Finn's Choice

by Darby Karchut

  “Aye, lad, we are.” Rising, he wiped his hand clean on his jeans, then reached down and pulled Finn to his feet. He swept an arm around, encompassing the hills and the sea and the falling rain. “Welcome home, Finnegan MacCullen, to Éireann.”

  Finn’s eyes widened. “Ireland,” he whispered.

  Thirteen

  “We best get out of the weather.” Gideon turned and began climbing back up the way Finn had come.

  Finn followed, grateful to have the wind and rain at his back instead of in his face. “So are you going to tell me what happened? And why the Scáthach isn’t here right now, trying to kill us?”

  “It appears the goddess had caught a whiff of Iona’s magic on you. She hunted down the sorceress, who has about as much courage and fortitude as an earthworm, and forced Iona to betray us. Lucky for us, Griffin was still nearby. He said that he became aware of the goddess’ approach and hurried back to help you.”

  “Me. Not all of you, as well?”

  “From what the angel told me, his powers are to be used only to help mortals. While he can choose to help others, like bringing me here, it is at a great cost to him. You saw how weary he was. He doubted that he can make another trip.”

  “So, how are we going to get home, then? Back to Colorado?”

  “One step at a time. Let us first survive this adventure.”

  “How did we end up here, anyway?”

  “Although we could not stop the Scáthach from commanding her Shadow to capture you, Mac Roth and Kel O’Shea were able to keep her occupied long enough for me to direct Griffin to bring you here.”

  “Why here?”

  “Because it is the very last place the Scáthach would think you would flee to, since it is near to her isle.”

  “Do you mean that island?” Finn pointed over his shoulder to the piece of land just off the shore.

  “Aye. It’s known by the local people as the Scáthach’s Ring.”

  Finn frowned. “The Scáthach’s Ring?”

  Gideon paused and pointed back to the pillars of stones on the island’s top. Finn squinted, the wind still making his eyes tear. He noticed that the pillars were indeed arranged in a circle.

  “She lives there? Kind of drafty.”

  “There is more to that Ring than can be seen with the naked eye. And within that circle is something that just might help us end all of this. That is why I asked Griffin to bring you and me here.”

  “What? How?”

  “I’ll explain in full once we’re a bit more hidden and out of this storm.” Gideon continued hiking uphill.

  “Where are we going?”

  “A place where we will be safe and dry.” The Knight’s stride increased.

  Stumbling along beside his master with his head bowed, Finn concentrated on not tripping over rocks in the darkening night. In spite of his training, he was panting by the time they reached the top of the hill. Without a word, Gideon strode down the other side. Finn followed, slipping now and again on the wet grass.

  Able to breathe, Finn asked, “You said there was something inside the Scáthach’s Ring that would help us?”

  “Aye. Something Mac Roth believes can aid us, albeit in a rather roundabout way. The Burnt Bones.”

  “You mentioned them before. What are they? Where are they?”

  “Within the Ring, under a dolmen, lie the burnt bones of an ancient druid, who was reported to be so powerful he could bend time and alter events. After his death, they discovered that even his bones were imbued with that same ability. Legend has it that a person’s wish can be granted when he or she holds the bones and speaks his or her heart’s desire.”

  “Like, any wish?”

  “According to the legend, yes, any wish at all. But each person is allocated only that one wish. Use it foolishly, and there is no second chance.”

  “So, what you’re saying is all we have to do is get over to the island, sneak inside the Ring, grab the bones, wish away the Scáthach’s obsession with wanting to train me, and bam, we’re good to go?”

  “In a manner of speaking, yes.”

  “How?”

  “I do not know. Yet.”

  They hiked downhill through a fretful rain that couldn’t make up its mind whether to soak them or not. At the bottom, Finn was grateful to spot a tiny stone cottage tucked at the base of a rocky cliff in a secluded valley. A faint trace of a narrow track wound along the valley floor from the cottage before disappearing into the mist. Gideon paused, staring at the cottage as if trying to see through its walls. Something in the set of his jaw made Finn’s stomach tighten.

