The Hound at the Gate (28 page)

It took every bit of control for Finn not to flinch from the verdict. His stomach swooped, as if he were suddenly hoisted up and dangled in mid-air, watching himself from a distance. He felt like throwing up.

“No, he will not.” His master sounded as casual as if declining a second cup of tea.

“Ye cannot defy the
Rath
, old friend,” Mull said gently.

“I can and I do.”

“Ye know what this means, Gideon Lir?”

“Aye.”

“And ye would be willing to lay aside yer Knighthood for the boyo?”

Gideon gave a mirthless bark. “Why, Toryn Mull. I'd be willing to lay aside my
life
for the boyo.”

For a moment, Finn couldn't swallow around the goblin-sized lump in his throat. Furious at the prickling of his eyelids, he threw back his shoulders. Praying to Danu for courage, or at least, to help him not look like a fool, he forced his legs to step forward. “I'll do it. I'll go with the
ska-ha
.” He stumbled over the unfamiliar word.

“Finn, lad—” began Gideon.

Finn turned to face his master. “No.”

“Finnegan—”

“—no.”

“—MacCullen!”

“Still no.”

The other Tuatha De Danaan chuckled. Finn and Gideon looked around. On the platform, O'Shea was grinning and shaking her head while Mull fought a smile.

KA-BOOOOM!

A sonic blast shook the air. The crowd startled in confusion, most Knights drawing their weapons with a ring and a flash. A few seconds later, the cloaks of the Council members snapped in an abrupt blast of wind. Dust and dried grass swirled around in a blinding mini-tornado.

“Over there!” O'Shea pointed toward the eastern horizon. A dark mass, trailing inky clouds behind what looked like a meteor, plummeted toward them from the sky. It grew larger as it approached—a human-sized falling star.

Just before crashing, the shape slowed over the meadow, a few yards from the edge of the crowd. A low grumble, like the sound of drawn-out thunder, emanated from it. It hovered above the grass for a moment, the smoke swirling and twisting, as if dancing with itself. Finn's jaw dropped when the sooty cloud thickened and transformed into a woman. She stepped down out of mid-air and onto the ground, dusting her hands off.

Clad in dark leggings tucked into boots made of soft leather, she wore a long, belted tunic of emerald green that ended just above her knees. It was trimmed with a running Celtic rope design along its hem and flared sleeves. Her hair, a darker auburn than Finn's, flowed all the way to her waist. Tall as O'Shea, but more powerfully built, she wore a dagger at one hip and a bow and quiver across her back. She held a spear in a tanned hand.

To Finn's surprise, Gideon, along with the other Knights, dropped to one knee and lowered his head. Confused apprentices followed, with younger children being gently, but firmly, tugged to the ground as well. Kneeling next to his master, Finn listened to the soft footfalls as the woman walked over.

“Arise, children of Danu. Or have ye become accustomed to being on the ground?” The woman's voice held a trace of scorn as well as a strong accent. It seemed to echo faintly.

Finn stood up when Gideon nudged him. He noticed his master shift slightly so that he stood between the woman and himself. The other Tuatha De Danaan eased away, forming an open space around the goddess.

“
Céad mile fáilte
, Goddess.” On the platform, Mull stepped aside and offered her his seat. “'Tis been over a hundred years since we last welcomed the Lady
Scáthach
to the Festival of the Hunt.”

She dismissed both the offer of the chair and the designation with a flick of the fingers she kept curled around the spear's haft. “I scorn the title
Lady
, as I be not one, but I will allow its use.” Planting the butt of her spear in the ground, she leaned on it while she glanced about the crowd, her eyes emerald chips. To Finn, they seemed to glow, like the sun through a newly unfurled leaf. “A crow brought me the tidings that a
hero
,” her lip curled at the word, “has been found amongst the MacCullen clan. A green apple of an apprentice, no less.”

“How do you know this?” O'Shea asked. She hopped off the platform, wincing slightly as she landed.

The
Scáthach
studied the female Knight, as if taking her measure. Her eyes flickered over the bow in O'Shea's hand. “I once prided meself on knowing every sister-warrior, since we are few and should be as shields for one another. But ye, I do not know.”

“Knight Kel O'Shea. Of Clan O'Shea.” She raised her chin, both to show her grit and her torc. “You may have known my mother—I carry her name as well as her bow. She went to her long sleep a few years ago.”

“Kelly O'Shea? Aye, I knew her, but not well. Battle proud, she was, and justly so. She was a master with the bow as well as the harp.”

Turning back to the business at hand, the
Scáthach
pulled a stained piece of paper out of her sleeve and waved it in the air. “This message is marked with the blood of a MacCullen. Now, which amongst ye summoned me?”

“I did.” Jack Tully pushed through the crowd with Ennis on his heels. Finn saw that the Knight and apprentice were careful to stay a few feet away from the goddess.

She looked Ennis up and down, then raised an eyebrow at Tully. “He may be a MacCullen, but he is no warrior of the caliber
I
train.” Her face darkened. “Ye dare summon me under a false pretense?”

“No!” Tully shook his head. “No, I would never do that. I used his blood to mark the message to demonstrate that what I say is true and because he is clansman to the one you came for. The MacCullen you want is
that one
.” He pointed at Finn.

“Why, ye bleedin—!” With a curse, Gideon lunged for Tully. Mac Roth grabbed his arm just in time.

