Scourged

  <I’ve come to ask ye to stop on behalf of the Amazon elemental, which is one of the elementals that supports you. Stop this slaughter and let me and the other Druids protect and improve the land. Stop and return to being the nurturing mother you are.>

  The great head with colonies of army ants for eyes turns from me and looks back across the river. Her posture slumps, and she returns her gaze to me and pivots in my direction, placing her hands on her wide hips, everything still a boil of plants and chattering, squawking animals.

  <You will protect me? Protect this land?>

  <I will. And like I said, I have two apprentices who will most likely spend much of their time in this region when they’re ready.>

  <Then help me, Druid. Be faithful to your word. The fire is to the north, burning out the heart of me.>

  <Will you stop killing the humans in the city?>

  <It is done. I return to myself.> Her massive form contracts briefly and then the birds all leave it in an explosion of feathers. The monkeys climb down the sapling skeleton or leap into the tops of neighboring trees. Insects scurry down the boles or fly away. The sloth I’d bound me mind to slowly crawls off the ankle, rapidly outpaced by all the other animals returning to the forest. As the animals disperse, I can see them more clearly as individuals, and I’m overwhelmed by the variety of them. I see a capybara, an anteater, some giant fecking spiders that look like they could pull out me teeth with their chelicerae, and a procession of mantises intent on finding a quiet spot to mate and then snack on some heads. Looking closer, I realize quite a few of the animals are suddenly in a reproductive mood. I’m standing in the midst of an incipient orgy. Pachamama is reaffirming her commitment to life. A guilty reaction, perhaps, to what she had just done.

  I don’t think she’d ever dreamed of turning violent. She’d simply been pushed to believe she had no other choice, and when I pointed out that she still had one, she was only too glad to return to peace. She is beautiful and I tell her so. The sloth responds instead.

  <Oh, hey. Thanks, man. I get people saying I’m cute sometimes, or slower than a snail hitching a ride on a tortoise, but never beautiful.>

  <I was talking to Pachamama.>

  <Oh! She’s gone. Sorry.>

  Even as she speaks, the skeleton of saplings falls in a controlled pattern to the forest floor.

  <It’s all right. You are beautiful too. Thanks for being our relay.>

  <No problem,> she says, then amends that with a mental sigh. <Except for getting back to the tree I was munching on. That’s going to take all day.>

  <Is it that far?>

  <No, I’m just that slow.>

  <Why? It looks like you could move faster if you wanted.>

  <Oh, I totally can. When that fireball hit near me, you can bet I moved faster than I ever have. But I have to conserve my energy. I eat rubbery leaves and it’s a bit of a drag. I mean, they’re delicious, don’t get me wrong, but wow. They take forever to digest, and they don’t leave me enough juice to be monkeying around.>

  <You know where the fire is?>

  <Yeah. For reals.>

  <I need to go there. You can ride on my back if you will show me the way.>

  <You sure? I have bugs and stuff living on me.>

  <That’s fine, they won’t bother me. What’s your name, anyway?>

  <Slomonomobrodolie.>

  <I’m Owen.>

  <I thought you were Oaken Druid of Gaia?>

  <Right, that too. But you can just call me Oaken if you want.>

  <Awesome! Thanks, Oaken!>

  <Would it be okay if I called you Slomo for short?>

  <Sure!>

  I move over next to her and she rises on her hind feet at roughly the pace of an advancing glacier. I fear I might need some more Immortali-Tea before we get anywhere.

  <Listen, Slomo. I’m going to give you some energy. You won’t need to conserve it and you can move faster.>

  <How—>

  <Druidry.>

  <No, I was going to say, how fast? Like monkey fast? Because that would be a lot of energy.>

  <We can try it.>

  I arrange the bindings for both strength and speed because I’m curious to see what speed equates to for such a creature. I have to admit: She’s fecking adorable up close. A white-furred face with a stripe of black fur across the eyes and some coarse, bushy brown fur at the top of her head and all over the rest of her. Black nose and muzzle, but the pattern of fur at the edges curls up a wee bit, giving her the appearance of wearing a perpetual soft smile. Her mental voice is kind of like that too, quietly amused. But gods below, she’s got some long claws!

