Finn Finnegan Page 3

  His feet left the ground momentarily when Gideon yanked him closer, until they stood nose to nose. Shocked by the bruising grip around his wrist, he blinked, the red haze lessening.

  “We Celts,” Gideon growled softly, his Irish brogue deepening. “Be we De Danaan or mortal, are famous for our tempers. And some, like meself, are gifted with more than our fair share. So, I suggest ye rein yers in, boyo, before I get angry.” He waited for a long minute. “Let it go, lad. Let the rage go or ‘twill be a black hobgoblin riding yer back all yer long life. I would know. And we’ve enough monsters to battle as it is.”

  After a few moments, Finn sucked in a shaky breath, his body strung tighter than a new wire fence. He swallowed, and swallowed again, then nodded at Gideon. As the Knight released him, he stepped back, rubbing his wrist, his chest heaving. Tremors shook him as the last of the rage faded. Taking another breath, he leaned over and rested his hands on his knees.

  “T’was a fine display of the warp spasm.”

  Finn straightened up and blew his sweaty hair off his forehead. “The…the what?”

  “The warp spasm. ‘Tis the battle rage that sweeps through all Celts, De Danaan and mortals, in times of stress or strong emotion. Ye’ve experienced it before, I take it?”

  “Yeah, but I thought it was just…you know, being really pissed off.”

  “Aye, that’s one way to describe it. And although it can be difficult to control, it’s bleedin’ useful in a fight.”

  It’s bleedin’ freaky is what it is, Finn thought. He looked up in surprise when Gideon held out an open hand, the stone resting on his palm.

  “Now, shall I keep this for ye? Or would ye care to have it back?”

  Finn hesitated, then reached over. “I’ll keep it.” He tucked it back into his pocket, then slumped on a nearby boulder and rested his elbows on his knees. “So, what happens now?” He’s going to send me back, I just know it. Well, I don’t blame him—what Knight: would want a halfer apprentice anyway?

  Gideon pulled out both knives. He wagged one of them at Finn. “Why, we complete the ceremony, of course.”

  Finn’s head whipped up. His mouth sagged opened as he watched his master turn and stride along the crest of the ridge. The Knight halted, after several yards, in front of a dead pine tree, its trunk blackened from a long-ago lightning storm. He glanced over his shoulder with a frown.

  “Finnegan,” he barked. “Move yer arse.” As Finn joined him, he cuffed him lightly on the side of the head. “Do not make me repeat an order.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Take this.” He held out one of the knives to Finn, handle first.

  Finn grasped it. He hefted it a few times, surprised at the weight of such a graceful form. The well-oiled metal gleamed like a bronze flame; its color was an identical match to his hair. “What do I do with this?”

  Gideon pointed at a jagged limb poking out from the side of the pine. “Throw yer blade at the junction between the branch and trunk.”

  “I’m not very good at this.”

  “Do yer best.”

  “Okay,” Finn said doubtfully. He pulled back an arm. Squinting at the branch, he aimed and threw. The knife wobbled through the air. It smacked sideways against the tree and dropped to the ground. He sighed. “And my day just gets better and better.”

  Gideon ignored the comment. “Now, once more.” He handed Finn the second blade. “This time, choose a line from the Song that reflects what ye need to be.”

  “What I need to be?”

  “Aye. Repeat the line over and over. Aloud.”

  “Why?”

  “Ye will see.”

  This is so lame, Finn thought. He ran through the Song in his mind. “‘I am a spear on the attack, pouring forth combat,’” he muttered self-consciously.

  As his fingers closed around the knife’s grip, the worn leather silky against his palm, Finn felt a pull like a river’s current run from his chest and down his arm to his hand. The hairs on the back of his neck stiffened. Taking a deep breath, he cocked his arm again. “‘I am a spear on the attack, pouring forth combat,’” he repeated. With a flick of elbow and wrist, he hurled the second blade toward the target.

  Thunk! Dried pine needles showered down when the blade buried itself in the tree. It stuck there, quivering, sunlight dancing along the bronze.

  Finn whirled around and stared wide-eyed at his master. “H-how did I…?”

  “The words of our Song are powerful magic, boyo. They strengthen and enhance our abilities, especially in battle. That’s why the ancient peoples, both human and De Danaan, honored bards so highly. The druids of words.” Gideon gestured toward the tree. “Fetch yer weapons.”

