Finn Finnegan (27 page)

“What the bleedin' ‘ell are ye doing?” Gideon began yelling while still a few yards away.

As if he wants the entire state of Colorado to hear him
, Finn thought.
Which he probably does
.

“I ordered ye to stand safe by that tree, not mince about admiring yer beauty.”

“I'm sorry, Gideon. I was just—” The rest of his sentence was cut off when his master grabbed him by the arm and hustled him backward, pushing him none too gently against the massive trunk.

The Knight's eyes, the same uncanny blue as his apprentice's, narrowed when he reached out and tapped the tore around Finn's neck. “And if
this
is distracting ye from our evening's hunt, then we should just be rid of it. I know of an abandoned gold mine not three miles from here I could pitch the thing into.” He held out an open hand.

Finn reached up and clutched the tore protectively. “Ah, come on, Gideon. I've only had it for a few days. Look, I'm totally focused now.” He shifted his wiry body into battle stance, legs shoulder-width apart and weapon held across his body at the ready. “Just show me one of those ugly goblins and I'll—”

They both froze when a shape alighted on the ground next to them in a clap of ebony wings. Muttering to itself, the crow strutted closer. It reached out and pecked at Finn's athletic shoes as if trying to untie them.

“Steady, boyo,” Gideon whispered.

“I hate these things,” Finn muttered back, curling his toes inside of his shoes. The crow cawed as if laughing at him.

“Aye, but they're bleedin' useful. When they're not playing us for fools.” As the bird aimed another peck, Gideon stomped a boot at it. “
Whist
! Flee unless ye've something to warn us about, ye black devil.”

The crow hopped back with a squawk of indignation, then spread its wings and hoisted itself into the air. They watched as it made a loop over the trees tops. A second bird joined it. Both crows whirled around each other in anticipation before soaring away, taking the last rays of sun with them.

Master and apprentice's heads whipped around when a branch snapped a few yards up the trail.

Gesturing for Finn to stay put, Gideon eased across the clearing and along the path on silent feet. Paying close attention to the deepening shadows, his eyes swept the area. He tilted his head, a wolf on the hunt, as he listened to the rustles and scratches of the twilight.

As Finn watched, exhilaration and dread wrestled with each other inside of him as they always did when he and his master were hunting the Amandán.

Or being hunted by them.

A figure burst out of the bushes. With a growl, a creature, not quite human, not quite ape, launched itself at the Knight. Its black-tipped fingers scrabbled for Gideon's face.

Twisting to one side, Gideon dodged as the Amandán hurtled past him. He stuck out a foot. A yelp spilt the evening when the goblin tripped, then hit the ground and tumbled end over end into the undergrowth. Scrambling to its feet and red-eyed with rage, it charged the Knight again, running slightly sideways on all four, its dark green pelt blending in with the vegetation. “
Poc sidhe
” it hissed through yellow teeth. Dirt and twigs spewed up behind its feet as it came.

“
Poc sidhe
yerself.” Gideon shifted his grip on his knife and made a
come along
motion with his hand. The goblin sped up. Just as the Amandán leaped for him, he dropped to one knee. Chanting a line from the Song under his breath, he buried the weapon in the goblin.

With a shriek, the Amandán exploded into a cloud of grey-green ash. Gideon ducked his head, trying to shield his face from the worst of the powdery remains. He waited until the cloud drifted away with the evening breeze before rising. “
Bah
.” He spat to one side. Wiping his mouth, he strolled back to Finn waiting by the pine. “Amandán taste as disgusting as they smell.”

Finn nodded. “Kind of like burnt rubber.” He took his master's blade when Gideon handed it to him to hold.

He watched as the Knight peeled off his shirt, gave it a brisk shake, and draped it over a tree limb. A Celtic knot, tattooed on his master's right arm, peeked out from under the sleeve of his tee shirt. Finn stared at the tattoo, the ancient symbol of Knighthood amongst their people, the Tuatha De Danaan.
Ye gods, I'll never he as good at hunting or fighting as he is. Of course, if he would let me do
more
hunting and
less
drills, I might get better at it
.

