Finn Finnegan (11 page)

“That's it.” He pointed at the spear resting on the desk. Nearby, an oval shield, a little shorter than the boys, leaned against the wall. Rafe rapped his knuckles against the black and white hardened cow leather. “My dad went to get some hooks so I can hang them on the wall.”

Finn picked up the spear. The thick wooden handle was decorated with bands of ornamental beads in crayon-bright colors. A broad, leaf-shaped blade was attached to the business end.

“It's more for stabbing than throwing. That's why it's shorter than a regular spear,” Rafe explained. “Real ones wouldn't have all that decoration. The handles would be plain.”

Finn thrust it in the air a few times. “Nice balance. Is it bronze?”

“Yeah. For some reason, my grandfather wanted me to have a bronze one instead of iron.”

As Finn laid it back down, he noticed a small telescope next to the window. “Is that yours?”

“Yeah. Well, my dad's and mine—he's a science teacher at the high school. There's going to be an eclipse of the sun on July tenth and I thought I might get a special filter for this so I can watch without hurting my eyes. Of course, this event is only a partial, not an annular eclipse, which is more rare and…” He paused, and shot Finn a glance. “I know what you're thinking,” he said with a self-conscious expression.

Finn frowned in confusion. “What?”

“Well, that I'm some kind of science geek.”

“What's wrong with being interested in—” Finn stopped when a light flickered through the window and bounced against the far wall. He bent over and peered out as his master's truck pulled into the driveway, the sun reflecting off its cracked windshield. “Gideon's back. I better get home.” Sprinting out of the room, Finn pounded down the stairs, Rafe on his heels.

“Is he going to get mad because you didn't finish the gate?” Rafe asked as he ran ahead and opened the front door. He held it wide as Finn bolted through it.

“Oh, yeah!”
And for other reasons
. “I'll see you around,” he yelled over his shoulder.

Running across the street, he slowed in relief at the sight of the empty truck cab.
He must have gone inside already
, Finn thought, halting by the gate. Panting, he crouched down on the sidewalk and uncoiled a section of wire, the metal hot from the sun.
Okay, look busy
. He measured another length. As he reached for the wire cutters, a shadow fell across him.

Finn froze as bare knuckles rapped on his skull.
This is
so
not good
, he thought.

“Hmm, I hear nary an echo, so I'm going to assume ye've a brain in there.” Gideon stepped around him. “A brain that can follow simple directions. Directions such as, ‘finish this gate by noon. And do not fraternize with the humans next door.'”

“I
am
almost finished.” Finn rose to his feet and locked eyes with his master. “And anyway, they don't live
next door
. They live across the street. And kind of over to the left. Totally different.”

Gideon's brows drew together. “I'll not have ye splitting hairs when I give ye an order to—”

At that moment, a dark form flew over them, stroking the air with its black wings. The crow cawed twice and disappeared behind the house as it sped toward the western hills.

Argument abandoned, Gideon whirled around and dashed along the side of the house, Finn on his heels. Together they ran across the backyard. Without breaking stride, the Knight pulled his knife out.

“Yer blade at the ready,” he ordered, then came to a halt as Finn slowed, fumbling behind him for his weapon. “And ye're holding the bleedin' thing wrong!” He jerked the weapon away and spun it around. “
Handle
forward,
blade
back, until ye go into battle,” he snapped, thrusting it back into the boy's hand.

“Yes, sir.” Finn's cheeks reddened as he tightened his grip. His sweat made the leather grip slippery.

Chanting the Song in low voices, they picked up speed again and ran toward the wall. Gideon leaped first, his foot lightly pushing off the top stones. Finn followed with a one-handed vault. He landed next to Gideon on a path running along the rim of the ravine.

In a steady jog, they followed the trail north for a few minutes before turning and plunging down one side of the ravine and up the other. They struck another hiking path winding westward through the woods. Bushy scrub oaks, mixed with the occasional pine tree, formed screens on either side of the trail.

They headed deeper into the woods. Finn glanced around him at every crunch of last year's leaves and dead twigs. After a mile, Gideon halted and motioned for him to stop. The Knight cocked his head as he listened.

Finn peered up, craning his neck to search the cloudless sky, squinting into the midday sun. “There!” he cried, pointing toward the top of the next hill. A black X circled over a stand of pine trees.

Gideon ran a few steps, keeping his eyes locked on the crow “Quickly, before it …” He faltered, cursing under his breath as two more birds joined the first one.

“What's wrong?” Finn asked.

“Not a lone one. There's at least three Amandán.” Gideon turned and studied Finn for a moment, then shook his head and slid his weapon back into its sheath. “We best leave them for another day.”

Finn set his feet, a stubborn glint in his eyes. “Gideon, I can do this. I know I can.” He smiled crookedly. “I'll even let you have two for yourself.”

“Oh, ye will, will ye?” He pulled out the knife again, examining the blade as he pondered. “Cocky little git.”

“Please, Gideon? I'll do dishes all week. Every meal.”

“Ye already do dishes after every meal.”

“Yeah, but I won't
complain
about it. I promise.”