  “What’s wrong?” He tightened his fingers around his weapon. Ignoring the question, his master continued down the hillside.

  The cottage looked more weather-beaten the closer they got. Finn could see where stones had fallen out of the wall closest to them. The thatched roof was missing a few chunks. As they drew nearer, he noticed that the grass was thick and uncut right up to the threshold. The single window was a black square and the wooden door sagged half-open on its hinges. He faded back at his master’s silent signal.

  Gideon scanned the area, head up and cocked to one side. It always reminded Finn of a wolf on the hunt when his master did that. He tried to do the same, mouth open slightly to hear better. All he could hear was the patter of rain on the thatch, the hiss of the wind as it whispered over the turf, and the rattle of the dried leaves of a nearby scraggly bush—a bush Finn recognized as a sláinte nettle hedge.

  He held his breath when Gideon pulled out his moonstone. Almost instantly, a pale gleam swelled out from between the Knight’s fingers. Easing forward, Gideon ducked under the low beam and stepped inside.

  Knife at the ready and his eyes scanning the area, Finn waited until he got the all-clear from his master, then joined him inside, grateful to be out of the wet. About the size of their home in Colorado—sans the upper level—the cottage was empty except for a fireplace at one end and a pile of straw, surprisingly fresh, piled on the other side. The smell of sheep dung pinched Finn’s nostrils.

  “It appears some locals have used this place to shelter their sheep recently.” Gideon shone his light upon the haystack, then poked it with the toe of his boot. “Clean enough, however. Spread some of this about while I go fetch fuel for a fire.”

  Shivering from damp clothes and the cooling temperature, Finn made a thick pallet for each of them in front of the fireplace. Gideon re-appeared, carrying an armload of what looked like oversized bricks.

  “What’s that?”

  “Peat. It’s a mass of partially decomposed plants that are cut out of the land, dried, and used as fuel for fires. Someone left a small stack just outside.”

  Within ten minutes, Finn was sitting on a mound of straw in front of the tiny fire his master had started, its smoke drifting up and out the chimney. The warmth of the flame made Finn realize how hungry he was, but the smell of peat smoke made him wrinkle his nose. Nearby, Gideon stood in the open doorway, gazing out at the falling rain.

  “Does anyone live nearby? Won’t they see the smoke and come investigate?”

  “Doubtful, as this storm will hide it, and peat fires give off little smoke. And, in any case, this part of the Burren is sparsely populated except for a rare hiker or herdsman driving his sheep to better pasture, although there is a small coastal village a few miles north along the road. These rocky hills have little soil or vegetation, and water is scarce unless you know where to look for it. ’Tis difficult to raise sheep. Goats tend to fare better.”

  Finn nodded absently, trying to recall where he had heard the word “Burren” before. He watched as Gideon reached up and patted the lintel over his head, as if patting the shoulder of an old friend.

  Realization thumped him on the head. “This is your old home, isn’t it?”

  A long silence. Then a slight movement. “’Tis.”

  Not sure what to do or say, Finn stared up at his master, a dark form in the dimly lit room. I wonder i
f he’s thinking about his son, Finn thought, knowing his master had buried his son nearby after Kean was killed by an Amandán. A killing that Gideon still believed was orchestrated by Iona, despite her claims to the contrary. Or maybe he’s thinking about his wife. Finn remembered when Gideon had first told him about his dead family, and that his wife had died after giving birth to young Kean.

  “Well, I have to say, it has stood the test of time. It has been over a century since I stood here last.” Gideon sighed. “I never thought I would again.”

  “I’m sorry.” Finn didn’t know if he was apologizing for being the cause of Gideon’s return, or if he was sorry about Gideon’s family.

  The Knight turned. Even in the gloom, Finn could make out a look of surprise. “Why, there is nothing to be sorry about. Glad I am, more glad than I would have thought, to be here again. I only wish I could be sharing your first visit to our people’s homeland under different circumstances.”

