Finn's Choice

by Darby Karchut

  He let the curtain fall into place as his master headed toward their house. Feeling slightly sick at having spied on Gideon, he hurried toward the stairs. As his foot hit the lowest tread, the front door opened.

  “And just what are you doing up at this hour?” Gideon closed the door behind him and locked it. The choonk of the bolt sliding into place echoed in the silence.

  Turning around, Finn started to say that he needed a drink of water. That he had forgotten something downstairs. That he had heard the door and wanted to make sure everything was okay. But instead, he blurted out, “What were you guys doing out there?”

  “Oh, discussing the Scáthach, and arranging another hunt. Kel would like to—”

  “Outside? In the middle of the night?” Finn hated the way his voice sounded whiny and accusatory. Hated himself. Self-loathing and anger swelled up in his chest like a bubble of lava. Shame over resenting Kel O’Shea when she didn’t deserve it. Shame over begrudging the happiness she brought his master.

  And anger at his master. I was his apprentice before she came along. She’s going to ruin everything. And I won’t be…be first anymore. Even as he thought it, he cringed.

  “Never mind.” He ran up the stairs, kicked the bedroom door closed, and threw himself on the bed. Disgust made him bury his face in the pillow. You’re acting like some kid trying to get attention from his parents.

  The door opened.

  “Finn.”

  “Go away.”

  A snort of disbelief. A footfall. Then, the mattress dipped to one side. “What is troubling you, Finn, lad?”

  “Nothing.”

  Silence.

  Silence.

  More silence.

  Son of a goat. Huffing out a long breath, Finn rolled over. In the dim starlight, he could just make out his master’s face.

  “Nothing’s bothering me,” Finn repeated.

  An eyebrow lifted. “Care to try again?”

  “It’s…it’s stupid.”

  “Let me be the judge of that. Although, you being Finn, I’d place a wager that ’tis most likely so.” A trace of a smile. It faded after a moment. “This is about Knight O’Shea.”

  “Well, kind of.” Finn looked away. “You like her, don’t you?”

  “Aye, I do. We’ve been friends for many years.”

  “But you like her.”

  Gideon shifted on the bed, rubbing his knuckles along his jaw. “You mean,” he paused and cleared his throat, “in a romantic way.” He studied a corner of the room.

  Finn nodded, his own gaze locked on the window, wishing he had kept his mouth shut.

  “While this is not a conversation I ever imagined having with you, I suppose I would be less of a Knight by shirking it.” Gideon squared his shoulders, as if preparing for battle. “Yes, I am fond of her.”

  Finn waited for more. When nothing came, he prompted the Knight. “And?”

  “And I believe she is fond of me.”

  “Oh.” Finn played with the edge of the quilt, rolling it up. “So what happens now?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Are you…like…dating?”

  “Dating.”

  “You know. Going out to dinner. Holding hands.” Kissing. Finn shuddered.

  “Ah. Courting. No, we’ve not come to that. Yet.”

  Finn didn’t like the “yet” part. He wanted desperately for this conversation to be over. Just as desperately, he wanted to know—needed to know—what would happen in the future. “But if you do. Then, what about…what about…” He choked on the rest of the words.

  Gideon nodded in understanding. “You’re worried that things might change between you and me.”

  “Yeah.” It came out in a whisper.

  “They will not.”

  The simple statement loosened the band around Finn’s chest. His master’s next words eased the tightness even more.

  “Fondness for another does not diminish my affection for you, Finnegan MacCullen. Nor will any feelings I have for Kel O’Shea remove you from your place at my side.”

  “Really?”

  “Truly.” Gideon’s smile was a flash of white in the dim room. “Knight’s honor.”

  Nine

  Three days later—and too soon for Finn—master and apprentice were back at Iona’s front door. Gideon knocked once. While they waited, Finn looked around. The triquetra design was free of snow, just like last time, although the sun had done its own magic and left puddles like scattered silver coins. Overhead, a cloudless blue sky contrasted with the dull rusty leaves still clinging to the scrub oaks dotting the sorceress’ property. Even in the warmth of the afternoon sun, Finn felt a chill when the front door swung open.

