Trapped (The Iron Druid Chronicles, Book Five) (11 page)

Loki bucked and howled as the venom bore deeper. He thrashed and shouted his defiance. The earth trembled more violently, and this grew and grew until his bonds were finally snapped and he was set free. Blood and tears streamed down his purpling cheeks, and he seized the snake that had tormented him so and burned it alive in his hands, his fire returned to him now that he was unbound. No freedom had ever been bought with so much agony, and he vowed it would be avenged sevenfold, beginning with the Slavic thunder god.

We do not know why he focused on Perun rather than on the vampire who killed Thor; perhaps it was because he was a target of convenience. Loki knew that the entrance to the Slavic plane lay hidden somewhere in the Ural Mountains, and it was to these he flew upon first leaving his cave.

He left Hel behind, without thanks, bereft of approval, and with no signal that she should begin Ragnarok. Unable to follow him, she returned to her realm, sullen and uncertain, to await further word from her father.

“And that is why we must strike now and slay Fenris,” Frigg finished, clearly angling for the non sequitur of the year.

“I beg your pardon?” I said.

“We must demoralize Hel and prevent her from launching an attack on Asgard. Odin has decided that the best way to do that is to slay Fenris.”

“Well, that’s nice, but we can do it a bit later.”

“Now is the perfect time.”

“I disagree. Vehemently.”

Frigg’s eyes clouded, and the ravens above squawked. “You swore you would help us. You swore to render what aid you could in place of a blood price.”

“And render it I shall. But not right now. I have an apprentice to bind to the earth, and until she’s bound, I’m not doing anything else.”

Frigg shifted her eyes to Granuaile and pursed her lips in dislike, realizing that my apprentice was an obstacle to her goals. “Bring her along, then,” she said.

“No way.” I shook my head to emphasize the point. “She isn’t ready yet. After she’s bound she could actually be helpful and may choose, of her own free will, to give us her help. But right now she’s a liability and a potential hostage.”

I flattened my hand and used it as an impromptu shade against the sun as I searched out Odin’s ravens. I called out to them to make sure the mind they represented heard me.

“If my apprentice falls victim to an ‘accident,’ Odin, I won’t help you at all, you hear me? Just be patient a while longer.”

“And if Ragnarok begins while we are being patient?” Frigg asked.

“I’ll take on Jörmungandr myself if it does,” I said. “That’s how confident I am that it won’t happen, okay? I think we have a year left.” At least, I hoped we did.

“Based on what information?”

“I’ll keep that to myself. But nothing is changed here, Frigg. I will keep my word as soon as my apprentice is bound.”

Frigg had nothing nice to say, so she didn’t say anything. She nodded curtly and turned her back on us, floating up the rainbow into the northern sky. The ravens followed her.

I hoped that after this encounter Granuaile would be more willing to talk, but my optimistic expression was
immediately crushed when she shook her head at me and scowled.

“A liability and a hostage, Atticus?” she said. “Really?”

“Well—”

“I put two knives in that bear thing and distracted it while you missed,” she said, “but
I’m
a liability?”

“Look, Granuaile, against human opponents, I’d say you could take just about anyone,” I said. “But Frigg was talking about messing around with the supernatural, and you’re not in that power class yet. You will be soon.”

“So a vulture that turns into a bear-human hybrid isn’t supernatural?”

“Yes, it is, Granuaile, and you handled it superbly, no doubt. But right now you can’t heal yourself if you get wounded. You can’t speed up or cast camouflage or take advantage of any of the spells I regularly use to stay alive. I would very much like to make sure you stay alive, so I hope you’ll forgive my poor choice of words. I wanted Frigg to go away, that’s all.”

She gazed at me, her disbelief every bit as plain as her disapproval, but she had no more desire to wrangle over it. She turned her back on me, leaving me unforgiven, and we trudged westward toward Olympus without speaking a word to each other.

A hot hour’s hike up the valley finally brought us good news from Oberon.

You did? Where?

I looked around me and saw nothing but more trees, stubborn undergrowth, and a few stretches of bare rock
wall ahead, where the mountain fell precipitously into the wash. I could hear it running with winter snowmelt but couldn’t see it yet.

I don’t see you
, I told Oberon.

It is indeed
.

After I gave Granuaile some encouragement that we were near a possible campsite, we shoved our way through the brush to the water’s edge. It was a narrow, rocky stream, easily jumped in some places but running fast.

Can you still see us?
I asked Oberon.

Where do we go from here?

I looked in that direction and saw the place he was talking about—I saw the tree on the ledge, anyway.
Awesome. Any animal tracks or other sign in there?

Is the cave deep enough for us to lie down, tall enough to stand?

The difficulty we faced getting up to the ledge only made it more attractive to me once we finally arrived; there was very little chance we’d be disturbed by any humans in a place like this—few people are trailblazers
anymore, when it’s so much safer and easier to follow the trails already blazed.

We hopped the stream about thirty yards past the tree, then struggled our way up to the ledge. Oberon waited at the mouth of the cave, wagging his tail. The entrance was completely choked with brush, but it was spacious inside.

