by Kevin Hearne
Hello?
Ye can call me Owen. Hello, Orlaith.
All the best Druids, eh?
I’m not sure how safe they’d be. I mean, we’re living with werewolves, after all. Me apprentices all have werewolves for parents.
Well, let me think on it, will ye? It’s not a decision I can make on me own. There are others to consider.
Are ye sure? I turn into a great big bear pretty often.
“Is that so?” I turn to Siodhachan. “Who’s this bear she’s talking about named Suluk Black?”
“Oh, that’s the daughter of Kodiak Black. It’s a bit of a story, if you want to hear it.”
“Sure. I have some time to kill.”
“I don’t have a lot, but I can tell you while I whip us up something to eat.”
There’s a British man in the living room named Earnest Goggins-Smythe, who’s been looking after the hounds for them as a sort of live-in dogsitter, and after introductions, he just nods at me once before returning to work on his computer. He has a couple of dogs in there with him, a poodle and some other breed I don’t know yet. They’re lying down underneath his chair, and they watch me pass by but don’t move. Siodhachan fixes up some burgers and bacon while telling me about Suluk Black and this squirrel on a train to Portland that got the hounds all excited and involved in solving murders. We’re having a beer afterward and cooling our toes in the river behind his cabin when he gets around to discussing what comes next.
“Look, it’s about time. It’s eleven p.m. here and Ireland’s eight hours ahead of us. I’m off to fight Jörmungandr. Part of a deal I made with the Norse to try to atone for my actions.”
“Right, I remember ye telling me something about that. But what about Granuaile?”
“She’s off fighting different battles in Taiwan. Probably in the thick of it already.”
“Well, bollocks,” I says. “What do ye think I should be doing, then? I didn’t sign up for this battle, but I figure I may as well sign up now before I’m drawn into it anyways.”
“You can ask the elementals where they need help. I’m sure something will flare up somewhere and require a Druid’s attention. Stay out of Scandinavia and Taiwan and look after everything else.”
“Ah, you and your girlfriend and the entire Fae host get all the glory, then, while I go get ye some coffee?”
Siodhachan frowns. “I don’t know what you mean. You’re not going to be doing anything less important. Wherever Gaia asks for your aid, it will be needed, you can be sure. You know the elementals do not make idle requests of us, because you taught me that. But be prepared for fire.”
“Why’s that?”
“It was part of the last prophecy the sirens spoke to Odysseus, which appears to finally be coming true here. It didn’t mention the wrath of the World Serpent or the terrible attack of a Norse god, but it did specifically say the world will burn. I don’t know how that’s going to come about, or how badly, but the world is an awfully big place and almost all the Druids will be in Scandinavia, if you count the Tuatha Dé Danann, with the others in the Far East. You’ll have an awful lot of ground to cover.”
“Huh. I guess I will. I mean, I’ve looked at these globes and maps and such, and Ireland is such a wee place compared to the rest of it. I’ve traveled to some far distant lands but don’t think I’ve seen much at all compared to you. How do I know what’s worth pursuing? I mean, if the whole world will be on fire, what’s the priority?”
Siodhachan shrugs. “I wouldn’t presume to say, but if I were in your shoes, I’d ask the elementals where gods or monsters are mucking about and go stick my nose in.”
I grunt at him. “Sounds like as good a plan as any.” An owl hoots in the night, spooky as five hells and a jar of creamy peanut butter—that shite’s unnatural. The owl seems like a pretty dire warning, but that’s all right. At least it’s not the Battle Crow. Still, methinks if there was ever a time for a careful word, it’s now.
“Ye take measures, now, to keep your arse free of bite marks, ye hear? We still have all those devils to cure in Tasmania, and don’t be thinkin’ I’d rather have the whole job to meself.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he says. “I fully plan to cure more Tasmanian devils than you and all your apprentices combined.”
“Ah, is that a wager you’re proposin’, then?”
“Aye, if the terms interest me.”
“If I win, then I want to go with ye to a televised baseball game.”
“Oh, that sounds great.”
“Shut your gob, I’m not finished. While we’re there, during the bottom of the seventh inning, I want ye to streak naked on the field for a full fifteen minutes, using the earth’s power to make sure the cops never catch ye.”
“Isn’t that a frivolous use of power?”
“It’s for the benefit of humanity.”
“They’ll tase me eventually.”
“What’s that? I don’t know that word.”
“They’ll use electrical weapons to shock me into unconsciousness.”
“Will they now?” I chuckle at the thought. “I would find that a satisfactory alternative to a full fifteen minutes.”
“I’m sure you would. All right, I’ll agree to those stakes if you agree to mine.”
“What’s that?”
“If I win, you will solemnly swear never to tell that unfortunate story about me and that goat again, and if someone you’ve already told ever brings it up, you’ll disavow it.”
“Shite, lad, I don’t know if I want to give that up. People fall over laughing every time I tell it. You’re getting serious.”
“Well, you suggested fifteen minutes of serious public nudity and possible tasing and prison, so, yes, it’s that serious.”
“Ha! Well, then.”
