Gideon's Spear (4 page)

Gideon froze. Unsure what to do or say, he rubbed his knuckles along the stubble on his jaw. After a long minute, he spoke quietly. “‘Twas meant only in jest.” He cleared his throat. “Look at me, lad.” He waited until the boy turned back.

Taking a moment to collect his thoughts, the Knight studied his apprentice. For a brief second, the memory of another youthful face punished him. A memory of blue eyes peeking through a mop of hair as black as his own and a boyish voice full of determination.

I swear on Danu's name, I
will
be the one who finds the Spear. After all, who has a better claim to it?

With a wordless curse, he clamped down on those thoughts before his heart could bleed dry again. He took a deep breath.

A hoarse caw whipped their heads around. Leaping to his feet, Gideon raced over to the window. Behind him, Finn kicked free of the covers and joined him.

The shutters screeched as they pushed them wider and looked out. Below them, the back yard was a surreal landscape in shades of gray. Beyond the wall, the foothills were black humps against the sky.

Something moved in the corner of the yard. Finn's punching bag, hanging from a nearby tree, swung back and forth.

“Is it the Amandán?” he whispered, his gaze locked on the bag.

“I don't see how they could have clambered over the wall with the bronze coping in place. They are poor climbers and even poorer jumpers.” Gideon murmured back. He unhooked the screen. Pushing it open, he stuck his head out and twisted around for a glimpse of the sky. “Only a single crow.”

“How can you see a black bird at night?”

Stepping back, he indicated for Finn to take his place at the window. “Look up. Now watch for the stars to disappear
behind
it. And use your peripheral vision to catch the movement.”

“Peripheral?”

“Look straight ahead, but take note of what you can see off to the side.”

Finn swiveled his head from side to side. “I don't see—oh, there it is. Toward the north.” He stood on tiptoes and leaned out. “It's gone,” he said, following the crow's flight. “It's flying east toward the city.” He eased back into the room.

“I'd best reconnoiter, just to make sure the beasties aren't up to something.” Gideon headed toward the door.

“Wait.” Finn yanked on a pair of sweatpants over his boxers and shoved his feet into his shoes. “I'm coming with you.”

“Not with those hands. Back to bed.”

Standing on one foot while he laced up a shoe, Finn shook his head. “No way. Not after what happened earlier. They may be coming for some payback. And they've gotten past our defenses before.”

“No.”

“But, Gideon—”

“I said no.”

Before Finn could argue further, Gideon walked out of the room and down the stairs. Pausing by the fireplace, he selected a knife, then stepped over to the desk and clicked on the desk lamp to examine it. A creak from a telltale tread echoed down the stairs. A hiss of frustration, then silence.

He's as stubborn as the day is long
. “I can hear you, boyo.” More silence followed. “You might as well come down.” Feet shuffled down the stairs. He waited until Finn appeared and stood fidgeting by the newel post.

“Look, Gideon. I'll stay right by the back door. I promise.”

With a snort of disbelief, the Knight held his weapon at eye level and sighted along the blade, checking for nicks. Grunting in satisfaction, he slipped it into his belt before snatching a second weapon from the rack. He motioned Finn over.

“Finnegan MacCullen,” he said, wagging the knife at him. “The words
I promise
tumble easily from your lips. But a man's word is more precious than a hoard of gold and should be guarded as such. Do you understand what I'm saying?” His eyes bored into his apprentice's.

For a moment, Finn gazed back at him. Then he nodded. “You mean, if I say I'm going to do something, then I have to do it, no matter what.”

“Aye.”

“No problem.” Finn held out his hand for the knife. “I promise to always guard your back, even when you order me not to.”

In spite of himself, a corner of Gideon's mouth twitched. “Oh, you think you're the clever one, eh? Turning my own words against me?” He flipped the blade around, caught it by the tip, and presented it to the boy handle-first.

“Pretty much.” Finn flashed a cocky grin as he took it with a nod of thanks. “Anyway, Mac Roth told me—” His jaw snapped shut as he bit off the rest of the sentence.

“Mac Roth told you what?”

