by Kevin Hearne
“Your question assumes that gods must necessarily be perfect. That is a prejudice of monotheism. People of pagan faiths are not upset by gods that reflect human foibles. In fact, it’s rather comforting.”
“I grant you the prejudice, but the question remains. If you are not required to worship them—if you retain all magical powers regardless of your faith or lack thereof—why do you persist?”
“I’m in it for the afterlife, same as anyone else.”
She frowned. “Are you throwing some sort of pagan Pascal’s Wager at me?”
“Catch!”
“Thpppt.”
“Don’t be so dismissive. Where is the downside to spending eternity in Mag Mell, or even in Tír na nÓg? Both are beautiful places.”
“So are most versions of paradise.”
“Hence the reason I encourage you to believe what you wish. The heaven of the Pastafarians is supposed to have beer volcanoes, which sounds like a fantastic idea to me. Imagine eruptions of a mellow chocolaty stout. There might be all-you-can-eat hot wings.”
Granuaile’s tone turned accusatory. “You’ve been training me in the rituals of your faith for twelve years and allowing me to believe that worshipping the Tuatha Dé Danann was bound up with being a Druid.”
“For me, it is. My own prejudice. I apologize for the omission.”
“They were once merely Druids, you say. The Tuatha Dé Danann.”
“Yes. But they were skilled in their own magic even before that.”
“How did they become gods? What powers did they accrue when they did?”
“They became gods once people worshipped them as such. They became vessels for Celtic faith, tuning forks for our yearnings, keepers of our hopes and prayers. And the powers they gained were those assigned to them by worshippers. Manannan Mac Lir was not a psychopomp until people thought he was; he was only a Druid with some extra powers in the sea.”
“So why don’t cult leaders achieve godhood?”
“Because they’re megalomaniacs drenched in douche juice.”
“But so was Thor, right? And let’s not forget that there was certainly no shortage of douchebaggery in Tír na nÓg today. I’m asking seriously. Some cult leaders inspire fervent devotion in their followers. Shouldn’t they gain godlike powers?”
“No, because they all die in thirty to fifty years and their cult dies with them. Godhead transcends generations and requires the concerted belief of a large number of people.”
“How does your belief in Manannan Mac Lir as a psychopomp give him the powers of one?”
“Figuring that out is one of the reasons I’m hanging around. I think the Large Hadron Collider might yield some clues.”
“You’re talking about particle physics now?”
“Yep. They’re slowly discovering why we have more matter than antimatter in the universe. Smash a proton, and you don’t get simple matter and antimatter. Some particles degrade and change very quickly.”
“Change into what?”
“Damn it, Jim, I’m a Druid, not a physicist!”
Granuaile rolled her eyes at the allusion. “I understand, but what’s the connection with godlike powers?”
“The connection is that there are clearly some powers and processes in the universe we simply don’t understand yet. They are ineffable—for now. I don’t know how it’s possible for Gaia to have a magical nature. And the Tuatha Dé Danann cannot tell you how, precisely, they gained the powers of gods on top of the powers of Druids. But they can tell you they didn’t always possess them. Some grew slowly, and some were discovered abruptly. And it’s no different with any other gang of gods. Some of them have bought into their own origin myths, which is distilled shite on its face—the world can’t have been created in hundreds of different ways—but the smart ones will tell you they’re not sure how they got the gig they got and they don’t remember creating humanity, much less the world. For most of space and time, they weren’t there; and then, one day, they were, complete with a small but hopefully growing collection of praying humans.”
Granuaile slumped and let her lotus position tumble apart. Her face was sad and haunted.
“What’s the matter?”
“Nobody has the answer, do they?” she asked quietly.
“No. I’m sorry.”
Chapter 7
Oberon returned from scouting and declared the area safe for now.
I took my sandals off and said hello to the Olympian elemental. I’d never found one so happy to hear from me—and they’re happy as a rule. The emotions flooded up from the sole of my foot and made me smile.
//Many many welcomes / Bounteous joy and harmony / Wishes of good health and pleasure// she said. By prior arrangement, Granuaile and I had agreed to call her Olympia rather than Olympus.
//Harmony// I replied. //We are happy to be here//
//Query: We?//
//Druid brings apprentice / Ready to be bound to the earth//
If elementals could pee from excitement, Olympia would have done so when she heard that. I had to weather a torrent of gushing before I could interject a request.
//Please conceal our presence here from all gods and other beings// I said. //Privacy needed to bind apprentice//
//Privacy assured// Olympia answered. //Will steer animals and gods away//
I laid my right hand on Oberon’s back. //This animal is my friend// I explained. //Please let him do as he wishes//
//Dog is Druidfriend// she agreed. //Piece of self coming / To talk to apprentice//
A small white marble—actually made of smooth, cloudy marble—appeared between my toes. I picked it up and presented it to Granuaile so that she would be able to speak to Olympia. She smiled as she closed her fist around it and introduced herself. Her expression was always beatific when she spoke with elementals. I wondered if my face still held that same sense of peace and joy after two thousand years.