  “You mean different circumstances other than a goddess wanting to imprison me on her island for the next twelve years?” Finn forced a grin. “Why, that just adds some excitement to the whole thing.”

  Gideon chuckled, then walked over and took a seat next to him. “Bravely spoken, Finnegan MacCullen.” He squeezed Finn’s shoulder briefly, and stretched his fingers toward the flames. “So. To find a way to gain the isle, then get you inside the Ring whilst the Scáthach is busy elsewhere.” The Knight ran his knuckles along his jaw as he gazed into the fire.

  “Wait a minute. You said get me inside the Ring.”

  “You’re the one who needs to make the wish.”

  “What are you going to be…” Finn’s voice faded as the realization stole over him. “You’re going to distract her, aren’t you?”

  “Aye.”

  “No! She can kill you. She’s a goddess, remember?”

  Gideon shrugged. “A goddess with a lowercase g, as I recall a certain apprentice telling me. And, in any case, all I need to do is keep her distracted long enough for you to cast your wish. Once you have done that, the Scáthach will have no reason to fight me or keep you.”

  “What if I can’t get to the bones in time?”

  “I have faith that you will.”

  Well, I don’t, Finn thought. “This plan stinks worse than that peat.”

  “Do you wish to offer up a different one?”

  “I could stay with her and finish—”

  “No.”

  “—my apprenticeship.”

  “No.”

  “She would have to leave you alone if I—”

  “No.”

  “—did that.”

  “Still no.”

  In spite of everything, Finn laughed. “You’re more stubborn than I am.”

  A corner of Gideon’s mouth twitched. “Highly unlikely.”

  Gideon lay awake, staring into the gray light of early dawn. The boy’s deep breathing from the straw next to him told him his apprentice was out like the flames in the fireplace. Turning his head, he glanced over at the still smoldering coals, then rose as silently as he could.

  Slipping out the door, he headed eastward toward a nearby outcropping of limestone rocks halfway up the east side of the valley wall. Even in the gloom and fog, he walked unerringly, his feet remembering every stone and dip.

  Reaching the outcropping, he paused and took a deep breath and braced himself for the pain. Then, he stepped around the boulders.

  There, in a small clearing surrounded by enormous blocks crafted from nature, lay a pair of burial cairns. Moss and lichen had colored the piles of small rocks, creating a quilt-like pattern on each of them.

  Walking closer, he took a knee between them and laid a hand on each one. He knelt in silence for a few minutes, then rose and scrubbed his face with an almost savage gesture as he remembered telling Finn about his family.

  Years upon years ago, I met and married the loveliest of maidens. But fate dinna grant me the happiness of many years. Just three. She died giving birth to our son. For eighteen years, ‘twas just the two of us. Kean and meself. Until the day he was killed on a hunt. Using the wrong weapon because he listened to the wrong person.”

  “Was it Iona?” Finn had asked in a quiet voice.

  “It was. At least, I have my suspicions she was involved. Although she has sworn many a time that she had nothing to do with…with Kean’s death.”

  “Do you miss him?” Finn had whispered.

  “Aye, I do. I always will.” He had locked gazes with Finn. “But recently, I’ve come to realize I miss him a wee bit less.”

  “Why?”

  Gideon had let the smile reach his eyes. “Why do you think?”

  The memory eased his heart. With a sigh, he turned and walked away.

  Fourteen

  Finn woke with a crick in his neck from sleeping curled up in a ball to stay warm. With a groan, he sat up. The other mound of straw was empty. A gray light filled the door and window. Rising to his feet, he raked the straw from his hair as he stepped outside. Mist hung heavy over the valley, filling it like a bowl of soft mashed potatoes.

  Finn’s stomach grumbled. I wonder how we’re going to get food. A faint trickling sound caught his ear. Following it, he walked around to the back of the house, passing the stack of peat on the way.

  Water splashed its way down the cliff face behind the cottage before winding its way along the valley floor on its way to the sea. Finn walked over to where the water pooled at the foot of the cliff, and drank from the pouring torrent. The water was cold and fresh and tasted a little like minerals. He drank enough to distract his stomach, then splashed his face and hands, hissing from the bite of the cold water. Combing wet fingers through his hair, he turned around at a familiar whistle. “Over here,” he called.

