I guess I pictured Dagda differently in my head, like a jolly old Irish Santa Clause, or a hunched Yoda. Maybe even a bearded old smurf.

Any false notions of who Dagda should be were shattered.

Thick thews and chorded muscles bulged from his plaid half tunic as he struggled with an ox pulling a plow, tilling the earth in neat rows. At his full height, he was taller than me.

“Hey Da,” said Aengus Og.

Dagda looked up from his work and wiped his brow. “Son.” His large chest expanded as he drew in a deep breath. They did not shake hands, but they did grip forearms. Dagda did not smile, but there was something in the depths of his eyes, faint sorrow mingled with a quiet joy. They reunited without words. The embrace was enough.

Our presence required a more thorough explanation.

Aengus explained we were there for healing. Then he left me to plead my case.

Dagda listened with his eyes as much as his ears, seeming to soak me up in my entirety. After I finished, he simply nodded.

Barefoot, he stepped with an athletic grace amongst his garden of fruits and vegetables. With deft hands he prodded here, patted dirt there, and plucked ripe finds. Soon his basket was full and he beckoned us to the back of his hut.

Sitting on a stool, he milked a cow, squirting warm milk into the wooden bowl. For how little time he milked, an unreal amount of milk filled the bowl. Regardless, I wasn’t sure he heard my plea, or if he even cared.

I tried to convey the severity of the time crunch we were in. “I need to heal my dad before Donn gets to the Bay Area.”

I almost thought he did not hear me until he spoke up. “Neither Ireland, nor Tir na nOg have ever had one, all-ruling king.” Dagda’s voice registered on the lower end of the spectrum. It held a worn quality to it, like an old 1950s Chevy 3100 pickup truck. He moved into the back of the hut where a modest sized cauldron sat on a hearth fire. With practiced motions he stoked the fire, poured the milk into the cauldron, and began stirring it while adding seemingly random things from the garden, things I never would have put together. But it smelled great.

“Can’t you just give us some broth to go?”

Dagda ignored me, speaking with slow determination. “Ever since the Tuatha and Fomorians were banished here, the kings of each isle and under the waters have struggled to uphold their kingship.”

This was taking longer than it needed too. Dagda’s speech had nothing to do with our issue, but I humored him. If I ticked him off, he might decide he didn’t need to heal my dad, or anyone else. And we could all use a sip of that broth. So I kept my mouth shut and let him do his thing.

“Long ago, I discovered Duir, the King Tree, from which all life in Tir na nOg is connected. Every hundred years it produces but a handful of acorns. I was diligent to collect them.”

Okay I take it back. We needed to get the heck out of there. “Dagda. My dad doesn’t remember who he is. And we don’t have a lot of time. Can we learn the history of Tir na nOg some other time?”

Dagda stopped stirring and glared at me. “This cannot be rushed. Be that as it may, I don’t have time to give you enough for your father and all your friends. I can only give you enough for one person to drink.”

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“One?”

Just one.

But I didn’t have just one person to heal. Dad needed the broth. Charice, Gavin, and I needed it too.

And I’d made a promise to a wizard’s wife.

“But—”

Dagda raised the ladle like he was going to hit me with it if I did not shut up and let him lecture us. Didn’t he understand we had less and less time the more he meandered?

“Though I am protected by the disappearance of Hybrasail, I knew having all the acorns stored in one place was dangerous, even here. I entrusted oak acorns, seedlings from the King Tree, to certain caretakers. I had them plant them in several different realms so that no matter how hard he searched, he could never find them all.”

“Did you just imply there are parallel universes other than Tir na nOg and Earth? And who did you hide them from?”

Dagda’s glare should have blasted a hole in my head. I realized I’d cut him off. He continued. “As long as the seeds grow into strong trees, the Duir can never die, nor can it ever be chopped down.”

I rolled my eyes. So old man Dagda distributed some acorns to a bunch of Johnny Appleseed’s. And why? So some ambiguous person could not find them and chop them down? So what? Perhaps the old man had been alone for so long, rambling senile speak was all he knew.

He took a ladle and poured the broth from the cauldron into a wineskin. Then he handed me the wineskin which I stored into my jacket of holding.

“Remember, there is only enough for one person, and one person only. Every drop must be consumed or it will not work. You cannot split it with anyone. Decide wisely who gets to drink from it.”

He placed strong hands on my shoulders and pushed us out of the hut. “You must flee now, my son. You don’t have much time, unless you wish to dwell with me for the next seven years while everything you love is corrupted by Donn and falls to Chaos and ruin. Besides, while you have been here less than a day, an entire day has passed in your realm. Samhain Eve has passed. It is currently Samhain.”

I dug my feet into the ground and stopped. “Wait. Did you say Donn is the one you’re hiding the acorns from?”

Dagda let out a weary sigh. “Because Donn is ignorant of Earth, he has been searching for the Duir acorn in what he perceived was the land of the Oaks.”

“Oakland, California?”

“Yes. As if the people I entrusted these seedlings to would be so foolish and so simple minded.”

I put two and two together. “That’s why Celtic monsters have been attacking the Bay Area specifically.”

“They can cross over to many places into your world from here in Tir na nOg, but Donn has focused his efforts there.”

“That explains why the Dearg Due operated out of Oakland.”

“And why they are using various gangs throughout the Bay Area,” said Charice.

“And all of the Bay Area wildfires,” said Gavin.

“Donn will stop at nothing to see that every last oak acorn is destroyed. Only then can he see to his ultimate end.”

“Which is?”

“The chopping down of the King Oak. And the, complete control of Tir na nOg. There has never been one single king to rule the four isles, including Tir fo Thuinn. Donn sees himself as the rightful master of these lands simply because no one else has aspired to unite the realm. In his mind, we lack the vision.”

“Where is the Oak tree in our realm then?” I asked.

Dagda gave me a flat stare. “I know not where it is. But that is not the question you should be asking.”

I thought about what I should ask. “Who did you entrust the acorn to?”

Dagda smiled. “I knew you were smart, my son. I entrusted the acorn to you father, Geralt O’Farrell.”

My mind reeled at the revelation. Disjointed fragments of information suddenly came crashing together in my head as I was able to form a plausible backstory as to what my father was up to when he was in the Shepherds Guild and the events that lead us here to this moment.

The family photo album filled my mind’s eye, specifically the two pictures of my mom’s front yard. The first question I asked Dagda suddenly had an answer.

The blood drained from my face.

“Dad planted the Oak tree in the front yard.”

I looked at Gavin who also turned a new shade of pale. “Donn is going to end up at Mom’s house.”