Gideon cleaned the blade on his jeans. “Now, since the beasties often hunt in pairs, we'll see if we can't catch the second one before it goes to ground.”

“Can I circle around and flush it out?” Finn asked, shifting from foot to foot.

The Knight hesitated, then shook his head. “I'd rather ye not track that far ahead of me.”

“Why?”

“Because it's too dangerous.”

“Ah, come on, Gideon, I want to—”

“I said no.”

“But, how can I learn anything if all I do is follow you around?”

Gideon's face darkened. “Arguing with me, boyo, is as dangerous as hunting the Amandán.”

“But I've fought them before.” Finn's voice cracked in frustration. “I know—”

“Ye know less than ye think. A few skirmishes with the goblins do not make ye ready to hunt alone.”

“Why won't you let me at least
try
?”

“Because ye're not ready!”

Finn scowled. “It's because of the whole Spear thing, isn't it?”

“Oh, aye, that's it,” Gideon said, heavy on the sarcasm. “Discovering me apprentice of less than two months is none other than the legendary Spear of the Tuatha De Danaan has made me decide to treat ye differently from now on.”

“It has?” Finn's heart sank.
I'm sick of always being different. I just want to be a Knight. Like Gideon and Mac Roth and all the other De Danaan
.

“No, ye dolt.” Gideon reached out and cuffed him lightly on the side of the head. “I don't care if ye're the High King on the throne of Tara, ye'll continue to learn the ancient ways of the Tuatha De Danaan. To meet our enemies in battle, armed with knife and dagger and the strength of our Song.”

Finn nodded. An odd relief filled him. “Okay. I mean, yes, sir.” He blinked in surprise when the Knight laid a hand on his shoulder and gave it a squeeze.

“Remember, boyo. Gideon's Spear ye may be. But ye're also Gideon's apprentice.” He sighed dramatically. “More's the pity for me.”

Finn grinned. “Ah, me heart bleeds for ye now, to be sure,” he said in a pitiful imitation of the Knight's Irish lilt. He ducked and came up laughing when his master swung another cuff at him and missed.

Failing to hide a smile, Gideon turned and led the way up the path. Stepping around the pile of ash in the middle of the trail, they continued westward, climbing deeper into the foothills through the growing dusk. Around them in the woods, squirrels rustled about in the dried leaves under the scrub oak bushes, hiding caches of acorns. A breeze began flowing down from the mountains further west, cooling them as they walked along.

The shadows around them thickened. After a mile, the Knight paused long enough to dig into his jeans pocket. He pulled out a small white stone, its edges translucent. Almost immediately, it began to glow in his hand, illuminating the woods around them with a pale light. He held the moonstone aloft and scanned the area. Up ahead, to one side of the trail, a pair of enormous boulders leaned against each other to form a cave about the height and width of a man. Or an Amandán.

Standing behind his master, Finn gasped when the moonstone's beam caught a pair of greenish eyes, like a cat's, in the cave's opening. “Um…Gideon,” he whispered.

“Aye, I see it.” Raising the stone higher, he called out. “Come along, beastie. I've something for ye.”

“
Nar
, I know what ya gots for me,” the Amandán growled back. “I seen what ya did to me friend back there.” It spat. “No, I'll just stay in here. Out of reach of that nasty piece of bronze ye be carrying.” It made a smacking sound with its lips. “Unless ya want to send that whelp of yers in here after me.”

“What, and waste a perfectly good source of free labor? Not bleedin' likely.” He spoke over his shoulder. “Finn, I want ye to move around to the side while I…”

“Did ye say
Finn?
” the Amandán said. Its eyes disappeared briefly as it turned its head and hooted into the interior of the cave. Signaling. “Ye be the Knight, Gideon Lir.” It hooted again, louder this time. “We hears some wild tales about ye and that whelp there.”

