by M. D. Massey
Bryn downed her pint, forcing me to do the same. She paid for the next round, and we drank in silence for a few moments, taking the time to savor the beer. Halfway through the second glass, I set mine down to signal that it was time to get down to brass tacks.
“So, Dian Cécht,” I said. “What do you know?”
Bryn leaned in, cradling her beer in both hands while casting me the occasional glance as she spoke. “Apparently, you pissed some people off long before you arrived in Iceland. Then, you ruffled some feathers among the huldufólk. They took a keen interest in your affairs after that.”
“Bah. Bunch of prissy busybodies. I can’t see why everyone here is so afraid of them. Hell, they don’t even remember the old magicks. Pretty pathetic, as fae go.”
She gave a noncommittal shrug. “They have more magic than you might think, although most of it is limited to artifacts handed down from the past. They also have their hands in every aspect of Icelandic culture that you can imagine, both mundane and supernatural. Politics, business, entertainment, art—you name it, the Hidden People are involved.”
“And I should care about this because…?” I replied archly.
Bryn snorted softly, clearly expressing derision at the dumb foreigner who was definitely not familiar with Norse ways. “Normally, if they wanted to make life hell for someone, they’d pressure them through the standard channels. Get you fired, have your visa revoked, make it difficult for you to do business here. But you—well, you don’t operate within the normal boundaries of influence.”
I was starting to see where this was going. “And they couldn’t intimidate me, either.”
“Exactly,” she said. The valkyrie examined her glass, which was already empty. “When their magic proved to be ineffective, they resorted to other methods.”
“The gods?”
“Not quite, thankfully. No, they got the jötnar involved, which is nearly the same thing in Scandinavia. The ones you faced earlier were mere foot soldiers, mostly sent to harass you, although I don’t think their master expected you to dispose of them so easily.”
I scratched the back of my head as I sucked air through my teeth. “I take it the huldu-fucks didn’t send Fritz and his buddies directly?”
“No, they did not. Colin, does the name Býleistr mean anything to you?”
Rubbing the stubble on my chin with my knuckles, I gave her a mea culpa look that was halfway between a wince and an apologetic grin. “Um, maybe.”
Bryn set her empty glass down, crossing her arms on the table like a sphinx. “Colin, if we are going to work together, we must be honest with each other.”
“Okay, okay. So, I may have killed his son. Didn’t want to, but Snorri forced my hand.”
“Likely so, but that does not change the fact that you killed him. And while he will probably cross the Veil again several centuries hence, such insults are not taken lightly in Norse culture.” She signaled for another round of brews, somehow immediately getting the waitstaff’s attention on a busy night. “No, they are not taken lightly at all.”
Immediately, I thought back to my dust-up with Cade Valison. You know, Vali’s son, Thor’s nephew, Odin’s grandson, etc. I still had his magic hammer sitting inside my Bag, and while I’d done a decent job of covering up the evidence after I killed him, deities of that caliber had all kinds of ways to discover such dark, hidden secrets.
But I wasn’t worried. Cade was a demigod and immortal, more or less. Among immortals, it wasn’t a big deal for one of their kind to get lost for a few years. Heck, if I was lucky, they hadn’t even noticed his absence yet. I took a nice, long drink of that stout to cover up the guilt that was probably written all over my face.
Here’s to hoping.
“Right. So, there’s another giant out there who’s pissed at me. No biggie.”
Bryn winced and shook her head like she’d just gotten an answer from the slowest kid in the class. “You don’t get it. Býleistr is Loki’s brother, born of Laufey and Fárbauti. He is very powerful—god-like, in fact. If that doesn’t give you pause, consider that he and his brothers are to lead the jötnar armies against the gods at Ragnorak.”
“Um, so what’s the good news?” I said, snagging a third beer from the waitress before she could even set the glass on the table.
“There is no good news. I am fairly certain that Býleistr has abducted the Celtic Physician, and that he’s holding him at his fortress in Jötunheimr.”
“Well, shit.”
