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

by M. D. Massey

  But I couldn’t see my opponent, and one-and-a-half acres was a lot of space in which to hide, even for a giant. For that reason alone, I needed more than one scythe to cover all that ground quickly. Not to mention, a single cut might not kill Býleistr, especially if I just nicked him. I had to ensure his destruction the moment I cast the spell, else I might be dead before I spooled up a second casting.

  Not wanting to disturb the fog bank and then give myself away in the process, I created my first scythe well above us, at the level of the highest stands. Seconds later, after repeating the process a dozen times, I’d fashioned a circle of invisible blades that were roughly arranged like teeth on a circular saw blade. I was about to set them spinning when a lightning bolt blasted the ground a few feet from me. My armor protected me from taking a jolt via ground conduction, but the impact nearly caused me to lose concentration and drop the spell.

  Fuck, almost lost it. Focus, Colin-san…

  A few steadying breaths later, I’d regained control of the blades I created, just as the giant crooned hatefully from somewhere close by.

  “Drood, where are ye? Surely ya’ hain’t run away now!”

  Fat chance of that, but Býleistr’s voice sounded nearer to me than I liked. That was a definite problem. If he stood too close to me, I might chop my own self to bits when I released the spell.

  Better finish this up, or else I’m dog meat.

  Working through the complex hand gestures and finger forms for casting Cathbad’s Planetary Maelstrom, I combined them with the patterns required to release Mogh’s Scythe. I wasn’t certain if it would work or not, but the blades seemed to be holding, and they quivered with restrained potential energy in my mind’s eye.

  Time to drop the beat.

  “Hairicín,” I said aloud, knowing that the giant would hear. However, a spell of this magnitude required a forceful recitation of the required trigger word.

  “There ya’ are,” he sneered, as two fireballs hurtled across the field directly at my position.

  Simultaneously, my blades dropped to about six feet above ground level and ten feet away from me in all directions, a distance they’d maintain until I changed their trajectory. I dodged aside as the scythes began spinning, starting slow as I struggled to control them, then faster and faster as I focused on pouring all my will and power into the spell. As the blades split the air, they created a vortex that sent the fog curling away all around me.

  Aw, shit. I hadn’t thought about that.

  “What’s this, then?” Býleistr said, chortling to himself. “Yer gonna kill me with a light breeze?”

  Despite his amusement, the giant clearly caught on, because he sent a fireball right at the center of the area I’d cleared of fog. It was a direct hit, and the majority of the druid armor over my chest was incinerated on impact, staggering me but leaving me mostly unharmed. That pissed the Fomorian side of me off, as I’d been hiding and sneaking around for the better part of the battle—behavior quite unlike a Fomorian god-killer.

  “Enough games, jötunn,” I snarled. “It’s time for you to learn why the Tuath Dé feared our kind.”

  “Find me then, drood!” the giant challenged. “If’n ya’ kin.”

  I gave myself over to my Fomorian side then, allowing it to harness and control the druid spellwork I’d so painstakingly cast. Instantly the simple, uniform rotating formations that I’d commanded the blades to follow turned into a dozen dizzying, intersecting patterns of invisible death. Likewise, the added influence of the Fomorian will on my druid magic hardened and reinforced the scythes, adding an efficacy to the spell I could never have achieved on my own.

  Roaring a battle cry of bloody murder, I sprinted to the center of the arena, almost literally throwing caution to the wind as the blades turned the dueling ground into a killing field. With a thought, the orbital pattern of the scythes became a Gordian knot of decussating lines that covered the entire field. Somewhere behind me, I felt a blade hit something solid and heard a soft groan.

  I spun in place just in time to see Býleistr shimmer into view not fifteen feet behind me. Apparently he’d been trying to sneak up on me and got caught in my spell. Blood spurted from his gut, and he clapped both hands over a wound that bisected him across his umbilicus.

  “Drood, ya’ ch—”

  “Oh, shut up, already,” I said, cutting him off by sending every blade I controlled through his body at once.

