Finn Finnegan Read online

  Finn looked up wide-eyed as the other De Danaan approached. “Uh … hello.” He nodded once. “And fáilte” he added, after a subtle throat-clearing from Gideon.

  Mac Roth grinned, his teeth flashing white inside his fiery beard. “Fergus MacCullen’s son. Why, I knew yer father. A formidable warrior. And I had met yer mother, Molly Rose MacCullen, once. She was a rare beauty.” Sticking out a hand, his blue eyes twinkled as he waited until the apprentice clasped his meaty forearm in the traditional greeting. Squeezing Finn’s, he added, “Ye’ve a strong arm, lad. Gideon must be feeding ye well.” Letting go, he took the chair Gideon offered and sank down. He gestured toward the food. “I’ll talk while ye eat.” He waited until Gideon perched on the edge of the bed. “As I was saying, other De Danaan are reporting more and more encounters with the Amandán. The beasties are becoming bolder.”

  “Ye said Iona had a theory as to why?” Gideon reminded him.

  Mac Roth leaned back in the chair, the legs creaking alarmingly. “Aye—the Spear.”

  “You mean the Spear of Tuatha De Danaan? We were just talking about it.” Finn asked around his sandwich.

  “The very one.” Mac Roth reached over and snagged a carrot off Finn’s plate, munching it down in two bites. “It is also known as Gideon’s Spear—” He started to add more when Finn interrupted him.

  “Why didn’t you tell me it had another name?” He looked at Gideon. “Your name?”

  “I was about to inform ye of all this when we got sidetracked by yer stomach. And stop bleedin’ interrupting.”

  “Iona has heard a rumor,” continued Mac Roth, hiding a grin in his beard, “that the Spear may be here. In High Springs. Hidden somewhere amongst the De Danaan. She also believes that the Amandán know of this rumor and are attempting to kill as many of us as they can before we locate the weapon and use it against them.”

  Gideon sighed. “And since there are so few of us, the Amandán might prevail this time.”

  Finn frowned for a moment, then brightened. “Hey! Maybe humans might be willing to help us again. Like in the old days. I mean, if we told them what was really going on.”

  Gideon snorted. “Let me play that scenario for ye, Finn.” He gave a nod as he pretended to speak with someone in the corner. “Why, top of the day to ye, Mr. and Mrs. Twenty-first Century Human. We’ve never met, but I’m Gideon Lir. A Knight of the Tuatha De Danaan—what ye might call Fey or Fairy. No. No wings. I do use magic and medieval weapons to battle goblin-like creatures with nasty dispositions and terrible body odor. Say, would ye care to help? I’ve a spare hunting knife and… Wait! Do not run away. To be sure, I am quite harmless!”

  As Finn laughed, trying not to choke on his lunch, Mac Roth flung his head back and roared. Gasping for breath, they applauded Gideon, who rose, placed a hand on his chest, and took a bow

  “And that, me lad,” he added, “is why we don’t tell mortals. Best to keep our identity secret.”

  Still chuckling, Mac Roth stood up. “Now, ye two are closest to the mountains, and the old mining district, so be wary.” Pausing at the door, he glanced over his shoulder. “Finn, I’ve an apprentice about yer age—Asher O’Neill.” He looked at Gideon. “What do ye say we take these two hunting soon, eh?”

  “Name the place and time and we’ll be there,” replied the Knight.

  “How about a night hunt by the river? Where it runs along the edge of the city. Say, in a couple of weeks?”

  “So, ye’ve gotten over yer fear of the dark, have ye?” Gideon said with a straight face.

  “Aye. About the same time ye learned which end of yer weapon to use.” The Knights both laughed, then Mac Roth waved good-bye. “I’ll see meself out.”

  They sat listening to his heavy tread, then the thud of the front door closing. After a moment, a vehicle roared to life, the growl fading as he drove away. Gideon walked over to the window. Strange, that after all these years, talk of the Spear is surfacing again. But Mac Roth is mad to think I’ll ever trust: lona, much less listen to her. The voice of his apprentice brought him back from his thoughts.

  “Gideon? Do you think the Amandán are out there right now? Hunting us?’

  “I do.”

  “So what do we do? To protect ourselves?”