  Finn jogged over and retrieved the blades. “Can I try that again?” he asked as he rejoined his master.

  Gideon shook his head. He took the knives and slid them back into his belt. “No, now we must face a repulsive task. One I’ve been dreading since yesterday.” He laid a hand on Finn’s shoulder. “Brace yerself, lad.”

  Five

  “C’mon! Do I have to?” Finn grimaced when Gideon handed him several pairs of folded jeans of various sizes.

  “Aye, ye do.” Gideon pointed to a nearby dressing room. “Spending an afternoon at Wal-Mart is not the way I planned to celebrate both the ceremony and yer birthday, but ye’re woefully lacking.” He checked the price tag on one of the jeans, then pulled out his wallet and thumbed through the bills. “We can afford two, plus a few shirts.” And another pair of shoes, he thought, glancing down at the boy’s feet. Although he’ll most likely outgrow them before he outwears them. “And what about…?” Gideon’s voice trailed off as he gestured vaguely toward Finn’s middle region.

  Finn glanced down in confusion. “What about… what?”

  “Underwear.”

  “You mean, like…like…am I wearing any?” Finn’s voice cracked with thirteen year old boy indignation.

  Gideon fought a smile. And lost. “No, ye dolt. Do ye need more?”

  “I guess,” Finn mumbled, blushing as red as his hair. He ducked inside the dressing room. With one last glare, he pulled the door closed with a snick.

  Laughing softly under his breath, the Knight pressed against a rack of shirts as he attempted to stay out of the way of the other shoppers packing the aisles. He watched as Finn emerged a few minutes later and stood in front of the full-length mirror, tugging at the waistband of the jeans.

  “And just what are ye doing?”

  “Getting them right. They don’t sag enough.” Finn pulled up his tee shirt to check the fit.

  “I can see the top of yer boxers.” Gideon stepped closer to shield Finn as two teenage girls walked past. “As can everyone else.”

  “Yeah, that’s the point.” Finn examined himself in the mirror, then looked up. “What?”

  “No.”

  “No? Why? Gideon, this is how everyone dresses. We’re supposed to fit in with human society, right?”

  “Mine are not on display, and I’ve manage to blend in,” Gideon declared. “For quite some time now.”

  “That’s because you’re an adult.”

  “And thus lack any sense of fashion?”

  “Well, yeah. I mean, yes, sir.” Finn headed back to the dressing room, then paused. “Have you ever had an apprentice before?”

  Grief poked a claw into Gideon’s heart. “Aye. ‘Twas long ago.”

  “Well, teenagers dress a lot different these days. In fact, teenagers act a lot different these days, too.” Turning around, Finn stumbled on the hem of the too-long pant legs. He lurched into a clothes rack and knocked it over with a crash. Hangers skittered across the tile floor.

  The corner of the Knight’s mouth twitched. “Why, of course, they do.”

  “Here, take these.” Gideon handed the plastic bags of clothes to Finn as they left the store. “I’ll get the food.” They made their way through the overflowing parking lot. Their truck was squeezed into the furthest corner, behin
d several behemoth campers. Thunder rumbled overhead as a spring storm darkened the sky. Rain clouds bunched up and spilled over the mountain range west of the city, turning the day gloomy. A car rolling past, searching for an empty spot, flipped on its headlights.

  “Our afternoon deluge is a wee earlier,” Gideon said as they approached their vehicle. He tossed the keys over to Finn. “We best put everything inside the cab.” He shook his head when the keys sailed past the boy’s outstretched hand and skittered under one of the recreational vehicles.

  “Nice throw,” Finn muttered. He dropped his bags by the passenger door and jogged over to the RV

  Crouching down by its folding steps, he stretched out an arm. The reek of a septic system in desperate need of emptying assaulted his nose. His fingers scrabbled across the asphalt as he tried to fish the keys closer. A fat drop of rain splashed the back of his neck.

  At that moment, a hoarse caw split the air. Finn twisted his head around. A crow stood on the top step, its claws scraping against the aluminum tread. Boy and bird eyed each other. Before Finn could move, the crow shook out its damp feathers and flapped away.