  “Well, well. Right on time.” Iona, dressed entirely in black, stood in the doorway. Her gold cuffs, worn over the tight sleeves of her sweater, flashed as she stepped to one side and waved them in. “I have to admit it—I was surprised when you called me yesterday. I didn’t think Basil would be so accommodating.”

  Gideon said nothing. He handed her an envelope. “How long until the potion is ready?”

  She rolled her eyes as she took the packet. “Not long.” She walked over to the central hearth. Master and apprentice followed. A small iron kettle, about the size of a basketball, was suspended from a tripod over the fire. Flames licked its fat belly. Noxious fumes rose from it in a pale smoke, yellowish like the underbelly of a lizard.

  “A bit cliché,” Gideon said in a dry tone.

  “What is?” Finn asked.

  Gideon gestured with his chin. “A witch’s cauldron.”

  “Oh, give a rest, Lir.” Iona made a face as she slit the envelope open with a long nail, then emptied the packet onto her palm. Her scowl vanished. “Sweet Wicked Witch of the West—I was hoping for just one hair.” She looked at Gideon wide-eyed. “Do you realize the wealth I hold in my hand? Why, I know a dozen witches who would give me a fortune in gold for just one strand.” She put the hairs back in the envelope, then selected one and carefully dropped it in the cauldron.

  With a sharp hiss, steam billowed upward in a mini-volcano. A tendril of cloud drifted across Finn’s face. The aroma reminded him of a summer afternoon after a rain shower had washed the woods behind their home clean. Next to him, Gideon inhaled deeply. A slight smile stole across his face; Finn didn’t want to know.

  “Bleh!” Iona waved her hand in front of her nose. “Smells like the inside of a church. All candles and flowers and starched linen.” Still grimacing, she leaned over the kettle and poked at it with a wooden spoon the length of her forearm. She stirred the brew counterclockwise, murmuring in a low tone—Finn caught a few words of Gaelic, and, surprisingly, Latin. “Okay, let’s try this again.” She put down the spoon and selected a pair of metal tongs to pick up another bottle, similar to the one Finn had drunk out of during their last meeting. She submerged it in the potion. After a few moments, she lifted it up and held it out to him. Steam rose from its narrow neck. Drops sizzled as they hit the floor.

  “The potion only works when it’s hot and fresh from this cauldron,” Iona said. “So bottoms up.”

  Finn eased back a step. “But it’ll burn me.”

  “No, it won’t. You’re a halfer. It’ll just zing a little going down. Or, at least, that’s what the recipe said. I think. My Aramaic’s a little rusty.” She thrust the bottle toward him again.

  “A moment.” Gideon pulled out his ever-handy handkerchief and wrapped it around the bottle, then plucked it free of the tongs. “Here.” He passed it to Finn.

  Taking the bottle, Finn sniffed it. Better than it smelled the last time I drank it, he thought. He took a sip. His lips and tongue tingled slightly, as if he was drinking warm soda pop. “Here goes nothing.” Tilting the bottle, he chugged it down.

  Nothing. Then, a gentle warmth spread from his stomach to the ends of his fingers and toes and even to the tips of his ears. It was followed by a surge of energy, similar to the surge of power the Song gav
e him. It swelled as if something was trying to burst out of him. I feel like I have to belch.

  “How are you feeling?” Iona asked.

  “A little warm. Kind of tingling all over, but okay so far. Not like last time.” He decided not to mention the belching thing.

  “Am I good or what?” Iona tossed her curls back. “Well, go ahead. See what you can do.”

  Remembering the flames dancing on the tips of Griffin’s fingers, Finn lifted his hand and snapped. Nothing. He tried again. This time, a spark flared, like a strike of flint on steel, then died. He tried four more times, but the best he could do was a few wisps of smoke.

  Gideon turned an icy glare at the witch. “Why isn’t it working?”

  “Hey, I followed the directions exactly. It’s the kid. He’s not concentrating enough or something.”

  Brows knitted, Gideon thought for a moment. “How long does the potion last?” he asked Iona.

  “A few hours, give or take, depending on the person. Why?”

  “Finn. Come.” Gideon stalked toward the door. Finn hurried to catch up.

  “Lir? Where are you going?” Iona called after him.

