by M. D. Massey
Probably be like combining the Hulk with Doctor Strange. This should be interesting.
Finally, I’d stripped down to my lycra boxer briefs. Jesse wolf-whistled from the woods in the distance. “Lookin’ good, Champ!”
I sighed, choosing to ignore her for the moment. “Well, here goes nothing.”
The change came much more quickly this time—almost instantaneously, in fact. Rather than a prolonged, painful rearrangement of my skeleton, skin, and muscles, I instead experienced a smooth transition from human to Fomorian. As usual, I gained more than a meter in height, and likely tripled my mass due to changes in bone density, skin thickness, muscle mass, and the like. But it had all happened within mere seconds, more like a transmogrification spell than a therianthropic transformation.
Even stranger than the ease at which I shifted was my mental state. I felt even more clearheaded than I had seconds before, with no inner battle between my human side and Fomorian personality going on at all. In fact, I felt whole for the first time since the initial onset of my ríastrad, as if I’d been put back together better than new.
After coming to grips with all that, I finally noticed a distinct absence. The Eye was silent. No, not just silent—gone.
It was as though it had never even been there. Whether that was due to its reticence to face its former master in combat or that it couldn’t manifest here in the grove, I couldn’t say. What I did know was that I was going to miss having all that power at my command. It’d served me well in battles with god-like entities before, and I was sure I’d miss its presence most keenly in the coming battle.
Well, then, time to see what tapping into the grove can do. I reached out again with my druid senses, but this time I was virtually flooded by the grove’s magic. Before, it had opened my senses up to the entirety of the grove all at once. Now, the seemingly endless expanse of the grove’s power hit me in a rush.
I looked down at the magical energies that danced around me, which appeared in shades of forest greens, earth-tone browns, and stony grays. Splashes of crystal clear energy spun in and out of those weaves; that was water magic, to be sure. There were rainbow prisms of light there as well, indicating the grove’s ability to harness the light of the sun—or, what appeared to be the sun in this place. For all I knew, some distant star could be shining down from above.
I flexed my fingers and reveled in the power coursing through me. “So, this is what it means to be a god. Damn, it feels good to be a gangster,” I muttered in disbelief. That’s when Lugh flew straight up from the ground in a shower of soil and stone.
Guess it’s time to do some gangster shit. Let’s just hope I’m as powerful as I feel.
10
Lugh wasted no time in going on the attack, flinging his spear at me as he reached the apex of his leap from the earthen cage in which I’d placed him. I batted the spear aside, turning my body to dodge it as I extended my other palm toward him. With a thought, I cast a fireball from my hand that zoomed toward him like a rocket. It hit him in the chest and exploded on impact.
I knew it wouldn’t do anything more to harm him than the lightning spell I’d cast earlier, but that wasn’t the point. I merely wanted to distract him so I could close the distance and keep him from drawing that damned sword. No matter how much magic I commanded at the moment, or how powerful I might be in this form, I’d be finished with one swipe from that blade.
As expected, the Celtic deity shielded his eyes from the fireball’s blast. In the time it took for the explosion’s flash to dissipate, I was on him. I grabbed his wrists, placing both in my left hand as I snatched his sword and scabbard with my right. As I ripped his sword from his waist, I tossed it in a high arc over my shoulder.
“Jesse, see to it that our guest doesn’t get that back ’til he leaves,” I shouted.
“On it!” a voice called out from somewhere behind me.
Lugh glowered at me. “Oh, you’ll pay fer that, you will,” he hissed.
He jumped and kicked me in the chest with both feet, a move that was only possible because I was so much taller than him in my current state. Despite his human-sized stature, his booted feet hit me like battering rams, breaking my grip and sending me staggering away from him. The fair-haired god did a flip in the air, landing in a three-point stance a few meters away, his face split in an angry grin. He pushed off the ground, rising to his full height in one smooth motion.
