Finn Finnegan

by Darby Karchut

  Finn nodded absently.

  Gideon sighed. “Come, lad. Let’s go home.”

  Twenty-Five

  Standing next to his master on the isolated hilltop, Finn glanced around as other De Danaan made their way through the woods to the burial site. Tall torches, planted at the four corners, guarded the grave, their flames almost invisible in the bright afternoon light. A small figure, shrouded in white, rested on an emerald cloth next to the grave. Nearby, a mound of dirt sat next to a pile of stones. The smell of freshly dug earth made Finn queasy.

  Stillness fell over the mourners as the last ones arrived and took their places. Asher’s family wept softly as they laid gifts of food in the grave for their youngest son, murmuring the traditional farewell. Their words were drowned out by the snap and hiss of torch flames.

  When they were finished, Mac Roth stepped forward. Shrugging out of his leather jacket, he knelt down and draped it over Asher’s form. “To keep ye warm on yer long journey to the Otherworld.” He rested a hand on the boy’s covered head for a moment, then stood and took a stance at the foot of the grave.

  Gideon followed. Slipping a knife from his belt, he tucked it into a fold of the burial shroud next to the young De Danaan’s right side. “To protect ye on yer long journey to the Otherworld.” He patted Asher’s arm. “Thank ye,” he added, then rejoined Finn.

  His eyes gritty from lack of sleep, Finn gazed at Asher for a moment. He reached up, loosened the tore from around his neck, and pulled it off. Walking on wooden legs, he approached the form. “To wear when you reach the Otherworld.” He leaned over and laid the golden circle on Asher’s chest. “You totally nailed that goblin.”

  Stepping back, he watched as two other Tuatha De Danaan lifted Asher by the four corners of the cloth. Kneeling, they lowered him into the grave, then flipped the fabric over to envelop him in green. Taking up shovels, they quickly filled the hole.

  Once it was done, the rest of Tuatha De Danaan began stacking rocks, one by one, on the raw dirt. Slowly, a mound rose. When they finished the cairn, Gideon stepped over to Mac Roth.

  “Here. Ye’ll want this.” He pressed Asher’s glowing moonstone into his grieving friend’s hand.

  Mac Roth gazed down at the stone, lost in his large paw. With a sigh, he laid it at the foot of the site. “To illuminate yer steps on yer long journey to the Otherworld.”

  For a long minute, the moonstone continued to blaze, its light brilliant in the afternoon sun. Then, it faded.

  “Eat yer supper, boyo.”

  Finn blinked and looked up from his seat at the kitchen table. “I-I’m sorry, what?”

  “‘Tis getting cold.” Gideon nodded toward the bowl in front of Finn.

  Trying to forget the images of Asher’s last moments, Finn picked up his spoon. He poked at the thick lentil soup. Chunks of cabbage floated to the surface. The vegetable’s greenish color reminded him of the pelt of the Amandán. He pushed it away. “I’m not hungry. Can I be excused?” Without waiting for an answer, he rose and carried the dish to the sink.

  Leaving the kitchen, he wandered into the living room and flopped down on one end of the sofa, the worn leather creaking under him. He half-listened to the sounds of Gideon washing up. I should go help, he thought, slouching lower on the cushions and swinging his feet up. Resting his head on the arm of the sofa, he gazed across the room at the weapon collection. A numbness, more of heart than of limb, weighed him down.

  Gideon sauntered in from the kitchen and headed over to the fireplace. Removing his knife from his belt, he placed it on the rack in its customary spot before joining Finn.

  “And just what are these doing on the furniture?” he asked. He picked up Finn’s feet, and tugged off one shoe, then the other, before tossing them in the corner. “Shove along.” When Finn scrunched his legs up, Gideon sank down on the other end of the sofa. For several minutes, they sat together in silence; the long summer dusk softened the room.

  “T’was a gracious gesture, giving Asher yer torc.”

  “He earned it last night. He saved my life.”

  “Aye, that he did.” Gideon glanced over at Finn, noting the dark circles under the boy’s eyes. “To bed with ye now.”

  “I’m not tired yet.” Finn picked at a rip in the knee of his jeans. “Can I just stay here for awhile longer?”

