Finn Finnegan (8 page)

Standing at Finn's bedroom window, Gideon gazed into the forest beyond the wall. The familiar anger tightened the muscles in his back and shoulders. It whispered in his head, urging him to strike out at anything. At anyone. He took a deep breath and relaxed the hands fisted by his sides. Glancing over a shoulder at the figure lying motionless on the bed, he frowned in surprise at the unexpected protectiveness that swept through him. He turned back to the window. “Come near mine again, beasties,” he spoke to the empty woods, “be it me home or apprentice, and I'll—”

“G-eon?”

The Knight spun around at the slurred voice behind him. Hurrying over to the bed, he pulled the chair closer and took a seat. “And the hero awakes.”

“My head hurts,” Finn complained.

“Aye, no doubt. Since ye attacked a tree with it. The tree won, surprisingly, considering that thick noggin of yers.”

“Ha, ha. Funny.” Finn blinked as he looked around the bedroom. “How did I get here?”

“I carried ye.” Gideon leaned over and pushed Finn's hair off his forehead. He examined the wound for a moment, then reached for the rag soaking in a bowl on the nightstand. A spicy, earthy aroma, like coffee mixed with peppermint, wafted up from the warm potion. Wringing the cloth out, he folded it into a small square and pressed it against Finn's injury.

Finn winced. “I like the way the
slainte
nettle smells, but man, that stuff stings like crazy!”

“Ah, ye whine like a wee babe. Here—hold this on for a bit longer.” Gideon let go as Finn took over. After a few minutes, he took the cloth away. “Can ye sit up?” He waited until Finn pushed back against the headboard, then stuffed a pillow behind him.

Gideon picked up a steaming mug sitting next to the bowl and held it out. “Sip it slowly. T'will speed up the healing of both yer head wound and any bruises or scratches.”

Cradling the cup in both hands, Finn sipped cautiously. He smacked his lips. “Tastes like you put honey in it.”

“Aye—a bit of sweet. Some De Danaan do not enjoy its flavor.”

“Not me! I could drink this stuff all day.”

Gideon frowned when his apprentice took another gulp. “I wouldn't become too enamored with the brew. Too much
slainte
nettle tea can
came, problems
for our kind.”

“Like what?”

“An excess of
slainte
nettle makes us inebriated.”

“Inebriated?”

“Drunk.”

Finn stared down into his mug. “Like how much excess?”

“Six or seven gallons, depending on the individual.”

“Six or seven gallons! I'd be like a water balloon after drinking all that.”

“Or ye'd be spending a great deal of time seeing a man about a horse.”

Finn laughed at the old expression, one hand holding his bruised side. The corner of Gideon's mouth twitched as he took the mug before it spilled and set it back on the nightstand. Still chuckling, Finn leaned back against the pillow

“So we got it, right? The Amandán?”

“Aye, we did. However…” He paused.
Should I tell him?

“What's wrong? Did I lose the knife again?”

“No. All weapons are cleaned and accounted for. But I am concerned about—”

“Gideon, I'm sorry,” Finn said in a rush. “Sorry I was acting like a jack-butt earlier. I know you want me to get better at controlling my temper.”

The Knight raised a hand. “‘Tis not that. Well, not exactly. Certainly, we will work on that temper of yers. What I want to discuss are these repeated attacks by the Amandán.”

Finn's eyes widened. “You mean, this…this isn't normal?”

“Not at this magnitude.” Gideon leaned back. “So, tell me. How much do ye know about the very beginnings of our race?”

“Just that the Tuatha De Danaan all started in Ireland. That we got kicked out by humans. And that the Amandán hate our guts. And vice versa.” He glanced at Gideon. “I bet there's a lot more to it than that.”

“Aye, there is. And if ye'll indulge me, I shall tell ye the tale in full.” Stretching out his legs, Gideon settled himself more comfortably and began.

“Since the beginning of time, the non-human beings of Ireland, the Tuatha De Danaan and the Amandán, have battled for control of our beloved land. For both have a claim to it, as our ancestral home. In fact, the Amandán believe they first emerged from the peat bogs of Eire—the Bog-born. In a sense, they and the land are one.”

“What about us?”

“Why, we are descendents of Danu, one of the Celtic goddesses of war. Hence our
flair
for battle. She bestowed upon us the Emerald Isle as our own as long as we could hold it from the Amandán, and our struggle with the beasties would have been contained to Ireland if it wasn't for the invaders.”

“The Bronze Age humans?”

“Aye. And at first, we welcomed the mortals. Their bronze weapons were more lethal than our flint ones. Allied with them, we were able to drive out most of the Amandán. Because of that, the Amandán have even more reason to hate the De Danaan with a deep and lasting fury. But, once the threat from the goblins was no more, the mortals, who by that time outnumbered us by the thousands, turned on us.”