  The Knight pulled out his knife and ran a thumb along the blade, then held it up to the light. He glanced back over his shoulder and smiled grimly. “Why, we hunt them back.”

  Ten

  The Journal of Finnegan MacCullen: June 15

  It seems like all we’ve done these last two weeks is eat, sleep, train, and do chores. Not always in that order.

  Gideon said he’s never run into so many Amandán. Even though we’re not looking for them. That’s because they’re looking for us. Waiting for us to let our guard down.

  We’re going hunting tonight with Knight Mac Roth and his apprentice. I hope I don’t screw up in front of everyone.

  What I Learned Today Lately:

  I found out more about the Spear. It is somehow connected to mortals. According to the legend, after the humans broke their alliance with us, a mortal and a De Danaan who had remained friends decided to make the Spear together. They intended it to be the ultimate weapon against the Amandán. No one knows who the mortal was, but the De Danaan was this gifted blacksmith named Gideon Black Hand. That’s why we sometimes call it Gideon’s Spear. The problem is, we don’t know where it is anymore.

  “Is that them?” Finn asked, peering through the truck’s windshield across the almost deserted parking lot. An old Jeep with a crumpled fender waited in the light of the single streetlamp. As he watched, a massive figure stepped around the back end of the vehicle and waved them over. A shorter figure followed.

  Gideon wheeled the truck around and pulled to a stop, the brakes grinding. As the engine died with a grateful sigh, he turned and fixed Finn with a stern eye. “Remember, ye and Asher are to watch and learn. Stay where we tell ye. Do what we tell ye. Or I’ll tan yer backside.”

  “Okay already. You told me that like a hundred…” Finn stopped and swallowed the rest of the sentence at his master’s expression. “I mean, yes, sir.” He waited until Gideon stepped out of the truck before rolling his eyes. He hopped out, shoved the door closed with his shoulder, and joined the trio standing between the two vehicles.

  Mac Roth gestured toward the sandy-haired boy next to him. Finn noted that the boy was about his height and had the same compact build. “Finn, this is my apprentice, Asher O’Neill. Asher, meet Finnegan MacCullen.”

  “Hi, Asher.” Finn put out his hand like Gideon had coached him and waited.

  “How’s it going?” Asher nodded once in greeting, his eyes the ancient De Danaan blue. He hesitated for a moment before shaking hands with Finn.

  “Right. Now, for the hunt.” Mac Roth turned and led the way out of the parking lot to the trailhead. Their feet crunched on the gravel path as they walked in single file down a gentle slope. The river at the bottom gleamed with a silvery sheen.

  Reaching the sandy bank, they stopped and gazed first upstream, then down. Thick willows lined both sides of the shallow river, scarcely more than a creek, while boulders squatted here and there, their shadows inky pools from the light of the full moon. As the Knights stepped away to confer in private, Finn turned to the other boy.

  “So, how long have you been Mac Roth’s apprentice?”

  “About four months,” Asher replied curtly. He pulled out his knife and flipped it into the air. The bronze winked in the moonlight. He caught it by the handle with ease.

  “Lucky you! I’ve been with Gideon for only—”

  “Look,” Asher interrupted him, keeping his voice low. “I’m here to learn how to hunt. Not make friends with a halfer.”

  “W-what did you call me?”

  “Halfer. Mac Roth told me about you. About your mother.” Asher examined the edge of his blade, then stared at Finn with cold eyes. “So, make sure you stay out of my way. Got it? I don’t want
to miss my chance at earning my tore just because a wannabe De Danaan screws up the hunt.”

  For a moment, Finn’s mouth hung open. His cheeks burned with humiliation. Then anger. Before he could move or say a word, Gideon gave a sharp whistle.

  “Front and center, boyos,” he called. Asher sneered at Finn standing frozen, then turned and hurried toward the Knights. “Move yer arse, Finn,” Gideon barked.

  Seething with anger, Finn walked stiff-legged over to the rest. His pulse humming in his ears, he nodded without listening to Gideon’s instructions. What an ass, he thought. Asher the Ass. His lips twitched at a sudden thought. No. Wait. It’s Ass-her. He jumped when Gideon snapped at him.

  “I said, do ye understand me?”

