Druid apprentice, p.14
Druid Apprentice, page 14
part #9 of Colin McCool Series
Finnegas scowled. “Don’t think this means we’re friends. Personally, I’m hoping the tengu slips and accidentally skewers you during the lesson.”
The Welsh magician nodded enthusiastically. “Aye, me too!”
I addressed the tengu and the godling as I headed for the Druid Oak. “C’mon, you two—the sooner we get this over with, the sooner I can find Fallyn.”
Click tapped a finger on his chin. “Fallyn, fallen, fall in… damn it, I had somethin’ ta’ tell ya’, but it’s slipped my mind.”
“Not the only thing that’s slipped,” Finnegas muttered as we walked away.
Minutes later, we were inside the Druid Grove. I instructed Click to sit quietly on a bench in front of my Keebler cabin, on pain of banishment from the Grove should he do otherwise. Meanwhile, Hideie had dropped his glamour, having no need for subterfuge here in the Grove. Currently, we faced each other across a forty-foot clearing—he with a wooden bokken in hand, and me holding a blunt metal facsimile of Dyrnwyn.
As usual, our first exchange had not gone well for me. My hand stung almost as bad as my pride, and it was all I could do to hang onto the sword while my healing factor dealt with the damage. Hideie shook out his wings, then folded them across his back and nodded to me.
“Attack, Colin-san. And this time, do not hold back.”
I obliged, sprinting across the clearing at vampire speed. When I’d first begun training with the tengu, he’d insisted that I practice fighting him in all my various forms—human, partially-Fomorian, and full-Fomorian. That last one had been a mistake, as I soon lost my temper due to not being able to score a hit on the mountain goblin. Things had escalated from there, and since then, we’d been sticking with my human and stealth-shifted forms.
On closing the distance, I faked a high horizontal cut to my teacher’s eyes. He raised his wooden sword with almost casual disinterest to block the attack. However, my attack had been a feint, and I changed the direction of the cut mid-stroke, turning it into a downward slash at his wrist.
Yet even at this speed, he was able to step back while bringing his blade down and to his left, parrying the cut and following up by sliding his blade down mine. He finished by wrapping up my arms on his weak side and drawing his wooden sword across my throat as the coup de grace.
“Shit! Again,” I said, backing away as soon as he released me.
I loosened my shoulders, drawing attention away from the fact that I’d slightly adjusted my grip. Circling my instructor, I attempted to set up my next attack.
As I moved in, I kept the tip of my sword pointed at the tengu’s eyes to make it that much more difficult to see my blade coming. Choking down on the hilt with my right hand, I slashed at his eyes again, hoping for the same response. Instead, he leaned away, which was fine because it would leave him slightly off balance, helping to set up my next move. At the last moment, I changed the angle of the attack again, seemingly going for the exact same attack on his wrist.
I was clearly about to score a cut on Hideie’s sword arm, but oddly, he made no move to deflect my blade. Instead, his beady raven’s eyes watched with curiosity as I brought the blade around in a tight circle, coming around his guard as I stepped into a deep lunge to perform a one-handed thrust at his face. Hideie pivoted like a salsa dancer, with perfect posture and moving only from the hips down. The tip of my blade passed his face with millimeters to spare. While I was busy missing his eyeball, Hideie glided past me as he landed a hard forehand blow across my ribs.
The tengu stepped away, relaxed but poised with his sword held in a low guard. I cradled my bruised ribs and wounded pride, waiting for my Formorian genetics to handle the injury. Meanwhile, Click looked on with interest.
“Your blade work improves, Colin-san! Had you been the slightest bit faster, I would be wearing an eye patch for the next few days.”
I bowed slightly to acknowledge the compliment, resisting the urge to wince at the twinge of pain that accompanied the movement. Standing upright once more, I held my sword in a neutral guard, blade tip once more pointed at the sword master’s eye.
“Again.”
Two hours of “Grove time” and innumerable bruises later, I bade my fencing instructor farewell. After walking him to the Oak, I gave a formal bow.
“Arigato, Hideie-sensei.”
“Oyakunitatte yokatta, Colin-san. Always a pleasure.”