  Gideon started to speak, and then nodded. He patted Finn’s foot, then rose and went to his desk. He gathered up his journal and a pen before returning to his seat. Flipping open the canvas-covered ledger, he turned a few pages and began. The scratch of his pen whispered around the room.

  “Gideon?”

  “Finn.”

  It’s my fault, Gideon. Asher got killed because of me. I wished him dead. And now he is. And I can’t ever take it back. “Um…oh, nothing.”

  For a long while, he listened to the sound of his master writing. It was a comfort in some strange way. Stretching his arms over his head, he stared up at the ceiling and let his eyelids slide shut.

  Pen motionless in his hand, Gideon sat gazing at his sleeping apprentice’s face. “Codladh sumh, lad,” he whispered.

  The Journal of Gideon Lir: July 5

  The sorrow is deeper when a young one falls in battle. I grieve for the O’Neill family and for Mac Roth. For all Tuatha De Danaan who have lost a loved one in our long war against the Amandán.

  We are a warrior people and accept death as a part of life’s circle.

  But I am grateful to the gods beyond measure that Finnegan is still alive.

  Twenty-Six

  Finn scowled at the knock on the front door. “Go away,” he grumbled. Grabbing the remote beside him, he punched up the volume on the television. The room was dark, with the drapes pulled closed against the midmorning sun. A second knock came, louder this time.

  “Finnegan,” Gideon yelled from upstairs. “Get the bleedin’ door!”

  With a growl, he pushed off the sofa and marched over. Yanking the door open, he squinted against the daylight. “Hi, Rafe,” he said, scratching his stomach through his tee shirt. “When did you get back?”

  “Last night. Talk about boring.” Rafe waited on the threshold, staring at Finn’s face. “Are you sick? You don’t look so good.”

  “Been busy the last couple of days.” Yeah, busy getting another apprentice killed. “So, what do you want?”

  Rafe’s eyes widened at Finn’s blunt tone. “I just came over to see if you wanted to do something, and to get our mail and newspapers.”

  Grabbing the stack of papers and letters stored in the crate, Finn handed them to Rafe. “Nah, I’m good.”

  Rafe hesitated for a moment, waiting for a reason. Finn stared back.

  “Anything else?”

  “I guess not.” Without another word, Rafe spun around and left.

  Finn swung the door shut with a thump and walked back into the living room. Flinging himself down on the couch, he stared at the television screen. Nice job—brushing off your friend like that.

  “Who was that?” Gideon asked as he clumped downstairs, his workman boots beating the wooden treads.

  “Just Rafe. He came by to get their stuff.”

  “And ye dinna wish to spend some time with him?”

  “Not really.” Finn glanced up as Gideon stalked past and turned off the television.

  “Well, then. On yer feet, boyo.” The Knight walked over to the rack and gathered a dozen knives. “Target practice, this morning.”

  “Can I skip training this morning? I feel lousy.”

  “No. Get yer shoes on, and meet me in the back yard.” Gideon hefted the weapons in his arms and left. The back screen door slapped closed a moment later.

  He’s making me do target practice because of what happened, Finn thought as he pulled his sneakers on and headed outside. Like it’ll do Asher any good, now. He dragged his feet across the lawn to join his master at the far corner of the yard.

  Gideon placed the knives in a row along the top of the sto
ne wall. Picking up the first one, he handed it to Finn. “Keep yer arm loose and fluid. Remember to follow through.” He stepped back, and nodded toward the target attached to the side of the house.

  After five attempts, Finn gave up. Knives lay scattered on the ground below the target, except for the one he’d managed to stick into the house.

  “Maybe ye need a larger target?” Gideon suggested.

  May be you need to shut up, Finn thought. He trudged over and picked up the weapons. Gideon joined him, studying the wood siding.

  “Hmm. We’ve quite a collection of holes.” He poked a finger into the largest one. “I may need to move the target to a less vulnerable location. But, in the meantime, we’d best replace this board.” He took the blades from Finn. “Go get the rest of the knives and put them away. Then, we’ll take a drive to the lumber yard for some siding.”