  A dozen red lines crisscrossed his body, and blood flew in as many directions, spraying out an array of abstract crimson patterns on the ochre ground. Then, like a nameless extra in a samurai manga, Býleistr collapsed in a bloody pile of guts and body parts to the hard-packed surface of the arena floor. His severed head fell last, cut at an awkward angle that caused it to roll precariously in a wobbly path to my feet.

  I dropped my druid armor and pulled off Gunnarson’s cloak, making sure that I’d be the last thing Býleistr saw. The giant’s eyes fixed on me, blinking once, twice, before finally staring up blankly at the steel-blue sky above. A hush fell over the crowd. Mothers covered their children’s eyes, while others shielded their kids from the monster who’d just slain their king.

  I wanted to say something witty, like, “Oh look, he fell to pieces!” or, “Some folk just can’t keep it together when the chips are down.” But instead, I swept my gaze across the audience, taking in their muted stares and the horrified looks on their faces.

  That’s right, get a good look. I’m the monster to monsters, bitches.

  But I wasn’t done. Flashing the crowd an evil grin, I retrieved Crowley’s jar of shadow goop out of my waistband, then I unscrewed the lid and dumped it all over the giant’s head.

  “That’s for pissing on me, you piece of shit.”

  I’d really just meant it as a final insult. Fact was, I had intended to blind him with it during the fight but never got a chance. To my surprise, the goop hissed and bubbled as it spread over Býleistr’s face. Within seconds, the stuff had eaten every last bit of skin, hair, and flesh from his head, until only a stark white skull and jawbone remained.

  Disgusted and caught off guard, I dropped the jar and backed away a step, readying a spell for safety’s sake. Meanwhile, the black goop sent out a few probes to search for more food. Finding none, it sort of inch-wormed back over to the jar, crawling inside and pulling the top on after itself. The lid screwed itself down tight with a scritching sound, then the jar righted itself and went still.

  Okay, that was fucked up. I am so glad that jar didn’t bust inside my shorts during the fight.

  The crowd gave a collective gasp, then they started jostling and fighting to leave the stadium. That was, all except for the guards and the ealdormen and ealdorwomen, who all stared at me like I was a demon from the seventh circle of hell.

  I locked eyes with Váli, who stood on one of the few boundary blocks that hadn’t been blasted to bits. He smirked and winked at me, and for a moment, I could’ve sworn his eyes flashed from blue to violet. He gave the slightest nod of his head toward the exit, and that’s when I knew it was time to go.

  I gave a disgusted, weary wave to the ealdormen and ealdorwomen who’d served as jurors over the proceedings. “I’ll be at the gate to Yggdrasil, waiting for you to deliver my companions and the Tuath Dé Physician. Be quick about it if you don’t wish to suffer the same fate.”

  23

  It didn’t take long for the jötnar to deliver my people, along with a very confused Dian Cécht. As far as he knew, he had been in Jotunheim at the request of their king, to help with a very difficult delivery of jötunn quintuplets. Býleistr had known better than to create an inter-pantheon incident, so he’d concocted a story that was guaranteed to get the gentle-hearted Physician as far away from me as possible.

  It had been a good plan, for the most part. So long as Býleistr kept us out of Jotunheim, he kept me from healing Finnegas. Failing that, he hatched his Plan B, which was supposed to be a lopsided trial and summary execution
of yours truly. Either way, the old man would die, and he’d have his revenge. Too bad he hadn’t counted on the meddling presence of not just one, but two, trickster gods.

  I still had no idea what Loki had gotten out of the whole fiasco—besides a trip to Vegas, that is. The trickster mysteriously disappeared after all was said and done, and strangely, no one knew were Váli was either. Based on the dirty looks we were getting from Býleistr’s royal guard, I decided it wasn’t worth hanging around to find either of them.

  As for the weregild, I gave the giants the lump of melted gold I’d snagged back in Jerrik’s tomb. From the looks the ealdormen and ealdorwomen gave me, it probably wasn’t enough. But they took it without comment, seemingly eager to see us go.

  When Dian Cécht learned why I’d been trying to locate him, he agreed to portal us back to the Oak in Iceland immediately. When we got back to our campsite by the Druid Oak, Click was already there, cooking up one of his ten-course camp breakfasts. When he noticed our arrival, he set aside what he’d been doing, practically dancing a jig as he walked over to greet me.

