chapter 5
I have noticed over many centuries of relationships that a corollary to love is worry. They sort of come together as a matched set, and it’s nigh impossible to ditch one without the other. I don’t mean worry in the sense of a constant hand-wringing or an outward show of anxiety but a silent panic, always there but flaring up on occasion until one chokes and cannot see through a sudden veil of tears, panic that what you cherish most will be scarred or lost or taken away forever.
I worry about Granuaile a lot.
That’s not to suggest I lack confidence in her abilities. She can handle most anything. But Laksha Kulasekaran is one of the few things she might not see coming in time to defend herself. I’m sure Granuaile thinks Laksha would never hurt her. I used to think that way about Leif Helgarson too, right up until he betrayed me.
At their cores, Leif and Laksha are the same: They must prey on humans to ensure their continued existence. They are predators, and we mustn’t forget that.
When we shifted to a banana grove near Thanjavur, Oberon passed judgment without much deliberation.
"Wauugh! So this is what meatless air smells like? I don’t like it!"
Oh, come on, it’s not that bad. I thought the air was pretty clean, due to what had obviously been a good shower overnight. The ground was soft and I could see standing water in places below. The morning sun banked off the surfaces and glinted in my eyes.
"You think I’m being a drama hound, don’t you?"
Maybe a little. We have to find Granuaile and Orlaith, and meatless air isn’t registering high on my threat dial. The temple is a couple miles away, so let’s go, and stay close, okay?
"Okay," Oberon said, loping along beside me as I descended from the grove, "but how far do you think it is to the nearest sausage? I ask merely to gauge the depth of my peril."
I imagine you would have to travel many miles.
"Miles to go before—hey! That was in that Tarantino movie, right?"
Which one?
"Death Proof! The deejay was talking to Butterfly, and she said, “And I have promises to keep, and miles to go before I eat.”"
Ha! No, Oberon, it was “miles to go before I sleep,” and the movie was actually quoting a poem by Robert Frost.
"Well, Robert Frost was obviously not writing for hounds. “Miles to go before I eat” is much more edgy."
The Brihadeeswara Temple was built in 1010 by the Chola emperor, and I figured it hadn’t moved very far since then. But when I checked in with the elemental Kaveri, just to let her know I was visiting, she responded with the news that she knew precisely where Granuaile was and she would lead me to her. Going to the temple was no longer necessary.
A tightness in my chest relaxed with the confirmation that Granuaile was still alive. We found them to the south of the city in the rural farming district, walking wearily along a ridge bordering a rice paddy. Oberon and Orlaith said hello to each other and began to play.
“Thank you for coming,” Granuaile said, giving me a quick hug. I think both of us would have shown more emotion had we been alone—well, I know I would have. Laksha was capable of truly frightening magic besides her already-creepy body-snatching, and Granuaile wasn’t protected from it as I was, so myriad worst-possible scenarios had run rampant through my mind, like kobolds in a mine shaft. What I wanted was to squeeze Granuaile close and say how glad I was to see her, but instead I gave a tight nod to Laksha, which she returned, and then replied to Granuaile as if I’d never been worried.
“Of course. You look wiped out. What happened?”
“We’ve been working all night, exorcising these demons in an attempt to lure my father out of hiding. So far it hasn’t worked, and we are exhausted. We decided to take a break and continue after we’re rested.”
“Good plan. Catch me up; I’ll walk with you.” The hounds trotted behind us, making happy growling noises and nipping at each other.
Granuaile recounted their night and explained their exorcism process to me, and I asked for clarification on one point. “Why is water effective again?”
“The rakshasas are of the ether, and their powers are drowned in it.”
Something about this was familiar. “But they have to be submerged for this to work, or would taking a shower be sufficient?”
Granuaile looked to Laksha for help, and the witch supplied the answer.
“The rakshasas are attacking the heart chakra, so they must be submerged, preferably up to the neck.”
“But telling everyone to take a bath wouldn’t solve the problem.”
“No. The rakshasa would merely move to the head until the victim got out of the tub—and that’s more for comfort than necessity. Surrounding it with water cuts off its access to the ether but doesn’t kill it. It is the same as when you are cut off from the earth.”
