“Twenty too many,” Mac Roth said. “But with yer newfound wealth, ye’ll be able to buy another and still have a bit left over.” He chuckled. “I thought the assayer’s eyes were going to roll out of his head when ye showed him that nugget.” He snorted in disbelief. “And we thought it was simply a lump of iron pyrite at first. Good thing Rufus Steel recognized it for what it was.”
Gideon shook his head. “The money from the gold belongs to Rafe, not us. He’s the one who picked it up.”
“And gave it to young Finn, if I recall. From what I know of the Steels, they’ll be happy for yer good fortune, and they’ll be insisting ye keep it.”
“It would be grand to purchase a few things Finn desires. He does without too much,” Gideon said, almost to himself.
Mac Roth’s face softened. “Ye’ve become right fond of the boyo in a short time.” He turned onto Gideon’s street.
“Aye, that I have.” A corner of his mouth twitched. “Although at times he tries my patience with his shenanigans…” He stiffened, spying the group on the sidewalk in front of his house. With a curse, he scrabbled for the door handle.
Mac Roth reached over and clamped a hand on Gideon’s arm before he could bolt from the vehicle. “Keep a tight rein on that temper, Lir,” he said in a low, clipped voice. “And use yer head, or they take the lad.” Letting go, he pulled into the vacant driveway and parked. “I’ll wait here.” He slipped his knife free.
“And just what are you planning on do with that?”
“Why, I’ll puncture their tires if the need arises.”
With a grateful nod, Gideon stepped out of the Jeep, the accident report still clutched in his hand. He fought to ignore the warp spasm
Thirty-Four
that was urging him to simply pull out his weapon and start swinging. Taking a deep breath, he walked over the group. “Good morning.” He gave a polite smile. “Is there a problem here? And where are your shoes, lad?” he asked Finn.
“In the house.”
He cocked his head toward the porch. “Why don’t you go get them on?” And stay in there.
“Yes, sir.” Before anyone could protest, he bolted for the house and disappeared inside.
Gideon waited until the front door slammed shut before turning to Ms. Ubarri and the man. “This ends now. Either accuse me or cease your harassment of me and mine.”
“Care to explain to us about his injuries?” the man asked.
Gideon held out the report. “Our truck rolled off the high road yesterday.” He gestured to his own face. “As you can see.”
“Look, Mr. Lir, the law states…” Ms. Ubarri began.
“I know something about child abuse laws.” Rufus Steel interrupted. “You have no evidence, except my suspicion. And I know that, if I rescind my earlier statement and formally declare that I was wrong to accuse Mr. Lir, then the file is closed. I would be willing to testify to that in court. And, as I said earlier, my wife is a doctor. She examined both of them yesterday for any injuries. Thankfully, just cuts and bruises.”
As Ms. Ubarri and her co-worker, with the policewoman looking over their shoulders, studied the report, Gideon exchanged glances with Rufus. After a long minute, Ms. Ubarri looked up.
“We’ll want a copy of this,” she said, handing it back grudgingly.
“Certainly.”
“Here’s my card. You can mail it directly to me. Mr. Steel, our office will want to formally speak with you about closing this case.”
“Not a problem. I’ll stop by tomorrow.”
Without another word, Ms. Ubarri and the man marched over to their car, the man sliding into the passenger side. The officer followed, after a final glance at Gideon. With a gun of their engines, the cars pulled away from the curb.
When they had disappeared around the corner, Gideon slumped against the stone wall and let out a long breath. “Ye gods, I’ve battled entire packs of Amandán with less tenacity than that woman.”
“Good thing you had that report.”
Mac Roth sauntered over, a knife still in one hand. “Will they be back?”
“Don’t worry—I’ll make sure they don’t.” Rufus gave a thumbs-up to Rafe hovering in the doorway, then glanced down the street as Dr. Steel’s Volvo turned the corner. “And here comes the rest of my bunch. They’ll be happy to hear the good news.” He hurried home.
Gideon and Mac Roth watched as Susanna Steel stepped out of the car, followed by Joseph Nyeta and Savannah. The old man waved at the Knights before joining his family clustered around Rufus Steel.
