Underground Druid_A New Adult Urban Fantasy Novel

by M. D. Massey

  “Got it. I’ve seen every episode of Gilligan’s Island, and I know all about the dangers of quicksand.”

  He looked off into the fog, scanning our surroundings as he spoke. “You do not have to make jokes to demonstrate that you’re okay.”

  “Don’t mind me, Crowley. It’s how I deal when things go bad.”

  “I see.” He continued scanning the foggy landscape around us, then started off in a new direction. “I recognize this area. Come, it’s not far now.”

  “How you can recognize anything in this fog is a mystery to me.”

  “It’s more of a feeling, really. As I said, the landscape conforms to its master. The qualities and characteristics of the land change as you enter a powerful fae’s demesne.”

  He pointed at a faintly glowing patch of moss on a nearby stone, the first living plant life I’d seen since we’d left the mountain path. “That tells me we’re close to Peg Powler’s lair. Mother’s magic is all about deception, death, and entropy. But Peg, for all her faults, is a creature of the swamps and wetlands, and therefore of life. A twisted representation of it, but life nonetheless.”

  I ventured a guess based on observation, more out of curiosity than anything else. “It sounds like you almost care about her.”

  He continued on in silence for a time before answering. “Peg is more a force of nature than a purposely evil being. She represents part of the cycle of life. The swamps and wetlands take life, true—but they also help sustain it in their own way. Peg kills, but only because it is in her nature. One does not hate the lion for killing to survive.”

  “I know you didn’t grow up on earth, but we tend to take a dim view of drowning children and eating them.”

  “I’m aware, and in full agreement. But as I said, a predator is as a predator does. You cannot fault them for following their own nature.”

  Out of habit, I rested a hand lightly on the handle of my Glock. “No, but we still kill predators who develop a taste for human flesh.”

  Crowley chose to remain silent rather than respond, and we walked along in silence for some time, traversing an area that was not unlike the swamps surrounding Lugh’s lands. It made me wonder what sort of messed up things had happened to Lugh, for his lands to be so ugly and dismal. He seemed a nice enough guy, but I supposed even Celtic deities got the blues.

  I could so relate at the moment.

  Crowley pulled up short as we exited a thick bank of fog. “Ah, here we are. Wait a moment for me, while I prepare a gift for Peg. Doing so will greatly facilitate our negotiations.”

  He set off into the fog bank, so I sat on a nearby rotten log and took in the surroundings. We’d exited the mists right on the edge of a large, swampy lake. Dark shadows moved just beneath the algae-covered surface in the murky waters below. Every so often I heard the plop of a toad jumping in the waters to avoid some larger predator. Besides the toads and the shadows that moved within the waters, nothing else stirred as far as the eye could see.

  In the middle of the lake and several hundred yards distant, a ramshackle wattle hut sat on a low island that was surrounded by cattails and reeds. A thin wisp of smoke trailed from its thatch roof, and the scent of dried peat being burned hung thick in the air, melding with the rotten odors of swamp gas and stagnancy. I thought I saw a shadow pass behind the burlap curtain that covered the hut’s window, but I couldn’t be sure.

  I busied myself with a weapons check while I waited for Crowley to return. I neither saw nor heard him until he stepped out of the fog again, carrying a six-foot crocodilian creature trussed over one shoulder, and a black silk bag that bulged and shifted over the other.

  “Here, help me with one of these,” he said.

  I stood and considered my options, finally reaching for the sack.

  “Mind the teeth. They’re poisonous.”

  I didn’t have to ask what was inside, because I recognized the musky, slightly uric odor. “Snakes? Really?”

  He readjusted the crocodile-like creature on his shoulder, as it was wriggling around in an attempt to escape its bindings. “I told you, services in trade. Peg rarely leaves her island these days, but she still needs to eat. If you wish to cross her demesne, either you bring her food, or you are food.”

  “Okay, at least you’re not sleeping with her.” Crowley stiffened, and I raised a hand. “I kid, I kid—relax. I presume we’re headed to that island? How the hell are we going to get over there?”

