Finn Finnegan

by Darby Karchut

  The free labor.

  Three

  “Oh, wow, my own room,” Finn breathed as he paused in the doorway. Stepping farther in, he tossed his pack on the narrow bed and walked around to the window. The wooden shutters screeched when he pushed them apart. He gazed out from his second-floor window at a spacious backyard bordered on three sides with the same stone wall as the front. In the middle of the yard stood two tall posts with a cable stretched tight between them. A lumpy burlap bag dangled from a rope attached to the cable; it hung over a patch of bare ground. Beyond the back wall, wooded acres stretched westward toward the foothills. Finn noticed a trail leading from the other side of wall into the woods.

  “Yer own bath, too,” Gideon said. He pointed with his chin toward the adjoining room. “And yer to keep both of them tidy.”

  “No problem.” Finn reached over and started to unzip his backpack when Gideon cleared his throat. He looked up.

  “As it appears yer apprenticeship has begun, albeit a day early, ye best start learning some rules.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like the use of ‘yes, sir’ and ‘no, sir’ when ye address me. Ye may also call me Gideon.” He paused, then added, “Or Knight Gideon if ye’re trying to—what’s the modern phrase—suck up to me?”

  Finn’s face warmed. Catching himself before he said something that would most likely be labeled as cheeky, he nodded. “Yes, sir.”

  “Right.” Gideon nodded toward the pack. “Work away.”

  Fighting the temptation to snap off a salute, Finn grabbed the bag and shook it upside-down. Several balled-up tee shirts, a gray hoodie, and a pair of jeans tumbled out, followed by socks, underwear, a toothbrush, and one smooth stone.

  “Yer father’s, I take it?” Gideon stepped closer and picked up the pale rock, running a thumb over its creamy surface. He laid it in the palm of his hand to examine it. His skin showed dimly through its translucent edges.

  “Yup.” Finn stuffed the shirts and jeans into one of the drawers of the dresser standing in the corner. “I mean, yes, sir,” he said over a shoulder. Yes, sir. No, sir. How high, sir? “Did you know my dad and mom?”

  “I dinna. Although I heard Fergus MacCullen was one of the finest hunters of his time.” Gideon placed the stone on the nightstand and sat down on the foot of the bed. He gestured toward the remaining objects scattered across the faded, but clean, comforter. ‘“Twas all ye brought?”

  “It’s all I got.”

  “Nine children, eh? Ye’re fortunate to have yer own toothbrush.”

  Finn made a face. “Eww Gross!” He scooped his up and headed to the bathroom.

  Gideon called after him. “After ye’re done here, we’ll make plans about tomorrow morning. I’m assuming yer aunt and uncle won’t be attending yer ceremony?”

  Finn shrugged as he returned. “We could just skip it if you want. It’s no big deal.”

  “Finnegan MacCullen, turning thirteen and becoming an apprentice is a big deal, as ye put it. Ye’re following the ancient path of the Tuatha De Danaan, warriors who have fought the long fight against the Amandán for thousands of years.” He tapped the gold tore around his neck for emphasis. “Do not minimize these first steps on yer journey.”

  “What’s a two-a-day dhanna?”

  Gideon’s eyebrows shot up. “Why, ‘tis the ancient Celtic name of our kind. The Fey. The Host of the Hills. The Fair Folk.”

  “Oh, yeah, I forgot. Uncle Owen usually just said our people”

  The Knight started to speak, then stopped and pointed to the wooden chair by the small desk. “Sit, boyo. We need to talk.”

  “About the ceremony?” Finn asked, tilting the chair and balancing back on two legs. He lowered the chair with a thump at Gideon’s frown.

  “No. About the falsehood ye gave when I first asked how ye got here. Dishonesty is something I’ll not tolerate. We may have to bend the truth from time to time around mortals, but we do not lie to each other. Under any circumstances.” His eyes bore into Finn’s. “Do so again, Finnegan MacCullen, and ye’ll find yerself suffering the consequences. Now, do we understand each other?”

  Finn gulped. “Yes, sir.”

  With a curt nod, Gideon rose. “Finish unpacking, then downstairs with ye.”