  “Um … excuse me? Could you help me?” asked a soft voice behind him.

  Finn jumped, banging an elbow on the undercarriage. Cursing under his breath, he scooted out from under the RV and stood up. A teenage girl stood nearby, the increasing drizzle softening the curls in her brown hair.

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to scare you, but could you tell me if there’s a bus stop nearby?” She edged closer, a gentle smile curving her lips. Droplets glittered on the tips of her sweeping eyelashes, framing hazel eyes. Thunder boomed again as the rain began falling harder.

  Finn found himself smiling back with a loopy grin. Keys forgotten, he wiped his hands on his jeans. “I don’t know, but I can ask my—”

  A pale beam shot over his shoulder and spotlighted the girl’s face. With a snarl, she flung up an arm. Her features began twisting and shifting with a moist popping sound. Her head jerked back and forth. Finn gasped, unable to move.

  Stabbed by the light from Gideon’s moonstone, the Amandán groaned. Its pelt rippled as it transformed into a distorted half-ape, half-human shape. Snapping its jaw, it shook itself like a dog, water spraying from mossy green fur.

  “Ah, fresh meat,” the creature grunted, curling its lips back in a yellow-toothed grin. As Finn stood frozen with shock, it stretched black-tipped fingers toward his face.

  Something grabbed the collar of his shirt and yanked him backwards.

  “Are ye trying to hold hands with the bleedin’ thing?” Gideon thrust him to one side. “Now, watch and learn, boyo.” The light faded when the Knight shoved the stone in his pocket. His bronze blade was a blur in the rain as he slashed and stabbed at the goblin. He drove it back, trapping it against the side of the camper. “Fetch the other weapon whilst I keep it occupied,” he called over the roar of the downpour. “Hurry!”

  Finn dove under the RV and lunged for the keys. Scrambling to his feet, he rushed to their truck. His hands shook as he fumbled to unlock the door. Jerking it open, he scrabbled under the seat, grabbed the weapon, and raced back. He shook wet hair out of his eyes and took a stance beside his master, worry worms squirming in his gut. The knife felt heavy and awkward in his hand. As he watched, the creature swayed back and forth, flinching away from the burning touch of the Knight’s blade.

  “So, ye’ve come to pick a fight, have ye?” Gideon said. “And just when will ye manky beasts realize Eire is lost to ye forever? And that ye will never win this war?”

  “‘Twill be ours again,” the Amandán snarled back. “Right after we spit out the bones of all De Danaan and their mortal allies.” It made a rude gesture. “Invaders. Thieves of our earth.”

  “Ye should have fought harder, then, to hold the green land.”

  With its mouth stretched in rage, the Amandán lunged at the Knight, hissing, “Poc sidhe.” Its fingertips whispered past the Knight’s face.

  Gideon jerked his head back just in time. Feinting to one side, he dodged under the goblin’s reach. “‘I am a boar enraged,’” he shouted as he came in low and buried his blade in the Amandán’s chest. Lightning cracked overhead and drowned out the creature’s shriek. Gideon leaped back. He grabbed Finn and whirled around, shielding the boy with his body.

  The Amandán exploded. It sprayed the back of Gideon’s work shirt with gray-green ash and vanished. The knife clattered to the ground.

  Finn sucked in a shaky breath as Gideon released him. He turned around and stared at the mound of powder a few feet away, his heart hammering against his ribs. “Is-is it dead?” He hoped his master didn’t notice his voice cracking.

  “Oh, ‘tis not dead.” Gideon bent over and picked up the weapon. He held it between thumb and finger to rinse it off in the diminishing rainfall, the cloudburst as quick to leave as to arrive. “Amandán are almost impossible to kill. All I’ve done is weakened it. ‘Twill take some time for that one to gain enough strength to reform and attack again.”

  Finn stepped closer and poked at the sodden mess with his toe. The rain was already washing away the traces of left-over goblin. He grimaced. “Bleh, that stuff stinks!” He waved a hand in front of his nose. “Smells like burnt rubber.”

  “Aye, it does. Which is why an apprentice with even a modicum of intelligence would not stick his bleedin’ shoe in it.”

  While Finn scratched his head, trying to determine if he had been insulted, Gideon walked over to the truck and rummaged through the storage bin in the back, finally locating a rag. With a few swipes, he dried the blade and slid it back into its sheath, under the tail of his shirt.