Voices echoed from within the cave. Finn looked down in confusion when the gravel by his feet began bouncing about like Mexican jumping beans. Tremors vibrated through the soles of his shoes. The vibrations grew stronger, mixed with harsh cries and shouts.

Next to him, Gideon stiffened. “Ye gods,” he cursed under his breath, then spun around and shoved Finn back down the trail. “Flee!”

Finn ran for his life. With Gideon on his heels, he tore down the path, feet finding their own way over rocks and roots. Bushes and boulders and black-barked trees flashed past in the dusk. Turning his knife hilt-first as Gideon had drilled into him, he gripped it tight as he sprinted along.

“Faster, boyo,” the Knight shouted behind him. “And don't stop until ye're safe home.”

Too busy concentrating on not tripping to answer, Finn dug deeper. Panting, he began chanting a line from the Song, singing the swiftness he needed. “I am a wind on the sea.”

A tingling began somewhere around his ankles, then coiled up his legs, picking up speed until it seemed to burst out of the tips of his hair. His ears thundered with the roar of the wind, whether from the Song or from his pace he wasn't sure. He kept chanting as he shot along the trail.

Breathing in rhythm with his pounding feet, he followed the trail eastward. Ahead of him, the lights of High Springs winked through the trees. As he neared their neighborhood, he yelled over a shoulder. “Do you think they'll chase us right to our backyard?” When Gideon didn't answer, he slowed and risked a peek back.

The trail was empty.

Skidding to a halt, he whirled around, gulping for air as he stared into the darkness. His eyes darted from side to side as he strained to catch a glimpse of his master. Off in the distance, a pale light flickered once, skipping off the treetops, then vanished.

Finn hesitated. He glanced back at the line of backyard fences dividing the suburban neighborhood from the woods. Their own house, tucked away by itself on the end of the street, was marked from the desk lamp he had left on in his second-floor bedroom. His master's voice echoed in his head as he stared at the square of light.

Always leave a lamp burning for ye when ye hunt, boyo. ‘Tis a signal to other De Danaan, just in case
.

In case of what, Gideon?

In case ye do not return
.

Rubbing the back of his hand across dry lips, Finn turned his face westward.
I know he told me to go home. But there's no way I'm leaving him to face all those Amandán by himself. And knock it off-
—he ordered his trembling leg muscles. Wiping sweaty hands on his jeans, his palm brushed against the lump in his pocket. He reached in and pulled out his own moonstone. Cupping it in his hand, he looked down at it.
Wish it would light up for me like it does for pure-blooded De Danaan—I sure could use it right now
. “Being a halfer sucks,” he muttered to himself. Shoving it back into his jeans, he clutched his blade and started back up the trail.

Face streaked with goblin residue and sweat, Gideon lifted his moonstone higher, its light flashing red along the blade of his knife. Mounds of ash overlapped each other on the ground between the Knight and the remaining goblins. He eased back against a rocky outcropping and bared his teeth, his eyes glowing battle blue.

“Come along, ye manky beasts. Me blade is growing cold.”

“
Nar
,” one of the goblins snarled back. “It be yer bones growing cold when we be through with ye.” It licked its lips in anticipation.

“Too bad yer whelp turned tail and ran,” spoke another one. “I likes me De Danaan young and fresh.”

“I just likes mine dead,” a deep voice growled. “The day will come when ye high and mighty—” it stopped to spit out the name “—
Tuatha De Danaan
will be nothing but a pile of leftovers. And Eire will be ours once more.”

“
Ach
, not the auld grievance again,” Gideon said, tedium in his tone. “Ye think the death of all De Danaan will return the green isle to the likes of ye?” He raised his chin. “Ireland will never be yers again. Danu gave it to
us
to hold.”

“We hads it first,” the first goblin hissed. “We be the true heirs of Eire. Us the Bog-born, not the feeble offspring of some upstart goddess.”