by M. D. Massey
“There ye are,” he replied in a low voice.
I heard a sort of whistling, sizzling whine that rapidly grew in volume. I hit the deck, which was the first smart thing I’d done all day. A split-second after dropping to my hands and knees, a fiery missile burned a hole in the druid oak as it passed not six inches above my head. As my eyes tracked its path, the spear known as the Slaughterer flew into the distance only to make a broad, circular arc before retracing its path as it returned to the hand of its master.
Hadn’t expected that—damned thing’s supposed to be welded to the other Treasures and blocking the portals to Underhill back on Earth.
“What the fuck, Lugh? What happened to not harming me any more than necessary?”
Lugh laughed like a sociopath, reminding me that I was dealing with a god—and one of the progenitors of the fae to boot. “Come now, druid—don’t be such a mammy’s boy. What’s the harm in a wee lobotomy between friends?”
I sank to my belly behind the oak tree as I hollered my reply. “Need I remind you that I’m not immortal? And that if you kill me, I won’t come back to life in a century or two, resurrected and good as new?”
“Quit yer yammerin’, druid. You and I both know the Fomorian blood won’t allow you to die. ’Sides, I’m merely attempting to bring you close to death, not kill you. It’s hardly the same thing.”
“Small comfort, that,” I muttered, marveling as I watched the smoking hole in the oak tree heal itself. If I took a hit like that in this form, I wasn’t sure I could shift quickly enough to prevent my demise—even if I transformed involuntarily. I’d have to find a way to expel him from the grove before I was forced to test the limits of my healing abilities.
One problem at a time. First, I’d best find the bastard before he finds me.
Muttering a cantrip to enhance my hearing, I held my breath and focused on determining Lugh’s position in relation to my own. Just when I thought I’d located the Celtic god, Jesse popped her head out of the foliage above me, nearly making me jump out of my boots.
“My, but we’re twitchy. Might be time to lay off the caffeine, champ.”
“Damn it, Jesse—I nearly pissed my pants!”
She rolled her eyes. “I don’t know why you’re so worked up. It’s not like he has the upper hand here. Besides, you know he can’t do that thing you do, right?”
I pursed my lips and scowled. The new Jesse was turning out to be a major pain in the ass. “What thing? Could you be more specific, being as how one of the most powerful deities in the Celtic pantheon is gunning for us at this very moment?”
“Duh. What do you think I mean? That shifting thing. Personally, I don’t care to see that side of you, because it still gives me nightmares. But it’d probably give you the edge you need to survive, at least until you figure out how to banish him.”
“You might be right, but that side of me hasn’t exactly been cooperating lately.”
“A human can’t fight a god, Colin. Not more than a few seconds, anyway.” Jesse’s head snapped to the right. “Uh-oh, looks like Shirley Temple is headed this way, so I gotta bounce. If I were you, I’d start shifting—like, now.” She ducked back into the foliage, effectively disappearing from view.
“Thanks for all your help!” I whispered sotto voce at the expanse of leaves and branches above.
That outburst turned out to be a mistake. Seconds later, I heard that weird crackling whistle coming at me again. I ducked and rolled, but not quickly enough. Searing agony shot through me as the white-hot spearhead sliced my shoulder, cauterizing the wound immediately as it parted skin and muscle.
Ignoring the pain, I rolled six feet to my right, just to ensure the damned thing didn’t skewer me on its return trip. After the spear passed overhead, I took off at a sprint into the woods, clutching my injured shoulder and wishing like hell I’d never planted that damned acorn.
7
Blinded by pain, I stumbled through the trees until I found another stream like the one I’d bathed in earlier. I dropped to my knees and splashed water on my wound in an attempt to alleviate the burning agony radiating from it. Blessedly, the cool waters of the bubbling brook had an immediate and beneficial effect. As the water washed over the wound, the pain subsided to a dull, throbbing ache, providing me the respite I needed for clear and undistracted thinking.