“Too late, Lir.” Tully turned to the
Scáthach
in triumph. “Gideon Lir's apprentice is the one you want. The halfer. They claim
he's
the Spear of the Tuatha De Danaan.”

The
Scáthach's
eyes widened, then narrowed. She looked from Gideon, struggling to break free of Mac Roth's hold, to Finn. “The Black Hand's apprentice, eh?” With a curt gesture, she beckoned him.

Comprehension flared in Finn's head.
Tully is doing this because he knows how much I want to stay with Gideon!
Hoping his face didn't look as sickly as he felt, Finn walked over to where the goddess waited. He forced himself to look her square in the eyes.

“Declare yerself.”

“Finnegan MacCullen. Son of Fergus MacCullen. Apprentice to the Knight Gideon Lir.” He pointed to his torc. “And a warrior of the Tuatha De Danaan.”

The
Scáthach
raised an eyebrow. “Warrior, eh? Bold words,
wolf words
, from one scarcely out of puppyhood.” Before he could answer,
she turned to Mull. “I would meet with the
Rath
and the Black Hand. The rest of yer people may go.” Shouldering her spear, she headed toward the barn, parting the crowd like a shark parting the waves.

“Finn.” His master appeared at his side. “Stay with Mac Roth.”

“But Gideon…”

“It will be all right.” He clapped Finn's shoulder, then followed the Council members inside. The doors rattled shut.

No, it won't
, Finn thought. As the rest of the crowd wandered away, exclaiming over the events and the arrival of the goddess, he stood staring at the closed doors. Nearby, Lochlan and Mac Roth spoke together in low voices.

“Hey, Finn?” Ennis walked over. “Listen, I'm sorry. I didn't want to do it. But my master ordered me to.” He held up his hand. A thin cut, just scabbing over, creased his palm.

Finn ignored it. “Yeah, I'm sorry, too.”

“About what?”

“About this.” Finn cocked back his fist and punched his cousin in the nose.

Ennis rocked backward on his heels. His jaw sagged open as blood began trickling from a nostril.

“Oh, wait.” He shook the sting out of his hand. “On second thought, no, I'm not.”

An hour later, Finn shifted to a more comfortable position on the edge of the Council's platform. Lochlan sat cross-legged on the grass below him. “You don't have to wait with me.”

“I know.” Lochlan plucked a blade of grass from a tuft by his feet and stuck it in his mouth, nibbling on the tip. “I wish Mac Roth would get back with some food. I'm starving.”

Finn nodded. His eyes slid back to the barn door on an every-five-minute schedule. Earlier, he had crept over and pressed his ear against the planks, hoping to hear something. Anything. Only a low
murmur penetrated the heavy doors. Once, he caught his master's voice rising in frustration. It made his stomach do flip-flops. The bad kind.

He sighed. Leaning back on his hands, he swung his legs, trying to imagine what it would be like. The thought of spending years with the
Scáthach
made Finn's skin crawl.
She's creepy. And she's a
she.
How weird would that be!
He glanced down at his friend.
And I wouldn't get to train or hunt with Lochlan. Or talk with Mac Roth. I wouldn't get to hang out with Rafe and Savannah. All because of my stupid halfer blood
. For a split second, anger toward his parents surged through him. Guilt followed hot on its heels. Confusion brought up the rear.

He started thinking of all the things he would miss. The way his master explained things in a way that always made Finn feel like he wasn't the only teen careening through life without a set of directions. Gideon's sarcastic teasing. The oh-so-serious battle over bacon at the breakfast table. The shared danger and victories on the hunt. Even the quiet “
codladh sumh”
as his master wished him a good night in Gaelic.

You're being such a wimp. Knock it off
, he told himself. He scrubbed his face with both hands, then hopped down, unable to sit still another second. At that moment, one of the doors creaked opened on its battered hinge.

“I'll get Mac Roth.” Lochlan jumped to his feet. “You know. Just in case.”

Finn smiled weakly in gratitude. While his friend sprinted away, he watched as Toryn Mull stepped out first, followed by Kel O'Shea and Martin O'Neill. Their expressions told him nothing. They clustered by the side of the building, murmuring in low tones while O'Neill wrote something in a small notebook he had pulled out of his pocket.

Then, the
Scáthach
appeared with Gideon by her side. His master's face was in shadow while he stood speaking with the goddess.

Finn waited an eternity. Each thump of his heart reverberated in his ears. Swallowing through a mouth gone suddenly dry, he gripped the edge of the platform for support, trying to still the tremors in his
legs. He raised his chin, pretending to be brave, even though he was one big lump o' chicken on the inside.

Gideon's words from the day of the boxing match echoed in his skull.

“You think becoming a Knight means you leave dread behind? It does not.”

“So, how do you deal with it?”

“Why, ye shake yer fist in its face and tell it to get the ‘ell out of the road,” Gideon said with a mock growl in his voice. “Faugh a ballagh.”

“‘Clear the Way,'” Finn murmured the Irish war cry
.

“Aye, boyo. Think of fear as simply another enemy to defeat.”

“
Faugh a ballah
,” he whispered as his master turned around.

Struggling to keep his impatience from showing in front of the goddess, Gideon listened to her final set of directives. His mind was already racing with plans to achieve what had been proposed. A grudging respect for Lochlan's father poked at him.
Who would have thought
he,
of all people, would have come up with this solution
? He glanced out of the corner of his eye at Finn, waiting a few yards away by the platform. Apprehension and impatience screamed from every inch of his stance.
Hold fast, boyo
.