A tingling began somewhere around his ankles, then coiled up his legs, picking up speed until it seemed to burst out of the tips of his hair. His ears thundered with the roar of the wind, whether from the Song or from his pace he wasn’t sure. He kept chanting as he shot along the trail.
Breathing in rhythm with his pounding feet, he followed the trail eastward. Ahead of him, the lights of High Springs winked through the trees. As he neared their neighborhood, he yelled over a shoulder. “Do you think they’ll chase us right to our backyard?” When Gideon didn’t answer, he slowed and risked a peek back.
The trail was empty.
Skidding to a halt, he whirled around, gulping for air as he stared into the darkness. His eyes darted from side to side as he strained to catch a glimpse of his master. Off in the distance, a pale light flickered once, skipping off the treetops, then vanished.
Finn hesitated. He glanced back at the line of backyard fences dividing the suburban neighborhood from the woods. Their own house, tucked away by itself on the end of the street, was marked from the desk lamp he had left on in his second-floor bedroom. His master’s voice echoed in his head as he stared at the square of light.
Always leave a lamp burning for ye when ye hunt, boyo. ‘Tis a signal to other De Danaan, just in case.
In case of what, Gideon?
In case ye do not return.
Rubbing the back of his hand across dry lips, Finn turned his face westward. I know he told me to go home. But there’s no way I’m leaving him to face all those Amandán by himself. And knock it off-—he ordered his trembling leg muscles. Wiping sweaty hands on his jeans, his palm brushed against the lump in his pocket. He reached in and pulled out his own moonstone. Cupping it in his hand, he looked down at it. Wish it would light up for me like it does for pure-blooded De Danaan—I sure could use it right now. “Being a halfer sucks,” he muttered to himself. Shoving it back into his jeans, he clutched his blade and started back up the trail.
Face streaked with goblin residue and sweat, Gideon lifted his moonstone higher, its light flashing red along the blade of his knife. Mounds of ash overlapped each other on the ground between the Knight and the remaining goblins. He eased back against a rocky outcropping and bared his teeth, his eyes glowing battle blue.
“Come along, ye manky beasts. Me blade is growing cold.”
“Nar,” one of the goblins snarled back. “It be yer bones growing cold when we be through with ye.” It licked its lips in anticipation.
“Too bad yer whelp turned tail and ran,” spoke another one. “I likes me De Danaan young and fresh.”
“I just likes mine dead,” a deep voice growled. “The day will come when ye high and mighty—” it stopped to spit out the name “—Tuatha De Danaan will be nothing but a pile of leftovers. And Eire will be ours once more.”
“Ach, not the auld grievance again,” Gideon said, tedium in his tone. “Ye think the death of all De Danaan will return the green isle to the likes of ye?” He raised his chin. “Ireland will never be yers again. Danu gave it to us to hold.”
“We hads it first,” the first goblin hissed. “We be the true heirs of Eire. Us the Bog-born, not the feeble offspring of some upstart goddess.”
Gideon curled his lip. “Yet here ye are. In Colorado. Not Ireland.”
“We could says the same thing about ye De Danaan—”
“Bah,” the second Amandán interrupted. “Too much talking, not enough killing. Let’s get him, mates.” The pack closed ranks.
Bracing himself, Gideon began singing the first lines of the Song, lifting his voice to rise above their grunts. As the first goblin cracked its knuckles in preparation, he dug his feet into the earth. Keeping one eye on the pack, he shoved the moonstone back into his pocket. In the sudden darkness, his knife gleamed dimly in the light of the early stars. He raised the weapon in defiance. “And who would like to be the next to die?”
The pack swarmed him.
Leg muscles burning, Finn gritted his teeth against the stitch in his side as he sprinted up another hill toward the sound of battle. Growls of rage mingled with shrieks of agony. The fear of being too late whipped him along.