Since I’d returned from Underhill, I’d been getting violent urges I suspected were coming from my Hyde-side. I’d once thought I had it under control, but now it seemed my other side was bleeding through even when I was in my human form. These urges had been growing stronger, day by day, and I’d decided my ríastrad was becoming a greater risk every time I used it. I worried that eventually, my alternate personality would take over completely and I’d be unable to shift back to my natural state.
Of course, that left me with a conundrum. Shifting was a risk, but remaining in my human form and getting killed by Lugh wasn’t exactly how I’d planned to spend the afternoon. So, how was I supposed to deal with him?
Jesse had been clear that she couldn’t kick Lugh out on her own. But why? Hell if I knew. In truth, I was still confused, and I had a million questions about the whole damned thing. Like, when had the Dagda decided to bring her back? Did they have some kind of deal between them? And, if so, did that mean I could no longer trust her?
Also, it was obvious she’d become a supernatural creature somehow linked with the grove. What were her powers and limitations? Was she part of the grove or separate from it? As the “master” of the grove, did I have some authority over her? If so, it might come in handy… if she turned out to be as much of a monstrosity as Lugh had suggested.
Jesse had done some pretty amazing things already, and she’d intimated that she was somehow plugged into the magic of the grove. Lugh had suggested this place was in another dimension—perhaps it was a pocket dimension, like the one inside my Craneskin Bag. The god had also hinted at the grove having some sentience… did that mean I could communicate with it?
Can I control the grove’s powers as well? Only one way to find out.
I splashed across the stream, wincing at the diminished yet still significant pain in my shoulder. I traveled less than a hundred feet before stumbling across a dense thicket, one with plenty of foliage and tightly-interwoven limbs to hide me from Lugh. I circled it until I located a small, tunnel-like opening near the ground. Entering it, I low-crawled on my stomach until I reached a tiny open space in the center of the small copse.
Once there, I sat cross-legged and slowed my breathing. Then, I reached out with my mind and senses to connect with the life around me, just as I’d done dozens of times before. Previously, linking up with my natural surroundings had been a gradual, gentle process, kind of like waking up from a long, pleasant nap.
But now, here in the grove, opening myself up to the life energy around me was like taking a plunge in an icy stream. It felt like stepping out of a sensory isolation tank, like I was experiencing the full breadth and depth of my senses for the very first time. One moment I was inside my body, the next I was plugged into a network of sight, sound, touch, smell, and taste that extended throughout the grove.
I felt the breeze on my skin, but also on every leaf, branch, flower petal, and blade of grass that grew here. I felt the dew as it collected on the plants, slowly tracing a path downward as the gravity in this place pulled it down to moisten the earth below. I felt small insects, worms, ants, and all manner of burrowing things as they dug their way through the soil, aerating the roots of the plants above while leaving droppings that fed those roots with vital nutrients to help them grow.
I was inside a rabbit’s mind—not just touching its mind, but living inside it as I sensed everything it did. At the same time, I saw through a fawn’s eyes, feeling the ungainly strength in its muscles and sinews as it pranced through a meadow playing with its sibling. Then I was up—high in the branches of the druid oak, hooting with an owl as it scanned the forest below in sea
rch for its next meal.
The oak.
How could I have missed it? It virtually sang with power, from the far reaches of its root system to the very tips of its tallest branches and highest leaves. It was alive like nothing else I’d ever connected to, exuding magic and power the way the sun gives off warmth and light. I realized, in an instant, that the oak was what gave the grove… everything. Here, the oak was the source of all life—creating it, feeding it, nurturing it, sustaining it, and renewing it in a never-ending cycle of birth, life, death, and rebirth.
Was this similar to the earth itself, a representative microcosm of the world I lived in? If so, the repercussions were staggering. I felt more alive than I ever had, more powerful than I ever had, more connected than I ever had. And I knew instinctively that the grove, while powerful in its own right, held nothing of the force and energy the earth and nature contained. I knew I could tap the power of the grove, and that here, I could wield deific powers.
I wondered, what would happen if someone learned to tap into the earth’s energies in the same way? What powers might they wield? What forces would be at their command?
