Gideon's Spear (2 page)

“Why won't you let me at least
try
?”

“Because you're not ready!”

Finn scowled. “It's because of the whole Spear thing, isn't it?”

“Oh, aye, that's it,” Gideon said, heavy on the sarcasm. “Discovering that my apprentice of less than two months is none other than the legendary Spear of the Tuatha De Danaan has made me decide to treat you differently from now on.”

“It has?” Finn's heart sank.
I'm sick of always being different. I just want to be a Knight. Like Gideon and Mac Roth
.

“No, you dolt.” Gideon reached out and cuffed him lightly on the side of the head. “I don't care if you're the High King on the throne of Tara, you'll continue to learn the ancient ways of the Tuatha De Danaan. To meet our enemies in battle armed with knife and dagger and the strength of our Song.”

Finn nodded. An odd relief filled him. “Okay. I mean, yes, sir.” He blinked in surprise when the Knight laid a hand on his shoulder and gave it a squeeze.

“Remember, Finnegan MacCullen. Gideon's Spear you may be. But you're also Gideon's apprentice.” He sighed dramatically. “More's the pity for me.”

“Ah, me heart bleeds for ye now, to be sure,” Finn said in a pitiful imitation of the Knight's Irish lilt.

“Mocking me, are you?”

Finn grinned and nodded. He ducked and came up laughing when his master swung another cuff at him and missed.

Failing to hide a smile, Gideon turned and led the way up the path. Stepping around the pile of ash in the middle of the trail, they continued westward, climbing higher into the foothills as if to meet the lowering sun. Around them in the woods, squirrels rustled about in the dried leaves under the scrub oaks, hiding caches of acorns. A breeze flowed down from the mountains further west, cooling them as they walked along.

The shadows around them thickened. After a mile, Gideon and Finn slowed to a cautious creep. Up ahead, to one side of the trail, a pair of enormous boulders leaned against each other to form the mouth of a cave, about the height and width of a man. Or an Amandán.

Gideon dug into his jeans pocket and pulled out a small white stone, its edges translucent. Almost immediately, it began to glow in his hand with a pale light. He held up the stone.

Standing behind his master, Finn gasped when the moonstone's light caught a pair of greenish eyes, like a cat's, deep in the cave's opening. “Um…Gideon?” he whispered.

“Aye, I see it.” Raising the stone higher, he called out. “Come along, beastie. I've something for you.”

“
Nar
, I know what ya gots for me,” the Amandán growled back. “I seen what ya did to me friend back there.” It spat. “No, I'll just stay in here. Out of reach of that nasty piece of bronze ye be carrying.” It made a smacking sound with its lips. “Unless ya want to send that whelp of yers in here after me.”

“What, and waste a perfectly good source of free labor? Not likely.” He spoke over his shoulder. “Finn, I want you to move around to the side while I…”

“Did ye say
Finn
?” the Amandán said. Its eyes disappeared briefly as it turned its head and hooted into the interior of the cave. Signaling. “Ye be the Knight, Gideon Lir.” It hooted again, louder this time. “We hears some wild tales about ye and that whelp there.”

Voices echoed from within the cave. Finn looked down in confusion when the gravel by his feet began bouncing about. Tremors vibrated through the soles of his shoes. The vibrations grew stronger, mixed with distant sounds of harsh cries and shouts.

Next to him, Gideon stiffened. “Ye gods,” he cursed under his breath, then spun around and shoved Finn back down the trail.

“Flee!”

Two

F
inn ran for his life. With Gideon on his heels, he tore down the path, feet finding their own way over rocks and roots. Bushes and boulders and black-barked trees flashed past in the dusk. Turning his knife hilt-first as Gideon had drilled into him, he gripped it tightly as he sprinted along.

“Faster,” the Knight shouted behind him. “And don't stop until you're safe home.”

Too busy concentrating on not tripping to answer, Finn dug deeper. Panting, he began chanting a line from the Song, singing the swiftness he needed. “I am a wind on the sea.”

A tingling started somewhere around his ankles, then coiled up his legs, picking up speed until it seemed to burst out of the tips of his hair. His ears thundered with the roar of the wind, from the Song, or from his pace, he wasn't sure. He kept chanting as he shot along the trail.

