Druid Master

by M. D. Massey

  The land had accepted me as its master, but I had yet to claim it for my own. All along Badb had been clouding my mind, turning my attention away from ratifying that claim, as was my due. The Crow feared what would happen should I claim that land, and rightly so. Mag Mell was part of Underhill, and Underhill was magic—pure, wild, and fae.

  And this part of Underhill was mine.

  I reached out for that connection, clutching it tightly with my will as I communed with the spirit that was the magic of Tethra’s plains. The land was eager to speak with me, to get to know me, to be part of me, as I’d saved it from the sad, desolate existence it had known for millennia. Rather, we’d saved it, as the Oak and Grove were as much a part of me as my druid magic.

  Years of conversation were conveyed in that instant of contact, and I understood in a moment the enormity of the power that land possessed. This land was a large chunk of the total of the magic owned by the Tuatha Dé Danann. But that power hadn’t always belonged to them—oh no.

  Because they’d stolen it from the Fomori, their former oppressors.

  That’s why no one could wrench this land from Tethra’s grasp. While the Tuath Dé merely adopted the magic, he was born to it.

  As was I.

  “No!”

  Badb’s scream of defiance tore me from my trance, so I opened my eyes and rose to my feet. The goddess faced me across the meadow, blades in hand, and wrapped in a writhing, seething cloak of her cunning, confusing mist magic. Behind her, my Grove was in flames, framing my enemy with light and smoke and darkness—a suitable backdrop for a goddess of war. Badb’s chocolate eyes blazed with fury, roiling with the power that, as a goddess and one of the Morrígna, she could bring to bear.

  It would not be enough.

  “That magic is not yours, druid—it is not your right to claim it. It’s mine! Give it over or be destroyed, along with your precious Grove.”

  “Silence,” I said, wrapping her in a stasis cocoon that would hold her in place only temporarily. She was a goddess, after all.

  I reached into my Bag, pulling out the old man’s journal. Holding it in both hands, I called on the tremendous reservoir of magic that Tethra’s plains held and snapped the ward seal on the book. A muffled cry escaped Badb’s lips, but I ignored her, opening the leather-bound grimoire that my former master had left me.

  As my gaze fell on the pages they were lit ablaze, not with fire but with pure, silvery druidic magic. That enchantment instantly flooded my mind with the knowledge of exactly what I held in my hands… the Teinm Laída. It was an ancient magic, a form of divination that allowed the one who chanted it to comprehend knowledge no mortal was ever meant to possess.

  I had no need to understand the words and language on the page, as the druidic magic Finnegas had used to transcribe the chant took care of that for me. Instantly, words filled my mind, and from there they tumbled forth from my lips. There was really no way to describe what I spoke as I chanted the spell. The sounds were of a language I’d never heard before, and that I doubted I’d ever hear again.

  The noise was simultaneously sweet and unbearable, soothing and terrifying, enlightening and overwhelming. As I uttered those verses, my mind swirled with truths and knowledge and wisdom that revealed the underpinnings of the universe. It was like lifting the cornerstone of the cosmos to peek at the gears and workings underneath.

  At once, I knew things that only the gods could know. I understood how The Dagda had made the acorn that seeded the Oak and Grove. I saw the skill and magic Dian Cécht had used to create his silver eyes and Nuada’s airgetlám. I intuited the clever cunning that allowed Ogma to invent the written word and skill of verse that, in part, powered the words I spoke.

  Then I saw myself as a god, filled with cosmic magic. As a destroyer, I was cloaked in fire, walking the twisted paths and leaving worlds ablaze in my wake. As a healer, I gave life to barren lands and distant planets, transforming the desolate and infertile into planes of paradise. Futures unfolded for me, destinies I might take should I choose the path of power, and in each one I was terrible and beautiful and frightening to behold.

  For the duration of the chant, whatever fantastic thing I considered was revealed to me. However, the most important epiphany was that I beheld a breadth and depth of enlightenment no human mind could ever contain. Thus, when this chant was complete, I could only take a small portion of that knowledge and understanding with me, and the rest would be lost to me forever.