  “To seek advice from the angels.” Gideon ushered Finn through the door. “Unless you wish for them to come here?” His master smiled grimly as the sorceress spat something in an unknown language. “I thought not.”

  “Are we really going to get Griffin to help us?” Finn jogged to keep up with his master’s long stride back to their truck.

  “He did offer. Although we have a narrow window of opportunity—I hope they are at home.” Gunning the motor, he roared down the driveway toward the gate, gravel pinging against the undercarriage.

  As they drove through the sorceress’ neighborhood, Finn spoke up. “See? If we had a cell phone, we could just call them right now instead of…”

  “We shall ring them up from home.”

  Twenty minutes later, they pulled into their driveway. Even before the truck came to a complete stop, Finn jumped out and jogged around the wall toward the gate. Gideon was a stride behind him. The afternoon sun cast the yard in shadow. As they hurried through the gate and along the walk, a shadow moved on the porch. In unison, Gideon and Finn yanked their weapons free with a ring and a flash.

  WHOOMPH! An invisible pillow whacked Finn in the chest. With a grunt, he flew backwards and landed on his butt, teeth snapping together. Next to him, Gideon staggered a step, almost going down before recovering his balance. Finn could hear him cursing in Gaelic.

  A form emerged from the shadow. Griffin. “Sorry!” He jogged down the steps and over to Finn and hauled him up by the arm. “You okay?”

  “I’m good.” Finn rubbed his tailbone.

  “Mr. Lir.” Griffin turned to Gideon. “I apologize. I didn’t mean to…”

  “What the bleedin’ ’ell was that?” Gideon stalked over. A slight look of chagrin darkened his face.

  “Might.”

  “Sorry?”

  “I used my Might.” At their looks of confusion, he added, “It’s an energy force we use when we need to defend ourselves or others.”

  “An energy force? Like in Star Wars?” Finn blurted out.

  “Pretty close.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “Nope.” Griffin shrugged. “Where do you think George Lucas got the idea from? Listen, I thought I’d stop by, check on the Steels, and see how you’re doing. Did you meet with Iona?”

  “We did. In fact, we were about to ring you up.” While Gideon explained what had happened, Griffin studied Finn, nodding as the Knight spoke.

  “So, you got a spark, huh? That’s a good sign. Mr. Lir, is there any place we can practice without anyone seeing us?”

  “Our back yard’s really private,” Finn said. “Especially since our neighbor moved away.”

  Gideon unlocked the front door and led the way inside. Finn watched as the angel glanced about, his eyes darting from the weapons over the fireplace to the desk in the corner, then to the stairs leading upward, as he followed the Knight across the living room and into the kitchen. Shedding his fleece and tossing it over a kitchen chair, Finn took up the rear as they exited out the back door.

  Griffin looked around the yard. “Looks about like ours. Different training apparatuses, but still…” He walked over to a clear area of lawn spotted with leftover patches of snow and motioned for Finn to join him. “Okay, show me what you got.” Meanwhile, Gideon waited a few yards away, arms crossed over his chest.

  Finn snapped his fingers. A spark leaped from his fingertips and fell with a hiss on the soggy ground. He tried again. And again. “Son of a goat.” A tendril of smoke rose from his thumb, but nothing else.

  Griffin scratched his head. “Do you still feel it inside of you? The effect of the potion?”

  “Well, yeah.”

  “Then try this.” Griffin took a position next to him. “Stand relaxed. Close your eyes. Now, I want you to imagine the sun inside of your chest. Not burning you, but making you feel warm and full of light and power. Like you could illuminate the solar system. Do you feel it?”

  Eyes closed, Finn nodded. I think so.

  “Good. Now, push that power through your arms and out the tips of your fingers.”

  “Like blowing my nose?” He opened his eyes when his master chuckled. “Hey, I could’ve said something else, you know.”

  “Aye, I know.” A faint smile ghosted across Gideon’s face.

  “Dude, pay attention.” Griffin poked Finn with his elbow. “Sheesh, now I know how Basil feels.” He pointed at a pool of slush, its blue color mirroring the sky overhead. “Aim at that. Ready?”

  Finn nodded. “Ready.” He took a deep breath and tensed his body.

  “Here we go. One. Two. Three!”

