“Faugh a ballagh!” They cried in unison.
Their shout brought Mac Roth to the door. “Enough of that foolishness! Do you wish all of County Clare to know the Tuatha De Danaan have returned? Inside with you.”
Finn followed the other apprentices through the doorway. The scent of peat moss greeted him; in the hearth, a fire cracked and snapped. Nearby, Kel O’Shea and Gideon spoke together as they emptied the packs. They had sleeping bags for everyone, and dry clothing for Finn and Gideon—including wool caps and gloves—and even a few cooking utensils and packets of freeze-dried foods and other non-perishables. Meanwhile, Mac Roth hung a small pot of water over the flames.
Ten minutes later, they were sitting in a semi-circle in front of the hearth on sleeping bags padded with straw and sipping scalding tea from tin mugs. Finn cradled the mug, grateful for the warmth.
Kel O’Shea passed out granola bars and beef jerky. “Sorry about the limited choice of food. We grabbed whatever we had on hand.” Taking a sip of tea, she looked around the cottage. “Cozy place. A bit battered, but still sturdy for its age.” She cut her eyes at Gideon. “Of course, I could say the same thing about you.” Mac Roth roared while Gideon raised an eyebrow. “Sorry, not sorry. Couldn’t resist. Okay, so what’s the plan?” she said, back to business.
After Gideon finished explaining about Sean Murphy, he added, “Once on the island, we’ll create a diversion and engage the Scáthach in battle long enough for Finn to find the Burnt Bones and use them.”
“I don’t think that’s going to work, Gideon,” Kel O’Shea said. “Mac Roth and I just went toe-to-toe with her after you and Griffin managed to hide Finn from her. She’ll be über-suspicious if we all show up suddenly and starting waving our weapons at her. She’ll know we’re up to something.” She cocked her head. “This calls for stealth and guile, not a frontal assault.”
“Your suggestion, then?”
“I haven’t thought of it. Yet.” She leaned back on one elbow and crossed her legs at the ankle. “Luckily, we’ve got a little time.”
“How do the bones work?” Finn asked. He looked at Mac Roth. “I mean, do you have to be touching them for the magic to work?”
“Do you have to say your wish aloud,” Lochlan added, “or can you just think it?”
“And what if there is more than one person?” Tara piped up. “Once the first person is done, can they just hand the bones over to the next person in line?”
“One at a time.” Mac Roth poured more tea and settled himself more comfortably on his sleeping bag. “Now, to answer your questions: Yes, aloud, and only once between the rising and setting of the sun.”
Finn frowned. “Why only once a day?”
“’Tis old magic. And old magic acquires most of its power from the earth and sea and sky, and the changing seasons,” Mac Roth said. “Like nature, there is an ebb and flow to that power.” He paused and took a sip of tea, then continued. “Now, the Burnt Bones, which are the remains of the powerful druid, Darach, are sheltered under a dolmen in the center of the Scáthach’s Ring. This you all know.”
“Darach,” Lochlan interrupted. He scrunched up his face. “Doesn’t darach mean ‘oak’ in Gaelic?”
“It does. And, so, my fine scholar, why do you think he took that name?” Mac Roth waited, a look of expectation on his face.
“Oh, I know!” Tara sat up straight. “At least, I think I do. To the druids, the oak is the tree associated with knowledge and learning, right?”
“Right you are, young Butler.”
Kel O’Shea elbowed Gideon, then pointed her chin at Tara. “Taught her everything she knows.”
Wanting to get the conversation back on track—not like it’s the rest of my entire life at stake here—Finn spoke. “Darach was the druid who could stop time and change things around, right?”
“Aye, that’s right. Shortly before his death, and not wanting his magic to disappear from this world, he ordered his followers to burn his body down to the bones. He made them promise to protect the bones. They faithfully did so, and for centuries upon centuries, those bones have lain in the safest place they knew. The legend has slowly faded away, until only a few know of it.”
“Now, we must find a way to get Finn to those bones.” Gideon frowned. He started to speak, then stopped when Lochlan suddenly yawned.
“But not tonight.” Kel O’Shea pointed to the corner near the hearth. “You three. Bed down over there.”
