Gideon's Spear

by Darby Karchut

  Gideon’s Spear

  Book Two of The Adventures of Finn MacCullen

  Darby Karchut

  SPENCER HILL PRESS

  Copyright © 2014 by Darby Karchut

  Sale of the paperback edition of this book without its cover is unauthorized.

  Spencer Hill Press

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.

  Contact: Spencer Hill Press, PO Box 247, Contoocook, NH 03229, USA

  Please visit our website at www.spencerhillpress.com

  First Edition: February 2014

  Darby Karchut

  Gideon’s Spear: a novel / by Darby Karchut – 1st ed.

  p. cm.

  Summary:

  Summary: A thirteen-year-old boy and a mythical knight fight a sorceress and goblins in modern-day suburbia while discovering the truth of an ancient Celtic weapon of magic.

  The author acknowledges the copyrighted or trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this fiction:

  Disney, Gore-Tex, Guinness, Jeep, Jello-O, Lightsaber, Lord of the Rings, NBA, Pop-Tarts, Tinker Bell, The Lion King, The Weather Channel, Volvo, Wal-Mart, Winchester

  Cover design by Lisa Amowitz

  Interior layout by Marie Romero

  ISBN 978-1-937053-94-9 (paperback)

  ISBN 978-1-937053-95-6 (e-book)

  Printed in the United States of America

  To my mother, Mary Louise Maes

  1937-2013

  The Song of the Tuatha De Danaan

  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.

  Also by Darby Karchut

  Finn Finnegan

  (Spencer Hill Press—March 2013)

  Griffin Rising

  Winner of the 2012 SharpWrit Book Award

  (Twilight Times Books)

  Griffin’s Fire

  (Twilgiht Times Books)

  Griffin’s Storm

  (Copper Square Studios)

  Non-fiction with Wes Karchut from Copper Square Studios:

  Money and Teens: Savvy Money Skills

  Winner of the 2013 EIFLE Award

  Celtic Pronunciations

  Fáilte (fall-sha) Welcome

  Céad mile fáilte (kad meel-a fall sha) A hundred thousand welcomes

  Gle mhaith (glay moth) Very good

  Codladh sumh (culla sovh) Sleep well

  Poc sídhe (poke she) Fey or fairy stroke

  Sláinte (slawn-che) health

  Faugh a ballagh (FOW-an BALL-ah) “Clear the Way!”

  Eireann go braugh (aerin guh BRAWKH) “Ireland Forever.”

  Zulu Pronunciations

  Nants ingonyama bagithi (nants en-ven-ya MA ba-gee-tee) “Here comes a lion.”

  Words and Phrases

  Tuatha De Danaan (tua day dhanna) An ancient warrior race of mythical beings from Ireland

  Amandán (Ah-mon dan) Goblin-like creatures

  bodhran (bow-rawn) Irish frame drum played with a double-headed stick

  mielie pap (mee-lee pap) A traditional South African porridge made from corn and meal. It can be served with meats and vegetables

  assegai (ass-a-guy) A short stabbing spear with a long spearhead traditionally used by the Zulu and other peoples of southern Africa

  Praise for

  FINN FINNEGAN

  “Overall, a great choice for adventure-loving readers who prefer their battle scenes with a hefty dose of ancient weaponry, ground-fighting skills, and just a touch of magic.”

  — School Library Journal

  “If Lloyd Alexander had written The Ranger’s Apprentice, the result might have been something like Finn Finnegan. Fantastic!”

  -- Mike Mullin, author of Ashfall and Ashen Winter

  “The blend of adventure, Celtic lore, and modern times make this an engaging choice for young and adult readers as well.”

  — Booklady’s Booknotes

  “This is another fabulous book by Darby Karchut, again set in Colo-rado and revolving around a young boy who is just beginning to find out who he is and what he can be.”

  — A Reader’s Ramblings

  “Finn Finnegan brings classic adventure into a modern day setting for a great read. The Celtic lore in the story is fascinating and gives it an extra richness. This will appeal to all those readers (myself included) who love the idea of a hidden and dangerous world within our own sometimes too ordinary world.”