Coming to a junction in the trail, he slowed to a rubbery-legged jog. After a few steps, he stopped and listened, trying to hear over his wheezing breath. A shout yanked him northward; he took off at a dead run.
He crested the next hill. Ahead of him, dark shapes milled back and forth at the foot of an outcropping of rock. Howls of laughter filled the night as they closed in for the kill.
Out of breath and out of time, Finn skidded to a halt a few feet away. He raised his knife.
And slashed it across the palm of his left hand.
“Son of a goat!” White-hot pain punched him in the gut. Before he lost his nerve, he switched hands, his blood making the leather grip slippery. He cursed when he dropped the knife; snatching it up, he drew the blade across his right palm. Hissing from the pain, he tossed the knife to one side and threw himself into the fray.
Slapping his right hand on the back of the hindmost goblin, he waited a moment, in agony that his strategy wouldn’t work. When the beast threw back its head and screamed, froth spewing from its mouth, Finn lunged for the next one. A quick swipe of his left hand and another goblin died in a convulsive fit.
When a third Amandán crashed to the ground at his feet a second later, Finn staggered a step. A wave of dizziness washed over him. The sounds of the battle faded as a humming began in his ears; his bones felt concrete-heavy. Shaking his head, he swallowed, trying to focus. He dug his nails into the wounds, sucked a deep breath, then yelled as loud as he could.
“Faugh a ballagh!” A tiny corner of his mind rolled its eyes when his voice broke.
The remaining Amandán jumped. They whirled around at the boyish voice screaming the dreaded war cry. Tripping over each other to face this new threat, they forgot about the Knight now behind them.
Fatal mistake.
The rearmost goblin exploded with a shriek as Gideon sank his blade between its shoulder blades. Charging through the cloud of ash, he lowered his shoulder and plowed into the next two, knocking them off their feet. A quick strike right and then left, and two more vaporized.
Caught between anvil and hammer, the Amandán panicked. They tore off up the trail. Some of them bypassed the path and crashed through the underbrush. One hesitated and looked back at the dead goblins sprawled near Finn’s feet. It curled its lips before following the pack into the woods.
The last wisps of left-over goblin drifted away on the night breeze, leaving a stench in its wake. In the distance, the snapping and breaking of branches faded as the Amandán fled back to their cave. Blinking against the growing wooziness, Finn search around until he located his knife; bending over and picking it up took all his strength. Gravel crunched nearby. He looked up.
“And just what are ye doing here?” Gideon walked toward him, swiping his weapon on his jeans with quick, vicious swipes. “I ordered ye home.”
A dozen excuses crowded Finn’s mind. For some reason, the lamest one came out. “I…I turned around. And you weren’t there. So I came back.” He found it harder and harder to focus. He blinked again. Without warning, his legs folded beneath him.
Author Notes
I began the rough draft of this book in the spring of 2010 after hearing about the fairy rings of southern Africa from my sister, Kelly Austin, who journeys to that most ancient of continents every year. The fairy rings led me to revisit Celtic mythology, which in turn, led me to the Tuatha De Danaan and the story cycle of Fionn mac Cumhail. Twisting those stories and mythologies around until they were rooted in our modern world, I came up with Finnegan’s (sorry, I mean Finn’s) first adventures.
However, Finn Finnegan had to wait another year and a half while I concentrated on my Griffin series. But once the second book in that series was launched, I returned to Finn MacCullen and discovered he was now demanding that his story be told.
; For those readers who want to know more about the roots of my book, herein lies a brief lesson:
Finnegan MacCullen: My protagonist is based loosely on the Irish legend of Finn McCool, or Fionn mac Cumhail. This story cycle, called The Boyhood Deeds of Fionn mac Cumhail, follows the adventures of Finn as he grows from boy to legendary warrior.
Lir: The warrior-father from The Children of Fir story cycle. All I really took from that cycle was the name Lir. However, Gideon’s name is a nod to the legendary Welsh figure Gwydion. That character was a warrior, but also a bit of a trickster. I took that trait and gave Gideon a sarcastic bent.
