Chapter Twenty-One
Finding yourself being pummelled by cold salt water is never good. If you're in your own shower, which was hot and fresh a moment ago, it's very bad indeed — especially if you already have reason to be wary of the Gray Lords. And when the volume of water increases in ways no standard shower pipe can explain, and the shower curtains seem to have metamorphosed into a retaining wall so you're rapidly becoming immersed, it's potentially catastrophic, but I'd barely got as far as wondering if this really was an assassination attempt, never mind what to do about it, when the water flowed somewhere else and I went with it, just managing to grab the walking stick as it appeared beside me.
Somewhere else turned out to be nowhere I recognised — a featureless patch of earth with blurry, opaque air all round — but I knew all the same that I had to be Underhill. And I knew what must be happening, because a bunch of Gray Lords were also there, and all but coming to blows. Or at least, Gwyn ap Lugh and Nemane, with Yo-Yo Edythe and Baba Yaga behind them, and figures I didn't know all around, were squared up to one I couldn't name but recognised with a sinking heart. I couldn't see the green, green eyes I remembered, but the ankle-length hair was still laced with seaweed and he was no more clothed than he had been when he'd found coyote-me on the beach after I'd blundered into Underhill's sea kingdom. Whoever he was, he would have killed me then if Zee hadn't grabbed me out of the wave that had swept me off all four feet, and judging from what had happened to my shower he was picking up where he'd left off. On the good side, I was in human form, which gave me some options I hadn't had as a coyote. On the bad side, I was naked, and already shivering from the shock of the cold water.
What language they were all arguing in I had no idea. Some very old form of Gaelic, maybe, but it could have been Welsh, or something inbetween. And my arrival seemed to have kicked it up a notch, with ap Lugh glowing and hurling words at the sea … god, I decided, remembering how wary of him Zee had been. Or ex-god, if I was lucky. I'd instinctively picked myself up from where the water had dumped me, feeling soaked earth squelch under my toes and finding a defensive posture, slightly crouched with the stick in one hand and the other spread open — until it closed, and I found myself holding a bone-hilted blade I recognised as Carnwennan. The stick was hot in my hand and seemed to pulse with weight, drawing my arm down until its silver-shod tip rested on the earth of Underhill. Carnwennan was cold to my grip, but quivering slightly, its blade pointing straight at the sea god. Why it should come to me I had no idea, though I was guessing the stick or Zee had somehow asked it — or maybe after killing Dana it had decided it liked the blood of Gray Lords. Either way, politeness seemed called for, and I spoke soft words of thanks to both artefacts. Who knew what Carnwennan heard or thought, but the stick warmed some more in my hand, rooting itself a little, and I realised I could now understand what was being said.
This is madness. Ap Lugh wasn't quite shouting, but he wasn't being conversational either. She is not a mere human, Manannán mac Lír. You have said yourself that you saw her in another form. And she is not without friends or power, even without the spirit of place she has taken as an ally. You not only risk all of us, you risk Underhill.
I wasn't much happier to know I'd been right about the sea fae being a god, and what I'd read about Manannán wasn't good. Then again, he didn't have his invincible armour on, nor his unstoppable sword, and there was no sign of a self-propelling boat or a herd of immortal swine. Count what blessings you can — and I had one in each hand, as well as a rising rage that would let me use them. He might be a sea god, but I'd done him no harm, and I had done as well as I could by the Fae yesterday. But hearing his voice, cold and hissing like angry surf, I also knew he'd flipped, and wasn't much better than a mirror image of Cantrip.
It was you who broke with humans, Gwyn ap Lugh, avenging your half-breed get, and you who then spoke of caution. Faugh! No spirit of place can harm Underhill, and no human life is our concern. Yet you let this human steal your father's work, though she shows Overhill our treasures and gives menial orders to the Dark Smith. And still you prate of negotiations and alliances with beasts. But you forget the storm must blow before calm can return, as you forget your power, and I will no longer endure it. She should have been killed when she broke the sea's glamour.
A horribly sly note came into his voice, despite its rage, as if he thought he was being very clever.
You say any fae may help the beasts, and so I shall, by teaching them their place. That other humans stare at her now, with such attention as they have, makes it a good time to kill her, not a bad. And so you will see.