In spite of everything, his sleeping bag called to Finn. He burrowed inside of it, then, feeling warm and dry for the first time since yesterday, he laced his fingers together and stared up at the thatched ceiling. Hope vied with fear. They risked their lives coming here. I’ve got to be careful. I can’t let anyone get hurt because of me. He glanced over at Lochlan half-buried in his bag; the top of his head was a pale blur in the firelight. Still, I’m really glad they came. I hope I do the same for them if they ever need me.
Sixteen
Monday morning came too soon for Finn. They had spent most of Sunday coming up with a plan to get Finn to the bones while the others distracted the goddess. A stroll into the village for a hot meal—fish and chips that almost caused Mac Roth and Gideon to break into song. Or maybe it was the beer—at one of the local pubs… It had helped fill the hours that seemed to both crawl and race along.
Finn stretched, then raised himself to his elbows. Next to him, Tara was already sitting up, combing her fingers through her hair. Lochlan was still a motionless lump in his bag. Finn looked around.
Gideon knelt by the hearth, blowing on the coals left over from yesterday’s fire. Nearby, Kel O’Shea was sharpening her knife. Mac Roth was gone.
“Where’s Mac Roth?” Finn asked.
Braiding her hair, Tara shrugged. “I don’t know.”
At that moment, the door creaked open. Mac Roth. He paused, shaking water from his hair and beard, then stepped inside. Joining Gideon by the hearth, he squatted down and held his hands out to the growing warmth.
“Up early,” Gideon said, a question in his voice.
“I wanted to speak a few words to her before we left. In case there was no time later.”
Gideon nodded, his eyes locked on the flames. “She would have liked to hear yer voice. Ye were always a dear friend to her.”
“Aye.” Mac Roth sighed. “A dear friend.”
Something in his tone made Finn become suddenly interested in the zipper on his sleeping bag.
After a meager breakfast of rolls and tea, they put out the flames, loaded up their packs, and stored them neatly in a corner of the cottage. Kel O’Shea and Tara, after a brief argument, left their bows with the rest of the gear.
“Too hard to explain to Sean Murphy why we’re packing heat,” Kel said, sliding her knife into its sheath, then tugging her jacket over it.
“With luck, we’ll be back here before noon to collect our things,” Mac Roth said, “and with no more worry than determining how we’re going to return to America.”
“How are we getting home?” Finn asked his master.
“I’ve no idea.” Gideon raised an eyebrow at the other Knights. “Can we expect any help from our angelic friends?”
Kel O’Shea shrugged. “They were still debating that when they dropped us off.”
“Ah, well. One river at a time.” Gideon pulled the door closed as tightly as he could, then led the way through the gray dawn that filled the valley. They made their way up the hill in silence, the exertion warming them as they climbed. Reaching the crest, they paused to catch their breath.
Finn glanced eastward. Above the hills, the sky was one shade of gray lighter than the clouds overhead. To the west, more rolled in from the Atlantic, heavy and weary from their journey across the ocean. They sagged, obscuring the coast and the Scáthach’s island from view.
Trudging downhill along with the others, Finn kept thinking back to what Mac Roth had said about the power of the bones. What if they really could alter time?
I could ask for my parents to come back. Or even Gideon’s wife and son. But, would that change my life now?
He drifted back until he was walking next to the red-headed Knight. “Mac Roth? Can I ask you something?”
“To be sure.”
“In private?”
Mac Roth slowed, letting the others walk ahead. Mist swirled between them and the rest of the group and beaded his beard with drops of silver. “You’ve a question about the bones, eh?” he said in a low tone.
“Well, yeah.”
“You wish to know if the bones could bring a person back from the Otherworld.”
Finn blinked. “How…how did you know?”
“I am a Knight and a master. I know everything.” He chuckled. “But to answer your question, aye. The magic of those bones is a right powerful magic. Great enough to even break death’s hold on a loved one. However, the question you should be asking is not if a deceased one could return, but rather if he or she should return.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, Finnegan MacCullen, that we Celts believe our fates are interwoven with the world around us. Much like a Celtic knot that twists and coils around in a pattern almost too complex to comprehend in whole. But, in the end, it brings us back to where we are supposed to be.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Life has a way of turning out how it was meant to. For good or for ill, you were meant to be Gideon Black Hand’s apprentice—this is your fate. For that is how we discovered you are the Spear, which saved a great many of our people. And mayhap will save even more in the future.”