  Gideon came striding out of the mist. Spotting Finn, he joined him, taking a few moments to wash his own face and hands. “We’re going to hike to the nearby village to see if we can find someone to row us over to the island, and to purchase whatever supplies we can afford.”

  “Are we going cross-country?” Finn eyed the rugged hills and the damp ground, trying not to make a face. “Wouldn’t it be easier to walk along the road? Maybe catch a ride?”

  “Aye, it would. But I’d rather keep out of sight of that isle.”

  “Good point.”

  Skirting the cliff, they headed east, then north, paralleling the road, but staying out of sight of the coast. Their clothes, which had never really dried out last night, were even damper from the fog.

  Finn could hear the sound of the village before he could see it. Low growls of car engines. Doors closing. A voice calling a greeting. As they hiked, the mist thinned enough so he could make out a scattering of buildings and houses lining either side of the road. On the seaward side of the village, a series of low piers jutted out into the water. Small fishing boats bobbed alongside the jetties. Gulls circled overhead, screeching complaints to each other as they hunted for a snack. A few vehicles drove up and down the road, their headlights like oversized moonstones in the fog.

  Reaching the road less than a quarter of a mile from the village limits, Finn and Gideon walked along the shoulder. Finn glanced back at the island. All he could see was a dark blob in the mist.

  They walked into the village. A few people, hurrying along, eyed them suspiciously. Finn nodded a greeting at an older woman, who looked away.

  “What’s everyone’s problem?” Finn asked.

  “Two strangers walking into town this early in the morning will make the locals wary.” He leaned closer to Finn. “For now, we are father and son who are hiking the Burren and came into town for additional supplies.”

  “Speaking of supplies, won’t we need money?”

  “I’ve a few dollars. And we may be able to exchange work for food.”

  Reaching the center of the village, Gideon paused and looked around. “This has grown since I was here last.” He continued to look around, studying the buildings in the mi
st. “We need to find a bank that is open on a Saturday.”

  “Why?”

  “Exchange our currency. Ah. There is one opening now.” He pointed to a brick building a few doors down.

  After changing their money, they stepped outside. A pair of older teen girls hurried past carrying takeout coffee. They eyed the master and apprentice, but offered no greeting.

  “I wonder where they got those drinks,” Finn said. He peered up the road in the direction the girls had come. A row of shops lined the street. One shop seemed to be doing a brisk business, for its door kept opening and closing. Even as Finn studied it, another person stepped out, carrying a white paper bag.

  “There. That looks like a bakery.” He nudged Gideon, then pointed along the street.

  Gideon grunted in approval. “We probably have enough for a hot drink and a roll or two.”

  Leading the way, Finn stepped inside the bakery. The aroma of cinnamon and brewing coffee, and the low buzz of conversation, enveloped him. At one end of the bakery, booths lined both walls. Most were filled with people. The other end was taken up with a counter with half a dozen stools in front of it. Next to the counter, a large display case was filled with pastries. Grateful for the warmth, Finn unzipped his jacket.

  The conversation, which had been humming along, faded as Gideon stepped in behind him. In the booth facing the door sat an older man hunched over a steaming mug, his face weather-beaten by sun and sea and years. He started to take a sip, then froze, eyes fixed on them. Must not be used to seeing strangers in town, Finn thought.

  “A fine morning,” Gideon said to the room in general. One or two nodded in response, but the rest simply stared at them.

  Master and apprentice approached the counter. A woman, clearly the owner by the way she briskly ordered a younger worker to bring more rolls from the kitchen, wiped her hands on her apron.

  “Fáilte.” Her smile was cautious as she glanced from Gideon to Finn, then back to Gideon. “And what may I get ye two?”

  “Son?” Gideon nudged Finn over to the case. “Choose a treat for yerself. Nothing too dear, mind ye.” He took a seat at the counter, opening his jacket in the warmth of the bakery.