  This was the limitation of the Teinm Laída, and why gods could not be made from mere women and men. So, I chose carefully what to keep, taking a little for the future of druidry and a little for me. Then, I ended the chant, the final note issuing from my mouth like a gong sounding the dawn of time. After I was done, the old man’s journal crumbled to ash in my hands.

  The first thing I did was to direct the powers of Tethra’s Plains through the Oak and Grove, creating a downpour that extinguished every blaze and flame Badb had lit. Then, as Badb struggled against the chronourgic bonds I’d placed on her, I regrew the Grove and Oak, repairing the damage that had been done by her attacks. After I’d seen to their wellbeing, it was time to deal with Badb herself.

  If I killed her as Mother had killed Aengus, she’d simply return from across the Veil centuries or millennia from now. That might not affect me or those I loved, but I had plans for druidry, and she may very well come back ready to exact vengeance by destroying the works I’d wrought. Likewise, I couldn’t let her go, because the fear I saw in her eyes now would soon turn to hatred. That hate would fester until she came after me again, twice as determined to see to my undoing as the time before.

  Besides, I’d revealed to her my secret—I had knowledge of chronomancy and chronourgy, mystical arts that were forbidden even among the gods. That meant I had to deal with her in a way that would provide her no chance of return or retaliation. After a moment’s consideration, I portalled out for the briefest instant, returning with the object I needed to carry out my judgment on Badb.

  “If I thought you were capable of the slightest amount of decency, this wouldn’t be necessary,” I said as I approached her with Dyrnwyn in one hand and Gae Dearg in the other.

  More will come after me, after they see I’ve failed, she said, whispering her thoughts directly into my mind. The gods will have their rightful place once more, even if I am not there to see it.

  “Well, perhaps you’ll witness it from afar,” I said. “But not while I’m alive to prevent that from happening.”

  With that, I swept Dyrnwyn’s white-hot blade in a downward arc, severing a thin section of bone and skin from her left temple. Badb’s eyes grew wide with terror as the sudden realization of what I intended became a reality in the haughty recesses of her mind. Whatever efforts she’d made to free herself she redoubled, and soon I felt the bonds I’d placed on her begin to break.

  No, druid, not that…

  Before she could struggle free of the stasis spell, I stabbed the tip of Gae Dearg deep into the frontal matter of her brain, effectively lobotomizing her in a manner that was absolutely irreversible. She fell slack as I withdrew the spear, so I released the stasis field from around her, replacing the flap of skin and bone. It healed almost instantly, leaving nothing but a razor-thin scar to reveal what had been done.

  Next, I pulled her tongue from her mouth, again using Gae Dearg’s blade for surgery. Once her power of speech was removed, I chopped off her hands. Then, I banished her from the Grove, just like I’d once done to Lugh. Finally, I instructed the Oak to cast her into the Void and to teleport her tongue and hands into the heart of the sun.

  “Some would say that was cruelly done,” Mom gasped from somewhere behind me.

  I spun around and there she stood, leaning against the old man’s maple tree, hugging her arms over the bandages on her chest. I resisted the urge to hug her, instead acknowledging her with the slightest nod.

  “Well, she did try to kill my children,” I said matter-of-f
actly. “Incidentally, I hope you don’t mind that you’ve become a grandmother.”

  “It’ll be for the umpteenth time,” she replied, sliding down the tree with a grimace. “I’m over the novelty.”

  I let out a short bark of a laugh as I marveled at her stubborn, irascible nature. “Well, it’s good to see you up and about.”

  “I’m not as hardy as those born with the ríastrad,” she said, rubbing the spot where Badb’s falx had exited her chest. “But I am harder to kill than most. The pressure bandage helped.”

  “Sweet mercy, did I just hear you give me a compliment?”

  “Don’t let it go to your head,” she said with a scowl. “Just because you defeated a goddess of war doesn’t mean you’re anything special.”

