Finn's Choice (19 page)

Knife at the ready and his eyes scanning the area, Finn waited until he got the all-clear from his master, then joined him inside, grateful to be out of the wet. About the size of their home in Colorado—sans the upper level—the cottage was empty except for a fireplace at one end and a pile of straw, surprisingly fresh, piled on the other side. The smell of sheep dung pinched Finn's nostrils.

“It appears some locals have used this place to shelter their sheep recently.” Gideon shone his light upon the haystack, then poked it with the toe of his boot. “Clean enough, however. Spread some of this about while I go fetch fuel for a fire.”

Shivering from damp clothes and the cooling temperature, Finn made a thick pallet for each of them in front of the fireplace. Gideon re-appeared, carrying an armload of what looked like oversized bricks.

“What's that?”

“Peat. It's a mass of partially decomposed plants that are cut out of the land, dried, and used as fuel for fires. Someone left a small stack just outside.”

Within ten minutes, Finn was sitting on a mound of straw in front of the tiny fire his master had started, its smoke drifting up and out the chimney. The warmth of the flame made Finn realize how hungry he was, but the smell of peat smoke made him wrinkle his nose. Nearby, Gideon stood in the open doorway, gazing out at
the falling rain.

“Does anyone live nearby? Won't they see the smoke and come investigate?”

“Doubtful, as this storm will hide it, and peat fires give off little smoke. And, in any case, this part of the Burren is sparsely populated except for a rare hiker or herdsman driving his sheep to better pasture, although there is a small coastal village a few miles north along the road. These rocky hills have little soil or vegetation, and water is scarce unless you know where to look for it. 'Tis difficult to raise sheep. Goats tend to fare better.”

Finn nodded absently, trying to recall where he had heard the word “Burren” before. He watched as Gideon reached up and patted the lintel over his head, as if patting the shoulder of an old friend.

Realization thumped him on the head. “This is your old home, isn't it?”

A long silence. Then a slight movement. “'Tis.”

Not sure what to do or say, Finn stared up at his master, a dark form in the dimly lit room.
I wonder if he's thinking about his son
, Finn thought, knowing his master had buried his son nearby after Kean was killed by an Amandán. A killing that Gideon still believed was orchestrated by Iona, despite her claims to the contrary.
Or maybe he's thinking about his wife
. Finn remembered when Gideon had first told him about his dead family, and that his wife had died after giving birth to young Kean.

“Well, I have to say, it has stood the test of time. It has been
over a century since I stood here last.” Gideon sighed. “I never thought I would again.”

“I'm sorry.” Finn didn't know if he was apologizing for being the cause of Gideon's return, or if he was sorry about Gideon's family.

The Knight turned. Even in the gloom, Finn could make out a look of surprise. “Why, there is nothing to be sorry about. Glad I am, more glad than I would have thought, to be here again. I only wish I could be sharing your first visit to our people's homeland under different circumstances.”

“You mean different circumstances other than a goddess wanting to imprison me on her island for the next twelve years?” Finn forced a grin. “Why, that just adds some excitement to the whole thing.”

Gideon chuckled, then walked over and took a seat next to him. “Bravely spoken, Finnegan MacCullen.” He squeezed Finn's shoulder briefly, and stretched his fingers toward the flames. “So. To find a way to gain the isle, then get you inside the Ring whilst the
Scáthach
is busy elsewhere.” The Knight ran his knuckles along his jaw as he gazed into the fire.

“Wait a minute. You said get
me
inside the Ring.”

“You're the one who needs to make the wish.”

“What are you going to be…” Finn's voice faded as the realization stole over him. “You're going to distract her, aren't you?”

“Aye.”

“No! She can
kill
you. She's a
goddess
, remember?”

Gideon shrugged. “A goddess with a lowercase g, as I recall a certain apprentice telling me. And, in any case, all I need to do is keep her distracted long enough for you to cast your wish. Once you have done that, the
Scáthach
will have no reason to fight me or keep you.”

“What if I can't get to the bones in time?”

“I have faith that you will.”

Well
, I
don't
, Finn thought. “This plan stinks worse than that peat.”

“Do you wish to offer up a different one?”

“I could stay with her and finish—”

“No.”

“—my apprenticeship.”

“No.”

“She would have to leave you alone if I—”

“No.”

“—did that.”

“Still no.”

In spite of everything, Finn laughed. “You're more stubborn than I am.”

A corner of Gideon's mouth twitched. “Highly unlikely.”

Gideon lay awake, staring into the gray light of early dawn. The boy's deep breathing from the straw next to him told him
his apprentice was out like the flames in the fireplace. Turning his head, he glanced over at the still smoldering coals, then rose as silently as he could.

Slipping out the door, he headed eastward toward a nearby outcropping of limestone rocks halfway up the east side of the valley wall. Even in the gloom and fog, he walked unerringly, his feet remembering every stone and dip.

Reaching the outcropping, he paused and took a deep breath and braced himself for the pain. Then, he stepped around the boulders.

There, in a small clearing surrounded by enormous blocks crafted from nature, lay a pair of burial cairns. Moss and lichen had colored the piles of small rocks, creating a quilt-like pattern on each of them.

