Finn's Choice

by Darby Karchut

  He jumped when Lochlan appeared next to him. “What’s that… humming?”

  “The goddess’ power.” Mac Roth took a knee next to his apprentice. Behind him, Kel O’Shea and Tara crouched down by Gideon. “She is strongest here. Within this Ring, she has power almost equal to Danu.”

  “Well, that stinks.” Lochlan blew out a long breath. “Just when we need the power of our Song the most, too.”

  “Remember, Finn,” Mac Roth said. “While we Knights confront the goddess, you’re to edge around the outside of the Ring and enter it from the north, closest to the dolmen. Under it lie the bones. Hold them in your bare hand, speak your wish aloud, and hopefully, we’ll be finished with this nonsense in time for dinner.” He rapped Lochlan on the head with his knuckles. “And you and Tara are to guard Finn’s back and each other’s.”

  Lochlan pulled his knife free and gave a curt nod. Tara endured a hasty embrace from her master, then moved over to stand beside Finn, her own weapon in hand. The apprentices watched as the Knights faded away into the mist. There was a faint ringing sound as they drew their extra weapons, then silence.

  Finn, with his friends spread out behind him, began creeping around the western side of the Ring. The only sounds were his breathing, the low far-off murmur of the sea, and the whisper of wind over the grass. Each time they passed an upright, Finn felt a chill, as if he had stepped from sunlight into shadow on a winter’s day. It seemed to take a lifetime and a half to reach the northern end. All the while, the vibration set his teeth on edge. He wondered where the goddess was.

  By the time they reached the northern end, their shoes and the hems of their pant legs were soaked to their knees from the wet grass. Pausing behind the northernmost pillar of stone, they blew on chilled fingers and, in Tara’s case, wrung out wet hair.

  “Weird we haven’t seen or heard the Scáthach,” Lochlan remarked. The tip of his nose was red and his cheeks blotchy from the cold.

  “Or our masters,” Tara added. She rubbed her hands together to warm them up. “Okay. Ready.”

  Finn took a deep breath, then crept around the stone and stepped inside the Ring. He froze when the vibration abruptly ceased. “What the heck?” he whispered.

  Lochlan joined him. “Does that mean we set off some kind of alarm? And she knows we’re here?” He whispered, too.

  “I think,” Tara said, keeping her own voice low, “if we had, she would be attacking by now.”

  They stood close together, shoulders and elbows touching and heads swiveling all around. After several long minutes, they relaxed. Swallowing through a dry mouth, Finn licked his lips. I can do this. I must do this!

  A few yards away, the dolmen sat waiting for him. Every atom in his body on alert, he inched over, shoulders hunched. He forced himself to relax. Behind him, Lochlan and Tara fanned out. Reaching the dolmen, he paused, willing his legs to stop shaking.

  The roof was chin height and sloped slightly to one side, as if one pair of the thick stubby legs had settled into the earth over the years. Fingers locked around the haft of his knife, Finn bent over and peered inside.

  In the gloom, he could just make out a black hole in the bare earth about the size of a dinner plate. I bet that’s where the bones are. But Mac Roth didn’t tell me they were buried. He squatted down. Squeezing in between two of the uprights, he duck-walked inside and waited.

  Nothing happened. Then something poked him in the back. He winced.

  “Can’t you go in further?” Tara whispered. She pushed in next to him before he could tell her to wait. Lochlan joined them, squeezing in behind Tara.

  “Where are they?” Lochlan asked in a low tone.

  “I guess down there.” Finn pointed to the hole. “One of you—moonstone.”

  “I’ve got it.” Shifting awkwardly, Lochlan worked the stone out of his pocket and held it in his fist.

  A white light welled up and spilled out between his fingers. He held it over the hole. All three bent over and looked down. At the bottom lay a lumpy leather bag, its neck tied with a thong.

  “That’s got to be the bones,” Finn said.

  “Not a very big bag. Do you think the whole skeleton is inside of it?” Tara leaned closer. “Do you think they forgot some? Or maybe the skull is missing?”

  “Only one way to find out.” Stomach fluttering with all kinds of willies, Finn reached down into the hole. His fingers scrabbled along stiff leather before he managed to snag the string. He pulled it up, surprised how light it felt. How much would bones weigh, anyway? He laid it across his knees and glanced up at his friends.

