Finn's Choice

by Darby Karchut

  Or jumped over the wall, Finn thought. In his mind, he envisioned his master picking up speed as he jogged across the yard, deep voice chanting the Song, then leaping into the air and clearing the wall effortlessly. He started to turn from the window when he noticed movement in the snowy woods beyond.

  Gideon came into view, making his way through the snow on one of the well-trodden paths that led from their property into the western foothills. Bundled in a dark jacket and wool gloves, he carried his dagger in one hand, and a plastic Walmart bag in the other. It sagged, the plastic straining and its bottom stained dark, as if something was leaking inside. He disappeared as he dropped down into the gully separating the land just beyond the fence and the first line of trees. A moment later, he reappeared by the wooden gate set near the northwest corner and entered.

  As Finn watched, the Knight turned and walked along the inside of the wall until he reached the center and halted. After sheathing his dagger, he reached into the bag and pulled out a limp, grayish-brown object, about the size of a rabbit.

  Finn gasped. It was a rabbit, blood still leaking from a slit throat. Crimson drops stained the snow at the Knight’s feet. Holding it by the ears, Gideon held the rabbit up, as if presenting it to an unseen audience, then laid it along the top of the wall. One paw hung limply.

  The taste of bile filled in Finn’s mouth. He stepped back on shaky legs and sank down on his bed. A minute later, he heard the sound of the kitchen door opening and closing, then the faint thump-thump of snow being stomped off boots.

  “Finn?” Gideon’s muted voiced drifted upstairs. “Up, now.”

  “Yes, sir,” he croaked. He cleared his throat and called louder, knowing Gideon had no patience with him staying in bed one second after being told to move his arse. “Yes, sir.”

  Pulling on jeans and a thick hand-me-down sweater that had once belonged to Gideon’s long-dead son, he padded barefoot to the kitchen. The hiss of running water greeted him as his master stood at the sink, washing his hands.

  “A grand day for a hunt, eh?” the Knight said over his shoulder. “Eat a hearty breakfast. We’ll be meeting the others soon.”

  Finn nodded absently. “What’s with the dead rabbit thing?”

  Turning off the water, Gideon peered out the window as he dried his hands. “An offering.”

  “To the Scáthach?” Wow, she gets creepier all the time.

  “’Tis a symbolic gesture, nothing more. Animal sacrifice was part of the worship of the gods and goddesses by us Celts, human and Fey. I am simply doing it to appease her ego. It does no harm to stroke the pride of the ancient gods now and again, especially one whom we are attempting to outwit. Now breakfast, then go dress warmly. Layers, mind you. We’ll be out all morning and I do not want to hear you complaining.”

  Twenty minutes later, Finn clumped downstairs, a thermal T-shirt under his sweater and his new hiking boots stiff. Snagging his winter jacket from the hooks next to the front door, he started to pull it on when Gideon stopped him.

  “You’ll get too warm in that, what with the hiking and hunting we’ll be doing.” He held out a goose down vest. Its dark green Gore-Tex was faded with age. “Here. Try this.”

  Finn pulled it on. Slightly oversized, but comfortable, he zipped it up and swung his arms about. “Fits okay. Just a little big. Is it yours?”

  “Aye. I find hunting easier if you can move freely.” He handed Finn his gloves. “Here. Winter has arrived earlier than I had anticipated. We did not have time to finish outfitting you for the cold.”

  “At least I’ve got my new boots.” Finn stomped a foot, then winced. “They’re kind of tight.”

  Gideon frowned. “Why, I just purchased those for you. And dear they were.”

  Finn’s heart sank at their ever-constant battle to afford even the basics. Guilt filled him when he noticed his master was gloveless and his jacket was patched at both elbows. “They fit last week when I wore them, but I guess my feet grew some more.”

  “Can you manage today?”

  Finn curled his toes inside his shoes. “Oh, sure,” he lied. Bending over, he pulled up his pant leg, revealing an ankle sheath strapped to his right calf. He started to shove his spare knife into it when Gideon stopped him.

  “Finnegan MacCullen.” The Knight bent closer, peering at Finn’s leg. “Just how many bleedin’ pairs of socks do you have on?”

  “Three. You said to dress in layers.”

