Finn's Choice

by Darby Karchut

  Finn fought back a smile at the use of “son” and his master’s thickened accent. After making his selection, he joined his master. “A cinnamon roll, please,” he said, hoping his own accent would pass.

  “And two teas would be lovely.” Gideon smiled up at the woman, doing something with his eyes and face and the set of his shoulders that caused the woman to blush and smile back. She bustled about and returned with their drinks and the roll for Finn. She paused and looked at Gideon.

  “Nothing for ye, then?”

  “Me son and I will share the pastry.” Gideon indicated for Finn to start eating, then took a sip of tea. He sighed in appreciation. “Why, there is no greater delight than a warm cuppa after camping out for several nights.” At the woman’s glance at their sodden clothes and Gideon’s worn canvas jacket, he added, “We’re on a walking tour of the Burren, the lad and meself.”

  “A bit nippy last night, was it?” The woman nodded a farewell to a trio of workmen, who made their way out the door with a “see ye tomorrow, Aileen.”

  “Aye. But yer smile and the tea are both a welcomed warmth.”

  Aileen blushed again. As she turned to ring up another customer, Finn leaned over to his master.

  “You’re flirting with her,” he said in a low tone.

  “I am. So watch and learn, boyo.” Gideon raised his voice. “No, son. I want ye to eat all of that. I’ll not have me child go hungry.”

  Finn choked on his tea, trying not to laugh. He looked down and focused on his plate. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched as the woman studied Gideon, a frown on her face. Then, she stepped over to the case and pulled out a loaf of brown bread and cut off several thick slabs. She placed the plate and a bowl of creamy butter in front of Gideon.

  “On the house.”

  “Oh, no, miss, I couldn’t.”

  “Go on with ye. ’Tis only a few slices of bread.”

  “Ye are the very soul of generosity.” He slathered a slice with butter and took a bite, chewing appreciatively. After swallowing, he spoke. “Now, how can a lass so young be so skilled in the fine art of baking? Could it be ye have a wee bit o’ magic in yer hands?” He took another bite.

  “Ye’re full of blarney, ye know that?” Even as she spoke, Aileen slid a jar of blackberry jam over to Gideon as well. She started to speak, but her helper called from the kitchen. With a huff of frustration, she disappeared through the swinging doors.

  Finn stared at his master. “That was brilliant.”

  Gideon nodded gleefully, still chewing.

  Aileen returned. She chatted with them between dealing with the breakfast rush. Soon, the shop was empty, except for the old man. Gideon asked her if she knew of any fisherman who would be willing to take him and Finn to the isle just offshore to the south.

  “You mean the Scáthach’s Ring?”

  “Is that what the isle is called?”

  “It is, but you’ll find nary a soul who will take you there. The fishermen all declare that the currents around the island are uncanny. Me da once sailed close once as a young man, and he said the waves slapped him about something fierce.” She frowned. “Why would ye even want to go out to that godforsaken rock? ’Tis nothing but an empty spot of land.”

  “We want to look at that circle of stone,” Finn said.

  Aileen leaned closer as she wiped the already-spotless counter with a hand towel. “They say the Ring is haunted. People have claimed to see dark shapes moving within the Ring and ofttimes, a black fog hangs about it.” She shuddered and crossed herself. “Ye best stay away from it.”

  “But they wish to visit the goddess, Aileen.”

  The old man’s mocking voice pulled Finn’s head around.

  Gideon turned as well. “Sorry? A goddess, did ye say?”

  The man’s face was lined by age and weather, but his gray eyes were sharp as flint as they studied the master and apprentice. “I might be willing to ferry ye and the boyo out to the isle.”

  “What kind of foolish talk is that, Sean Murphy?” The woman flicked her towel at the man. “Yer old tub wouldn’t make it—”

  “How much?” Gideon interrupted the woman.

  “When do ye wish to go?”

  “As soon as possible.”

  “Monday morning, then. We’ve missed the tide this morning already.”

  “Why not tomorrow?” Finn blurted out before he could remember to keep silent.

  “Me wife does not hold with working on a Sunday.” He pointed a finger at them. “But how are ye going to pay me when ye cannot even afford to break yer fast?”

