by M. D. Massey
“Then why did the Eye choose me?”
Lugh laughed. “Isn’t it obvious? It sensed your enmity for the fae, and by association their original progenitors, the Tuatha. The Eye hopes that you’ll help it destroy the Tuatha so it can be free.”
“I’m not sure I want to destroy all the Tuatha—just a certain few.”
“That may be true, Colin. But you have to understand that the Eye is as long-lived as any of the Tuatha, perhaps more so. He thinks and plans in terms of millennia—not days, weeks, or months. So long as your actions bring him closer to his eventual goal, he’ll continue to serve you.”
That gave me a lot to think about. “Huh.”
“Speaking of which, you’ve suffered a great deal because of me. For that, I must apologize. When I hid the Eye in the tathlum, I never anticipated that Fuamnach would deduce its whereabouts and seek to acquire it. Nor did I expect the one I entrusted with the tathlum to engineer your encounter with the Eye.”
I shrugged. “It’s not really your fault, not directly. Although I will say that I feel like a human pinball, being bounced around all over the place by Maeve’s and Fuamnach’s schemes.”
“I have no idea what a ‘pinball’ is, but I believe I can help you disentangle yourself from their schemes… if you so choose. It’s the least I can do, considering the trouble that your involvement with the Eye has caused you.”
I crossed an ankle over my knee and tapped my foot in the air nervously. “I don’t know, Lugh—no offense, but I really just came here for the Spear.”
“Surely the Dagda told you of Maeve’s plans for the Treasures?” I nodded. “And just what do you think will happen to you when she holds such power in her grasp? I would not classify her as being truly evil, but do you think she’ll release you when she wields even greater power than she does now? I assure you, she will not. Instead, she’ll use you and your ability to wield the Eye to further advance her plans, and you’ll never be free of her.”
“So, I should just let Fuamnach win? I don’t know if you’ve heard, but I owe her a big fat serving of revenge, too.”
Lugh opened his mouth as if to respond, then closed it. He puffed on his pipe and blew smoke from his nostrils, looking at me thoughtfully.
“What if I told you that you could get back at Fuamnach, get yourself out from under Maeve’s thumb, and save Underhill from its eventual destruction as well? Would you be interested in hearing me out?”
After fighting the Dagda, I knew I wouldn’t get the Spear from Lugh by force. Plus, he could take Balor’s Eye from me at any time, leaving me defenseless against him and the rest of the Tuatha. I figured my only real option was to hear him out and cut a deal. I spent a hot minute considering the offer, then I sat up straighter and looked him in the eye.
“Alright, I’m listening.”
Lugh’s eyes lit up. “Excellent! Here’s what I’ll need you to do…”
10
The next morning, I awoke on a pallet of furs in front of the fire, with two of the large black cats keeping guard close by. I tossed aside the furs covering me and rubbed my eyes as I sat up and glanced around.
There was no sign of Lugh, and I’d have thought the whole thing a dream if not for the first item that caught my eye as I got my bearings. Thrust into the ground at my side was a finely-crafted spear, with a long, leaf-shaped blade attached to a smooth wooden shaft with brightly-polished bands of bronze and gold.
I stood and grabbed the spear, pulling the point out of the ground. As I did, the tip burst into flames so hot I had to hold it away from me to avoid being burned. Unsure how to extinguish it, I thrust it back in the ground until I could devise a means of carrying it safely.
“I see you managed to get the Spear,” Crowley said from behind me. He was leaning against the doorway of the cabin, holding a steaming cup of something. Wizards. They were always conjuring up things on the fly.
“Is that coffee?”
“No, it’s tea.”
I growled. “Nasty habit. How the Brits run a country on such an inferior source of caffeine is beyond me.”
He took a sip, temporarily revealing the burned side of his face. “The French and Italians are huge coffee drinkers, and you don’t see them leading the world in innovation and commerce.”