“Oh, okay,” Granuaile said, nodding her understanding, and I did the same. Those were terms we could understand.
“In other words, the water wasn’t affecting them once they moved to the heads of the victims?” I asked by way of confirmation. “They had access to the ether, and so it was the noise, the smells, the chanting, and the cold iron that drove them out?”
“Precisely,” Laksha said. “But it was a close thing.”
“Right. So that’s not going to be enough when you find her father. Anything that can summon and control the rakshasas down to the method of how they kill their victims is going to require something more than what you’ve managed so far. Is the raksoyuj also a thing of ether?”
“Yes. Even more so. It cannot take its own physical form, like the rakshasas it summons, but rather must possess a body.”
“In theory, then, water magic would harm it?”
“What are you thinking?” Granuaile asked. “Involving Manannan Mac Lir?”
“Indirectly, yes. Well, maybe. Laksha, let us say that I know of a weapon made of ice that will not melt and that holds an edge like steel. It is made of water and bound by water magic. Would such a weapon harm the raksoyuj—say, if applied to the proper chakra?”
The witch’s eyebrows climbed up her forehead. “Such a weapon exists?”
“Yes. Five of them, maybe more.”
“You never told me Manannan had something like that,” Granuaile said.
“He doesn’t. Gaia lets him draw energy from the water, but his magic is still of the earth.” I addressed Laksha. “And I should probably confirm: As far as affecting the raksoyuj goes—and I’m asking because you are more familiar than I am with them—this would be different from getting stabbed with an icicle, right? Or anything that I bound together with the power of the earth? Because I can smoosh ice together into whatever shape I want, and so can any other Druid, but I can’t make it hold an edge and I can’t prevent it from melting. That’s a different kind of juju from mine.”
“Yes, I think you are right,” Laksha said. “If these weapons are truly forged with magic born of water, strikes to the fourth and sixth chakras—the heart and the third eye—should break its hold. It would be forced to leave the host.”
Granuaile raised her hand. “I have a problem with this plan to stab my father in the head and the heart.”
“No, no,” Laksha said, a rare smile blooming on her face. “We are merely severing the ties, fouling the chakra points with water magic so that the raksoyuj cannot hold on. Breaking the skin will be sufficient. You will have to draw blood and he may scar, but he will heal, and he will not be able to be possessed again.”
“Then what happens?” Granuaile asked. “I mean, after the ties are severed?”
“The raksoyuj will be forced to leave your father, and it will try to possess someone else—but I will not allow this. I will fight him in the ether and I will win.”
That was bold, but Granuaile asked what I was thinking.
“How do you know you’ll win?”
“I have been doing this for quite some time now. He has never had to fight out of body, but I have.”
I didn’t think that necessarily guaranteed a win, but I kept my mouth shut. I also tried to conceal my elation over the fact that Laksha was teaching me how to defeat her, should it ever become necessary. She was a creature of the ether too.
Granuaile decided to let Laksha’s assertion pass without comment and asked me, “So where do we get these five ice knives?”
“I doubt you’ll be able to get more than one. You need to go to the Himalayas and ask a yeti.”
Oberon broke off his play with Orlaith to interject, "That sounds like a game show! ASK A YETI! My first question is, “Can you thaw a steak or only freeze it?”"
“You’re being serious?” Granuaile asked. “Because you told me the bigfoot thing was one of your shenanigans.”
“Yes, Sasquatch is dead, if he was ever real to begin with. But yeti have been around for about twelve hundred years now, and they speak Old Irish.”
“What? How is that possible?”
“Not a word of this to anyone else, okay?” I held up a finger. “I need an oath from both of you.”
“Wait,” Granuaile said. “Before you say anything, did you make a similar oath?”
“Fudge. Yes. Yes, I did. But I think he’ll grant me an exception in your case. It shouldn’t take long. Wait here?”
“We will wait in my home,” Laksha said. “We are tired and need to eat.”
"You’d better tell Orlaith there won’t be any meat for breakfast."
“Ask Kaveri to direct you to the house when you get back,” Granuaile said. “And hurry. If I have to go to the Himalayas and back to beat this thing, I want to get started.”