  “Guess I should open it.”

  “Guess so.” Lochlan stared wide-eyed at the bag, folded almost in half in the cramped space.

  A shout made Finn jump and bang his head on the limestone ceiling. The ring of metal on metal and more shouting. Mac Roth’s roar of faugh a ballagh. The three apprentices scrambled out from under the dolmen, Lochlan leading the way. Rising to his feet and still clasping the bag, Finn gasped.

  In the center of the Ring and half-hidden by the mist, the three Knights were battling what looked like giant snakes, slashing with their blades at the smoky tendrils slithering down from the Scáthach’s Shadow. The inky fingers darted about, slapping at the Knights’ weapons as the Tuatha De Danaan slashed and stabbed.

  Suddenly, one of the tendrils whipped across Gideon’s chest, flinging him backwards to the ground. Before Kel O’Shea or Mac Roth could reach him, the smoky rope wrapped around the fallen Knight and pinned his arms to his sides, immobilizing him. As Finn watched, his feet frozen in shock, the Shadow yanked Gideon upright. He could hear his master cursing in Gaelic.

  Time slowed.

  With a languid gesture, the Shadow swung the Knight at one of the stone pillars, like a batter swinging for the fence. Finn could hear the dull thud as Gideon slammed against the limestone. Then, the Shadow released him. Gideon seemed to fall in slow motion, arms and legs limp. He hit the ground in a boneless heap. One hand still clasped his weapon.

  Seventeen

  “No!” Finn screamed and bolted toward his master. Skidding to a stop, he dropped to his knees beside the motionless form. A high-pitched keening filled his ears. He stared down. Gideon’s eyes were closed and his brows drawn together, as if he was furious at what had just happened.

  “Gideon?” Finn’s voice cracked. All around him, he could hear the sound of battle and cries of his friends—Mac Roth bellowing in rage, Lochlan screaming at Tara to get down, and Kel O’Shea’s voice, thick with tears, as she shouted the ancient war cry. The commotion seemed to come from far away, as if it were simply background noise. As if someone had left the television on in another room.

  He grabbed his master’s arm and shook him, knowing he shouldn’t move an injured person. He did it anyway. “Gideon? Gideon, it’s me. Finn. Wake up. Okay?” Because I can’t lose you, too. He shook him again.

  Tink. The sound of bronze on stone made Finn look down. The Knight’s weapon lay on the stony ground near the limp fingers.

  That alone told Finn the truth. A numb horror filled him. He crouched lower, searching Gideon’s face. “Don’t do this to me,” he whispered. “Don’t you dare…” His throat closed up before he could finish. Good thing. Because he knew if he said the words aloud, it would make them true.

  A gust of wind slapped him in the face. Squinting, he looked around, fingers clutching his master’s sleeve. The Shadow was lifting, crawling back up the stone uprights like a spider until it spread and settled across the Ring. A stormy ceiling. Mac Roth and Kel O’Shea were running toward him. Behind them, Lochlan was helping a limping Tara, his arm wrapped around her waist. Mac Roth reached Finn first.

  He knelt down next to Finn and placed his hand on Gideon’s chest. “Oh, Lir.”

  Kel O’Shea joined them on the other side of the Knight’s motionless body, her cheeks wet with tears. She placed her hand over his. “Mo chara,” she whispered.

  They’re acting like he
’s…he’s… “Stop it.” Finn’s voice sounded odd—like someone else was using it. “He’s not…dead.” He can’t be.

  “Finnegan.” Mac Roth raised his head. Tears ran down his face and disappeared into his beard. “Lad.” He reached for Finn’s shoulder.

  Finn jerked away. “Don’t. Just…don’t.”

  Vaguely aware of Kel O’Shea ordering the other apprentices to be on guard, Finn knotted his fingers in Gideon’s jacket sleeve, determined to hold on for as long as he needed to. Until this nightmare was over and he woke up and found himself curled up in his own bed, with Gideon shouting at him from the kitchen to get his arse downstairs before “a certain master eats all the bacon.” He remembered the first day he had met the Knight, who had hesitated to take on Finn, due to his half-mortal bloodline.