  When the bindings hit her, Slomo’s eyes pop wide and that smile becomes a genuine openmouthed grin.

  <Wow, Oaken! This is some amazing juice! Watch out, I’m coming on board!>

  I have to admit that when she spreads out those long arms with those claws of hers and leaps at me, it’s damn hard to stand still, but I do, figuring I can heal if she does me any damage, and it’s not bad at all. I grunt under the impact and the weight, but she’s gentle and hugs me more with her arms and legs rather than digging in with those claws.

  <Oh, wow, Oaken! This feels amazing. I feel like I can achieve true monkey velocity, swinging through the trees like I have always dreamed!>

  <Ye really have a thing for monkeys, don’t ye?>

  <Well, they’re so fast! I think it’s because they can eat yellow tube fuel.>

  <Ye mean bananas?>

  <What? That’s a terrible name for them. Makes no sense at all. Yellow tube fuel is more accurate. Go that way a little bit.> She extends her left arm out past me head and points, and I adjust course to match. <Good. So are all Oaken Druids big hairy things like you?>

  <Nay. I’m not even a big hairy thing.>

  <I’m pretty sure you are.>

  <Right now I am bound to the shape of a black bear. Sometimes I’m a kite; sometimes I’m a ram or even a walrus. But normally I’m a human. An old human who looks like a middle-aged human.>

  <These pictures in my head—these are real animals? I’ve never seen any of them before! Except humans. I’ve seen some of them, but mostly they have darker skin than you.>

  <I have never seen an animal like you before. The world is a very big place. It’s not all forest, you know.>

  <It’s not? What else is there?>

  <Oceans full of fish. Deserts full of scorpions and cactus. Mountains covered in trees that have needles instead of leaves. Vast plains populated by buffalo and antelope. And so much more, really. I am still learning about it meself. Every day, it seems, I meet something new and wonderful.>

  <That sounds great! It’s all monkeys and leaves and birdbrains around here. Whoa, smell that smoke? We’re getting close.>

  <I smell it.>

  <We’re probably close enough, actually. I don’t like fire, Oaken.>

  <I don’t either. I have to put it out, though, for Pachamama’s sake and all the animals that live around here.>

  <My tree is probably burned down now. I almost got hit when the fire came down from the sky.>

  <You can find another tree, though, right?>

  <Oh, sure. That was just going to be my tree for a while. I had named it Lopoyamalachamanowe and it said it liked that.>

  <Trees talk to you?>

  <Of course. Trees are always talking. But most creatures move too fast to hear them. Trees try to say hi to most everything that passes through their branches, because they’re friendly like that and so happy when animals come to visit, but by the time they’re finished saying hello the animals have usually already moved on. You have to be willing to hang around and really listen. That’s my specialty.>

  <You are full of surprises, Slomo. I have an apprentice named Tuya who would really like to hear that and learn how to talk
to trees. Okay, I need to shift to human and take care of the fire. Why don’t ye hang out in one of the trees near here, and we can talk more later if ye like?>

  <Okay, Oaken! That would be great! Can it be that tree right there?>

  I head over to the right, where she’s pointing, and stop next to the trunk. I don’t even know what kind of tree it is, but I wonder already what she’ll name it. <All right, ye have all that energy, so I want ye to scamper up that tree like a proper monkey, now. Pretend ye just ate some yellow tube fuel.>

  Slomo scratches me a wee bit as she launches herself at the tree and scrambles up it with those claws, but it’s totally worth it. She’s fast like she’s always dreamed, and her glee at being alive in the world is wonderful to hear right now when there’s a gobshite trying to burn the whole thing down.

  <Wa hoo hoo ho ho ho ho!> she cries out in me head, and she makes some noises like that with her vocal cords too. It might be actual words in Slothian language and not simply an exclamation, but I can’t be sure. But I can be sure she’s happy. She’s having a grand old time, monkeying around like the monkeys do.