“I’ll hurry,” I promised, and together with Oberon I jogged to the banana grove and shifted planes to the tree nearest to Manannan Mac Lir’s estate in Tír na nóg. We were fortunate enough to catch Manannan as he was walking from his hog pens back to the house. A mild look of concern settled like weights on his expression when we flagged him down.
“Siodhachan. Well met, I hope.”
“Well met, Manannan Mac Lir. I must speak with you in private. Could you shroud us from ears and eyes?”
The mild look of concern deepened into worry, but he spoke the binding that provided us with a small bubble of soundproof air and shook out his Cloak of Mists to hide us from lip-readers. His estate was infested with faeries who lacked discretion at best and were outright spies at worst.
“I come to ask you to grant an exception to my oath. I need to tell Granuaile the true story of the yeti.” He listened in silence as I explained why Granuaile needed a yeti ice knife, and he gave me permission to tell her and Laksha, provided they took the same oath of secrecy.
“You’re going to need something. Come with me.” He led us back behind his hog pens, where there was a butcher shop, and on the way told me the quickest way to get to the yeti. He wrapped up a few pounds of the miraculous bacon of youth in brown paper and handed it to me. “They’ll be expecting that.” He gave Oberon a ham bone with plenty of meat on it and another for Orlaith. My hound could barely contain his excitement.
"Oh, she’s going to be so surprised! No soy burgers for her, no way!"
When we shifted back to India after saying our farewells, I listened to my paranoia and paused by the tree, waiting to see if anyone had followed us. A flying pixie with yellow wings shifted in after a minute and flew right into my chest. She rebounded, and her face had time to register her death before she crumbled to ash, destroyed by my cold iron aura.
“Damn. I wanted to question her first.”
"Works for me. I can give the gift of ham that much sooner. Come on, let’s go!"
I smiled at my hound. All right, off we go. Kaveri directed us to a modest house in the city, with a vegetable garden in the front yard, and I did my best to quash my worries on the jog there. It was a gorgeous morning, and Oberon quite properly observed that it would be a shame not to notice how good we had it right then.
"Look, Atticus, we have food and sun and each other, and soon we will be with pretty girls who like us. I hope you’re paying attention. You shouldn’t be missing this."
You’re right, Oberon, I shouldn’t.
"I think life is like a ham bone if you live it right. You enjoy it and then you bury it when you’re finished. If you don’t enjoy it and you let it go to waste, you still have to bury it, so you might as well savor everything you can."
That’s truth.
Laksha answered the door when I knocked, and she invited us in.
"Will you have Clever Girl tell Orlaith I brought her this food?" He had both ham bones in his mouth, with the meaty parts hanging out to the sides.
Of course. I relayed the message and Orlaith came over, tail wagging, and barked a greeting. She opened her mouth and grabbed on to the one on Oberon’s left. He let it go and she set it down on the floor briefly, then delivered a couple of licks to the side of his muzzle. He was so excited about this that he dropped his bone and barked.
"Atticus, she kissed me! Did you see that? She loves me!"
Yeah, I saw it, buddy, but I’m not sure you can conclude—
"Hail Oberon, Lord of All Meats! I am the sausage in the morning and the bone at night! I am the bringer of beef and the singer of sweet suppertime! Mine is the chicken and the gravy forever, nom nom!"
Oberon, I think your ego is getting the best of you here.
"Don’t hate the Meat Lord, Atticus. Just offer him steak sauce and words of praise."
The two of them lay down side by side on the floor, blocking the door, and began to gnaw away, their tails wagging and slapping against each other in a joyous duel. I left the hounds to their meal and joined Laksha and Granuaile at the round kitchen table. Laksha announced that we were having fruit for breakfast. There were three lit candles in the center of a flat round platter, flickering and offering whiffs of vanilla and spice, and arranged around them were small bowls of sliced melons, bananas, and berries, each with its own set of tiny tongs. A pitcher of cream, presumably representing the fruit of a cow, waited to be poured on top of whatever medley we chose to assemble for ourselves. I went for blackberries and honeydew and thanked Laksha for her hospitality, then had them swear not to repeat the secret origin of the yeti to anyone. That chore completed, I began.
