Kevin Hearne - Tricked

“I don’t know. But she doesn’t have to do it that way.”

Her hands left the steering wheel in a gesture of helplessness. “How else would she do it?”

“You have a marble of turquoise in your pocket.”

“Oh … she’d just ask Sonora.”

“And Sonora knows exactly where you are because of that marble.”

She pouted. “I have to give it up, then?” I nodded and tried not to be distracted by her lips, extended and puckered. I was supposed to be angry with her. “But I can’t just throw it out the window!” she said.

“I know. Pull over.”

She obliged and we got out of the SUV. She walked around to my side and I put out my hand, palm up. “Let’s have it.”

Granuaile reluctantly dug the marble out of her jeans pocket and grimaced. “Can’t I say good-bye first?”

“We’re on the Colorado Plateau. Sonora won’t hear you.”

“We’re not going to leave it here, are we?”

“No,” I said, removing my sandals. “I’ll ask Colorado to return this piece of Sonora through the earth, and then I will explain very carefully that we wish to keep your existence a secret from anyone who asks, especially the Tuatha Dé Danann. Colorado will spread the word to all the elementals worldwide. They’ve been keeping my whereabouts secret for centuries now, so this won’t be difficult.”

“Does this mean I can’t talk to Sonora now?”

“Yes, but you can always get a new marble next time you’re down there. And you wouldn’t have been able to talk to him outside of his range, anyway.”

“ Her range.”

“Hmm? Oh, right. Her range. What were you going to tell me earlier before we got distracted by trust issues?” Granuaile was watching me place the wee piece of Sonora on the ground, a wistful expression on her face. My question caught her off guard.

“Trust issues?” She looked up with alarm. “You don’t trust me now?”

“You kept secrets from me. Not personal secrets — keep those all you want. I mean you kept something from me you knew damn well I should have known. And I must assume you convinced Oberon to keep quiet too. There aren’t any laws against suborning hounds, but there ought to be.”

“Atticus, I’m so sorry!” she said. “I was trying to explain and you cut me off. Will you let me finish?”

I nodded once. “Go ahead.”

“Okay, mental gearshift. I was telling you about my stepfather. His name is Beau Thatcher. He’s a giant dick in a suit, and I was thinking about him after I went through the Baolach Cruatan . Before as well, to be truthful. And that’s what I was leading up to. I never told you the complete truth about why I want to be a Druid.”

“All right,” I said. I clasped my hands together and waited.

She took a deep breath before continuing. “Basically, I want to be the opposite of him. His nemesis. I want to completely destroy his company and drive him into bankruptcy. He laughs when people get upset at oil spills. He laughed hardest at the Gulf oil spill, because the journalists got shut out, the local biologists were bought out, and the company went on to post obscene profits. Massive die-offs and extinctions in the Gulf and wetlands ruined for decades, and he laughed , sensei.”

“As you said, he’s a dick in a suit.”

“But it makes me so angry!” she cried, clenching her fists. Then her voice softened. “Angry enough that it kind of scares me. Don’t you ever get to feeling that way about people like him?”

“Sometimes. But preventing ecological disaster isn’t a Druid’s primary function, Granuaile. Gaia has outlasted dinosaurs and she will outlast the dicks in suits as well, whatever they do to her. This oil spill or that will be overcome, given enough time. Protecting the earth’s magic is what we’re for. That’s why the Tuatha Dé Danann became the first Druids — it was after that episode in the Sahara that I told you about, when a wizard took the elemental’s power for his own. Gaia recognized that she needed champions among humans to prevent that from happening again. And so the children of Danu were chosen to become those champions. Marbles like these,” I said, pointing to Sonora’s turquoise, “appeared beneath their feet. And when the Tuatha Dé Danann picked up those marbles, the elementals began speaking to them and teaching them and eventually guided them in binding the first human to the earth. But you don’t see the Tuatha Dé Danann jumping around trying to prevent the clear-cutting of the Amazon or the damming of the Colorado River.”

“Well, why not? Don’t they revere nature? Don’t you?”

“Of course. They — and I — revere all life. Even if significant portions of that life seem too stupid to live, we have to let them live anyway. Unless they try to directly kill us.”

Granuaile squatted on the ground beside me and considered the marble. It was an excellent opportunity for me to stare at her without getting caught, so I did. She spoke after a few golden moments of sunlight on a troubled brow. “I think I see what you mean. When Sonora was speaking to me and pointing out the plants and animals that lived along the Verde River, she loved the gnats and the boring little weeds as much as the native trout and the sycamores. She made me love them all too. I wanted to keep them all safe.” She looked up and had one of those teary smiles on her face, and it was ridiculously precious. It quivered and crashed into a sob after a few moments. “I couldn’t do it though. I had to kill this javelina, and I was so mad at the goddesses for making me do it.” She paused, took a deep breath, and wiped the tears from her cheeks. “But I think I understand the wisdom of that whole process now.” The smile returned, but weaker. “It’s good. You can’t just say the words and be accepted. You gotta have the great responsibility before you get the great power.”

It was easy to see why she’d passed muster in Brighid’s eyes. With that range of emotion at her command, she would be a fierce protector of the earth — and most likely a badass. The Baolach Cruatan required quick thinking and didn’t allow weapons, so she either killed that javelina with her bare hands or made do with what was around her. Something didn’t add up, however.

“Look, I’m glad you had that revelation, but I still don’t understand why you’d refrain from telling me about this — about meeting Brighid and Flidais in particular.”

“Well, there was so much uncertainty in my mind about what happened. I didn’t know if I’d behaved in a way that would make you proud, and — you know what? It doesn’t matter. I shouldn’t have done it. You’re completely right, and I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”

“Fair enough,” I said. “Apprentices have kept secrets from their masters since the whole system began. It’s an annoying but persistent tradition, and everyone does it. I did it when I was an apprentice. The archdruid beat me bloody and called me a poxy shitweasel, because that’s how he communicated. I’m hoping I don’t have to do that here to communicate how important it is that you never neglect to mention the appearance of a god again. Do I?”

“No,” Granuaile said, shaking her head. “I am well aware how badly I’ve screwed up, and I hope you’ll forgive me.”

“Considering how brilliant you have been in all other respects, I believe I can do that. And regarding your stepdad, I understand, believe me. If you still want to take down your stepdad’s oil company after twelve years, I’m not going to stop you. It won’t take you long, though. Think of what else you’d like to accomplish.”