A mother always knows her children.
~Mother Danu, The Primordial Goddess of Nature
Danann!? It was really her. Crow had only guessed, but the answer still shook his mind. In shock, he struggled to process this new truth, but never once did he doubt her. It was that bond he felt with her, the connection that was rooted in his blood and soul.
Tuatha De Danann meant Tribe of the Goddess of Danu. Danann was the proper name for Mother Danu—the Primordial Goddess of Nature. This woman was the Mother! Her blood flows through the Draoidh—it flows through him.
“Mugna misses you,” Crow blurted out the first thing that came to mind, and she laughed in response. It was a beautiful laugh that could make people forget about their worries, suffering, and pain. It was a kind of laugh that only a mother could produce as a way of setting her child at ease.
“That old tree still reaches for what he cannot grasp. I miss that little sapling too, but you should be wary of him. All guardians were once sinners. While their crimes varied, they became guardians over having their souls destroyed. That includes the guardians on all twelve planets that guard the towers to the upper realms. They did something unforgivable, and their time in service is their punishment.”
“He may scheme, and I admit I don’t know him like you do, but I trust my instinct. Mugna has always treated me like his grandson.”
“Are you aware he used you?”
“I am, even if he didn’t say so. I dislike being a pawn, but I cannot argue with the results. He reunited the Druid Order and had he asked, I would have volunteered.”
“Your loyalty is commendable. Let me ask you, why do you trust him? Or do you not trust me?”
“I will never repay kindness with enmity. It isn’t only about who I trust, but what I owe.”
The woman smiled and looked toward the Sluagh. Crow caught her winking at the bird and wondered what they were talking about now.
“Are you truly Mother Danu?”
“I’m a remnant of her will, left here to observe. So your question is complicated. I have the freedom to take my own actions, live my own life, and do things independent of the original me. Take Mugna, you could say I fell in love with him, but it was a remnant will, not the primary host. She experienced a lot with him, and in the end, it was Mugna who killed her. I never blamed him, but it was his sin, and he volunteered to become a guardian, to look after the Draoidh.”
“If that… remnant died, how did you know of Mugna’s affair?”
“Once a remnant fades, the energy, memories, and primordial essence all returns to Danann. Once I fade, she will know all I know. The original Danann cannot leave the void, or I’d—she’d—destroy the balance, and chaos would claim these realms once more. No primordial can.”
“Isn’t the Sluagh a primordial? How can it visit?”
“The Sluagh is different. It has the power of a primordial, but it is not a single entity. You could say the Sluagh is the embodiment of mankind’s resentment. Eventually, that resentment gained sentience and a purpose for existing. Nothing is ever what it was before.”
“What do you mean?”
“You traveled through the Door of Paradox, so so have you ever heard of the Ship of Theseus?”
“No.”
“It is an old paradox, but a simple one. Imagine there is a newly crafted ship called Theseus, and it sailed for dozens of years. Every port, the ship had something replaced, be it ropes, planks, or more. Over time, they replaced every piece of Theseus—is that the same ship you left in? Now, what if you assembled a ship from all those old parts, which is the original Theseus?”
Crow’s eyes shined as he analyzed the philosophical puzzle and felt his mind flipping as if trying to solve an impossible riddle. After a few moments of contemplation, he had to agree with her original statement—nothing is ever what it was before. The paradox was really about change—a consequence of time.
He, too, was like the Ship of Theseus. Pieces of him taken away since the day Gideon abducted his mother. Even the scars on his palms were like a fire he refused to extinguish—a reminder of what he lost. That carefree boy that ran naked through this forest while his mama chased him disappeared the day his mother did. It filled seventeen years of his life with loss and replacement, with hardship and growth. But one thing they could never do was break him. Was he like the ship? Broken and rebuilt so many times that he wasn’t sure who he was anymore?
“Will my mother—will she…?” Crow felt his eyes stinging and couldn’t articulate what he feared.
“A mother always knows her children, and she won’t forsake you even if you become a devil. Your exterior may change, but the soul rarely does. My heart aches knowing she has been without her child all this time, but she will definitely be proud of the man you are becoming.”
Crow nodded, afraid to say anything. Afraid he might lose himself in the emotions he’s suppressed all these years. Gideon destroyed his life. In some ways, knowing what he did now, Crow felt that his loss was inevitable. A series of events happened before he was born that he couldn’t control.
“Would you like to listen to some advice?”
“Please,” Crow felt grounded when she spoke, and his chaotic thoughts settled.
“Gideon has his hold on you, and he twists you about inhibiting the person you are to become. He is a master at controlling people through their anger, fear, guilt, and shame—which includes you. Are you willing to be a tool for that man? Someone he can manipulate?”
“No!”
