Gideon's Spear (7 page)

“Aye, but not always. The manky birds can be tricksters. Long-lived hunters learn not to rely on them alone.”

The trail leveled out as they hiked along. It curved around to run parallel with the hillside and took a northward direction. After fifteen minutes of steady hiking, they halted in the shadow of a massive pine. Gideon pointed downhill through the trees to a clearing about ten yards away.

“If I've guessed correctly,” he whispered, “we should be able to see or hear it coming along soon.”

“Or smell it,” Finn muttered back.

Gideon took a stance deeper in the shadow and leaned a shoulder against the trunk. Finn crouched next to him, grateful for the rest. He slid both knives free and held one in each hand.

After a few minutes, he started to shift to a more comfortable position when a rap on the top of his skull made him look up. Gideon gazed down at him. Without a word, the Knight pointed to his own nose.

Finn nodded. Closing his eyes, he lifted his face and sniffed.
We tend to use just sight and sound when hunting
. One of Gideon's earliest lessons came back to him.
But when you're in the woods, open
all
your senses to what's around you. Be it sight or sound or smell or even taste. Learn to read the earth like a book. Not only to aid you on the hunt, but also out of a sense of wonderment
.

What do you mean, Gideon?

Why, Colorado is a fine land, boyo. And we should give thanks at each day's dawning for the gift of mountain and forest and plains and the sun in the blue sky overhead
.

Branches snapped in the distance. Finn's eyes flew open. A faint grunting and huffing grew louder. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched as the Knight straightened. Finn rose to his feet and shook his legs to get the muscles warmed up.

The Amandán drew nearer. Gideon leaned over and spoke in a quiet tone. “Stay here until I give you the signal to join me.” When Finn started to protest, he continued. “And the next thing I hear coming out of your mouth best be the words
yes, sir
.”

“Yes, sir.” Finn waited until his master focused his gaze back on the goblin before making a face.

“Stand ready, now.” Gideon pulled the second knife free and prepared to charge. Finn's head jerked up when the Knight let loose a curse.

“Now, what the bleedin' ‘ell is she doing here?”

Nine

F
inn's stomach lurched at the sight of Iona stepping out from behind a tree into the clearing. Her brown curls gleamed as she shook her hair back from her face. Moving with a fluid confidence, she stepped to the middle of the grove and crossed her arms, gold cuffs flashing in the sunlight. She stood waiting, her foot tapping. The rustling grew louder.

A touch on Finn's shoulder made him flinch. Gideon signaled him to kneel down, then joined him behind a screen of bushes. Squatting side by side, they watched as an Amandán crunched into view, its mossy pelt the same shade of green as the vegetation surrounding the clearing. A scar about the width of its paw marked one side of its face. It approached Iona and stopped in front of her. Like some sort of half-gorilla, half-man creature, it squatted on its haunches and rested its knuckles on the ground.

Waving her hand in front of her nose, Iona made a face. “
Bleh
! How many times do I have to tell you? Downwind from me.” She waited until it shuffled to one side. “So. What did you find out?” Her voice carried in the quiet of the forest.

“
Nar
, you was right. The whelp was the same one who destroyed me mates last night. At least, I thinks. Them Tuatha De Danaan all looks alike.”

“Well, well, what do you know?” She wound a curl around a finger, gazing into space. “And he was right in front me last night,” she said as if speaking to herself.

“What abouts our deal?” the goblin growled. “You promised us the Spear if we tells you about the whelp.”

Disdain twisted her lovely features as she peered down her nose at the goblin. “Oh, I think you're forgetting the
other
half of our arrangement. Tell your pack I'll meet again with them soon. And paws off the apprentice for now.” She hesitated, then added. “And the Knight, too. I'll inform you when I want them captured.”

“I gots some mates that want revenge. They might kill the whelp and his master before I stops ‘em.”

“Then put some shock collars on them and see that they don't.” She waved a hand in dismissal. The Amandán shambled away, muttering under its breath. Once it was gone, she pulled a small pouch out of her pocket and dug inside. With a flick of her wrist, she tossed a handful of what looked like dust into the air. It gleamed gold, even in the shade of the forest. As it fell around her, she vanished.

