Kevin Hearne: Tricked

“I am the Morrigan, the Celtic Chooser of the Slain,” she said, approaching them fearlessly. “The Druid’s shade is mine to claim, as is his sword.”

“His sword?” Vidar spluttered. “That is mine by right of conquest!” He was a little late to claim it. The Morrigan was already picking it up.

“It is the rightful property of the Tuatha Dé Danann. The Druid stole it from us.” She left out the part where she helped me steal it, I noticed.

“And I won it of him. It belongs to me now,” Vidar said.

“Be careful, little god,” the Morrigan’s voice grated, menace crackling in the charged air. “Do not mistake me for one of your Valkyries. You have slain the Druid and avenged your people, as was your right, but you may not tread on the rights of the Tuatha Dé Danann.”

Vidar bristled. He didn’t like being scolded by a naked woman in front of all the macho thunder gods. If he let it stand, he would lose major testosterone points. Was he smart enough to let it go? He clenched his jaw, held out his left hand, and beckoned. “Give me the sword, woman, or I will take it.” Nope. Not smart at all.

The Morrigan’s smile was wide and wicked as she settled into a defensive stance, Fragarach raised behind her head. “Come and take it, then.”

Now he was neatly trapped in a prison of his own devising. Yet he still had the key; all he had to do was laugh at the Morrigan and say, “I was only joking. Begone with your faerie sword, I care not,” and he’d get to return to Asgard a hero, maybe even take over the joint. He could walk into Gladsheim and tell the remaining Æsir, “I slew the dude who slew Freyr and Týr and crippled Odin,” and then they’d fete him and praise him and he’d definitely get laid. The last thing he should do is listen to the voice of machismo and give battle to a goddess whose primary power is to choose who dies in battle . Did he think he was invincible somehow? Did he not understand that all the Norse prophecies were null, the Norns were dead and so were many of the gods who were supposed to fall in Ragnarok? He was no longer fated to kill Fenris in the final gore-spattered brouhaha. If my trip to Asgard and the butchered remains of Týr showed anything, it showed that the Æsir could now die at any time.

But no, the dumbass charged. “For Odin!” he cried, thinking perhaps it was a lucky thing to say since it had worked so well against the fallen Druid. But the Morrigan wasn’t off balance and out of position like the faux Atticus had been, and she had all the power of the earth at her command in addition to the powers of a goddess. As Vidar swung at her, she darted quicker than the eye could track to her right, out of the path of Vidar’s sword. She spun around in a blur, past his shield, and swung Fragarach from behind him with two hands, shearing his torso in twain and sending the top half sailing fifty feet as the bottom half staggered another step and collapsed. The Morrigan reset herself facing the thunder gods as Vidar’s head and shoulders smacked wetly to the earth. Her posture dared them to attack, but they had no such intentions. They collectively said, “Ahhh,” and gave her a round of golf claps for the spectacular slaughter.

“An excellent swing,” Shango said.

“You warned him but did not toy with him. I approve,” Lei Gong added.

“Flawless form, worthy of the finest samurai,” Raijin said.

“Marvelush dexterity and wondrous strength,” Indra opined before belching thunderously.

“That shit was awesome !” Ukko said, smiling through his beard, and I decided I liked him, even though he wanted me dead.

“No one else will object if I take Fragarach with me?” the Morrigan asked. The thunder gods all shook their heads and assured her that they thought it best she keep it.

“I mush be going,” Indra said. “But before I do, can you assure us that thish man is, in fact, quite dead?” He gestured to the chunks of flesh on the ground that used to look like me. The motion caused him to sway unsteadily on his feet, and I realized that his slight speech impediment was due to inebriation. A few of his thousand eyes were already passed out or blinking rapidly in an effort to stay awake. So the legends were true; Indra liked to hit the soma hard. “He casht ashpersions on my — urp — parentage,” he added, as if that explained why they’d practically diced the faux Atticus. Indra had pummeled bits of him to paste with the mighty club he carried.

“He is thoroughly dead,” the Morrigan replied. “His shade has already left this plane.”

“Then I am shatishfied that justish is done,” Indra said. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Morrigan. Perhapsh in a happier time, you and I could—”

The Morrigan’s eyes flashed red, daring him to finish. Indra’s thousand eyes blinked.

“Never mind,” Indra said. He took his leave and rose into the sky. The other thunder gods quickly followed suit, offering quick pleasantries before ascending to the thunderheads above, leaving the Morrigan alone with the carnage of a winter afternoon. She surveyed it, rain sluicing the blood off her body and Fragarach’s blade, and laughed.

Congratulations , the Morrigan’s voice croaked in my head. That was new. Neither she nor any of the Tuatha Dé Danann had demonstrated the ability to communicate telepathically with humans before. What had changed? You have survived your own death , she continued. Five thunder gods will spread news of your demise throughout the world’s pantheons, and you will finally be free to live a boring life .

Could she hear my thoughts in return? Sold! I’ll take it! I said, in the same way I would have spoken to Oberon. Boredom sounds great right now!

Apparently, she could hear me just fine. The Morrigan waved the tip of Fragarach around at the chopped pieces of faux Atticus. Are you sure this native god will rise again?

Positive , I affirmed. You can’t kill Coyote. Well, you can, obviously. But he just keeps coming back . That was the heart of the Plan I’d made with Coyote: He’d assume my shape, die in my place, and I’d do him a favor on the reservation. A pretty big favor.

This mangled flesh will re-form? the Morrigan asked.

Nope. Coyote’s magic, like our shape-shifting, tends to ignore the Law of Conservation of Mass .

All the Old Ways do .

Yep. He’ll re-spawn in a completely new body and have a brand-new set of clothes to boot. I don’t know how he does it. Maybe he has a warehouse full of spare brains and body parts down in First World and a wholesale deal with Levi’s . There were many versions of Coyote running around North America, but this particular iteration of the Navajo tribe’s was one of the oldest and most powerful.

Beware, Siodhachan , the Morrigan said, calling me by my Irish name as always, trickster gods are not usually so helpful. There will be a price to pay for this service he’s done you .

Oh, I’m well aware. But Coyote and I arranged it all beforehand .

No. I mean there will be something else , she said.

I doubt it. I was very careful in our negotiation to specify the limitations of my service .

That may be so, Siodhachan. All I am saying is that tricksters have a way of working around deals. Be on your guard .

I will. Thank you for playing your part .

Through my binoculars, I saw the Morrigan give a half shrug in the rain. It was amusing. More amusing still will be bringing the news to Brighid .

She may be delighted to hear of my death , I pointed out. She was less than pleased when I refused to become her consort .