Shamrock green hills rolled under a vibrant blue sky that stretched for endless miles. Or kilometers. I doubted they used either system in Tir na nOg. They probably used feet, as in actual five-toe walkers, to measure everything.

Leading the way, Rob set us on a brisk pace as we strolled through the fantastic landscape in the morning light.

Towering fossil-grey stones stood proud, guarding the landscape, as they had for millennia. I craned my neck to gaze up at the tops of them. Though the standing stones were set upright in their natural raw state and shape, some of them had perfect round holes bored through them in the center near the top. The surface of some were rigid. Others were perfectly smooth. And still others had Celtic circles carved into the surface.

A herd of deer pranced through the lush grass. Clear air enveloped my face, pouring through my nostrils into my lungs. It smelled like cool summer mornings before the heat of the day settled, bringing back memories of water gun fights, camp fires, and days at Lake Berryessa, the layman’s Tahoe.

I’d never been to the Otherside during the morning. I had to say, Tir na nOg was breathtaking.

After a while we came to a large mound that looked like every other rolling hill.

“This is the place,” said Rob. “Dian Cécht ’s abode.”

I spun around. “Where?”

Rob stomped his foot on the base of the mound where the grass started to incline.

I eyed the mound for some sort of entrance but the only thing that stood out were the small stones lined around the edge of the mound. A circle of stones. Those were said to be places of power.

“Do I ring the doorbell?”

Rob smiled. “Just declare who you are and ask to be invited in.”

My eyebrows raised on their own accord, but I gave it a go. This wasn’t the Bay Area after all. How was I to know their customs here?

“Dian Cécht? This is Sean O’Farrell of the Bay Area. I request your healing skills.”

I waited for several minutes, but nothing happened. My voice boomed loud enough that anyone inside the grassy mound should have heard something.

“Try the cohuleen druith,” suggested Rob.

Lightbulb moment. I reached into my jacket of holding. I was loving the thing more and more. Picturing the drooping triangular cap in my mind, I reached into the depths of my jacket and donned it. My friends laughed at me.

“Looks pretty dumb,” said Gavin.

“He looks cute,” said Charice. “Like Zelda.”

“Link, you mean,” I said. “Okay, shut up everyone.”

I don’t know what came out of my mouth but I guess it got the Healer’s attention.

The mound rumbled. Grass parted and peeled back like a curtain exposing fresh earth underneath. A door-like hole took shape.

“Well don’t let all the cool air out,” growled a voice from within. “Come inside.”

No one but Rob and I could understand, so we stepped in first and the rest of the group followed.

For a guy who dwelled in a mound, Dian was tall. His slender figure stretched upward so that almost anywhere he moved under the mound he had to stoop. A mop of orange hair covered his eyes, and a thick mustache covered his mouth. His nose jutted out like a diving board over a pool, and was the only feature of his face visible.

He sat down on a low stool. His bent knees came up to his shoulders. Hunching over a crude iron pot, he tipped a bowl full of carrots, onions, parsnips, and other various vegetables into boiling water. With one hand stirring the pot, he reached into a sack and palmed an assortment of nuts and berries. He shoved them in his mouth, not even closing it as he chewed.

I waited for him to ask for clarification as to why we were there.

He kept chewing.

I eyed my group. Standing and crowding his space felt super intrusive, so we all found places to sit on stools, or even the floor, except Nehemiah, who stayed in the back near the disappearing doorway in the shadows.

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“Good trail mix huh?”

Dian nodded. Then shoved another handful in his mouth.

I didn’t want to offend him, but the guy lacked serious social skills. At the same time, we showed up uninvited, and this was his house. His rules. I just didn’t know what those rules were. I was getting no facial queues from him because all the hair. There was no telling if he was irritated, enraged, or bored.

I cleared my throat and spoke. The magical cap translated my words as they left my tongue. I tried to appeal to his Celtic warrior heritage and put my predicament in terms he would relate to.

“Dian, I’m Sean O’Farrell of the Bay Area, bester of the Banshee, slayer of Sluagh, killer of the Kelpie. I’ve been at war with Donn for the past few months. He’s laid claim to my land, sent monsters to consume my people, and because of his actions, my father ended up cursed, stuck in the form of a dog.” I pointed to Tain.

The crunching of the trail mix grew louder as Dian thoroughly chewed with about as much expression as a cow. Maybe less.

“I’m asking if you can break this canine curse, restore my father, give him his humanity back.”

Dian’s nose twitched. He stirred the soup some more.