  — Dee Garretson, author of Wildfire Run and Wolf Storm

  “Finn Finnegan is a Fine Folio of Fantastic Fiction!”

  — Middle Grade Ninja

  One

  Screaming bored out of his mind, thirteen-year-old Finn MacCullen blew a long sigh as he wandered around the clearing in the woods. The late-afternoon rays of the summer sun lit the trees surrounding him, tinting the trunks of the Ponderosa pines with the same shade of bronze as that of the large knife, almost the length of his forearm, he held in one hand. With a snap of his wrist, he flipped it into the air and caught it by the handle.

  Holding the weapon level with his eyes, he tilted it to and fro, trying to view his reflection. For just a moment, he caught a flash of blue eyes in a boyish face dusted with freckles, and a mop of hair the same flaming color as the blade. Adjusting the angle downward, he grinned as he was further rewarded with a glimpse of a twisted rope of gold, as thick as the Knight Mac Roth’s thumb, that encircled his throat just above the collar of his T-shirt. “You are, Finnegan MacCullen,” he murmured to himself, adjusting the torc so that the twin knobs on each end of the neckpiece were dead center under his Adam’s apple, “one kickbutt warrior.”

  Gravel crunched behind him.

  He whirled around. “Oh, crap.” His heart rammed against the roof of his mouth at the sight of his worst nightmare.

  His master, the Knight Gideon Lir.

  Pissed off.

  Again.

  Dressed in a denim shirt and work boots, Gideon stomped down the path toward him, slashing at the undergrowth on either side with an enormous hunting knife when it dared impede him. To Finn, the black-haired Knight seemed to grow twice as large with every step.

  While still a few yards away, Gideon yelled, “What the bleedin’ ‘ell are ye doing?”

  As if he wants the entire state of Colorado to hear him, Finn thought. Which he probably does.

  “I ordered ye to stand safe by that tree, not mince about admiring your beauty.”

  Finn noticed that his master’s accent was about as subtle as a supernova, a sure sign of trouble. “I’m sorry, Gideon. I was just stretching my legs.” Hoping to deflect the Knight’s anger, he added, “And you asked me to remind you to tone down the whole Irish accent thing so that—” The rest of his sentence was cut off when his master grabbed him by the arm and hustled him backward, pushing him none too gently against the massive trunk.

  The Knight’s eyes, the same uncanny blue as his apprentice’s, narrowed when he reached out and tapped the torc a
round Finn’s neck. “If this is distracting you from our evening’s hunt of the Amandán,” he said, mimicking Finn’s American inflection, “then we should just be rid of it. I know of an abandoned gold mine, not three miles from here, I could pitch the thing into.” He held out an open hand.

  Finn reached up and clutched the torc protectively. “Ah, come on, Gideon. I’ve only had it for a few days. Look, I’m totally focused now.” He shifted his wiry body into battle stance, legs shoulder-width apart and weapon held across his body at the ready. “Just show me one of those ugly goblins and I’ll—”

  They both froze when a shape alighted on the ground next to them in a clap of ebony wings. Muttering to itself, the crow strutted closer. It reached out and pecked at Finn’s athletic shoes as if trying to untie them.

  “Steady, boyo,” Gideon whispered.

  “I hate these things,” Finn muttered back, curling his toes inside his shoes. The crow cawed as if laughing at him.

  “Aye, but they’re bleedin’ useful, warning us if any Amandán are near. When they’re not playing us for fools.” As the bird aimed another peck, Gideon stomped a boot at it. “Whist! Flee unless you have something to caution us about, you black devil.”

  The crow hopped back with a squawk of indignation, then spread its wings and hoisted itself into the air. They watched as it made a loop over the treetops. A second bird joined it. Both crows whirled around each other in anticipation before soaring away.

  Their heads whipped around when a branch snapped a few yards up the trail.