How did you ever think to look for this?
I asked Oberon.

Oberon, come on
.

Well, this is perfect. We owe that squirrel for leading you here
.

I was thinking he’d get all the credit and you’d get all the sausage
.

“We’re going to camp here, then?” Granuaile asked, peering into the cave and breaking the silence.

“Maybe,” I said. “Let me scope this out first.” Using the magic stored in my bear charm, I triggered my faerie specs and looked for any indication that there was a magical booby trap here or an alarm that would go off if I drew power from the earth. This cave could be the favorite spot of a cyclops or a nymph or something spookier than an old monster like Agrios. It took a while to check thoroughly; any magic performed by the Greeks
wouldn’t look like the Celtic bindings of my own work. I found nothing. The ceiling of the cave wasn’t blackened by the smoke of ancient fires, which corroborated my growing belief that we were the first humans to set eyes on this cave in centuries—perhaps the first humans ever.

“It looks good,” I said, shrugging off the straps of my pack. “This might work out perfectly.”

“Okay,” Granuaile said, extricating herself from her pack and setting it down with a relieved sigh.

“Oberon, I’ll need you to scout all possible approaches to the cave. We can see pretty well down below, but we need to know what’s behind us. Would you mind?”

“Don’t hunt yet. Scout all you want, but let’s just establish what’s normal for the area so we can spot any intruders later.”

“Agreed.”

Oberon turned and disappeared with a swish of his tail through the brush. Granuaile began to unpack in brooding silence.

Backpacking is different when you can cast night vision. Items like flashlights and lamps and oil are unnecessary. We had plenty of food—mostly soup mixes and jerky and dried fruit. It was a nutritionally deficient diet, but it was only for a few months, with resupply available at a tolerable distance in Litochoro. Water and wood for fuel were plentiful. The large pine tree would help diffuse the smoke from our cook fires.

Granuaile was yanking goodies out of her pack with increasing force and tossing, then throwing, them down on the ground. She was working herself up for something; the whistle on the old pressure cooker was about to go off.

“Fire away whenever you’re ready,” I said quietly.

She did not appear to hear. She still had a few more items to yank out and slam down, and I approved. Violent unpacking should never be interrupted or unfinished.

“Those weren’t gods!” she finally exploded.

“I beg your pardon?”

“I mean the Tuatha Dé Danann. Frigg was fine. But I expected something a bit nobler from the Irish, you know? Not a festival of pettiness and gamesmanship and freezing people in time, staring at them morbidly before they die. Why should I pray to them?”

“That’s an excellent question. You don’t have to.”

Her expression, full of challenge, morphed into confusion. “I don’t?”

“No, of course not.”

“I thought all the Druids worshipped the Tuatha Dé Danann.”

“They do.” I smiled wryly. “But that’s because I’m the only Druid right now.”

“No, I meant … in history. When there were more of you around.”

“It varied a bit. The Druids on the continent tended to like Cernunnos, for example, more than those of us who came from Ireland. The Wild Hunt was bigger on the mainland too. There was no central doctrine for all the Celts.”

“So I can worship who I want? Or not at all?”

“Of course. Gaia doesn’t give a damn who you worship; when the Tuatha Dé Danann became the first Druids, you can bet they didn’t worship themselves. You’re going to be bound to the earth, Granuaile, not to a religion. You can dress like a pirate on Fridays and worship the Flying Spaghetti Monster if you want. Gaia won’t care as long as you protect her.”

“Oh.” Granuaile settled back on her haunches but
then gave that up and carefully arranged her legs in the lotus position. She rested her hands lightly on her knees, kept her back straight, and fixed her eyes on mine. I recognized the posture; she was about to argue with me.

“Please explain why you continue to worship the Tuatha Dé Danann when you have no need to do so and you are clearly aware they are flawed beings.”

I settled myself so that my posture mirrored hers before answering.

“Your question assumes that gods must necessarily be perfect. That is a prejudice of monotheism. People of pagan faiths are not upset by gods that reflect human foibles. In fact, it’s rather comforting.”

“I grant you the prejudice, but the question remains. If you are not required to worship them—if you retain all magical powers regardless of your faith or lack thereof—why do you persist?”

“I’m in it for the afterlife, same as anyone else.”

She frowned. “Are you throwing some sort of pagan Pascal’s Wager at me?”

“Catch!”

“Thpppt.”

“Don’t be so dismissive. Where is the downside to spending eternity in Mag Mell, or even in Tír na nÓg? Both are beautiful places.”

“So are most versions of paradise.”

“Hence the reason I encourage you to believe what you wish. The heaven of the Pastafarians is supposed to have beer volcanoes, which sounds like a fantastic idea to me. Imagine eruptions of a mellow chocolaty stout. There might be all-you-can-eat hot wings.”

Granuaile’s tone turned accusatory. “You’ve been training me in the rituals of your faith for twelve years and allowing me to believe that worshipping the Tuatha Dé Danann was bound up with being a Druid.”

“For me, it is. My own prejudice. I apologize for the omission.”

“They were once merely Druids, you say. The Tuatha Dé Danann.”