Hammered

Chapter 9

I yawned and stretched luxuriously in the morning. I make noises when I stretch, because it feels ten times better than stretching silently. I made my favorite breakfast with a sense of wistful nostalgia, seasoning the kitchen one last time with the smells of cooking. For Oberon, there was a pan full of sausages. I had coffee and orange juice (the kind with pulp in it), toast with orange marmalade, and a fluffy omelet made with cheese and chives, sprinkled with Tabasco. Making a good omelet is like living well: You have to pay attention to the process if you want to enjoy it.

The newspaper was full of headlines shouting about Leif’s territorial defense at the football game. STADIUM SLAUGHTERHOUSE, The Arizona Republic splashed across its front page. Phrases like “total carnage” and “war zone” were bandied about. I noticed that the body count was sixty-three, precisely the number of vampires he’d mentioned last night, so he’d managed to wipe out the Memphis nest without killing a single human.

And the humans had no idea that one man—or, rather, one vampire—had been responsible for it all. There had been a blackout—Leif’s doing, no doubt—and when the lights finally came back on, hours later, there were bodies everywhere. Plus a significant number of sexually harassed fans, some injuries, panic in the restrooms, and a line judge who’d thrown one too many flags and was “accidentally” knocked down by a “disoriented” player. People had exited the stadium using the collective glow of their cell phones, and fantasy football fans shat themselves because Larry Fitzgerald never got a catch, much less a touchdown.

The police suspected it was a gang war. Someone asked Dick Cheney about it and he promptly blamed it on the terrorists. A few of the state’s bigoted politicians pointed fingers at illegal immigrants and human trafficking rings, because in their view everything bad was the fault of someone south of the border. Ugh.

Oberon asked.

“Sure, pal. I don’t see why not. We won’t stay all day though. I’m just packing up my rare books and stocking some random newer ones in there.”

“Well, I have to hide all the rare magic books somewhere safe. And I need to talk to Coyote.”

I smiled fondly at my hound’s weak grasp of time. “I expect he’s fine, Oberon. It’s been only three weeks, after all. And he’s a survivor.”

There was one final chore to attend to before I left my home for good. I slung Fragarach across my back and adjusted the strap because I was wearing a thick leather jacket over my T-shirt. It was too warm for the mild Arizona autumn, but I figured I’d be grateful for it in Siberia and, later, in Asgard. I locked up the house, then plopped down onto the front lawn and methodically removed every single one of the wards protecting my home, every single alarm, and sent my sentry mesquite tree back to quiet sleep. It had saved my skin not long ago against a demon escaped from hell, so I rose and gave it a hug before I left.

Oberon chuffed.

“I’m a tree hugger, no doubt about it,” I said.

When we got to the shop, Oberon sprawled contentedly behind my tea counter and basked in the sun as I served my regulars their Mobili-Tea. I let them know they probably wouldn’t see me around for a while but Rebecca would take care of them in my absence. After they left, there was some dead time in the shop, and I spent it packing my rare books into boxes. Rebecca was to come in later, and I’d prefer her to think that nothing had changed. I doubted she had ever taken a very close look at the books behind glass.

The numerous wards in the shop also had to be dissolved, and I even unmade the binding that prevented people from shoplifting my merchandise and the binding on the trapdoor to my roof.

FedEx dropped off the random rare books Hal had ordered for me, and I called Granuaile to come pick me up. While she loaded the truly rare books into her car, I restocked the shelves with these other works that were all less than two centuries old. There were a few gems in there: a first edition of Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland, an early edition of The Origin of Species, and a signed first edition of Dune.

Rebecca showed up at around half past eleven and I tossed her the keys to the rare bookcase, now guarded by nothing more than a pedestrian lock. “If you get time, you might want to catalog the rare books, organize them however you think best.”

Rebecca’s already large eyes widened further and she nervously fingered the ankh dangling from her neck, one of many religious symbols she wore out of a mixture of indecision and desire for karma points. “Are you sure? I thought that case was off limits.”

“Not anymore. I trust you with the whole shop.” I clapped her on the shoulder as I exited. “May harmony find you.”

I piled into the car with Granuaile and Oberon and directed Granuaile to drive east to the Bush Highway. It’s a winding road favored by training cyclists that follows the Salt River and provides access to Saguaro Lake. We found a place to pull off with a few palo verde trees to serve as landmarks, then carefully hauled the boxes of books one at a time into the desert landscape while Oberon stood sentinel by the car. When we had them all transferred, I sat on the ground lotus style and placed my tattooed right hand on the earth.

