Druid Arcane: A New Adult Urban Fantasy Novel (The Colin McCool Paranormal Suspense Series Book 11)

by M. D. Massey

  “We need to get moving,” I said, looking back and forth at my companions. When they didn’t budge, I made a shooing motion with my hands, letting the Fomorian side of me slip back into my voice as I spoke. “That’s a giant riding a fucking dragon—run, you morons!”

  “I still don’t see why we can’t just stand and fight,” Bells said as she huffed along beside me. “We have a wizard, a valkyrie, a troll, another wizard that’s almost a god, an actual god, a druid who can turn into a troll-looking thing, and me. I like those odds.”

  “I beg to differ,” Crowley said from above us. He was doing his Doctor Octopus thing, strolling along on shadowy tentacles that carried him several feet above the pathway. “To battle a dragon requires room to maneuver, in order to avoid being immolated by their fiery breath. While we might win the battle, we’d likely lose several members of our party in the process.”

  “Not to mention, Loki and Click disappeared on us,” I said as I glanced back to check on Bryn and Ásgeir.

  The troll had taken a rear-guard position by default. Not to be outdone, the valkyrie had opted to do the same, but what they intended to do against a giant on a dragon was beyond me. Bryn didn’t have her pegasus, and the troll had no weapons. And the dragon was getting closer.

  “And why can’t you teleport us out of here again?” Crowley asked.

  “I told you, it’s because they’ll use it to track us.”

  “Down here?” Crowley said, clearly puzzled. “In the Void?”

  “I know, I know,” I said. “But I’m not taking any chances.”

  Crowley frowned, because he knew there was something more to it. And he was right. What I kept to myself was that my connection to the Oak was very faint here in the pathways of Yggdrasil. I didn’t want to risk leaving one of them behind due to a miscommunication with the tree.

  “Joder,” Bells growled. “These pinche boots are rubbing blisters on my heels.”

  “You’re a shifter, right? Just heal them on the fly,” I replied.

  “That’s not how it works, Colin,” she hissed. “I’m a serpenthrope—I turn into a naga.”

  “So?” I said. “What’s the big deal?”

  “Naga don’t have feet,” Crowley said. “So she has to completely transform to heal her lower body.”

  “Seriously? Weird. Sorry, Bells.”

  “I’ll kill you later,” she said. “Right now, I just want to know how far it is to the exit.”

  “Not far, according to Jerrik,” the shadow wizard replied. “Maybe a mile or so.”

  I looked over my shoulder again. “That’s too far—they’ll be on us before we get there. You guys go on ahead and secure the exit. I’m going to shift and buy us some time.”

  Belladonna looked at me like I was nuts. “You can’t fight a dragon by yourself, Colin.”

  “I don’t plan to,” I muttered. “Crowley, make sure you give us something to follow.”

  “Indeed,” he said, spinning off a strand of shadow that attached itself to the pathway like a length of thin black spider silk. “Don’t get killed, druid.”

  “Ditto that sentiment,” Bells said.

  “Um, thanks,” I replied as I pulled up short, tearing out of my clothes so I could start to shift. I watched the two run off into the distance then focused on my change, completing the transformation just as Bryn and Ásgeir pulled up alongside me.

  “You would make an excellent troll,” the troll said with complete seriousness. “Any female of our kind would be keen to mate with you.”

  “Um, no thanks. I have some troll friends back at home, and—” I stopped myself before I said something that would offend him. “What I mean to say is, I’m taken.”

  Bryn snickered. “That’s no obstacle for a troll wench. Their men are polygamous. Why, I bet Ásgeir here has a dozen wives, at least.”

  “Only seven,” he said. “But I will have more soon, once I return with my pockets full of gold from this adventure.”

  “That’s if we don’t get eaten by a dragon first,” I said, looking back down the pathway. “Speaking of which, you two should get going and follow the others to the exit. I’ll be along in a minute.”

  “Nonsense,” Bryn said. “It’s been ages since I hunted dragon.”

  “If she stays, I stay,” the troll added, pushing his hat firmly down on his head.

  “Fine, but stand behind me,” I said, shoving the last of my clothes inside my Craneskin Bag.

  “As if,” Bryn said, pulling a highly polished metal shield and a brace of throwing spears from behind her back.