He extends his hand for me to shake. “Wager taken?”
I grip his hand and shake it. “Aye, lad. Tasmania wins either way.”
“Indeed she does.” He surprises me then and pulls me into a hug. “Thank you for taking me on as an apprentice all those years ago. I’ve seen both horrors and wonders, but I can’t deny I’ve had a full life.”
“Nonsense, lad. Thank ye for making me proud and keeping Druidry alive all this time.”
He pounds me on the back a few times and I do the same, and then we part. It’s going to be hours before things start, so I remain at the riverside while he says farewell to his hounds. It’s a bit slobbery and mushy and I hear some of it by accident, until I break the binding to give them some privacy. But I did hear Oberon wanting to go with Siodhachan and me apprentice being firm that the hound must stay behind for this caper. Which says to me that his expectations must be bleaker than a frog’s hope for humidity in the desert, as I’m pretty sure he’s taken that hound into some dangerous situations before.
It makes me wonder if he hasn’t maneuvered me to the sidelines here, to make sure that I won’t be leaving Greta and the apprentices alone. M
ethinks it would be like the daffy bastard to do something like that, out of guilt over the deaths of Gunnar and Hal, however much he was or wasn’t responsible. He’s probably thinking he’s the one who’s cocked everything up and it’s his responsibility, so I shouldn’t help or even want to. But of course I want to help—the fecking planet’s on the line. I wonder if he knows that for all me bluster and shite, I’m really on his side and always have been.
I wonder, in fact, if I’ll ever see him again, and if I shouldn’t say something suitably sentimental so that we’re both bawling and leaking a decaliter of snot on each other’s shoulders. But then I think he probably doesn’t need that right now. He needs me confidence in him and bollocks the size of basketballs, metaphorically speaking. And on top o’ that, I can’t properly think of what to say when he comes back outside and waves to me before shifting off to wherever he’s going.
I do hope to catch that baseball game with him someday soon.
it has been so very long since I’ve been able to enjoy Ireland. A few brief, fraught visits aside—always under the threat of discovery by the Fae—the place of my birth has been essentially off limits to me ever since I fled with Fragarach almost two thousand years ago. With Aenghus Óg gone it’s not so bad, but I’ve never felt welcome. I wonder if I ever will again. Perhaps, should I survive to see the other side of this mess I’ve created, there will be a path to a garden of sorts, and if I tend it, forgiveness will grow there.
Right. And perhaps Owen will stop telling that story about me and the goat out of kindness. There’s no way I can heal more devils by myself than he and all his apprentices working together, so it looks like I have some public embarrassment in my future, if I have much of one left.
But I do want to spend more time in Ireland. I’ve missed the Emerald Isle; it’s not the same as every other island in the North Atlantic. It has its own smells and sounds and natural rhythms that sing to me of home, even when I’m not precisely in the area where I grew up.
Thanks to Mekera’s tyromancy, I came to the southern coast south of Skibbereen, where there’s an old fort on a hill overlooking a pasture of sheep. It was with a good measure of relief that I saw no shepherd tending the flock, and the few farmhouses in the area were set back a good distance from the coast. With luck, there would be no witnesses.
My brilliant plan to deal with Jörmungandr arrived in a rental car some minutes later and unfolded herself from the driver’s seat, beaming at me. Her presence was the result of another call I’d made before heading out to see Coyote.
She looked resplendent in a red and yellow sari and a familiar gold necklace set with a stunning ruby in the center.
“Hello, Atticus.”
“Laksha. Thank you for coming.”
“I was grateful for the invitation.”
“I hope you’re well? Or that your host is well? Or both? Sorry, I’m a bit rubbish at figuring out how to fit your situation into established patterns of polite discourse.”
She moved in close and gave me a brief hug, feeling especially warm, I supposed. She nodded in answer to my question. “Mhathini is doing very well. So well, in fact, that I think she’s ready to resume her life with her full faculties. We’ve been working hard.”
“That’s excellent news!” I said, genuinely pleased. Mhathini had suffered brain damage as a result of a car wreck and Laksha had taken up residence in her head some months ago, pledging herself to repairing the damage in return for hitching a ride in Mhathini’s skull. Granuaile didn’t think her domestic situation back in India was the best, but I had little doubt Laksha had been working on that as well.
“You will promise to take care of her afterward?” Laksha asked.
“Of course. I’ll see to whatever she needs.”
“Good. So this is where it will happen?”
“Yep.” I pointed out to the shore, visible from where we stood. A light breeze blew our hair around our faces. “Right off the coast there.”
“What will it look like?”
“I’m not sure, really. All known portraits of the World Serpent are fabrications by the artists who produced them. I figure it’s the kind of thing where you’ll know it when you see it.”
Laksha snorted, her mouth turning up at one end. “A fair prediction.” She squinted out at the sea. “This is a strange place to start the end of the world, isn’t it? It’s so peaceful and quiet. And there’s really nothing here.”