6
We were leaving the bar when Bryn casually bumped me with her elbow. Her eyes darted across the street and back, where a couple of goth-looking teens lurked in a shop doorway. Day had given way to night while we were in the bar, and the dark kept me from making out any important details. Bryn hooked her arm in mine and guided me north, away from where she’d parked her bike.
“So, your place or mine?” she asked.
It wasn’t that uncommon for Icelandic women to be forward about sex, but she was obviously making conversation so the thugs wouldn’t know we were on to them. Casual hookups were almost the national sport here, a fact I’d embarrassingly discovered my first night out in Reykjavik. Apparently, my traditional American view of relationships was “cute and endearing, but a bit weird.” Go figure.
“I’m hungry, actually,” I said, playing along while I extended my senses outward, eventually locating a rat that was hiding in a fenced-off alley behind us. A slight mental nudge encouraged him to poke his head through the fence, allowing me to surveil the suspicious duo, who I immediately dubbed Jay and Bob. As expected, they began to follow us after we turned the corner.
“They’re definitely tailing us,” I whispered after casting a night vision cantrip. “Any idea who they are?”
“The Hidden People, most certainly. Come,” she said, pulling me toward a darkened cobblestone walkway that passed between two buildings, connecting the streets on either side.
“Are we going to ambush them, or are you trying to lose them?”
“We shall see. Hide us,” she commanded. I arched an eyebrow, mostly because she was being bossy. Her brow furrowed at my reticence. “You are a druid, are you not?”
“Fine,” I whispered, casting a chameleon spell on us both. “But don’t move until you have to, else they’ll spot us.”
“Hmpf,” was her only reply.
Soon, our tail strolled cautiously up the sidewalk and into view, their eyes darting this way and that. I had mistakenly pegged them as goths earlier, but they were dressed more like metal heads—death metal, that is. Lots of black leather and spikes, long, stringy black hair, and ink on almost every exposed bit of skin. Yet one look at their faces told me they were fae, because there was no mistaking those fine, almost alien features and supernatural attractiveness.
The ink didn’t bother me, and neither did the way they were dressed, but the long black knives they carried gave me pause. Something was decidedly wrong about those blades, and it wasn’t just the way they dripped thick black drops of liquid like pus from an infected wound. When I looked at either knife too long my eyes wanted to cross, my skin crawled, and every cell in my body told me they’d been made with dark magic.
Suddenly, one of our pursuers—Bob, I thought—snapped his head around, scanning the walkway where we hid like a hawk searching a field for prey. As I observed their movements, I realized that I’d underestimated these two. They didn’t move like a couple of wet-behind-the-ears thugs, stumbling around looking for a few easy marks to mug. Instead, their actions were precise and coordinated, reminding me of a couple of fae assassins I’d recently dealt with back home.
I’d taken Lucindras and Eliandres out by myself, so certainly I could deal with these punks. Granted, I’d almost died when the twins jumped me outside of Luther’s cafe, but I wasn’t about to split hairs regarding my own victories. The memory of that fight, and the presence of the nasty-looking blades these particular fae carried, almost had me at their throats despite Br
yn’s cautionary attitude.
Still, those blades looked deadly, and I didn’t care to find out what sort of nasty magic poison dripped off them. So, I waited until his gaze swept past, holding my breath to avoid making any sound that could give us away. Moments later, he turned and headed down the street after his partner.
Fuck it.
Having already stealth-shifted out of habit, I drew my cold iron hunting knife from the small of my back. Dropping my chameleon spell, I bolted out of hiding with a burst of Fomorian, vampire-like speed. The fae assassin heard me coming too late, and my knife was sticking out from between his shoulder blades before he had a chance to turn around. Bob was definitely not silent as he died, falling to the pavement with a short, sharp gasp of surprised agony that was loud enough to draw his companion’s attention.
One down, one to go.
Jay turned out to be the cagier of the two, squaring up on me immediately in a wide knife-fighter’s hunch. I pulled my blade from his buddy’s back, stomping on his head and bursting it like a melon as I walked over his corpse. Couldn’t be too careful about such things, after all.