  “And just why should I take ye on as my apprentice, eh?” Gideon had held up a hand and began ticking off on his fingers. “Ye’re cheeky. Ye’re woefully lacking in manners, except bad ones. And ye’re part mortal. Ye’ve not much in yer favor, boyo. Can ye give me one good reason I should let ye stay?”

  “No,” Finn had whispered.

  “No? Well, I can.” Gideon had fingered the torc around his throat. “And so, ye shall stay.”

  Finn snapped his head around. He opened and closed his mouth in astonishment several times before he could speak. “W-why?”

  “Because, me lad, ye were willing to go into battle by me side today. Armed with only a broom.” The corner of the Knight’s mouth quirked into a half-smile as he spoke. “Ye are, Finnegan MacCullen, no coward.”

  Finn tightened his hold. I sure feel like a coward right now, Gideon. I don’t want to be brave. I just want everything to go back to the way it was before I messed everything up by being the Spear. I wish—

  “Oh!”

  He looked down at the bag of bones he had dropped to the turf next to him. Letting go of Gideon’s jacket, he fumbled with the tie strings. The leather cord was stiff with age and damp.

  Kel O’Shea swiped at her face. “Are those what I think they are?”

  “Yeah.” Finn yanked harder at the knot, promptly making it tighter. “Son of a goat!” Pulling his knife free, he cut through the cord in a savage motion. Several small objects tumbled out onto the turf. Looking for all the world like chicken bones, they were human finger bones. Guess it wasn’t the druid’s entire skeleton, a corner of his mind thought. Blackened from fire, they clicked together like dice when Finn picked them up. He cupped them in his hand, his flesh shrinking from touching them. For a split second, he acknowledged that what he was about to do would ruin his chances of staying and finishing his apprenticeship with Gideon.

  He also knew there was never a choice. Gritting his teeth, he curled his fingers around them and squeezed. “I wish—”

  “Hold!” Mac Roth held up a hand. “Make certain you say the right words. Be exact as to what it is you are wishing for. Ye ken?”

  “You mean, don’t say something vague like I wish—”

  “Finnegan!” Kel O’Shea placed a hand across his mouth. “Zip it! You almost blew it.”

  Finn felt the blood drain from his face. Dizzy, he nodded, his lips pressed firmly together. Get yer head in the game, boyo. He could almost hear his master’s voice.

  “Think exactly what it is you want to happen.” Kel O’Shea continued, lowering her hand. “Then, say it aloud in a clear, slow voice. Remember, you got one chance at this whole wishing thing.”

  Finn nodded again. He licked his lips, took a deep breath, and held the bones in his cupped hands. He tried several variations on the theme, then decided to simply state exactly what he wanted. “I wish for Gideon to come back to life.”

  The earth shuddered. Finn could feel the vibrations, like earlier when he’d felt the Scáthach’s power, but this was more intense: an earthquake. The stones around them shuddered, swaying slightly. The wind gusted and whipped around them in a counter-clockwise direction. Finn squeezed his eyes as bits of grass and fine loess pelted his face. Then the gale died down. He opened his eyes.

  He was in the Ring next to the dolmen. Alone.

  He rose. “Mac Roth? Kel O’Shea?” Turning in a slow circle, he called in a low tone as he looked about. Beyond the Ring, the mist still formed a watery wall. He looked down at his feet. Even Gideon’s knife was gone. Did it work? Is he alive?

  Not sure what to do next, he dropped the bones back into the pouch and laid it on top of the dolmen. With a grimace, he wiped his hands in the damp grass and dried them on his jeans. He glanced around again, sheathed his weapon, then stiffened.

  As if his thoughts had called her, the Scáthach came striding out from the mist. Her auburn hair was a brilliant flame around her head and shoulders. This time, she carried no weapons.

  “Is he alive?”

  An eyebrow flew up at his tone. “Aye, the Black Hand lives.”

  Finn dropped to one knee, as much from relief as from respect. “Thank you, Lady,” he murmured, remembering Gideon’s salutation. He tried not to think about the fact that he was going to be stuck there for the next eleven years and six months. Not that he was counting.

  “Arise, son of Fergus.” She stood with her arms crossed, a look of triumph on her face.

  He stood, trying not to fidget or go for his weapon, which was what he really wanted. Not sure what to do, he settled for keeping his shoulders back, his chin up, and his feet braced.

  “Finnegan MacCullen. Quite a twisted path ye traveled to shun me.”