With the last words a wall of water out of nowhere knocked ap Lugh and those with him down, foaming over them as Manannán swung to face me, starting forward. His eyes were just as green as I remembered, and lit with madness. The stick was swinging up in my hand, and I saw its tip had taken the same leaf-bladed form it had when I used it on the River Devil — but I also realised I had iron in one hand and silver in the other, and when it comes to the Fae things work in threes, not pairs. And while I didn't happen to have a third hand, nor anything to hold in it if I had, even being washed into Underhill couldn't break my pack bonds. The ribbons were opaque to my sight, and I couldn't feel Adam or any of the pack, but they were there, and my magic grabbed a nice thick one — Joel's, with the most manitou fizz in it — and formed a loop I could throw. Manannán was half-way towards me, there was still no sword or armour, and my experience of fighting overconfident wolves and vamps told me that they expected submission or flight, so attack often was the best defence. But the same bit of backbrain that knew about threes also knew I was Underhill, brought there by force, and there were — or at least had once been — some strict rules about that sort of thing. Many tales said so. It offered a better chance than a knock-down fight with a god, however ex, and I am coyote, geared for sneakiness and changing the rules, not macho headbutting. Either way, I'd go down fighting.
Whatever Manannán was expecting it wasn't a ribbon lasso of pack magic settling round his mouth and nose, and I was imagining Joel pulling it tight in tibicena form, with all the weight he could muster. It not only brought the fae up short, hands rising to his face as the ribbon bit deeply into whatever kind of flesh he was presently made of, it distracted him — and he hadn't thought about my speed, either. My stomach muscles were not happy about it, but I was within the stick's range before he registered it, the silver blade piercing his neck, and within Carnwennan's before he could react. The stick's handle was flaring heat into my hand, and as the iron that had killed Dana pierced his side I found myself shouting.
"I hold you, Manannán mac Lír, by iron, by silver, and by magic, and I call on the justice of Underhill to answer the three lies you have spoken of me, and the three harms you have offered me."
I felt powerful magic grip me, but it was gripping him too, locking us together, the tip of the staff and the blade of Carnwennan both half-in and half-out, frozen in place. Manannán was struggling, to judge from the contortions of his face, but he was being held as surely as I was, and beyond us there was silence until I heard the voice of Gwyn ap Lugh, high and remote.
"Mercedes Athena Thompson Hauptman, you have called on the justice of Underhill, and Underhill has heard you. Make good your case."
I took a deep breath, thinking furiously. Only exact truth would do, and brevity would be good.
"Three lies Manannán mac Lír has spoken now, in my hearing. He called me human, but though I am mortal I am not human. I am half-human, half-coyote. I have two forms. I use magic. I see ghosts. He also said I stole the work of Lugh, but the walking stick Lugh made comes to me of its own will, in friendship, as it has now. And he said I gave orders to the Dark Smith, when the truth is that I made a request of that one, and was answered gladly, and today a blade of his making comes unbidden to my hand. Three lies, now. How many before I cannot know."
Somewhere there was a deep chime, and I took another deep breath, feeling the stick pulse in my hand.
"And three harms. When I first entered Underhill, brought by the Dark Smith in service of the Fae, answering their need, and found myself on the sea shore, he sought my death by water and was forestalled only by the Dark Smith's hand. This morning he has brought me Underhill by force of magic and water, without notice and against my will. And he declared that the Gray Lords would witness my death, approaching me in rage and madness, intent on achieving it."
A second chime. One more deep breath.
"I have no formal debt to the Fae, nor any to Manannán mac Lír. And I have revealed to no human any fae secret that was not already known to humans. Nor did I seek to enter Underhill. How then can I with justice be stolen from my home and told I must die at his hands?"
There was silence for a long moment, save my own breathing. I thought the voice that eventually spoke was Nemane's, but it was as remote as Gwyn ap Lugh's had been and I couldn't turn my head to look.
"You have spoken truth, Mercedes, daughter of Coyote, and Manannán mac Lír has lied and sought your death. He has also threatened you having brought you here unwilling, against our ancient law. What justice would you have of Underhill for these wrongs?"
Nothing but death would change Manannán's mind, but I didn't know if he could die. Dana had, but whatever she'd been it wasn't a god, and you couldn't shoot an ocean any more than an earthquake or a manitou. I didn't think the other Gray Lords would object in principle, but there might well be consequences far beyond my understanding. Was Manannán necessary to the sea of Underhill? And what would happen to his power, which the other Gray Lords probably needed, if he were to die? I really wasn't feeling very merciful, but caution won.
"I will not ask his death, for there is no death between us. Yet I cannot allow his threat to stand unanswered. So the justice I ask of Underhill is that Manannán mac Lír be stripped of his power sufficiently that he can no longer threaten any outside Underhill. To whom or what that power goes is not my concern, so long as it and its recipients offer no further harm to me or mine."