I walked him to the tree and mentally instructed the Oak to drop him off downtown as he preferred. Like many visitors to Austin, Hideie had grown fond of our city, and he’d recently purchased a high-rise condo off 4th Street. I’d been avoiding the downtown area since the disaster, so I’d yet to visit his place.
In truth, though, he’d yet to invite me over—which was fine, since we had little in common besides swordsmanship. Tengu were basically Japanese fae, and rather aloof by nature. After spending some time with Hideie, I seriously doubted that we’d ever develop a close friendship. A shame, really—I found him to be intriguing, and he’d make for one hell of a backup in a fight.
After the tengu had gone, I sniffed my pits and immediately regretted doing so. It was definitely time for that swim, as I was dog tired and felt like yesterday’s trash. But despite my weariness, there was no way I’d take that nap Finnegas had suggested—not with Fallyn’s peculiar behavior weighing heavily on my mind.
Click popped into view beside me, just as I was stripping out of my sweaty clothes on my way to the pond.
“Gah! Damn it, Click, I told you to stop doing that.”
He frowned as he smacked a fresh pack of cigarettes against his palm, top side first. “Aren’t ya’ the master of this grove? How could ya’ not see me?”
“I’m, uh—still getting used to it.”
I glanced around, looking for a place to change, then I realized who I was dealing with. Click wasn’t exactly the type to respect personal boundaries. He’d probably pop out of nowhere and start talking to me no matter where I hid.
“Hope you don’t mind, but I swim in the buff,” I warned.
“As would any druid,” he replied.
I shrugged and stripped down to nothing, then I dove into the pond. The waters of the Grove were cool and invigorating, and just the thing to sooth sore joints and tired muscles. Recently, I’d discovered that almost any time I spent here was recuperative, but bathing in the waters of the pond and streams was almost as good as taking an hour-long nap.
When I stepped out of the water, I willed the droplets to evaporate and roll off me until I was dry—a feat that was quite a bit easier without clothing. Then, I tromped over to my little tree-cabin to grab a clean pair of jeans while Click busied himself by chatting up a few birds. My curiosity got the best of me, so I tuned in with my druid senses to see if the birds had anything to say. Of course, the conversation turned out to be one-sided, which further solidified my opinion that Click was ninety-nine percent batshit crazy.
A few minutes later, I stepped out of my treehouse, barefoot and shirtless so I could enjoy the soft grass underfoot and the “sunlight” on my skin. Click was deeply engaged in explaining Alhazred’s third axiom of summoning to a hummingbird. Since it was a subject I knew little about, I listened in for a few minutes for fun. But when he started to draw a summoning circle in the dirt, I decided it was time to interrupt before he invited some horror from the Void into my druid grove.
“Ahem.”
“Oh, there ya’ are! I was startin’ ta’ think you’d decided to take a nap after that beating ya’ took. Meant ta’ ask ya’—why’d ya’ let him whip ya’ like that?”
I scratched my head and shrugged. “Because, Click—he’s better than me.”
The mad trickster godling once known as Gwydion shook his head vigorously. “No, he’s not. Not by a long shot, lad.”
I sat on a stump, temporarily amused by Click’s argument and curious to know where he was going with this line of thought. “Okay, I’ll play. If he’s not a better swordsman than me, why is it that I’ve yet to score a hit on him—even after hundreds of hours of sparring?”
Click crossed his arms as his boyish, James Dean-like face split in a broad grin. “Oh, that’s easy. S’because he cheats.”
“Come again?”
“He cheats, and like a damned card counter, ta’ be sure. Mind ya’ now, lad, he doesn’t do it intentionally—I suspect his kind exert their magic by instinct. He’s likely not even aware of his talent, nor of how it facilitates his supernatural expertise at fencing.”
I scratched my nose with a knuckle. “This whole time, he’s been using magic to beat me?”
“O’ course. How d’ya think he was able ta’ beat ya’ so easily?”
“Huh. So, what’s his secret?”
Click tapped his temple with an index finger. “He sees the future. Not far ahead, maybe a moment or two. It doesn’t take much magic ta’ do—just a bit o’ skill—which is why ya’ never noticed him doin’ it. But, it’s enough ta’ allow the birdbrained prick ta’ anticipate yer moves, and then counter ’em almost before they happen.”