“You listened to the paradox and only saw the ship’s past. The paradox isn’t just about change but about perspective. You saw the ship as something broken, and that change was negative because that’s how you see yourself. You cling to preserving that kid your mother left behind because you fear she won’t love you or recognize you—that’s just foolish.” Mother Danu giggled lightly and placed her hands on Crow’s shoulders.
“Then what am I not understanding?” Crow felt at peace in Danann’s presence. A calmness fell over him as enlightenment infused his mind. Time was a requirement for change, but so were perspective and observation. If no one witnessed the change, did it really happen?
“You are starting to understand. Perspective is about how you observe the situation. The Ship of Theseus wasn’t broken—it just loved the sea and chasing the horizon. Its experiences helped it grow, become wiser, stronger, and live a life worth living. If you are that ship, you are too busy looking at your flotsam-filled wake. How can you move forward if you are always looking back?”
Crow looked down at his scarred palms, struggling between ideologies.
“I’m not saying you should neglect your past,” Danann tilted Crow’s head up, so he was looking at her. Then she tapped his chest. “I’m talking specifically about your heritage. That is the foundation upon which you grow. Most people don’t see an oak tree and think, oh my, those are some beautiful roots.”
Laughter bubbled out of Crow.
“They see a mighty oak and look upon its growth and majesty,” Mother Danu smiled and tapped Crow’s chest again. “You are the creator of a Fireheart Oak, and I can’t imagine a more glorious calling. That is your heritage now and your legacy. It is something your children will inherit, but only if you can secure that power.”
“Nothing is as it was.”
“You get it now.”
“Can you tell me what happened to Gideon?”
“It isn’t as complicated as you think. He broke—you felt it. In moments of grief, suffering, and even great humiliation, a weaker mind will snap. Gideon gave up and was willing to die, so he unknowingly severed his own karma, fate, and even his luck. He could not endure, but if he had, he might have been a man you would have admired. Fate is a guide, filled with choices and free will. We designed it to help guide people, and without it, mortals would die ridiculous deaths—that’s not a joke. It was why your grandmother did what she did. Without an inordinate amount of luck, an unfated will lead a brief but eventful life. She bought you enough time until you could build up enough karma to define your own luck, but the price was her life and Gideon’s karma.”
“And how is karma part of that?”
“Karma is just a way to keep the scales balanced, but even that isn’t absolute.”
“Because I could choose to sever it?”
“No, silly. Because you still have free will. Karma provides the opportunity, but it is still up to you to take those chances offered. If fate shows you all the paths forward, then karma gives you a cosmic nudge down one of those paths. Gideon should have died already, and yet he still lives because he is resisting his bad luck. He struggles against the karma that’s holding him down.”
“So he is ignoring the nudges?”
“For him, it is his only choice. Fate and karma are trying to kill him, so he must live in defiance of them. He has committed too much evil, and that chaos needs to be balanced.”
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“Is that why I’m here? A tool to kill my grandfather?”
“Hah, no. Your story is bigger than that weak man, and so I’ll repeat it—don’t let him control you. You are you, and the blood flowing through your veins doesn’t change that. But I’ve said enough on that, you know what you should and shouldn’t do.”
“Thank you.” Crow placed his fist over his chest and bowed toward Mother Danu, but she stopped him.
“None of that. Now that I’ve helped you, I have questions.” She plucked a leaf from a Fireheart Oak. Once freed from its source, the leaf held its shape for a few seconds before dissipating into smoke. It was like watching the Sluagh fade from this plane of existence. “Very interesting. I know these are now your heritage, but you made them?” Mother Danu asked.
“I am not sure? I thought I did because one exists in my Soulscape. But… they are here. Maybe I learned about them from someplace?”
“You misunderstand. Everything here is manifested by the souls present for the Shield trial. It appears you have the strongest soul out of this batch because these trees are everywhere. They are beautiful in a tortured kind of way. I’ve never seen a fusion like this between the fire and wood elements. In theory, I’m not even sure how this exists, but as I told you before, nothing is as it was.”
“May I ask if you are part of my Shield trial?”
“In a way. The remnant here is rarely activated, but it’s been many thousands of years since an unfated arrived here. Everything I’m doing here is being observed by the Primordial Danann, and she has personally stepped in to evaluate you. A Shield, especially a mutated one—”
“Mutated?” Crow growled, knowing full well that Chirich tricked him. “That bastard!”
Danann chuckled at his grievances.
“He did you a favor. A mutated Shield would have three questions you must answer to succeed—which you have if you arrived here. Our conversation was my way of understanding who you are.”
“And who am I?”
Danann smiled and tapped him on the nose. “You realize I’ve already helped you greatly by explaining your foundation and heritage. A paradox is a suitable word for you, but it’s not who you are. Then again, all unfated are like you. Contradictions, unsure of why things happened, or if you are the cause or effect or both. You are rare because few unfated are ever suited to bear a Shield. Except for your friend Mara, I’ve not come across anyone more suited than you. She is a true bulwark and would do anything to protect you, so you better cherish her, mister Crow.”