“Um…” Finn squirmed for a moment. “That…um…that I was really lucky to train under you. And that you are, like, one of the best hunters ever,” he added, laying on the charm.

“Mac Roth is full of blarney, as are you.” He cocked his head toward the back of the house. “We'd best go spy out the yard. And I'm holding you to your promise—stay by the door.”

Finn gave a nod, then followed on Gideon's heels as they headed for the kitchen.

Five

T
he moon's light spilled like cold milk across the kitchen floor. Crossing the room on silent feet, Gideon opened the door. It creaked when he inched it open, his knife a flame in the dark as he paused in the doorway.

Finn took a stance behind and to one side. He tightened his grip, wincing at the sting of his injured palm. The
plink-plink
of the dripping faucet echoed around the small room.

When his master stepped outside, Finn edged forward to take his place. He held his breath as the Knight crept across the yard to the back wall and leaned over it. For a long minute, Gideon scanned the woods, then called over his shoulder.

“Finn, to me.”

Jogging across the yard, he joined his master. “How many?”

“You tell me.”

I bet he's testing me
. Finn rested a palm on the top of the bronze-capped wall, the metal cool and soothing under his hand. He opened his mouth slightly to hear better, as Gideon had taught him, and listened for snaps and crunches in the ravine below. Swiveling his head, he paid attention to what was not straight in front of him, hoping to catch a dark shape.
I don't think there are any. It just feels different when they're not around. But Gideon is acting like they're nearby, so I must be missing something
. After a few more minutes, he forced himself to look up at his master. Failure left a sour taste in his mouth.

“I- I don't know.”

“What do your ears and eyes tell you?”

“Um…none?”

“Aye, boyo, none.” He clapped a hand on Finn's shoulder. “When in doubt, trust your training and your instincts.”

Finn sighed in relief. “Yes, sir.”

“That's true of life in general,” said a voice behind them.

Master and apprentice whirled around.

A woman sat cross-legged on the picnic table near the back door. Dark curls spilled down onto her shoulders; a black tank top and jeans accentuated her slender build as well as her pale skin. Smiling, she dangled a denim shirt from one finger.

“Curious what one finds taking a hike through the woods.” She tossed it to one side. “When I saw this hanging from a tree, covered in goblin ash, I knew it must be yours.”

“Iona,” Gideon said, a cold tone to his voice.

Much to Finn's surprise, Gideon kept his knife at the ready. Unsure what to do, he followed his master's lead. A dozen questions zigzagged through his head.

“And just how did you enter here?” the Knight continued.

“What—no perfunctory words of gratitude for returning your shirt? Too bad. I so enjoy watching you struggle with your dislike for me versus maintaining your old-fashioned Knightly manners.” She lifted her chin. “And to answer your question, you know as well as I do that bronze cannot harm me like it does the Amandán.” Unfolding her legs, she hopped down and walked closer. “Mac Roth had mentioned you'd picked up an apprentice. Care to make introductions?”

As she neared, Finn noticed that her hair matched her eyes, both a deep, rich brown. Wide bracelets of hammered gold encircled her upper arms.

“Iona of the Hills,” Gideon said grudgingly, “this is Finnegan MacCullen.” At her gasp of surprise, he added. “Yes, Fergus MacCullen's son. Now, what business do you have here?”

She ignored Gideon's question as she lifted a delicate eyebrow at Finn. “Say, wasn't your mother…” She let the rest of the sentence fade away.

Trust yer instincts
. Something about Iona made Finn's skin want to crawl off his skeleton. And hide. “Wasn't my mother
what
?”

She pursed her lips at the less than polite tone. “My, my. Like master, like apprentice.” She drifted closer, her eyes boring into Finn's. Raising her hand, she made a gesture. A shimmering thread appeared. It trailed from the tip of her finger, spiderweb fine. With it, she began tracing a design in the air between them.

As Finn watched, mesmerized, she drew a Celtic knot about the size of a man's head. It hovered in midair; its gold color matched the bands on her arms. His scalp tingled when a voice whispered his name from within the shape. A faint drumming accompanied the voice, the thump of a
bodhran
, its rhythm as ancient as the first heartbeat of the world. Unable to resist the call of voice and drum, he took a step toward it. Following the lines of the sigil with his eyes, over and through and around and back again in an endless pattern, made him dizzy.