  “Yes, Lady.” He stared past her shoulder at one of the standing stones.

  “Ye allied yerself with both a sorceress and an aingeal.”

  “Yes, Lady.”

  “Ye imperiled yer master and fellow warriors.”

  “Yes, Lady.”

  “Even to the death of the Black Hand.”

  Finn’s throat closed up. He simply nodded.

  “All this to avoid training with me.” She cocked her head. “Am I that repulsive a figure?”

  “No, Lady.” Yup. Creepy-weird as all get-out.

  “And yet, when ye could have used the Bones to change all this, ye stepped off that path and made a different choice.”

  “Yes, Lady, I did.”

  “For the affection ye bear yer master. Deeming his life more valuable than your heart’s desire.”

  Finn nodded. Weariness and a numbing resignation dragged at him, making him want to flop down on the sod. He wished she’d stop listing all his mistakes. Of course, there was no rush. It wasn’t like he had anywhere to be. At least Gideon is alive.

  “A proper sacrifice. Of heroic proportions, eh?”

  He wondered what she was getting at. Then, to his surprise, she waved her hand in a shooing motion. A breeze arose and swept through the Ring, a warm breeze that eased the chill of wet clothing and dripping hair. The Shadow lightened, shredding away, bit by bit, until it was no more. Overhead, blue sky appeared. In the distance, Finn could see the mid-morning sun glinting off the whitecaps, while gulls soared along the beach, their faint screeching reaching his ears.

  “For sacrifice is what defines a hero, Finnegan MacCullen, as much as the hero’s actions.”

  Finn opened and closed his mouth a few times, certain he looked like a fish out of water. “W-what are you saying, Lady?”

  “Ye have proven yerself to me,” she said simply. “Ye need not finish the rest of the trials.”

  He locked his knees to keep from folding to the ground. “I don’t?”

  “A hero is able to inspire his fellow warriors to follow him, to make alliances when need be, and to give up that which is most precious for the good of another.”

  She stepped closer. In the sunlight, Finn found that she didn’t seem as menacing. Or maybe it was the trace of a smile that made him relax. Just a bit. One never knew with goddesses.

  “’Tis not oft I am caught unaware,” she continued in a low voice, as if reluctant to admit it. “But surprised I was, to learn that ye wer
e the Spear. An unlikely choice for a hero.”

  “Ouch.”

  The Scáthach laughed. The sound of amusement coming from such a formidable being made Finn dizzy with astonishment. It must have shown on his face, for she arched her brows.

  “Ye think I do not enjoy merriment as well as ye Fey? Nay. I enjoy the goodness of this round world as well as ye. Laughter and fellowship and simple pleasures.” For a moment, wistfulness colored her stern face. “Although fellowship is something I rarely have.” Her eyes cut over at him. “Ye have a close bond. Ye and yer master. Like a second father, he is?”

  Finn nodded, unsure of the new direction in the conversation. “He is, Lady.”

  “As it should be, considering yer clan. For it was not simply Fate that brought ye two together. Blood calls to blood.”

  Blood calls to blood? “I don’t understand.”

  “Why, has he not told ye yet?”

  “Told me what?”

  “And ye the Spear.” She snorted in disbelief. “Ye know the power of yer blood to kill the Amandán comes from the mingling of Fey and mortal blood. Which all began, in the distant past, from the wedded union of the legendary Gideon Black Hand and a mortal woman.”

  “But I thought that was just a story.” He tried to remember what Mac Roth had said that day when they had discovered Finn’s blood was a killing poison to the goblins. “A metaphor.”

  “Not a metaphor. And the story was true. For from that ancient union sprang sons. Warriors all. In honor of the mother who bore them, those sons, and their sons after them, took the mortal woman’s maiden name as their own. That name, ye know well.”

  Goosebumps broke out on Finn’s arms. He knew what she was going to say before she said it.

  “In the ancient tongue, it would be mac Cumhail. Nowadays, ’tis sometimes pronounced—”

  “—MacCullen.” His lips stiff with shock, Finn could scarcely get the syllables out. Even as he wondered why Gideon hadn’t told him, a high joy filled him.

  Before he could say another word, the Scáthach stepped back and raised her hand. She gave a nod. “Farewell, Fionn mac Cumhail, apprentice and long-son of the Black Hand.”