  “Yes, sir.” He waited until Gideon left, then walked over to the bed and flopped back on it. Every bone in his body sagged with exhaustion from sneaking out of his uncle’s house before dawn, making his way to the highway on foot, then spending an hour on the shoulder working up the courage to stick out his thumb for a ride. He blew out a long breath.

  I can’t believe he’s letting me stay, he thought, staring up at the ceiling. His eyes traced a crack in the plaster. And that he didn’t send me away because I’ma halfer.

  Rolling to his side, Finn gazed at the stone on the nightstand. He reached over and grabbed it, rattling it around in his cupped hand, its shape as familiar to him as his own face. I can’t wait to see it light up and show everyone that I’m De Danaan, too. Clutching it in his fist, he pressed it against his chest. I hope I remember all the words to the Song. He squeezed his eyes shut and began chanting the first line.

  And dozed off.

  Two hours later, Finn jerked awake. Squinting, he looked around the unfamiliar room bathed in afternoon light. His glance fell on the clock next to the bed.

  “Oh, no,” he moaned. He rolled off the rumpled cover and shot out of the room. Running down the stairs, he stumbled when he missed the bottom step. Recovering, he flung himself into the living room. “Sorry about that,” he panted. “I fell asleep.”

  “Apparently.” Gideon closed his book with a snap and tossed it on the desk before him; his chair creaked as he sat back. “The next time I tell ye to do something, boyo, I expect instant obedience. It may save yer arse one day.” Swiveling around, he pointed to a stool close by.

  “Yes, sir.” Finn sank down, his eyes wary. As he waited, he picked at a frayed hole in his jeans, aware of Gideon silently examining his worn clothing and too-long hair.

  “Nervous, are ye?” the Knight asked after a long minute.

  “Actually, I’m good.” Finn plastered a fake grin on his face.

  “Actually, ye’re a bold liar. There ye sit, yer mind filled with the horror stories about us tyrannical Knights, and how we train our apprentices with long hours and brutal expectations. Am I right?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe.”

  Gideon leaned forward, their knees almost touching. “Well, the tales ye’ve been told are all true, Finnegan MacCullen.” His hands shot out, capturing the boy’s in a grip of iron.

  Finn gasped. He wobbled on the stool, heart in his throat. The rough calluses on Gideon’s fingers scraped against the inside of his wrists. He tried to pull away, but the Knight tightened his grip.

  “Be warned, young De Danaan,” Gideon said, his voice deepening as he spoke. “‘Twill be years of misery ahead of ye. Ye’ll train, day and night, heat and cold, until ye weep from exhaustion. Ye’ll master every stroke and parry of the knife and dagger in order to defend yerself against our mortal enemy, the Amandán. And ye’ll learn, ye will, the long history of our people.”

  They stared at each other, Finn conscious of his pulse pounding under Gideon’s fingertips. After a moment, the Knight let go and sat back.

  “And if ye manage to survive yer apprenticeship, then ye’ll be a true warrior of the Tuatha De Danaan.”

  Finn blinked, not sure what to say. He jumped when Gideon abruptly rose.

  “Now, to yer first task.” Gideon led the way to the front door, pausing to snag the tin pail from the wooden crate. “Here. Ye’ll need this.”

  “What’s it for?”

  “One of yer many chores will be to harvest the deadnettle leaves. They are more effective when fresh, especially if we are making a poultice or salve, or for a curative tea.”

  Finn took the pail and headed outside. As he started down the steps, Gideon grabbed his arm and jerked him ba
ckwards.

  “Are ye daft? Never leave our house without taking a look about ye. Assume the Amandán are always hunting us. Remember, the slaughter of every living De Danaan drives them, day and night.”

  “But aren’t crows supposed to warn us if any Amandán are nearby?”

  “They are. But only short-lived warriors depend entirely on those trickster birds. So, be mindful of yer surroundings.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  They scanned the yard and the street beyond. Gideon kept one hand on the handle of the knife behind his back. After a minute, the Knight gave a nod. They walked down the steps and across the yard to the hedge.

  “I wonder why we call it deadnettle when it helps us heal.” Finn crouched down and eyed the sharp spines on the stalks.

  Gideon took a knee next to him. “‘Tis more commonly known as the slainte nettle.”

