by M. D. Massey
Thousands of undead and scores of giants were melted by the noxious, acidic fumes that the dragon turtle spewed back and forth all around. High above, Fuamnach shot out of the green fog like a rocket, trailing wisps of shadow and emerald gas. Her elegant dress was now in tatters, her skin blotchy and marked with boils, and she hacked and coughed like a lunger as she flew toward one of the portals that led back to her lands.
“Oh, you’ll not escape me that easily,” Peg cried. “This comeuppance was long overdue.”
Peg Powler yanked on the reins that led to the turtle-dragon’s nose, forcing it to turn in a slow circle as it spat more green fog all around. With a wave of Peg’s hand, the fog gathered beneath the creature, lifting it off the ground and carrying it away after Fuamnach. The beast craned its head toward Badb on her giant crow as it flew past, spewing a cone of acid that the Morrígna barely dodged.
Soon Peg and Fuamnach had retreated through the portal, which winked out of sight soon after their departure. In the short time the turtle-dragon had been on the ground, it had fairly decimated Badb and Fumanach’s remaining forces. Those that remained wandered aimlessly on the valley floor below, the remainder directionless now that they lacked their necromantic master’s presence.
Crowley stepped out of the shadows within a nearby stairwell, taking up a position at my side as I watched Badb hover above the cliffs. “Well, that was damned impressive,” I remarked. “Bit close on the timing, though.”
“Peg insisted on waiting for the most optimal time to pounce,” Crowley said. “Otherwise, we’d have arrived earlier.”
“She has some balls, taking on Fuamnach like that,” I replied. “Will she be alright?”
The shadow wizard clucked his tongue. “Oh, they do this every few centuries, apparently. One does something to insult the other, and then they go at it like two hens fighting over a fat worm. The last time, however, Fuamnach got the best of Peg. She’s been plotting her revenge since, and as it turned out, we provided both the means and the opportunity.”
“Hmm, so that’s why she wanted a serving from The Dagda’s pot.”
“Indeed.”
I nodded across the valley, where Badb had begun to make her way toward the fortress. On seeing the goddess take to the field of battle, the Valkyries let out a war-whoop, taking flight and heading across the valley to meet her. As they neared The Crow, they swooped down on her in a tight formation, only to have the goddess’ image fade into mist and smoke as they struck.
Where Badb had been a portal appeared, large enough for the Valkyries to pass through. Since they’d been diving at attack speed, there was no way to change course, and all five of them vanished into the fog and smoke beyond. Immediately the portal winked shut, and the real Badb darted out of the clouds above on her giant crow, making a beeline for my position.
“Shit,” I remarked, hoping the Valkyries were alright. “You’d best be on your way, Crowley.”
“I could stay and help,” he offered.
“No, this is my fight. But if I fail, make sure the others get away safely.”
“Hopefully it won’t come to that,” he replied. “But should that be the case, I’ll do my best to cover their retreat.”
“Thanks, Crowley.”
“No thanks are needed. I’ll always jump at an opportunity to be a thorn in Mother’s side,” he said as he faded into the shadows. “However, you do still owe me for getting my farm leveled. So, don’t die. I intend to call that debt in one day.”
“I’ll do my best,” I said as Badb flew into speaking range on the back of her giant-ass crow. “Badb, what a pleasant surprise. If I had known you were coming, I might have put some coffee on.”
Unlike Fuamnach, Badb seemed the type who didn’t bother with changing her appearance to suit a mood. She wore the same skin-tight black leathers, dark plate and chainmail, black riding boots, and long, gray cape she’d had on the last time we spoke. The goddess’ lustrous black hair had been pulled back and tucked under the brow and cheek guards of an ornate bronze Coolus helmet, making her look more field marshal than supermodel. To be honest, the look suited her.
As for weaponry, at her hips she carried a pair of short-handled bronze scythes with blades long enough to be classified as falces. I had no doubt that every bit of what she wore was enchanted for protection in battle, and those curved swords were likely as deadly as Gae Dearg or Móralltach. The harsh glare she gave could’ve stripped the paint off a battleship, and it told me she was not here to share pleasantries.
