I’m going to speak an unpleasant truth, I should probably begin by telling meself to stop being such a raging arsehole all the time and remember what it is to be kind.
“Look, lad,” I says. “I have an apology to make that’s long overdue. I’m sorry for being so free with my criticism and so frugal with my praise. I should have been more balanced, and I will try to notice out loud when ye do something well instead of noticing only your mistakes. I’ll start now, if ye have no objections. I want to thank ye for pullin’ me off that island. What little I’ve seen of this world so far looks like five pigs fucking, but it’s new and different, and, damn it, I feel better than I have in so many years. There’s even a werewolf walking around in Arizona who likes me, and I like her back. And I have you and the Morrigan to thank for it, which is strange, since there was a time I was sure one or both of ye would be the death of me. Heh!”
He leans forward and covers his eyes with a hand, like I’m giving him a headache, but says nothing. I probably shouldn’t have said that bit about how I was sure he’d get me killed.
“Argh, I cocked up me apology, didn’t I?”
“Maybe a little,” he says.
“Feck it, look here: I’m sorry, Siodhachan. Truly. I’m sorry, and that’s it.”
“Well—”
“No, that’s not it! I just thought of something else. It’s me who’s been your student for a while now, and you’ve shown me it can be done with kindness.” I have to clear me throat before I can continue. It got unaccountably tight all of a sudden.
“I can see the man you’ve become, and it’s a good man. A man who seeks peace but can win a fight once he’s in one. I’ve never found peace meself, but I’ve also never felt particularly moved to search for it, if ye know what I mean. So I’m grateful to ye too, lad, for showing me that path through the woods. I think I’d like to try walking it. There might be something like happiness at the end.”
He nods, letting me know that he heard what I said, but he doesn’t reply for a while, maybe thinking I’d start up again. But I’d said all I wanted to say, and it felt good.
He’s quiet when he speaks, and I almost don’t catch it. “Thank you for all that. It means a lot to me.”
I nod back at him and think he’s talking about more than just the words. When Siodhachan was wee, his da got his arse killed in a cattle raid, and I was the closest thing he had to a father after that. What a shite da I turned out to be. I can’t remember ever giving him a soft word until now.
“You mean a lot to me too, lad.”
Funny thing happens after that. We both sigh together, as if we had laid down a burden after a long journey, and then we smile and laugh, as if we’d just escaped death. And, I don’t know, maybe we had. Neither of us had any business seeing a sunrise in this age. The gifts that Gaia gives are boundless.
I meant to ask him again to bring some help along with us to Tír na nÓg, but I let it go. I’d try the peaceful route and see what happened—and if it was the worst idea ever, why, we had made a good run of it.
I still couldn’t reach Granuaile via text or voice. I left one more message on her voice mail, saying there’d be a note for her at the cabin, and then I wrote said note and put it on the kitchen table. I didn’t want her to arrive unaware of the situation, so I summarized the issue in a few quick sentences and advised her to come in full ninja mode—and without the hounds. I rose and slung Fragarach across my back.
Oberon, I need you to stay here and wait for Granuaile and Orlaith. Tell her to come quickly. There’s a note on the table.
I need you to tell her the note is here. She might not see it for a long time otherwise. Your role is crucial. It wasn’t, of course, but fortunately Oberon could be made to believe it was crucial by the simple expedient of linking it to food, so I added, Plus, I will make you a brisket.
That’s all.
Thanks, buddy. I turned to Meara and Owen. “Ready to go?”
“I don’t want to go at all,” Owen said, “but I’m ready.”
“Aye, I’m ready,” Meara said.
After I gave Oberon a farewell chuck under the chin, we strode to our familiar trees and shifted into the grove surrounding Manannan’s estate. It was a mixed lot but largely oak, with tame undergrowth and plenty of space to walk between the trees. We were on the west side of the estate, the entrance being to the south, and only three or four trees deep into the grove. Peering underneath the canopy, we could see the pasture stretched out before us, and the gray walls of the castle were visible in the distance.
Normally the birds would be chirping, but it was as silent as a classroom after a student tells off the teacher and everyone waits to see what will happen next.
“It’s too quiet,” Owen said, his knees bending into a half crouch. Meara unconsciously echoed his movement.
“Aye.” I drew Fragarach as a precaution, figuring that I’d have plenty of time to resheathe it before we got to the gates. Under the trees, I’d give my paranoia a nice long leash.
