Gideon's Spear (12 page)

Rafe. And Savannah, too
, added a quiet voice in his head. He frowned in surprise at the thought, then shoved it away.

“Hey, Gideon? Why didn't the crows stick around and warn us?” Finn asked, shying away from
that
train of thought, which was traveling down a track he wasn't sure he wanted to follow.

“It's a mystery, to be sure. And how did the beasties know to ambush us there? It's almost as if the birds drew us to that spot on purpose.”

“How? Why?”

“I'm not certain, but now's not the time for discussion. Not whilst hunting. Stay focused. Speaking of which.” With the final rays of the sun disappearing behind the mountains, he dug in a pocket and pulled out his moonstone. A pale radiance welled up and spilled out between his fingers.

“Ah, yes. Good idea, Lir.” Behind them, Mac Roth pulled out his own stone. “‘Twill only get darker.”

Light danced amongst the surrounding pines and scrub oaks as they made their way through the growing dusk. When the trail narrowed, Finn eased back a step. Behind him, Lochlan played with his own moonstone. He flicked it around a few times, trying to write his name in the air until Mac Roth growled at him to stop bleedin' mucking about.

Pressing a finger against his father's stone in his pocket, Finn squared his shoulders and tried to pretend it didn't matter. That he didn't feel like an outsider.
I don't care. I don't need a rock to tell me I'm a Tuatha De Danaan. I've earned my torc—that should count for, like, a
bazillion
moonstones or something
.

His eyes widened when Lochlan elbowed in next to him; his fair hair looked almost white in the luminosity of the stone. “Hey, Finn, where's yours?”

Finn cleared his throat. “They…uh…don't work for me.”

“Because you're half mortal?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh.” Lochlan walked along in silence for a moment. With a shrug, he switched the stone to his other hand so it glowed between them. “Then we'll share.”

The Journal of Finnegan MacCullen: July 17th

I wish I knew what to do about Rafe. How can we be friends when his parents think Gideon is a low-class wacko with anger management issues? And I'm some kind of crazy kid with a knife. Is that what humans believe? That if you're different, you're evil?

But at least we bagged six Amandán hunting with Mac Roth and Lochlan tonight. I got two. Gideon got three. Mac Roth got one. Lochlan just got sick. The guy totally barfed over a bush. But by the time we got home, he was feeling better. We split one of the pizzas and most of the sodas.

Gideon asked me in private if I wanted to tell Lochlan about me being the Spear and all that. I don't know yet. But I was glad he asked me first. He said it was up to me and that he felt Lochlan could be trusted.

I feel that way, too.

What I Learned Today:

Ever since the Bronze Age (and maybe earlier), crows have been a symbol of battle and destruction. Gideon calls them “harbingers of death.” He thinks the human Celts got that belief from us Tuatha De Danaan. He also reminded me to never trust those birds. Because they sometimes like to stir up trouble to start a fight just so they can eat the dead afterwards.

Yeeeesh.

The Journal of Gideon Lir: July 18th

A successful hunt yesterday evening. Among myself, Finn, and Mac Roth, we accounted for half a dozen of the beasties. And Lochlan got a
taste
of the reality of the hunt. (I was impressed by his graciousness to Finn. Perhaps a friendship has begun between those two.)

And while Mac Roth thinks I am being my usual, paranoid self, something tells me the crows, the ambush, and Iona are all somehow related. But to what end?

Sixteen

P
eering out at the morning sky from his bedroom window, Gideon raised a hand and saluted the rising sun with an open palm. A memory washed over him of attending Mass each Sunday as a young apprentice, to hide his true identity from the other villagers.
Although we keep the ways of our neighbors
, his master had whispered to him while they sat, side by side, tucked away in the last pew to avoid Communion,
always remember who and what ye are
.

“A pagan born and bred, some would say,” he murmured to himself as he headed downstairs to the kitchen. After igniting the burner under the teakettle, he opened the back door and stepped out into the yard to take a seat on top of the picnic table. With a sigh, he leaned back on his hands and closed his eyes.
It will be interesting training the Steel children this morning
, he thought.
And it might be a nice change for Finn. Maybe even a bit of a holiday, in a way
. He mentally counted the days since the boy had become his apprentice.
Has it been nearly two months? Sometimes, it seems like just yesterday he appeared at my front gate, carrying a pitiful collection of clothes, his da's moonstone, and a heart full of hope that I would take him
.