  “Holy shite, lad—that was feckin’ amazing!”

  I’d shifted back to human form while I was waiting for the jötnar to deliver everyone, after most of my injuries had healed. Despite taking time to recover, I felt beat up, both emotionally and physically, and more than a little used. I guess that’s why I responded with a bit more of an edge to my voice than I intended.

  “Don’t even start, Click. First off, you might’ve told me what you and Loki were up to from the very beginning. Hell, either one of you could’ve portalled to Jotunheim and asked Dian Cécht to come heal Finnegas, but you didn’t. Instead, you let me wander all over Iceland for months, all the while knowing that the old man was inside the Grove, dying a slow death.”

  Click’s face fell, and his eyes grew sad. “Aw, lad, it’s not that simple—”

  “Sure it is,” I replied with venom in my voice. “I appreciate all you’ve done for me, but for now, I think it’s best if we parted ways.”

  “Boyo, ya’ can’t be serious—”

  “Don’t ‘boyo’ me. Just go, and while you’re at it, take Crowley and Belladonna back to Austin. Shit, now that I think of it, we didn’t even need to get them involved, did we?”

  “Lad—”

  “Click, leave,” I said in a quiet voice that held much more threat of violence than any amount of shouting might convey.

  “Right ya’ are,” he said as his shoulders slumped. “I’ll be here when ya’ have need o’ me.”

  The quasi-god created a portal, revealing downtown Austin on the other side. Being Click, he took a moment to cast a spell that animated the cooking utensils so the food he’d been cooking wouldn’t burn. Avoiding my gaze, he walked through the portal without another word, leaving it open so the others could follow.

  Crowley and I exchanged a look that conveyed more than words could say. We might’ve mixed like oil and water, but we shared a bond due to both our lives having been completely fucked by the fae and the gods. I gave him a single nod of thanks, then he waited by the portal as Bells and I said our goodbyes.

  Thankfully, Belladonna looked none the worse for the wear. The giants had treated her with a bit more respect after Crowley had shown them a bit of his magic—and after Bells had bared her teeth. Nobody really wanted to piss off a shadow mage and a naga—not even the jötnar.

  “That was a little harsh, eh, mago?” she asked, glancing over her shoulder at the portal.

  “I’m sorry you got dragged into this,” I replied.

  “Never a dull moment with you, tonto,” she said, going on her tiptoes to give me a peck on the cheek. “Give those gods hell, and when you’re done, come back and see us in Austin.”

  “I will, Bells.”

  After the two of them had exited through the portal, that only left Bryn and Ásgeir. I started to speak—whether to apologize or thank them, I didn’t know. Regardless, the valkyrie stopped me with an open hand.

  “Don’t bother, druid,” she said, whistling to summon Tordenvejr from where it had been grazing nearby. As she mounted the pegasus, she tossed me a wooden token that had a sword and shield on one side and a flying horse on the other. “Just to make sure you keep your end of the bargain. When you find that bitch Badb, you break that in half, and Tordenvejr and I will come running.”

  I had to chuckle despite my mood. “See you when I see you, Bryn.”

  “Not if I see you first.” She spurred her heels, then horse and rider flew off into the night sky.

  I cleared my throat to get Ásgeir’s attention. He was busy making sure that Click’s makeshift tsukumogami didn’t burn the pancakes. Every time he’d try to snag one, the spatula would smack him on the wrist.

  “Don’t mind me, druid,” he said without looking up from his task. “The job’s not done until I get paid, and so long as I have a full belly, I’m content to tag along and see it through. That is, if you don’t mind my company.”

  “Not at all, Ásgeir. But right now, I have something to attend to.”

  “See to your mentor, Colin,” he replied. “I’ll be waiting here between dusk and dawn when you return.”

  The odd thing about Dian Cécht was that he had silver eyes. Not just silver pupils—his eyes were solid silver, polished to a mirror finish. When we’d first made our introductions back in Jotunheim, he’d apologized for their unsettling appearance, explaining that he’d had to replace them several centuries before. His old eyes had been failing him, so he made himself a new, improved version that allowed him to perform microsurgery without the use of a microscope.

