Hunted (The Iron Druid Chronicles, Book Six) (15 page)

“These are the words of Jupiter and Zeus.”

“Nice, very nice. Well, you might have noticed that I don’t respond well to commands. Are you willing to talk a little bit this time, or are you here to deliver another ultimatum and then unleash some more Olympians on me when I refuse?”

Mercury seethed but confined himself to saying, “You wish to speak, mortal? Then speak.”

“Thanks! Last time you didn’t seem very anxious to listen. Kind of makes me wonder how much you care about Bacchus, actually, since if you kill us you’ll never get him back. Did I make that plain earlier? No one knows where he is but us. You can’t ask the Tuatha Dé Danann. They have no clue.”

“So he is a hostage.”

“No, he’s not a hostage. I don’t want any ransom in a bag of unmarked bills. I’m perfectly fine with leaving him where he is. And if you are fine with it too, which it seems you are since you’ve been busy trying to kill us, then we’re actually on the same team here and I’m not sure why you’re so hostile. Could you clarify that for
us? Do you want Bacchus back or are you willing to write him off?”

The messenger gods exchanged glances and then Mercury sighed. “We want him back.”

“Awesome. Thank you for admitting it. I will freely admit to you that I would like to be left alone. In fact, the entire reason we’re here is because you won’t leave me alone. I didn’t pick this fight, okay? Bacchus and Faunus did. So the solution here is very simple, and I would appreciate it if you would relay my proposal to Jupiter and Zeus.”

Mercury nodded and Hermes blinked to indicate that they were listening.

“There’s only one rule: Don’t fuck with the Druids. The best part about that rule is that it requires no effort to follow. Easiest rule in the world. You can have the huntresses’ heads back when you agree you won’t allow them to hunt us or pursue any kind of vengeance on us through surrogates or associates of any kind. And the same goes for Bacchus. I’ll happily give him back to you once I’m assured he won’t be allowed to pursue his inclination to destroy us. And just to be safe, that goes for all the Olympians. If Jupiter and Zeus give me their word that members of their pantheon won’t keep attacking us, then we won’t have to keep defending ourselves and humiliating your dumb asses.” I thrust Diana’s head out to him by way of punctuation. “Message ends.”

Mercury sneered at first but then grew uncertain when he took a closer look at Diana. “We will deliver you even so.” He and Hermes launched themselves into the sky and disappeared into the sun.

“That was less than diplomatic,” Granuaile commented, using Old Irish.

I responded in kind. “I know, but there’s nothing to be gained here with a soft shoe. The sky gods aren’t being serious yet. They’re sending minions to make demands
of us. We’re going to have to up the stakes to make them pay attention.”

“How do we up the stakes?”

“We’ll figure it out in England. The Morrigan saw a way out for us there, but damn if I know what it is. Until we’re there, all we can do is buy time, and I just bought us a bit more. Let’s keep running.”

“Yes, let’s.” Granuaile’s eyes dropped down from my face and landed on Diana’s head, whereupon she gasped. “Atticus, wait. Is Diana, you know, still with us?”

“What?” I peered at Diana and saw that she was slack-jawed. She’d never struck me as the mouth-breathing type, and even if she was, there was no way she could breathe at the moment. Turning my body so that my back was to Granuaile—and therefore to Artemis—I untucked the head from my arm and held it in both hands.

Diana’s eyes were closed and her mouth hung open. I lightly slapped one cheek to see if I got a reaction, even reflexive. Nothing. I shut her jaw and it fell back open.

Being careful to continue speaking Old Irish, I asked over my shoulder, “How is your goddess doing?”

“She’s fine. I mean, she looks more than a little angry, but she’s alive. Yours?”

“Well, we may have a problem.” I cast magical sight and saw that the white glow of Diana’s power was gone. So was her entire aura. She appeared to be truly dead. “Hold up your head for me?” I asked. I craned my neck around and saw that Artemis still shone with energy. “Okay, thanks.”

Diana had none of that anymore, and it dawned on me that my cold iron aura must have slowly snuffed out the magic that was keeping her alive. It hadn’t been quick, like the nearly instant disintegration of faeries when they touched me, but a gradual process that required prolonged contact. The question that worried me was whether she was forever done or if she would be
able to begin anew at Olympus, an idea of virtue and ambrosia made flesh. Had I unwittingly turned her mortal, in other words, or was she only
mostly
dead?

The longer I lingered there the greater chance that a divine observer would figure out what happened—if they didn’t know already. Thinking back to his reaction before he flew away, Mercury might have figured it out. I hoped not. It would be best if the Olympians didn’t know I could do this.

Tucking her head back under my arm as if nothing had changed, I said, “Let’s go, but you run a bit ahead. I don’t want Artemis to see what happened.”

Granuaile resumed running but called over her shoulder, “Is she toast?”

“Tough to say. I think we’ll get some kind of reaction from Olympus soon. If they come for Artemis, bust her head before you let them have it.”

“Ugh. Seems wrong somehow.”

“You mean now that she’s helpless? It’s not murder if you can’t kill her. It’s more like redistributing her consciousness. Only other gods can kill them.”

“Unless you just did it.”

“Right. Aside from cutting off her head, though, I didn’t really mean to kill her.”

Granuaile laughed. “You know I’m on your side, but to an objective listener, that sounds like a less than convincing argument.”

“I know. We’ll have to wait and see.”

As we crossed into Belgium and wove a sinuous path through farms and villages and around cities, occasionally earning a honk from a driver who spotted us along a rural road, storm clouds gathered overhead, darkening the Belgian morning commute.

“Hmm. I think Zeus and Jupiter have received our message. We can expect their reply shortly.”