And fear that I would not
.

The screen door creaked behind him. He sat up and looked around.

His face still creased with sleep, Finn appeared, barefooted, dressed in sweatpants and T-shirt, and with a serious case of bed head. Redheaded bed head. “The kettle was boiling, so I turned it off.” He knuckled his eyes as he walked over. Yawning, he plopped down next to the Knight.

“And just what are you doing up so early?”

“I want to be ready when Rafe and Savannah come over.”

“It won't be for another few hours, you know.”

“I know. But I wanted to ask you something.”

“Ask me what?”

Finn pulled a foot over his knee. He picked at a toenail, stalling for time, until Gideon grumbled in protest. “Well, I was wondering if you would…um…tell me more about…Kean?”

Gideon stiffened.
Well, I cannot blame the lad. It's only natural he would want to know. And haven't I lectured him more than once about us being truthful with one another?
He cleared his throat. “Fair enough. But tea first.”

“I'll make it for you. Be right back.” Finn hopped down and disappeared inside. The clink and rattle of cup and kettle followed. A few minutes later, Finn pushed open the screen door with a knee while balancing a mug in each hand. After handing one to Gideon, he sat cross-legged next to the Knight. They both sipped. Then, with identical faces of disgust, they switched cups.

After taking another sip, Gideon shook his head and laughed softly. “Kean always over-sweetened his tea as well,” he began without preamble. For the first time, a memory of his son lacked the stab of sorrow. “And honey was a precious commodity, back then, in Ireland.”

“Is that where he was born?”

“Aye, in the region known as the Burren in County Clare. There was a small community of Tuatha De Danaan scattered throughout the hills there. There still is, as a matter of fact.”

“So you said that he was also your apprentice. How come you didn't send him to train with another Knight? With Mac Roth?”

“When Kean turned thirteen, I didn't have the heart to send him away, so I began training him myself. He was good. Very good. But far too cocky. And he was obsessed with the legend of the Spear.”

“Because of you?”

“Partially because of our bloodline. But also because he truly wanted to end the threat to our people. Which means he played right into Iona's hands.”

“How?”

“One day, whilst I was away, she appeared at our cottage with an unusual-looking dagger. Kean was home, sparring with another apprentice. She hinted to Kean that her weapon might be the Spear, and only a descendant of the Black Hand could wield it. Despite his friend's plea to wait until I had returned, Kean was eager to test the weapon. Somehow, he got hold of the dagger and sought out a pack of Amandán.” Gideon paused and finished the now-lukewarm tea. Cradling the empty cup, he stared into the distance.

Next to him, Finn stirred. “Um…if you don't want to talk about it anymore…” He left the rest of the sentence unfinished.

“No, ‘tis past time I told you this.” He squared his shoulders and continued. “I returned that evening to an empty cottage. A few minutes later, Mac Roth appeared, walking slowly up the lane with my son's body in his arms. The other apprentice had gone for help. At dawn the next day, I buried the lad beside his mother. And the day after that, I began hunting Iona. She fled to America with me on her heels.” A grateful smile curled his lips. “And Mac Roth by my side. Together, we chased her across the continent to the goldfields of the newly formed state of Colorado. Even at knifepoint, she swore she had only shown Kean the weapon, to see if we had any similar to it, not given it to him to use. She claims she had no idea how he had gotten hold of it. Yet, Mac Roth had found the dagger in Kean's hand. I, for one, am convinced she was trying to locate the Spear and used Kean to determine if that particular blade was, in fact, the Spear.”

“Is that why she asked the Amandán about me? Do you think she knows I'm the Spear?”

“I think she suspects as much. Why she is so interested in it remains a mystery, but I do not trust her.” He held up a finger in lecture mode. “Remember, Finn, there are other monsters in the world besides just the Amandán.”