Mac Roth: A friend and strong right arm to one of the early kings of Ireland. A fitting name for Gideon’s old friend and avuncular figure to Finn.
Warp spasm: This, too is a part of Celtic lore. This battle frenzy gave warriors extra strength and speed, and helped them ignore injuries until after the conflict.
Torc: A neck ring made from strands of metal twisted together. Most were open-ended at the front and were worn as a sign of nobility and high social status. Many examples of these have been found in European Bronze Age graves and burial sites.
Deadnettle: A plant used as a curative tea amongst various peoples in northern Europe and the British isles.
Amandán: Mythical Irish and Scottish figures which are said to reside in fairy mounds. They are feared because it is believed their touch (called the fairy stroke or poc sidhe) is said to causes paralysis or death.
The Song of the Tuatha De Danaan: The words that open the novel and are recited by Finn in Chapter Four and throughout the book are a portion of the famous early Irish “Song of Amergin.’’ This translation is from the article “Echoes of Antiquity in the Early Irish ‘Song of Amergin’” by Lloyd D. Graham, 2010.
Fire in the Head, a modern version of “The Song of the Tuatha De Danaan,” lyrics by Arthur Hinds, performed by Emerald Rose (www.emeraldrose.com), is quoted in Chapter Thirty-Two.
Gideon’s favorite song, The Minstrel Boy, was written by Thomas Moore; 1779-1852.
Fairy (fey) rings: Round, barren patches of soil are found throughout Namibia, South Africa, and Angola. These circles are devoid of vegetation and range from several feet to several yards across. According the Himba people of southern Africa, these circles are said to have been created by gods or spirits.
You and I know better.
Acknowledgements
It has been said books are not created in isolation, and an author is only as good as her editor. Aye, ‘tis true. I have been blessed with two extraordinary warriors of the word craft: Vikki Ciaffone and Trisha Wooldridge. Thanks and thanks and evermore thanks to this amazing duo. Trish, for sticking a dagger down the back of her pants to see if a weapon can be carried that way. (The answer is: no, not really.) And Vikki, for the phrase “write your geek.” It has become my motto for life. Both of them have wicked senses of humor, and I spent most of my editing time howling with laughter. Which the best way to edit. Laughing, not howling.
I will also take a knee in gratitude to my publisher, Kate Kaynak, who believed in the Celtic magic of Finn Finnegan right from the start. She, and the entire team at Spencer Hill Press, is a shining example of just how good a publishing company can be. Gle mhaith to you all.
And, as always, to Wes. Thank you for being my Knight.
A portion of the net profit of each copy of Finn Finnegan goes to The Topnaar Education Fund to help provide education to the children of the Topnaar people of Namibia, Africa.
The Topnaar Education Fund (The Gava Kids) is a non-profit organization focused on providing education for selected students from the Topnaar people in and around Walvis Bay, Namibia. They work with leadership from within the Topnaar community to identify children based on need; most are either orphans or are from extremely compromised family situations. For more information, visit them at: www.gavakids.com
About the Author
Award-winning author Darby Karchut has long been fascinated by mythologies and hero stories from around the world. She attended the University of New Mexico, graduating with a degree in anthropology. After moving to Colorado, she then earned a master’s in education and became a social studies teacher.
Drawing from her extensive knowledge of world cultures, she blends ancient myths with modern urban life to write stories that relate to young teens today.
She currently lives in Colorado Springs, Colorado, with her husband, where she still teaches at a local junior high school. She enjoys running, biking, and skiing the Rocky Mountains in all types of weather, and owns more backpacks than purses. As she should.
Finn Finnegan is the first in The Adventures of Finn MacCullen series. Her other young teen books include Griffin Rising and Griffins Fire (both from Twilight Times Books).
Visit her at: www.darbykarchut.com
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