by Kevin Hearne
I felt no desire to move past it, and not only because the flies would probably pester me to the point of falling in the river. Nightmares waited on the other side: toothsome bats shrieking in the dark, and who knew what else. The Lords of Xibalba, no doubt. By all accounts they were not the hospitable type, and I didn’t want them to figure out I’d popped in for a nice long gawk.
But it was magnificent: three fantastic, impossible rivers imagined by humans and maintained by their belief. Sights like that renew my sense of wonder at the world, which flags from time to time.
Feeling rejuvenated and blessed, I returned across the rivers and picked my way past bones, ascending to the surface. But just at the open portal connecting Xibalba and earth, where I could see the slightly different cast to the stone of the subterranean cave in Belize, I spied a body lying on the floor on the Xibalba side.
It was the body of Faolan. Against my explicit direction and no doubt thinking he was going to protect me, or acting out of loyalty, or maybe just hurrying after me to say he had changed his mind, he had followed me into the land of the dead. And in so doing, without any protection, he had died.
He looked like he was sleeping, and the brief flare of hope that maybe he was still alive only increased my pain when I confirmed he wasn’t.
I carefully cradled Faolan’s body in my arms and bore him out of Xibalba, all my joy turned to regret, and under that bound tree, where there were birds and insects and life all around me, I just cried for him a while, remembering his favorite insults and his adorable tendency to argue for about thirty seconds max before tearing into me with his claws or teeth. He’d come a long way, honestly. When I first met him he’d lasted only five seconds before resorting to violence.
He wouldn’t have wanted to stay in a jungle, so I shifted us back to where we first met, on the shoreline of Lac Seul in Ontario, and I buried him there and told him I was so very sorry for my many personal faults but mostly for my stupid thrill-seeking and carelessly allowing him to come to harm.
—
“After that I didn’t bond with any animal for more than a year at a time, until I met you, Oberon. I only taught them some basic words, never gave them Immortali-Tea, and parted ways to let them live their natural lives. I couldn’t stand the thought of being responsible for their deaths.”
I shook my head. “I shouldn’t have given him the choice. I put him in a position to make that mistake. He never would have been there if it weren’t for me. So that’s why I can’t give you the choice to come with me to face Ragnarok. Frost giants and fire giants and those draugar we faced that one time are just the beginning, I’d imagine, of what lies ahead. It’s far more dangerous than me spelunking in Belize to get my kicks. This is an entire underworld—who knows, maybe more than one—coming to the surface to start some shit. I’d never forgive myself if they hurt you.”
“I plan to come back, Oberon. And I plan to do my best to save a bunch of innocents from becoming casualties of Loki’s ambition. All I’m trying to do is make sure you’re not one of them. And, besides, you won’t be alone. You’ll be with Orlaith and Starbuck, Jack and Algy, and maybe you’ll get to see your puppies be born.”
Oberon put his head down on his front paws and offered up a disgruntled whimper, his eyes turned up pleadingly.
“Ohhh, no. Not the puppy-dog eyes! Do you even remember how much sausage that look has earned you over the years?”
“It usually works, doesn’t it?”
Oberon’s expression fell and he heaved a heavy sigh.
“I’m sorry, buddy. But you know it’s because of love, right?”
My hound snorted.
“C’mere, you,” I said, holding out my arms. Oberon rose to his feet and moved forward until his head rested on my shoulder and I could hug him around the neck. I leaned the side of my head against his. “You’ve been the best friend ever.”
“I said I plan on it. But I’m quite sure that others have different plans for me. So, you know, just in case my plans don’t work out, I didn’t want it to go unsaid. You’ve kept me sane and grounded since the day we met, and you renew my appreciation for the little things in life, like food and naps and smelling things.”
“I know that, buddy.”
“Couldn’t agree more. Come on. I bet there’s time for one last big blowout feast before I have to go do my thing. What do you say we head back to Oregon and get cooking for everyone?”
I laughed at his imagination. “You might have hit upon a fabulous new dining concept there. Okay, challenge accepted. Let’s eat.”
FOR LEVI AND ROSCOE:
I DO BELIEVE YOU’LL GO FAR.
I must give huge fecking thanks to Janet Ní Shuilleabhían for Irish cursing help in “Gold Dust Druid,” as well as publicly note she is an outstanding human who champions women’s rights in Ireland. Má ithis, nar chacair is pronounced like “Mah ITHS, nar KA hair,” where “KA” is pronounced like cat without the t on the end. Thought you might like to know how to pronounce the curse in case you come across someone who deserves it (though I hope you don’t).
I’m deeply grateful to Simone Alexander for advising me on the customs and ethos of BDSM culture in preparing to write “Cuddle Dungeon.” Consent is the underlying foundation to the whole thing, yet many narratives tend to focus on what might be kinky rather than how such kinks can be safe. Any errors or stretches of the truth in the story are of course mine and not hers. I also wish to thank author Jaye Wells for uttering the very phrase “cuddle dungeon” in a car on Camelback Road in Phoenix a few years ago. Clearly I found it inspiring. I titled the story thus with her permission.
Thanks to Adrian Tomczyk in Poznań, Poland, for his help with the Polish bits, and to those spiffy readers I met at Pyrkon who gave me a copy of Wisława Szymborska’s poetry in translation.
And thank you, of course, for being a spiffy reader!
BY KEVIN HEARNE
THE IRON DRUID CHRONICLES
Hounded
Hexed
Hammered
Tricked
Trapped
Hunted
Shattered
Staked
Besieged
THE IRON DRUID CHRONICLES NOVELLAS
Two Ravens and One Crow
Grimoire of the Lamb
A Prelude to War
COMING SOON
A Plague of Giants: Book One of The Seven Kennings
KEVIN HEARNE lives with his wife, son, and doggies in Colorado. He hugs trees, rocks out to heavy metal, and will happily geek out over comics with you. He also thinks tacos are a pretty nifty idea.
kevinhearne.com
&nbs
p; Facebook.com/authorkevin
@KevinHearne
What’s next on
your reading list?
Discover your next
great read!
* * *
Get personalized book picks and up-to-date news about this author.
Sign up now.