Mac Roth gave Gideon a push toward the gate. “Ye best go tell Finn the coast is clear before he decides to make a run for it.” He waved off Gideon’s words of gratitude. “Whist, no need for words between us. Remember the old saying? ‘Brothers…’”
“‘…by another mother,’” finished Gideon. He clasped his friend’s forearm.
* * *
After the other Knight drove away, Finn eased out the front door. He held his breath until he spotted Gideon sauntering along the flagstone path toward the porch. He wouldn’t be walking so calmly if…if… “Well?”
“‘Tis all right, boyo. They’re gone.” Taking a seat on the middle step, Gideon gestured for the apprentice to join him and filled him in. “And now that we’ve Rufus Steel in our camp,” he concluded, “I doubt we’ll be having any more visits.”
“I hope not.” Finn pulled his knees up and sat hunched over them.
“Frightened, eh?”
“Me? Nah.”
“A bold lie.”
Finn chuckled, then straightened up. “Okay, I feel like throwing up.” He laughed again when the Knight edged away.
For several minutes, they sat side by side in silence, enjoying the everyday sounds of the neighborhood around them. Closing his eyes, Finn leaned back and tilted his face toward the sun. “Hey, Gideon?” he asked after a few minutes. “Can I ask you something?”
“Aye.”
“Would you have—you know—let those Human Services people take me?”
“Why, certainly, if they had offered a fair price.”
Finn snorted. He opened his eyes and peeked sideways. “I’m serious.”
“As am I. Although I do not know the going rate for used apprentices.”
“Gideon!”
The Knight stroked his chin in thought. “Perhaps I should place an advertisement in the newspaper. It would read ‘One slightly worn apprentice for sale. Cheeky at times, disobedient on occasion, and given to fits of temper.’”
Is that how he really sees me? Finn thought, heart sinking. He steeled himself when Gideon continued.
“‘Also, brave beyond measure, resourceful beyond his youth, loyal to a fault, and destined to be one of the finest Knights of the Tuatha De Danaan.’”
Finn’s heart soared.
Keep reading for a not-so-sneak (I mean, they did put it in here for you to read) peek at
The Hound at the Gate
Book Three of The Adventures of Finn MacCullen
Coming January 2015
The figure emerged from the shadow. About the same height as Gideon, the man paced closer, movements slow and formal. Dressed in the colors of the Festival in a russet shirt and brown pants, with a wild mane of brown curls reaching his shoulders, he had a torc gleaming faintly around his neck. A horn, taken from some massive bull years upon years ago and curved like a crescent moon, hung from a strap across his chest. In one fist, he held a prong from an antler. It shone ghostly in the early light. As he drew nearer, Finn noticed the tip was sharpened to a nasty-looking point. And stained black.
Taking a stance in front of Gideon, the man pointed the antler tine first north, then west, then south, then east, making a circle. He then directed it at the waiting Knight. “I am the Cú.” he proclaimed. “‘The Hound that Guards the Gate.’ Declare yourself.”
“I am Gideon Lir of Clan Lir. Descendent of the Black Hand. Knight of the Tuatha De Danaan.”
“Do you submit to the will and laws of the Rath?”
“I do submit.”
“And how do you pledge your word?”
“Blood oath.” Gideon dropped to one knee in front of the Hound and tilted his head back.
The Hound approached closer. He pressed the tip of the prong against Gideon’s throat, right under the jawbone. A pause. Then, with a flick of a wrist, he nicked the exposed skin. Blood welled up from the small cut.
It took every bit of willpower for Finn to keep his feet from walking out from under him—presumably to head back to the truck. Or High Springs. Either one was fine. Heart thundering, he watched as the Hound stepped around the still-kneeling Knight and came toward him. A drop of blood glistened on the point of the antler.
“Declare yourself,” ordered the Hound.
Praying to the Goddess Danu his voice wouldn’t crack, Finn spoke. “I am Finnegan MacCullen of Clan MacCullen. Apprentice to the Knight Gideon Lir.”