“But if we can bring back dead people who shouldn’t be dead, like Gideon’s wife and son, shouldn’t we try to do that?”
Mac Roth shook his head. “No, we should not. For fate is a mighty river, and we are nothing more than twigs in the flood.”
Finn started to argue, then shrugged, still not certain he would back down from going nose to nose with fate. If he had to. He smiled weakly when the Knight clapped a hand on his shoulder and gave it a brief squeeze. The earlier exchange between Mac Roth and his master came back to him. “You knew Gideon’s family, didn’t you?”
“Oh, aye. And I would have taken young Kean as apprentice if I had not already had one.” He glanced back over his shoulder. Back to the cottage hidden behind the hill. “And Deidre was a cherished friend.”
Something in his voice made Finn peer more closely at Mac Roth. But he wasn’t going to ask. No way. But, to his surprise, the Knight nodded.
“Yes, I loved her. But she never knew. Her heart was given to a certain black-haired warrior,” he motioned with his hatchet to the tall figure below them, walking ahead with the others, “and so I stepped aside.”
“Does Gideon know?” For a split second, he thought about Savannah.
“No. And we’ll keep it that way, Finnegan MacCullen.” He shook his finger at Finn. “No sense piling more guilt on our fine Knight”
“I won’t tell him. I promise.”
The fog grew thicker the lower they climbed. Reaching the road, masters and apprentices hurried across the empty blacktop to the beach. Their feet sank down in the sand until they neared the water. There, smooth pebbles and packed sand formed a more solid footing while lazy waves rolled in and out, their hissing magnified by the mist.
Walking south along the beach to the jetty, Finn could see lights bobbing up and down. The rumble of engines and the stink of diesel fuel filled the air as the last of the fishermen headed out to sea. Only a lone boat was left by the time the six of them reached the pier.
Gideon paused at the end of the dock and motioned for the others to wait. “Finn. With me. The rest of you, come as called. Kel O’Shea. A bit o’ charm is needed, eh?”
“Got it.”
Clumping along the wooden dock in single file, Finn followed his master toward the remaining boat. A figure was bent over the end of the vessel near the engine.
“A fine morning to ye, Sean Murphy,” Gideon called out. The man turned.
“On time, then, Lir.” A wool cap pulled low over his white hair, Sean Murphy stepped closer to the gunwale and peered up at them. “This fog tells me we’re to have some stiff weather later, so we’ll need to move sprightly. If ye and yer son are ready, we’ll cast off—”
“A slight change of plans. Would ye be able to accommodate a few more? Some old friends we happened to meet up with last night?”
Sean Murphy’s white brows met together. “How many?”
“Only two adults and a pair of teens.” Gideon gave a sharp whistle. The thump of feet on wood.
Kel O’Shea appeared, with Tara in tow. Finn noticed that Sean Murphy’s expression softened when the female Knight beamed brightly at him.
“Good morning. I’m Kelly O’Shea. This is my appren…my daughter, Tara. My, what a handsome boat, Mr. Murphy. How long have you fished these waters?” Chatting away with the man, she hopped on board, followed by Tara. Gideon and Finn climbed down behind them. The boat rocked, banging against the wharf.
“Why, close to forty years, miss.”
“Forty years?” Kel O’Shea exclaimed. “Why, did you begin fishing while still in nappies?”
Murphy cackled and puffed out his chest. “My old da always said the sea will leave ye young, or the sea will leave ye cold, meaning…” The old man’s voice trailed off when Mac Roth appeared out of the fog, his mane and beard splashes of crimson in the gray light. Sean Murphy’s mouth sagged as he stared up at the giant of a man.
