Finn Finnegan (7 page)

“I'm not hungry.”

“Then ye'll be enjoying cold oatmeal for lunch. We cannot afford to waste food.”

With a scowl, Finn pulled his bowl back and began picking at his breakfast. “What did you mean by “mortals play a role”?”

Gideon drained the last of the tea, then rose and carried his dishes to the sink. He began rummaging through a drawer. “Best leave the history lesson for this afternoon. Now, hand me yer belt.”

Finn's stomach lurched. “Why? I'm eating as fast as…” His voice trailed off when the Knight turned around, a leather knife sheath in one hand. “Oh.” With a silent sigh of relief, he stood up, unfastened his belt, and handed it over.

“Yer to be armed at all times,” Gideon said as he slid the sheath onto Finn's belt. “Never leave this house without a weapon.”

“Yes, sir.” He took his belt back. As he refastened it, the Knight stepped into the living room. He returned a moment later with one of the smaller hunting knives. “Here. Finish yer breakfast,
all of it
, clean the kitchen, and then meet me out back.”

Standing in the middle of the yard twenty minutes later, Finn watched as Gideon jammed the end of a thick plank as tall as himself into the ground and leaned it against the back wall. A crude outline of a goblin was drawn on it, the wood pitted and splintered, especially in the chest region.

Gideon backed up a few feet. Sliding a knife out of his belt, he motioned for Finn to join him. “Now, the most important thing to remember when battling an Amandán with a blade is to…” He paused, eyebrows raised as he waited for Finn to answer.

“Stick it with the sharp end?”

The Knight blinked. He scratched the back of his neck with the tip of the weapon and tried again. “The
second
most important thing to remember when battling an Amandán with a blade is to…”

“…never let go.”

“Aye, never let go. And one way to practice that is to attack this board over and over, thrusting yer weapon as deep as ye can, then ripping it free as quick as ye can. Since this plank is tougher than the hide of an Amandán, ye'll develop not only speed, but muscle, too. Remember, whilst contact with bronze burns them, ‘tis the stab of a bronze blade that destroys them. Or, at least, disintegrates them.” He shifted his feet and faced the target, the blade held at waist height. “Now watch.”

Balancing on the balls of his feet, Gideon began chanting in a low voice. Without warning, he lunged forward in a blur of motion. The blade flashed in the morning light as he plunged it into the left eye of the mock goblin. A splinter of wood flew upward as he yanked it out. A second lunge and thrust planted the knife less than an inch from the same spot. Still chanting, Gideon pulled it free. With a flick of his wrist, he flipped the blade over and caught it, hilt forward and blade back. He spun on his toes and drove his weapon blindly into the target now behind him, releasing the handle as he completed his rotation. He left it sticking out of the beast's eye.

“Whoa,” breathed Finn. He stared at the knife buried halfway to the hilt in the plank.

“Fetch the weapon,” Gideon said, breathing easily.

Finn walked over, grasped the handle, and pulled. Nothing happened. Bracing his other hand and a foot on the board, he tried again. This time, he managed to yank it loose. He studied the target. “I think I can do that.”

“‘Tis more difficult than it appears. Ye might not be successful yer first time.”

“Can I at least try?”

“Stab away, then.”

Holding the knife the way his master had, Finn squared his shoulders and began chanting. “‘I am a spear on the attack.'” Crouching down slightly, he tightened his grip until his knuckles whitened. Then, with a grunt, he attacked.

Pain zinged up his arm from the impact. “Son of a goat,” he cursed and let go of the handle. The knife wobbled in place for a moment, then fell to the ground. Shaking his throbbing wrist, he glared up at the Knight.

Gideon stepped closer and plucked the blade from the tall grasses fringing the wall. “Milk before meat.”

“What's that mean?”

“It means we best begin with something a bit easier.” Tucking the weapon away, he led the way over to the middle of the yard. They stopped in front of the burlap bag Finn had seen his first day here. “Arm yerself.”

Finn reached behind and slid his knife free. “Now, what?”

“Lock yer hand tightly against the tang.” Gideon re-positioned Finn's grip closer to the crosspiece separating the blade from the handle. “That way ye won't break a thumb if the beastie jerks suddenly. That being the beastie.” He pointed to the bag cram-packed with balls of newspaper. Bare dirt surrounded the dummy in a wide circle. “When ye thrust, extend yer arm fully.
Bury
yer blade, but remember to hold tight.” He took hold of a long rope attached to the overhead cable and stepped to one side.

Finn nodded. Taking a stance in front of the bag, he licked his lips.
Here goes nothing
. “‘I am the roar of the sea,'” he whispered.

At first, nothing. Then pressure, like a mounting wave, surged through his back and shoulders. He bounced on his toes a few times; darting forward, he stabbed at the bag. The target twirled about, dodging his attack. It swung up in a looping arch when Gideon yanked on the guy rope.

Still chanting, he slashed again. The tip of his knife sliced a few strands before the bag spun out of range. Gritting his teeth, he lunged over and over, chasing it in a circle as it danced about. Dust puffed up around his ankles. For ten minutes, he stabbed and lunged and missed. Sweat began to trickle down his face, stinging his eyes.

“Are ye planning on waltzing with the Amandán?” Gideon teased.