  Gesturing for Finn to stay put, Gideon eased across the clearing and along the path on silent feet. Finn noticed how his master paid close attention to the shadows, how his eyes swept the area. He tilted his head, a wolf on the hunt, to listen to the rustles and scratches of the late afternoon.

  As Finn watched, exhilaration and dread wrestled with each other inside of him, as they always did when he and his master were hunting the Amandán.

  Or being hunted by them.

  A figure burst out of the bushes. With a growl, a creature, not quite human, not quite ape, launched itself at the Knight. Its black-tipped fingers scrabbled for Gideon’s face.

  Twisting to one side, Gideon dodged, and the Amandán hurtled past him as he stuck out a foot. A yelp split the evening as the goblin tripped, hit the ground, and tumbled end over end into the undergrowth. Scrambling to its feet, red-eyed with rage, it charged the Knight again, running slightly sideways on all fours, its dark-green pelt blending in with the vegetation. “Poc sídhe,” it hissed through yellow teeth. Dirt and twigs spewed up behind its feet as it came.

  “Ah, poc sídhe yourself.” Gideon shifted his grip on his knife and made a come along motion with his hand. As the goblin sped up, he began chanting the Song of the Tuatha De Danaan, the ancient, magical words giving him strength and speed. Just as the Amandán leaped for him, Gideon dropped to one knee. With a grunt, he buried the weapon in the goblin.

  The Amandán exploded into a cloud of grey-green ash. Gideon ducked his head, trying to shield his face from the worst of the powdery remains. He waited until the cloud drifted away with the breeze before rising. “Bah.” He spat to one side. Wiping his mouth, he strolled back to Finn waiting by the pine. “Amandán taste as disgusting as they smell.”

  Finn nodded, taking his master’s blade when Gideon handed it to him. “Kind of like burnt rubber.” He thought back to his first encounter with a goblin. The second day of his apprenticeship.

  “Is-is it dead?” he asked his master after one of the beasts had attacked them during a rainstorm in the local Wal-Mart parking lot.

  “Oh, ‘tis not dead.” Gideon bent over and picked up the weapon. He held it between thumb and finger to rinse it off in the diminishing rainfall, the cloudburst as quick to leave as to arrive. “Amandán are almost impossible to kill. All I’ve done is weaken it. ‘Twill take some time for that one to gain enough strength to re-form and attack again.”

  He watched as the Knight peeled off his overshirt, gave it a brisk shake, and draped it over a tree limb. A Celtic knot tattooed on his master’s right arm peeked out from under the sleeve of his T-shirt. Finn stared at the tattoo, the ancient symbol of Knighthood amongst their people, the Tuatha De Danaan. Ye gods, I’ll never be as good at hunting or fighting as he is. Of course, if he would let me do more hunting and fewer drills, I might get better at it.

  Gideon took back the blade and wiped it clean on his jeans. “Now, since the beasties often hunt in pairs, we’ll see if we can’t catch the second one before it goes to ground.”

  “Can I circle around and flush it out?” Finn shifted from foot to foot.

  The Knight hesitated, then shook his head. “I’d rather you not track that far ahead of me.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it’s too dangerous.”

  “Ah, come on, Gideon, I want to—”

  “I said no.”

  “But how can I learn anything if all I do is follow you around?”

  Gideon’s face darkened. “Arguing with me is as dangerous as hunting the Amandán.”

  “But I’ve fought them before.” Finn’s voice cracked in frustration. “I know—”

  “You know less than you think. A few skirmishes with the goblins do not make you ready to hunt alone.”

  “Why won’t you let me at least try?”

  “Because you’re not ready!”

  Finn scowled. “It’s because of the whole Spear thing, isn’t it?”

  “Oh, aye, that’s it,” Gideon said, heavy on the sarcasm. “Discovering that my apprentice of less than two months is none other than the legendary Spear of the Tuatha De Danaan has made me decide to treat you differently from now on.”

  “It has?” Finn’s heart sank. I’m sick of always being different. I just want to be a Knight. Like Gideon and Mac Roth.