Breathing in rhythm with his pounding feet, he followed the trail eastward. Ahead of him, the lingering rays of the sun reflected off the windows of High Springs and winked at him through the trees. As he neared their neighborhood, he yelled over a shoulder. “Do you think they'll chase us right to our back yard?” When Gideon didn't answer,

he slowed and risked a peek back.

The trail was empty.

Skidding to a halt, he whirled around, gulping for air, sweat stinging his eyes as he strained to catch a glimpse of his master. Off in the distance, a voice, scarcely heard over his pulse thundering in his ears, shouted once.

Finn hesitated. He glanced back at the line of backyard fences dividing the suburban neighborhood from the woods. Their own house sat tucked away by itself on the end of the street. Just one section of the roof and Finn's dormer bedroom window showed over the treetops.

Rubbing the back of his hand across dry lips, Finn turned his face westward.
I know he told me to go home. But there's no way I'm leaving him to face all those Amandán by himself. What if they drag him into their cave?
The early supper they had eaten churned in his gut at the thought of crawling into that black hole. Wiping sweaty hands on his jeans, his palm brushed against the lump in his pocket. He reached in and pulled out his own moonstone. Cupping it in his hand, he looked down at it.
Wish it would light up for me like it does for pure-blooded Tuatha De Danaan—just in case I have to go in there
. “Being a halfer sucks,” he muttered to himself. Shoving it back into his jeans, he clutched his blade and started back up the trail.

* * *

Face streaked with goblin residue and sweat, Gideon lifted his blade higher, a red flame in his hand. Mounds of ash overlapped each other on the ground between the Knight and the remaining goblins. He eased back against a rocky outcropping and bared his teeth, his eyes glowing battle blue.

“Come along, you manky beasts. My blade is growing cold.”

“
Nar
,” one of the goblins snarled back. “It be yer bones growing cold when we be through with ye.” It licked its lips in anticipation.

“Too bad yer whelp turned tail and ran,” spoke another one. “I likes me Fey young and fresh.”

“I just likes mine dead,” a deep voice growled. “The day will come when ye high and mighty—” it stopped to spit out the name “—
Tuatha De Danaan
will be nothing but a pile of leftovers. And Eire will be ours once more.”

“Not that old grievance again,” Gideon said, tedium in his tone. “You think the death of all Tuatha De Danaan will return the Green Isle to the likes of you?” He raised his chin. “Ireland will never be yours again. The Goddess Danu gave it to
us
to hold.”

“We hads it first,” the first goblin hissed. “We be the true heirs of Eire. Us the Bog-born, not the feeble offspring of some upstart goddess.”

Gideon curled his lip. “Yet here you are. In Colorado.
Not
Ireland.”

“We could says the same thing about ye Tuatha De Danaan—”

“
Bah
,” the second Amandán interrupted. “Too much talking, not enough killing. Let's get him, mates.” The pack closed ranks.

Bracing himself, Gideon began singing the first lines of the Song, lifting his voice to rise above their grunts. As the first goblin cracked its knuckles in preparation, he dug his feet into the earth, then wagged the weapon in defiance. “And who would like to be the next to die?”

The pack swarmed him.

* * *

Finn gritted his teeth against the stitch in his side and the burning in his legs as he sprinted up another hill toward the sound of battle. Growls of rage mingled with shrieks of agony. The fear of being too late whipped him along.

Coming to a junction in the trail, he slowed to a rubbery-legged jog. After a few steps, he stopped and listened, trying to hear over his wheezing breath. A shout yanked him northward; he took off at a dead run.

He crested the next hill. Ahead of him, lumpy shapes milled back and forth at the foot of an outcropping of rock. Howls of laughter filled the woods as they closed in for the kill.

Out of breath and out of time, Finn skidded to a halt a few feet away. He raised his knife.

And slashed it across the palm of his left hand.

“Son of a goat!” White-hot pain punched him in the gut. Before he lost his nerve, he switched hands, his blood making the leather grip slippery. He cursed when he dropped the knife; snatching it up, he drew the blade across his right palm. Hissing from the pain, he tossed the knife to one side and threw himself into the fray.

