Trapped

of ancient fires, which corroborated my growing belief that we were the first humans to set eyes on this cave in centuries—perhaps the first humans ever.
    » It looks good, « I said, shrugging off the straps of my pack. » This might work out perfectly. «
    » Okay, « Granuaile said, extricating herself from her pack and setting it down with a relieved sigh.
    » Oberon, I’ll need you to scout all possible approaches to the cave. We can see pretty well down below, but we need to know what’s behind us. Would you mind? «
    › Not at all. Am I allowed to hunt? ‹
    » Don’t hunt yet. Scout all you want, but let’s just establish what’s normal for the area so we can spot any intruders later. «
    › Okay. But I’m bagging something before we leave or I’m a pug with the muscle tone of French bread. ‹
    » Agreed. «
    Oberon turned and disappeared with a swish of his tail through the brush. Granuaile began to unpack in brooding silence.
    Backpacking is different when you can cast night vision. Items like flashlights and lamps and oil are unnecessary. We had plenty of food—mostly soup mixes and jerky and dried fruit. It was a nutritionally deficient diet, but it was only for a few months, with resupply available at a tolerable distance in Litochoro. Water and wood for fuel were plentiful. The large pine tree would help diffuse the smoke from our cook fires.
    Granuaile was yanking goodies out of her pack with increasing force and tossing, then throwing, them down on the ground. She was working herself up for something; the whistle on the old pressure cooker was about to go off.
    » Fire away whenever you’re ready, « I said quietly.
    She did not appear to hear. She still had a few more items to yank out and slam down, and I approved. Violent unpacking should never be interrupted or unfinished.
    » Those weren’t gods! « she finally exploded.
    » I beg your pardon? «
    » I mean the Tuatha Dé Danann. Frigg was fine. But I expected something a bit nobler from the Irish, you know? Not a festival of pettiness and gamesmanship and freezing people in time, staring at them morbidly before they die. Why should I pray to them? «
    » That’s an excellent question. You don’t have to. «
    Her expression, full of challenge, morphed into confusion. » I don’t? «
    » No, of course not. «
    » I thought all the Druids worshipped the Tuatha Dé Danann. «
    » They do. « I smiled wryly. » But that’s because I’m the only Druid right now. «
    » No, I meant … in history. When there were more of you around. «
    » It varied a bit. The Druids on the continent tended to like Cernunnos, for example, more than those of us who came from Ireland. The Wild Hunt was bigger on the mainland too. There was no central doctrine for all the Celts. «
    » So I can worship who I want? Or not at all? «
    » Of course. Gaia doesn’t give a damn who you worship; when the Tuatha Dé Danann became the first Druids, you can bet they didn’t worship themselves. You’re going to be bound to the earth, Granuaile, not to a religion. You can dress like a pirate on Fridays and worship the Flying Spaghetti Monster if you want. Gaia won’t care as long as you protect her. «
    » Oh. « Granuaile settled back on her haunches but then gave that up and carefully arranged her legs in the lotus position. She rested her hands lightly on her knees, kept her back straight, and fixed her eyes on mine. I recognized the posture; she was about to argue with me.
    » Please explain why you continue to worship the Tuatha Dé Danann when you have no need to do so and you are clearly aware they are flawed beings. «
    I settled myself so that my posture mirrored hers before answering.
    » Your question assumes that gods must necessarily be perfect. That is a prejudice of monotheism. People of pagan faiths are not upset by gods that reflect human foibles. In fact, it’s rather comforting. «
    » I grant you the prejudice, but the question remains. If you are not required to worship them—if you retain all magical powers regardless of your faith or lack thereof—why do you persist? «
    » I’m in it for the afterlife, same as anyone else. «
    She frowned. » Are you throwing some sort of pagan Pascal’s Wager at me? «
    » Catch! «
    » Thpppt. «
    » Don’t be so dismissive. Where is the downside to spending eternity in Mag Mell, or even in Tír na nÓg? Both are beautiful places. «
    » So are most versions of paradise. «
    » Hence the reason