  “A day’s labor?” Gideon offered. He clapped a hand on Finn’s shoulder. “Two sturdy workers in exchange for a ride there and back?”

  Sean Murphy leaned back, his thick fingers cupping the mug. He drained the cup, then gave a curt nod. “Well, I did come into town this morning seeking a lad or two who wished to earn some pocket money. Right. Come along, then.”

  Thanking Aileen once again, Gideon and Finn followed the man outside. The day, while brighter, was still wishy-washy with a stubborn fog that refused to lift. Sean Murphy buttoned his coat around him, then pulled out a woolen cap from his pocket and tugged it down over his white hair. “I hope ye don’t mind a bit of a walk.”

  “We do not.”

  They followed the old man along the sidewalk. More people were bustling about. A bell rang, calling the faithful to morning Mass. Finn wondered where the school children were, but then recalled it was Saturday.

  The buildings grew further apart and the fields became more numerous as they made their way back south along the shoulder of the main road. Finn kept his eyes locked on the Scáthach’s island, willing the fog to keep them hidden a little while longer.

  After a mile, Sean Murphy turned east onto a narrow graveled lane just wide enough for a single vehicle. Hedges grew thick on either side. The lane curved, revealing a small house with a shed off to one side. Several large trees stood sentinel nearby.

  Neat and well cared for, the house, just big enough to avoid the label “cottage,” sat on the edge of a large, barren field of dirt. A half-finished stone wall ran three-quarters of the way around the perimeter. On closer inspection, Finn noticed that the field was littered with rocks, as if someone had sown limestone in the spring and was now ready to harvest a crop.

  Sean Murphy waved a hand at the field. “Do ye know how to build a dry stack wall, Mr…?”

  “Lir. And I do.”

  “Good. Then there be yer building material.” He pointed at the rocks in the field. “Ye can finish the wall for me in exchange for a ride to the island and back. I’ll be inside if ye have any questions.”

  Finn groaned silently. Even Gideon looked none too pleased, but he gave a nod. “A fair trade.” Finn wondered if the old man caught the sarcasm.

  For the rest of the morning, Finn hauled rocks from the field to its edge, chanting the Song under his breath. Meanwhile, his master stacked, and in some cases, re-stacked, the stones, building the wall rock by rock.

  By noon, the sun had finally won its battle with the mist. Blue sky gleamed overhead, marred only a few wispy clouds. Their jackets had been long discarded and were draped on the branch of one of the trees.

  They were placing the final stones when a side door to the cottage creaked open. Wiping the sweat from his face, Finn looked over. Sean Murphy stepped out.

  “We’ve a bit o’ late luncheon for ye,” he called. As Gideon and Finn headed toward the house, he pointed to an outdoor spigot. “Ye can wash up there. And clean yer boots. Me Mary keeps a tidy home.”

  After cleaning up and stomping mud from their boots, they stepped inside and found themselves in a large but cozy kitchen. A plump, elderly woman, her gray hair pulled back in a bun and a bibbed apron covering her sensible dress, stood at the stove stirring something that made Finn’s stomach groan with happy anticipation.

  “Fáilte,” she greeted them over her shoulder. “I hope ye’ve worked up an appe
tite.” She turned, a welcoming smile on her wrinkled face. Wiping her hands on her apron, she started to speak, then froze, her mouth an O.

  “Me wife, Mary.” Sean made the introductions. “Love, this is Mr. Lir and his son, whose name I dinna catch.”

  “Gideon Lir.” The Knight inclined his head. “’Tis a pleasure to meet you, madam.” He gestured at Finn. “Finnegan.”

  “Ma’am.” Finn nodded once, deciding to keep his conversation to as few words as possible, in case his accent aroused suspicion.

  He shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot when he noticed Mary Murphy staring at his neck. Her brown eyes flitted over to Gideon’s as well.

  She’s looking at our torcs, Finn thought. Does she know about the Tuatha De Danaan? His stomach rumbled again.

  At the sound, she seemed to recall her manners. Her smile returning, Mary Murphy waved them over to a farmhouse table taking up the center of the room, already set for four. “Join us, will ye? Sean, the bread from the oven, please.”