“Yer strong, I’ll give you that. But don’t be thinkin’ that just cause yer bigger, ye have an advantage. Remember, I cut my teeth by besting my kin—Fomorian and Tuatha alike. And you’ve a long way ta go before you can fill their boots, druid.”
Awful talkative, all of a sudden. Gotta be stalling. Why is he—
I ducked to the side as the weird keening whistle of Lugh’s spear flew past me, barely nicking my ear and burning the hair from that side of my head. The spear slapped into the god’s hand, and he spun it around to tuck it under his arm like a quarterstaff.
“Damn it, Lugh—that could’ve taken my head off!”
“You’d just grow another one.” He strutted toward me, more swagger than Jagger, twirling his spear in dizzying patterns with apparent ease. “Now, then, let’s get this thing over with. After I slay yer lass, I’ve got a date with this cute little Norse goddess, Sjöfn. Been working on her fer a few decades now, and damned if I’ll miss out on yer account.”
The spear had me worried, since I didn’t currently have a weapon at hand. Besides, my sword was way too small for me in my Fomorian form, and my club wasn’t an option. If I only had something to match that spear…
The thought had barely crossed my mind when a sapling sprouted from the ground directly in front of me. In an instant, the tree shot up to a certain height, perhaps half-again as tall as I was, shedding its leaves and bark to reveal dark, smooth wood underneath. It then morphed into the rough shape of a wooden spear, not unlike the whalebone taiaha my friend Hemi had once wielded.
No fool, I snagged it by the shaft, snapping the butt cleanly from its roots at the base. The weapon was perfectly sized, weighted, and balanced for me in my Fomorian form. Weird. Ask, and ye shall receive…
Apparently, Lugh wasn’t as impressed by the grove’s gift as I was. He spun his spear around and launched the tip at my face, quick as an adder’s strike. Had I been in my human form, I would’ve eaten the fiery tip for sure. But in my Fomorian form my reflexes took over, and I found myself parrying Lugh’s attack with my own weapon. Six more thrusts came in rapid succession, the god’s attacks flowing like water as he danced and spun, dove low and high, and attacked much the same.
I blocked, parried, and dodged each attack, but his speed was such that I was unable to launch a counterattack of my own. Just as the Dagda had worn me down when we’d sparred, Lugh was running me in circles as I backpedaled away from his attacks. And he did so with a seemingly endless supply of energy, never getting winded or showing a single sign of fatigue.
I knew from experience that, while I had much greater reserves of endurance in this form, I could still tire. Obviously, that concerned me a great deal. What I need to do is tie him up so I can beat him down… but how?
Again, no sooner had I thought it than the grove responded. Roots and vines shot out of the ground at Lugh’s feet, seeking to wrap themselves around his ankles and feet.
He snickered. “I wondered when you’d be figuring that trick out.” Lugh whipped the flaming spearhead around to slash himself free, while somehow managing to keep his attacks coming at the same time.
It was brilliant weapon-work, and I’d have said so if he hadn’t been trying to take my head off. How he managed to maintain his advance, avoid being tripped up, slice through the vines and roots, and keep up his attacks on me, I had no idea. I realized that being a god wasn’t just about power, but about all the skill one might acquire through centuries upon centuries of study and practice. That level of expertise, gained over his many millennia of existence, was something I�
��d never be able to match.
I’d have to trick him instead.
11
I began to backpedal in a specific direction, allowing the grove to direct my steps, intuitively aware as I got closer to my destination. There. I felt the presence of the druid oak behind me and altered the path of my retreat to skirt the trunk in a clockwise fashion. Just as instinct told me where the tree was in relation to my position, I also instinctively knew that circling the tree would take me back to the human realm.
But Lugh didn’t know that.
“You’ll not be able to hide behind that tree fer long, druid!” Lugh exclaimed. “And once I wear you down, it’ll be just a quick stab to the noggin, then I’ll kill the dryad and be off to meet that Nordic beauty. Oh, but she has an arse on her. Don’t you fret now—the grove’ll heal you, and eventually you’ll get over the lass again as you did before.”