  Magic was weird; god magic, even weirder.

  Another strange thing about Dian Cécht was how he dressed, which was pretty much just like any middle-aged pediatrician you might meet in the States. Button-down blue shirt, red tie, sweater vest, white lab coat, khakis, and brown loafers. Combined with his tall, thin build, his kind face, and his neatly groomed salt and pepper hair, it was almost comical how much effort he put into looking like your typical family physician.

  We didn’t speak much after everyone left. Dian Cécht was all business, requesting to see his patient ASAP, which was fine by me. After I portalled us inside the Oak, the Physician immediately approached Finnegas, proceeding to silently study him where he lay in Saint Germain’s coffin.

  Interestingly, he didn’t ask about the stasis field, so I figured he assumed it was Click’s work. Come to think of it, the two hadn’t even acknowledged each other after we arrived at camp. It might’ve been because of the awkwardness of the situation, but I suspected it was probably because Dian Cécht didn’t care for Click or his use of time magic.

  Finally, after staring at my mentor for at least an hour, the Celtic god of healing spoke.

  “His illness is beyond my ability to heal.”

  I grabbed Dian Cécht by the lapels, lifting him up on his toes. “What do you mean, you won’t heal him?”

  He glanced down at my hands with his creepy silver eyes, gently peeling my fingers from his sweater vest and lab coat. “I didn’t say I wouldn’t; I said I cannot. His injuries were not caused by magic, but by a lack of magic. And that, I simply can’t fix.”

  As the immortal Physician’s words sank in, I realized that he wasn’t being maliciously fickle like a typical Tuath De. He was telling the truth. His tone was almost apologetic, and the fact that he hadn’t used any of his Celtic god magic when I grabbed him only reinforced my hunch. Still, I couldn’t believe it. After all that trouble, all that time, all my efforts, Dian Cécht couldn’t heal Finnegas.

  It was like someone took the air out of my lungs all at once. I slumped bonelessly on a nearby bench, resting my head in my hands. After several long seconds, I looked up at the Celtic god of healing with tears in my eyes.

  “I don’t understand. Can you please explain it to me?”

  His expression softened, as did his voice. “Certainly. Your master has lived a very long
life—unnaturally long, in fact. And while that might not be an issue for a god, or for one who has chosen godhood, it is very problematic for a human.”

  “Hang on,” I said, perking up slightly. “A human can choose to become a god?”

  “In so many words, yes. But, to be honest, the term ‘god’ is relative. A more apt descriptor would be ‘immortal,’ although many immortals are worshipped as gods by mortal men and women.” He glanced at Finnegas where he lay inside my stasis field. “The Seer could’ve taken that path, but he chose instead to remain fully human. Immortality always comes at a terrible cost, and he refused to pay the price.”

  “So, how did he manage to live so long?”

  “He is a remarkable man, the likes of which this world will likely never see again. We were friends, once—did he tell you?” I shook my head. “Of course he didn’t. We did not part on the best of terms.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” I said, meaning it.

  “So am I, child, so am I.” Dian Cécht took a seat next to me on the bench, clasping his hands in his lap. “In any case, Finnegas extended his life via magic to watch over Fionn’s line—your line. But without making the sort of Faustian bargain that grants one immortality, a human can only forestall death for so many centuries. That he lived this long astounds even me, and I’ve lived long enough to learn all there is to know about such magic.”

  I hung my head, thinking of the implications and what it meant for Finnegas. “Is that what the Tuath Dé did? Trade your humanity to become gods?”

  He twiddled his thumbs nervously, a very un-godlike affectation. “My people were forced to do so, to ensure the survival of our race. We were already powerful mages when we encountered the Fomori, but our magic did little to prevent them from making us their subjects. They took our women for wives, and their female warriors even raped some of our men. It was a dark time.”

  I wiped my eyes before looking up at him. “So, you sold your souls to become immortal—a sacrifice that Finnegas wasn’t willing to make.”