Jay’s eyes narrowed dangerously at that, but he said not a word, instead closing the distance with supernatural grace as he slashed at my eyes. Fighting with short blades is almost always a matter of who gets cut worse first, which may sound like common sense, but it was the crux of surviving a knife-to-knife encounter. So, the opening gambit against an aware opponent was almost always a feint.
Knowing this, I leaned away without overcommitting, because I knew he’d follow up with a second attack. And attack he did, slashing at my gut, groin, and knee in a finely-tuned combination of cuts that would’ve taken out your average combatant. Too bad for him, I’d done this dance before a thousand times, first with Jesse, and then with Maureen. And they were both way better than this loser.
Plus, I was quicker. Way quicker.
I parried the gut slash, redirecting it with a quick slap while quickly retracting my hand to avoid a withdrawal cut to my forearm. At the same time, I took a quick retreat step with my forward leg, pulling my groin and thigh just out of the guy’s reach. Meanwhile, I ran my blade through the guy’s eye socket with my other hand, performing all three moves simultaneously.
Sometimes people don’t know they’re dead after they’re stabbed or shot, so I left my knife in place as I backed away to avoid a lucky last slash from his poisoned blade. But it wasn’t necessary. The lights went out in his other eye almost instantly, and he dropped like a sack of potatoes to the street. I watched him twitch, once, twice, leaning over to retrieve my knife only when he went absolutely still.
Bryn’s voice spoke from over my shoulder as I was cleaning my blade on the killer’s shirt. “Gwen said you were deadly. She was right. But now their employer will have reason to hunt you openly.”
“Well, at least I’ll see them coming,” I said as I dragged the bodies to a small area of grass in front of house that had been converted into a shop. I used druid magic to sink the bodies and the daggers deep underground, covering them to leave no trace they were ever there.
She snorted silently. “Perhaps, but I’d say it’s time to go.”
“Fine. But fair warning—it’s a long drive to my place.”
After she turned down my offer of a ride a second time, I gave Bryn directions and agreed to meet her there. Valkyries must’ve been pretty fast in flight, because the location didn’t faze her a bit. I was tempted to call the Oak for a lift, but I wanted time to think and the convenience wasn’t worth the risk.
Nowhere was better than my Druid Oak for sheer privacy. It was the one place I could be certain no huldufólk were around to spy on us. The Oak had its own built-in surveillance system, and nothing short of a god could come within a mile of it without being detected. Combine that with my druid senses, and I was confident we’d be able to determine our next steps in peace back at Hallormsstaður.
Still, I didn’t intend to share all my secrets with the Valkyries, no matter how much I liked Bryn. Her boss creeped me out, and while I might have earned her respect, that didn’t mean she was completely on my side. Besides, Gwen worked for Odin. Word was, the Valkyries had minimal contact with him these days, but I couldn’t trust anyone who was allied with the gods.
By way of subterfuge, I instructed the Oak to construct a sort of mock campsite a few hundred yards from where it was located. “Construct” was probably the wrong word, as it would simply grow whatever I asked it to make by shaping earth, wood, and stone like clay. I asked the Oak to make it look like it was manmade, and after a few confusing exchanges, it sent me an image of a rock-lined fire pit, a lean-to fashioned from rough-hewn wood, and a bed made from fresh-cut pine boughs. It was actually a bit more rustic than what I was capable of these days, but it’d do.
Once that task was complete, I had nothing to do but drive. The first leg of the trip to Hallormsstaður was long and boring, and if it hadn’t been for the distraction of the Northern Lights, I might’ve stopped and slept until morning. But I gutted it out and drove straight through, and as night gave way to day, I was treated by vista after vista featuring Iceland’s stunning, rugged beauty. That was one thing you could say about the island—the views were never a disappointment.
It was mid-morning when I pulled off the road into the forest, down a dirt road that probably hadn’t been there the night previous. As I followed the Oak’s directions, slowly cruising further into the depths of the woods, the forest foliage closed in to cover the path behind me. The Oak would also cover up any tire tracks, as that was part of the security protocols we’d established.