“I’m going to make three calls,” I explained to Granuaile. “One is to Coyote, and the other two are to elementals. Elementals are a Druid’s best friend. We couldn’t get much done without them. Gaia takes too long to respond. Even my extremely long life is little more than a half hour of hers, if you see what I mean. The elementals live in the present, though, and they change as the earth does.

“They’re going to protect these books while I’m away. And I’m going to tell them to surrender the books to you if I don’t come back. One of the books is actually written by me. I wrote it originally in the eleventh century, when it was clear that I was the last of the Druids, and I’ve re-copied it periodically to make sure that none of the knowledge is lost. It is the only written copy of Druid lore in existence.”

“But I thought nothing was ever written,” Granuaile said. “Because of the oral tradition.”

“Right, well, circumstances are a bit different. I’m extraordinarily endangered, aren’t I? So this is a long shot sort of fail-safe. It contains all my herblore, all the rituals, and instructions on how to bind yourself to the earth. You’ll have to get someone else to bind you—you can’t tattoo yourself, trust me. I recommend asking Flidais of the Tuatha Dé Danann to help you. Don’t go to Brighid or the Morrigan or you’ll get drawn into their power struggle. What?”

Granuaile was shaking her head. “You’re coming back, sensei. I don’t need to know this.”

“Don’t be silly. There’s a distinct possibility you will need to know. The existence of the universe is living proof that shit happens. Now, pay attention.”

“I can’t even communicate with these elementals, much less with Flidais,” Granuaile protested.

“I’m going to set that up right now. Be patient and I’ll show you.” I sent my consciousness down into the earth, calling the Sonoran Desert elemental first, asking it to please inform Coyote I wished to speak with him. Then I asked it to help me bury and store the valuable knowledge contained in my books.

Talking to elementals is sort of like writing a mental picture book. They don’t use human languages; they speak in images connected with a syntax of emotions. My attempts to render the communication in writing invariably fall short of the true experience, but here is what I sent to Sonora: //Druid spells / Books / Need protection / Aid//

A minute passed by, and then I felt the reply travel up my arm and images formed in my mind: //Sonora comes / Query: Need?//

I formed a picture in my mind of a pit, eight feet deep, with steps leading down into it that would bear our weight. I kept it firmly in my mind’s eye, and slowly, to my right, the pit began to form. Granuaile gasped. To her it must have looked like I was pulling a Yoda, but Sonora was doing all the work. A barrel cactus disappeared into the earth and got reabsorbed; grasses and roots tore away as the pit widened and deepened. It took only a couple of minutes.

“Right, now we schlep the boxes down in there.” That took more than a couple of minutes, but once we were finished I had more talking to do with Sonora, as well as with another elemental—an iron one.

“Now, if I just leave these books in the earth, they won’t do so well. On top of that, someone who’s looking for those books will be able to divine their presence if we don’t shield them somehow.”

“Who would be looking for them?”

“Bad guys. So I’m going to have an iron elemental encase them all in iron.”

“Wicked. Do all the elementals do what you want?”

“Excellent question, and the answer is no. Some are more helpful than others, but in general they’ve all been more accommodating since I’ve been the only Druid around to take care of them.”

“Wait. You take care of them?”

“Sure. Why else would they give us access to their power?”

“But I don’t understand why they’d need your help. They’re beings of super-duper mega-big magical mojo.”

“True. And sometimes they get bound against their will by witches and warlocks seeking to steal their mojo for selfish purposes. When that happens, it’s a Druid’s job to set them free. Happened just a couple months ago, in fact. Three witches bound up the elemental Kaibab, and I was nearby to set it free before they were able to do anything extraordinarily stupid.”

Yep.

“You’re talking about the Kaibab Plateau north of the Grand Canyon?” Granuaile asked, and I nodded confirmation. “What happens if an elemental needs your help in China?”

“I hear about it through the elemental grapevine, then I shift planes to Tír na nÓg and back to earth near the spot where the trouble is.”

“What if you don’t get there in time? I mean, what if an elemental dies?”

“Then you get the Sahara Desert.”

I watched her lips. She almost said, “Bullshit,” but then she collected herself and said, “The Sahara’s been there for millions of years.”

“Aye, but it hasn’t always been as dry as it is now. Used to be quite a bit wetter, able to support a broader base of life. Then about five thousand years ago, a wizard bound the Sahara elemental and absorbed it into himself.”