Introductions complete and satisfied that my magical tracks would be covered, I let Oberon take us for a walk around the cave’s neighborhood. I went barefoot and asked the earth to ease the way for us, including Oberon, while we were in the area. The thick undergrowth—including thornbushes—moved aside to let us pass and then closed behind us so that we could move freely, while anyone else would have to fight their way through, as we had the first time. Oberon was establishing a patrol route for the area that couldn’t be readily seen from the cave entrance, showing me that the easiest way for someone to approach us without much warning would be upstream to the west. There was a flat stretch where the stream slowed and widened, creating some pools deep enough to swim in. It was a popular watering hole for deer, judging by the tracks. Oberon would no doubt hunt here.
Speaking aloud so Granuaile could hear my side of the conversation, I told Oberon, “We’re going to hike into town to grab supplies to make some snares, so that we can hopefully add some variety to our diet. We’ll be staying the night and coming back in the morning.”
“No, we need you to come along so that we’ll look cool. Without you, we’ll look like stupid foreigners.”
“You’ll have plenty of time to hunt when we return. Like, three months.”
Oberon’s tail wagged.
“It’s longer than I’ve ever given you before.”
“The catch is, if you don’t catch anything you have to eat jerky. It’s either fresh tender meat or dried, tough, and salted.”
“Careful with that ego. You could knock somebody over. Let’s go.”
We stopped back at the cave to pick up our packs, now empty and ready to be
refilled with additional supplies. Making our way down was much easier with Olympia smoothing the way for us. By the time the trail led us to town, we had no trouble looking like we’d been hiking all day. I placed a call to my attorney, Hal Hauk, and had him wire some money to us from the States. We found a restaurant with dog-friendly patio seating and shoved down some gyros and spanakopita. Oberon approved.
Tzatziki sauce. It’s a cucumber–yogurt concoction.
Sure. I slathered a bit on a piece of gyro meat and fed it to him. He ate it noisily, his tongue flapping around as he tried to taste his food instead of inhaling it.
We relaxed and spoke of Granuaile’s upcoming binding as the sun set. There was a decent sporting goods store in the small town catering to the many tourists who wished to hike Olympus, and we planned on visiting it shortly before closing time. We extended our supper into something of a feast, reasoning that we wouldn’t have the opportunity to eat like this again for quite some time.
Half an hour before closing time and a bit besotted with a fine bottle of pinot noir, we walked the two blocks to the sporting goods store. Oberon spotted a park nearby full of people walking their dogs, so I cast camouflage on him, gave him my best wishes, and told him to listen for my call.
The store had aisles of cooking pots and meals in silvery pouches, along with plenty of shoes that were designed to look like they could vault boulders without the assistance of feet inside them. And the tents! My goodness, tent architecture has come a long way since the old days. But we were looking for simple materials like wire and wire cutters or, failing that, string and scissors with which to make some snares for squirrels, rabbits, and the like. There would be no problem finding enough branches to hold tension for the springs.
Thanks to the influence of Olympia and perhaps the wine, Granuaile was now in a very good mood, and it was impossible not to love life when she smiled so often.
My own smile evaporated when I saw the pale spooky bastard eyeing her from the next aisle over. He didn’t have enough sun on his skin to qualify as a hiker; what was he doing in here?
I flipped on my faerie specs and suppressed a shudder when I saw the dull gray aura of a vampire about his head, with an ember of red in the center.
Taking a calculated risk that he would be unable to understand Old Irish, I spoke in it to Granuaile. There is no word for vampire in that language, so I said, “Do not look up, but there is a walking dead man in the next aisle, staring at you. He is stalking us. You, actually. Do not look him in the eyes for any reason. Your iron talisman will not prevent you from being charmed.”
“What are you going to do?” she asked in the same language.
“Chat with him. Remain here and keep your eyes down. Say something in a cheerful tone of voice to me now and smile.”
“Okay, just leave me here all alone, then!” she said joyfully. I moved away from her, down the aisle, and then turned around an endcap of handheld beer coolers to walk up the aisle in which the vampire stood. His eyes flicked to me, a shadow of nervous worry in them, but he quickly returned to pretending to look at water purification tablets. I muttered bindings under my breath that would increase my speed and strength for as long as the magic stored in my bear charm lasted.
The vampire was dressed in a white linen shirt over blue jeans and expensive running shoes. I noticed with some amusement that he had stayed away from the aisle where they sold wooden tent stakes.
Stopping a few feet away and facing him squarely, I greeted him in Greek.
“Good evening,” he said, his eyes furtively landing on my face and then whipping back to products he couldn’t possibly want to buy. I continued to stare at him and he said, “I don’t work here, if you have a question.”
“Oh, I have a question, all right. You see, I’m sort of new in town and could use a little help finding someone you might know.”
He stopped pretending to shop and turned to face me. “Do I know you?”