  WHOOSH! Fire exploded out of Finn’s fingertips. “Whoa!” He stumbled backwards, flapping his arm frantically, trying to put out the flames that threatened to engulf his entire hand. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see his master sprinting toward him.

  “Easy!” Griffin grabbed his wrist. “It can’t burn you, see?” He held Finn’s arm up in the air. Flames continued to dance on the tips of his fingers. A human torch. “Just watch you don’t set your hair on fire. Or anyone standing near you.” He grinned, as if remembering something.

  “Are ye all right, boyo?” Gideon stood a few feet away. He narrowed his eyes. “And I will hold ye responsible, aingeal, if any harm comes to the lad.”

  “Yes, sir, but it won’t. I promise.” Still holding Finn’s wrist, Griffin cupped his free hand over Finn’s fingers and extinguished the flame. Letting go, the angel shifted around to stand behind the younger apprentice and placed a hand between his shoulder blades. “Finn, when you’re ready, we’ll try it again. Give it everything you got.”

  Extending his arm, Finn stretched his fingers toward the pool. He scrunched up his face and pushed.

  KA-BHOOSH! With a cry, Finn careened backwards as flames rocketed out of his hand and blasted the water. Only Griffin’s hand on his back saved him from falling on his butt. His arm jerked about like a hose when the water was suddenly turned on.

  “Watch your aim!” Griffin shouted.

  Getting used to the pressure of the fiery stream, Finn steadied his arm and concentrated on the pool. It’s like my arm is a flamethrower or something! Steam rose with a hissing sound as he torched the pool. Even as he watched, the ground dried. Grass turned black, then disappeared, to be replaced by dried mud. It was like watching the seasons attack that one small patch of earth in a matter of seconds.

  Griffin tapped him on the shoulder. “Good. Now, clench your fist.”

  Finn did. A slight sting on his palm, then the flames disappeared. He looked down at his hand—a black ashy mark smudged his palm and fingers—then up at the angel who had stepped around to face him. “That was…that was…”

  “Yup.” Griffin grinned. “Wait until you try—” A faint tune from his back pocket interrupted him. For a m
oment, Finn thought he heard a few notes of that old Johnny Cash song. The one about fire. “Just a sec.” The angel dug out a cell phone and thumbed it on. “It’s me. What’s up?”

  As the angel walked away, phone to ear, Finn showed his master his hand. “Did you see that?”

  “No pain?” Gideon studied Finn’s palm, rubbing his thumb along the skin.

  “Not one bit.” Finn said. “It was… warm. Like when you lay your hand in the sunlight.”

  “But, Basil, I told you I was going to stop by—” Finn and Gideon turned at the voice raised in frustration. Griffin stood facing them, his free hand raking his hair. “Look, it’s not my first mission—” A long pause. Then: “Yeah, well. I think I know the difference between—” A longer pause. The teen sighed. “Fine. Whatever.” An eye roll. “I mean, yes, sir. Right away.” Shoving the phone back into his jeans, Griffin looked at them. A trace of red colored his cheeks. “I, um, gotta go.”

  “Is everything okay?” Finn asked without thinking.

  “All ponies and rainbows.” Embarrassment darkened Griffin’s face. “Listen, keep practicing until you can turn it on and off without thinking about it. You said the brew lasts a few hours?”

  “Give or take,” Gideon said. “I thank you for your help.”

  “Not a problem. Call me if you want another lesson or anything.” Griffin glanced around the yard, craning his neck to check the woods behind the property. With a final nod, he took a running step. A gust of wind slapped Finn in the face. Then, the angel was gone.

  Gideon sniffed. “Grandstander.”

  Finn practiced for another hour, until all he was producing was smoke. Blowing on the tip of his finger like it was an old-fashioned six-shooter, he kicked leftover snow onto the final smoldering patch of grass. With the afternoon sun low in the sky, he followed his shadow to the back door.

  “I think I’m starting to get the hang of it, Gideon.” He toed off his shoes and nudged them into the corner behind the door. “How long do you think the trial will last? I’d hate to run out of fuel.”

  Standing at the counter slicing potatoes, Gideon shook his head. “Not only do we not know how long the trial will last, we do not even have a clue as to its nature. If only we knew—” A knock on the front door. “Get that, would you?”