“I’ll try to keep it short, since time is probably a factor here. Granuaile, I think you know that Manannan Mac Lir has had some commerce with the Norse pantheon in the past. You remember that map of the nine realms I showed you, given to him by the álfar?”
She nodded but said nothing, her mouth full of strawberries and cream.
“Good. I bring it up because, about twelve hundred years ago, while I was still roaming the world and tethering it to Tír na nóg, Manannan was going well beyond commerce and was enjoying sexcapades in J?tunheim.”
Granuaile spoke out of the side of her mouth. “He cheated on Fand?”
“He did and continues to do so. And the same holds true for Fand. She had a rather famous dalliance with Cu Chúlainn once.”
She held up a finger while she swallowed, then said, “They have an open marriage, then?”
“Not really. They try to keep their liaisons secret for as long as possible and likewise try to discover what the other one is up to. Both of them are now excellent at hiding things and finding them out.”
“Ah, but Fand never found out about this thing in J?tunheim, right?”
“Right. And Manannan wants to keep it that way.”
“Wait—I’m just catching on to the implications here. Does that mean Manannan Mac Lir did it with a frost giant?”
“It does. Somebody probably said graah.” I shuddered, remembering a horrific tableau I had the misfortune to witness in J?tunheim. “And the giantess in question became pregnant.”
Granuaile froze, a spoonful of blueberries halfway to her mouth. “No way!”
“Way. She had to leave J?tunheim, because the frost giants would kill anything that wasn’t strictly a frost giant. And she couldn’t stay in Tír na nóg, because Fand would eventually find out. So they had the giantess come to term in the Himalayas, far away from the Norse and the Irish, and you can probably guess the rest.”
“I can’t believe this. You’re saying the yeti are essentially Fae?”
“They’re Fae in the sense that they’re magically gifted and represent a hybrid of human and something else, but they’re not vulnerable to iron. And the rest of the Fae don’t know about them. She had quintuplets, and they were born with white fur and pale blue skin. When they grew up, they could do any damn thing they wanted with snow and ice.”
“What happened to her?”
“At first she remained in the Himalayas with the yeti. Manannan visited as often as he could, and he had a trusted faery visit in his stead when he could not. Eventually, however, the faery turned out to be not so trustworthy. Once the yeti were fully grown, the frost giantess wanted out of the Himalayas. Returning to J?tunheim was out of the question. But the faery, who had become smitten and was quite eager to please her, pointed out that there were other cold places on the earth. She ran away with the faery to Manitoba, near the northern shores of Lake Winnipeg, using a tether I had made there.”
“How do you know this?”
“They appeared in front of me almost as soon as I had completed it! The faery had shifted her from the Himalayas to the newest of the New World. Since Manannan had been the one to start me on the tethering project in the first place, I reported it to him.”
“Oh, my gods, deity drama! What did he do?”
“He let them go, since they clearly had no plans to speak to Fand and he figured the giantess deserved what happiness she could find. He told me who they were, told me about the yeti, and swore me to the oath of silence. And my guess is that the runaway couple eventually had some Fae spawn of their own up there in the frozen north. Bit scarier than the yeti, though. I’ll give you one guess.”
Her eyes widened. “No—not the wendigo?”
“Aye.”
Granuaile finally remembered that she had at one point been eating, but now she was too excited to continue. She dropped the spoonful of blueberries that she’d been holding in midair back into her bowl. “Holy shit. What happened to the yeti?”
“They’re still there. Manannan has kept them eternally youthful with periodic shipments of his fine swine products—and they’re due for another. You’re going to deliver this bacon to them and get their attention that way.”
“There are still five of them?”
“Yes. Aside from the fact that they’re siblings and wouldn’t want to go there, they can’t reproduce. They’re like mules. Luckily, their low numbers are keeping them safe. Scientists all say there can’t possibly be a reproducing population of yeti in the Himalayas, and of course they’re right about that. But the yeti are still there.”
“So the frost giants don’t know about them, and the Fae don’t know either.”