  “Quite a beginning to yer apprenticeship, eh?” He propped an elbow on the side of the truck bed. His blue eyes twinkled as he wiped wet ash from his cheek. It left a smear across his lean face.

  Finn grinned back weakly and nodded, his pulse slowing. He gathered the plastic bags still sitting by the passenger side and tossed them into the cab, then joined the Knight.

  For a few minutes, they stood side by side, watching the storm clouds race eastward. Around them, shoppers emerged from their cars, having waited out the storm before heading to the store.

  After a moment, Finn wrinkled his nose and sniffed. Trying to act nonchalant, he eased away from the goblin puddle.

  Gideon slipped off his shirt. “Best get used to the stench, boyo.” Holding it out, he examined the stained material. “A good scrubbing and ‘twill be respectable again.”

  Finn nodded. His eyes widened when he noticed a Celtic knot tattooed on the swell of muscle of the Knight’s right arm, just below the sleeve of his master’s tee. The green lines of the sigil wove in and out, around and back, in a pattern with no beginning or ending. A wisp of a memory washed over him. A memory of a similar tattoo on his father’s arm. “My da had one,” he said, almost to himself.

  “Did he? The mark of Knighthood?”

  “Yeah.” Finn frowned. “My uncle’s a Knight, too, but he doesn’t have one.”

  “Yer da and Uncle Owen are of a younger generation of Tuatha De Danaan. Fergus was a rare one to have followed the old custom.”

  “Oh.” Finn hesitated for a moment, then looked up at his master. “Just how old are you?”

  “Thirty-seven,” he said offhandedly. He tossed the shirt into the bed before heading for the cab. Finn trotted around to the other side and climbed in.

  As the truck coughed to life, Gideon glanced over. “I best teach ye how to remove goblin remains from yer clothing. We’ll begin with me shirt.”

  “Me? Why do I have to do it? It’s not mine.”

  “I dinna write the rules. It clearly states in the ‘How to Train Yer Apprentice’ manual that the apprentice does the laundry.”

  “Can I see this manual? When we get back?”

  “I seem to recall that I’ve misplaced me copy.”

  “So, how do I know you’re not just making all this sh—
crap up?”

  “Because I am Gideon Lir, Knight of the Tuatha De Danaan,” he proclaimed in a solemn voice. “And our word and our honor are the one and the same.”

  Finn muttered something under his breath that rhymed with “ghoul skit” as they rolled out the parking lot and headed for home.

  The Journal of Finnegan MacCullen: May 22

  This is so lame!!! And I hope Gideon reads this so he knows I think this is totally unfair and stupid!! And lame!!!

  Guys don’t do journals. It’s so…so girly! What does a warrior need a journal for, anyway?

  Gideon told me…no, wait… ordered me to write down what I learn each day. He said starting it on my thirteenth birthday would mean a lot to me when I got older. And then he told me that he still keeps one.

  Wow, like that’s something to brag about?

  What I Learned Today:

  Amandán means Fool in old Gaelic (the language of the Celts).

  They sometimes trick (or fool) us and also mortals by taking on the appearance of a person or some other object. That’s so they can get closer and kill us. They can’t hold the shape very long, which is good, because then we’d be really screwed when it came to hunting them.

  They believe in this ancient legend that, if they kill every single De Danaan in the world, then they can return home to Ireland and reclaim it. Which doesn’t makes sense to me. I mean, don’t they know there’s like six million humans living in Ireland??? I don’t think they’re going to be too happy sharing the island with stinky green goblins with bad breath.

  Amandán kill with the poc sidhe. If they touch your face or head with their fingers, it gives you a cerebral hemorrhage. What humans call a stroke. That’s what poc sidhe means: fey stroke. Gideon pronounces it poke she.

  We got an Amandán today. Well, Gideon got it. I just watched. It was a lot bigger and faster than I had imagined. A lot smellier, too.

  A lot scarier, too.

  The ceremony totally sucked. My stone wouldn’t work. But I did okay with the knife. He told me De Danaan used to use swords and spears more, in the old days, but it got too hard to hide them under our clothes around humans. Now, we just use knives and daggers. Makes sense.