“Humor is a thin veil behind which fools hide their fear,” she replied. “Rather than making jests, perhaps your interests would be better served by begging for mercy.”
“Like the mercy you showed the Valkyries just now? Where’d you send them, anyway?”
“To their Hel,” she said, stone-faced. “Despite their enmity for me, I’d not start a war with Odin by slaying his handmaidens. By the time they escape, this fight will be long over, and they’ll have little opportunity to affect the outcome.”
“That’s too bad,” I said, meaning it. “I was kind of looking forward to seeing an aerial battle.”
Badb scowled. “Enough games, boy,” she said in her overrefined, Mid-Atlantic accent. “The time for diplomacy is over. I’ve come for your head and nothing less will do.”
“Diplomacy?” I tsked and scratched my chin. “There’s never any diplomacy with your kind, Old Crow—you know it, as well as I. You take what you want, destroying human lives as if we were nothing more than chaff in the wind. And no matter how much power you gain or how much influence you wield, you’re never satisfied.”
“Power? Influence?” she said in a mocking tone. “Once we held such luxuries, in the days before humans rose to dominance. Now, we rule o’er empty halls and sit on cheaply gilded thrones.”
“At least you live,” I replied as I gestured around me. “Can’t say the same for those who lost their lives here today, or my uncle Ed, or Sabine, or Finnegas.”
She rolled her eyes. “Save for The Seer, these names mean nothing to me, as they should to you, McCool. You could rule lesser creatures with a gentle touch or an iron fist as your whim decides. Have the loveliest maidens at your beck and call, sup with kings, wage war, conquer worlds. You could reign alongside us when the gods retake their rightful place as the overlords of the mortal realm. You could be a god.”
I stared at her for several terse seconds, then I laughed. Not just a chuckle, but a long, sidesplitting belly laugh. This bitch was plumb fucking out of her ever-loving mind.
“A god—seriously? So I could what, be the world’s biggest prick and act like overgrown children like you dumb fuckers? Throwing tantrums, kicking over my toys, and causing calamities and catastrophes that kill thousands, simply because ‘godhood’ or whatever? Holy shit, but you are a dumb cunt, to think I’d want to be a god. Frankly, it amazes me that, despite being immortal, you have yet to figure out what makes us humans tick.”
Her eyes narrowed to thin slits, and her voice was low and threatening as she spoke. “Then there is nothing left but for us to do battle. And believe me, druid, I will not be merciful.”
I pulled Dyrnwyn from its scabbard with one hand and my enchanted war club from my Bag with the other. “Come and get your dinner then, bitch. Kitchen’s not open all day.”
Badb scowled, nudging her crow with her knee. The rok-sized bird glided to land atop the wall twenty yards away, lowering its head so Badb could gracefully slide off. Then, the crow retreated several paces, where it began to feast on the dead.
“Can you tell your fucking bird to stop eating my friends?” I asked.
“Tell him yourself,” she said.
“Fine.” I tossed a fireball at the creature, singeing its tail feathers. The monstrosity cawed at me, then it launched itself from the wall, taking the time to bank toward me and drop a load of shit at my feet. So, I fried it with a lightning bolt, then I watched the bird spiral to the valley floor below, traili
ng a line of smoke behind it.
“You will regret that, druid,” Badb growled through gritted teeth as she ran at me, blades in hand. The word “ran” didn’t do her speed justice. She moved as fast as any mature vampire I’d seen, barely giving me time to get my guard up to defend her initial attacks.
The goddess fought with gusto, I’d give her that, in a style that reminded me of krabi-krabong, the weapon art of Thailand. Krabi-krabong was a strong, yet graceful, style that emphasized full-body power in slashes and strikes. The style’s practitioners were especially known for using two swords of equal length at once, wielding them to deliver devastating tandem cuts and in rapid-fire combinations of thrusts and slashes.