  “Never mind me, I’m just the one in charge,” I sighed. “So, you used to hunt dragons?”

  “Indeed,” Ásgeir replied. “The Valkyries’ enthusiasm for hunting wyrms was only exceeded by their lust for hunting my kind.”

  “That was long ago, troll,” the valkyrie replied. “And we only hunted those who were stupid enough to attack human settlements.”

  “Why?” I asked. “I thought the gods didn’t care what happened to humans.”

  Bryn answered while keeping her eyes focused on the rapidly-approaching dragon and rider. “The trolls steal children—male children. Odin needs warriors to fight for him at Ragnarok, and he grew tired of losing his future army to the ravenous appetites of trolls.”

  “Touching,” I said.

  “Imagine if all of trollkind had banded together to hunt vapid, self-involved Valkyries,” Ásgeir mused. “Why, there’d be none left.”

  “I don’t get it,” I said. “She seems more tom-boyish to me. No offense, Bryn.”

  “None taken, as I am the exception to the rule,” she replied. “Many of my sisters now make their living as social media influencers.”

  “No shit?” I remarked, rummaging around in my Bag for weapons. “Guess I shouldn’t be surprised. Gwen sure looked the type.”

  “Perhaps we should continue this conversation at a later time,” Ásgeir said, interrupting us. “The dragon comes.”

  20

  The thing was massive, bigger than even Caoranach. The dragon’s body was the size of an average two-story house, with a wingspan that had to stretch fifty feet or more. It was almost pure white, with scales that glimmered like icicles under the soft light of the walkway and bright blue eyes that shone in the dark. Yet it still breathed smoke, and when it opened its jaws to roar at us, I saw just the faintest glow of heat within its throat.

  Its size actually worked in our favor, because the dragon was too big to land on the walkway. Instead, it hovered directly over the path about fifty yards away or so, holding position until its rider jumped off its back, at which point it flew off. When the giant hit the ground, the impact sent a shockwave through the stones, which rocked and reeled under our feet for several seconds until they became still.

  The giant was among the largest I’d seen, perhaps twenty-five feet tall or more. He dressed like a Viking of old, in a sleeveless bright-red tunic that looked to be made of sailcloth and leather pants that had been sewn from dozens of cattle hides. He wore sandals with thick rubber soles that must’ve been cut from semi-truck tires. Instead of leather straps, the shoes were tied around his ankles with thick lengths of nylon rope.

  Regarding his features, he looked like a very ugly man with a round, bearded face, a bald head, and a bulbous nose with a wart on the end. His beard was clean and well-kempt, however, as were his clothes and the rope belt and leather purse at his waist. As for weapons, he carried none. I guess when you were over two stories tall, you didn’t need any.

  Deciding that I didn’t want to give the guy a chance to get close, I plucked a spear from the pile at my feet and chambered it to throw. The spears I’d found were man-sized, so I’d need to hit him with a couple dozen to do any real damage. Even so, I figured if I hit him in the eye it might give us time to run.

  “Wait,” Ásgeir said, placing a hand on my arm. “Let me handle this.”

  “You sure?” I asked, because the giant was striding tow
ard us, and he looked even bigger up close.

  “I think so,” he said under his breath. “But if he throws me from the walkway, I expect you to avenge my death.”

  The troll took off before I could object to his spur-of-the-moment plan. “Damn it,” I swore. “He’s going to get himself killed.”

  “I don’t know why you care what happens to a troll,” Bryn said. “He probably ate one of your ancestors. They used to go on raids to Irland with Vikings, you know.”

  “He reminds me of someone,” I said, thinking of Elmo, the world’s gentlest ogre. “Now, hush. I want to hear what they say.”

  Ásgeir and the giant stopped about ten yards apart, sizing each other up. The troll looked a lot more relaxed than I’d have been, facing a behemoth like that. After several seconds, he nodded to the much larger creature who stood before him.

  “Halvor, it has been a long time.”

  The giant squinted, then he held up a hand. “Hold on, I need my glasses,” he said in a booming voice with a faint Scandinavian accent. He reached into the leather bag that hung from his rope belt and pulled out the biggest pair of bifocals I’d ever seen. After adjusting them, he looked through the top half of the lenses at the troll. “Ah, Ásgeir. They didn’t tell me you’d be here.”