I stretched, trying to put the previous night’s revelations out of my mind. “That’s because they drink it from those itty-bitty cups. They’re under-dosing. Only twelve-ounce cups or better will do the trick.” I pointed over his shoulder. “Anyone else awake?”
“Just me,” he replied. “I’m a bit of an early riser. Care to explain how you got the Spear?”
“Lugh stopped by last night, shortly after everyone was asleep. At least, I think he did. The whole thing has a sort of dreamlike quality to it now.”
The wizard held his tin cup in both hands, tapping a finger against its side. “Does it seem strange to you that the Dagda and Lugh both gave up their Treasures without a fuss?”
I loosened and retied the laces on my boots while I considered my answer. “It does. Although I get the feeling that they’re strongly opposed to Fuamnach’s planned comeback tour of our earth.”
“Perhaps they’ve chosen you to champion their cause.”
“Hmph. Lucky me, then.” I stood and pulled the Spear from the soil, shying away from the light and heat emanating from the point. “Any idea what to do with this thing? I can’t seem to extinguish it, and damned if I’m going to carry the flaming thing halfway across Underhill like this.”
He pointed a long, slender finger at my Bag. “The vacuum inside should extinguish the flames.”
“Good thinking.” I kicked the flap open and nudged it until the mouth of the Bag was as wide as possible. Then, I carefully inserted the Spear into the Bag, pointy end first. Once it was inside, I placed it where I could get to it if needed. For the millionth time, I reflected that a bag of holding was a damned handy thing to have.
Hemi came walking out of the cabin, stretching and scratching his stomach. “Morning, fellas. What’s for breakfast?”
I dug around inside the Bag and pulled out some energy bars, bottled water, and a bag of freeze-dried oatmeal. Hemi made a sour face before pouring the contents of the bag into his mouth. He chased it with water, swished it around for a few seconds, then chewed for the better part of a minute before swallowing it down.
“Coulda used some berries and cream, but it’ll do, I suppose.” He unwrapped an energy bar and sat down. “What’s the plan, boss?”
I opened my mouth to respond as a high-pitched scream came from inside the cabin. It was Sabine. We rushed inside the cabin like the Three Stooges, blocking our own way as we each tried to enter at the same time. Once we were inside, the scene that played out before us brought a smile to my face.
“Don’t you ever do that to me again, you understand?” Sabine yelled as she ground a cloven hoof into Jack’s neck. Jack lay prostrate on the ground below her, struggling to get her foot off his neck. I gasped as I realized she’d transformed into what must have been her full glaistig form.
Sabine wore a long t-shirt as a night gown, which reached to mid-thigh. Below the hem of the shirt, her legs were exposed. Her long, furry, goat-like legs. From the waist up, she looked totally human, albeit supernaturally beautiful, even with no makeup and bed head.
Guts stood off to the side, looking for all the world like he wished he could be somewhere else. I could only assume that he’d tried to intervene, and had nearly suffered the wrath of Sabine for his troubles.
Jack’s face was turning purple, and he struggled with ever-diminishing effort. I cleared my throat. “Um, Sabine? I think he’s had enough. If you stomp his spine into the floorboards, we’ll be one guide short for the trip home.”
She ground her hoof into his neck a little more, glaring at the small man beneath her. “We have another one, don’t we?”
“True, but I’d just as soon we had a back-up. Please, Sabine. Let him up.”
Jack coughed and nodded. I walked over and grabbed him by the collar, dragging him toward the door as I shooed the rest of the group out of the cabin. “Fellas, time to go. Let’s allow Sabine a bit of privacy while she gets dressed, alright?”
The guys all headed out the door, eyes wide and mouths agape. Even Guts beat a hasty retreat. I tossed Jack out the doorway, then closed the door gently behind me.
Guts was beside himself. “Druid, I go to punish little ball of sleeze, but fae-girl get so angry I freeze. My apologies.”
I winced at the sound of Sabine tossing items around inside the cabin. “Guts, trust me when I say that Sabine doesn’t need anyone to rescue her. That little fae-girl can take care of herself.”