“How’d he do that?”

“Not well. He went mad trying to contain it and died.”

My apprentice frowned. “Wasn’t the elemental released at that point?”

“Aye, the power was released, but it no longer had a coherent identity as an elemental. It was wild magic, and it was released around the Nile Delta. Shortly thereafter the Egyptian civilization started building pyramids.”

“Are you saying …?”

“No, because I don’t appreciate fallacies of causality. Interesting coincidence, though, don’t you think?”

She nodded. “Did the elementals tell you all of this?”

“Yes. That was three thousand years before my time. They’ll tell you all sorts of secrets if you’re nice to them. And they respond more quickly once they get to know you. This iron elemental I’m calling has been fed lots of faeries over the years. He likes me quite a bit. Calls himself Ferris.”

Granuaile looked at me sharply. “Stop it, sensei.”

“Stop what?”

She huffed and tucked an errant wisp of hair behind her ear, then squinted her skepticism at me. “Its name is Ferris? As in the word ferrous? You can’t expect me to believe an iron elemental is as fond of puns as you are.”

I smiled. “No, you’re right. He allowed me to give him a name, since we’ve worked so much together over the years.” I paused. “I think of him as male, even though elementals have no gender. That’s probably sexist of me.”

“Probably,” Granuaile agreed. “I’ll give you a sensitivity point for noticing, though.”

Oberon said.

“Thanks,” I said to them both, and then I returned my attention to the earth, sending my thoughts down through my tattoos.

//Druid needs Ferris / Book protection / Iron cell//

“He’s done this sort of thing for me before,” I explained. “He knows precisely what to do. Watch.”

Granuaile leaned over to see iron seeping up from the ground and solidifying underneath the boxes. It built up like magnetic iron filings along the sides, slowly hardening into a black wall, and then it closed over the top until all we saw was an iron box without a visible weld or seam.

“Wow,” Granuaile said. “You could get a job building bank vaults.”

“Those books are worth more than anything in a vault. Okay, they’re protected from divination now. What’s next? Have Sonora fill in the pit?”

She glanced at me, recognizing that I was testing her.

“No, I don’t think so,” she replied. “The iron will rust if you don’t protect it from the next rains. Groundwater will get it.”

“Excellent. What should I do?”

“Thank Ferris and call back Sonora to put nonporous rock around the iron, then fill in the pit.”

“You’re right, we should thank Ferris and Sonora both. Sonora will ask us to do something in return for this favor, and if it’s in your power, I think you should do it. You might as well start building goodwill now.”

“Ferris won’t ask for anything?”

“I’ve fed him so many faeries over the years that he feels like he owes me.” I thanked both elementals and asked Sonora to encase the iron in granite and fill in the pit. We were silent as Sonora worked. After my books were secure under the earth, I introduced Granuaile to both elementals.

//New Druid / Unbound / Wishes speech//

Almost immediately, a black iron marble formed on the surface of the soil.

I pointed at it and said, “That’s a little piece of Ferris right there. Pick it up and concentrate on thoughts of welcome and curiosity. Ask if there is anything you can do for him.”

Her mouth fell half open and she glanced at me uncertainly. She still had difficulty believing sometimes that this could happen in an age of science. Before she could pick it up, another marble emerged from the ground. This one was solid turquoise.

“Is that one a piece of Sonora?” she asked.

“Yep. This is how you’ll communicate with them if I don’t come back. Better practice now to get the hang of it. Do Ferris first. He’s used to talking.”

She gingerly picked up the iron marble between thumb and forefinger, holding it as if it were a repulsive insect.

“Close it in your fist, shut your eyes, and say hello in your mind,” I said.

She did as I instructed, and after a couple of seconds she jerked and gave a startled little “Oh!” Wonder chased surprise, which nipped at the heels of shock traveling across her face. Then a smile took over and made itself comfortable.

Oberon asked.

Don’t know, I told him. It’s not a conversation I can listen in on.

Sonora knows you. He calls you Druidfriend, which is the same as giving you a name. He’d just refer to you as a dog otherwise.

You’re not part of his ecosystem and you never feed him faeries. Ferris thinks about faeries the way you think about pork products.

No, there’s only one thing that tastes like bacon—

<—and that’s bacon!>

Right. I’m merely drawing a comparison. Iron eats magic, and faeries are magical creatures born on a magical plane. So when I serve up some faeries to Ferris, it’s the same thing as giving you one of those Bacon Explosion things and chasing it with a nice bacon latte.

