To save Druidry. An obvious answer once I ask the question. In case everything goes wrong in Sweden and Loki’s forces prevail, I’ll still be around, as will Flidais and whoever else they’ve sequestered in undisclosed locations. Owen, perhaps—where’s he, I wonder? Keeping his grove safe, I hope.
The two immortals have stopped fighting, I notice, and Wukong’s clones have circled around us to provide a sphere of protection. Apparently I’ve spaced out a bit and they’re waiting for me to come around.
“Wukong.” He merely raises a bushy eyebrow at me. “Did Brighid ask you to keep me occupied during Ragnarok?” His eyes slide over to Erlang Shen and they share a tiny smile. They’d either been waiting on this or they had a bet going as to whether I’d figure it out.
“I think perhaps our American friend is finally challenging her assumptions,” he says to Erlang Shen, which is not precisely an answer but confirms my suspicion.
“Damn it. Then you don’t need me here? I can go help somewhere else and you can end this on your own?”
“Of course.”
“But you’ll shut down King Taishan and the others soon? The earth is being harmed every time the portal opens.”
“We will,” Wukong assures me. “But are you finished learning, then?”
Oh, shit. I’ve missed something important or he wouldn’t prompt me like that. I look around and see nothing obvious—so it must be that I have made yet another assumption.
“Wait. When Brighid made this arrangement with you, did she say why?”
“I’m afraid I’m not allowed to recall.”
“Not allowed?” Brighid must have extracted a promise not to reveal any details of their conversation. But there was clearly something to reveal that Wukong thought I should know. I shudder at a sudden suspicion, a thrill of cold fear coursing down my spine. “Did someone put her up to it?”
The Monkey King shrugs, helpless.
“Wukong is bound by oath not to answer. But I am not,” Erlang Shen replies. “Brighid made these arrangements with us at the urging of Siodhachan Ó Suileabháin.”
I gasp audibly, shocked and saddened to have my suspicion confirmed. I didn’t want it to be true. But he knew when Ragnarok was going to begin. He had advance warning and time to set this up. And he probably thought he was doing the right thing. That’s when heat flushes my cheeks.
“Of all the bullshit patriarchal moves he could pull—well. He and I are going to have a talk. Perhaps even a spirited fracas,” I add, after thinking that this is precisely the sort of thing that got Flidais in trouble with Perun. You don’t make plans for someone else and not consult them.
Which is not to say I haven’t enjoyed my time here. I feel like I have learned and grown, and I was led to it in a much different way than I’m used to. And as much as I was frustrated by the leading questions and the vague statements at first, I can appreciate with hindsight how effective they were. It’s a way of thinking I should cultivate.
“Sifu Sun,” I say, bowing to the Monkey King, “may I return at a later date to learn more?”
“What is it you wish to learn?”
“Whatever you wish to teach me. How to make perfect bubble tea, more about Buddhism, how to fight. But I also wish to learn Mandarin. I am nearly ready to add another headspace.”
Sun Wukong smiles at me. “Very well. You know where my shop is. I will be there when you are ready.”
“Thank you. And I am very grateful for the training you’ve already given me.”
“Do not let it go to waste.”
“I won’t.” I bow again, and also to Erlang Shen before taking my leave, fighting through the damned to get to the bound tree. True to the Monkey King’s word, King Biancheng lands a short distance away, armor shining and face snarling, eager to have a go at the Druid who killed King Wuguan. He draws his weapons and advances, but I put my hand on the bound tree and shift away, leaving him to Erlang Shen. There’s a fight going on in Sweden, and once I get there, I don’t know if I’ll go after Loki or Atticus first.
i’m so fecking tired after the swim that I might need to try one of those superfoods modern humans are always on about. Thinking I might try kale, even if Greta’s right and it’s somehow worse than old man balls. Or maybe I’ll be set right by some pancakes drizzled with maple syrup and a hot mug of coffee. Sounds less risky to me, more of a sure thing.
The elementals tell me I have applied the Second Law of Owen as much as Gaia requires: There are still all sorts of fires to put out, but others are seeing to it, and the primary shite festival in Sweden is still happening, but that’s not a fight for me own fists. I hope Siodhachan and Granuaile are all right, but all I can get from the elementals is an assurance that they’re still alive. I’m given leave to return to Flagstaff and a rare gift: In return for saving Bavaria and Amazon and more, the elementals ask what I’d like to be called from now on instead of Avenging Druid, and I tell them Oaken Druid would suit me fine.
//Oaken Druid it is / Harmony//
//Harmony// I says, and ask Slomo if she’d like to visit me home before returning to her jungle in Peru. I give her a mental picture of what the trees look like there, the Ponderosa pines and the alligator junipers and the white-barked aspens.
<Sure, Oaken!> she says. <Would I be the first sloth to ever dangle from those trees?>
I think so.
<Securing the First Dangle is a great honor among sloths. Let’s go!>
I shift to a bear once more and give Slomo a ride out of the lake area. Some people are starting to appear on the shores, and I’m afraid they’re going to notice us soon. I’m pretty sure they would have some questions about why there’s a Peruvian sloth in Poland. After we shift to the bound tree on Greta’s property, where it’s late evening of the night before, Slomo drops off me back to barf quietly on the forest ground. She staggers a bit to the right afterward. <Oh, Oaken, I feel woozy. It’s super dry here too.>
I give her a bit of energy from the earth. <How’s that?>
<Better, thanks,> she says, <but I should probably eat some leaves soon.>
<I’ll fetch ye some. Stay here; I’ll be gone for just a wee while.>
It’s only a few minutes’ work to shift back to Peru, gather some leaves from those trees she likes, and return.
<Oh, wow! Those look delicious! Thanks!>
<Crawl up on me back and ye can eat while we go down to meet me girlfriend and apprentices. They’ll be delighted to meet ye, I promise.>
And they are. They’ve all switched out their spheres from Tasmania in their lockets with Colorado’s sandstone, so they’re able to communicate with Slomo much like me, in images and feelings. Everyone is delighted. Slomo establishes First Dangle on an aspen near the house and eats leaves while the kids laugh and talk with her. A couple of parents stay behind while I go inside with Greta and the rest of the pack to fill them in on what’s been going on with me, and they catch me up with what happened in Tasmania after I left.
“We obviously decided to return home since we didn’t know how long you’d be gone.” Greta speaks from the kitchen because she’s trying to make my dream of pancakes come true. It was time for breakfast in Poland, but it’s bedtime in Flagstaff, and I realize with a yawn that I don’t properly know what day it is or when I last slept for more than a couple of hours.
Sam and Ty, the co-leaders of the Flagstaff pack, arrive after a few minutes and look mighty pleased to have me back, since it probably means we can resume tearing the hell out of each other in sparring matches. They don’t often get to unload against anyone who can challenge them, and they like it. Truth is, I do too. Sometimes I win and sometimes they do. It’s good to have some mates who will beat the shite out of ye in the friendliest manner possible and don’t get sore when ye beat the shite out of them. And those lads are an example of how to be lovers. They’ve been together more than a hundred years and they still think the man they married is the best man on earth. But after we catch up, they start talking about wine for some reason, and that’s a subject about which I know very little. In fact, I don’t know Jack Shite.