  “No, you dolt.” Gideon reached out and cuffed him lightly on the side of the head. “I don’t care if you’re the High King on the throne of Tara, you’ll continue to learn the ancient ways of the Tuatha De Danaan. To meet our enemies in battle armed with knife and dagger and the strength of our Song.”

  Finn nodded. An odd relief filled him. “Okay. I mean, yes, sir.” He blinked in surprise when the Knight laid a hand on his shoulder and gave it a squeeze.

  “Remember, Finnegan MacCullen. Gideon’s Spear you may be. But you’re also Gideon’s apprentice.” He sighed dramatically. “More’s the pity for me.”

  “Ah, me heart bleeds for ye now, to be sure,” Finn said in a pitiful imitation of the Knight’s Irish lilt.

  “Mocking me, are you?”

  Finn grinned and nodded. He ducked and came up laughing when his master swung another cuff at him and missed.

  Failing to hide a smile, Gideon turned and led the way up the path. Stepping around the pile of ash in the middle of the trail, they continued westward, climbing higher into the foothills as if to meet the lowering sun. Around them in the woods, squirrels rustled about in the dried leaves under the scrub oaks, hiding caches of acorns. A breeze flowed down from the mountains further west, cooling them as they walked along.

  The shadows around them thickened. After a mile, Gideon and Finn slowed to a cautious creep. Up ahead, to one side of the trail, a pair of enormous boulders leaned against each other to form the mouth of a cave, about the height and width of a man. Or an Amandán.

  Gideon dug into his jeans pocket and pulled out a small white stone, its edges translucent. Almost immediately, it began to glow in his hand with a pale light. He held up the stone.

  Standing behind his master, Finn gasped when the moonstone’s light caught a pair of greenish eyes, like a cat’s, deep in the cave’s opening. “Um…Gideon?” he whispered.

  “Aye, I see it.” Raising the stone higher, he called out. “Come along, beastie. I’ve something for you.”

  “Nar, I know what ya gots for me,” the Amandán growled back. “I seen what ya did to me friend back there.” It spat. “N
o, I’ll just stay in here. Out of reach of that nasty piece of bronze ye be carrying.” It made a smacking sound with its lips. “Unless ya want to send that whelp of yers in here after me.”

  “What, and waste a perfectly good source of free labor? Not likely.” He spoke over his shoulder. “Finn, I want you to move around to the side while I…”

  “Did ye say Finn?” the Amandán said. Its eyes disappeared briefly as it turned its head and hooted into the interior of the cave. Signaling. “Ye be the Knight, Gideon Lir.” It hooted again, louder this time. “We hears some wild tales about ye and that whelp there.”

  Voices echoed from within the cave. Finn looked down in confusion when the gravel by his feet began bouncing about. Tremors vibrated through the soles of his shoes. The vibrations grew stronger, mixed with distant sounds of harsh cries and shouts.

  Next to him, Gideon stiffened. “Ye gods,” he cursed under his breath, then spun around and shoved Finn back down the trail.

  “Flee!”

  Two

  Finn ran for his life. With Gideon on his heels, he tore down the path, feet finding their own way over rocks and roots. Bushes and boulders and black-barked trees flashed past in the dusk. Turning his knife hilt-first as Gideon had drilled into him, he gripped it tightly as he sprinted along.

  “Faster,” the Knight shouted behind him. “And don’t stop until you’re safe home.”

  Too busy concentrating on not tripping to answer, Finn dug deeper. Panting, he began chanting a line from the Song, singing the swiftness he needed. “I am a wind on the sea.”

  A tingling started somewhere around his ankles, then coiled up his legs, picking up speed until it seemed to burst out of the tips of his hair. His ears thundered with the roar of the wind, from the Song, or from his pace, he wasn’t sure. He kept chanting as he shot along the trail.

  Breathing in rhythm with his pounding feet, he followed the trail eastward. Ahead of him, the lingering rays of the sun reflected off the windows of High Springs and winked at him through the trees. As he neared their neighborhood, he yelled over a shoulder. “Do you think they’ll chase us right to our back yard?” When Gideon didn’t answer,