Walking closer, he took a knee between them and laid a hand on each one. He knelt in silence for a few minutes, then rose and scrubbed his face with an almost savage gesture as he remembered telling Finn about his family.

Years upon years ago, I met and married the loveliest of maidens. But fate dinna grant me the happiness of many years. Just three. She died giving birth to our son. For eighteen years, ‘twas just the two of us. Kean and meself. Until the day he was killed on a hunt. Using the wrong weapon because he listened to the wrong person.”

“Was it Iona?” Finn had asked in a quiet voice
.

“It was. At least, I have my suspicions she was involved. Although she has sworn many a time that she had nothing to do with…with Kean's death.”

“Do you miss him?” Finn had whispered
.

“Aye, I do. I always will.” He had locked gazes with Finn. “But recently, I've come to realize I miss him a wee bit less.”

“Why?”

Gideon had let the smile reach his eyes. “Why do you think?”

The memory eased his heart. With a sigh, he turned and walked away.

Finn woke with a crick in his neck from sleeping curled up in a ball to stay warm. With a groan, he sat up. The other mound of straw was empty. A gray light filled the door and window. Rising to his feet, he raked the straw from his hair as he stepped outside. Mist hung heavy over the valley, filling it like a bowl of soft mashed potatoes.

Finn's stomach grumbled.
I wonder how we're going to get food
. A faint trickling sound caught his ear. Following it, he walked around to the back of the house, passing the stack of peat on the way.

Water splashed its way down the cliff face behind the cottage before winding its way along the valley floor on its way to the sea. Finn walked over to where the water pooled at the foot of the cliff, and drank from the pouring torrent. The water was cold and fresh and tasted a little like minerals. He drank enough to distract his stomach, then splashed his face and hands, hissing from the bite
of the cold water. Combing wet fingers through his hair, he turned around at a familiar whistle. “Over here,” he called.

Gideon came striding out of the mist. Spotting Finn, he joined him, taking a few moments to wash his own face and hands. “We're going to hike to the nearby village to see if we can find someone to row us over to the island, and to purchase whatever supplies we can afford.”

“Are we going cross-country?” Finn eyed the rugged hills and the damp ground, trying not to make a face. “Wouldn't it be easier to walk along the road? Maybe catch a ride?”

“Aye, it would. But I'd rather keep out of sight of that isle.”

“Good point.”

Skirting the cliff, they headed east, then north, paralleling the road, but staying out of sight of the coast. Their clothes, which had never really dried out last night, were even damper from the fog.

Finn could hear the sound of the village before he could see it. Low growls of car engines. Doors closing. A voice calling a greeting. As they hiked, the mist thinned enough so he could make out a scattering of buildings and houses lining either side of the road. On the seaward side of the village, a series of low piers jutted out into the water. Small fishing boats bobbed alongside the jetties. Gulls circled overhead, screeching complaints to each other as they hunted for a snack. A few vehicles drove up and down the road, their headlights like oversized moonstones in the fog.

Reaching the road less than a quarter of a mile from the village limits, Finn and Gideon walked along the shoulder. Finn glanced
back at the island. All he could see was a dark blob in the mist.

They walked into the village. A few people, hurrying along, eyed them suspiciously. Finn nodded a greeting at an older woman, who looked away.

“What's everyone's problem?” Finn asked.

“Two strangers walking into town this early in the morning will make the locals wary.” He leaned closer to Finn. “For now, we are father and son who are hiking the Burren and came into town for additional supplies.”

“Speaking of supplies, won't we need money?”

“I've a few dollars. And we may be able to exchange work for food.”

Reaching the center of the village, Gideon paused and looked around. “This has grown since I was here last.” He continued to look around, studying the buildings in the mist. “We need to find a bank that is open on a Saturday.”

“Why?”

“Exchange our currency. Ah. There is one opening now.” He pointed to a brick building a few doors down.

After changing their money, they stepped outside. A pair of older teen girls hurried past carrying takeout coffee. They eyed the master and apprentice, but offered no greeting.

“I wonder where they got those drinks,” Finn said. He peered up the road in the direction the girls had come. A row of shops lined the street. One shop seemed to be doing a brisk business, for its door kept opening and closing. Even as Finn studied it, another
person stepped out, carrying a white paper bag.

“There. That looks like a bakery.” He nudged Gideon, then pointed along the street.

Gideon grunted in approval. “We probably have enough for a hot drink and a roll or two.”

Leading the way, Finn stepped inside the bakery. The aroma of cinnamon and brewing coffee, and the low buzz of conversation, enveloped him. At one end of the bakery, booths lined both walls. Most were filled with people. The other end was taken up with a counter with half a dozen stools in front of it. Next to the counter, a large display case was filled with pastries. Grateful for the warmth, Finn unzipped his jacket.

The conversation, which had been humming along, faded as Gideon stepped in behind him. In the booth facing the door sat an older man hunched over a steaming mug, his face weather-beaten by sun and sea and years. He started to take a sip, then froze, eyes fixed on them.
Must not be used to seeing strangers in town
, Finn thought.