I matched her blow for blow and cut for cut, using my war club chiefly as a defensive tool and Dyrnwyn to counterattack. Badb was quick, and she wielded each falx like someone born to it, which she had been. However, her choice of weapons left her at a disadvantage, as the inwardly curved blades did not lend themselves well to longer thrusting motions.
Noting that deficiency in her fighting style, I backed away to long range. There, I could fight a strict fencing game that took full advantage of Dyrnwyn’s reach and thrusting ability. I soon had her on the retreat as she beat away my attacks and backpedaled through a sea of corpses.
For a moment, I honestly thought I might have an edge—then Badb backflipped away from me, and a thick shroud of fog rose from the stone floor at my feet. She faded away into the mist, leaving me standing at the top of the wall, searching right and left for any sign of attack. I heard movement to my left, but I parried too late and took a small cut to my shoulder.
The mist grew thicker, muffling all noise and leaving me in a near panic as I waited for the next attack. I took two more shallow cuts, one to the leg and another to my gut, before I got wise. Summoning a wind to blow the thick mists away, the fog cleared just in time for me to spot Badb sneaking up on my right flank.
I spun to block a double-bladed attack at my midsection, but her swords passed right through Dyrnwyn’s blazing length. Before it registered that I was seeing an illusion, the bitch hamstrung my left leg. Knowing what would come next, I stumbled toward the wall, leaning against it as I dropped my club so I could open up my Bag.
Brandishing Dyrnwyn to fend off any unseen attacks, I pulled a burlap sack out and dumped the contents on the ground. Then, I cast Cathbad’s Planetary Maelstrom, sending a dozen 40 mm high-explosive rounds sailing through the air in overlapping orbital patterns that covered the entirety of the top of the wall for sixty feet in every direction.
C’mon, c’mon, c’mon…
Finally, I heard one of the shells impact something at the spell’s edge—without detonating. I waited for a second or two, but there was no bang.
“What the actual fuck?” I asked aloud.
“You daft lad,” Mom whispered from somewhere nearby. “Those shells don’t arm themselves until they’re fired from a launcher.”
“That was supposed to be awesome,” I muttered. “Just my fucking luck.”
“Never choose a weapon you’re unfamiliar with for battle,” she replied. “Now, ready yourself to portal out of here. I’ll hold her off as long as I can.”
“Uh-uh, I’m not going to leave you to face her alone,” I said.
“Too late,” Badb crooned, unseen.
I heard Mom gasp, then she coalesced into view with the tip of one of the Crow’s blades sticking out of her chest.
22
“No!” I shouted as I portalled us to the Grove in a panic.
We arrived next to my cottage, where Mom collapsed into my arms. After gently lowering her to the ground, I rolled her on her side to survey the damage. It looked bad—the sword had pierced her spine and come out close to her heart. Even worse, Mom was leaking blood everywhere. I allowed myself a short instant of indecision, then my training kicked in and I began rummaging through my Bag for my trauma kit.
Mom grabbed my wrist in a vice-like grip, interrupting my search. “Made—mistake. She’ll follow—”
That was all my mom managed to say before she passed out. I checked her pulse. It was there, but thready and weak. Unsure what to do, I pulled the sword out and discarded it. Then, I slapped some clotting gauze on the entry and exit wounds, using a pressure bandage to hold them in place.
I was about to try portalling us to a hospital when the Oak and Grove bombarded me with a jumble of frenzied images. Most of them had to do with natural disasters and crows, so it was pretty clear what they were trying to tell me. I tried portalling Mom out anyway, but it was no good—Badb had cut us off from the outside.
And, she was coming. I could feel it.
With no alternative, I quickly cast a stasis on Mom and sent her and my dogs deep inside Ásgeir’s cave where they’d be safe. Once that was done, I began to shift into my full Fomorian form, ten feet and one-half ton of deformity and near-indestructibility. By the time I’d finished, a rift appeared in the air in front of me, with the business end of Badb’s other falx poking through.
The blade slashed downward, lengthening the tear in the fabric of time and space that was my own personal pocket dimension. Immediately, I began fighting with both will and magic to close that gap. However, Badb now had her fingers wedged in the neat cut she’d made, and with every passing second, she widened the breach.