“Both groups may have heard of the yeti by now, but if so, they probably think they’re just legends and don’t know their origins.”
“And the yeti speak Old Irish.”
“Manannan taught them. Their mother taught them Old Norse when they were young, but they’ve had only Manannan to speak to since then, and it’s been a long time.”
Granuaile put her hands up to the sides of her head and then popped them away as she made an explosive puffing sound. “Pfff! Mind. Blown.” She leaned forward and crossed her arms in front of her, flat on the table. “Have you been keeping other secrets like this?”
“Yes. But I can’t tell you or they won’t be secret.”
“Sharing is caring.”
“Unlike most American voters, I have built up an immunity to rhyming slogans.”
She smiled. “Fine. We will table the secrets for later. What I want to know is why you aren’t coming with me. Because I’ve inferred from your speech that you aren’t.”
“Oh. Well, remember the old man from the island?”
“Yeah, I meant to ask. Is he all right?”
“Yes. He’s a Druid and he can fix my tattoos.”
“A Druid, eh? The plot thickens. You didn’t want me to meet him earlier.”
“I still don’t. He’d pick a fight with you inside five minutes.”
“How do you know that?”
I’d kept the secret of his identity from her up till then but figured there was no use keeping it any longer. “Because he’s my archdruid.”
“Seriously?”
“Yep. Ornery through and through. His name’s Owen Kennedy. I promise I’ll introduce you later. The thing is, I feel responsible for him right now and I also feel kind of disabled without the ability to shape-shift. I thought that he could fix me up, since you’re busy now, and I could also maybe smooth away some of his rough edges before you two meet. Would that be okay?”
“Oh. Well.” Granuaile leaned back and considered. “I suppose it would, because I’m not sure what else you could do that I’m not already doing. But I don’t know how to find the yeti.”
“Take the bacon. They’ll smell it. And look around in the magical spectrum. They use snow and ice to hide everything, including themselves, but it’s magic and you’ll spot it. Make sure to tell ’em their dad says hi.” I gave her the directions Manannan had given me and wished her luck. “I’ll check back at the cabin when I’ve finished.”
“Okay, I’ll leave messages there if I need to.”
We turned as one to look at Laksha, who had remained silent through all this—and who also hadn’t eaten anything. “I will do what good I can while you are gone and try to minimize the damage,” she said. “And perhaps I will find your father. I will give you a key to this house and leave notes here for you when I am out.”
Granuaile said, “Thanks.” Her eyes flicked down and noticed the blank space in front of Laksha. “You’re not eating because this is part of summoning Durga?”
“Yes. Austerities, ritual, and prayer will help to draw her attention.”
We had little else to say once the decision was made. Oberon was reluctant to leave Orlaith and I didn’t want to leave Granuaile, but in truth I was much relieved regarding Laksha’s current intentions, and Owen needed a shepherd at the moment. Even though I hadn’t yet been gone two hours, it was still more than the quick trip I’d promised him, and I hoped I hadn’t already drained my well of goodwill with Sam and Ty by saddling them with a man who put the tank in cantankerous.
Granuaile and I parted, both worried but hopeful about the challenges ahead of us. My concerns about my archdruid proved to be well founded, unfortunately. Once I’d shifted from early-morning Thanjavur to early-evening Flagstaff, I heard growls and bellows and cheers a bit deeper in the woods north of Sam Obrist’s house. Casting night vision and following the noise, I discovered a ring of men and women in a circle, egging on two combatants in the middle. One was a werewolf, and the other was Owen in his bear form. Both of them were bloody.
Sam Obrist was in the ring of onlookers, and my guess was that this was the entirety of the Flagstaff Pack. I didn’t know what Owen had done or said to incur their wrath, but I couldn’t let him get torn apart without an explanation.
Oberon, we need to break this up. We can’t let the bear get killed.
"I’m on the bear’s side? That’s a new one."
The bear is Owen. Just bust in there with me and look threatening; get the werewolf to back off but try not to engage it seriously.
I began to run toward the circle, drawing power to leap over it and into the center. "I don’t get what you mean. You want me to engage a werewolf in combat jokingly?"
