Finn Finnegan (6 page)

Finn grinned and thumped his chest. “Bring it!”

Oh, gods, I'm dying
, Finn thought, leg muscles burning from fatigue. His knees folded beneath him, and he slumped to the ground. Sweat stung his eyes.
I can't do any more of those leaps
. He swallowed back bile when the shepherd's pie tried to make an encore.
Bleh! Why did I eat so much at dinner?
He groaned when a hand grabbed him under the arm and hauled him upright.

“On yer feet, boyo.”

“Oh, come on, Gideon.” Finn blew out a breath in exasperation, then pulled up his shirt and wiped his face. “I'm never going to be able to make it.” Looking around their backyard, he flung his arms apart. “And it's getting dark out here. Can't I just try it again tomorrow?”

Gideon gazed up at the spring evening, delighting in the stars. “Tis a soft evening for late May, to be sure. And we'll be out here enjoying it all night until ye make one successful jump. Just one. Then we can both retire.” He pointed to the far end of the yard. “‘Once more unto the breach,'” he quoted, then added, “Now, that would be a line from Shakespeare.”

“But I thought you hated the English,” Finn said as they walked over to the stone wall. “Being Irish and all.”

“I do. But the Bard is another thing altogether.” He amended after a moment, “Except for
A Midsummer Night's Dream
”

“Why's that?”

“His interpretation of the Fey.”

“Pretty bad?”

“Aye. Ye should read it, just to understand how mortals view us.”

Finn nodded politely. “
Read Shakespeare—-yeah, like that's ever going to happen
.

Standing with his back to the wall, Gideon gestured toward the house. “Aim for the space on the roof between the two dormers. What words are ye chanting?”

“‘I am a wind on the sea.' But I don't think it's working for me.” Finn frowned. “Maybe I should try another line from the Song?”

“I would.”

Finn chewed on his lip as he pondered. The night breeze brushed past his cheek, bringing the scent of wood smoke from a neighbor's chimney. He stared up at the roof. “‘I am a hawk on the cliff.'”

A jolt of
something
zinged through the soles of his feet and moved up his legs. Taking a deep breath, he straightened, eyes fixed on the shingles. “‘I am a hawk on the cliff,'” he repeated. The feeling intensified, growing like a storm racing down the mountainside before attacking the plains east of the city.

He crouched low, still chanting, then shot forward. Arms and legs pumping, he picked up speed. Halfway across the yard, he gave a cry and flung himself into the air. Instead of falling back to earth, he rose higher and higher, his mouth stretched wide in wonder.

With a thump, he landed on the roof.

Clutching the edge of the dormer, he wobbled a moment before catching his balance. “Ye gods!” he gasped in an unconscious imitation of his master. He spun around and beamed down at Gideon. “Did you see that?” he shouted. “Did you see what I did? That was so freaking awesome!” He punched a fist into the air, almost losing his footing. “Oops.”

“
Gle mhaith.
” Gideon strolled across the yard, hands stuffed into his jeans pockets and a look of relief on his face. “But lower yer voice, boyo. Even through we're secluded back here, the neighbors might become alarmed.”

Finn nodded and squatted down on his heels, still grinning ear to ear. “What does
glay moth
mean?”

“It means ‘very good' or ‘well done' in Gaelic.”

“
Gk mhaith
” he repeated, practicing it a few times. After a few minutes, he scratched his head as he glanced around. “Um…Gideon?”

“Yes?”

“So, how do I get down?”

“Now, why would ye want to do a thing like that? Ye've only just got up there. After dozens of attempts.” Gideon waved a hand. “Revel in yer success.” He continued toward the house. “Well, I'm off to bed.”

As Finn listened in disbelief, the back door closed with a snick. For a long minute, the sound of crickets serenaded the evening.

“Gideon?”

The crickets chirped louder.

Uh-uh—no way. He's not going to leave me stuck up here all night
, Finn thought.
Or is he?
He dropped to his bottom and stretched his legs out.
Maybe this is a test, too, and I'm supposed to figure out what to do next
.

Leaning forward, he peered at the ground.
Maybe I could hang from the gutter and drop down
. He inched forward, trying to work up the nerve.
Man, that's a long ways down there
.

He jumped when the window next to him flew open with a bang.

Gideon stuck his head out. “We'll tackle landing in the morning.” He waved Finn in, moving to one side as the boy clambered past. “Shower, and then to bed.”

Fifteen minutes later, Finn crawled under his covers. He yawned as he stretched his back and legs. The bedside lamp cast a warm glow around the room. Even after only a few days, it felt like home in a way his aunt and uncle's house never quite had. Maybe because he had always had to share a room and wear hand-me-down clothes. And struggle for hand-me-down attention.

Clasping his hands behind damp hair, he gazed at the ceiling, reliving the feeling of the Song thrumming through him.
Gideon was right—words
are
powerful magic
.

The sound of humming drifted through his half-opened door. Lifting his head off the pillow, Finn listened to Gideon moving about his own room across the hall. After a few moments, the Knight broke into song.