  “If you’re speaking of the other landvættir, they never saw me,” the troll replied. “I remained hidden in the tunnels when they arrived.”

  “Yes, that prick Urion, and Havardr. They sent me to pursue you into Yggdrasil, to stop you from reaching Jotunheimr.”

  “You mean they didn’t want you to catch us?” I broke in. “Because Váli acted like he really wanted to speak with me.”

  Halvor adjusted his glasses again, squinting to make me out where I stood. “And who is this? Your son, Ásgeir?”

  “No, he is my current employer,” the troll said. “Halvor, meet Colin McCool. Colin, meet Halvor.”

  “Ahem,” Bryn added.

  Ásgeir ignored her. “Colin is a druid from America, in search of one of the Celtic gods, Dian Cécht. We hear he’s been abducted and taken to Jotunheimr by Býleistr.”

  “McCool, McCool,” the giant muttered. “Isn’t he the fellow who ran from Benandonner?”

  “His ancestor, many generations removed,” the troll replied.

  “Well, he seems ready to do battle now,” Halvor said. “And that’s good enough for me. Well met, McCool. And, no, they did not request that I capture you. Although the other landvættir travel with the god Váli, they do the bidding of the huldufólk and Býleistr.”

  “Hah!” I said, smacking my fist in my palm. “I knew those bastards were working together.”

  The giant pulled his glasses off, cleaning them with the hem of his tunic. “They know you come for the Physician. While I have no idea how Býleistr could abduct a god, I do know that he intends to keep you from finding him.”

  “Yeah, he wants revenge,” I said. “The question is, are you going to help him?”

  “I’m Bryn, by the way,” the valkyrie said as she fumed beside me.

  Halvor put his glasses on again. “Oh, I didn’t even see your kertilsveinr there. Does she belong to McCool, or you, Ásgeir?”

  The troll laughed out loud at Halvor’s innocent question, while Bryn’s face turned beet red. “Neither,” I said. “She is a valkyrie.”

  The giant nodded sagely. “Ah. No offense meant, shield-maiden. I am losing my eyesight in my old age.”

  I was afraid to ask what a “kertilsveinr” was, so I kept my mouth shut on that topic. “So, Halvor? Are you helping them or not?”

  “Well, I am duty-bound to defend Eylenda from any foe who seeks to invade her shores.” He stroked his beard for a moment. “But you’re obviously fleeing the island, not invading it. So, I’ll stand here to make sure you don’t turn around, but I’ll not keep you from your destination.”

  “Thank you, Halvor,” Ásgeir said, bowing slightly at the waist.

  “Oh, don’t mention it. I never liked that Greek bastard anyway, nor the huldufólk since they took on modern ways.” He held a hand up to his mouth, speaking in a softer voice as if sharing a secret. “And when all this is over, come visit me at Fjallabak nature reserve. There’s a hot spring close to my cave where we can soak our feet and talk about the old times.”

  “Well, he seemed nice,” I said as we followed the shadow strand Crowley had left for us. “Not at all like the other giants I’ve met here.”

  “Don’t expect all the jötnar to be so kind,” Bryn said. “That one has gone soft with old age.”

  “Halvor was always all bark and no bite—mostly,” Ásgeir said. “His size is why he was chosen to guard the island. By stature alone, he is a deterrent to most invaders.”

  Since I was in my Fomorian form, we made good time to the exit. When we arrived, Crowley and Belladonna were nowhere to be found, but Crowley’s shadow silk strand led straight through the portal. I saw no one on the other side. I’d been fooled before, so I decided to remain in my Fomorian form—just in case.

  Thankfully the portal was giant-sized, so I had no problem making my way through with Bryn and Ásgeir close on my heels. We stepped out into the bottom of a rocky canyon, with walls of gray rock stretching up a hundred feet or more. There was a ledge that followed the canyon wall about thirty feet above us, but the coast was clear from what I could see. However, Belladonna and Crowley were nowhere to be found.

  “Yo, anyone home?” I said, hoping they were hiding nearby.

  Ásgeir tapped my arm. “Druid, look.”

  He pointed at the ground where Crowley’s thread lay. As I watched, the thread writhed in the dirt, twisting in on itself until it spelled a single word in cursive.