“Fuck you, Lugh,” I spat, grunting with exertion as I blocked a particularly hard swing of his spear. “It’s not—your choice—to make!”
Just one more time around the oak…
“The hell if it isn’t, lad. I’m a god, and I do as I please. Now, if you’d quit fighting, we could—”
The transition from the grove to the junkyard was jarring—or, at the very least, distracting. By the look on his face, I knew Lugh wasn’t expecting it. He was a god, and probably never had to use the same methods of dimensional travel as a human. Heck, he probably just formed the thought in his mind and traveled wherever he wanted to go. And a single moment of surprise was all I needed.
I grabbed the shaft of his spear, at the same time spinning my own weapon around in a short arc to strike him in the temple. Lugh, being a deity and no mortal man, was merely stunned by the blow. However, it was enough to loosen his grip on his weapon. I kicked him in the chest, punting him across the junkyard. He landed against an old panel van, caving the side in on impact.
I knew the exact words to say, thanks to my connection to the grove. “I banish you, Lugh Lámfada, three times do I banish you. I banish you by the sun, moon, and stars, Lugh Lonnbéimnech, from my demesne. I banish you by the power of all druidry, Lugh mac Cein, from the home, hearth, and glade gifted to me by Dagda Eochaid Ollathair. You are banished, Lugh mac Ethlenn, begone and darken my doorway no more.”
Unexpectedly, the wards around the junkyard flared with a greenish light as I completed the banishing. Tendrils of magic extended from all around the fence line, levitating Lugh high into the air. As the ward magic lifted him, the Celtic god began to stir, and he came back to his senses with a sad look on his face.
“Ach, but you’ve bested me, druid. And fer that, I commend you. But let it not be said that I didna warn you and did what I could to save you from yerself.”
“Goodbye, Lugh,” I said, waving his half-assed apology away with a flick of my hand. In response to my direction, the magic tendrils stretched like rubber bands, arcing up in the air overhead. Then, they flung Lugh off into the night.
“Remember, druid—I warned youuuuu…!” he hollered as his voice trailed off into the night.
I shook my head, wondering if I should have listened to him. Then I realized I still had his spear. Better keep it safe—he’s going to want it back. I returned to the grove by circling the tree, widdershins this time. Jesse was, of course, waiting for me right when I appeared. I tossed the spear to her.
“Put this wherever you hid his sword. I’m sure he’ll want it back, and the last thing I want to do is piss him off worse than he probably already is right now.”
“Way ahead of you, my love.”
I was about to shift back to my human form, but something made me reconsider. “Um, Jesse?”
“Yes?”
“Why exactly was Lugh so intent on killing you?”
She placed a finger on her lips, cocking her hips to the side as she held the spear out at arms-length. “Hmm… I dunno. Ooh, it looks like he nicked you a bit.”
My eyes followed hers down to my abdomen. “I don’t see anything—”
I looked up just in time to see a fiery spear tip headed straight at my left eye. Then, blackness.
I awoke in a forest glade, with soft sunlight filtering through a leafy canopy above. Birds sang a sweet song from where they perched in the trees overhead, and butterflies flitted here and there all around. I blinked—once, twice, then Jesse’s face appeared above me. But it wasn’t her, not really. It was Jesse, but different.
“Hiya, Slugger.”
“Jesse? Jess, is that you?”
“Yes, it’s me.”
I reached up to touch her face, trying to reconcile what my eyes were seeing with what I knew. She was definitely real—or, at least, corporeal. I tried to remember where I was, and how I got here.
“So, I’m not dead then?” I asked.
She shook her head. “Nope, but you nearly were. After you planted the Dagda’s acorn, the tree sprouted from the ground like Jack’s beanstalk. You fell and hit your head, then disappeared. I followed you here, and this happened.” She gestured at her body. “So, whadya think?”
I rubbed my head. No lumps or bruises. My eye felt weird, though. I tried to remember what had happened, but drew a blank after planting the acorn.