“No, but I’m sure you know the gentleman for whom I’m looking. He’s a vampire who sometimes goes by the name of Theophilus.”
I expected the expression of shock—widened eyes, a droop at the corners of the mouth. The attempt to charm me was also expected. His mouth pressed into a thin line of determination and his eyes narrowed. I grinned at him, protected by my cold iron aura.
“You can’t charm me, sorry. But would you be so kind as to direct me to Theophilus? We need to talk, he and I.”
This was the bit where I expected him to sling a question at me. “Who are you?” was my best bet, but “Why do you want to talk to Theophilus?” would have been reasonable, or even “Did you say something about a vampire a second ago?” What I got instead was an all-out attack, complete with kitty hissing and an attempt to tear out my throat.
Since I’d been braced for it and was already juiced up, I didn’t go down to the ground, but I did back up quite a bit, until I had his arms locked in mine.
I had added a new charm to my necklace in response to my last encounter with a vampire, when I quite nearly died because I couldn’t finish speaking the unbinding. Until now I hadn’t had an opportunity to test it. A mental command would trigger a proxy unbinding of a target vampire. I’d figured that, like all my charms, it would take years to perfect. I triggered it now and was surprised to see the vampire flinch and become afflicted with existential horror—like the moment when you’re sitting in the hot tub with friends, some of whom are amazingly sexy, and a squirming sensation in your bowels means your diarrhea has come back. It wasn’t success, but it was better than nothing. I began to speak the unbinding aloud.
This lad wasn’t as strong as Zdenik, the vampire who’d nearly snuffed me. Zdenik had been nearly as old as I was, and my magic had drained rapidly trying to hold him off. This vampire was probably only a few hundred years old, and I could tell he was beginning to think it would have been far safer to simply talk to me. He abruptly changed tactics and decided to disengage. I held on to him, my fingers digging firmly into his arms. I couldn’t let him get away to prey on humans for a thousand years. He tried to use my strength against me, lunging back in for another attack since I was pulling on his arms, and I did release one arm to block access to my throat. Almost finished. He sank his fangs into the meat of my forearm, thinking perhaps he would simply drain me the slow way, but that was fine—it would be far too slow to do him any good. I stepped back, allowing him to think he had an advantage, and his free arm clutched at me to keep me from escaping. He was hooked now, but I paid a price when I finished the unbinding.
Some vampires sort of melt when they’re unbound and they simply splash on the floor. This guy exploded, showering my immediate vicinity and me in blood and gore. I looked fairly guilty, in other words, of a particularly heinous murder.
“Eww,” Granuaile commented from her vantage point. She was untouched by a single drop of blood. “I ducked,” she explained.
The lone store employee began to curse steadily and hysterically in Greek, his eyes the size of Ping-Pong balls. He had a cell phone out and was shouting into it as he ran from the store, escaping what he clearly thought was certain death.
“We have a problem,” I said.
“Ya think?”
“That didn’t go the way I thought it would.”
“I should hope not, because that would be pretty sick. You’re completely covered in viscera.”
I turned off my speed and strength bindings and said, “I’m camouflaging us. Help me find the surveillance systems. We need to destroy all record of what happened.”
“Right. Except for that pool of goo on the floor.”
“Yes. They can make o
f that what they will. I just don’t want them to watch the video and conclude I did something magical—or conclude he was a vampire.”
“Okay. We have all we need, right?” She held up a small basket full of the supplies we’d come for.
“Yep.” I cast camouflage on her, and as she faded from view she said she would check the back of the store.
“I’ll check behind the register,” I said, casting camouflage on myself. That drained my bear charm down to dangerous levels. I wouldn’t be able to maintain this for long.
I found a few monitors behind the register, but they were using a feed generated somewhere else.
“Back here, sensei!” Granuaile called. I followed the sound of her voice to the rear of the store, where there was a sign marked EMPLOYEES ONLY in Greek and English on a locked door. I bound the tumblers into the unlocked position and opened it. Inside were even more monitors and a black console with a tangle of cables snaking in and out of it.
“That’s our baby. Looks like a disc system similar to the one I had at Third Eye way back when.”
Granuaile pressed a few buttons and got several discs to eject. Searching her shopping basket with my fingers, I took out a pair of wire clippers and cut through all the cables in the back of the console. The monitors turned to snow as I did so.
“We’d better be sure this has no hard-drive backup,” I said. “We should smoosh it.”
“Aw, yeah, rage against the machine! Let’s do this!” I heard Granuaile shuffle backward and pictured her brandishing her staff. I threw the console down hard, rattling the case, but once the iron tip of Granuaile’s staff descended upon it, there was a significant dent.
“Again,” I suggested.
The console acquired two more dents in quick succession.
“Hold off,” I said. “Let me jump on it a few times.”
“Go.”
I did a gleeful mosh—or was it a skank?—upon the top, which did little to it but did manage to make me feel better.
“It’s bolted together fairly well. Let’s just take it with us and dump it into the pond in the park.”