“Ye gods,” Gideon breathed. He rose and stood staring at the empty clearing.

Still kneeling, Finn looked up at his master's face. Anger and, to his astonishment, fear clouded the Knight's lean countenance. “Gideon? What's going on?” He stood up, both knives still clutched in his hands.

Ignoring the question, Gideon led the way back up the path. He broke into a run after a few steps. Finn followed on his heels. Passing through the dappled light along the trail made Finn's eyes water from trying to adjust, from light to dark to light again. When the Knight lengthened his stride, he paused to shove one knife back into his ankle sheath, then straightened up.

The trail was empty.

“Oh, crap.” Finn sprinted forward.
He's going to kill me for lagging behind. Or an Amandán will catch me
.
Either way, I'm dead meat
. As he approached the next curve in the trail, his master appeared, a look of exasperation on his face.
So. Death by Gideon
.

“Move your arse,” the Knight growled, pushing the boy in front of him. “And where's your other blade?”

“Ankle sheath,” Finn gasped as he ran. He spun his remaining knife handle-forward before Gideon could reprimand him.

Master and apprentice pounded along. Questions pinged around in Finn's head in rhythm with his running feet.
Why is she interested in me? What's the deal between her and the Amandán? And why is Gideon so freaked about this?

They struggled up the final slope. Reaching the road, they slowed to a walk, both panting. With a final glance over his shoulder, Gideon ushered Finn to the truck and waved him inside. He scooted over to let his master climb in. After coaxing the engine on, the Knight made a tight U-turn and roared for home.

They bounced along the dirt road. Dust billowed up behind them in a pinkish cloud. For a few minutes, Finn waited for his master to explain. When nothing happened, he squeezed his courage out and cleared his throat.

“Um…Gideon?”

“Not now,” the Knight snapped. He stared straight ahead, hands on the wheel in a white-knuckle grip, his dark brows pinching together. “I want to think without you pelting me with a load of foolish questions. Shut your yap, and give me a moment of bleedin' peace.”

That stung. Flaring his nostrils, Finn tightened his jaw and stared out his window, determined to never say another word as long as he lived. Or longer. Whichever pissed off his master the most. Icy silence frosted the inside of the cab.

After a while, Gideon glanced over. “Look, Finn. I didn't like Iona's interest in you, nor her involvement with those beasties,” he explained. “I must speak with Mac Roth first.”

Finn nodded. He picked off a piece of dried mud on his jeans.
Of course, you have to talk with Mac Roth first. Wouldn't want to talk with
me
about all this. Oh, yeah. Some master and apprentice team we are. Why do I have to be the last to know everything?
He ground the dried mud into dust between his fingers.

Leaving the dirt road where it intersected one of High Springs' main streets, they rode in silence until they reached their neighborhood. Gideon pulled into the driveway and parked, leaving the engine running.

“Wait for me inside. I'll return shortly.”

“Can't I come with you to Mac Roth's?” He locked eyes with his master. “I mean, this
is
about me.”

“No. Now, in the house.”

“Please?”

At the Knight's stern expression, Finn muttered under his breath, kicked the door open, and climbed out. He watched from the porch as Gideon drove away without a backward glance, and then he let himself in, making sure to slam the front door as hard as he could.

* * *

“Ye thick-headed bog trotter,” Mac Roth roared as he paced to and fro across his living room. “What do ye mean ye dinna tell him?”

Gideon shifted his seat on the sofa in his friend's living room. The springs sagged beneath him, having surrendered years ago in their battle with the redheaded Knight's bulk. Refusing to sit with knees to chin any longer, he pulled himself to his feet, then took a stance by the window and stared out. Like his own yard, a hedge of
sláinte
nettle bordered one side.

“And just why would I do that?” he said to the glass. Behind him, he could hear Mac Roth stumping about, each thump of his feet sending vibrations through the floorboards. “He's carrying enough of a burden on his shoulders, what with being the Spear and all. Which, by the way, he's none too keen about.” He turned around at the rumble of frustration.