“And do you, apprentice, submit to the will and laws of the Rath?”
One
“I do submit.”
“And how do you pledge your word?”
“By my blood and the blood of my master.” Finn knelt. Tipping his head back, he kept his eyes locked on the top section of a nearby spruce. The prong touched his throat. Then, with the lightest of strokes, the Hound drew a circle. He’s making a bull’s eye, Finn thought wildly. So he doesn’t miss when he stabs me. The moisture from Gideon’s blood on his skin cooled in the morning breeze. Steeling himself against the pain to come, he gritted his teeth, ordering himself not to flinch.
“And what is that on your jacket?” the Hound suddenly growled. He pointed his free hand at Finn’s chest. Without thinking, Finn looked down.
“Ha!” The guardian flicked the tip of Finn’s nose with his finger. “Made you look.”
Finn froze. Then his jaw dropped when the Hound barked a laugh.
“You should see the expression on your face, kid.” The guardian held up the antler. “You really thought I was going to stick you with this thing, didn’t you?”
“N-no,” Finn said feebly. Well, yes. He glowered at his master, who was trying not to laugh. Finn noticed he wasn’t trying very hard.
The Hound chuckled, the blue eyes of their people dancing. “Man, this is so much fun.” He jerked his head toward the gate. “You guys get out of here before the next apprentice comes along. I wouldn’t want to ruin the surprise.”
“You seem to have embraced your role as the Hound this year with an abundance of enthusiasm, Dennis O’Donnell,” Gideon said dryly.
O’Donnell nodded happily. “By the way, Gideon, the first hunt is tomorrow morning—we’ll meet in the field by the barn. Kel said she’s never seen so many Amandán around here before. Should be a lot of apprentices wearing the torc by the end of the Festival.” He waved them away.
Still flummoxed, Finn followed Gideon through the archway. Questions swirled around inside his skull like autumn leaves in a windstorm. Trying to keep up with the Knight’s ground-munching stride, he glared up. “What the heck?”
Gideon shrugged. “Hazing apprentices is a favorite sport at the Festival, especially for some of the older apprentices and even a few of the younger Knights. You best keep your wits about you and take the teasing in stride. Apprentices who complain or act fearful are ridiculed something fierce and branded as cowards.”
“Yes, sir.” Finn thought for a moment. “So, was that whole ceremony really just a joke? Because he did cut you, after all.” Reminded of the smear of blood on his own throat, he started to wipe it off when Gideon caught his wrist.
“No, boyo. That part of the ceremony was real. As were our oaths.” He pulled Finn to a stop and locked eyes. “And you know how I feel about giving one’s word?”
“‘A man’s word is his honor,’” Finn repeated.
“Aye. You cannot have one without the other. So, leave the blood be for now.” He continued walking.
Trotting beside, Finn glanced back over his shoulder. “Why? And what about all our camping stuff?”
“First, we go to stand before the Rath with the evidence of our blood oath still fresh. Once they formally acknowledge and welcome us to the Festival, then we’ll go back to the truck for our gear.”
Trepidation tapped Finn on the shoulder. “Have they ever, you know, turned someone away?”
“No. It is just a ceremonial holdover from the days when the Rath was not a group of men and women, but rather a fortified stronghold to protect our people. Centuries ago, one had to be invited inside the Rath, swearing to abide by the laws of the Rí, or ruler, of the stronghold. Although our people are scattered all over Colorado, we still have a leader—or chieftain, so to speak—amongst us.”
As they walked along the footpath threading through the campsite, Finn eyed the tents scattered here and there. Some were old-fashioned affairs made from dirty white canvas, while others were more modern accommodations—domes of Gore-Tex. He even spotted a teepee to one side. Smoke drifted from the fires of early risers.
A few De Danaan called greetings to Gideon as they walked past. Others stared at Finn. Something in their expression made him feel like checking for what Gideon called a ‘nostril goblin.’ He dragged his sleeve across his face just in case. Trust, but verify.
