Finn Finnegan (21 page)

He froze as two figures crashed through the bushes behind him and into the clearing.

Lurching to his feet, Finn stumbled away from Asher's body. He spun around and swung his weapon as one of them charged toward him. Sparks shot upward as a blade parried his knife with a clang and sent it spinning out of his hand. The figure reached out of the dark for him, speaking his name.

“Finn—it's me, boyo.”

He blinked. “G-Gideon?”

The Knight nodded, then stepped closer. His eyes swept up and down. “Are ye hurt?” he asked, taking the boy's arm.

He shook his head, unable to speak around the lump in his throat. They both turned at the moan of anguish behind them.

Mac Roth knelt on the ground, Asher's lifeless body sagging in his arms. For a moment, the Knight gazed at the boy's white face. “Oh, lad,” he whispered. Tears trickled down his cheeks and soaked his beard. Without taking his eyes off his apprentice, he spoke over his shoulder. “And Finn?”

“Aye, he's fine. Just shaken up.” Gideon looked around the clearing, noting the ashy residue covering the cliff and the ground, as well as both boys. “How many were there?”

Finn hesitated for a moment, then held up three fingers.

“Ye gods,” the Knight muttered. He cleared his throat, and then stepped over to his friend, still crouched on the ground.

“Let me carry him for ye.”

Shaking his head, Mac Roth rose to his feet. His bulk dwarfed the boy as he cradled Asher in his arms. “Thank ye, but no. I'll take the wee one.” Without another word, he started down the trail with his burden.

Gideon watched for a moment, then tore his eyes away. As Finn stood motionless in the center of the clearing, the Knight surveyed the area. His light swept about as he collected weapons and located Asher's moonstone, which he tucked in his pocket. “We best keep mine out, though. Just in case, eh?”

Finn nodded absently.

Gideon sighed. “Come, lad. Let's go home.”

Standing next to his master on the isolated hilltop, Finn glanced around as other De Danaan made their way through the woods to the burial site. Tall torches, planted at the four corners, guarded the grave, their flames almost invisible in the bright afternoon light. A small figure, shrouded in white, rested on an emerald cloth next to the grave. Nearby, a mound of dirt sat next to a pile of stones. The smell of freshly dug earth made Finn queasy.

Stillness fell over the mourners as the last ones arrived and took their places. Asher's family wept softly as they laid gifts of food in the grave for their youngest son, murmuring the traditional farewell. Their words were drowned out by the snap and hiss of torch flames.

When they were finished, Mac Roth stepped forward. Shrugging out of his leather jacket, he knelt down and draped it over Asher's form. “To keep ye warm on yer long journey to the Otherworld.” He rested a hand on the boy's covered head for a moment, then stood and took a stance at the foot of the grave.

Gideon followed. Slipping a knife from his belt, he tucked it into a fold of the burial shroud next to the young De Danaan's right side. “To protect ye on yer long journey to the Otherworld.” He patted Asher's arm. “Thank ye,” he added, then rejoined Finn.

His eyes gritty from lack of sleep, Finn gazed at Asher for a moment. He reached up, loosened the tore from around his neck, and pulled it off. Walking on wooden legs, he approached the form. “To wear when you reach the Otherworld.” He leaned over and laid the golden circle on Asher's chest. “You totally nailed that goblin.”

Stepping back, he watched as two other Tuatha De Danaan lifted Asher by the four corners of the cloth. Kneeling, they lowered him into the grave, then flipped the fabric over to envelop him in green. Taking up shovels, they quickly filled the hole.

Once it was done, the rest of Tuatha De Danaan began stacking rocks, one by one, on the raw dirt. Slowly, a mound rose. When they finished the cairn, Gideon stepped over to Mac Roth.

“Here. Ye'll want this.” He pressed Asher's glowing moonstone into his grieving friend's hand.

Mac Roth gazed down at the stone, lost in his large paw. With a sigh, he laid it at the foot of the site. “To illuminate yer steps on yer long journey to the Otherworld.”

For a long minute, the moonstone continued to blaze, its light brilliant in the afternoon sun. Then, it faded.

“Eat yer supper, boyo.”

Finn blinked and looked up from his seat at the kitchen table. “I-I'm sorry, what?”

“‘Tis getting cold.” Gideon nodded toward the bowl in front of Finn.

Trying to forget the images of Asher's last moments, Finn picked up his spoon. He poked at the thick lentil soup. Chunks of cabbage floated to the surface. The vegetable's greenish color reminded him of the pelt of the Amandán. He pushed it away. “I'm not hungry. Can I be excused?” Without waiting for an answer, he rose and carried the dish to the sink.