  I shape-shift to human and warn her that the energy’s about to run out, so she should get herself settled. She scampers higher up and dangles from a branch, surrounded by many leaves, all within easy reach.

  <Okay, I’m ready to be a sloth again,> she tells me, and I dissolve the bindings.

  Is that okay?

  <Ahhh. It’s quite a difference. But for a little while, I out-monkeyed a monkey. I sure hope this was all real and not some bad leaf trip.>

  It’s real. Do you get bad leaf trips often?

  <I meant to say a good leaf trip. Hey. You’re not big and hairy anymore. I mean, you’re hairy but only in a few places.>

  This is what I look like as a human.

  <Most humans I’ve seen wear something to cover up their middle. Why do they do that? Is it because you have a smaller patch of fur there and a tiny snake living in it?>

  That’s not a tiny snake.

  <Pretty sure it’s not a big snake.>

  It’s not a snake at all! Look, never mind that. I’m glad you’re safe now. I’ll deal with the fire and return.

  Dealing with the fire isn’t even a little bit of fun. It’s hot and smoky and a fecking shame, because a lot of plants and animals died here. But for some reason I’m smiling the whole time I’m crafting bindings, smothering the flames with dirt.

  The reason is Slomo. She makes me laugh. And she’s seeing the world in a way that’s fresh to me old eyes. I suppose because she’s seen even less of it than I have.

  But she sees it with a sense of wonder, like me apprentices do. I think it’s good for me to see that; it renews me own sense of wonder. When ye get old, ye can get tricked into thinking there’s nothing new to enjoy in the world, because ye slow down, ye don’t see much except the same few things, and ye think, feckin’ hells, why don’t I just lie down tits up and give up the ghost? I’m bored with eating soft foods and watching game shows and getting dressed, because clothes are all shite and scratchy.

  There’s no doubt that having me youth restored has gone a long way to renewing me love for the world. And seeing so much of it recently has renewed me willingness to fight for it—not that I’ve ever been unwilling to fight. It’s just that I’m starting to feel more zealous about fighting to defend Gaia. Perhaps Granuaile’s attitude is rubbing off on me. Or perhaps, when ye know what the world once was like and ye see what humans have done to it, ye just get fightin’ mad as a matter o’ course.

  When the fire’s finally out, I can feel the forest relax. I’ve kept me word and Pachamama can return to nurturing all.

  I’m relieved that she listened to me and stopped what she was doing without a fight. Perhaps she stopped because she saw that I’m on her side, but I’m sure she knew that the true fight is going to rage for quite a while, and I’m going to be the one fighting it for her.

  I let Amazon know the work is done and I’ll be up a tree for a while, then I shift to a red kite and fly back to where Slomonomobrodolie is hanging out, chewing on a rubbery leaf.

  <How’s me favorite sloth?> I ask her.

  <Whoa. Oaken, is that you?>

  <It is.>

  <I hear you in my head, but I’m not sure where you are.>

  <I’m the bird perched on the branch above you. A red kite, to be specific.>

  <Wow! You have wings! You can fly! I bet you feel really good about that!>

  <I do.>

  <You’re magic, Oaken.>

  <Nah, it’s not me so much but the earth that’s magical.>

  <I’m pretty sure you’re magic.>

  <Tell me more about yourself, Slomo. What’s it like to live here? I’d like to hear some of your adventures.>

  <Is it okay that most of them begin with me dangling upside down like this?>

  <O’ course! An adventure without dangling is no adventure at all.>

  <Whoa! Really? That means practically my whole life is an adventure! I never realized!>

  <That’s okay, love. Few people do.>

  the Thor I’d met in the past—and watched die under the blade of Moralltach—had worn blond hair, which was different from the Eddas, where he had bright red or even orange hair, but it wasn’t a detail I had worried about at the time. People can have whatever color hair they want, so I imagined gods could figure out some way to do the same. Everything else had matched the old stories: He drove a chariot pulled by flying goats, he wielded Mjöllnir, and he had the ability to sling lightning around like a painter applying gouache to a canvas. So was this Thor re-manifested due to the significant number of pagans who still worshipped him around the world, or had this been the real Thor all along, and Leif had slain some other, convincing manifestation? Either way, I’d been played, and when my eyes slid to Odin I saw him staring back at me with a huge grin on his face. He laughed openly at my expression. Freyja caught it and she looked my way as well, and her smile was anything but friendly.