After passing through the camping area, they came out into a grassy space—an enormous barn sat in the middle of it, its double doors facing southward. A meadow about the size of a football field stretched from the barn’s doors to the bank of the river chasm. A footbridge, crafted from massive logs, spanned the gap. Finn could hear the faint roar of the current as it churned through the narrow gorge.
“Who built the barn?” Finn asked.
“It is a leftover from the days when cattle were raised in the area to feed the gold miners. The owner of this property allows us the use of the land and structure as long as we do maintenance on it once a year.”
Continuing along on his master’s heels, Finn noticed a low, raised platform, fashioned from split aspen logs and covered in planks, sitting off to one side near the doors. Three heavy chairs, almost like thrones, were positioned on it. He followed his master over to a spot in front of the platform. At that moment, the barn doors swung inward.
Martin O’Neill stepped out, followed by a woman and another man. Dressed in jeans and sweaters or light jackets of various shades of red and brown, each wore the torc as well as a long cloak made from heavy wool and dyed a dark gold. The woman carried a hiking staff. As they walked toward the platform, the cloaks fluttered behind them in the morning breeze, like the last aspen leaves of autumn, just before they make their final journey earthward. They stared at Finn while they climbed the single step to the platform. They must be the Rath, the Council members, Finn thought. Uncertain what to do, he shuffled from foot to foot.
“At my knife arm and behind,” Gideon muttered without moving his lips.
Finn scrambled to take a position at the Knight’s right elbow. He watched as the three Council members sat down. For a long minute, they gazed in silence at the master and apprentice, giving Finn a chance to study them. He noticed the woman studying him back. Younger than the others, she wore glossy nut-brown braids, intermingled with strands of dark gold the same hue as her cloak, reaching to her lap.
Then the other man stood. His tanned skin was weathered by the centuries, and his dark hair was graced with gray at the temples. He took a step forward to the very edge of the platform. A sheathed sword hung at one hip. He flung his cloak back off his shoulders.
“Céad mile fáilte, Gideon Lir.” Finn noticed that the man pronounced his master’s name in the old way: Gwydion. “The Council accepts yer blood oath and welcomes ye to the Festival of the Hunt.”
Gideon inclined his head. “I thank you, Toryn Mull, and would ask that the Rath formally recognize my apprentice, Finnegan MacCullen, as well.” He motioned Finn to stand beside him.
Toryn Mull hesitated. Befo
re he could speak, Martin O’Neill rose and took a position beside him. Dread clamped a cold hand on the back of Finn’s neck. Even before Lochlan’s father spoke the words, he knew what was coming.
“I’m afraid that won’t be possible, Gideon Lir.” Martin O’Neill curled a lip. “At least, not yet. Some of us are still undecided.”
“Undecided about what?” Gideon said in the flat voice that usually meant trouble. For the other person.
“Why, whether or not we allow that halfer,” he spat out the word as if it were a foul taste, “to attend the Festival.”
Author’s Notes
For those of you who missed the Author’s Notes in Finn Finnegan, I put them in again. No need to thank me—I’m always happy to share. Those of you who did read the notes in the first book, you are excused. Feel free to walk around while you wait on the rest of us.
Finnegan MacCullen: My protagonist is based loosely on the Irish legend of Finn McCool or Fionn mac Cumhail. This story cycle, called The Boyhood Deeds of Fionn mac Cumhail, follows the adventures of Finn as he grows from boy to legendary warrior.
Lir: The warrior-father from The Children of Lir story cycle. All I really took from that cycle was the name Lir. However, Gideon’s name is a nod to the legendary Welsh figure Gwydion. That character was a warrior, but also a bit of a trickster. I took that trait and gave Gideon a sarcastic bent.
Mac Roth: A friend and strong right arm to one of the early kings of Ireland. A fitting name for Gideon’s old friend and avuncular figure to Finn.
warp spasm: This, too is a part of Celtic lore. This battle frenzy gave warriors extra strength and speed and helped them ignore injuries until after the conflict.
torc: A neck ring made from strands of metal twisted together. Most are open-ended at the front and were worn as a sign of nobility and high social status. Many examples of these have been found in European Bronze Age graves and burial sites.
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