He nodded curtly. “Leave us now, if you will.”
I was only too glad to oblige. Morrigan, we need to take the cell phones of the witnesses. We can’t have a record of your fight or my existence hitting the Internet.
Done. Go and heal, Siodhachan. She strode forward and planted a bloody kiss on my lips. Call me soon. I would like to catch a baseball game. She cast camouflage on herself and vanished from view. Shortly thereafter, cries of dismay could be heard in the street as people watched their phones leap out of their hands, pockets, and purses and smash to pieces on the sidewalk. No one could prove that gods fought in the streets of Oslo; it was all hearsay.
I left Odin and Freyja in that dark alley and recovered my pants and tuxedo jacket from the street, ignoring the curious queries of bystanders. Getting dressed allowed me to hail a cab a couple of blocks away to drive me out to the woods, where I could shift away to safety.
After some time to heal and some scouting in southwestern Colorado, I found a place in the woods that I could use as a sort of safe house. It was definitely a fixer-upper, an old miner’s cabin nestled in the mountains above the wee hamlet of Ouray, but the solitude was perfect. The only people who ever came up the road nearby were 4×4 Jeep tourists, and they never stopped at the cabin. They sometimes stopped at Camp Bird Mine a short distance below, but mostly they were on their way to enjoy the wildflowers of Yankee Boy Basin. Also, their traffic was limited to the summer; the road was impassable once the snows came, and those didn’t begin to melt until late spring. I could shift directly there, however, because the entire area was full of pine and spruce, and once I bound it to Tír na nÓg, I could appear within a kung fu leap of the front door.
I made arrangements to buy it through my attorney, Hal Hauk, and decided to use it as a drop point for Gungnir. The paperwork took longer than I would have wished, but once I finally had the keys to the place and was assured no one but me would be poking around in there, I shifted to Canyon de Chelly and hitchhiked back home to our trailer in Many Farms. My apprentice and hound were quite happy to see me and full of questions about what had happened.
I held up the back of my right hand. “The Morrigan fixed my tattoos, among other things,” I said. “Has everything been okay here?”
“Fine until a few days ago,” Granuaile said. “I think something must have died nearby, because we’ve had ravens circling the place, but I can’t find it and the damn things won’t go away.” She pointed to the sky where two black-winged shapes soared above. As my eyes found them, the ravens banked and dove toward us. They landed on top of my trailer, much as the Morrigan had, and peered at me from the roof.
“Okay, that’s really weird. It’s too bad you don’t have a bust of Pallas,” Granuaile remarked.
“I know who these birds are,” I said.
“Who they are? You mean these are shape-shifters?” Granuaile asked.
“No, these are Hugin and Munin. Odin’s ravens.” I pulled out a marked-up map of my real estate purchase and showed it to the birds. “Odin,” I said, addressing the ravens for his benefit, “I will leave Gungnir at the cabin on Midgard that is marked on this map.” I pointed at a circled area. “It will be there by this evening. The cabin is unoccupied and will be unlocked. I will leave Gungnir in the closet of the master bedroom. Safe travels.” I folded the map and tossed it on top of the trailer. The ravens squawked and one of them hopped over to grasp the map between its talons. They flew away with another hoarse cry, and I was quite nearly back to peace and seemingly interminable training.
“That was Hugin and Munin?”
“It sure was. Granuaile, if I ever get restless and yearn for action in the remaining years of your training, I want you to remind me of this episode.”
“Not sure what the episode was yet, but I will, sensei.”
I did?
I seriously don’t remember this.
I smiled. You are a very clever hound.
Well, don’t get all mushy on me.
“When do I get to hear the details of this episode?” Granuaile asked. “It sounds like Odin is back.”
“He is. I’ll tell you everything later tonight. It’s actually not over yet; I have one more detail that needs my attention. Continue your training and pretend I’m not here for now.”
“Aye, sensei.”