“It’s the perfect place to start, in Loki’s mind. Ireland has few defenses, and Jörmungandr needs to grow quickly. By which I mean he needs to feed. Ireland’s sheep and cattle and, yes, its people will be a fortifying snack on Jörmungandr’s way to becoming truly monstrous and unstoppable. And it has the benefit of crippling the Tuatha Dé Danann at the outset by robbing them of the majority of their believers.”
“Where are the Tuatha Dé Danann right now?”
“In Sweden, where Loki wants them to be. That’s the main event, where everyone’s supposed to be looking. This was supposed to be his stealthy strike. And I’m being stealthy in return. He can’t divine me, so he doesn’t know I’m here.”
A flicker of worry tensed the muscles around Laksha’s eyes and mouth. “And he doesn’t know about me either, right?”
“No, he wouldn’t know to worry about you.”
Her face relaxed. “I have been a quiet if deadly witch, haven’t I?”
“You have.”
She sighed happily. “And now I can be quiet and deadly one last time. But on behalf of everyone else instead of myself. There is a balance to the idea. I hope there will be a balance in karma as well. How many people will I be saving in Ireland alone?”
I shrugged. “Somewhere between four and a half and five million.”
“Ah! Much more than I ever got around to killing, then. I like this arithmetic.”
“Is it merely arithmetic, you think, that decides your next life?”
“No, of course not.”
“I’m glad. Because my ledger isn’t that great either.”
Our faces drooped and a silence lengthened as we both considered the personal accounts of our long lives. I didn’t think either of us could definitively say we had done more good than harm, though I had certainly tried. Laksha eventually tore her eyes away from the sea to stare at me. “What is it you want, Atticus?”
“Hmm? To win, of course. To survive.”
“I meant long term, if there is one.”
“Oh. Right. Well, a somewhat normal life would be nice. Where I can start a family and not have to abandon them because Aenghus Óg found me. Where I can teach them all to be Druids and not have to worry about being hunted. A future where I don’t have to be the Iron Druid anymore, just the Druid, like the elementals call me.”
“I see. You seek peace as well. A different definition of it than mine, but peace all the same.”
“Indeed.”
“I hope you find it.”
“You as well, Laksha.”
We lapsed into silence again, and perhaps Laksha, like me, was contemplating what peace might feel like. My desire to be stable and to experience life without the feeling of being hunted was real, but realistically I knew that starting a family was not in the cards or even the deck I was currently playing, because Granuaile was on a path that diverged from mine—a vital one that she needed to walk, building headspaces and wrestling with her power—and that meant I either needed to wait or move on. I figured she was worth waiting for and that I could afford to be patient and that the time would not go dully by. All assuming, of course, that we enjoyed any time after today.
The distant cry of ovine terror drew our eyes back to the shore, where something long and glistening had erupted from the ocean to eat a woolly lunch.
Jörmungandr, the World Serpent, spawn of Loki and a giantess, had come out of hiding and was growing f
ast, sharing his father’s talent for shape-shifting. There would be an upper limit to his growth without fuel, but with it, he could continue to swell to the genuinely mythic proportions that the Old Norse had assigned to him. And he appeared to be fueling himself quickly, gulping down a couple of sheep with his head pointed at the sky and then striking quickly to scoop up more. He was a beautiful sort of terrifying, purple and blue and green scales winking in the morning sun. I remembered the tale of Väinämöinen, who spoke of a smaller version of Jörmungandr he met off the coast of Iceland, an innocent serpent with a curious mind. Thor had come to destroy it as a sort of warmup exercise for Ragnarok, even though it had done nothing to humans and bore them no malice. Thor thought the murder justified, perhaps, since it was his destiny to meet death in battle with Jörmungandr, but instead he met his death at the blade of Moralltach, wielded by a vampire with an ancient grudge. I think Odin may have meant for me to meet my destiny with Jörmungandr in Thor’s place, but I had other ideas. And so did Laksha.
“This is it,” Laksha said, finding my hand and squeezing it. “After preying on humanity for so very long, I am hopeful and grateful and determined to do some final good. I do not know what suffering awaits me, but I accept it and go to it willingly.”
“Farewell, Laksha. May your next life be a good one.”
“Farewell.”
The body of Mhathini Palanichamy slumped abruptly, and I caught her before she could hit her head on the ground. But once she was safely lying down, I turned my gaze back to Jörmungandr, grown even larger in those few seconds than any dinosaur or creature of fable. It was just finishing its second round of whole sheep and was eyeing a third strike from the sea but probably realized it would need to come ashore if it wanted any more mutton, since the herd was pelting away from the ocean as fast as it could. Its decision made, the massive gills on the sides of its neck flared one last time and then sealed up as Jörmungandr transformed itself into an air breather. It leaned forward and then abruptly flinched, as if punched by a titan’s fist. A strangled shriek erupted from its mouth, and it shuddered from its head all down its sinuous length before going still and rigid and falling backward into the sea like strange, scaled timber. The surviving sheep bleated the ovine equivalent of “Did you see that shit just now? I’m never going near the ocean again, no ma-a-atter how green the grass is,” and the sea sloshed and hissed as the World Serpent disappeared beneath the waves.
