Staked (The Iron Druid Chronicles, #8)(49)



She does not appear to be in charge of anything except sprawling on the riverbank, and Perun guesses what I am thinking.

“Brighid and Atticus are in Svartálfheim,” he says. “Flidais must be emergency person now.”

I want to ask why Atticus would go to the land of the dark elves, but I refrain; I’ll catch up with him later.

“Then it’s you and me, Perun,” I say.

<And me,> Orlaith adds.

Always, sweet hound, I tell her privately, giving her a scratch behind the ears. We move off a few paces so that Perun can say his farewells and get his weapon, but Flidais does briefly accompany us to earth, simply to shuttle Perun there—I can’t bring Perun with me without another headspace, and I don’t know him well enough anyway.

When we take the ferry to Rügen this time, nobody wants to pet Orlaith, despite her being just as adorable as before. I take a wild guess that the scowling thunder god holding an axe next to us has reduced our approachability. Perun wanted to fly at first, but I protested that Orlaith would not enjoy it.

“So,” I say, “tell me what should I expect from Weles besides snakes. What does he look like?”

Perun sniffs, considers, then lifts a single buttock off the bench and farts without a shred of embarrassment. It is his first comment on Weles, perhaps, but then he elaborates: “When he is snake, he is big black snake. When he is man, he is still thin like snake. Tall. Long straight black hairs and beard, with droopy mustaches. Narrow face with cheekbones standing out. Sometimes he wear hat—no, is not right word. What is thing like crown but not crown, you wear in band around head, no top?”

“Maybe a circlet?”

“Yes, circlet! This is word I need. He has circlet with ram horns on it, and sometimes he wear this. Make peoples think horns grow on his head, but is lie. Is there to make peoples think he has many powers.”

“Well, does he have many powers?”

“Yes.”

“Can’t blame him for his horny haberdashery, then.”

“What is haberdashing? I am not knowing this word.” The rest of our ferry ride is pleasantly occupied with the rich history of haberdashers and their profession, and Perun adds “visit a London haberdasher” to his personal bucket list. But our faces set into grim lines once we hit land and lope across Rügen to the spot where Weles has hidden the white horse of ?wi?towit. I check with Mecklenburg to make sure Weles didn’t show up while we were gone and he says no, the only god nearby is Perun. The turf parts for us, the staircase beckons, and Perun goes first, holding his axe out in front of him as he descends, perhaps thinking the axe will trigger any traps first and give him time to avoid them. But that makes little sense to me: If Weles is an earth god, he probably has deadfalls rigged or some kind of cave-in planned. You don’t dodge cave-ins or obliterate them with lightning blasts.

“Perun? Hold on. Don’t move.”

“Okay. I am not moving.”

The walls of the staircase are earth and chalk, solid for the moment but unstable, easily collapsed. I put my palm against the wall to see if it’s “living” earth or cut rock by calling out to the elemental.

//Query: Mecklenburg? Can you sense me here?//

//Yes//

//Please cancel all earth magic on this island except my own bindings//

//Yes Fierce Druid bindings only/

//Harmony No earth-god magic here/ I realize almost too late that the chambers themselves were probably created by magic and hastily add, //But keep shape of chambers//

//Harmony//

I give a small, pleased sigh and Perun looks up at me, a question in his expression. “I just canceled any earth magic on the island except mine,” I explain.

“You can do this?”

“Yes. Atticus did it once to Bacchus. Certain gods work their miracles through the earth all the time and the earth allows it, but the wishes of Druids always take precedence, since we’re actually bound to the earth and gods are more bound by faith.”

“So his magical traps will not be working now?”

“Correct. But if he has strictly mechanical ones, those will still be operational.”

“I am understanding. We go.”

The light wanes to almost total darkness for a stretch, but a source of light grows below as we descend, along with a strange hum. When we reach the bottom of the stairs, we hear a click in the walls and some dust falls from above, but nothing else happens.

“I think we just triggered a trap,” I say.

“And yet we still walk,” Perun replies. “Is good.”

“Yes.”

The chamber at the bottom widens and is lined with shelves filled with glass cages. We can see them because there are Ecobulbs hung from the ceiling, powered by a generator somewhere that must be the source of the humming we hear. And inside those cages are many, many rats.

“What the hell is going on? Those aren’t rigged to break on us, I hope?” I say.

“No, is not trap. Is food for next trap.”

“What?”

“Listen. You hear it ahead?” Perun points to an arched passageway at the other end of the chamber, with a single dim light illuminating it. “Under hum you hear hissing.”

“Oh. Yes, you mentioned there would be snakes.”

“Rats are food for snakes.”

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