I estimated it was an hour later when Sabine emerged from the cabin, in her human form and fully clothed, of course. She’d pulled her hair back into a ponytail, and wore loose hiking pants, a flannel shirt over a tank top, hiking boots, and a look that dared anyone to say anything about her goat legs.
The males in the party averted their eyes, wisely choosing to avoid a confrontation with our healer. I stood, brushing dirt and leaves from my pants as I stood on my toes and stretched. “Alright then, let’s get going.”
Sabine was the first to speak. “And just where are we headed, illustrious leader?”
“We’re going to rescue us some abducted children.” I glanced to the far side of the clearing, where Jack was sulking and rubbing his bruised and swollen neck. “Jack, can you lead us to where the Rye Mother is hiding out?”
He nodded and pointed to the walkway. The wisp hadn’t said a word since I’d hauled his sorry ass out of the cabin, although I’d questioned him at length regarding what had happened. He’d remained mostly silent, pointing at his throat and grunting.
Apparently, Sabine had done some damage. Since Jack was cursed to walk the earth eternally, I suspected he’d bounce back. I just hoped his injuries would last long enough to save us from having to hear his incessant chatter for the remainder of the trip.
We followed Jack up a winding staircase to the catwalk that towered above the marsh. The walkway had been fashioned from vines and timber, which appeared to have been collected from the swamp below. While it looked sturdy enough, it swayed back and forth in the wind, and the vibrations from our footsteps seemingly threatened to shake the thing apart.
When we reached the top, I grabbed a nearby tree branch that served as a guardrail, shaking it to test how secure it might be. I was not encouraged by the results.
“I thought the fae were supposed to be great craftsmen,” I stated. “What’s the deal with this rickety piece of crap?”
Crowley caught his balance as the narrow walkway swayed from side to side. “They are. However, multiple species inhabit Underhill, and some of them are quite primitive compared to the fae. I suspect this pathway was built by some other people, perhaps at the behest of Lugh. Or maybe for purposes of traveling to his fortress to pay tribute to him. Your guess is as good as mine, druid.”
Hemi muttered a warning from behind us. “Oh, I think I’m going to be sick.” He grabbed the rail and emptied the contents of his breakfast over the side.
Sabine handed him a water bottle wordlessly, and he rinsed his mouth out before handing it back to her. She pursed her lips and squinted one eye shut. “Ah, that’s okay, big guy. You can keep it.”
Hemi nodded, and we continued our journey along the skywalk.
A short time later, Jack pulled to a halt. The walkway had come to a “T,” with one branch trailing off to the left, the other to the right. The left pathway led off into the distance, toward a dark stretch of mountain peaks obscured by ominous clouds. The skies looked dreary in that direction, and the entire scene had “this way be monsters” written all over it.
The other path led out of the swamp, and back to the summer lands from which we’d come. In fact, I could just make out a few giant mushrooms beyond the edge of the swamp in the distance.
I looked at Jack and pointed to the left. “Don’t tell me—the Rye Mother is that way, by The Mountains of Shadow over there.” He nodded and headed off down the path toward Mount Doom. I looked at the other party members. “It looks like we’re leaving Lugh’s lands, so be on your guard. No telling what’s waiting for us ahead.”
Hemi belched and covered his mouth. “Hopefully, solid ground,” he mumbled, before barfing over the rail again.
Based on my step count, we’d only traveled a few more miles before the walkway descended to ground level, just at the point where the swamp ended. Here, the marshes gave way to rocky, boulder-strewn foothills below the mountain range. It was an odd, abrupt transition that was altogether unnatural based on the conventions of earth’s topography.
A stony path led up through the foothills, switching back on itself time and again as it carved its way to the mountains above. Another path led parallel to the mountains, along the foothills and toward a gray landscape of grassy flatlands in the distance. Jack started toward the second path without pause, and I had to grab him to keep him from leaving us behind.
“Jack, let everyone take a rest.” He rolled his eyes, a gesture I ignored. The guy really was a prick. “How much farther until we get to the Rye Mother’s hideout?”