  I could hear the smugness in his voice as he replied. “Oh, ye of little faith. Here comes our ride now.”

  I followed the direction Crowley’s hood was facing and observed as one of the underwater shadows headed toward us. The shadow gained speed, growing larger until whatever it was began creating a wake as it neared the shore. Finally, it broke the surface. I had to blink to assure myself that what I was seeing was legit. A rocky island floated through the murky lake at us, and it was closing in fast.

  As it got closer, I recognized a familiar hexagonal pattern of horned plates on the creature’s moss-covered back. That’s when I knew what our “ride” was.

  “Either that’s the biggest turtle I’ve ever seen, or the swamp gas is getting to me,” I remarked.

  The living island neared us, stopping a few feet from dry land. The part we could see was easily twenty feet across, and I assumed at least one-third remained under water. The wake it made as it neared shore splashed beyond the lake’s edge, forcing us to step back to avoid getting soaked.

  Crowley adjusted his crocodile and took two quick steps to the water’s edge, jumping lightly onto the creature’s back. “Mind your step, and don’t fall in the water,” he said. “You’ll be eaten before I could possibly pull you out.”

  “Wonderful.”

  I clutched my bag of snakes, holding it at arm’s length as I leaped onto the algae and mud-covered shell. I nearly slipped as I landed, righting myself before I scrambled to the peak of the shell to take a spot next to the shadow wizard. No sooner had I come to a stop than the creature began making its way to the island.

  On the way there, a smaller shadow approached us. I watched with interest as the turtle snatched an eight-foot eel from the water. The creature’s huge beaked head broke the water with the eel in its mouth, biting down and snapping it up in two or three gulps. It turned to fix one reptilian eye on us for an instant, before lowering its head back beneath the surface with a splash.

  We arrived at the island moments later. The turtle stopped a few meters from the island’s edge, and we hopped off just as quickly as possible. The huge beast sank beneath the water, making nary a ripple as it disappeared into the unseen depths below.

  A wheezy, gurgling voice called from within the hut. “Who dares venture on my island? Two humans, I smell. One with magic woven from shadow, the other with magic not his own. Interesting. Come closer, that I may see you both.”

  Crowley leaned over to whisper low in my ear. “Let me do the talking, unless you fancy drowning in that lake.”

  He stepped forward and dropped the croc on the damp earth in front of the hut, and motioned that I should do the same with the snakes.

  “Mother Powler, do you not recognize me? The lad who dared traverse your lands, just to escape his guardian’s wrath?”

  A wet chuckle escaped from the shadows inside the hut. “Crowley. I should have known. And you bring gifts, I see. As always, a proper tribute from a proper child.”

  He nodded within his hood. “As always, Peg. I’d not forget the one who sheltered me so many times.”

  “But these days, lad, you’ve fallen out of favor with the sorceress. What’s to keep me from drowning you and your companion, and eating the rotting flesh from your bones? You’re not as tender and succulent as you once were, true, but from here it looks as though I could make several meals of you both.”

  “I’m not the same boy I once was, Peg—I believe you’d be hard-pressed to make an easy meal of me, even here in your own demesne. And my companion here is
no slouch himself, of that I can assure you.”

  Peg took a long sniff of us while remaining hidden inside the hut. We heard a gurgling gasp. “Fomori? You bring a Fomórach to my home?”

  Crowley took a step back. “We mean you no harm, Peg. We simply require passage through your lands.”

  “Ah, I know you now. Peg hears things, down here in her boggy swamp. Plans, machinations, conspiracies.” She coughed, making a wet, hacking noise. “Tell me, druid, do you intend the sorceress harm? Or does she have something you need? Two somethings, maybe?”

  I looked at Crowley, and he shrugged.

  “Both, actually,” I replied. “I have business with the sorceress, that’s a fact. But mostly I just want what she has.”

  The hag coughed again, in a fit that lasted a minute or more. “She has several things. Life. Magic. Power. Influence. Which of these would you gain for yourself?”

  “Magic.”