“What do you think they’ll say?”

“I don’t think they’ll say anything.”

“Then how is it a reply?”

Two thunderbolts lanced down from the clouds above and struck us. Our fulgurite talismans provided protection, but the sentiment was unmistakable.

“That’s their reply,” I said, and it was nothing more than I expected. But what followed was completely unexpected.

Oberon said, running behind us, but it wasn’t in time to prevent Hermes and Mercury from swooping in behind us and batting the heads out of our arms with their caduceus … es? Caducei? Who has ever had to deal with more than one caduceus before?

Neither head popped up helpfully and allowed the messenger gods to scoop them up on the fly. They dropped at our feet, merely dislodged, and tumbled along as we slowed to pick them back up. We couldn’t let Hermes and Mercury escape with the heads intact; for one thing, they’d find out for sure what had happened to Diana. For another, they’d be able to put Artemis back together fairly quickly and then she’d be only an hour or so behind us. I was already carrying Fragarach in my right hand, so it was a simple matter to shuck it out of its scabbard and halve Diana’s head before Mercury could circle around to pick it up. It was not so simple for Granuaile, however, to take care of Artemis. Hermes was a bit quicker on his second pass—or else the head had rolled a bit farther from her feet—and it was all Granuaile could do to fight him off with her staff and prevent him from picking it up. She was probably thirty yards ahead, and if I went to help we’d have Mercury trying to get involved too. I had to keep my eyes on him or else he would doubtless take advantage when my back was turned. His cursing in Latin certainly indicated he’d like nothing more.

Oberon, wanna play fetch?

he said, understanding precisely what I meant. While Granuaile and I kept the flyboys at bay, he scampered over and scooped up Artemis in his jaws, grasping her ponytail like a tug toy and letting her head dangle off to the left side of his snout. Hermes shouted when he saw that and I stole a quick glance to see what had happened.

Good
, I said, returning my eyes to Mercury,
now bring her over here and drop her at my feet
.

Both Hermes and Mercury tried to intercept Oberon by flying over us, but we backpedaled and Oberon dodged the one pass they had at him. He dropped Artemis at my feet, and I ended it with a wet chunky sound. The Olympians roared in outrage.

“Oh, stop,” I said. “They’ll be fine again before the day is through and you know it. If Zeus and Jupiter would come talk to me we wouldn’t have to go through this.”

They didn’t answer and neither did they attack. Coming after the heads in an attempt to restore the huntresses was one thing, but striking at us and involving themselves in the hunt would violate the terms Odin had outlined earlier. They floated above us, quaking with the desire to show us what an airstrike truly meant, but we simply set ourselves and waited, saying nothing as the storm clouds boiled overhead. Eventually they flew back south toward Olympus and our tense muscles could relax.

Oberon observed.

There was no rest for us in Belgium. We stopped only once, and it wasn’t for food, which prevented me from investigating a modern mystery: What do people in Belgium call Belgian waffles? Our Waffles, perhaps, or maybe National Breakfast Pastries? It remains for me an inscrutable conundrum. And so it goes for Belgian chocolate and Belgian witbier. I had spent very little time in Belgium since its rise to international fame for delicious foodstuffs. I supposed I would have to use the modern fallback position and Google it.

The reason for our pause was Hugin and Munin, who flew in to give us an update from the all-Odin all-the-time news channel.

Munin pointed at Hugin, indicating the raven with which I was to bond. Odin’s speech filled my head like Oberon’s did, though it was still a bit odd staring at a raven instead of his one-eyed visage.

The Álfar took out thirty dark elves?
Oh. Well, they’re very welcome. I’ll send them some fine Irish whiskey as soon as possible, if you’ll be so kind as to deliver it to them
. Because if someone saves you from a potentially
life-threatening fight, you owe them booze. It’s a rule that transcends time and cultures.

“Shenanigans.”

“Yes, that’s it,” Odin said. “Shenanigans.”

My aquatic form was a sea otter, and Granuaile could shape-shift into a sea lion. While we could swim the channel like that and Oberon could dog paddle, we weren’t going to kick a lot of ass if the Olympian sea gods got involved. And I could see already how they would rationalize what they were doing; if we were eaten by sharks, well, that happened all the time. It wasn’t direct interference in the hunt.

Though I’d already determined it would be unwise, I asked anyway to see what Odin would say:
Can’t we just take the Eurostar train underneath the channel and avoid all that?

He knew very well I wouldn’t do that.
What about Artemis and Diana? Any word on them?

I breathed a private sigh of relief—and not just for the extra time. I was glad Diana hadn’t died a true death,
for if she had, there would have been no possibility of a negotiated peace between us.

Odin added,

Yes, well, I’m sure they found it less so. Listen, Odin, I need a favor if you can manage it. Get word to Manannan Mac Lir of the Tuatha Dé Danann what’s been happening—and Flidais too, I guess. We need some Irish help to get across the channel, because we don’t have anything that can skate us past Poseidon and Neptune, and we’ll probably need Flidais to help us in the UK after that
.

The raven squawked at me, and Odin’s voice said,

I know, and I said it’s a favor
. I sensed that Odin wasn’t opposed to helping me, but I’d failed to throw a sufficient sop to his ego first. Thanks to a meal I once shared with Odin and Frigg, I remembered that the Norse diet in Valhalla was quite restricted and unvarying, and Odin might be tempted with gustatory delights.
In thanks for which, I’ll send you some Irish whiskey too, plus some Girl Scout Cookies
. He could no doubt secure such items on his own if he truly wanted them, but things always taste better when they have the added flavor of contraband.

Done. As long as Manannan shows up and we survive
.

What vampire situation?