“You know I will, but I don’t think you really answered my question,” Crow muttered.
“Reciprocity.”
“Huh?”
“You asked who you are. You are reciprocity.”
“I know what that means, but I’m not sure I understand what you are saying.” Crow flushed a little, and Mother Danu pinched his cheek.
“It means you give what you get but in an amplified way. Someone shows you a bit of kindness, and you return that kindness tenfold. Treated with enmity, you’d destroy them. But you surprise me because the line that has to be crossed before you react is as complex as you.”
“That… what?” Crow grimaced and wasn’t sure what to say.
“I mean, you aren’t really an eye for an eye type of person. Your reactions are extreme, but it takes above-average effort to get you to react. Take Kafele, you spared him, did you not?”
“Who?”
“The Hex Vodun who was about to attack you in the Clocktower. In the eyes of cultivators, you had every right to put an arrow into him, but you saved his life. You have a bottom line on your vengeance, which means despite your reciprocity, you have honor.”
He didn’t know what to say, so he remained silent. Mother Danu looked at the Sluagh again and then back to Crow.
“You ready?”
“For?”
“Your Shield, silly. Isn’t that why you are here? The Shield was a concept created based on the Awen, representing Mind, Body, and Spirit which is the culmination of the Soul. Body is your foundation or the Fireheart Oak, which will be your crest. Mind is represented by a circle, which will be the shape of your Shield.”
“Why?”
“You are unfated and ever-changing. There is nothing you can’t become. Out of all the Shield shapes, the round shield or targe is the most versatile. Like you, it can be defined by what you wish to do. The last is your Spirit, which is represented by a trait.”
Crow’s eyes focused on the Sluagh, all of its heads were smiling, and he understood now why they were present.
“It is good that your intelligence is so high,” Mother Danu laughed upon seeing Crow gaining insight. “Your trait is reciprocity, which, as you guessed, is represented by the Sluagh. Which also overlaps with your Three-Headed Crow ability.”
“Wait, is that another set of three?” Crow asked, realizing his crow was about past, present, and future. It seemed he was really developing some sort of affinity for time.
“Not for me to say,” she replied but was grinning. “You and the Sluagh are linked deeply, and since reciprocity is a direct representation of karma, you understand why he is here. I’m afraid you’ll be connected even more after this. However, it comes with a benefit. You’ll gain a new technique called Feedback. After today, your Shield will deliver some of the damage back to your attacker whenever you are attacked. It’ll also temporarily mark your attacker with a Soul-Link. It won’t last long, a few days at most, but during that time, you’ll be able to sense where your attacker is.”
“Understood.”
“Sadly, our time together is almost at an end, but I want to tell you a few things. It was no accident you were named Crow. Your grandmother whispered as much to your mother. Your name was her gift to you,” Mother Danu told him.
Crow heard Nin sniffling beside him and felt his eyes burning.
“Why did she do it? I mean, I know why, but why?”
“You poor child,” Mother Danu said and brushed the tears from Crow’s cheek. “A true mother sacrifices everything for her child. Be at ease. She meant every word she told you. Lauren was a beautiful mother and with the purest heart. If she had more to give, she’d have done so with a smile. Just as your own mother also sacrificed to protect you that day.”
“But… I feel unworthy of that love.”
“That is because you carry the guilt of an innocent. You fear you can never repay what they’ve given. Remain filial. Do as you promised your grandmother, and live your life with love and smiles. That is the greatest gift you can give any mother, the peace of mind that you are well.”
Crow hugged the goddess, but he didn’t mean to. Except for those first few years of his life, he never had a mother or grandmother. He held on to a few fleeting memories of his mother. He tried hard to remember everything, but those times were before he awakened his bloodline. His only clear memory was of the day she was taken. Mother Danu’s warmth and kindness cried out to him, and his soul ached for that which he’d forgotten—the love of a mother. Even Mother Danu was no longer dry-eyed.
“Crow, son of Maddox, don’t let me down. I expect good things from you and hope you bring back the prestige of the Draoidh. Do you know why my children, those from Tuatha De Danann, could become a force to be feared?”
“Power?”
“Cheat,” Danann laughed. “The Draoidh weren’t tyrannical, but wise. People supported them because they kept the chaos to a minimum. Order was absolute because the Draoidh did not discriminate in their teachings. Only after the Draoidh were forced into hiding did those short-sighted sects realize their mistake. Those powerful immortals for the big sects felt they were lords and gods and that anyone beneath them should revere them. I won’t deny that all rules are void in the face of true power, but this is why the Draoidh need to rise once more. Only when power is tempered by wisdom can we assure growth.”