“But we're so much like humans. Why did they want to get rid of us?”

“Fear. Fear of creatures that were different. So, they decided to rid Ireland of all such beings. Our ancestors, along with the Amandán, were scattered to the four corners of the world. But the war between us and the beasties continues. Just more clandestinely.”

“Clandestinely? What does that mean?”

“Secretly,” Gideon explained. “Can ye imagine what would happen if humans really knew about us? Why, we would turn from being hunters to being hunted! Fortunately, the Amandán still fear them. Somewhat.”

“How did so many of them end up
here?
” Finn picked up the mug and took another sip as he listened.

“The beasties are earth-dwellers—they gain strength from it. They migrated to lands with abandoned mines.”

“Like Colorado.”

“And other places. For example, Pennsylvania is densely populated with the beasties. The old coal mines back East have some of the most vicious tribes of Amandán.”

“And bronze only weakens the Amandán, it doesn't kill them. But
we
can die from any weapon, right?”

The Knight nodded. “Whatever kills a mortal can kill us. Except our powers and our training make us just a wee bit more difficult to destroy. Always remember this, Finn.” He tapped his tore for emphasis. “In spite of being part human, ye come from an ancient line of warriors.”

Finn studied the Knight's gold collar. “How old were you when you fought your first Amandán one-on-one?”

“Oh, ‘tis certain I was much,
much
older than ye before I earned this. No need to rush, boyo. There are more than enough goblins. I'll be sure to save one for ye.”

“Okay.” Finn smiled, and then asked, “So, is there anything that can actually
kill
an Amandán?”

“I only know of one weapon. A mythical one at that. The Spear of the Tuatha De Danaan.”

“Who has it? Where is it?”

“Oh, it's been lost for centuries upon centuries. If it ever really existed. Supposedly, it can only be wielded by a De Danaan, and its touch is deadly to the Amandán. The beasties have always feared it might found again. Ironically, it is also called—” Gideon paused at the sound of his apprentice's stomach growling.

“I think I'm feeling better now.” Finn swung his legs off the bed. He started to rise when Gideon put out a hand.

“Oh, no, ye don't, boyo. Ye're to take it easy for the rest of the afternoon. I'll bring ye a tray. And then we'll finish our chat.”

Settling back, Finn clasped his hands behind his head. “You know, I could get used to this. How about breakfast in bed tomorrow?”

“Not bleedin' likely,” the Knight murmured as he stood and left the room.

Humming under his breath, Gideon selected a pear from the basket on the counter and added it to the luncheon tray before heading out of the kitchen and across the living room. As he reached the foot of the stairs, a heavy blow rattled the front door, followed by a second one.

“Ye gods, he's going to knock me house down one day,” Gideon muttered good-humoredly. He walked over and rested the tray across the wooden crate. He smiled as he opened the door.

“Mac Roth,” he said to the bearded man standing on the porch. “
Fáilte
” Gideon clasped the man's forearm in greeting, then ushered him inside.

“A fine day to ye, Lit” The man ducked as he entered, his wild mane of red hair a scant inch from the ceiling. A head taller than Gideon, his bulk filled the small space as he glanced down at the tray. “Am I interrupting yer lunch, now?” He shrugged out of his leather jacket and tossed it over one of the coat hooks. A thick chest and shoulders strained the seams of a faded sweatshirt emblazoned with the slogan “Fighting Irish Is Redundant”.

“No, not at all. I've a battered apprentice upstairs.”

“Apparently.” Mac Roth nodded toward the dried bloodstain on the sleeve of Gideon's denim shirt. “And how is young Finnegan?”

“Come, and I'll introduce ye.” Gideon picked up the tray and led the way upstairs. “The lad's been with me for scarcely a week, and he's already had two engagements with the Amandán.”

“Why, then it's true.” Mac Roth followed, the steps protesting at his bulk.

“What's true?”

“The rising number of attacks along the eastern side of the Rockies, especially here in High Springs.”

“Does anyone know why?”

“Iona has a theory—”

“That sorceress,” Gideon scoffed over a shoulder.

“Sorceress she may be, but she knows as much about the Amandán as any of us.”

“All she'll do is confound us with vague prophecies from those ancient texts of hers, and then step aside as we De Danaan battle for our lives.”

“Still bitter, eh, Lir? Why, I thought ye would have let go of yer anger and grief after all these years.”

“Would ye?” He nudged Finn's door open with his knee and stepped inside, Mac Roth at his heels. They stopped talking when they noticed Finn sitting cross-legged on the bed.

“Mac Roth, meet Finnegan MacCullen,” Gideon said. He walked around the bed and handed the tray to the boy. “Finn, this is me oldest and finest friend, Knight Mac Roth. We've known each other since we were both apprentices back in Ireland.”

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!”