He held his hands up and shrugged.
“So, she’s out there, then?” I pointed toward the glum-looking grasslands in the distance, and he nodded. “Figures. If she’s anything like her children, that’s going to be a problem.”
I waved Crowley over. “Any idea what we’ll be up against?”
He rubbed his bearded chin inside his cowl. “I’m no expert on German fae, and would hesitate to speculate on what we may encounter.”
Hemi took a sip of water and spat it out on the ground. “Translation? Be ready for anything, eh?”
Minutes later, we stood at an endless, gently rolling expanse of waist-high grass that was reminiscent of an Andrew Wyeth painting, but with even drearier tones. Underhill had distorted our perception of time and distance yet again, and it had taken no time at all to traverse the distance from swamp to fields. I could just make out the hazy outline of a farm, perhaps a mile or two away.
I dug around in my Craneskin Bag and pulled out a pair of binoculars. The building was a huge stone farmhouse straight out of the Pennsylvania Dutch country, two-storied with a gabled roof and a big red barn out back. The grass closer to the farm had been harvested for hay, and it stood in short bundled sheafs that dotted the landscape.
And sitting on the front porch of the farmhouse, just as plain as day, was the Rye Mother.
I’d done my research on her over the past several weeks, learning as much of the lore surrounding her as possible. The Roggenmutter, also known as the rye aunt, corn mother, wheat mother, and so on, was a right nasty bitch. She was one of the many korndämon who were known to steal children, catching them unawares while they were out playing in the fields.
Upon taking children into her possession, she was said to fatten them up by feeding them from her huge, saggy breasts, after which she would churn them to bloody bits in her butter churn. Her skin was said to be pitch black, and her breasts were supposed to be tipped in iron, with sharp iron claws on each hand as well.
But this woman looked like an Amish grandmother, sitting on the porch of the homestead waiting for her sons to come in from the fields. She wore a long, old-fashioned dress with a lace collar, and her gray hair was pulled up in a bun. In her lap sat a bowl, and she busied herself with cleaning and chopping vegetables into it from a nearby table.
But no, something was wrong with that picture. I adjusted the binoculars until I realized the vegetables were actually tiny human fingers. I
gasped, and the old woman looked dead at me. She smiled as she popped one into her mouth, chewing until bright red blood squirted and ran down her chin like juice.
Sabine snatched the binoculars out of my hands and stared through them at the grisly, seemingly mundane scene ahead. She dropped them to her side and hissed.
“Give me a sword.”
“Sabine, I—”
“I said, give me a motherfucking sword!” she screamed.
“But the steel will burn you.”
She shook her head. “I don’t care. There’s no way I’m sitting this one out. That bitch is going down.”
I thought for a moment, then opened my Bag and reached inside. The fae-crafted longsword I’d taken from the assassin was right where I’d left it. It was made of some sort of precious metal alloy, and the handle was crafted from ivory, bone, and wood to prevent the bearer’s hand from touching the metal.
In short, it was the perfect weapon for a pissed-off half-glaistig who wanted to kick some feldgeister ass.
“You know how to use that thing?” I asked.
She scowled and rolled her eyes. “I’m fae, aren’t I? We start learning fencing when we’re knee-high. It’s like our culture’s version of soccer.”
Hemi sidled up between us, probably sensing the tension and wishing to defuse it. I had a feeling that most of Sabine’s anger was because of me, and quite frankly I hoped she’d take it out on whatever we were about to face. I wanted my friend back, but I just didn’t know how to make things right.
The big Maori pulled his spear from the straps on his back and pointed it across the fields. “That’s her, then? The bitch who caused that whole mess with the children?”
“Yeah, it’s her.”
He looked like he was about to pop a gasket. “Well then, what are we waiting for? Let’s make her pay.”
Instead of answering, I searched the fields between us and the farmhouse, both with my natural eyesight and in the magical spectrum. “Huh. Crowley, tell me what you see out there.”