  “Ah, the Treasures, then, as I thought.” She remained silent for several seconds. I opened my mouth to speak, but Crowley nudged me and shook his head. Moments later, the hag continued. “I will allow you to pass, but only for a price.”

  “Name it,” I said.

  “A bowl from the Dagda’s cauldron. That is my price. I know you have it on you. I can sense it, even inside Fionn’s bag.”

  I looked at Crowley, who stood silent. “Give me a minute.” I pulled Crowley away from the hut, leaning close to whisper to him. “What do you think?”

  “She’s fae, so she certainly has some ulterior motive. Of what, I can only guess. The broth from the Dagda’s cauldron surely has properties of which we may only speculate. Peg is a skilled magician, so there’s no telling what she might concoct from it.”

  “Harmful to us? Or to others?”

  “It is difficult to say, but I doubt she could harm us, once bound to grant us safe passage through her demesne.”

  I thought about it for several seconds, then exhaled forcefully. “Fuck it. I need to get in that palace, so we really have no choice. What she does with the concoction once we’re gone is none of our business.”

  I walked the few steps back to Peg’s hut. “You agree to give us both safe passage through your demesne and back out again? All for one small bowl poured from the Dagda’s Cauldron?”

  I heard shuffling inside the cabin. “A few ladles of broth, no more.”

  “Deal.”

  A small wooden bowl clattered to our feet, although I didn’t see where it’d come from. I dug inside my Craneskin Bag and pulled out the Cauldron, carefully filling the wooden bowl to its brim. I stepped back, replacing the Cauldron safely back into the depths of my Bag.

  A pale, wrinkled hand, covered in algae and moss, appeared from behind the burlap curtain over the cabin doorway. Peg extended a long finger, displaying a sharp, blackened fingernail at the end. It pointed to the other side of the lake.

  “Go. Leave the bowl where it sits. On your return, a way back will be provided.”

  A loud sucking noise emitted from the lake where she was pointing. A slick, muddy isthmus of land began to extend out from Peg’s island. Mud and stones boiled to the surface of the water as Peg raised the path with will and magic, stretching to the far side of the lake.

  I glanced at Crowley, who was once more inscrutably silent inside the shadows of his hood. Wondering whether I’d gotten the better part of my bargain with Peg, I headed for the path that would lead us to Fuamnach’s back door.

  15

  As we crossed the lake on that thin stretch of land that Peg had conjured, I kept a close watch on the surrounding waters. Crowley seemed uninterested in what might or might not jump out of the water to eat us, so I assumed he’d done this before. Despite his apparent lack of concern, I maintained a certain wariness until we reached the opposite shore.

  The terrain on the other side of the lake looked much as it had the way we’d come. Everything was covered in moss, including the dead-looking trees that created a canopy of twisted limbs and vines above us. Shadows flitted about in the foliage overhead and in the mists surrounding our position.

  I massaged the partially-healed fingers on my hand, considering whether I wanted to continue while still gimped up. “Crowley, give me a minute to shift and heal this hand completely. Something tells me I’m going to need it when we go inside.”

  The wizard crossed his arms, cradling his chin in one hand. “Will you be able to shift again if we get into trouble in there?”

  “Depends. How long will it take us to get through the tunnels?”

  “Hours.”

  “Great. Yeah, I’ll be ready by then.” I shifted and focused my energies on healing my hand fully. Twenty minutes later, the task was done. “Ready as ever.”

  “The entrance isn’t far now,” Crowley said as he glanced around. “Come, we shouldn’t tarry here—one of Mother’s patrols might spot us.”

  “You won’t hear me complain. Lead the way.”

  We marched a short distance, maybe a half-mile, before reaching our destination. One minute we were walking through a swampy, decaying forest, and the next the trail opened into a small clearing at the foot of a steep cliff. I’d never get used to traveling in Underhill. It often felt like you were walking on an invisible airport conveyor belt, the way the terrain changed so rapidly.

  My eyes followed the cliff upward to the ridge above, maybe a hundred feet or more. Clouds of fog obscured the clifftop at intervals, but when they cleared I could just make out stone walls and parapets. Apparently, the Tuatha liked their castles.