Thoughts and possibilities swirled inside my head, at least until a booming voice brought me back to the present.
“Druid! Come on out now, and let’s see this thing done. I can’t get at yer wee lass until I know I’ve put you in yer place. So quit’cher hidin’ and face me like a man—or a Fomorian, if ye feel so inclined.”
Well, Lugh, you asked for it.
I opened my eyes and stood. With a thought, the wound in my shoulder healed as the thicket’s brambles parted, and I marched out to face the Long-Striker himself.
8
Lugh’s eyes narrowed as I walked out of the thicket. “So, lad, ye grew yerself a pair of balls—and great green ones, if my eyes don’t deceive me. T’won’t help ye none, ’cept fer delaying the inevitable.”
I looked at the sword at his waist, the shield on his arm, and the spear in his hand, considering my options against those famous, magically-enhanced weapons.
“I’m curious—how’d you get your spear back?”
Lugh shrugged. “I didn’t. Goibniu helped me craft this one. Not as good as the original—balance is off a bit. But it’ll do in a pinch.”
I kept my eyes on him, not even daring to blink for fear of that spear. My fingers gripped my flaming sword tightly, keeping the blade away from the nearby vegetation. The grove didn’t care for having fire in its midst, but I knew I’d need a magic weapon if I was going to survive the coming fight. No way was I going to use my war club, since I was pretty sure Lugh would be immune to it—he’d had a hand in its construction.
“One last chance, Lugh. Leave now, and we can consider this one big misunderstanding.”
He snorted. “Hah! And leave that thing that houses yer girlfriend’s soul alive to wreak who knows what mischief for the Mighty One’s sake? Pfah! If you think Aengus or that Welsh fool Gwydion had tricks up their sleeves, you’ve not seen a thing ’til you’ve witnessed the Dagda playing his games. Nay, I believe I’ll see this through to its conclusion and hope you don’t suffer too poorly for it.”
Fine. I’d been gathering power for a spell during our brief chat and held it at the ready. “Before we begin, a quick question… have you ever danced with the devil in the pale moonlight?”
Lugh frowned. “Have I ever whah—?”
I released the spell, cutting loose with both barrels. Lightning shot from my left hand, as well as from the tip of the flaming sword, which I now had pointed at the Celtic deity. Considering the power I had to draw on here, I figured it was enough to fry a bull elephant. My plan was to shock the shit out of him, short-circuiting his nervous system so I could toss him out on his ass.
Unfortunately, I’d forgotten what Lugh was the god of—or, rather, what he primarily represented in the Celtic pantheon. Some would call him the god of light, but that would be a slight misnomer. His name was said to derive from an even earlier language than ancient Celtic, and had been translated by some language experts as “flashing light.” Or, in modern parlance, lightning.
The Celtic deity pointed his spear at me, using it like a lightning rod to catch the spell I’d tossed at him. Instead of running down the shaft into his body, the energy gathered and danced around the flaming tip in an electric nimbus of ball lightning. It combined with the spear’s magical fire until the spearhead crackled and hissed with heat and electricity, flashing alternately as it cycled back and forth between yellow-orange flames and white-hot sparks of magical power.
Lugh smiled like a snake about to strike. “My turn, lad.”
Oh, shit.
The Celtic god pointed the spear at my head as he released a huge ball of electrical fire that shot forth like a rocket-propelled grenade. I acted without thought, gesturing with my hand as I muttered the words for shield and stone in Gaelic.
“Sciath cloiche!”
The words had no inherent power to speak of, but they served as a means of focusing my intent in magical form as I cast spells. Finnegas had taught me to use Gaelic for spellwork, to avoid accidentally triggering a spell during normal speech. Doing so was second nature now, and I silently thanked him for drilling me on my basic Gaelic over the last several weeks.
No sooner had I spoken the words than a huge monolithic shard of stone shot up from the ground, shielding me from Lugh’s counterattack. I ducked just the same, covering my head and eyes with my arms as I huddled close to the stone, because I knew how much energy I’d put into that lightning spell. As expected, the top half of my stone barrier exploded into shards and chunks that peppered the area with rocky shrapnel. A small piece hit me, giving me a nasty gash across my ankle.