  Soon, the four of them were seated around the table. A lamb stew with dollops of mashed potatoes, slabs of brown bread, wedges of creamy cheese, and slices of baked apples dusted with sugar and cinnamon made Finn almost weep with joy.

  “So, Gideon Lir. Where do ye call home?”

  To Finn’s surprise, his master answered, “America now, although I come from…from Galway. I’ve brought young Finn here for a visit to our people’s homeland.”

  “I thought as much.” Sean pointed a spoon at Finn. “The lad speaks like a Yank.”

  Well, so much for my Irish accent, Finn thought. He scraped his bowl for the last spoonful. Remembering to swallow before speaking, he looked across the table at the woman. “This is really good stew, Mrs. Murphy.”

  “I’m happy to see a boy eating,” she said absently, her gaze flickering from his torc to his eyes. “America, did ye say?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Doubt colored her face. She started to speak, then shook her head, as if trying to make up her mind. To Finn’s relief, she asked him if he wished for more stew. After eating two more helpings, and pocketing some cheese and bread wrapped in plastic, Gideon and Finn rose.

  “Thank you for the meal, madam. Sean Murphy, where and when would ye have us meet?”

  “Monday morning. Sunrise at the southernmost dock. And mind ye, I’ll not stay more than an hour at the most. So whatever business ye have there, ye best make it quick.” He leaned forward. “After that, the tides become unpredictable around the shoals and I will leave ye.”

  Fifteen

  After buying a few supplies, mostly snacks that needed neither refrigeration nor cooking, Gideon and Finn trudged back along the road. As soon as they could, they left the macadam and started up the hill. Panting from the climb, Finn paused at the crest and looked westward toward the ocean. The lowering sun brushed the tips of the waves and turned them a seashell pink.

  “Looks like she’s back on her island.” The Scáthach’s Shadow was a black roof on top of the circle; black tendrils wrapped inky arms around the pillars.

  Beside him, Gideon shaded his eyes against the setting sun. “Aye, she is.”

  “Why do I feel like we’re outnumbered, even when it is two against one?”

  His master didn’t answer. Instead, they started down the far side of the hill, Finn grateful to put the slope between himself and the goddess. The tops of the hills around them were bathed in a golden light.

  Halfway down the slope, his master slowed, eyes fixed on the turf. He stopped and pointed. “Someone has walked here quite recently. And, no, those are not our prints.” He pulled his knife from its sheath.

  Copying his master, Finn did the same as he squinted in the deepening darkness. Foot-shaped indentations in the grass marked were someone—or several someones—had made the trip over the hill just like they had. His eyes followed the tracks, which led down to the valley floor toward one of the many large outcroppings. “Maybe it’s just some other hikers. Or a herder?” he whispered.

  “Possibly.”

  Moving with a hunter’s care, Gideon led the way down, using the various scattered boulders as cover. Reaching the valley floor, they slowed and crept closer to the outcropping, the turf muffling their footfalls. Finn switched hands long enough to wipe his sweaty palm. His heart thundered so loud, he was sure that whoever or whatever was behind the rock could hear it. He jumped when a deep voice suddenly growled from behind one of the boulders.

  “You must be getting dotty, Gideon Lir, if you think you can sneak up on me.” A large form stepped around the rock’s shoulder. “And is that any way to greet an auld friend who has flown across the bleedin’ Atlantic to save yer miserable self?”

  The sight of Mac Roth, his red hair and beard beaded with moisture, an enormous pack on his back and his hatchet in one hand, made Finn grin. But it was the sight of Kel O’Shea right behind him, carrying her bow and quiver in one hand, followed by Lochlan and Tara, that made his whole body sing. All of them toted bulging packs of various sizes.

  “I’ll bet he’s just cranky because he hasn’t had supper yet.” Kel O’Shea smiled as she walked over and took Gideon’s hand in hers. “You two okay?”

  “Outside of a damp night and a long day of manual labor, we’re fine. How did you get here?” He let go, then clasped Mac Roth’s forearm.

  “How do you think?” Kel O’Shea pointed upward.

  “Our angelic friend?” Gideon guessed.

