Finn's Choice (24 page)

“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 were 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.”

A gust of wind and swirling mist. The slap of his wet hair in his eyes. Voices shouting. Finn found himself on the outside of the Ring, behind one of the standing stones. The chilly fog wrapped around him again. He didn't care. Elation and relief washed over him like the first warming rays of a rising sun.

Peering around the stone, he could see the others clustered together near the dolmen, all speaking at once and gesturing. To one side, Gideon stood by himself. The Knight stared into the distance. Even from several yards away, Finn could see the desolation on his master's face. Not wanting him to grieve one second longer, he stepped out from behind the pillar.

“Gideon!” He hurried toward his master. Who was more than that. He broke into a run and flung himself at the man.

Not caring what his friends thought—well, maybe a little—he hugged his master, who hugged him back with a fierceness that
matched Finn's own. They stepped back, clasping each other's forearms.

“Are you okay, Gideon?”

“I am, thanks to you.” He glanced over Finn's shoulder. “And the
Scáthach
? Will she…?”

“No. She said I passed the test. I'll explain later.” Thinking back to his conversation with her, he added, “She's not as creepy as I first thought.”

“Finn!”

Lochlan, with Tara on his heels and the other Knights behind them, raced over. Hugs and slaps on the back followed. As Finn recounted what had transpired between himself and the goddess, their smiles grew larger.

“You mean, you don't have to stay here?” Tara said. “You can come home?”

“Yup.”

“And she looked at the whole thing with Griffin and Iona as simply ‘ally building?'” Lochlan made quote-y fingers in the air. “And not us tricking her?”

Finn shrugged. “I guess so. But I wasn't going to debate her about it, you know.” He kept glancing at his master, who was smiling as he talked with the other Knights.

They started down the hill, hurrying to reach the beach before Sean Murphy left them there. Overhead, the midday sun burned away the last shreds of fog. Underfoot, the grass, still green even in late autumn, sparkled with droplets, and all around them, the sea
was a blue-gray carpet with tufts of white.

Tara fell in beside him, followed by Lochlan on her far side. As they walked in silence in the wake of their masters, Mac Roth's words came back to Finn.

“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.”

“Um, guys? I need to ask Gideon something,” Finn said to his friends. Lengthening his stride, he caught up with his master. “Gideon?”

“Finn.”

“Can I ask you something? In private.” They slowed and waited until the others went ahead, then Finn spoke in a low tone. “Why didn't you tell me earlier? About the MacCullen line.”

Guilt flooded Gideon's face. “She told you, then? The
Scáthach
? I thought as much, for she had asked me if you knew.”

“So, why didn't you tell me about it when we found out I was the Spear? Or during the Festival?” A dismal thought slowed his stride. “Are you…are you
ashamed
of me? Or don't want—”

“No!” His master pulled him to one side. “No, not a bit. How could you ever think that, lad?”

“Then
why
?”

Gideon stared toward the mainland, keeping his eyes locked on the high hills of the Burren. “I should have. At first, I kept silent out of respect for the love you bore your parents, not wanting to supplant them in any way. Later, I was afraid you would be disappointed in me. I am not the Knight my famous ancestor was.”

“
Me
disappointed in
you
?” Finn snorted. “Yeah. Right.” He turned and looked in the direction Gideon was gazing. “Well, none of that matters. We're family now. In a way.”

“Truly.”

“So, what do I call you? Uncle? Second cousin?” A corner of his mouth twitched. “Grandpa?” He ducked the cuff at his head just in time.

“Cheeky.”

The Journal of Gideon Lir: Tuesday, October 29

In spite of the horror of the last few days, a high happiness it is, to return with Finn. This joy is due in large part to friends, old and new, who stood with us.

Kel O'Shea. I will keep my thoughts tucked away until my heart is certain.

Mac Roth. Since our youth, he has been a brother of the heart and a shield in the battle. May I prove as worthy of his friendship in times of joy and danger.

The Steel family. Good it was to be reminded that humans have their own wisdom and courage and warrior ways. It is a privilege to share the world with people such as them.

And Basil and young Griffin. They are a breed apart from us Fey. But without their help, things would have turned out much worse. May they prove victorious in their own battle to come.

Even Iona aided us, if in a somewhat twisted fashion. She has
fled the wrath of the
Scáthach
. I do not know where. Or care. I will never trust her or forgive her. I whispered a hint to Basil, in case he was tempted to do a wee bit of witch-hunting. Sadly, he is not the vengeful sort.

Brits. Always with the proper thing.

The Journal of Finnegan MacCullen: Tuesday, October 29

Home. Home for good.

Between battling a goddess and angel lag, I'm almost too tired to write.

Angel lag: that's what Lochlan calls it instead of jet lag. That's when you get dragged by the hand through the air, flying from Ireland, across the Atlantic Ocean, then all the way across the country to Colorado, in like twenty minutes. Mac Roth got airsick over Newfoundland. Not a pretty sight.

Griffin had managed to talk his
master
Mentor and the other angels into helping us get back home. I sure hope things turn out well for him and Basil—he told me they're in the middle of a war with other angels. But I have a feeling it will. After all, they're the ultimate good guys.

And I'm really glad the Terrae Angeli are watching out for Rafe and Savannah, and their parents. Keeping them safe so we can go on being friends as long as Fate will let us.

Because friends are the finest of fine gifts of this round world.

Next to family.

At the sound of a booming voice on the porch, Finn looked up from where he sat slumped on the sofa. Tossing his journal on the coffee table, he reached the front door before Mac Roth could knock. The evening's cool air flowed in; the flames in the fireplace slapped at the cheeky breeze.

“I see you have a new role as a footman,” Mac Roth said. Holding a plastic bag marked “deli” in one hand, the red-headed Knight stood aside to let Kel O'Shea enter first. She carried a covered casserole dish. With a smile for Finn, she headed toward the kitchen, trailing the aroma of potatoes and cabbage behind her.

“Better than a
butler
.” Lochlan followed the Knights inside. He grinned over his shoulder at Tara behind him, who rolled her eyes. “See what I did there? ‘Better than a—'”

“Yeah, I got it.” Tara studied him, her head cocked. A faint smile curled the corner of her mouth. “You know, you're pretty funny, O'Neill.”

“I-I am?”

“Sure. Funny
looking
.”

Finn laughed, then led the way to the kitchen. “About time you guys got here. I'm starving!”

It was a tight fit, with six of them around a table built for four. And, to Finn's way of thinking, Mac Roth counted as two, so really it was seven. But, he didn't mind. Not one bit. There was something
about being crowded together for the evening meal, the kitchen filled with the aroma of good food and laughter and the afterglow of victory.