No, just—don’t engage, but growl a lot.
"Okay."
Using some of the energy I’d drawn, I vaulted over the crowd and into the ring, where the bear was circling to keep the werewolf in front of him and the werewolf was trying to flank and leap up onto the bear’s back. A few onlookers tried to shout warnings, but they weren’t in time. I delivered a kick to the rear left leg of the werewolf, hard enough to wipe him out and spin him out of range of the bear’s claws.
“That’s it! It’s over!” I yelled, and I got defiant roars from all directions, including that of the bear. Oberon nosed his way through the crowd and planted himself by my side, snarling at the werewolf as he rose to his feet and showed us his teeth.
“Damn it! Ty, stop!” Sam shouted, but the werewolf—presumably Sam’s husband, Ty—either didn’t hear or pretended not to. He gathered himself to leap at me, and that was way more threat than Oberon was going to allow. Oberon threw himself at the wolf as he jumped at me, and when they collided and fell to the ground, I dog-piled onto the werewolf’s back, wrapped my hands underneath his front legs, and gave him a hug.
Hugs are not normally part of my martial arts. However, in this case, it brought my silver charms into contact with the back of the werewolf’s neck, and the pain of that caused him to howl and rear back from Oberon, which was precisely what I wanted. Locking my arms across his chest, I stood up, yanking the werewolf away from Oberon and telling my hound to Let him go, then forced the struggling creature to turn and face his alpha. I released him, giving him a less-than-gentle shove in the proper direction. The general tenor of the noise around me changed from jeers to angry shouting when they smelled the silver burn and saw the mark on the werewolf’s neck fur. Everybody’s back was up and they were making a lot of noise, but Sam restrained Ty from charging again, and that meant the fight was over. I tasted victory for maybe two seconds, long enough to ask Oberon if he was okay and for him to answer in the affirmative. And then my archdruid informed me that I had cocked everything up again.
“Is this how it’s going to be from now on, Siodhachan?” he said in Old Irish, his tone querulous in my ear. He’d shape-shifted back to human and now stood with his hands on his hips, naked and bleeding from multiple scratches. “Every time I try to have a little fun, you’re going to come along and ruin it?”
“Fun?” I said. I pointed at the werewolf. “He was trying to kill you.”
“No, he wasn’t. We were having a friendly match until you showed up. We can both take a lot of punishment and heal from it, and we agreed to leave throats, spines, and balls alone. And we did all that without you here to interpret for me. I think ye owe us all an apology.”
I could have pointed out that my intention was to save his crotchety ass and there had been hardly any time to ask politely if he was in true danger, and erring on the side of his safety was actually a much wiser course of action at that particular crisis point, but there was no way that I would come out looking good by pursuing that argument. My best option was to admit that I had screwed up and beg forgiveness.
“I’m sorry,” I said to Sam. “I misunderstood what was going on here and thought it was a death match instead of a friendly fight.”
“We’re a pack, Atticus,” Sam replied. “If it had been a death match, he would have been facing the entire pack, not just one of us.”
“Fair enough. Again, I apologize. I acted without knowing what was going on. If there’s a way I can make it up to you, I will.”
The forest grew quiet as everyone looked to Sam to see how he would respond. “Apology accepted.” The tension visibly leaked out of the pack’s shoulders at those words. “You didn’t break the skin, and Ty will heal. Let Owen come back and play with us some other time and we’ll call it square. It’s hard to find good sparring partners.”
“Easy enough. He’s free to do as he wishes, honestly. I just have to teach him the language and he’ll be fine. Do you have everything you need to send to Hal Hauk?”
“Yes, it’s already done, already sent. You can pick up his ID in a week to ten days.”
“Thank you. We’ll be going, then.” I turned to Owen and asked him where his clothes were.
“They’re around here somewhere, waiting for you to apologize.”
“I did.”
“Not to me.”
No one could exasperate me like he could. Drawing on my dwindling reserves of patience, I repeated my apology to him in Old Irish and said it was time to leave. He dawdled and delayed, but eventually he was dressed, his scratches were closed up, and we skipped around the world to the French Pyrenees, where he would restore my ability to shape-shift.