Finn Finnegan (4 page)

Nothing happened.

Finn swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry. He peeked over at the Knight's face.

Gideon stood frowning, one eye on the mounting sun as he stared at Finn's upraised hand. “Hand me yer stone, lad.”

Finn passed it over. “Maybe I said the words wrong?”

“No, ye recited them well enough.” He closed a fist around the moonstone. Pale light oozed between his fingers. “‘Tis odd—it's working now. Here, try it again.” The stone's brilliance faded when he passed it back. They both held their breath as Finn lifted his arm once more, knuckles white.

Nothing happened.

Again.

Finn dropped his hand in defeat. A voice, sounding a great deal like his cousin, jeered in his head.
Hey, Halfer Boy! Why are you still carrying your da's stone around? Think maybe some of
our
mojo might rub off on it? Maybe even light it up for you when the time comes?
Cruel laughter followed.

He clenched his jaw.
I should've known it wouldn't work. I was stupid to think it would
. Afraid to look at the Knight, afraid of seeing disappointment (or worse, disgust), he stared at the horizon.
Why can't something turn out
right
for me? Just for once?

Before he could stop it, the frustration and self-pity turned to anger. It spilled from his gut and spread throughout his body. Sweat broke out on his face and back.
Oh, crap, not this, not now
. He fought for control as Gideon spoke.

“Well, now, that's something I've not seen before.”

“Is it because I'm half mortal?” Finn said between gritted teeth. He dug his nails into his palms, trying to halt the storm building up inside.

“Possibly. But that doesn't mean—”

“How am I supposed to fight them if I can't recognize them?” he asked, his voice breaking. “How am I supposed to see the Amandáns' true forms if my moonstone doesn't work?”

“There are many ways to battle those beasties. And shortly, I'll teach ye how to—”

“How to what?” Finn cut him off again. “
Smell
for them? Like a dog?”

“Finnegan, the moonstone is only one of our weapons.” Gideon tried again, his own face darkening. “And if ye'll stop bleedin' interrupting me, I'll explain—”

Finn ignored him. He stalked over to the edge of the cliff, legs both stiff and shaky at the same time, and looked down at the tip of a lone pine. A violent fury deafened him to Gideon's voice. The fury that spun him out of control every time.

And into a red place that frightened him.

Dumbass rock! I should have thrown it away a long time ago
. The anger flared. A black rage so thick he could almost spit it out onto the ground. His mouth twisting into an ugly mask, he cocked his arm back.

A hand caught his wrist. “Oh, no, ye don't. None of that, now.” Before Finn could stop him, Gideon pried his fist open and dug out the stone, still keeping a grip with his other hand.

“Let go of me!” Finn flung himself back, eyes wild and his feet scrambling in the gravely dirt for purchase. He clawed at Gideon's fingers, trying to pry them off, his own chewed nails leaving shallow gouges along the Knight's knuckles. Dark red spots flickered at the edge of his vision.

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.”

“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 out
wears
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, behind 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