  “Slawn-che?” Finn said, mimicking the Knight’s pronunciation.

  “Slainte means ‘health’ in Gaelic. A fitting title for a plant that does so much for us De Danaan. From a tea to promote swift healing to a paste for wounds and even broken bones, the slainte nettle is as important to our people as our weapons. Now, watch.” He reached over and gingerly took a leaf between finger and thumb and plucked it. “The trick to avoiding the spines on the stems, as well as the tiny pricklies along the edges, is to grasp the leaf in the dead center.” He dropped the first one in the bucket sitting between them and stood up. “I want this pail overflowing before dinner.”

  “It’s going to take a lot of leaves to fill it.”

  “Aye, that it will. Ye best get started.” He rose to his feet and left.

  An hour later, Finn straightened with a groan. He worked the kinks out of his back as he peered around the neighborhood. I wonder if any mortals know about us.

  Picking up the full bucket, he started for the house. His fingers smarted from the nettles, and his face and arms were reddened from sunburn. As he reached the steps, he flinched, almost dropping the pickings when a voice spoke from the shadowy corner of the porch.

  “All finished, then?”

  “Yeah. I mean, yes, sir.” Finn held out the pail as he joined his master. Gideon sat in a decrepit lawn chair, a knife across his knees. “Have you been there all this time?”

  “Aye.”

  “Why?”

  Gideon stood up. He peered into the pail as he took it and gave a nod of approval. “Why do ye think?” Without another word, he went inside.

  Four

  Pulling on a tee shirt over hair still damp from his morning shower, Gideon stepped out of his bedroom. Silent even in work boots, he crossed the hall to Finn’s open door and leaned inside. Predawn shadows filled the room. A faint whiffling sound came from the mound of covers on the narrow bed.

  “Wake, Finnegan.” He waited for any sign of life. There was a slight hitch in breathing from the mound, then nothing. “‘Tis time to go.”

  Something stirred. Then a bare foot poked out from under the cover.

  “Now, boyo.”

  The foot wiggled at him in annoyance.

  Gideon cocked an eyebrow. Stepping closer, he grabbed Finn by the ankle; he hesitated for a moment. But only for a moment.

  Then dragged him off the mattress.

  Well-cushioned by the comforter wrapped around him, Finn hit the floor with a thump. Breathless from shock, he stared up open-mouthed, his face a pale oval in the dim light.

  The Knight grinned back. “‘Tis certain someone forgotten lesson number one from yesterday. When I say move, I mean move.”

  Twenty minutes later, Finn sat in the truck’s passenger seat, still munching on a slice of buttered toast. Pressing his cheek against the cold glass of the window, he swallowed the last bite and stared up at the towering sandstone cliffs flying past him on either side of the narrow road. Their reddish color was muted in the headlights of Gideon’s pickup.

  I can’t believe it’s finally happening, Finn thought. He jiggled a leg, heel tapping against the floorboard as he fought to calm the butterflies in his stomach. “What’s this park called again?” he asked over the rumble of the engine.

  “‘Garden of the Gods,’” Gideon said. The truck bounced about as he pulled off the main road onto a graveled shoulder. The engine died with a shudder and a clunk. “‘Tis a natural park and wilderness area owned by the city. It runs for miles and is quite popular with rock climbers and hikers.” He smiled to himself. “And others.”

  “Is the spot far?” Finn asked as they clambered out, Gideon holding two knives. He glanced around. In the pale light, misshapen sandstone formations looked like frozen monsters, with scrub oaks and pine trees for arms.

  Tucking one blade into the leather sheath behind him, the Knight stuck the other through the belt at his hip. With a grunt, he pushed the door shut with one shoulder, the hinges squealing. “No, not the site I’ve picked out. And ‘tis secluded, so I doubt we’ll have any unwanted spectators, especially at this early hour.” He zipped up his canvas jacket. “Come along.”

  They left the road and followed a path winding westward through a maze of boulders and trees. After a few minutes of steady going, Gideon veered north and began climbing up a steep gully.

  Finn labored to keep up, feet sinking into the gully’s sandy bottom. It’s like hiking with a Marine. He sighed in relief when they emerged on top of a stony ridge, crowned with a scattering of juniper trees. Their spicy scent filled the air.

