MI5 and the Home Office had their hands full trying to keep things under wraps. Too many people had seen the battle. Many had posted the information to social media, flooding computers from Edinburgh to Katmandu with images of both small and huge monsters attacking in what looked more like a B-movie than a real-life documentary. Still, with the assistance of Maeve and some other indigenous magical resources, they’d managed to relegate it to a combination of cosplay and games played by reenactment organizations. The finality of the ‘evidence’ was relegated to conspiracy websites, a good enough place for the information to live in ignominy, fuel to the fire of those who “knew the truth of it all.”
The Green Man was nowhere to be found. He’d fought alongside Maeve and they’d taken out the two Marrow, but immediately following the battle, he’d just disappeared. The Home Office wasn’t at all happy about that turn of events, but there was nothing to be done about it. Rumor had it that the Queen was livid that she’d lost such a resource.
The Centaur presented new conditions to the royal family, namely that there would be permanent set asides for much of the Fae. The encroachment of humanity was threatening their very existence, and if the Queen ever wanted the Fae to come to her defense in the event the Formori attempted a return, then they needed to have a home they weren’t constantly afraid was going to turn into newly developed real estate. In essence, they created their own series of reservations upon which to live, with the guarantee that humanity would never defile the lands.
Ironically, it was President Rick Slaughter who helped the Centaur with some of the wording in the legal arguments. In exchange, the Centaur would assist Pine Ridge in their own desire to renegotiate the terms of their land use, especially since they had new formations that were exciting everyone from hydrologists to tourists.
The Indians returned to Pine Ridge and Maeve severed the hole in the world she’d created. Of the seven dryads secreted to the other side, two wanted to stay and there wasn’t any convincing them otherwise. Already, Pine Ridge had discovered a new and mysterious water source that was becoming the envy of non-Indian farmers along the edges of the reservation. People were coming far and wide to see the green veldt. Its popularity had already surpassed that of the Corn Palace in Mitchell.
Jagger, Barbie, Donkey Kong, and Hard Hat, the exchange sergeant who’d been sent to Special Unit 77 in her stead, were none the worse for wear. Munro was something altogether different, which was why everyone was gathered in Cottingley Wood, in front of the ruined corpse of the old dryad, Epiphonia.
Poe was present as well, choosing to stay on this side of the veil. He wanted to confer with Waterhouse and ensure that Preacher’s Daughter was alright in the head, something which she wasn’t sure she’d ever be after all of this was said and done. One of the more ridiculous things that bothered her was the fate of Crockett and Tubbs. Damned if those two bogies hadn’t grown on her.
Munro, on the other hand, needed to be heard and he’d invited everyone to where things started, while MI5 once again ran crowd control so they’d be alone for the time necessary to do what needed to be done. He could barely move on his own and needed the help of a walker.
“I just wanted to thank all of you,” he said, his voice trembling and weak. “You have been the best friends I have ever had.”
“Why are you talking past tense?” Jagger asked.
“Something happened when I was here last—when we saw her die.” He looked to the tree, but couldn’t hold the gaze of the dead and accusing dryad.
“She’s in you, isn’t she,” Donkey Kong said.
Munro nodded. “I think so.” Then to Preacher’s Daughter. “And her to a smaller extent.”
Preacher’s Daughter glanced at the leaves sprouting from her wound. Silly little things. She picked one and winced slightly.
“Can you give it back?” Barbie asked.
Munro shook his head.
“No. What do you mean, no?” Barbie asked, anguish in her voice. She glanced at the others, suddenly more woman than any of them had ever seen her be.
Trash and Thrash ran up and hugged her legs. “Why is he saying no, Waterhouse?”
Her face returned to its normally angry clench and she said firmly, “Tell him to give it back.”
“He means he has no power over it,” said Maeve, appearing in vestments made from leaves and vines. Grapes and flowers still grew upon them. They hugged her body like they’d always been there. She brought with her the scent of a flower bed. She approached the dead dryad, tree split by the axe hand of the first Marrow they’d encountered. The dryad’s face was still visible on the trunk of the tree, mouth open in a silent forever scream. Maeve allowed her right hand to caress the wood, as gentle and honorable as someone might be to a body laid in state.
Preacher’s Daughter shook her head. “I should have known this was something you cooked up.”
“This has nothing to do with me. She gave the last of herself to Munro and you so that you would come back and return it one day.”
“We never asked for this.”
“Does it make the gift any less important?” She faced Preacher’s Daughter. “So angry all the time. Why is that? Have you thought about that?”
Preacher’s Daughter wasn’t prepared for this to be an intervention. She crossed her arms and shoved out a leg. “You don’t know me.”
Maeve’s eyebrow raised. “Don’t I?” She approached Preacher’s Daughter and placed a soft hand on her shoulder. “Everything is transitory. Everything is transactional. I’m surprised Boy Scout didn’t explain that to you.”