We crept forward with minc
ing steps in the grass, eyes darting to the flanks and even up into the branches, but seeing and hearing nothing. Past the first rank of trees and then another, all was well, aside from the palpable tension in the air. I didn’t sense the problem until I’d taken a few steps too many.
I’d been cut off from the earth—or at least what passes for earth in Tír na nÓg. As in all the planes, whatever I’m standing on is supposed to allow a strained flow of energy to course through me from Gaia, for all planes are connected to her. I stopped walking when I realized the comforting presence of her energy was not merely strained but entirely absent. Before I could say anything to Owen, he pointed through the canopy at the top of the castle, where a haze of flying faeries swarmed along the tops of the walls.
“Looks like they’re ready for a fight, Siodhachan. She must know that we’ve figured things out.”
“Owen, our power’s gone.”
“What?” My archdruid looked down at his foot, slow to realize that I spoke the truth. No juice was coming up through our tattoos. “Now, how in the name of seven sets of ox nuts did that happen?”
Four Fir Bolgs—giant ugly blokes that weren’t strictly Fae but eked out an existence here now as hired thugs—stepped out from behind large oak trees. They wielded net launchers, tubular weapons with gigantic muzzles, and they shot them at us without so much as a battle cry. I tried to shout a warning, but it was only in time to make Owen and Meara look up and see what was coming. The nets blanketed us, and when they touched my skin I knew that we were in trouble. They practically punched us to the ground, for the links between the intersecting knots were coated with bands of iron. It was far too much iron through which to cast anything, especially considering the iron already dangling around my neck. Cut off from the earth and unable to cast from stored magic, we were essentially powerless humans now.
We struggled to get out from under the nets, of course, and while we did that, the Fir Bolgs dropped their net launchers and grabbed spears, which they had leaned out of sight against the oak trunks. They advanced on us with ugly smiles, and I knew we wouldn’t get free in time.
As soon as Loki is out of sight I speak to my hound, mind to mind. I can hear her breathing, but she’s sitting out of my line of sight. Orlaith? Answer me, please.
The knot of worry in my chest loosens and I tell her, You’re in that hole in the ground with me.
She walks into my view, towering over me, and I manage a tiny smile.
Yes, but I will heal.
Most of me will, anyway. Unlike the pain of my broken bones and pulverized muscles, the burn of Loki’s brand on my arm cannot be quelled. It feels as if it’s still sizzling, and I imagine that I can hear and smell the burning flesh. Tears leak out the sides of my eyes, the product of one part pain, one part embarrassment, and two parts relief that we are both still alive, but I don’t make any noise. If Loki is lurking upstairs, listening, I don’t want him to derive any satisfaction from my distress.
I wonder if cold iron will dissipate the magic of his mark enough to let me heal it. I am quite some time away from being able to test that, since it would involve some arm movements I don’t think I can pull off. I can’t put any weight on my bones yet, lest they fracture further, and I resign myself to a long wait, exchanging comforting words with Orlaith and suggesting that she take a nap by my side. I myself can’t fall asleep so easily.
The light from the trench gets intense at noon, then fades as the entire day slides by in a fugue of physical discomfort and mental self-flagellation. The burn mutes itself to a dull throb over time, but the internal bashing intensifies. My own stupidity led me to walk this path instead of others, and I doubt I’ll ever be able to forgive myself.
As twilight begins to creep toward darkness, however, the last dregs of my patience burn away, and that, along with an urgent call of nature, urges me to get moving. Aware that the nerve block I’m using is actually denying me feedback on what works and what doesn’t, I release it—and cry out at the sudden return of agony from all my muscles. Orlaith starts awake from her snooze.
I unblocked the pain and it surprised me. Want to try moving.
It hurts everywhere, and my body squirms to get away from the discomfort, but there’s no way to escape, since each contraction sets off a new complaint. Gritting my teeth, I slide my left hand to my jeans pocket—a slow operation and one that requires me to breathe in and out quickly, but at least my limb functions well enough. I wiggle my fingers in there and succeed in pulling out my cell phone, only to discover that its touch screen is completely crazed, shattered by the pressure and therefore useless. I think of trying voice commands, but it won’t turn on. So much for calling Atticus.