“Shit, then I’m never going to beat him,” I said.
“Oh, I would’na say that. He is teaching ya’ ta’ handle a blade like a pro, and that’s the truth. But ye’ll have ta’ learn his trick if ya’ wanna best him.”
“Wait a minute—I can learn how to do that? To anticipate my opponent’s moves?”
“Why, o’course ya’ can. Anyone with enough talent at chronourgy and chronomancy could, if they only had someone ta’ show them.”
I stared at Click expectantly. “And?”
He stared back in confusion, then his eyes lit up. “Oh, ya’ want me ta’ show ya’ now? Sure, why not? But I didn’t come here fer a friendly visit. There’s somethin’ I meant ta’ tell ya’, but I can’t think of what it was fer the life of me. Hmm…”
He tapped a finger on his chin, muttering softly. I waited patiently for what seemed like an eternity while the semi-immortal magician talked nonsense under his breath. I was pretty sure he was talking to himself, and answering back like a damned schizophrenic.
Sheesh. If this is what immortality looks like, I’ll pass.
“Click…”
“Keep yer pants on, I’m gettin’ there.”
“Look, I’d love to hang out, but Fallyn is missing and I—”
The boyish wizard’s head snapped around. “What was that ya’ said?”
“Huh? I said I’d love to just chill out, but—”
“Nah, the next part.”
“—but Fallyn’s missing.”
He snapped his fingers. “That’s it! That’s what I came ta’ warn ya’ about. Ah, damn it—it’s gone again. Somethin’ about falling, fall in…”
Yup, nutty as a fruitcake.
“Click, how about you just show me how Hideie anticipates my attacks?”
He squinted and looked up at the sky. “S’pose I could. But it’ll take centuries fer ya’ ta’ learn ta’ do it consistently. First, ya’ have ta’ learn ta’ detect the flow o’ time…”
14
I skipped the nap, but my dip in the pond seemed to have done the trick. Finnegas was waiting for me when I emerged from the Grove, roughly two minutes after I’d entered.
He scowled. “You didn’t sleep a wink, did you?”
“No, but I feel refreshed just the same. So, what’s the plan?”
The old druid finished off his beer, then wiped his mouth on the rolled-up cuff of his long-sleeved Western shirt. “Been thinking about it since Maureen filled me in. First off, you don’t even know if something has happened to Fallyn. Could be she really did get sick of you and she’s decided to play the field. Or, she just got cold feet. People do that sometimes, you know. Love can be a scary thing.”
“No, it’s not like her. You don’t understand, Finn—Fallyn is a rock. She doesn’t take up with people easily, and she’s not the fickle type. It may seem like I’m overreacting, but I’m fairly certain I’m right.”
Finnegas pulled out his tobacco pouch, filling a folded piece of rolling paper with tobacco as he spoke. “I didn’t say you were overreacting. I simply want you to consider the most likely possibilities before you take the next step.”
“Which is?”
Finnegas expertly rolled the tobacco and paper between his fingers and thumbs until he had a nice, thick, tightly-packed cylinder. Then, he licked the paper and sealed his cancer stick. Once he’d lit up, he took a drag and pointed at me with the ciggy between his fingers.
“I think you’re right about the Tuath Dé being involved. Only reason I brought up the other stuff is because I don’t want you to be blindsided if we’re wrong.” He took another puff and spat a fleck of tobacco as he exhaled a cloud of smoke. “Something also tells me that Samson was deliberately distracted by some manufactured crisis, just to make it easier for them to charm Fallyn, or whatever they did to her.”
“‘Them’ meaning the fae?”
“If they’re working for the Tuatha who are after you, yes. But I have a feeling we’re dealing with one of their first-stringers, not just some run-of-the-mill fae magician.” He chewed stray piece of tobacco as he considered the situation. “Either way, your first move is to locate Fallyn and make certain she’s not in danger.”
“And if she is?”
“Contact me through Maureen, then Samson, and wait for us to arrive before you confront this Tuath Dé agent. We have no idea who it is or what powers and talents they possess. Consider it a given they’ll be dangerous.”
