Hammered

purpose. «
    Oh. I am supposed to provide them with a rationale for what they just did to me—and to Oberon, the javelinas, and the mountain lion. This time I don’t have a quick answer.
    » Will you release Oberon to me, please, while I think about it? «   I ask.
    Flidais looks to Brighid to inquire if she approves. The First among the Fae gives the barest nod, and Flidais drops her vision to Oberon, who gets up and hurries over to me, his head and tail lowered in shame. I bend down to greet him and whisper,   » Hey, head up. You did nothing wrong. «   I cup my hand underneath his jaw and smile into his eyes. His tail wags weakly in response.
    » How long have you been conducting this   Baolach Cruatan ? «   I ask the goddesses.
    » Since the Tuatha Dé came to Ireland, «   Brighid says.
    I nod and consider, trying not to be overwhelmed by the sheer number of years that represented. Atticus would have gone through this same trial, and he must have known that I would have to face it before long. He might have even arranged for this to happen during his absence, and I saw how he had tried to prepare me for it, showing me all that gore and death back at Tony Cabin and warning me that magic users rarely die in their sleep. I remember him forcing me to look on the severed head of a witch held in a werewolf’s jaws, and my answer comes.
    » It is character evaluation through crisis, «   I say.   » You cannot take a person’s true measure until they are threatened. «
    » Yes. And why must we measure you this way? «   Flidais presses.
    » I will be bound to the earth someday, «   I reply.   » You can let neither the cowardly nor the bloodthirsty be bound in such a way. «
    » Excellent, «   Brighid says.   » I am satisfied. Are you hurt? «
    For the first time, I examine my calf, which is beginning to throb painfully now that I’m warming up. The cold had numbed the pain somewhat, and adrenaline had let me ignore the rest. It is a shallow cut up the outside of my calf that would have been much deeper if the wet suit hadn’t taken the brunt of the damage.  It’s still bleeding and needs stitches I don’t have.
    » I got scratched pretty well here. «
    » We will leave you to heal, «   Flidais says.   » You have passed the   Baolach Cruatan . Congratulations. We look forward to the day when you are bound with the earth. «
    » May harmony find you, «   Brighid adds.
    » And you, «   I manage to reply before they wink out of sight, thanks to Flidais.
    They probably will linger and observe me for a while, but I don’t care. I am more concerned about the mountain lion. It rises underneath my gaze, gives a parting hiss to Oberon, and jumps back into the river, leaving us alone with the dead javelina.
    I give Oberon a hug around the neck.   » You are a fabulous hound. I’m sorry you had to go through that. I know you wanted to help, but you couldn’t. You were under Flidais’s control once before, weren’t you? «
    Oberon gives a small whine. I almost join in, because it occurs to me then to wonder what would have happened if I hadn’t passed the  Baolach Cruatan .
    Sonora interrupts my morbid thoughts with an observation that puts to rest what might have happened if I’d failed: //Druidchild lives / Joy / Relief//
    //Yes / Regret / Cannot work now / Must fix suit first//
    //Must fix leg / Sonora will heal//
    That was excellent news, because I hadn’t been looking forward to pulling a Rambo and performing surgery on myself. //Gratitude / Harmony// I send.
    //Harmony// Sonora replies.
      Oberon is so sweet. He doesn’t leave my side now. He watches me try to sew up the gash in my wet suit with fishing line and hooks, which I’m sure must be about as exciting to him as watching grass grow. Or maybe he’s just waiting for me to stab myself. There will still be some flushing no matter what I do, but not, I hope, to the point where I’m in danger of succumbing to hypothermia. I feel nice and warm now, thanks to whatever Brighid did, but I suspect that once I get back in the river, I won’t be very warm again until we return to the rented truck.
      I have killed hundreds of crawdads and felt nothing, but I still feel guilty about the javelina. He will haunt my dreams, I think.
      A javelina is a collared peccary, which sounds like pecker, which sounds   exactly   like Beau Thatcher, my stepfather.
    I do not normally wallow in symbolism, but perhaps I can save myself a trip