  She smoothed a strand of hair from her face. “Sort of. Actually, his master—Basil, is it?—and some older angels. They weren’t too keen on the idea. Griffin told me before we left that he had spent half the night trying to persuade them. Whatever he said must have worked, because here we are.”

  “Once we arrived in these hills, I knew you and Finn would make for your old home,” Mac Roth added. He raised his eyebrows in expectation. “Have you a plan?”

  “The beginning of one. Come inside and I’ll explain.”

  Letting the Knights go ahead, Finn and Lochlan bumped fists, then lightly punched each other’s shoulders. He turned to the other apprentice.

  “Hey, Tara.” He glanced at her throat.

  “Hey, yourself.” She flashed him a crooked grin. “And, yeah. I got it.” She unzipped her jacket a few inches and lifted her chin. The rays of the setting sun danced along the gold torc in jubilation. “Kel put it on me this morning.”

  “Can’t believe you’re not dead, Finn,” Lochlan said, clearly trying to change the subject. “Or locked up in the Scáthach’s dungeon. If she has one. From what I could see from the top of the hill, it doesn’t look like she has one, though.”

  “I owe Griffin for that.”

  “What do you mean?” Tara hoisted her pack higher, holding her strung bow and a quiver of arrows in one hand.

  Finn started to offer to carry it for her, then stopped himself in time after glancing at her bow. Instead, he fell in between them as they followed the Knights to the cottage. As they walked, he filled them in on what had happened since he’d arrived.

  “So we have to wait until Monday to get over there?” Lochlan shook his head. “More time for her to discover we’re in the neighborhood.”

  “But it will give us more time to plan how we’re going to help Finn get to those bones. And anyway, what’s the rush to get back to Colorado, O’Neill? This is Ireland!” Tara looked around. “I’m so stoked to be here. Well, I mean,” she quickly amended, “except for the whole goddess wanting to steal Finn and all that. That part’s not so good.”

  “Remember Rafe and Savannah? And their folks?” Lochlan snapped. “Amandán wanting to eat them?”

  Tara waved her hand in dismissal. “The Steels are out of town, doofus. Kel told me San Diego is a goblin-free zone. And even if they return before we do, Griffin and his friends have got it covered. Oh, wait.” She stopped, her eyes wide with mock realization. “Could it be that you’re scared, O’Neill?”

  Lochlan sla
mmed to a halt. Even in the growing dusk, Finn could see the flush of color darken his friend’s face. “You know, you might try thinking of others instead of just yourself, Butler,” he snapped. “People might like you better. No. Wait. Might like you at all.”

  Hurt flitted across Tara’s face. Her lips tightened.

  Suddenly, Finn was done with it. Done with the constant battling. Done with having to first defend one friend, than the other. Back and forth, until he wanted to explode.

  Then, he did. “Shut up! Both of you!” He could feel the warp spasm simmering deep inside of him. “I’m sick of it. Sick and tired of you two sniping at each other.” Chest heaving and face hot with frustration, he glared at them. “For the love of Danu, can you just give it a rest? Because I really need you guys on my side right now and not…” For some reason, Finn’s throat tightened. He clenched his jaw.

  “Um…” Lochlan blinked in surprise. He glanced at Tara, then back at Finn. “I didn’t really mean anything by it. Tara?” He turned toward the girl. “Most of it was just…you know. Joking around.”

  “Yeah. Me too,” Tara said in a quiet voice, staring wide-eyed at Finn. She studied Lochlan, hesitated for a moment, then stuck out her hand. “Truce?”

  To Finn’s astonishment, Lochlan clasped her forearm in the ancient manner. “Truce.” He let go and cleared his throat. “Listen. I never really said congratulations for you earning your torc. So, you know, congratulations. That was a wicked sweet move. And, yeah, you saved my butt with it.”

  Tara shrugged. “I think I was just lucky.” A faint smile. “But thanks.” Her smile grew. “And now, all three of us have our torcs.”

  Relieved, Finn let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. “That goddess doesn’t know what’s coming for her.” On impulse, he pulled his knife free and raised it in the air. Lochlan followed, then Tara, her bow and arrows in her free hand. With a ringing clash, they brought the tips of their blades together. Once. Twice. A third time. Sparks flew from the bronze blades.