  “Just in time,” Gideon said, looking across the city to the eastern plains beyond. He glanced over at Finn. Taking the boy’s shoulders, he repositioned him, angling him due east. “Stand ready, now.”

  “Yes, sir.” Finn pulled his father’s stone out of the pocket of his hoodie and squeezed it tight in one fist, eyes locked on the horizon. When the first sliver of light appeared, he held the rock up to the rising sun and began chanting the ancient words of the Song.

  “I am a wind on the sea,

  I am a wave of the ocean,

  I am the roar of the sea,

  I am a bull of seven battles,

  I am a hawk on the cliff,

  I am a teardrop of sunlight,

  I am a gentle herb,

  I am a boar enraged,

  I am a salmon in a pool,

  I am a lake in a plain,

  I am the vigor of man

  I am the meaning of poetry,

  I am a spear on the attack, pouring forth combat,

  I am the god who fires your mind.”

  As Finn spoke the final words, the sun spilled over the rim of the earth. It threw blue shadows to the west; a warm breeze kissed his face. His arm vibrated with the thumping of his heart as he waited. A moment passed, then another.

  Nothing happened.

  Finn swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry. He peeked over at the Knight’s face.

  Gideon stood frowning, one eye on the mounting sun as he stared at Finn’s upraised hand. “Hand me yer stone, lad.”

  Finn passed it over. “Maybe I said the words wrong?”

  “No, ye recited them well enough.” He closed a fist around the moonstone. Pale light oozed between his fingers. “‘Tis odd—it’s working now. Here, try it again.” The stone’s brilliance faded when he passed it back. They both held their breath as Finn lifted his arm once more, knuckles white.

  Nothing happened.

  Again.

  Finn dropped his hand in defeat. A voice, sounding a great deal like his cousin, jeered in his head. Hey, Halfer Boy! Why are you still carrying your da’s stone around? Think maybe some of our mojo might rub off on it? Maybe even light it up for you when the time comes? Cruel laughter followed.

  He clenched his jaw. I should’ve known it wouldn’t work. I was stupid to think it would. Afraid to look at the Knight, afraid of seeing disappointment (or worse, disgust), he stared at the horizon. Why can’t something turn out right for me? Just for once?

  Before he could stop it, the frustration and self-pity turned to anger. It
spilled from his gut and spread throughout his body. Sweat broke out on his face and back. Oh, crap, not this, not now. He fought for control as Gideon spoke.

  “Well, now, that’s something I’ve not seen before.”

  “Is it because I’m half mortal?” Finn said between gritted teeth. He dug his nails into his palms, trying to halt the storm building up inside.

  “Possibly. But that doesn’t mean—”

  “How am I supposed to fight them if I can’t recognize them?” he asked, his voice breaking. “How am I supposed to see the Amandáns’ true forms if my moonstone doesn’t work?”

  “There are many ways to battle those beasties. And shortly, I’ll teach ye how to—”

  “How to what?” Finn cut him off again. “Smell for them? Like a dog?”

  “Finnegan, the moonstone is only one of our weapons.” Gideon tried again, his own face darkening. “And if ye’ll stop bleedin’ interrupting me, I’ll explain—”

  Finn ignored him. He stalked over to the edge of the cliff, legs both stiff and shaky at the same time, and looked down at the tip of a lone pine. A violent fury deafened him to Gideon’s voice. The fury that spun him out of control every time.

  And into a red place that frightened him.

  Dumbass rock! I should have thrown it away a long time ago. The anger flared. A black rage so thick he could almost spit it out onto the ground. His mouth twisting into an ugly mask, he cocked his arm back.

  A hand caught his wrist. “Oh, no, ye don’t. None of that, now.” Before Finn could stop him, Gideon pried his fist open and dug out the stone, still keeping a grip with his other hand.

  “Let go of me!” Finn flung himself back, eyes wild and his feet scrambling in the gravely dirt for purchase. He clawed at Gideon’s fingers, trying to pry them off, his own chewed nails leaving shallow gouges along the Knight’s knuckles. Dark red spots flickered at the edge of his vision.