  Finn blinked and looked up at him. “Y-yes, sir.” Before Gideon could question him further, he followed Asher over to a massive boulder, the top of it higher than his head, and took a stance in the protection of the rock. He stood as far away from the other boy as he could.

  “Asher O’Neill,” called Mac Roth as he pulled a knife and a hatchet from his belt, “Move from that spot and ye’ll feel the back of me hand.” Without another word, he plunged into the undergrowth.

  “And the same to ye, Finn,” Gideon added, his favorite knife already in his hand. He turned and followed in Mac Roth’s wake. The vegetation slapped back behind them. A further rustle, then silence.

  For few minutes, Finn stood staring at the spot where the Knights had disappeared; he pointedly ignored the other apprentice. The river rippled and splashed as the night air cooled the heat in his face. Just great, he grumbled to himself. How am I supposed to learn to hunt just standing around? Especially with this jerk.

  He pulled out his knife and slouched against the rock. Using the point of the weapon, he idly picked at the lichen covering the rock like a case of bad acne. He flicked a piece away. Into Asher’s face.

  Totally unintentional, of course.

  “Hey! Knock it off!”

  “Make me.” Finn threw a larger piece at him. “Ass-her.”

  Asher narrowed his eyes. Glancing around, he spied a weathered branch the same length as his knife. He picked it up. “Halfer,” he spat back, and pitched the stick with a sideways, boomerang-y throw

  Finn twisted to one side. He watched as the stick sailed past him and fell with a splash into the river. He glanced back in time to see Asher snatch up a fist-sized rock.

  Shifting the knife to his left hand, Finn hastily scooped his own rock out of the sand. He held it at shoulder-height, his arm cocked back. They stood a few yards apart, eyes locked on each other and poised for battle. The river seemed to laugh at them as it gurgled along.

  Then, the quiet of the night exploded.

  “FAUGH A BALLAGH!”

  Shouting the Irish war cry, Gideon burst out of the bushes a dozen yards downstream. He sprinted toward them. Without slowing, he flung a taunting challenge over his shoulder. In hot pursuit, a second shape crashed through the willows. Snarling like a pissed-off pit bull, the Amandán churned up sand and mud as it ran, its dangling arms almost touching the ground. It sped up and closed the gap between itself and the Knight.

  Finn’s heart flew into his throat. He watched as his master leaped on top of a goblin-high boulder nearby and took a defensive stance. Balancing easily on the rock, the Knight raised his weapon aloft. Moonlight danced along the blade. It flashed above Gideon’s head like a flame.

  Then he heard his master laugh. “Come closer, ye manky beast,” he shouted when the Amandán skidded to a halt at the foot of the stone. “I dinna’ sharpen this blade for nothing.”

  The goblin stretched to full height. With surprising speed, it swiped at Gideon’s ankle, managing to snag the hem of his jeans with black-tipped fingers. It bared its teeth in triumph.

  Without thinking, Finn threw the rock in his hand as hard as he could; it bounced off the Amandán’s head with a dull thunk. The goblin yelped, let go of Gideon’s jeans, and whirled around. “Nar, one of the whelps.”

  When ye can, take the fight to yer enemy. His master’s voice seemed to speak in his head. Control the field of battle. A. timely attack has won many a war.

  Finn’s voice cracked as he let out a yell and charged.

  And tripped over a half-buried log in the sand.

  He slammed face-first into the ground, sand abrading his cheek. The air whooshed out of him. He laid there, mouth opening and shutting like a stranded fish. His lungs seemed to have forgotten how to operate. Dimly, he heard Gideon and Mac Roth shouting, one in anger and one in triumph. Suddenly, the shriek of the goblin pierced the night, then was cut short.

  Just as Finn’s lungs decided to get back to work, a pair of hands grabbed him and yanked him to his feet. The blade fell from his grasp as he was spun around.

  Gideon clutched his shoulders, his grip like iron and his eyes ablaze. Finn could almost feel the heatwaves of anger coming off his master. “What, in the name of all the gods, do ye think ye’re doing?” He shook Finn roughly. “I ordered ye to stay by the bleedin’ rock!”

  “But I—” croaked Finn, then stopped when Gideon yelled again.

  “The beast could have turned on ye! Before I could have reached ye!”

  “But I—” His teeth clattered together when his master shook him again.