  I don’t often get a cold, squirmy feeling of fear in the pit of my stomach, but when I do, it’s because I realize I’m surrounded by enemies on all sides and I’m most likely not going to survive the day. Or maybe I’m going to suffer something worse than death. The assembled deities were rather famous for doling out such punishments, and Jesus had warned me on more than one occasion I would suffer more pain than I had ever known as a result of my invasion of Asgard. It was a debt he’d made clear I would one day have to pay, and every instinct I had told me I should flee the field now, because that day had come. The Æsir had the Fae, the dark elves, and some significant Greco–Roman assistance ready to meet Loki and Hel. Chances were I wasn’t going to sway the battle all by myself. I’d already taken care of Jörmungandr—or, rather, Laksha had—but eliminating him had been the specific request Odin had made of me in lieu of a blood price for Thor’s (supposed) death. My oath was fulfilled—though it was apparently extracted from me based on a lie. My obligations were quite thoroughly discharged.

  Except for the greater obligation I had to Gaia. Should Loki’s forces break through, the destruction they would wreak on the world—the lives lost—would be incalculable. And just as I believed Jesus when he said I had a whole lot of pain coming my way, I also believed him when he said I was one of the few who could minimize the destructive consequences of this mess. By taking out Jörmungandr, Laksha had certainly saved many people and plenty of livestock. The yeti had saved more by stopping Surt before he could erupt for more than a few minutes. If I could save anyone by staying, I had to do it.

  Surprising everyone, Fand sounded the charge first and led the Fae into battle with Manannan Mac Lir by her side, winged pixies and sprites floating above a motley horde of boggarts, barghests, spriggans, and other creatures. Brighid followed close behind with her host, almost indistinguishable from Fand’s exc
ept in proportions of this type of faerie or that. I followed close behind them, figuring they were a safer bet for me than joining any portion of the Æsir forces. A wedge of draugar advanced to meet them from the volcano’s slopes, and I realized after a few seconds that it was proportional. But whereas the combined Fae host was a significant chunk of our forces, it was only a sliver of theirs. The scale of what we faced sank in, and that cold tremor in my stomach shivered and solidified into a block of ice.

  Speaking of which, the two surviving yeti marched with Manannan, whirling blades at the ready since their frost magic would be minimally effective against the draugar. I didn’t like them being at the front; they had already sacrificed enough, and I didn’t want the yeti to be erased from the earth. There was also a small forest of yewmen—good call bringing them along. They were hard to kill.

  I had to break into a slow jog to keep up. The charge was not a full-speed plunge into clashing weapons just yet, but it would build.

  Casting a glance over my shoulder, I saw Odin nod to the Olympians. Zeus ordered them to fall in behind us and he led the way, gliding obscenely above the field with his battle boner, a savage grin peeking through his beard. Thunderheads roiled above us now: With Zeus, Jupiter, and Thor on the field, there would be plenty of thunder and lightning. I wondered where Perun was, thinking that his friendly, hairy personage would be a welcome addition to this battle, but he was no doubt occupied elsewhere with troubles in his Slavic lands. It would be a certainty that the Sisters of the Three Auroras were protecting people in Poland.

  We kept closing the distance, and I periodically checked behind to see how the armies would deploy; they were obviously deferring to Odin, and I wondered why I never got that memo or a nice outline of the battle plan, highlighted in neon colors and annotated in red pen.

  Had Fand’s charge been the plan all along, or was Odin improvising according to developments on the field? At least he wasn’t smiling at me in mockery anymore. With any luck I had not deployed as he expected, though I’m sure that whatever Odin had planned for me, he had already thought through multiple scenarios.