This time the silence felt surprised, and it was again Nemane's voice that broke it.
"You ask for neither reward nor compensation?"
Alarm bells rang in my head. "I ask for justice, not reward. And in compensation I ask only my prompt and safe return to my home, whence I was stolen by Manannán's waters. Nor, if the justice I ask is granted, will I hold the Fae, or any fae, in my debt for anything that has happened yesterday or today, as I reckon time, and I acknowledge no debt to any fae, though I am made glad by some actions of Gwyn ap Lugh and the Dark Smith. I would live and let live, in such friendship as is possible between kinds."
There was more silence, with a growing sense of strain, before Gwyn ap Lugh spoke.
"Even now the spirit of place you call the manitou grips Underhill as it is in this place, seeking entrance. Justice granted, will you speak to it on our behalf, that all Fae not suffer for the madness of one?"
"Gladly. If you can, let it know that I will soon be returned to my home safely, and ask that Medicine Wolf speaks with me and with the Gray Lords before taking any further action against them or Underhill."
What tipped the balance I don't know, nor how real a threat even the manitou could pose to the power of Underhill, but Manannán's face contorted more wildly than ever and water began to pour from him, a salt flood that disappeared as it touched the earth under my feet. I had no idea what the split was, but I could see more than one Gray Lord, including ap Lugh and those who'd stood closest to him, sucking in power, while the earth of Underhill was shuddering, and all around me rose stems were bursting from it and into flower, heavy with scent. Manannán's green eyes were dulling as his body shrank, but the madness in them increased and I was very careful to keep both the blade of the stick and Carnwennan lodged in him, and the pack bond looped around his mouth pulled as tight as I imagined a tibicena could manage. I don't know how long it took, but eventually the flood slowed and stopped, and the definitely ex-god in front of me was now my own height and … shrivelled. Muddy green hatred stared at me, and all my alarm bells were still ringing despite a heady relief and exaltation that some rules still held true. I became aware of the silence and that the Gray Lords were waiting on me — and though Underhill's grip had eased, Manannán was still held by iron, silver, and my own magic.
"I acknowledge the justice of Underhill. You who are or were Manannán mac Lír, at this moment there is nothing further between us. The lies you told of me and the harms you offered me have been answered. Swear by your life that you accept that justice, and that you will never again either seek my harm yourself, nor aid nor encourage any other to harm me or mine, and I will let you go. But if in word or deed you offer me or mine any further threat I will hold your life forfeit. Do the Gray Lords and Underhill witness my truth?"
"We do."
It was a remote chorus of voices, and behind it a chime, so after a moment I imagined Joel letting the pack bond drop, and saw the tension leave it. What Manannán's remaining strength might be I didn't know, so I nevertheless kept the bond round him as I let it slack sufficiently to free his mouth — and he was still as far from anything I'd call sanity as I'd thought. The sea surf had left his voice, but the hissing hatred and loathing hadn't.
"I will drown you and every wolf, every human, every—"
"Wrong answer" I told him, and let the walking stick and Carnwennan do what they wanted. The dagger slid home to the hilt, angling upwards, the dull green eyes flared and blanked, and the spiked tip of the stick reached the far side of his neck before expanding and cutting off his head. But what hit the ground was just another splash of water, and when I withdrew Carnwennan, stepping back to let the body fall, it didn't last much longer. A few wracks of seaweed from his hair were all that were left, and I took a juddering breath as I looked up to meet Gwyn ap Lugh's gaze. He was glowing with new power but made no move as he spoke, and though it wasn't back to normal his voice was less remote.
"Mercedes Athena Thompson Hauptman, daughter of Coyote, you have received justice and dealt justice. The Gray Lords have no claim on you."
The Fae always said things so damn carefully, and though he was no more human than I was he was very male, and making me conscious that I was once again naked in front of people I didn't know.
"I hear you, Gwyn ap Lugh, Prince of the Gray Lords, and acknowledge the justices I have received and dealt. Nor do I have any claim on the Gray Lords. All that remains is my return to my home."
"Is it? Many here have gained greatly from what has just happened, and might think you were yet owed a debt."
His voice had a note that set my teeth on edge, but I knew he must be struggling with whatever he'd absorbed from Manannán, and he'd been honourable about the walking stick. Besides, holding markers on any fae was about the only thing worse than having one of them hold your marker — which didn't mean there might not be advantage to be had. And if I was going to stand between kinds I might as well try to do it well.
"If the Gray Lords, or any fae, have benefited from Underhill's justice, or the fate of Manannán mac Lír, that is no concern or doing of mine. I claim nothing but my return home, Gwyn ap Lugh, though if that is not to my bathroom some clothes would also be welcome. But tell me, has the grip of the manitou on Underhill eased?"