  Finn made a face. “Do I have to go?”

  Gideon ignored him. “I want ye in the truck in five minutes. And make sure ye’re armed.”

  Whatever, Finn thought as Gideon went inside. Like it matters anymore.

  Sitting on the trunk’s open tailgate, Finn stared into the distance, lost in thought. The lumber yard’s loading bay was deserted in the noontime heat. Grasshoppers danced about with loud brrr-cheeps in the empty, weed-covered lot bordering the yard.

  I should have gotten up right away, he thought. After Asher threw his knife. I could have gotten to him in time, if I had been on my feet. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block out the video in his head. It played over and over, showing Asher’s face when the beast grabbed him.

  A dull clank made him open his eyes. As he watched, a worker in a hardhat crawled out from beneath the flight of metal steps leading to the warehouse’s back door. Frowning, Finn watched for a moment, then shrugged. With a sigh, he slumped forward again, his elbows resting on his knees as he bowed his head.

  Asher’s scream echoed in his mind.

  He slapped his hands over his ears, humming tunelessly as he tried to block out the memory. A shadow flickered on the edge of his vision. Hands still cupped on either side of his head, he looked behind him.

  A crow perched on the wall of the truck bed, its beak open in a silent caw as it bobbed its head. Finn dropped his arms. The hairs on the back of his neck stiffened at an odd sound. He turned back.

  The workman stood a few feet away, his face blank as he stared at Finn. Then he smiled, his teeth large and square and yellow

  Scrambling to his feet, Finn backed toward the cab. His fingers clawed at his pant leg as he went for a knife.

  His leg was bare.

  “Oooh, crap,” Finn breathed. He backed up further. In desperation, he crawled up on the roof of the cab, stomach knotting with fear. His eyes widened as the man clambered onto the tailgate. As Finn watched, the man’s features began twisting and stretching. A stench, like week-old roadkill, filled the air. With a final wet pop, the creature finished transforming.

  “Where’s yer little friends—too scared to come play, eh?” it snarled. “Bah, we’ll hunt them down, soon enough. Give them a taste of what happens to humans who joins up with ye De Danaan.” The Amandán stalked toward him. The truck rocked from side to side with the creature’s rolling gait. Finn was prepared to jump as it stretched out black-tipped fingers, as if inviting the boy into its arms.

  “Heads up, ye manky beast!” roared a voice.

  The goblin whirled around.

  Gideon swung the short length of wooden siding like a Louisville Slugger. With a hollow thud, he hit the Amandán on the side of the head. It tumbled out, over the side of the truck bed.

  “Get in!” Gideon tossed the board into the truck and dashed for the cab.

  Finn slid down the windshield and rolled off the hood. Yanking open the door, he jumped inside as Gideon gunned the engine and hit the gas. The truck fish-tailed as it roared around the corner of the warehouse.

  The Knight slowed when he reached the parking lot. He glanced in the rearview mirror while he wove his way between parked cars. Turning out of the lot and onto the main road, he headed home.

  “Are ye all right?”

  Finn nodded and wiped the sweat from his forehead. He tucked his shaking hands under his legs, so Gideon wouldn’t notice. They drove in silence for a few minutes. Finn kept his eyes fixed straight ahead, dreading what was coming next. Maybe he didn’t notice I was unarmed.

  No such luck. Irish or otherwise.

  “And just where was yer weapon?”

  Finn swallowed. “I forgot it.”

  “Sorry, what did ye say?”

  “I said, ‘I forgot it’,” Finn repeated, louder. He tensed his shoulders.

  Gideon slammed his hand on the steering wheel. “Ye forgot it? Finnegan MacCullen, we are in the middle of a bleedin’ war!”

  “I know, but…”

  “The Amandán are everywhere. In the largest numbers we’ve ever seen!”

  “I know, but…”

  “Asher perished not three days ago, and ye forget yer bleedin’ weapon?!”

  Anger and guilt flared up inside of him. “Yeah, I forgot it, okay? I screwed up,” he yelled back. “Just like I screwed up with Asher!”

