Trapped

will knight you. She’s a bit stuffy about that sort of thing. But I can make you a Druidic knight if you wish .
    › You can? ‹
    Sure!
    › Gravy! Sir Oberon the … um, I need a majestic adjective here. ‹
    Sir Oberon the Scruffy!
    › I think not. I said majestic , as in noble, awesome, godlike, et cetera. ‹
    Sir Oberon the Modest!
    Refreshed and feeling far less icky, I waded out of the fountain and checked to see how well I’d done. My cotton shirt was a lost cause; I’d need an industrial-strength cleanser to salvage it, and it wasn’t worth the trouble. I stripped it off and threw it on the grass, where I unbound the entire thing and let its component molecules mingle with the landscape. There would be no evidence for a forensic pathologist to find.
    Granuaile returned shortly thereafter with two bottles of ethyl alcohol in her pack.
    » We can get a hotel room if you want, but it’s probably best to get out of town. Feel like hiking back with night vision? «
    She did. » I want to get started as soon as possible, « Granuaile said. » Ever since Laksha told me what you really were, I’ve wanted this. Let’s go. «

Chapter 8
    Some moments are pregnant with epiphany.
    The moment just before you take your first successful bike ride. That bit where the lights go out at your very first concert and people scream because other people who play rock and roll are walking onstage. The doubtful glare at a shiny can seconds before you chug it, choke on it, and realize that you’re a beer snob after all. That moment, sometime after the honeymoon is over, when it dawns on you that the honeymoon really is over and marriage will require a bit of work. And then that moment before your first child is born. They are the moments during which we are briefly, acutely, conscious that our lives will be changed forever … in the next moment.
    Granuaile was having one of those moments. Her muscles were tense and she was holding her breath, because I held her right heel cupped in my left hand and pointed a sharp thorn at the sole of her foot with my other hand. Said thorn was hardened and sharpened and still attached to a living thornbush, which was of course in contact with the earth and thus with Gaia. The ink was ground lapis lazuli, mined in Colorado, mixed with alcohol.
    Both of us were in a trancelike fugue, though only I was in contact with Gaia; Granuaile was being helped by Olympia, via the marble clutched tightly in her hand. We would pause occasionally to eat and sleep and keep our bodies functioning, but, once established, the connection with Gaia would have to stay open for three months. We’d be extremely vulnerable and less-than-sterling conversationalists.
    Oberon understood this. It was to be a long, lonely time for him. And he also understood that, should it be warranted, he would snap us out of it, whether Granuaile was completely bound or not.
    I hadn’t told Granuaile what would happen when I first pierced her sole with the thorn and the consciousness of Gaia rushed in. There were no words to prepare someone for that. So I simply jabbed her where Gaia said I should, then held on as she spasmed, screamed, and passed out.

Chapter 9
    Druids are trained to multitask and maximize their mental capacity. They’re encouraged both to think big thoughts and think several different ones at the same time. But no one’s mind is capable of keeping up with Gaia’s. A single human brain cannot contain the mind of the world. That’s why Granuaile shut down when flooded with the consciousness of Gaia. I had done the same thing. Everyone does. But no one ever forgets the scope of the power there, the breadth of the love or the depth of the pain glimpsed in the second before oblivion saved them from insanity.
    With Granuaile unconscious, I could continue to tattoo the sole of her foot, which would have otherwise been quite problematic. The number of nerves there makes it difficult to proceed—reflexes are tough to work around.
    There were no designs marked on Granuaile’s foot; the shape of Gaia’s binding came directly from her, which I saw in the magical spectrum as a green overlay on Granuaile’s skin. The pattern looked like a Celtic wreath; it was similar to the loop on the back of my hand, except there was no triskele design in the center of it. This was an inhibitor loop, a sort of filter that would allow Granuaile to feel Gaia’s presence and speak with her while remaining conscious. Until the loop