I attacked her with elemental magic, throwing fireballs, lightning, and spikes of ice at the gap. As I did, her dark, shadowy magic flooded into the space, protecting her from mine and increasing her foothold in my sanctuary. Soon, she’d widened the rift enough to step through, wrapped in a barrier of dark mist and smoke.
“You can’t trespass here—you don’t have the right!” I roared as I drew Orna from my Bag.
“All I needed was a foothold, dear, an object that allowed me to pin down the location of this grove,” she said in a voice that dripped with exultation and self-satisfaction. “The sickle I stabbed through your mother’s heart served that purpose perfectly. Speaking of which—”
Badb extended her hand, and the falx flew to her empty palm. Rather than remaining armed, she sheathed the blade at her side. I didn’t know what sort of game she was playing, but I knew an opening when I saw one, so I leapt at her with a mighty downward slash. Just as the great sword descended, Badb stepped through a portal and disappeared.
I spun around, spotting her across the meadow in which we stood. She cast fireballs in all directions, setting multiple fires. I sent Mogh’s Scythe her way, but she portalled away again before the spell reached her. Using druid magic and the Grove’s energies, I raised waterspouts over my swimming hole, channeling water to extinguish the flames.
Yet Badb continued to step through portals, lighting fires all across the Grove, faster than I could track. Despite Click’s warning, I tried looking a few seconds into the future to anticipate where she’d be, but to no avail. Badb’s movements were completely random, and her magic clouded my ability to forecast her intentions.
Soon the Grove was ablaze in multiple places, and the Oak as well. Their silent, panicked cries bombarded me with images of fire, flame, and death. My Grove was dying, and my attempts to save it were about as effective as pissing on a bonfire.
“What’s the matter, druid?” Badb taunted from across the Grove. “Same old tricks aren’t working? It appears the old man didn’t teach you enough before he died. Poor boy, orphaned, abandoned, and rejected, with no one to save you now, or this grove.”
The only thing I could think to do was to call down rain to extinguish the flames. However, half the Grove was on fire, and flames had already charred at least a third of the Oak, leaving the sister and brother entities that embodied this place too confused and terrified to heed my commands. The images they sent me were full of pain, anguish, and fear.
At that moment, I realized that they saw me not as a caretaker, nor as a master, but as their father.
My children were dying, and I was helpless to save them. I sa
nk to my knees, tears streaming down my face as I dug my fingers into the rich, loamy earth beneath me.
I can’t let them die.
-Then dig deep, boy. Find the power you need to expel her from this place.-
Finnegas?
It had sounded like his voice, but whether it had come deep from within my subconscious or from somewhere beyond the Grove, I couldn’t say. Yet, I trusted that voice more than I trusted my own heart, so I did as it said. Tuning out the chaos and destruction all around me, I dropped deep into a druid trance, sending my mind into the heart of the Oak and Grove.
I’d never gone this far into the essence of the Oak and Grove’s magic, as it had always felt like an intrusion of privacy to do so. Their magic was also their consciousness, made as they were from the powers of nature and druidry. Here I could experience their thoughts directly—not as images, but as pure empathy, emotion, and expression.
—Father, save us.—
“I’m trying,” I cried, “but I don’t know how.”
—Claim the power—
—And break the seal—
—Then you will know—
“The power—what power?” I asked.
—There.—
Instinctively, I looked where the Oak and Grove had indicated, deep within the weaves and patterns of energy and life from which they were made. In many ways, it was like looking at the threads of a complex tapestry. Or better still, the intricate warp and weft of an expertly crafted basket, one woven over eons with such intricacy and precision as to be almost unfathomable in its construction.
But as I observed the flashes of energy and lines of magic, I came to understand that it was really just a series of connections, a network of nature and life. Those links existed not just within the Oak and Grove, but everywhere it had touched, at every place where it had left a piece of itself behind. Interestingly, the place where they directed my attention was obscured, clouded within a smoky mist, not unlike the one Badb had cast to hide herself on the fortress wall.