I had to assume that the huldufólk would rat us out to their gods or the Celtic pantheon, which was even worse. Once they knew we were in Iceland, it was just a matter of time before Badb, Fuamnach, and Aengus worked out a deal with Odin or Frigg or whoever so they could come after us. The clock was ticking, and while I could steal time inside the Grove, I might only have weeks or days Earthside to find Dian Cécht and heal Finnegas.
It was all very frustrating, considering that I was finally getting somewhere in my search. If Bryn was on the up and up—and my instincts said she was—she could lead me straight to the immortal Physician. Sure, I might have to kill a few giants, but whatevs. Once the old man was all better, he’d know what to do next about the Celtic pantheon. And once I dealt with them, I’d find Fallyn and take her and the old man somewhere safe.
Yeah, and unicorns shit Neapolitan sherbet.
My vague, half-baked plan was a long shot, and I knew it—but I had to hope things would turn out alright. My life had been one crazy battle after another for too long, and I was ready for some peace. Plus, maybe a little happiness, but I wasn’t going to get my hopes up.
I parked the SUV where the Oak indicated, then I grabbed my Bag and headed down a faint dirt path toward the makeshift campsite. I’d only walked thirty yards or so before I heard the faint gurgling of a running stream and Bryn’s raucous laughter accompanied by Click’s weird Welsh accent.
Click sometimes suppressed his accent in order to conceal his identity, as he had with me when we first met. That he didn’t make the effort in front of Bryn told me either the two were already acquainted, or he’d decided she was no threat.
Interesting.
“So, then the boy shifts inta’ his other form ta’ fight the three roggenwölfe, and he rips his trousers from seam ta’ seat. So now he’s fightin’ the feldgeister with his pidyn an’ cwdyn flappin’ all over the place. Understand, now, he’s ten feet tall, so his member is like this—”
I parted a few branches, walking into the campsite just in time to see Click hold his fist and forearm up in the air like he was giving the Italian salute. Bryn saw me enter the clearing, but she was too busy belly-laughing and wiping her eyes to acknowledge me. Knowing that it was impossible to interrupt such a performance when the quasi-god had a rapt audience, I busied myself with settling in while he continued.
&
nbsp; “Now, o’ course, all the werewolf lasses and female hangers on are more intent on his pecker than the fight—not ta’ mention a few o’ the males as well. Every time it’d swing back and forth, it was like watching a group o’ cats watch a tennis match. I swear, I think he fielded a half-dozen proposals and three times as many propositions fer’ a good roll in the hay that day.”
Bryn was laughing so hard at this point that she nearly fell off her log. Click had joined in, and the two carried on with their seemingly uncontrollable fits of laughter for a good minute. Finally, the valkyrie and the mage settled down, each choking back a few chuckles as Click acknowledged my presence.
“An’ looky what we have here—the man o’ the hour arrives.”
Despite my embarrassment, I kept my expression neutral. Experience had taught me that the only way to get Click to shut up was playing the straight man to his jokes. “Well, I see you two have already become acquainted.”
Bryn wiped her eyes one last time. “Oh, Gwydion and I go way back.”
“Now, now, lass—I told ye that I don’t go by that name no more.”
The valkyrie gave him a rueful yet sympathetic look. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone.” She turned toward me again, casually glancing at my crotch with a barely contained snicker. “I have to say, he doesn’t look like much to me.”
“Jest wait until he shifts, lass—then ye’ll either be droppin’ yer panties or runnin’ fer dear life!”
That comment resulted in yet another outbreak of riotous laughter. Rather than stand for any more of that humiliation, I headed back to the truck to take a nap until Click was done being an asshole.
Thirty minutes later, the laughter had subsided. Soon after, the smell of eggs, bacon, and sausage roasting over an open fire made my stomach grumble. After a few minutes of deliberation, I decided that a full stomach was more important than salving my bruised ego. Besides, I was eager to figure out our next steps, and sitting around sulking wasn’t going to get us any closer to rescuing Dian Cécht.