A rumble from Finn's stomach stopped the lesson. With a grin, Gideon rose, motioning the boy to follow.

“Enough of this bleak talk. Breakfast, then we best prepare for our guests.” He led the way inside.

Working in comfortable silence, they prepared the meal, the routine familiar. As Gideon began beating pancake batter with single-minded ferocity, Finn set the table, poured juice for himself and fetched maple syrup from the cupboard. At his master's request, he pulled out a package of sausages from the refrigerator and tossed half a dozen links into their oversized, and overworked, griddle. When the meat began to sizzle, Gideon rolled them to one side of the pan and ladled spoonfuls of batter into the other. As he waited, Finn fixed another mug of tea for the Knight and placed it on the table.

“It must be kind of weird for you,” he said after a moment. “Kean wanting to
find
the Spear, and me, you know,
being
the Spear.”

Gideon flipped over one pancake after another with a flick of his wrist before answering. “To be sure, a fine example of irony.”

“Iron
what
?”

“Irony.” Gideon started to explain, then shook his head. “Never mind. Fetch the plates.”

After a brief skirmish over sausages, with Gideon claiming Knighthood status as the reason he should have four and Finn claiming growing-boy status as the reason he should have
all
of them, they compromised on three apiece. They settled at the table. Taking a bite, Gideon studied the boy as he chewed.

“Speaking of the Spear, you still seem to have mixed feelings about it.”

Finn gave a shrug, then swallowed before speaking. “I just want to be a Knight. Like you. And Mac Roth. I don't want to be
different
.” He poked at the last bit of sausage. “I've been
that
all my life, and it stinks.”

“Aye, I know how you feel.” At his apprentice's look of bewilderment, he elaborated. “I grew to manhood under the shadow of the legend of Gideon Black Hand. Many a time, I found myself nose-to-nose and fistto-fist with other apprentices who were eager to mock my mistakes and failures. Having a famous ancestor makes one an easy target.”

“So, how did you handle it?”

With a hint of a smile, the Knight rose from the table. “How do you
think
I handled it?”

Seventeen

“N
o, Rafe, you're bending your wrist too much when you strike.” Gideon motioned the boy to stop battling the dummy, then walked over and took his arm. “You need to keep the line straight and true as a spear, from elbow to wrist, then fully extend from the shoulder when you thrust your blade.” Mirroring words to action, he guided him through it. “Understand?”

Rafe nodded. “I think so.” Practicing the motion a few times, he glanced over at the Knight. “Like this?” “Aye. Now once more.” Gideon stepped away from the practice dummy and returned to his spot, manning the guy rope next to Finn.

“And keep your feet moving,” Finn added, yanking up and down on the guy rope. He gave a nod of encouragement as he watched his friend stalk the bag using the simple hunting knife he had loaned him earlier. Missing time after time by less than an inch, the boy began to swing more wildly as he tried to land a blow. Any blow. “Conserve your energy, Rafe,” Finn called. “Don't bother to stab at it unless you think you've got a pretty good shot.”

Gideon raised an eyebrow. “Thus speaketh a hunter from years of experience.” Sarcasm salted his voice.

Finn ignored him. With a sharp jerk on the cable, he sent the burlap bag flying up into the air. It came down on the top of Rafe's head in a puff of burlap-y dust. “Oops. Sorry.”

Waiting off to one side for her turn, Savannah laughed. “Do it again,” she yelled. She hooted in delight when Finn obliged her. Without warning, a hand smacked the back of his skull.

“Stop mucking about,” Gideon growled. “Or you'll be taking the place of the dummy. Which, on second thought, wouldn't be much difference.”

“Boy, that's for sure,” Rafe added, picking bits of fiber from his hair. He stepped back and bounced up and down on his toes a few times. “Okay. Let's try this again.” As the bag jiggled and danced in front of him, he narrowed his eyes, then raised his blade to shoulder height.

“Wait.” Gideon walked back over to Rafe. “Now, why are you holding the weapon like that? I told you to keep it at waist height.”

“Oh, sorry.” Rafe dropped his arm. “Old habit. My grandfather showed me how to use my spear with an overhand technique, and I guess I got mixed up.”