Except it doesn’t work out that way. Nope.
Instead, I run into an invisible wall like a fecking dumbass sparrow assaulting a glass door and flail in a mess o’ feathers, head buzzing from the impact, until I hit the dirt outside a ring of salt.
Ah, the protective ring. That’s what happened to me. When I’m shape-shifted, I’m precisely the sort of thing the sorcerer’s wards are designed to keep out. The ring detects the magical aura of my bound shape and denies me access. Well, lad, good on you. But I can shift back to human and obliterate your fecking salt, can’t I?
I perform the shift and grunt, and he hears it. He whirls around and it’s a face of blue-eyed madness I see, paranoid testosterone that’s been let out of the barn. Some young punk who’s either never had the shite beat out of him, so he doesn’t understand that there will be consequences for his actions, or who’s been beaten so much and so badly he doesn’t give a blistered tit what happens to him next. He’s poxy as a baby swaddled in poison ivy and as incensed about it as ye might expect. He shouts something at me—in Polish, I suppose—and I don’t understand a word of it but I sure feel whatever it is he casts my way. His hand thrashes and clutches and I suddenly feel like all me muscles are clenching at once except for me arse, which is relaxing at precisely the wrong time. It hurts more than anything is rightfully supposed to and I can’t think of what to do except to cast healing on meself before he kills me. I’m spraying shite around the forest, thinking this is not the way I wanted to die, and also that maybe Siodhachan had a point about the uses of cold iron, when something savage bugles above me head. I throw up a forearm, hoping to protect meself from whatever it is, but it turns out that it’s not some hellspawn come to snack on me spleen. I’m not even the target—that would be the poxy sad sack who’s draining Gaia with his festering hellhole.
It’s Slomonomobrodolie, leaping down from high up a tree to grasp on to the lad with one long arm around the back of the neck while she plunges the three long claws of her right hand directly into the blackguard’s throat. She rips up and out, screaming in his face, and he manages a panicked gurgle and a surprised pair of eyes before he topples backward, ruining his salt circle and breaking who knows how many concurrently running spells. I guess the binding I used to give Slomo her energy wasn’t enough magic to trigger his protective ward. All I know for sure is that I’m grateful to get control of me own arse again while the rest o’ me relaxes. The lad was keeping the portal open through force of his own will, and with that gone, the portal closes on its own.
That doesn’t mean it’s all over, though. There are still plenty of hellspawn out there, and the sudden scent of spilled blood in the air has drawn them in our direction rather than toward the unspilled blood of the witches. Malina and some of the others snag a few of them, but that still leaves at least three pelting toward the body of the sorcerer, and me favorite killer sloth is sitting right on top of him.
Slomo! Back to the trees, fast! Climb high, hurry! I quite nearly shite meself again out of fear that I may have placed her in harm’s way. I haven’t even had time to properly appreciate that she just saved me ancient bones, and here she is in peril as a result. One of the things coming at her is mostly teeth and stomach, propelled by four legs underneath that look like an insect’s, bending up and out and clawed at the feet. Another is a slimy red glob of a thing oozing far too quickly our way, with a tongue questing for fresh meat to wrap up and pull into its dark, moist mouth. The last demon looks like an angry avocado that’s sworn to get revenge for all the world’s guacamole, and it’s moving the fastest. I scramble to me feet to intercept it as Slomo leaps to the nearest tree trunk. She’s digging in with those claws and doing the best she can, but the damn avocado has zeroed in on her. It realizes at the last second that I’m not racing to beat it to the meal on the tree but am racing to pound its lumpy face instead. It tries a hiss and snarl to intimidate me, but I’m not the type that responds well to that bollocks.
When I plow me fist between its eyes, I discover that it’s nothing like an avocado at all. It’s more like a bag of something caustic that latches on to me skin and burns, and even though it falls over and melts into goo, I’m left with something burning away at me arm. I holler about it as the tongue from the other horror wraps around me midsection and yanks me through the air to its mouth. I make sure it gets a taste of me burning, slime-covered arm first, and when everything goes hot and wet and dark, I shape-shift to a bear and start lashing about with me claws. It can’t barf me out fast enough, and I wind up clawing me way out of something dead and melting around me. These demons don’t last long on this plane once you’ve destroyed what little shred of force is keeping them bound together. That’s probably why those hellwhips of the witches are so effective. Malina demonstrates by lashing through the stomach of the toothy thing that’s snacking on the remains of the sorcerer; it screams and dissolves into a mess on top of him, and I check to see that Slomo is safe before assessing what other threats might be around.
<Ye did good, lass. Are ye hurt?>
<I’m fine, Oaken! A bit shocked at how mad I got when that human was trying to hurt you but otherwise okay. Are you all right?>
<Nothing wrong with me that can’t heal eventually,> I says, and in truth I already have that in progress, as much to test for damage as anything else. Whatever’s burning me hasn’t damaged the integrity of my tattoos, thank the gods below. <Where’d you learn to take someone down like that?> I ask Slomo.
<Oh. Watching jaguars hunt. They either leap on something and just bite through the head into the brain, because their jaws are really that strong, or they go for the throat. Quickest way to end it.>
I turn to see if there’s anything else to worry about, but there’s not so much as an angry gnat around. The portal’s closed and harmony’s restored. The witches have taken care of the rest of the hellspawn, but they’re sure giving me the doubtful glare, muscles tense and weapons at the ready in case I turn on them. Probably because of the bear thing. I get that a lot.
Shifting back to human, I wave me uninjured hand at them to show them I’m friendly. I sure can’t be hiding any weapons in me clothes, because I don’t have any. They don’t seem concerned with that at all; I think they’re more interested in the ease of the shift itself than in what I’ve shifted to. I do notice that they’re keeping their wards up.
“Owen Kennedy,” I call to them, because no doubt several of them missed it when I first arrived. “Druid of Gaia. I was called here to close the portal, so that’s done. Thanks for your help.”
“Malina Sokołowska,” the blond woman says with a charming accent, “leader of the Sisters of the Three Auroras. May I ask what killed the sorcerer? I was occupied and didn’t see clearly.”
“Oh, that was a sloth.”
“A sloth? You have to be joking. There are no sloths around here, and they don’t move that fast.”
“She came with me, and they can move that fast when you give them enough energy.”
One of the other witches titters. She has long blond hair as well, but it’s pulled back and bundled up on top of her head. She also wears a pair of enormous eyeglasses. Malina turns to see what’s so funny and the witch says, “We did see something in the divination that hinted at unexpected aid. I think a pumped-up murder sloth qualifies as unexpected.” The whole coven either smiles or chuckles at this.
“Divination, eh? Is that what has ye out here in the woods?” I ask.
“It is. We’re aware something truly frightening is going on in Sweden, but we wanted to address local threats. We’ve been keeping an eye on that guy for a while,” she says, flicking a finger at the body, “and we saw that he planned to take advantage of the chaos elsewhere to further his own agenda.”
“And what agenda would that be? Who was he?”
Malina shrugs. “Another man who wanted to climb to power on a ladder of violence.”
“Well, I’m not one of those, if ye want to relax. I mean ye no harm.”