“By keeping what happened those many years ago a secret, ye're withholding knowledge about Iona that may save his life.” Mac Roth glared down at the other Knight, his beard bristling. “A fine example of Knighthood ye're setting for him.”

Crossing his arms over his chest, Gideon jutted his chin. “I came around for advice, not a lecture on how to raise my apprentice.”

“Now don't ye be getting yer Irish up with me, Lir. We've known each other too long. It's time ye tell Finn about what happened.” Before Gideon could argue, Mac Roth added. “And time and enough for ye to let go of yer grief and yer guilt.” He gave his friend a push toward the door. “The past is past. Yer future is waiting for ye at home.”

* * *

With a grunt, Finn jabbed the punching bag again. Sweat darkened his T-shirt. Each smack of fist against canvas sent a shockwave up his arms and into his shoulders. Ignoring the pain, he bounced lightly on his toes, then hit it again in a one-two combo. A white-hot bubble of frustration welled up inside of him.
Lot of good it does me, being the Spear, when he doesn't tell me anything. He just expects me to follow his orders like some trained monkey
. The image of Gideon driving away without so much as a fare-thee-well looped through his head. Resentment turned to anger. He hit the bag harder. And harder. Wanting to hurt it. Or hurt someone. Fueling the fury inside him.

Not a good idea.

Without warning, the rage swelled up and broke loose with a silent roar. A reddish-black wave filled his vision as the warp spasm exploded inside his chest and flooded his entire body. He could feel the prickling along his scalp as his hair stood on end, sticking out from his head like miniature spears.

Setting his feet in a boxer's stance, he hammered the bag as hard as he could, sucking in air between the blows. Each strike against the rough canvas scraped the skin on his bare knuckles. The pain felt good. With a cry, he pulled back his right arm, determined to knock the bag clean off its rope.

A hand caught his wrist.

Trapped in the claws of the warp spasm, Finn spun around. With a scream, he swung his left fist. It smacked into Gideon's open palm. The Knight closed his fingers around Finn's fist.

“Easy now, boyo.”

His feet slipping on the grass, Finn tried to wrench free. He snarled through gritted teeth as he pulled against the master's iron grip on his hand. The world turned crimson as the warp spasm squeezed him.

Then it abruptly let go.

It was like all his bones had melted. When Gideon released him, he folded to the ground and slumped forward, forehead to knees. All the events of the last few weeks crashed over him like an avalanche. Asher's death. The Spear. Iona. To his mortification, his eyelids prickled. He bit down on his lip to punish himself for being a such a wimp.

“Now, what's all this about?” Gideon asked in a low voice, squatting next to him. “I come home and find you attacking this poor innocent bag that had clearly waved the white flag.”

Finn choked on a laughing sob at his master's words. “It tried to sneak up behind me, so I taught it a lesson.” He sniffed and wiped his face before sitting up.

“Brave lad to have stood up to such a fearsome adversary.” Gideon cocked his head to one side. “A right dreadful warp spasm, eh?”

He nodded wearily. “I hate them. I wish I could control them better.”

“Aye, I know what you mean.”

“Are yours as bad as mine?”

“They are. I've fought that black beast all my life. As I told you before—we Celts are famous for our tempers. Some, like you and I, struggle more with it more than most. Why, I spent many a day as an apprentice fixing busted doors and smashed windows. And once, helping my master heal a broken nose.”

“You—you punched your master in the face?” Finn's voice cracked in astonishment.

“When I was seventeen. Not one of my more stellar moments.”

“What did he do after you hit him?”

“Why, he struck me back so hard I flew out of my shoes and landed on my arse in the middle of the previous week.”

They grinned at each other, the tension easing. Then Gideon rose, pulling Finn up with him. With a glance at the sky, he said, “Time for lunch. And then we'll talk.”

“About Iona?”

“About a great many things.”

Ten

G
ideon looked up from his sandwich. “You're going to make yourself ill eating that fast.”

“Sorry,” Finn said around a mouthful of ham and cheese. He licked a dollop of mustard off his thumb. “Bad habit. If I wanted seconds at my aunt and uncle's, I had to clean my plate first.”