  Gideon squeezed his eyes shut and pinched the bridge of his nose. He muttered in Gaelic to himself. All Finn could catch was lack of brains the gods gave sheep.

  Taking that as a signal to remove a layer, Finn sat down and unlaced his boots. He peeled off the top layer, rolled them into a ball, and tossed them toward the door of the tiny half-bath/laundry room next to the kitchen. After putting his boots back on, he stood up and walked around. “Oh, that’s better.” He grinned up at his master. “Good idea.”

  Shaking his head, his master gave him a push toward the front door. Mac Roth’s Jeep, a splash of Yule red against the snow, was already parked in front of Mrs. Martinez’s—now Kel O’Shea’s—house. The snow crunched under their boots as they hurried through their yard and out their gate.

  As he pulled the gate shut behind him with a clang that reverberated around the neighborhood, Finn glanced over at Rafe’s home. Most of the windows were lit up. He and Savannah are probably getting ready for school. He reached behind him under his vest and felt the haft of his favorite hunting knife, sheathed and hanging from his belt. I guess Lochlan and I are, too—getting ready for our school. And Tara, as well. I’m sure glad I don’t have to sit inside a building all day. At least when I practice reading and math and all that, it’s for real life. Like writing down descriptions of all the different ways to hunt goblins. Or figuring out how to budget for food each week.

  The front door opened as they walked up Kel O’Shea’s steps. Tara stood in the doorway, chewing, with a mostly eaten slice of toast in one hand. Over her jeans, she wore a thick fleece jacket the exact shade of her eyes. Well-worn boots were on her feet.

  “A fine morning to you, Tara Butler. Interrupting your breakfast, are we?” Gideon smiled at the girl, who grinned back as she took her last bite.

  She swallowed as she stepped to one side. “Nope. And Kel said to come on back to the kitchen.”

  As the Knight headed toward the sound of voices, Finn closed the door behind him. He noticed Tara’s hair was loose and flowing, hanging like a curtain down her back. Its glossy black reminded Finn of obsidian. He had never really noticed its color before. As if reading his thoughts, she wiped her hands on her jeans and began braiding it, her fingers quick and nimble.

  “Where’s your bow?” Finn asked to distract himself.

  “Kel wants me to keep practicing with the knife and dagger. She’s not bringing hers either. Have you hunted in the snow before?” she asked, finishing her braid. Holding the end with one hand, she dug into her pocket, pulled out a hair band, and tied it off. With a practiced flick, she flipped it behind her, then made a face. “That was a dumb question—of course you haven’t. I forget you started your apprenticeship this past spring.”

  “Yeah, it’s going to be totally different than what I’m used to.” He wondered why she was still lingering by the front door.

  Chewing on her lip, she glanced toward the kitchen, then leaned closer. “Do you have any…you know…advice?”

  “You mean about hunting?”

  “Well, yeah.”

  Finn shrugged. “You already got a pretty good feel for it during the battle last month. Believe me, a morning hunt around here is nothing compared to what we all went through at the Festival.”

  They shared a smile at the memory of that night. Then he patted her shoulder. “Don’t be scared—Lochlan and I will watch out for you.” As soon as the words left his mouth, Finn knew he was dead meat. With a gulp, he drew back his hand cautiously, refraining from counting his fingers.

 
Tara narrowed her eyes. “I didn’t say I was scared.” She bit down on each word. “And I don’t need a couple of apprentices to watch out for me. I’m not some helpless princess—”

  “That’s not what I meant, Tara! I just meant—”

  “—some helpless princess who doesn’t know which end of a dagger to use!” She crowded closer to Finn, chin thrust out. “Sheesh, what is it with you? And O’Neill?”

  “Someone call my name?” Lochlan appeared in the middle of the living room, He grinned as he looked from Finn to Tara and back again. “Man, it’s really nice to see her going off on someone else for a change.” His smile dimmed when Tara whirled around. He jumped to one side, letting her stomp past him toward the kitchen.

  The boys looked at each other.

  “Are we ever going to get it right?” Finn asked.

  Lochlan scowled. “Do we care?”

  Yeah, Finn thought. Yeah, I think I do.