  “Oh, of course not,” I said with a shit-eating grin on my face. “I mean, I’m only the last living druid master on Earth.”

  “Elatha help us all,” Mom deadpanned.

  23

  Once Mom was well enough to get around, we portalled back to Tethra’s fortress—my fortress now—to search for survivors. Fallyn had done as I asked, evacuating everyone inside the labyrinthine passageways within the mountain, with Ana sealing them off as they went. It took me some time to dig them out, but when they emerged, I was pleased to discover most of my friends were safe and sound.

  Not wanting to let bad blood fester, I made nice with Oisín and his kids, figuring they’d just done what the old man instructed when they healed me instead of him. Since we were going to be neighbors, it made sense to remain on good terms. They agreed to let Jesse stay with them for as long as she liked, and in my opinion, that was penance enough to cover a host of ills.

  The next thing I did before I sent anyone home was to see to the dead. As it turned out, when Celtic warriors die in Mag Mell, they arise the day after following a proper burial. Unfortunately, the troll warriors from Guts’ clan had no such luck, and those who fell were gone forever. Guts and his remaining warriors chanted a poem of remembrance, then I sent them all back to the Toothshank clan’s lands with my thanks and blessing.

  As for the Red Caps, they’d lost but a few of their number. The little fuckers were tough and sneaky, and somehow they’d claimed a number of giant scalps while avoiding suffering many casualties. I had no idea what they intended to do with the “pelts” they’d taken, but I noted that their caps and hats were a little redder when I had the Oak teleport them back to Austin.

  Luther’s people were pissed they didn’t get to feast on a goddess, but they seemed pretty stoked about experiencing “sunlight” for the first time in ages. Since they were immune to the Zed vyrus, Luther put their prissy asses on clean up duty, which they honestly didn’t seem to mind at all since it got them outdoors. After they tossed all the zombie parts off the wall, I scorched the place clean with fire. Then, I left them up there to bask and frolic in the daylight before they had to head back home.

  Fallyn’s team and Samson were fine. Seok caught some rock shrapnel when he and Kreshnik evacced the tower, but he was a werewolf, so he healed up almost immediately. Samson’s only complaint was getting the smell of the undead out of his nose, and Fallyn’s was Moe’s, er, digestive issues. Apparently his farts stank up the tunnels something fierce, forcing them to move deeper into the mountain.

  The Cryptids described the whole ordeal as their best vacation ever, and they asked if they could stay a while to explore the place and do some camping. I okayed it, so long as they stayed within the borders of Tethra’s lands. The last thing I needed was for those crazy fuckers to start an international incident, after all. Besides, somewhere out there in Mag Mell, Le Boucher was still at large—a loose end I’d need to tie up at some point, but not today.

  And Mom? Mom pulled an Irish goodbye while I was dealing with the dead.

  Once everyone had been sent away or left where they wanted to be, Maureen, Fallyn, and I headed back to survey the damage at the junkyard. The area around the place was a mess for a block or so, but strangely the damned wards had held. I guess all that iron and steel—combined with years of ward work—had proven to be too hard a nut for Badb and Fuamnach to crack. Thankfully, I was still the proud owner of the most fae-proof junkyard in Austin, all six acres of it.

  After we’d ensured that nothing was amiss, Fallyn volunteered to start calling our employees to tell them they could return to work the following day. While she was busy working the phones, Maureen and I took a stroll through the yard. After a time, we stopped at the spot where the old man and I had shared many a beer and conversation.

  The old man’s makeshift ashtray was still there, a crushed Pearl beer can turned upside, complete with black ash stains to prove its intended purpose. Discarded beer cans and bottles littered the ground nearby, and across the way sat the dilapidated van that had been his home during dark times. Maureen looked around, taking it all in as she hugged herself like a lost child.

  I wrapped an arm across her shoulder and gave her a quick squeeze, which she leaned into with only a moment’s hesitation. “I’m gonna’ miss that ol’ chancer,” she said with a sniffle. “An’ I mean that in the best way possible.”

  “Me too,” I said.