  A massive shape loomed up next to them. “Now, Lir,” Mac Roth said, laying a massive paw on his friend’s shoulder. “Go easy on the lad. Why, Finn was only doing what any apprentice should do.”

  “Get himself killed before his fourteenth birthday?”

  “No, ye thick-headed bog trotter.” Unmoved by Gideon’s anger, he calmly wiped his hatchet with a rag. “Protect his master’s back on the hunt.”

  Gideon’s mouth tightened as he glared at Finn. The muscles in his jaw jumped. Without another word, he whirled around and stomped off, slashing at the tips of the innocent willow branches with his blade.

  Finn stood in shock, heart hammering against his ribs. For some reason, tears prickled his eyelids. He bent over and picked up his knife, then dragged a sleeve across his eyes. He glanced over at Mac Roth, mortified.

  The Knight pretended not to notice. “Ye gods, but Lir can scream like a banshee, eh, lad?” He gave Finn a wink.

  Finn sniffed and chuckled. “Aye, that he can,” he said, mimicking the Knight’s accent.

  Mac Roth patted his shoulder. “T’will be all right.” With a nod, he turned around and headed back up the slope, Asher trailing behind him.

  Finn let out a long breath. He wiped the knife clean of sand before tucking it away. A few yards upstream, Gideon whirled around and started back toward him, anger still plain in his stiff walk. Finn fought the desire to back away when his master drew even with him.

  “Truck. Now.” Gideon stabbed a finger toward the path.

  They were silent all the way home.

  The Journal of Gideon Lir: June 16

  We hunted with Mac Roth and young Asher last night. Only one goblin accounted for. I certainly wish we could do more than just slow them down. Mac Roth and I both believe we are fighting a losing battle. There are simply too many of them.

  As Mac Roth so bluntly put it this evening, “They breed like rabbits.” Except he used another word for breeding. I had to remind him that there were young ears nearby.

  My old friend then reminded me that those ‘young ears’ were thirteen-year-old boys, and they already know all about the rabbit-breeding thing. At least in theory.

  Poor Finn. I lost my temper with him after he disobeyed me. I hauled him over the coals quite severely in front of the others.

  Better for him to be embarrassed than dead.

  Eleven

  The next morning, Finn swallowed as he tugged at the hem of his tee shirt. Stalling for time, he pressed his fingers against the stone in his pocket for courage, then forced himself to step into the kitchen. He hesitated when he spied his master at the table writing in his journal, steam rising from the morning mug of
tea at his elbow

  “Uh—’morning, Gideon.”

  The Knight grunted in response. He paused to turn the page before resuming his task. A rock-heavy silence followed; the scratching of the pen filled the room. Finn cleared his throat and tried again.

  “Sorry about last night.”

  Gideon threw the pen down and twisted around, hooking an arm over the back of the chair. He stared at Finn, eyes blue ice. “Disobey me again, Finnegan MacCullen, and the Amandán will be the least of yer worries. Understand?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Gideon rose and walked over. “Because if I lose ye to those monsters, ‘twill not be due to the stupidity ye demonstrated last night.” He cuffed Finn affectionately. “Now, be a good lad, and go fetch the newspaper.”

  “Yes, sir.” With a lighter heart, Finn turned and hurried through the house. Easing out the front door, he walked down the steps and along the path, leaving the gate ajar. As he reached the sidewalk, he heard a low rumbling. He squinted into the morning sun and stared at the house across the street.

  A lanky boy about his age trudged down its driveway, rolling a large, plastic garbage container behind him. Wheeling it into place along the curb, he glanced up and noticed Finn.

  “Hey. How’s it going?” He secured the lid with a thump of his fist.

  “Um, okay.” Finn noticed the newspaper lying in the street. He walked over and picked it up.

  “Did you just move here?” the boy asked as Finn hesitated in the middle of the road.

  “Yeah. Well, I did. About three weeks ago. Gideon has lived here for a long time. He’s my new guardian,” Finn said. Good thing Gideon and I came up with that cover story, he thought. Just in case.

  “Cool!” The boy grinned. “It’ll be nice to have another guy around. I’m Rafe Steel.”

  “Finn MacCullen.”

  “Like a fish?”

  Like a fish? he thought. “Oh, I get it. No, Finn’s short for Finnegan.”