“An honor to meet ye, sirrah.” The red-headed Knight’s voice boomed like a breaker on a rocky cliff. “Gideon Lir spoke of yer and yer wife’s generosity to them. A true Irishman, I’ve oft said, is always willing to help a fellow countryman.” As he spoke, he herded Lochlan into the boat, then stepped down nimbly for a man of his size. He held out a hand to the older man. “Thank ye for ferrying us over to the island. The bairns are quite excited about this expedition.” He laid a hand on the stern line. “Shall I cast off for ye, then?”
For a moment, Finn was certain Sean Murphy was going to order them off his boat. Then the old man gave up and ordered Gideon to release the bow line. Making his way to the front of the boat, his master did just that, then coiled the rope neatly on deck. Sean Murphy stepped into the small cabin and took the wheel. With a rumble of the engine, he eased away from the dock and pointed the boat toward the island.
Taking seats wherever they could find a dry spot, or in Gideon’s case, taking a stand in the bow, they bounced and lurched over the waves. Finn felt his stomach protest the up and down and side to side motions. He glanced over at Lochlan and Tara. Their faces were oddly green; Tara had white spots on the corners of her mouth. Even Kel O’Shea seemed content to remain by the cabin, feet shoulder-width for balance, one hand holding the roof to keep from falling, and her eyes fixed firmly on the horizon.
Meanwhile, Mac Roth made his way forward along the boat’s length and joined Gideon. Heads bowed together, they spoke, their words lost in the wind and the roar of the engine.
After about twenty minutes, Finn saw the island come into view through the fog. Waves crashed and bashed on rocks. I wonder how we’re going to land. His question was answered when Sean Murphy motored around the island to the eastern shore.
There, protected somewhat from the prevailing south-southwestern winds, was a small cove with a narrow beach of sandy gravel. Low hills swelled up from the beach. A small stone jetty, weathered and half falling down, stabbed a rocky finger out into the bay. Sean Murphy edged his boat close to the jetty, then poked his head out the cabin.
“One hour,” he called to Gideon. “Then, I leave.”
“One hour.” With that, Gideon stepped onto the gunwale, balanced for a moment even as the boat pitched beneath his boots, then leaped from the boat to the quay. He turned and held out a hand to Kel O’Shea. “Allow me.”
“Yeah. Right.” She ignored his hand, waited for the right moment, then stepped nimb
ly from deck to jetty. She was followed by Mac Roth, who almost tumbled off the far side. A quick grab from Gideon saved him from falling headfirst into the water.
“Tara.” Gideon took the apprentice’s hand and helped her over. Finn and Lochlan both jumped.
They all turned and watched as Sean Murphy pulled away, puttered over to the most sheltered corner of the bay, and dropped anchor. With a wave, they made their way along the uneven surface of the jetty to the beach in a nonchalant manner, as if they were simply there for sightseeing.
As they left the beach, they picked up the pace as they started up the grassy slope of the hill. Outcroppings of rock were scattered about, the remains of building materials from when the ancients had created the Ring.
“Do you think she heard the boat’s motor?” Trying to match his stride, Finn walked alongside his master.
“I do not know. But, for now, let us hurry. Kel? Mac Roth? We best spread out. Finn and I will take the lead.” He sped up.
They climbed steadily. Once, Finn glanced back. The bay was lost in the fog. Rocks loomed up, made their appearances, then faded away. As they neared the Ring, moving from outcropping to outcropping on silent feet, he began to feel an odd humming or vibration along his skin. Or was it through the soles of his boots? Either way, he didn’t like it. Not one bit. He felt like turning around and running back to the beach. And maybe diving into the water and swimming for home.
It didn’t help when, upon reaching the summit, Gideon dropped down suddenly behind a rock. Finn did the same, then peered around the boulder. A breath of wind sent the fog swirling. It parted like a curtain. Finn gasped.
Crowning the top of the island mound stood the Ring—a large circle of upright stones three times as big and tall as Mac Roth. Toward the northern edge of the circle sat a dolmen. To Finn, it looked like a giant’s stone table with four squat limestone legs and a slab of granite for the top. Overhead, a black cloud, almost like smoke, stretched along the tops of the uprights, forming an inky roof. The Scáthach’s Shadow. The vibration increased.
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