“
The minstrel boy to the war has gone
” sang Gideon softly in a fine, rich voice. “
In the ranks of death, ye shall find him; His father's sword he has girded on, and his wild harp slung behind him.
” The voice faded to humming, then stopped.

There was a footstep, then a soft tap on his door. Finn grinned, secretly pleased his master always wished him good night.
Mom and Da used to do that
, he thought.

Gideon stuck his head in. “
Codladh sumh
, Finn.” He started to close the door, then paused. “And excellent job, boyo, writing in yer journal each day. I thank ye for keeping yer word.” With a smile, he left, shutting the door behind him.

Finn groaned to himself.
I forgot: to do my journal! My stupid, dumb butt, what-a-total-waste-of-time journal
. He sighed.
I'm too tired. I'll just do it in the morning
. He rolled over, turned off the bedside lamp, and burrowed deeper under the comforter.

For a few moments, he lay gazing into the darkness, curling and uncurling his toes. Guilt tapped on his shoulder.
I know, I know. I promised him that I'd do it every day
. He turned the lamp back on and stared across the room at the new ledger on the desk, its brown cover almost invisible in the dim light. It's a long ways over there.
I know
—
I'll do
two
entries tomorrow to make up for it
. With a nod, he turned off the lamp.

The lamp turned on.

And off.

And on.

Muttering cuss words that would have gotten him a ringing clout on the head, as well as extra chores for a week, Finn flung aside the covers. Padding on bare feet to the desk, he grabbed the journal and stomped back to the bed. He tucked his legs under the still-warm comforter and opened the book to the next blank page. As he wrote, his lips moved silently, practicing the Gaelic phrase he had learned. The scratching of the pen filled the room.

Outside the door, Gideon stood in the hallway, his head cocked as he listened. “
Gle mhaith,
” he murmured, then headed downstairs.

Finn peered in the bathroom mirror at his tousled mess of red hair. He wet his fingers and tried to plaster a lock over his widow's peak. No such luck.

Giving up, he headed out of the bathroom, picked up a tee shirt off the bedroom floor, and gave it a sniff.
Not too bad
, he thought, and tugged it on over his head. He started to leave, then paused to grab his stone off the nightstand. “Don't know why I still carry this thing around,” he muttered, tucking it in his pocket.
Because it was Da's
. Ignoring the voice in his head, he left and headed downstairs to the kitchen.

“I was about to serve ye breakfast in bed,” Gideon said, stirring a pot of oatmeal at the stove. Bacon sizzled and sputtered in a nearby frying pan.

“R-really?”

“What do ye think?”

“Uh—no.” Finn scrunched up his face as he studied his master. “You're being sarcastic, aren't you, sir?”

“Why, no, not at all,” said Gideon. Sarcastically. He glanced over his shoulder. “Say, dinna ye wear that shirt yesterday?” His eyes traveled up to the boy's head. “And ye are in desperate need of a hair cut.”

“I like my hair like this. It hides my thing.”

“Yer
thing?'

“You know.” Finn walked over to the Knight and pushed his hair off his forehead. “See? It looks like I got a tiny horn growing out of the center of my head.”

Gideon chuckled. “Well, I never thought about it that way. I suppose ye'll just have to stay shaggy.” He gave the pot another stir and flipped off the burner. “Set the table.”

Finn bustled about, locating the mismatched dishes. He took the platter of bacon from Gideon and placed it on the table. Breaking off a piece, he popped it into his mouth with a porky crunch. “What are we doing today?”

“What we've been doing all week. And what we'll do most every day of yer apprenticeship.” Gideon ladled steaming cereal into both bowls with a
plop
, then joined him at the table. “Fitness training, at least one history lesson, and chores. And we'll begin weapon training today. Ye learned the fundamentals alongside yer cousins, I assume?”

“Well…kind of. So, when do we hunt Amandán?” Finn poured milk over the oatmeal and dug in. After a bite, he added a generous spoonful of brown sugar from the small crock on the table.

Gideon picked up his mug of tea. Taking a sip, he peered over the rim at Finn. “Not until ye've mastered the basic skills to me satisfaction. Hunting should never be taken lightly. Even experienced De Danaan have lost their lives fighting the beasties.”

Finn nodded.
Like my parents
, he thought. Memories of the last time he'd ever seen them flooded his mind, memories of a redheaded man swinging him high in the air, his eyes more blue than the sky. A voice filled with laughter. A fall of soft brown hair appearing next to them, stirred by a breeze. A woman's delicate voice and the scent of lemon soap as she kissed him goodbye.

With an effort, Finn slammed his inner eye closed, shattering the vision. He forced himself to take a few more bites before giving up and pushing the bowl away, his appetite gone. “So, how come we don't just have one big battle? Us versus them. Winner takes all.”

“Why, for one thing, they outnumber us by a hundredfold.” Gideon said, plowing through his own cereal. “And, there's more to our long war with the Amandán than ye know. ‘Tis not just
us versus them
. Mortals play a role, to some degree.” He pointed a spoon at Finn's bowl. “Eat.”