“If Fallyn’s in immediate danger, I won’t be able to wait.”
He pushed his straw cowboy hat forward to scratch the back of his head. “As I’m well aware. If you must go in with guns blazing, then you’d better send that damned tree to come get me. You cannot face these beings without back-up, especially if we’re dealing with one of the Celtic gods. Is that clear?”
“Crystal,” I said, knowing I was going to end up disobeying him the minute I decided Fallyn was in peril. “But what’s Samson going to do against a god? I know he’s an alpha and all, but still—”
“Samson has connections, the sort that could come in handy should you run afoul of Donn and his mysterious accomplice.”
“You think it really is Donn who’s behind this?”
Finnegas gesticulated with both hands, leaving the cigarette to dangle in his mouth as he spoke. “All clues seem to point to him, don’t they? You saw some sort of underworld scene in the portal that brought the Dullahan here, as well as in the one he escaped through. Tuan seemed to think he’s involved, and that old fart knows more about the Tuath Dé than anyone alive. I can think of more than a few reasons why Donn might want you dead.”
“Besides the fact that I present a threat to the Celtic gods?”
“In addition to that, actually. Fionn always was a spiteful shit, full of himself and too prideful to let a slight go unanswered. He did Donn’s son wrong, even though they’d once been friends and the boy had followed Fionn loyally as a member of his fiann. It stands to reason that, at least in part, Donn could be seeking revenge on you in Fionn’s stead as recompense for that evil act.”
“Why is it that every time someone is after me, it’s because of something Fionn MacCumhaill did to them?”
Finnegas flicked ash from his coffin nail. “Told you before—Fionn was a hero and a jackass, and he made a lot of enemies by way of being both. You just happen to be his only living heir, and whether you like it or not, you’re stuck carrying his mantle. It’s why I trained you, so you may as well accept it and train like hell to deal with the next threat that comes along—because it only gets worse from here.”
“You speak as if from experience.”
He rubbed the back of his neck. “Generations of it. I’ve buried plenty of your ancestors before their time, and I’d not care to repeat the experience with you.” The old man paused to drop his butt to the ground, grinding it out with his heel. “One thing those folks didn’t have, though, was your ríastrad. It gives you a distinct advantage the others never possessed.”
“It’s also brought a lot of unwanted scrutiny. I can’t help but think that if I didn’t have it, I’d never have attracted the attention of the gods.”
“And if dogs had ziplock asses, no one would ever get shit on their shoes. Trust me—if you hadn’t inherited Cú Chulainn’s warp spasm, you’d have been dead by now for sure. Curse it may be, but consider it a blessing that it’s kept you alive this long.”
I nodded, noticing again that Finnegas was looking a little thin. “I’m about to go find Fallyn. Can you hold down the fort while I’m gone?”
“Pfah. I was outsmarting the Celtic gods long before you were a dirty thought in your daddy’s mind. Don’t need you wet-nursing me. Worry about finding your girl instead.”
“Got it. Tell Maureen to keep her phone close.”
After a trip to the Pack clubhouse—and getting yelled at by Mitzy for being a pest—Guerra told me where I could find his alpha. They’d had a break-in at the Pack’s second clubhouse, a ranch that sat on land adjacent to their hunting grounds on the Balcones Canyonlands National Wildlife Refuge. According to Guerra, the evidence suggested that another Pack might be edging in on Samson’s territory. Samson had taken the threat seriously, heading out there with Sledge and a few more ’thropes to investigate.
When I arrived at the ranch house, Sledge, Trina, and a few other ’thropes were picking through an assortment of smashed furniture, clothing, and household goods in the front yard. The place was a disaster area, with broken windows, claw marks on the exterior walls and porch columns, and the strong smell of urine everywhere. I didn’t even have to cast a cantrip or shift to smell it, because the place reeked of wolf urine.
I noticed a lot of clenched jaws and tense shoulders among the ’thropes working through the detritus in the yard, so I made sure to approach slowly and with my eyes down. Trina acknowledged me first, so I walked toward her instead of Sledge. She was sorting clothing into boxes, discarding items that were shredded and torn beyond repair and keeping those items that were still serviceable.