Finn gasped when a strong hand grabbed his arm and dragged him back. Callused fingers ran down his face as if wiping the enchantment away. He blinked and looked around.

“Enough of your sorceress' tricks,” Gideon growled. “He's only a boy.”

Iona shrugged and waved her hand in a figure-eight motion. The knot vanished in a swirl of glitter and drifted away on the night breeze.

The image of Tinker Bell and her wand popped into Finn's head. In spite of the tension, he almost laughed.

“A bit of fun.” Iona fixed Gideon with a stern look. “And you know I detest the term sorceress. I much prefer enchantress. Sorceress makes me sound like an old hag. Or a wicked witch.”

“Well, if the pointed hat fits…”

“Why, I'm hurt.” She pressed a hand against her heart in mock pain, then looked at Finn. “Is he this bad-tempered with you?”

Before he could answer, Gideon interrupted him. “I'll ask again. What do you want with us?”

“Well, since I know you would rather cut off your right hand than pay me a visit, I thought I'd stop by and ask you directly. Did you find the Spear?”

“Why do you care? You are not Tuatha De Danaan.”

“No, thank the goddesses. Which means I have no quarrel with those nasty things—they leave me alone, and I leave them alone.”

“Then why do you want to know about the Spear?” Finn asked.

She shrugged. “Professional curiosity.”

“Well, the answer is no.” Gideon locked eyes with Iona. “I neither discovered nor own a bronze weapon with the power of the Spear.”

She gazed back, her head tilted to one side as if studying him. “I'll say this about you, Gideon Lir. You do not lie.” Glancing up at the stars, she sighed. “Look at the time. I probably should take my leave.”

“Aye, you should.” Gideon poked a thumb over his shoulder. “The gate is that way. Unless you left your broomstick out front.”

Iona sneered at the insult. Without a word, she spun on her heel and stomped off toward the corner of their yard. The gate swung open as she approached. It cowered against the stone wall until she had passed through. Once beyond, she glanced back over her shoulder before digging in her pocket. As Finn watched, she pulled her hand free and made a tossing motion above her head. There was a faint gleam, then she vanished.

“Whoa! How'd she do that?”

“Magic, of a kind. She
is
a witch.” The Knight made a sour face. “Literally.”

“Why was she so interested in the Spear? And how come you dislike her so much?” When his master didn't answer after a long minute, he asked again. “Gideon?”

“It's none of your concern. To bed with you now.”

Knowing better than to press further, Finn headed toward the house. Glancing back, he noticed his master standing motionless in the yard, his eyes locked on the gate. “Aren't you coming in?”

Gideon shook his head. “Later.
Codladh sumh
, lad.”

Finn fell asleep to the sound of fists striking the punching bag.

Six

T
he next morning, Finn jiggled a leg as he sat at the kitchen table, trying to work up the nerve to inquire further about Iona. One look at his master's stiff back as he rinsed a cup at the sink, and his courage failed.
Maybe I'll just wait and ask Mac Roth. He's a lot easier to get information out of than Gideon
. He took a bite of scrambled eggs and bacon, careful to swallow before speaking.

“Can I go over to Rafe's this evening?” Finn asked, speaking of his best friend. He hastily removed his elbows from the table when Gideon turned from the sink.

“Why?” The Knight pulled out a chair and sat down, a steaming mug of tea in one hand. Reaching over, he captured the last strip of bacon from the platter just as Finn reached for it. With a look of triumph, he crumbled it over his own pile of eggs.

“Dr. Steel invited me for supper. She's showing Rafe and Savannah how to cook mielie pap.”

“
Mee-lee pap
?”

“Yeah. It's like a cornmeal porridge you serve with meat. It's a traditional South African dish. She said it was one of her favorites growing up there.”

Gideon's face darkened. “They're checking up on you, aren't they?” He pointed his fork at Finn's hands wrapped in fresh bandages. “And that's just the sort of damage that will send Rufus and Susanna Steel racing each other to the phone to call Human Services on me again.”