“Don’t speak his name.”
“Why not? It’s not like he’s dead.”
Preacher’s Daughter shook free the hand and dropped her own at her sides, then brought them up in prayer. “He’s alive? You know him? Where is he? Please. Tell me.”
Maeve shook her head and pushed aside a length of hair that had fallen free from Preacher’s Daughter’s ponytail. “I’ve not met him, but I feel him in the world pulse. He’s out there.”
A gulf of opportunity and ideas opened up inside of her. Oh, but how she’d missed her old team boss and comrade. But that was another lifetime ago, or so it seemed. He’d left them to move on, so wasn’t the idea that she moved on as well? What was it Maeve had said? Everything is transitory.
She turned to Munro now. Poe. Donkey Kong. Jagger. Barbie. This was her team now. She wondered how much of her life she’d lived looking back instead of forward. She cleared her throat and wet her lips. “So, how does it work for us? How do we return what the dryad gave?”
Everyone stared at her, but no one said a word.
She put her arm around Munro’s shoulders. “How can he return the life that was stored inside of him?”
“What makes you think you can return it?” Maeve asked.
Preacher’s Daughter began to pull at the tiny leaves sprouting out of her wound. Each one was a pinprick of pain, wincing with each pull. “Here, let me give these back. Take them,” she said, throwing a handful at the tree.
They struck the bark, then fell unceremoniously to the ground.
“Do you understand? I don’t want this? I don’t want you!” She hammered against the side of the tree. “Take it back.” Then, as if to accentuate her frustration, she shouted and pounded at the same time. “Take. It. Back.”
Donkey Kong came and grabbed her wrists. “It doesn’t want anything from you. What you have is but a side effect of being nearby when it happened. Munro has the whole of it.”
Her face collapsed for one brief moment as if to succumb to crying, but then she fought back and found composure. “Oh, Munro.”
“Alas, it has taken ahold of him,” Maeve said. “The magic is powerful. He has already changed. I bet he bleeds green even now.”
Munro feebly pulled free a knife from a sheath at his waist and with a shaking hand, cut his palm long and deep. Green blood pooled in the cup of his hand. He sobbed once, then closed his eyes.
“He’s no longer human, no matter what he looks like.”
“Can’t he remain the way he is, walking around like—like—Swamp Thing or something?” Jagger asked.
“Swamp Thing isn’t real, son,” Maeve said, touching him on his shoulder.
At the touch, he sobbed as well.
“What am I to do?” Munro asked.
“What is it asking of you? What are the whispers in your head?” she asked. Then she nodded. “Even now you converse. Such is the way.”
“They want me to embrace the dead dryad. They want to show me things from the beginning of time. They want me to do things for the land. They want me to protect just as Epiphonia did.”
“Is that so bad? To live something larger than you ever imagined?”
He ignored her. “It also wants me to open my veins on my arms, to cut my throat, to release the blood so that it might once again be infused. It wants to peel me inside out and take the life from me so that it might live.”
“Munro, you can’t,” Preacher’s Daughter said, voice hitching.
He approached her. “But what if I can do more—what if I can be better?”
“You are already among the best of us,” she said.
Waterhouse stepped forward, “Is this something you want to do?”
He stared at him, real fear in his eyes. “I don’t know what I want to do. I’m—I’m scared.”
“Of course you are,” Maeve said, preparing to reach out.
But Barbie blocked her way. “Just go away. We don’t need you. We understand what needs to be done.”
“I’m only here to—”
“Please. Just. Go.” Barbie stood firm.
For a brief moment, Preacher’s Daughter believed that Barbie could actually take the supernatural entity. For a brief moment, Maeve must have believed so as well, because she turned and disappeared into the woods.
Barbie walked up to Munro and put her arms around him.
Jagger did the same.
As did Hard Hat.
And finally, Preacher’s Daughter.
“Whatever you want to do,” she said, “we are with you.”
Munro looked at each of them with haunted eyes. “I’ve spent my life protecting my country,” he said, his voice, barely above a whisper. “I suppose it’s fitting to continue doing so,” he said, his voice cracking. “This—this is just a different way of doing it.”
Transitory.
Transactional.
Preacher’s Daughter felt overwhelmed with emotion. Never in her wildest dreams had she imagined she would be witness to such a thing. Part of it seemed so horrific, but another part seemed honorable. She didn’t know if she’d ever be able to merge the two ideas together.
“Donkey Kong? I mean Waterhouse? Commander?”
“Yes, son.”
“Take this,” and Munro handed him the knife.
“What do you want me to do with it, son?” Waterhouse asked as he took the mean blade.
“Cut me fast and deep.” He sighed; his entire body seemed to rattle with it. “Cut me fast and deep and don’t stop until I live again.”
Waterhouse took the knife.
Preacher’s Daughter couldn’t look. She covered her face and turned, even as the first of the screams split the silent wood.