  TRAP

  “Aw, shit.”

  I turned to shove Bryn back through the portal, but it had already closed. Now, there was only a flat blank wall of gray rock where the entrance to Yggdrasil had been moments before. Above us, all along the ledge, dozens upon dozens of giants shimmered into view, much the same way that Loki and Click had earlier.

  Fighting was futile, but the Fomorian side of me didn’t care. I reached into my Craneskin Bag to draw Orna with killing on my mind. Before I could draw her out, a voice boomed from overhead.

  “Wouldn’t do that if’n I was you, drood.”

  The speaker’s accent was familiar and unmistakable. When I finally located the source among the sea of jötnar above us, I instantly knew who I faced. He was taller than his son by five feet or more, but the resemblance between the two was uncanny. The blue beady eyes, the blond hair, the underbite—this was Snorri’s dad, Býleistr, or I was a monkey’s uncle.

  He had one of his enormous hands around Belladonna’s neck, dangling her over the cliff’s edge. She’d shifted to protect herself, and she squirmed and twisted in his grip as she fought to get free. Bells scratched at his arm like a cat at a screen door, wrapping her tail around his forearm for leverage, but Býleistr’s grip would not be broken.

  Crowley knelt nearby, tied hand and foot in thick leather straps with two giant spearmen standing ready to run him through. I had no doubt they’d laced his fingers tightly to prevent him from casting any magic, a fat lot of good that would do. Based on the look in his eyes, he was ready to do murder if they actually harmed Bells.

  “Let her go, Býleistr,” I said, my voice echoing through the canyon. “This is between you and me.”

  “Oh, but I beg ta’ differ,” he replied. “Ya’ killed my son in cold blood, and he weren’t doin’ nothin’ but followin’ our ways.”

  “I was acting as justiciar under authority of Queen Maeve—”

  “Lies!” Býleistr roared. Spittle flew out of his mouth, and his face twisted into a mask of rage. He squeezed Belladonna’s neck tighter until she started to turn blue. “You’ll surrender ta’ stand trial afore all of Utgard, or I’ll pinch this shifter’s pretty little head off, like a flower from its stem.”

  “You can’t fight them all, druid,�
�� Ásgeir said in a low voice. “And he will kill her.”

  “The troll speaks true, Colin,” Bryn added. “They will riddle us with spears and smash our heads in with boulders before we ever reach the cleft on which they stand. If you value your friend’s life, you will give yourself over to the jötnar. I will do what I can to see that you get a fair trial.”

  “Listen ta’ the valkyrie an’ the half-breed, boy,” Býleistr said as he pointed a finger at me in warning.

  The Fomorian in me wanted to go apeshit and slay some giants, but my human side suppressed those urges. “Swear you’ll not harm my friends, and that you’ll let them go if I give myself up peacefully.”

  Loki’s brother gave a short nod. “Aye. Surrender, and yer’ companions kin go free, all of them. Ya’ have my word, drood.”

  I slowly withdrew my hand from my Bag, then I raised my hands over my head. “Fine, I surrender to stand trial according to jötnar customs. You can let them go.”

  Býleistr chortled with malice. “An’ I will—after ya’ stand trial and I have justice fer’ me boy’s life.” He gestured to his subordinates while still holding Bells over the ledge. “Seize the valkyrie and the troll, but do ’em no harm. When the drood shifts back to his true form, tie him up an’ toss ’im in the pit.”

  The pit was a smooth-walled hole cut in the limestone floor of the canyon, approximately ten feet in diameter and thirty feet deep. It was obviously designed as a punishment for giants, as it would barely give the average jötunn enough space to lay down. It lacked a privy hole, so the floor was covered with a thick layer of muck. While they’d thrown some moldy straw down, the place absolutely reeked of giant piss and shit.

  Býleistr’s troops had tied me up securely after I shifted back to human size, binding my fingers in fine strands of sinew before dropping me into the pit. I was no fool, though—I’d stealth-shifted rather than turning back into my human form. A good thing, too, as that long drop would’ve broken some bones had I not retained my Fomorian resilience. The giants watched me for a time, so I feigned an injury until they laughed and left me to wallow in jötunn shit and regret.