  “The entrance is over here, where the sewer empties into the swamp.”

  Something flew over my head and at Crowley—a shadowy mass moving at speed. I began to call out a warning, but it hit him before I could react, settling across his shoulders like a cloak.

  He rolled his shoulders out like a fighter. “That’s better. The troll must have made it to the summer lands while we were dealing with Peg. If we hurry, we can be in and out of Mother’s lair before your friends have a chance to catch up with us.”

  “Sounds good to me. The last thing I want is for someone else to be hurt on my account.”

  “I won’t bother telling you it wasn’t your fault, because I know you won’t listen.” Crowley’s head swiveled around as he searched for the entrance. “Once we enter the tunnels, we should remain as quiet as possible. Things lurk in the sewers that are best avoided.”

  I welcomed the change of topic. “What, like Rats of Unusual Size?”

  He chuckled. “Worse—although there are some large nasty rats living down there. Mostly you’ll find wights, the old-world kind that can chill you with a touch, giant spiders, and, in the upper levels, a tribe of feral red caps who guard the tunnels for Fuamnach.”

  “Sounds like a good warm-up for what lies ahead,” I joked.

  Crowley’s head snapped around. “You aren’t really thinking about taking on Fuamnach, are you? She’ll crush you underfoot without thinking twice. Believe me when I say that it’s best if we sneak in, get what you came here for, and sneak out unnoticed.”

  I took a deep breath and stretched my neck. “Alright—but only because I have people relying on me. If we run into her, I won’t run. I’m done running.”

  He looked down, then back at me. “Fine. Just don’t expect me to help you do battle. I’ve suffered enough at that woman’s hands, and damned if I’ll spend the rest of my life in her dungeons.” He pointed to where a small stream of filthy water ran out from the cliff’s base. “There it is, the entrance to the sewers.”

  The entrance was a stone tunnel perhaps thirty-six inches across, covered by a rusted grate. I looked at it and grimaced. “Gah, small spaces. I hope it opens up inside.”

  “It does. Give me a moment.” Crowley fiddled with the stonework the grate was embedded in, and soon he had worked several stones loose, enough to allow us to pull the grate out of the way. “I removed the mortar from these stones when I was just a child, and hop
ed they were still loose. Thank goodness for the laziness of fae.”

  He ducked into the tunnel and I followed, casting a cantrip that would allow me to see in the near darkness of the sewers. I’d discovered that even minor spells like this one were nearly impossible to cast without both my hands. It made me wonder if I should find alternate methods of spell casting. It was something to consider, if I ever got back from Underhill.

  Phosphorescent lichens covered parts of the tunnel, providing just enough light to allow me to see. My night vision spell wasn’t perfect; if we hit an area of complete darkness, I’d be blind. I had some glow sticks and flashlights in my Craneskin Bag, but Crowley had warned against using them. Even the dimmest light would shine like a beacon to the denizens of these tunnels.

  The passageway led on for no more than thirty feet before it opened into a large chamber that dropped off below us. The chamber was obviously a waste water collection area, and it had several larger tunnels leading out of it. It also had standing sewer water at the bottom. It looked like we were going to have to get wet.

  The shadow wizard pointed across the chamber to one of the tunnels, before dropping down into the nasty water below with a splash. I cringed before following him, wishing I’d brought just one more pair of combat boots on this trip.

  The sewer tunnels seemed to go on endlessly, and we took so many twists and turns that I doubted I could find my own way out again. In some sections, we had to crawl on our hands and knees through filth, while in others the tunnels arched several feet over our heads. I began to look forward to those sections that provided us with ample headroom, and soon gave up on wiping the muck from my hands.

  As we progressed ever upward, I reflected on how horrible Crowley’s childhood must have been for him to have braved these tunnels as a young kid. We’d run across numerous rats that would’ve given a German Shepherd a run for its money in the size department, and it was dark as hell in here. Plus, the creep factor was a ten-plus. I knew every geek’s dream was to do a real-life dungeon crawl, but I had to say that the reality of it sucked.