Out of the corner of my eye I caught Rob sinking a stubby hand into the trail mix bowl. I shook my head, but he shoved them all in his mouth anyways. He chewed for a few seconds, then proceeded to spit them out all over the floor.

I hissed his name like a curse. “Rob. Stoppit.”

“Forgot I don’t like nuts,” said the hobgoblin.

If Dian was pissed, I could not tell. But I was not on his good side now. That’s for sure. I’d beat Rob senseless later.

“Sorry about that. Rob will clean it up,” I said. “Anyways...about that healing...”

Retrieving a wooden ladle, Dian began to eat the soup and talk in between bites. “So you think that because you’re having a scuffle with Donn and you killed some of his pets that I’d be inclined to help you, a mere mortal? I’m the best healer in all of Tir na nOg, and you want me to fix a mutt, no less?”

I decided to play into his pride. “Well, being the best, you were the first on my list. I guess I could just always go ask Brigid. I heard she’s a pretty good healer, if not better.”

Actually I couldn’t go ask Brigid. Something told me that even though I was under the curse of the Keening, and that Asen Scáth was technically the one who tried to kill her, she would not have warm feelings if she ever ran into me again. Hopefully Dian didn’t know that. It was the only card I could play though.

And he fell right into my trap.

“Brigid. Phaaa. She thinks she’s a healer. What’s she doing healing people? Doesn’t she have an eternal flame to guard? That’s so irresponsible of her. What if that flame goes out? Then what? The whole realm will fall to Chaos, that’s what. Sometimes, I swear, I’m the only god with any sense left.”

Good. I hurt his pride. All I had to do was push it a little more and seal the heal deal.

“I hear you,” I said. “I just figured when I go back to my realm with this amazing story of how my father was healed, everyone will want to know who did the healing. I’d like to say the one-n-only Dian Cécht did it. But maybe Brigid will get all the credit.”

Dian huffed and stood to his full height. I might have gone too far. He shook the ladle at me.

“You know, Sean. I go dig a magic well to get everyone off my back so they can heal themselves, and they still come bothering me for healing.” Broth dripped from his mustache as he spoke. “What did I dig that well for anyways? I guess that’s what I get for being the best healer.”

Dian Cécht rambled on.

“My son thought he was the best healer. Thought he was better than his old man. But ain’t no one a better healer than me. So I showed him. Beat him to death. Can’t be the best healer if you can’t heal yourself from the dead. Maybe I need to pay Brigid a visit too.” He palmed the ladle like a club.

I wasn’t sure if Dian casually mentioning the murder of his son was simply a fact, or a threat. Both I’m sure. Whatever the case, I needed to veer the conversation far away from Brigid. If it got around that I instigated a fight between Dian and her, I’d be dead.

“Kids, am I right? My shifting servant here is practically a kid. I’ll probably kill the hobgoblin myself when we’re done here.” I laughed, but Dian remained stoic. Things were already awkward, so I steered the conversation towards the thing I needed. “You mentioned a well. Where did you dig it, by the way?”

“Let’s see, where did I put the Slane Well? Oh, yes. I put it over by the Barrow River. Know where that is?”

I shook my head.

His bushy eyebrows furrowed like I was a total idiot. I still could not see his eyes.

“Northeast from here. But if you go too far east you’ll hit the Mag Tuired battlefield. And if you go too far northwest you’ll be at the Loch Arboch. It’s too bad you’re not Tuatha, or you could pluck an apple and be healed there. Except decapitation, there’s no cure for that. Is anyone you need to heal decapitated?”

I looked from face to face in my group. “As far as I can tell, we all still have our heads.”

Dian Cécht nodded, as if I’d been completely serious. This guy couldn’t take a joke if it kicked him in the teeth.

“What were we talking about, boy?”

“The Slane Well, next to the Barrow River.”

“Ah yes. The river runs toxic. It’ll melt you if you set foot in it. I figured if I put a pure well there, not only would everyone remember exactly where to find it, but they’d thank me for giving them drinking water in an otherwise barren area devoid of any pure water. But what thanks do I get? None. That’s what. Bunch of ungrateful fae, gods, and goddesses, I tell you.”

Dian paced the room as he spoke, with his back to us.

“Of course I was the one who made the river venomous in the first place. I cast those vile dead serpents into the river and suddenly it is a toxic river. Sometimes I hate living in Tir na nOg.”

He rambled on, staring into a corner, not even aware we were there anymore.

Quietly we got up and left before crazy Cécht could turn on us.