  After another round of tea, the hunters stepped out of Kel O’Shea’s back gate. They broke into two groups. Gideon, with Kel O’Shea and Tara on his heels, took the lead, sure of the trails even when covered in snow. Several yards back, Mac Roth and the two boys walked along in single file. As they hiked, the snow started falling again—fat, lazy flakes that couldn’t make up their minds whether they wanted to swirl around or land on something.

  In the quiet of the white woods, Finn could just make out Gideon explaining the various paths and pointing out landmarks to the female Knight. He realized they were headed toward the same goblin den where he and his master had briefly been held prisoner two months earlier. I bet they remember us. Walking along, eyes and ears and nose alert for Amandán, he silently ticked off everything that had happened since he had become an apprentice. He wasn’t sure if discovering that he was the Spear—the legendary weapon of their people—and that his blood was a lethal poison to the goblins was a good thing or a bad thing.

  “Mac Roth.” At a three-way junction, Gideon held up a hand. He was wearing gloves loaned to him by the red-headed giant. “Kel and I will take the direct path to the den. You and the boys circle around and approach the site from the north.”

  “Right,” Mac Roth pointed at Tara. “And you, young miss, save a few beasties for the rest of us.” She grinned up at the tall Knight and nodded.

  “Yeah, Tara,” Lochlan whispered to Finn. “Don’t eat them all.”

  Finn snorted. He started to follow Lochlan and his master down the northbound trail when a wait-a-moment gesture from Gideon caught his eye. He walked over and stood shifting from foot to foot.

  “Mind what you’re about, Finnegan MacCullen. Keep alert.”

  “Yes, sir.” Wishing his master would finish up so he could catch up with Lochlan, he tried to ignore Tara’s smirk. “It’s not my first hunt, you know,” he added in a low voice.

  Gideon raised an eyebrow. He started to speak, then his gaze flickered over to the girl for a split second. Stepping closer, he lowered his voice as well. “Aye, I know. But indulge your long-suffering master for being a wee bit protective still. Now. Away with you. And mind Mac Roth.” He gave Finn a push toward the other two, waiting a few yards down the path.

  Forty minutes later, legs weary from plowing through the deep snow, even in Mac Roth’s wake, Finn and Lochlan paused at the signal from the Knight. They stood panting, both from the snow and the uphill terrain the path had covered. Finn unzipped his vest and fanned his sweater, trying to cool off.

  Mac Roth wiped his brow. Snow dusted his beard, making him look like a Celtic Santa. “Bit of a push, eh, boyos?”

  “No kidding.” Finn scooped a handful of snow into his mouth.

  “Not too much,” Mac Roth warned him. “It can chill your stomach as much as quench your thirst. Just a mouthful or two and no more.”

  “How do you know stuff like that?” Lochlan asked. He removed a glove and let the snow melt in his cupped hand before slurping a sip.

  “Lir and I have lived and hunted in Colorado for over a hundred years now. Since the late eighteen hundreds, you know. Time and enough to pick up survival tips we had not learned in Éireann.”

  “Do you miss it? Ireland?” Finn asked. I know Gideon does. I wonder if we’ll ever go there.

  “Aye, I do. I would like to return sooner than later. What say you, Lochlan? Would you like to accompany your old master on a journey to…”

  A shriek of pain and rage split the quiet of the morning.

  “The hunt’s afoot!” Mac Roth shouted. He took off running. The boys followed.

  The path twisted through the trees, diving up and down like a rollercoaster as it crisscrossed the hills. Finn fought to keep both his footing and his speed on the snow-covered path. The flakes grew thicker as the wind picked up, stinging his eyes. Over his rasping breath, he could hear the snarls and growls of Amandán as well as Gideon’s voice shouting. Once, Kel O’Shea shouted back, humor in her tone. Rounding a bend in the trail, Mac Roth and the boys skidded to a halt.

  Their backs protected by the thick trunk of a Ponderosa pine, Kel O’Shea and Tara stood shoulder-to-shoulder, knives out and in motion. A pair of goblins shifted about in front of them, careful to stay clear of the master’s and apprentice’s weapons. One of the beasts limped, its left leg smoking from the touch of the bronze weapon. The stink of burnt Amandán hair hung in the air.

  A few yards away, Gideon stood at bay in front of a large boulder, facing a trio of goblins, a hunting knife in each hand. His blades were red flames in the gray light. Never standing still, he seemed to dance with his enemies, weaving and ducking, a look of glee on his face as he attacked, but never landed a killing blow. He smiled grimly at Finn and the others.