“Stop moving it,” he rasped, stumbling to a halt, his chest heaving. He forced frustration down a dry throat.

“Then quit mucking about and stick the bleedin' thing.”

Maybe I'll just stick you instead
, he thought, blood humming in his ears. He blew his hair out of his eyes as he stalked the target. The Knight jiggled the bag enticingly. With a sudden charge, he plunged the weapon into the sack. “Gotcha,” he gasped, still holding the knife.

With a powerful tug, Gideon sent the bag flying; the movement ripped the blade out of the boy's hand. The knife flashed in the sunlight as it spun end over end across the yard and sailed over the stone wall. It vanished into a stand of scrub oak on the other side.

Finn whirled around. “You did that on purpose!”

“Why, ‘tis certain. Do ye think an Amandán is going to meekly stand there, eager to take a blade in the chest?” Gideon let go of the rope and flexed his hands. “Go fetch yer weapon.”

“Screw this crap,” Finn muttered under his breath. He stomped over to the picnic table near the back door and sank down on the bench. Bending forward, he stretched out his shirt and wiped his sweaty face. He jumped when a shadow fell across him. Without warning, a hand grabbed his arm and yanked him back on his feet.

Dragging Finn by the back of his tee shirt, Gideon stalked across the yard to the fence, the boy's feet scarcely touching the ground. “Ye've a choice, Finnegan MacCullen. Climb over that wall and retrieve yer weapon. Or else.”

“Or else what?” Finn struggled to free himself from Gideon's iron grip.

“Or else I pitch ye over. Head over arse.”

Finn froze and stared up at his master's face.

Gideon narrowed his eyes.

“I-I think I'll go get that knife now.”

“Ye've a strong sense of self-preservation.” Gideon let go and nodded toward the wall.

Finn turned and jogged away, bypassing the wooden gate off to one side. He hoisted himself up, swung his legs over, and hopped down. Beyond the wall, the ground sloped away. It dropped into a wide ravine filled with thick underbrush and the occasional pine. He half-walked, half-slid down to the bottom.

Working his way through thick patches of scrub oak, he searched back and forth across the ravine.
Where's the stupid knife?
he thought as he pawed through last year's leaves, wondering if Gideon really would have thrown him over the wall.
Yup, he would have
, he finally decided. Crunching his way toward the other side of the gully, he began climbing the far side. He passed a lichen-covered boulder halfway up the slope.

The boulder twitched.

Lifting its head and unfolding from a crouch, the Amandán grinned. “
Poc sidhe
” it hissed, lunging at Finn, black-tipped fingers scrabbling for his face.

Gideon frowned as he watched Finn disappear over the wall.
Ye gods
, he thought,
I hope we don't butt heads his
entire
apprenticeship. The boy certainly has a short fuse
. He listened to the sounds of Finn searching for the knife.
Just like another fiery apprentice I could name
—Gideon chose to ignore the voice of his old master.

I must find a way to help Finnegan deal with that temper of his. Help him channel that energy into something more—

He stiffened at the sudden harsh caw and looked up.

The crow blasted past the Knight's head. Its yellow claws skimmed the wall before it dipped out of sight into the trees beyond.

“Finnegan!” Gideon bolted toward the wall. Chanting under his breath, he vaulted over the top stones, clearing them by a foot.

With a yelp, Finn flung himself backwards as the Amandán attacked. He found himself tumbling back down the slope, arms flailing as he tried to control his fall. Branches clawed at him, leaving burning scratches along his back and stomach where his tee shirt pulled up. The ground and sky exchanged places in slow motion.

Finn crashed to a halt at the bottom of the ravine, cracking his skull on a fallen log. For a moment, he lay breathless, the ground spinning as white-hot pain tore through his head. Stars flickered at the edge of his sight.

Feeling the vibration of massive feet thundering toward him, he rolled over with a groan, his eyes watering with pain. Struggling to rise, his fingers brushed against something cool and smooth and hard under a layer of leaves.

The knife.

Finn fumbled for the weapon. Lurching to his feet, he swayed, then braced himself for the assault. Bile burned his throat. He swallowed as the Amandán charged down the hill toward him. Branches snapped beneath its feet like broken bones. It ran skewed to one side, ape-like, on all fours. Finn locked his trembling knees and tightened his grip. For a moment, the goblin seemed to fill his vision. Every detail was enlarged, from the threads of slobber dangling from its yellow teeth to the twigs matted in its dirty green pelt. A rank stench filled the air—like someone's breath just after they've vomited. Into dirty socks.

“Drop, Finn!”

Even before he hit the ground, Gideon's blade flashed end over end past his head. With a moist
thwack
it buried itself hilt-deep in the creature.

Curled on his side, Finn squinted as ash blew everywhere, coating him and the surrounding vegetation. After a few moments, he opened his eyes, grimacing at the sour taste of leftover goblin on his lips. He flopped over. A warm trickle ran down the side of his face. Staring up at the branches overhead, the world darkened around him. Vaguely, he wondered at the sound of footsteps crashing through the underbrush. His eyelids fluttered closed for a moment.

A hand touched his shoulder. He blinked. Gideon was kneeling beside him, concern tightening his features. A second knife was ready in one fist. “Finn? Are ye with me, lad?”

“D-did we get it?” Finn whispered back. His eyes slid shut before his master could answer.