Slapping his right hand on the back of the hindmost goblin, he waited a moment, terrified that his strategy wouldn't work. When the beast threw back its head and screamed, froth spewing from its mouth, Finn lunged for the next one. A quick swipe of his left hand and another goblin died in a convulsive fit.

When a third Amandán crashed to the ground at his feet a second later, Finn staggered a step. A wave of dizziness washed over him. The sounds of the battle faded as a humming began in his ears. His bones became concrete. Shaking his head, he swallowed, trying to focus. He dug his nails into the wounds. With a
whooping
sound, he sucked a deep breath, then yelled as loud as he could.

“
Faugh a ballagh
!” A tiny corner of his mind rolled its eyes when his voice broke.

The remaining Amandán jumped. They whirled around at the boyish voice screaming the dreaded war cry. Tripping over each other to face this new threat, they forgot about the Knight now behind them.

Bad mistake.

The rearmost goblin exploded with a shriek as Gideon sank his blade between its shoulder blades. Charging through the cloud of ash, he lowered his shoulder and plowed into the next two, knocking them off their feet. With a quick strike right and then left, two more vaporized.

Caught between anvil and hammer, the Amandán panicked. They tore off up the trail. Some of them bypassed the path and crashed through the underbrush. One hesitated and looked back at the dead goblins sprawled near Finn's feet. It curled its lips before following the pack into the woods.

The last wisps of leftover goblin drifted away, leaving a reeking stench. In the distance, the snapping and breaking of branches faded as the Amandán fled back to their cave. Blinking against the growing wooziness, Finn searched around until he located his knife; bending over and picking it up took all his strength. Gravel crunched nearby. He looked up.

“And just what are
you
doing here?” Gideon walked toward him, cleaning his weapon on his jeans with quick, vicious swipes. “I ordered you home.”

A dozen excuses crowded Finn's mind. For some reason, the lamest one came out. “I…I turned around. And you weren't there. So I came back.” He found it harder and harder to focus. He blinked again. Without warning, his legs folded beneath him.

Three

F
inn crashed to his knees. Black dots danced across his vision as he watched the knife tumble from his hand in slow motion. Staring at it, he wondered why the handle was covered in blood. A pair of workman's boots appeared in front of him. Hands grabbed him under the arms and hauled him upright.

“On your feet, boyo. Quickly, now, before those Bog-born return.”

Finn gestured at the blade still on the ground. “My…my knife,” he whispered.

Keeping one hand on the apprentice to support him, Gideon snatched the weapon off the ground and tucked it into Finn's belt.

On legs that seemed to want to walk out from under him, Finn stumbled down the path beside his master, grateful for the supporting arm around his waist. Each rock and root seemed to catch the toes of his shoes. Master's and apprentice's shadows lengthened before them like inky advance guards. They faded when the final ray of the sun gave up and went to bed.

As they made their way through the woods, Finn's head began to clear. Feeling the anger coming off his master like a sunburn, he tried to speak. To apologize. He cleared his throat and opened his mouth. A
do-not-even-bleedin'-think-about-it
look from the Knight snapped it closed again.

Twenty minutes later, he sighed in silent relief at the first glimpse of rooftops signaling the end of the foothills and the beginning of their neighborhood. Picking up the pace as best he could, he hurried alongside the Knight, now under his own power. They followed the path to the back gate, set in a thick stone wall. Sheets of bronze capped the top layer of stones.

Nudging the gate open with his knee, Gideon ushered Finn through first, then kicked it shut behind him. The master hustled him over to the picnic table near the back door and pushed him down on the one of the benches.

“Gideon, I—” Finn let the rest of the sentence die when Gideon raised an eyebrow. Without a word, the Knight disappeared inside.

Finn slumped forward and propped his elbows on his knees. The stench of goblin ash and blood on his T-shirt assaulted him. Wrinkling his nose, he straightened back up. The evening breeze, July-warm, brushed against his face. Resting his hands palms-up on his lap, he closed his eyes from the pain. Each thump of his heart mimicked the throbbing of his hands.

A few minutes later, a sound pulled his gaze over. He watched as his master walked out balancing a large bowl; a bundle of rags was tucked under one arm. He set the basin and cloths on the table. A rich, tangy aroma, like coffee blended with peppermint, rose from the bowl of
sláinte
nettle potion.