He looked at me steadily, his new power swirling in his eyes. "It has, though we are urged to return you as swiftly as safely."
"That would be good, Gwyn ap Lugh. My husband and daughter will be no happier than the manitou."
"Yet there might be mutual benefit in our longer speech. What will you say to Bran Cornick of the justice you received and dealt? Or to the humans?"
"To Bran, all I know. To humans, as little as possible, but whatever I must. And I also see that mutual benefits might be possible, so I will be happy to speak further with you, Gwyn ap Lugh, or to any Gray Lord who comes in peace, but not here and now. Overhill, at our mutual convenience and by our mutual agreement." And with clothes on. "Bran can give you my number, if you need it."
A smile glimmered onto his face. "Tell him I will call him soon to ask. I hear your words, daughter of Coyote, and there is no claim between us, nor between you and any fae. Yet I will say also, as the Prince of the Gray Lords, that by my word and command no fae shall offer you or yours harm, Underhill or Overhill, and that all should heed you."
That one I'd have to think about, and report to Bran the moment I could. I thought that, like Uncle Mike's casual promise of a drink waiting for me, it might be the closest thing to thanks for killing Manannán I'd get. But I was still naked, and the adrenaline rush was running out. I was also steadily more aware that my poor bruised stomach muscles had not liked all the tension, any more than my abrasions had liked the salt.
"I am happy to hear your words, Prince of the Gray Lords. I would be happier still if I had some clothes on."
I expect he or Yo-Yo Edythe would have got around to it eventually, but Underhill answered me first. While ap Lugh and I had been speaking the roses had continued to sprout and bloom, a great thicket of them, in all the colours roses Overhill have ever managed and then some more. The air had been still, riotous with scent and very humid — maybe some of Manannán had evaporated — but as I finished speaking a breeze picked up and I found myself amid a swirl of rose petals that tickled, and flowed, and wove themselves into a cloak that not only covered me from head to foot but was immediately warming. Velvet softness was a lot better than bruised nudity, and I couldn't stop a relieved smile as I looked down at myself. For a moment the impulse to twirl was strong. Then I wondered how to thank Underhill without saying anything unwise, but the renewed look in Gwyn ap Lugh's eyes made for new alarm bells before, to my utter astonishment, he gave me a short bow.
"Underhill honours you. Such a cloak has not been given since we left the old world. And the last of all colours was Manannán's féth fíada, that granted invisibility." He paused for a moment, meeting other Gray Lords' eyes, then met mine again. "Whatever its powers, this one is yours for your lifetime, and, at the least, when you wear it Underhill will at your asking open for you to enter or leave this place where it grew. What other powers it may have are yours to determine."
My head was spinning, but looking at the cloak and wondering how it fastened had reminded me of what I held, and I decided I'd been wrong and there was something I still ought to do before asking the cloak to take me home.
"I am happy to receive the freely given gift of Underhill, and will be happy to help Underhill and the manitou to speak peacefully of their coexistence. And" — I held out my hands, not offering either artefact to anyone, but letting them be clearly seen — "while Carnwennan already bears a famous name, I ask you, Gwyn ap Lugh, if you will consent to the naming of your father's work for the deeds it has done this day."
He tilted his head, raising one eyebrow in an almost human gesture. "A naming is deserved, surely."
"Manannán's Bane?"
The walking stick warmed in my hand, preening, and ap Lugh saw it.
"Yes." Something glinted in his eyes. "Its maker would laugh, loud and long."
I wasn't surprised that Manannán had made enemies everywhere, way back when as well as today, but filed the offered datum away, with another note to tell Bran, and ask Zee. Or rather Arianna, seeing as Zee had killed Lugh, and it wasn't a good subject to raise with him unless he invited a question.
"I am happy to hear so. And I am going home."
I gave ap Lugh a nod, briefly returned, with one more for the rest of them, returned only by Nemane and Baba Yaga, though Yo-Yo Edythe gave me a wink. I wondered if the cloak needed some formula or incantation, but decided ap Lugh would have said so, and simply asked Underhill if it would of its grace take me home, to the dwelling from which I had been brought to where I stood. An arched opening appeared, filled with a swirl of earth-scented magic, and I heard ap Lugh's voice.
"Three steps will take you there. Or anywhere you will."
So with a breath, and a firm grasp of both Carnwennan and Manannán's Bane, I took them, and stepped from an idiot Gray Lord's mess into an idiot wolf's.