More lightning hit the rock above me, chipping away at my makeshift rampart bit by bit. All the while, Lugh taunted me as he advanced on my position.
“C’mon now, druid—izzat all you’ve got for me? That spell was impressive, and it might have worked on one of my brethren—but I’d expected much more of you than that.”
Think, Colin, think!
I looked around me as I inched lower and lower to avoid getting shredded by granite shrapnel. Then, I looked at the ground, realizing that if I could make this huge boulder shoot out of the ground, I could also make something sink into it. I struggled to put together the proper words in my head.
“Duine a adhlacadh ina bheatha!”
I knew that I was close, but I couldn’t seem to associate the words with the magic. Perhaps I wasn’t quite ready to put together complex spells, or maybe I just hadn’t internalized Gaelic enough to make it work. As I sought to connect the words with the spell I wanted, more lightning bolts hit the stone above me, hammering it down to a nub barely two feet tall.
I curled into a ball behind what was left of my hastily created fortification, wincing as shards of stone cut my arms, head, and back. Finally, out of frustration, I hammered a fist into the ground and spat out my intended spell in English.
“For fuck’s sakes… bury him alive already!”
9
I felt a response that came from the very grove itself, one that was more of an impression than words. Couched within that impression was an image of the Celtic god being sucked into the earth and swallowed whole. At that moment I heard a sort of plop!, then the barrage of lightning stopped—followed by blessed, peaceful silence.
I waited no more than the span of three heartbeats, then peeked around the rock. No Lugh. Huh. But there was a bare patch of earth about six feet across, and my druid senses told me something powerful and pissed off was buried there.
Time to go.
I levered myself off the ground, using the stone barricade for support. Just as I got to my feet, Jesse appeared beside me in a swirl of wind and leaves.
“Good idea, burying him. But seriously, what were you thinking throwing lightning at him? He’s basically the Celtic version of Thor. That’s like attacking an ifrit with fire. Not smart.”
/> “Yeah, well—Lugh has a lot of skills and powers attributed to him. Sue me for forgetting about the most important one.”
My ex-girlfriend-turned-dryad flashed me a lopsided grin as she punched me on the shoulder. “I guess no one’s perfect—even the legendary ‘Junkyard Druid.’ Now, come on before he digs himself out.”
No sooner had she spoken than the ground beneath our feet began to shake. “Um, I think maybe I didn’t bury him deep enough.”
Jesse shrugged with an annoyed roll of her eyes. “He was going to get out anyway, considering you can only bury him so deep here.” She crossed her arms and tapped a finger on her chin. “Hmm. Colin, I’d say it’s time to let Quasimodo come out and play.”
“Are you sure that’s a good idea? Because lately that side of me has been acting up—a lot.”
“It’s either that, or you get a reverse mohawk and involuntary trepanation courtesy of Lugh’s flaming spear. Then, I get dead again—which pretty much ruins my plans for the evening.” She waggled her eyebrows at me like Groucho Marx, fanning her hands down her body as she posed like a pin-up model. “Be a shame to let this all go to waste.”
“I don’t know how to respond to that, but I do know that I don’t want you dead.” I started shedding clothes, shooing her away. “Now, go hide—and pray that I can change back after going full-on Hyde side.”
Jesse laughed as she strolled away, virtually disappearing into the trees nearby. “Oh, I doubt that’ll be a problem—not with the druid grove on your side. And remember, you have the full magic of the grove at your disposal. Don’t limit yourself to just what your physical form can do.”
I considered her words as I stepped out of my jeans, stumbling a bit as the ground shook beneath me. I’d never cast magic in my Fomorian form before, mostly because it had never occurred to me to do so. In the past, I’d simply relied on that form’s prodigious strength, speed, reflexes, and resilience. Well, that and the Eye’s powers—but I had a funny feeling the Eye would balk at harming Lugh. I wondered what I might be capable of if I combined druid magic with my Fomorian physicality.