Because I can’t. Bacon lattes don’t exist.

Oberon, seriously, I don’t believe there’s any such thing. I was just making a point.

Come on, Oberon, you’re being silly.

The bacon latte?

Oberon, what the fuck? I was about to ask him if he’d heard that on television when Granuaile’s eyes snapped open.

“That was amazing,” she breathed. “It was like … dreaming, these images in my head, except I could control the dream and say what I wanted without using words.”

“That’s a cool way of putting it. What did he say?” I asked.

“He hopes that two Druids will mean twice as many faeries for him.”

I smiled. “That sounds about right. Time to say hello to Sonora. You’ll find him a bit deeper and richer than Ferris. If Ferris is a glass of chocolate milk, Sonora is mousse.”

“Wow. Okay,” Granuaile said. “But I’m going to think of Sonora as female.” She put the iron marble into the pocket of her jeans and picked up the turquoise marble. This time she closed her fist around it confidently and closed her eyes. A small shiver and sharp intake of breath indicated when she’d made contact. She smiled again as she had before.

Right, she’ll be busy talking for a bit, I said to Oberon. Now explain to me how a Double Bacon Five-Cheese Mocha can ever be nonfat.

Yeesh. Your logic should come with a warning label. Where’d you hear that prophecy you spouted?

Oberon’s ears pricked up and he swung his head to the east.

I followed his gaze and saw flashes of a familiar canine form coming toward us through the desert scrub.

Oberon said, his tail wagging. It was indeed. Or one version of him, anyway: This one claimed to represent the Navajo tribe. He trotted nimbly between the teddy bear cholla with his tongue hanging out to one side and yipped a cheerful greeting at us. Before we could answer, he shape-shifted to a Native American man clothed in blue jeans, boots, and a white sleeveless undershirt. His straight black hair fell down his back from underneath a cowboy hat, and he had a tiny smirk on his face.

“Howdy, Mr. Druid,” he said. “You ain’t still mad at me, are ya?” His manner suggested that he really didn’t care if I was mad or not. He was referring to the way he’d tricked me—even threatened me—to secure my aid in attacking a fallen angel from the Fifth Circle of hell. He spoke in a slow, dry rumble tinged with amusement, and I tailored my voice to suit his manner of speech.

“Naw, I’ve mellowed out a good deal in the past few weeks.”

“Figured you would. How’re you, Oberon?” He squatted down on his haunches and beckoned to my hound. Oberon bounded over to him and wagged his tail enthusiastically.

Coyote laughed, able to hear Oberon’s thoughts as clearly as I did. He petted Oberon with both hands, running one hand along his back and massaging his throat with the other. “I’m sorry, Oberon, I didn’t have time to stop without makin’ Mr. Druid wait. Who’s your lady friend?”

“My apprentice,” I explained. “She’s busy talkin’ to Sonora right now. We should prob’ly let ’er have a good gab. Wanna take a short walk?”

“Sure, Mr. Druid, that’d be fine with me.” He rose from his squat and the two of us walked south, where our conversation wouldn’t distract Granuaile. Oberon trailed behind and snuffled happily at the cacti and creosote.

“I’m in need of your special talents,” I told Coyote, and explained to him what the immediate future might hold for me in Asgard.

He chuckled. “I was wonderin’ when you’d turn to sooee-cide,” he said. He turned his head and spat. “Takin’ on the Norse. You’re crazier than a pink-eyed parrot.”

“Well, maybe only crazy like you,” I said. “This deal I have in mind might work out pretty well for both of us.”

“A deal, huh?”

“Think of it as a trade, if you like.”

“A trade?” Coyote’s grin became feral, and a light sparkled in his eyes. He wouldn’t be able to resist now. He’d bargain until he thought he had the better of me, all the while protesting that I was robbing him. After I proposed the deal, he fell down laughing and clutched at his gut, howling while tears streamed from his eyes. But once I could get him to speak again, we negotiated in earnest until we shook hands on it.

“Meetin’ up with you is always interestin’, Mr. Druid,” he said. “I’ll stick around in this area ’til you get back. Unless you don’t come back.” He looked down at Oberon. “An’ next time we meet, I’ll make sure to have a bag o’ those chicken apple sausages you like so much.”

With one final wave, Coyote dissolved back to his canine form and trotted off to the east from whence he came. Oberon and I returned to check on Granuaile, who was rising from the ground and brushing dirt off her knees.