  At that moment, Gideon braked for a red light. With a curse, Finn threw the door open and jumped out. Dashing for the sidewalk, he took off, running. As his master shouted for him to stop, he pelted down a side street, tears blurring his vision.

  Twenty-Seven

  Forty-five minutes later, Finn walked up the path to Rafe’s front door. Swallowing through a dry mouth, he pushed his damp hair off his forehead, hesitated, then pressed the doorbell. As he waited, he glanced over a shoulder at his own empty driveway. Gideon’s probably still driving around looking for me. Good. Gives him something to do besides yell at me all the time.

  The door opened.

  “Hey, Rafe.”

  “Hi,” Rafe replied, his expression guarded. For a moment, neither of them spoke as they stared at each other.

  Finn looked away first. “Um…do you still want to do something?”

  “Nah, I’m kind of busy.” He shut the door before Finn could say anything else.

  Staring at the closed door, Finn nodded. Well, I guess I deserved that, he thought. He turned and made his way across the lawn. Reaching the sidewalk, he grimaced at a familiar rumble, growing louder. I might as well get this over with. He steeled himself.

  Gideon drove around the corner. His truck slowed as he pulled up even with the boy. Sticking his head out the window, he leaned on his elbow and nailed Finn with an icy gaze. “Never run off again. Or else. Do ye understand?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Get yer arse home. Now.”

  The Knight pulled into their driveway and parked while Finn jogged across the street. He followed his master through the front gate and inside.

  “Now, just what was all that about? About Asher?” Gideon asked as they made their way to the kitchen.

  “Nothing.” Finn went to the sink and filled a glass; he gulped down half the water, stalling for time. Wiping his mouth on a sleeve, he leaned back against the counter. “Can we have lunch now?”

  “Not until ye tell me what’s going on in that head of yers.”

  “Nothing’s going on.”

  Gideon crossed his arms over his chest and waited.

  And waited.

  And waited.

  Finn broke.

  Again.

  “I just…I just…I can’t stop thinking about it,” he whispered through stiff lips, staring at the floor. “About what I did wrong. He died because of me.” He blinked and looked away.

  With a sigh, Gideon walked over to the boy. He hooked an arm around his neck and pulled Finn close to his side.

  “Now, ye listen to me, boyo. Asher was killed by the enemy. Not by anything ye did or failed to do.” He leaned closer, his head almost touching Finn’s. “Nor by any thoughts ye had about him.”

  Finn sniffed and wiped his n
ose with the back of a hand. Swallowing a lump, he asked the toes of his shoes. “Really?”

  “Truly.”

  Finding himself leaning against his master, part of him cringed. He’s going to think I’m such a wimp. But he couldn’t make himself pull away. They stood like that for a few minutes until Finn’s stomach growled. They both chuckled.

  “I best feed ye lunch before I’m accused of child abuse.” Gideon let go and aimed a playful cuff at his apprentice. He smiled when Finn dodged out of the way.

  With the afternoon sun throwing his shadow out before him, Finn marched across the street and back up the Steel’s walk, a look of determination on his face. He squared his shoulders and rang the doorbell.

  “Hi, Savannah,” he said as the girl answered the door. “Can I talk to Rafe, please?”

  She smiled at him. “He’s in the family room.” As she waved him inside, she pointed to his neck. “Hey, where’s your what-do-you-call-it?”

  “My torc? Oh, I…I gave it to someone.”

  Before she could ask another question, he hurried toward the back of the house. Hesitating in the doorway, he fidgeted until Rafe looked up from the television.

  “Hey, Rafe? Look, I’m sorry I was being…you know. This morning.” He curled his toes inside his shoes as he waited.

  His friend punched the mute button and unfolded himself from the recliner. “Being a jerk?”

  Finn nodded.

  Walking over, Rafe swatted him in the stomach with the back of his hand. He grinned when Finn failed to block it. “Yeah, me, too.”

  Finn took a deep breath. “Something happened. While you were gone.” He cleared his throat. “Um…Asher died suddenly. On the Fourth. From a stroke. We had the funeral the day afterwards.”

  “Oh.” Rafe blinked with surprise. “So, are you okay?”

  Finn nodded. I will be, he thought to himself.