The Knight gazed up at the crows still soaring in a three-way dance over the tree tops, then looked over at Finn.

Finn raised his chin and stared back. He stood as tall as he could and threw back his shoulders, trying to make himself look bigger.

Gideon quirked an eyebrow. “‘I am a bull of seven battles,' eh?”

“You got that right. I mean, yes, sir.”

Without another word, they raced, side by side, after the birds.

His lungs burning, Finn wheezed for breath, stumbling backwards over a tree root as the Amandán lunged for him again. He hit the trunk of the massive Ponderosa pine with a shoulder and almost dropped the knife clutched in his hand. Sweat dripping down his face stung his eyes. He pressed his back against the rough bark, and sucked in another desperate breath. The stink of Amandán filled his nostrils and coated his tongue. With a silent curse, he stabbed at the goblin.

“Getting weary, little De Danaan?” it rasped in a mocking tone, as it scampered from side to side, trying to break through Finn's defenses.

“Don't let it flank ye,” Gideon warned, fighting nearby. His clothes were already dusted with the ashy remains of the first Amandán. With blinding speed, he feinted and parried, his blade a blur as the second goblin rushed at him. He drove off the beast and edged closer to Finn. “Keep yer knife up and moving.”

“‘Kay,” Finn gasped through a parched mouth. Long shadows stretched around them as the afternoon sun crept closer to the mountain tops. The muscles in his arms and legs screamed as he swung the knife at the Amandán. The goblin scrambled out of range, hooting in derision. Tears of frustration and exhaustion blurred Finn's vision. With a half-groan, half-sob, he crumpled to one knee.

“Oh, no, ye don't!” Gideon leaped to Finn's side. He reached down and grabbed him by the back of his shirt with one hand, hauling him upright. “On yer feet, boyo. The ground is no place for a warrior.”

They pressed further back against the tree, eyeing the Amandán huddled together a few yards away, speaking to each other in an undertone. Finn swiped at his grimy face, grateful the sweat camouflaged the few tears that had fallen. He looked up wearily as his master nudged him.

“‘Tis a pleasant day for a hunt, to be sure. But I dinna think it would go on this long.” Gideon smiled grimly, his black hair salted with ash. His face was streaked with goblin residue and sweat. He licked dry lips, then made a face at the taste and spat, one eye on the goblins. “And what would they be planning?”

“Gives us the runt for our supper,” one of the goblins suddenly growled at the Knight. “And we lets ye live.”

“Why, he wouldn't be more than a mouthful. The boyo is naught but skin and bones,” Gideon pointed out. “I've a better barter. Ye leave now and I swear I'll not kill ye.” He paused, then amended. “Until later.” In spite of his weariness, Finn snorted with laughter.

“
Nar
, what kinds of barter is that?”

“The Tuatha De Danaan kind.”

The Amandán glanced at each other, then charged. Standing shoulder to shoulder, master and apprentice slashed and stabbed, Gideon making two thrusts for each one of Finn's. Gasping the Song between frantic gulps of air, Finn noticed Gideon chanting along with him. His clear tenor was supported by his master's deeper, richer baritone.

Suddenly, a rush of energy surged through him, the blending of their voices giving him a second wind. As they sang, Gideon gestured with his knife. Finn nodded. Tightening his grip, he blinked the sweat from his eyes and took a deep breath.

“
Faugh a ballagh
!” they shouted in unison, and sprang forward. Surprised at the De Danaan's fierce charge, the Amandán tripped over each other as they scrambled to flee. Too late.

Ash flew everywhere as the beasts exploded.

After drying his hair until he resembled a redheaded hedgehog, Finn wiped his neck and chest, then tossed the towel over the shower curtain rod. The minty-sweet fragrance of shampoo filled the bathroom.
Hope I got it all—leftover Amandán is tough to wash out
, he thought, smoothing his mop.
I see why Gideon wears his so short—maybe I should get mine cut
. He pinned his hair flat with both hands and stared in the mirror. “Nah, I don't think so.” Grabbing a clean tee shirt off the counter, he pulled it on as Gideon called from downstairs.

“Finn? Supper's ready. And bring yer dirty clothes with ye.”

Loping down the stairs, filthy jeans and tee wadded under one arm, Finn hurried through the house, pausing to toss the clothes onto the floor of the tiny laundry-half bath combo just off the kitchen. He closed his eyes and inhaled the aroma of hot grilled-cheese sandwiches as he slid into his place at the table.

“Ye gods, I'm starving. I didn't get lunch because—” He froze. His jaw dropped as he looked down. A thin crescent of gold rested on his empty plate. “Oh. Oh, wow,” he whispered, staring at the newly polished tore.

Gideon turned from the sink, drying his hands. “Bring it here, and I'll put it on ye.”

With unsteady fingers, Finn reached out and picked it up. The overhead light glinted off the twisted wires forming the curved band. The two ends were finished with hammered orbs of golden metal.
It's not as heavy as I thought it would be
, he thought as he rose to his feet and carried it over. It felt cool against his palms, still warm from the shower.