Gungnir was buried in the earth near our trailer and encased in iron to protect it from divination. With the help of the elemental Colorado and the iron elemental, Ferris, I retrieved it with little trouble. I inspected it to make sure it was in good condition, being careful not to touch the spearhead engraved with runes, lest my aura nullify its magic.
This spear had shed a whole lot of blood, and now that I was returning it to Odin, it would shed a whole lot more. But people who truly want to shed blood will find a way to shed it, just as people who wish to do good will find a way to be a benediction to their neighbors.
Building and growing are so much harder than cutting something down. I once spent twelve years training an apprentice to accept the magic of the earth, only to see him beheaded by the forces of Al-Mansur in Galicia. After I lost Cíbran, the hopelessness of training an apprentice had overwhelmed me for far too long, and I’d had serious doubts about taking on Granuaile and several thoughts along the way of giving up.
But the meeting with Odin reassured me and gave me new hope. Now that we were sort of on the same side and he would keep my fake death a secret, I could face the remainder of Granuaile’s training with a bit more confidence that we would not be discovered and summarily destroyed.
I had less confidence, however, in my ability to avoid distraction where Granuaile was concerned. After weeks of tiptoeing around the Morrigan’s severe mood swings, I wanted nothing so much as to talk with Granuaile, to enjoy her mind and sense of humor and appreciate a well-balanced personality. It wasn’t that Granuaile was serene or at peace with herself yet, but she was walking along that road and it was a joy to sense that and appreciate it, whereas the Morrigan was lost in the apeshit wilderness. Right now, it would be far too easy for me to forget myself and smile at Granuaile in a way that communicated how much I cared for her.
The weather wasn’t giving me a break on the physical side of things either. It was still hot outside, and Granuaile was still wearing very tight workout clothes. She had begun a series of advanced tai chi forms while I was retrieving Gungnir from the earth.
Come on, not yet. She just started.
What? How can we be out of snacks?
I didn’t want to believe him, but I also have a suspicious nature. I turned my head and saw that Granuaile’s forms were perfect. She was mesmerizing. And, soon enough, she caught me watching.
Gods below, I think you’re right! Quick! To the Geekmobile!
We had recently traded in Granuaile’s hybrid SUV and bought a new one with a bright-green paint job that the manufacturer called “Lime Squeeze.” It looked like Mountain Dew, the drink of choice for nerds, geeks,
and dorks everywhere, so it had earned the name of Geekmobile.
I tossed Gungnir into the back and opened the back door for Oberon so he could hop inside.
“Hey, where are you going?” Granuaile asked.
“We need supplies,” I said. “Running down to Chinle.” And also to Canyon de Chelly, where I could shift quickly to the cabin near Ouray and drop off Odin’s spear. Oberon and I might go hunting while we were there.
“I want to go!”
“No, continue your training. Target practice with the throwing knives, and don’t forget to work with the staff. We’ll get into some new martial-arts stuff tomorrow, I promise. And I want to hear how you’re progressing in your Old Irish.” I closed the cab door and started the engine before she could talk her way inside. We kicked up some dust in my haste to escape.
Only six.
I know. I’m running out of ideas, though.
She has a mirror, Oberon.
That would probably work, except that she would murder the stylist. It would never work. There was more to Granuaile than her hair.
His words reminded me of my promise to fight on the side of the Norse in Ragnarok, when and if it came. We’re all doomed, I said. But for now I think I’ll count my blessings.
He stuck his head between the front seats and deftly licked my ear, delivering a classic Wet Willy. I shied away and laughed. Always, buddy, I said.
From New York Times bestselling author
KEVIN HEARNE
The Iron Druid Chronicles:
HOUNDED • HEXED
HAMMERED • TRICKED
TRAPPED • HUNTED
The Iron Druid Chronicles eNovellas:
TWO RAVENS AND ONE CROW
GRIMOIRE OF THE LAMB
www.KevinHearne.com
Twitter.com/KevinHearne
Facebook.com/AuthorKevin
Kevin Hearne, Hunted
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