“How’d it go with Sonora?” I asked.

She was glowing with childlike giddiness. “So awesome! She’s given me a big job to do, but I can’t wait, because it needs to be done.”

“What is it?”

“I’m to get rid of all the crayfish in the East Verde River.”

My eyebrows shot up. “You weren’t kidding. That’s a pretty big job.” Crayfish were a nonnative invasive species that were slowly killing off the native fish and frogs in the river by eating their eggs and competing for food. “How are you going to be sure you get them all?”

“Sonora’s going to guide me—She’ll show me where they are and teach me about her ecosystem, how the species and plants are bound together. I can’t wait.” She hopped up and down and clapped three times in glee. “It’s true that the earth is alive. I never knew it could be like this, sensei. Is there like a hierarchy of elementals or something?”

“Yes, there is. Thought you’d catch on. Where would you put Ferris in that hierarchy?”

“Lowest level.”

“That’s right. He’s the avatar of a mineral. Tremendously limited in what he can do, but within his limits he’s supreme. And since iron is so darn handy, it’s good to make friends with iron elementals—but you’re never going to need to call up a beryllium elemental, for example, or a molybdenum one. They’re out there but they’re not hanging by the phone, if you know what I mean. Sonora’s at the next level, and his kind are the kind Druids are supposed to protect. They’re avatars of a regional ecosystem, and they have massive power but they’re also vulnerable to human stupidity. Whenever we draw power from the earth, we’re drawing on them, if you see what I mean.”

“What’s above them?”

“The tectonic plates. They’re literally below the ecosystems, but in terms of hierarchy they’re the next step up. It’s best not to piss them off. You won’t have much contact with them. After that you have Gaia herself.”

“Wow. What’s she like?”

Her smile was infectious, and I found myself smiling back as I said, “Patient. Kind. Much more difficult to talk to. I think it’s good that Sonora has entrusted you with that crayfish business and that he’s so willing to talk with you.”

“She is so willing,” Granuaile said pointedly.

“Okay, she,” I agreed, and shrugged my indifference. “It’ll be good for you to be out of town for a while. You should take Oberon with you; he’ll love hanging out by the river instead of being trapped with Mrs. MacDonagh’s fearless cats again.”

I want you to keep an eye out, okay? Patrol while she’s busy, warn her when anyone approaches. She hasn’t developed a proper sense of paranoia yet.

“That would be fine, except he’ll be kind of squished in my tiny little car,” Granuaile said.

“Right. Let’s head back into town and stop by the bank. I’ll get you some cash; you can use it to rent a truck, and you can go get some camping gear and some giant paint buckets to put the crayfish in.”

“Sweet!” Granuaile said, and the three of us piled back into her small Chevy.

Oberon said.

Don’t go running off and making her worry. We’ll go hunting together when I get back, just you and me.

I’m thinking the San Juan Mountains in Colorado.

“After you’re finished,” I told Granuaile as we cruised back to town on the Bush Highway, “just bring Oberon over to the widow’s place. I’ll stop by there this afternoon and let her know that you’ll be coming.”

Granuaile was all bubbles and excitement over her new mission, and it recalled for me my first interaction with an elemental, a bog spirit in Ireland. My sense of wonder had been every bit as profound as Granuaile’s. Her temperament, I reflected, was well suited to a Druid’s life. She remained giddy until it was time to part ways at a Mill Avenue ATM. I was going to go grab some lunch, and she was going to grab some gear at REI, with Oberon in tow, then rent a truck.

“You come back, sensei,” she said, poking me in the chest to make sure I was getting the message. “You can’t leave me dangling like this now that you’ve started. It would be like buying a kid an action figure and then telling him he can’t take it out of the package.” Her green eyes met mine and I found myself tongue-tied, even though I knew I was supposed to say something reassuring. A few awkward heartbeats passed, and then she gave up on waiting for me to speak. She grabbed my shirt front and pulled me toward her, delivering a quick buss on the cheek. Her scent lingered as she withdrew, a dark-wine-and-floral shampoo with a top note of strawberry lip gloss. She turned her back immediately and strode to her car, shoulders hunched up high as if she expected me to scold her for something. She opened the back door for Oberon to jump in and then circled around to the driver’s side, climbing into the car without looking at me.

I squatted down and chuckled, hugging Oberon around the neck. Be good, I told him. I’ll be back as soon as I can, and then we’ll go find a new place to live.

Oberon said.