  We stood there for a time, silently remembering our friend and mentor, a man who been a father to us both. And perhaps for Maureen, something more, although I’d never ask, as that was between them. When it felt appropriate, I interrupted the silence with a different question entirely.

  “What’ll you do now, Maureen? I mean, you’re welcome to stay here, of course.”

  She slipped out from beneath my arm, chuckling as she slugged me hard on the shoulder. “Ya’ mean I’m welcome ta’ do yer’ books an’ keep this pigsty runnin’, is that it?”

  “For a respectable salary,” I said. “As it turns out, there’s a shit-ton of gold buried deep beneath Tethra’s mountain.”

  “I s’pose I could be tempted,” she replied with a sly wink. “But I’m redecoratin’ that office.”

  I returned Sabine’s remains to Maeve, arriving on one of the rare occasions when she answered her own door. Her house looked just as it had at the height of her power, save for the “for sale” sign in the front yard. A glance inside revealed no twisting halls, no shifting walls, no magic to speak of at all. Now, it appeared to be a normal house, her actual home having moved elsewhere—to some secret location of which I’d never know.

  We sat on her front porch, enjoying the weather and watching condensation form on glasses of iced tea that neither of us touched. Maeve wore her soccer mom glamour, and while she was as beautiful as ever, she walked with a slight limp that I’d never noticed before. Likewise, there was a weariness in her voice, indicating she’d aged in a manner that no amount of magic could conceal.

  “When will the funeral be?” I asked.

  “Soon, although I doubt you’ll be welcome. I’ll make sure you know the location of her grave, so you can pay your respects.”

  “I—that would be kind of you.”

  “Don’t go slipping on me now, druid,” she said with an amused smile. Then, her face and tone grew somber. “She died protecting me, you know. The girl insisted on staying behind as part of the rear guard while we made our retreat. I was told that she saved many lives.”

  Deciding it would be unwise to ask a queen why she would allow a subject to die for her cause, I changed the subject. “We’d only just reconciled when she brought me to your study. I feel like I lost more than a friend. I lost an opportunity to enjoy her company once more.”

  Maeve “hmphed” noncommittally, considering her words before speaking. “It bothered her, that she’d broken off your friendship—she never said, but I could tell. A pure fae wouldn’t have thought twice about it, but Sabine was always much more human than fae. Know that it put her heart at peace, to have that wrong righted before she passed on.”

  “A lot of my friends have died, Maeve.” I leaned forward with my elbows on my knees and head hung low. “Does it ever get a
ny easier?”

  “Speaking from the perspective of—my kind—such losses are a matter of course when you play the Great Game. But as one who has known the love of a mortal, I would say no, it does not.”

  “I have some big shoes to fill. Finnegas was a great man.”

  “‘Uneasy is the head that wears the crown,’” she quoted. “But never fear. He had faith in you for a reason. Finnegas saw things no one else did, and if he left you to carry on in his place, it’s because you’re the person to do so. I for one believe he made the right choice.”

  “Yeah, but with me not being bound by his oath—”

  “Yes, others will come. And while you’ve dealt a severe blow to the opposition in this pantheon, never forget that the druids were feared across the European continent.”

  I sighed. “Meaning, I’ll probably have to deal with deities from other pantheons.”

  “Undoubtedly. It would be a grave mistake to assume otherwise.”

  “You’re a queen, which I suppose is to say that you’re used to all this stuff. So, tell me, do you think there’s a possibility I could use diplomacy instead of violence to solve these differences?”

  Maeve chuckled, covering her mouth with the back of her hand. “Why, hasn’t that been an option all along? In fact, I might be persuaded to act as an ambassador of sorts—”

  “For the right price, of course.”

  “Certainly, though the cost of my favor would be no more than it has been in the past. As recent history has shown, peace with the druid faction seems to be a much more prudent choice than maintaining open hostilities—or a cold war, for that matter. It shouldn’t be too difficult to convince certain reasonable parties of the wisdom in taking such a diplomatic stance.”