“I don’t get it, Jess. How could you come back from the dead?”
She smiled, her deep green eyes flashing with mischief. “Just lay your head in my lap and rest, and I’ll tell you all about it…”
The Goblin King
In which Derp learns why stalking a yokai is not a good idea, and once more encounters the juggalo goblins.
12
Simon Martin was definitely not happy he’d gotten out of bed this morning. Not happy at all.
“Damn it, Kenny, you anus wipe—where the hell are you?”
Simon, who was more commonly known by the moniker of Derp, had agreed to meet his best friend Kenny in an alley in downtown Austin. It had recently been the scene of a murder—or, at least, that’s what the boys suspected—and they’d hoped to find evidence of said murder to present to their friend, Colin McCool.
Colin was a bit of a mystery to the boys, which was partly the reason why they’d become so fascinated with him. He was supposed to be a druid—that is, a druid’s apprentice. Simon and Kenny had yet to determine exactly what that entailed. For the most part, they knew it had to do with magic—not the YouTube video, pull a quarter from your ear variety, but “honest to goodness Harry Potter shit,” as Kenny described it.
The year prior, Colin had rescued the boys from the clutches of the local goblin clan, who happened to worship some sort of evil clown god. This clown god apparently demanded a human sacrifice and, by happenstance or fate, Simon had been the first such victim they’d captured. It had been pure luck that Colin had been at the carnival that day, and that he’d seen goblins lurking about the grounds. If he hadn’t, Simon would most certainly have been sacrificed to the goblin’s insane clown god, and Kenny likely would have been killed trying to save him.
Thankfully, Colin had intervened, and in the most fantastic way possible—with magic. Thus, the boys’ fates were sealed, because no nerd in their right mind would ignore the revelation that magic was real. The druid had sworn them to secrecy, and reluctantly hinted at the possibility that he might one day teach Simon and Kenny about magic… but only if they laid low and stayed out of trouble.
Colin wasn’t referring to the normal sort of mischief, obviously, but trouble of the supernatural kind. He’d obviously forgotten what it was like to be a fourteen-year-old boy, because you don’t reveal the coolest thing ever to a kid and expect them to leave it alone. Oh, the boys had done their best to steer clear of the World Beneath, as Colin referred to it—but a combination of fear and curiosity had won out in the end.
So, they’d begun to tamper with magic, telling themselves it was merely to learn how to protect themselves. First, they’d checked out books from the library—lame, and useless. Then, they’d hit online book r
etailers, spending much of Simon’s piggy bank money as well as some drug money Kenny stole from a local meth dealer to purchase books that purported to teach real magic.
Of course, those had also been a dead end.
Finally, they’d found what they were looking for in the far corners of the Internet. Simon had been the first to discover it, a network of secret chat rooms, bulletin boards, and forums—old-school nerd stuff—where users discussed the World Beneath in relative anonymity. Simon and Kenny had created online personas, and soon found that the little firsthand knowledge they had already gained allotted them a small bit of celebrity among the other believers.
Eventually, they’d made contact with a hedge witch, and she’d shared a few minor cantrips with them—spells for creating wards against evil and the supernatural. The boys had tested them by entering a house that was supposedly haunted, where they’d set up a circle of protection. As it turned out, the “ghost” was a clurichaun who’d chased off the previous residents, scaring them so badly that the former owners had left their entire wine collection behind. Clurichauns were known alcoholics, so after hitting a score like that, the creature had taken to guarding his stash with great enthusiasm.
The little faery had tried to frighten off the boys in the usual manner to no avail. After that, he’d tried to curse them. Upon finding they were warded against simple magic, the clurichaun had attacked them physically in a blind rage. The alcoholic faery had made every attempt to dismember the boys with a rusty butcher knife, but thankfully it had been too drunk to be much of a threat. Eventually, the boys had convinced the clurichaun that they weren’t there to steal his wine, and he’d allowed them to leave in peace.