Crow chuckled, and Mother Danu released him from her hug so she could look at his face.
“Why are you laughing?”
“Are you sure you want someone whose trait is reciprocity to represent you?”
Brushing back her flowing hair, Danann winked at him. “Now, I suppose I should tell you that the Draoidh have always followed the path of reciprocity. This means I feel you are an ideal candidate to bring the Draoidh out of hiding. And this little guy on my shoulder will monitor you—you owe him some favors, anyway.”
“May I ask you about Lily?” Crow asked, and at the mention of her name, she flew up to his shoulder.
“So the little Fae found you after all.” Mother Danu reached out a hand, and Lily landed on it. The moment her feet touched the goddess’ palm, she kneeled. “Rise, little one. What do you wish to ask me about her?”
“Is she really a key to enter Tuatha De Danann?”
Mother Danu stared into Crow’s eyes without blinking. Lightning crackled among her fingers and laced together to form a net that captured and surrounded Lily. The lightning wrapped around her until she collapsed on Danu’s palm and lay there, unmoving. Crow flinched, and his eyes crinkled with a grievance in his heart.
“You still have reservations toward me. That is good, and I’m especially pleased with your reaction. I did Lily no harm. After she recovers, she’ll double in size. I’d give her more, but for now, that is as much as she can take without harming her. It is good you cherish her because she can lead you to my home, but only if the bond you share is strong enough. If she doesn’t trust you, you’ll never find me. And if you harm my daughter, you better hope I don’t find you.”
Crow gently took Lily back from her. The little Fae curled up in his hand, and her soft little cheek nuzzled against his palm.
“It is best if no one, not even your girlfriends, knows of our meeting. Indirectly, you are a potential champion of mine because you’ve awakened my blood within you—no matter how weak it has become. I am not the only primordial, and I have many enemies. If they learn of your existence, they will definitely send their champions to kill you.”
“I understand. So what am I supposed to do to gain my Shield?”
She nodded at how quickly he grasped the crucial bits and promptly switched to moving forward. The more she talked to this child, the more fond of him she grew.
“This is where the bad news starts. I will need to send Nin and Lily out of here. They were never supposed to be here. Which means you’ll part with them for a time.”
“My Soulscape—”
“No. Your Soulscape is about to undergo a significant change, and neither would survive it if they were within. Do not worry. With Nin around, they’ll be safe on the first floor of Tur Briste, and since they are your bonded, they’ll easily sense when you arrive.”
“And what happens next?”
“You touch the monolith. It could take a few days or up to a month, but you’ll eventually wake up somewhere on the first floor of the tower. The trial is done. Now you get to claim your reward—a mutated Shield designed specifically for you. That is why mutated Shields are rare. Few your age know who they are, and fewer still know what they want. Once they figure it out, during any of the trials on the zero floors, they’d be able to mutate their Shield.”
Crow placed his fist across his chest and bowed low. He should have been on the ground, kowtowing and worshiping the ground she walked on. But the reality was that she put him at ease and made him feel as if he was her child. Danu’s motherly nature tamed the awe factor in him. Still, he felt the need to give her obeisance. Something to show his respect. And in return, he heard her giggling as she ran her hand through Crow’s hair.
“You are silly, but I like that you aren’t so prideful that you can’t show humility. When you reach the ninth floor of the tower, look for the Ogham runes. They should lead you to something you’ll like very much. I look forward to watching you grow. Now run along.”
Seconds after saying that, the remnant faded, and the Sluagh flew up as it no longer had a perch.
*We’ll meet again soon. Don’t worry, I’ll make sure your wives arrive somewhere safe.*
Crow didn’t even have time to register what the Sluagh said before a portal opened, and all three of them disappeared. He could only awkwardly wave as they faded away. Just like that, he was left alone, facing the towering structure.
Rather than rush to the monolith, he sat down and processed everything that had just happened. He never thought he’d meet Mother Danu, and even now, he couldn’t remember her face that well. The books assumed she shared the face of all mothers—he was now sure this was true. Within that ageless beauty, he saw hints of his grandmother and mother. It was why he’d been at ease with her from the very beginning.
Standing, he turned toward the monolith was a cold smirk on his face and golden flecks of light dancing in his eyes. Remembering all the grievances and enmity he suffered to get to this point, he just felt disdain.
“You want to suppress me? Stop me? Kick me? Curse me? You think you could stop me?” Crow laughed as one step followed another, and he stood before the monolith. Placing his hand on the cold stone, he intoned, “I am Crow, son of Maddox, and I will not be stopped.”
A small ripple occurred through time, fate, and karma, much too small for an ordinary person to notice, but that ripple gained momentum. By the time it reached the upper realms, it was like a tidal wave. All those that betrayed the Draoidh staggered, their bodies drenched in a cold sweat.
Crow had claimed his Shield, and those who would be gods took notice.