Testing my abs, I try to sit up, and they surprise me, letting me raise myself with only a mild complaint. Searching for the remains of the dabāva, I see nothing but a curled pile of black ribbon, like a discarded streamer or a massive accident with a cassette tape, resting on the ground near my ankle. Could that have been it? Was that the thing that had shrouded the light and tried to pop me like a wine grape?
I gasp when I look down at myself. My arms are swollen and purple, and I’m sure the rest of me, including my face and neck, is one massive bruise as well.
Sitting up turns out to be the only halfway easy thing I can do. Everything hurts so much and I feel so brittle that each movement is slow and triggers a wince. It takes me most of the remaining daylight to zombie crawl twenty feet away and relieve myself, then return to lie down again. It taxes me more than I would have thought possible.
Utterly exhausted, I reestablish the pain block and we sleep through the night, and upon waking we are vastly thirsty. I ask Kaveri to create a small basin for us in the floor and allow water to seep through. It is cool and clear and delicious. I scoop out a few cold mouthfuls before Orlaith comes over to lap up her fill, which produces considerable noise that I might normally find annoying but in this situation is strangely welcome.
Orlaith asks once she finishes.
We could use some, couldn’t we? I don’t think I’m up to it, though. I still need a long while to heal. My bones aren’t strong yet. Would you like to hunt? I don’t know if this is an ideal area for it.
Stay away from people. Don’t let them see you if you can help it. Run back here if they chase you.
I can’t, Orlaith. But I should be safe here. You go see if you can find something and don’t worry about me.
With reluctance, Orlaith leaves and stays out for a couple hours. She returns with a bit of blood on her muzzle and lies down next to me, and we while away the time with language lessons for her. Thus I spend Sunday allowing my body to mend and my stomach to growl, trying to keep my Zen even though I am impatient to get out.
When the sun slices down through the trench once more it’s Samhain, and Atticus is probably wondering where I am. Or he will, when he wakes; I have to remind myself of the twelve-hour difference between India and Colorado. While I think I might be able to join him, I don’t think I want to just yet. He’d hug me and snap my collarbone again. And he would see that I’ve had my ass properly kicked—I’m still purple all over—and I’d have to explain. And there’s the very real problem of Loki’s mark to consider. Concealment from divination is, I have to admit, a great gift; I wouldn’t have been able to achieve it myself without binding my amulet to my aura, and Atticus says there’s no shortcut to that. It took him years to do it. But this gift of Loki’s wasn’t freely given—I’d firmly believe that even if he hadn’t said as much. The price is that Loki can track me wherever I go. So if I go back to Colorado now, I’ll potentially lead him directly to Atticus on a day when his guard is down, and Loki made no secret of the fact that he’d like to kill Atticus. It occurs to me that I might not
be able to go home at all. If I want to keep Atticus safe, I might have to avoid him altogether. Or get rid of the mark.
Feeling more confident in my movements than I did before, I remove the cold iron amulet from my neck and press it against the set of runes branded into my flesh. They’re red and puckered, but I can’t feel them burning anymore. I reach out to the elemental for help.
//Kaveri / Query: Heal burn?//
//Query: What burn?//
I try to direct the elemental’s attention to Loki’s brand or mark or whatever it is, but Kaveri doesn’t recognize that there is anything wrong with me now except deep-tissue damage. Examining it in the magical spectrum, I spy a soft white glow of magic within the circle but nothing I can tease at or unbind. The repeated application of cold iron to the mark has no discernible effect. What the hell had he done?
My frustration wants to have a good scream, but I bite it back. I haven’t tried everything yet. Perhaps a cup of Immortali-Tea would restore me to a state where the mark couldn’t cling to me. Or maybe Atticus would be able to think of something when I finally saw him.
I give some thought to the realities of travel. Loki would no doubt like to have a shot at destroying Tír na nÓg, but shifting there through tethered trees would be impossible for him since he is not bound to Gaia. I could still use them all I wished. But I could never use an Old Way again, or it would give him a path to follow. I don’t imagine he can track me in Tír na nÓg, it being a plane entirely outside his purview, but he’d probably assume I was there if I wasn’t to be found on earth.
My stomach growls in agreement. “Yeah, I think we can get out of here now. We’ll have to stick to the bare earth at all times, though, because I need to keep healing.”
I pick up Scáthmhaide, moving slowly. Even though I have the pain locked down, I can feel the tightness in my muscles. Now that my bones are in shape to carry my weight for a while, it’s time to get everything loosened up. Ready to get out of here?