  “So you three finally decided to show up, eh?” he called. “Why so tardy? Did you lose your way again, Mac Roth?”

  “We were simply enjoying the scenery. Whilst sharing my memories of our homeland.” Moving up behind the goblins threatening his friend, he pulled out his hatchet. “A bit outnumbered, Lir?” The goblins looked from Knight to Knight, wide-eyed with fear.

  “Not at all. Four to one is outnumbered. Three to one is simply gentle exercise.”

  “So, what would five to one be?” Finn joined in.

  “Showing off,” Kel O’Shea said, laughter in her voice. “Oh, no you don’t!” She dodged a swipe from the nearest goblin, then lunged forward and buried her blade in its chest. It exploded in a puff of stinky ash. The remaining goblin turned tail and ran. With a whoop, Tara took off after it.

  “Tara Butler!” Kel O’Shea yelled. “Get back here!”

  Coming to a stop, Tara blew out a long breath in frustration. “But Kel…”

  “‘But Kel’ nothing. You know not to take off like that. Why, one of the beasts’ favorite strategies is to turn tail and run in mock fear, then lead an unsuspecting warrior right into an ambush. Just ask Knight Lir about the time he…”

  “Now that you have a general feel of the lay of the land, Kel,” Gideon hastily interrupted, much to Mac Roth’s amusement and Finn’s disappointment, “and where best to locate the beasties, we should return home, for I do not like the look of this storm. And Finn and I have something to do.”

  As they headed back, the journey easier with the now-broken trail, Lochlan crowded in beside Finn. “How did it go last night with the witch?”

  After he filled his friend in on the not-so-successful meeting, he finished. “So now Gideon and I are going to see if we can get those angels to help us.”

  “Unreal,” Lochlan breathed. “Angels. I can’t believe they really exist.”

  “Why not?” Tara spoke up behind them. “I mean, if we can exist, why not angels?”

  “Do you always eavesdrop on private conversations?” Lochlan said.

  Hoping to prevent another fight, Finn jumped in. “Maybe they feel that way about us. I mean, they might have as much trouble believing in us as we do believing in them.” But probably not, Finn thought, remembering Griffin’s easy-going dem
eanor. Life must be pretty sweet for them. Nothing to do but fly around and keep an eye out for humans under their care.

  After arriving back at Kel O’Shea’s house, Gideon declined an offer of lunch. Mac Roth, too, passed on the invitation after a pleading look from Lochlan.

  “By the way,” Mac Roth said as they lingered on the front porch. “There may be an alternative to this angelic alliance you’re attempting, Lir.”

  Kel O’Shea frowned. “Are you talking about the Burnt Bones?”

  “Aye,” Mac Roth said. “A longish shot, but worth a try.”

  Burnt Bones? Finn glanced up at his master.

  Gideon snorted. “A longish shot? More like an impossible one, I’d say.”

  “Still.” Mac Roth shrugged. “I’ll see what I can find out. Just in case.”

  As the Jeep drove away, snow swirling behind it, Finn followed his master back home. “What was that all about?”

  “Just a wild hair of Mac Roth’s.” To Finn’s surprise, his master tossed him the keys. “Warm the truck up. And, Finn?”

  “I know, I know.” He let out a long-suffering sigh. “Make sure the parking brake is set.”

  As Gideon disappeared inside their home, Finn clambered into the cab and coaxed on the vehicle. He revved the engine a few times, wishing Rafe and Savannah could see him in the driver’s seat.

  Gideon emerged a few minutes later, a piece of paper in hand. Finn scooted over, careful not to knock the stick shift with his feet, which seemed to grow larger every day.

  “Where are we going?” He thought he could guess, even without Mac Roth’s earlier statement.

  Looking over his shoulder, Gideon backed out of the driveway. “We’ve a pair of angels to seek.”

  Seven

  “Here we go.” Twenty minutes later, Gideon turned into a residential neighborhood a few blocks from downtown. The street was lined with well cared-for bungalows and small houses. Most were decked out for the harvest season with an exuberance of wreaths and cheerful scarecrows and pumpkins. Driveways and sidewalks were already shoveled free of snow.