Leaving the kitchen, he wandered into the living room and flopped down on one end of the sofa, the worn leather creaking under him. He half-listened to the sounds of Gideon washing up.
I should go help
, he thought, slouching lower on the cushions and swinging his feet up. Resting his head on the arm of the sofa, he gazed across the room at the weapon collection. A numbness, more of heart than of limb, weighed him down.

Gideon sauntered in from the kitchen and headed over to the fireplace. Removing his knife from his belt, he placed it on the rack in its customary spot before joining Finn.

“And just what are these doing on the furniture?” he asked. He picked up Finn's feet, and tugged off one shoe, then the other, before tossing them in the corner. “Shove along.” When Finn scrunched his legs up, Gideon sank down on the other end of the sofa. For several minutes, they sat together in silence; the long summer dusk softened the room.

“T'was a gracious gesture, giving Asher yer torc.”

“He earned it last night. He saved my life.”

“Aye, that he did.” Gideon glanced over at Finn, noting the dark circles under the boy's eyes. “To bed with ye now.”

“I'm not tired yet.” Finn picked at a rip in the knee of his jeans. “Can I just stay here for awhile longer?”

Gideon started to speak, and then nodded. He patted Finn's foot, then rose and went to his desk. He gathered up his journal and a pen before returning to his seat. Flipping open the canvas-covered ledger, he turned a few pages and began. The scratch of his pen whispered around the room.

“Gideon?”

“Finn.”

It's my fault, Gideon. Asher got killed because of me. I wished him dead. And now he is. And I can't ever take it back
. “Um…oh, nothing.”

For a long while, he listened to the sound of his master writing. It was a comfort in some strange way. Stretching his arms over his head, he stared up at the ceiling and let his eyelids slide shut.

Pen motionless in his hand, Gideon sat gazing at his sleeping apprentice's face. “
Codladh sumh
, lad,” he whispered.

The Journal of Gideon Lir: July 5

The sorrow is deeper when a young one falls in battle. I grieve for the O'Neill family and for Mac Roth. For all Tuatha De Danaan who have lost a loved one in our long war against the Amandán.

We are a warrior people and accept death as a part of life's circle.

But I am grateful to the gods beyond measure that Finnegan is still alive.

Finn scowled at the knock on the front door. “Go away,” he grumbled. Grabbing the remote beside him, he punched up the volume on the television. The room was dark, with the drapes pulled closed against the midmorning sun. A second knock came, louder this time.

“Finnegan,” Gideon yelled from upstairs. “Get the bleedin' door!”

With a growl, he pushed off the sofa and marched over. Yanking the door open, he squinted against the daylight. “Hi, Rafe,” he said, scratching his stomach through his tee shirt. “When did you get back?”

“Last night. Talk about boring.” Rafe waited on the threshold, staring at Finn's face. “Are you sick? You don't look so good.”

“Been busy the last couple of days.”
Yeah, busy getting another apprentice killed
. “So, what do you want?”

Rafe's eyes widened at Finn's blunt tone. “I just came over to see if you wanted to do something, and to get our mail and newspapers.”

Grabbing the stack of papers and letters stored in the crate, Finn handed them to Rafe. “Nah, I'm good.”

Rafe hesitated for a moment, waiting for a reason. Finn stared back.

“Anything else?”

“I guess not.” Without another word, Rafe spun around and left.

Finn swung the door shut with a thump and walked back into the living room. Flinging himself down on the couch, he stared at the television screen.
Nice job—brushing off your friend like that
.

“Who was that?” Gideon asked as he clumped downstairs, his workman boots beating the wooden treads.

“Just Rafe. He came by to get their stuff.”

“And ye dinna wish to spend some time with him?”

“Not really.” Finn glanced up as Gideon stalked past and turned off the television.

“Well, then. On yer feet, boyo.” The Knight walked over to the rack and gathered a dozen knives. “Target practice, this morning.”

“Can I skip training this morning? I feel lousy.”

“No. Get yer shoes on, and meet me in the back yard.” Gideon hefted the weapons in his arms and left. The back screen door slapped closed a moment later.

He's making me do target practice because of what happened
, Finn thought as he pulled his sneakers on and headed outside.
Like it'll do Asher any good, now
. He dragged his feet across the lawn to join his master at the far corner of the yard.

Gideon placed the knives in a row along the top of the stone wall. Picking up the first one, he handed it to Finn. “Keep yer arm loose and fluid. Remember to follow through.” He stepped back, and nodded toward the target attached to the side of the house.