Gideon's Spear (16 page)

“Okay,” Lochlan said slowly, confusion wrinkling his forehead.

Finn took a deep breath. “Iamthespear,” he mumbled all at once.

“Beg pardon?”

“I said, ‘I am the Spear,'” he said louder.

“What spear?”

“Gideon's Spear. You know—the Spear of the Tuatha De Danaan.”

Lochlan blinked. “Of course, you are.” He waited for a beat. “And I'm Excalibur.” The mocking tone made Finn's ears flame. Before he could explain, Lochlan snatched up the mustard-coated knife with a flourish. “No. Wait. I'm
King Arthur
!” He waved it in the air. A yellow dollop splattered Finn's chin.

“Hey!” He shoved Lochlan, who laughed. “Knock it off.”

“Oops. Sorry. Did I get mustard on the
Spear
?” He hooted again and tossed the knife into the sink with a clatter. “No, seriously.”

“Seriously. I'm Gideon's Spear.”

“More like Gideon's Pain-in-the-Butt.” Lochlan laughed in Finn's face.

Something snapped in Finn. He shoved Lochlan again, this time sending the other apprentice stumbling into the kitchen table. He went down in a tangle of boy and chair legs.

Bouncing to his feet with a curse, Lochlan charged across the room and plowed into Finn. Finn reeled. The edge of the counter caught him painfully in the lower back. His elbow hit the pitcher of tea and sent it crashing to the floor.

Red dots began flickering at the edge of his vision. It darkened to a crimson haze. Lochlan became a dim figure dancing in front of him and taunting him.
Bring it on, Spear
. A tiny part of Finn's brain yelled at him to wait. To stop. To think.

Fighting to control the warp spasm, Finn squeezed his eyes shut.
Oh, crap, not in front of Lochlan
. He began to shake. In desperation, he dug fingernails into the palms of his clenched hands. The shaking worsened as the warp spasm swelled. Sweat burst out on his forehead and the back of his neck and his hair stood on end. Blood thundered in his ears. Vaguely, he could hear Lochlan yelling his name, the screen door slapping open, and voices shouting.

* * *

Outside on the table, Gideon grinned in amusement with his friend as they listened to the apprentices talking through the window. Mac Roth cringed at the mention of Excalibur.

“Oh, the shame.” He tugged at his beard.

“Now, why do ye say that?”

“Because me daft apprentice chose a bleedin'
English
sword to use as a comparison.”

“Yer the daft one.” Gideon scoffed. “Why, everyone knows Arthur and his knights were Welsh, not bleedin' English.”

Mac Roth brightened. “By the Goddess, Lir, ye have a point there.” He raised his glass in a salute.

A crash and a shout jerked their heads around. A moment later, Lochlan flung open the screen, eyes wide. “Gideon, something's wrong with Finn.”

Twenty-One

L
eaping to his feet, Gideon dashed inside. Spilled tea pooled on the floor. Next to the counter, Finn stood hunched over, trembling so violently his teeth clattered together.

In two strides, Gideon crossed the room, broken glass crunching underfoot. He pinned the boy's arms to his side. “Easy, boyo. Let it go, now.” He tightened his hold when the tremors increased.

“Ye gods.” Mac Roth stood by the door, Lochlan beside him; the apprentice's face was white as a sheet. “Is it a warp spasm, Lir?”

“Aye.” Worry pinched Gideon's face.

“I'm…I'm sorry,” Lochlan breathed. “I was just joking around and…” His voice trailed off at Mac Roth's growl.

“When will ye learn to use
this
,” the giant cuffed Lochlan on the head, “before flapping
this
?” He clipped the boy under the chin, his words harsher than his hand. “Now, go wait for us outside.” Mac Roth gave Lochlan a nudge out the door, then walked closer. “What can I do?”

“Nothing.” Gideon tightened his grip on Finn's arms. “It will be over soon.”

At that moment, Finn's legs gave out. Gideon helped him to the table. Slumping over with a groan, he buried his head in his arms. His shoulders rose and fell as he gasped for breath.

Dragging a chair closer, Gideon sat down next to his apprentice. “A right bad one, eh?'

Finn nodded, face still buried. “I feel like an idiot,” he said hoarsely. “Is Lochlan still around?”

“Out back.”

With another groan, Finn lifted his head and pushed damp hair off his forehead. He looked away. “Sorry.” Embarrassment colored his voice as well as his cheeks.

“No need for shame.”

Mac Roth joined them. He handed a glass of cold water to Finn, then sat down. Leaning back in the chair, the Knight raked his beard as he studied the boy gulping down the drink. “Tell me, young Finn. Have yer warp spasms always been this ferocious?” His frown deepened when Finn nodded. “Curious.”

Gideon cocked an eyebrow. “In what way?”

“I wonder if perhaps his violent attacks are somehow related to the fact he is the Spear.”

“Gideon says his warp spasms are pretty bad, too.” Finn took another drink. “Is that because of
his
ties to the Spear?”

“I think not. I am only a descendent of Gideon Black Hand, nothing more. But there may be a connection—”

“So, it's true?” A voice blurted out. “You really
are
the Spear.” Lochlan stood on the other side of the screen door peering in. “But I was always taught that the Spear was, you know, a
spear
. Not a person.” He pressed his nose against the mesh and looked at Finn. “So what's it like? Do you have any superpowers? Like can you shoot fire from your fingers or—ow!” He yelped when Mac Roth tilted back in his chair, reached over, and smacked his nose through the screen with the flat of his hand.

Finn grinned wearily. “Does the guy ever shut up?” he asked Mac Roth.

“Never. A true O'Neill, this one is. Gifted with both the knife and mouth.” He waved him inside.

“Sorry about hazing you.” Lochlan took a seat next to Finn and stared at him. “I'm still trying to wrap my brain around the idea that you're the Spear.”

Finn snorted. “Me, too.”

Mac Roth placed a hand on Lochlan's arm. “I dislike putting ye in this situation, lad, but I need ye to refrain from speaking about this. Lir is…
uneasy
…about others knowing that Finn is the Spear.”

“Sure.” Lochlan shrugged. “Anyway, who would I tell?”

The Knights glanced over the apprentices' heads at one another. “Yer da, for one,” Mac Roth said. “Although if he asks ye directly, then you mustn't lie to him. Do ye understand what I am saying?”

“Yes, sir.” Lochlan made a face. “Not that Dad ever would. He doesn't think very highly of…” He made a vague gesture.

“Halfers.” Finn finished the sentence.

“Yeah. Sorry.”

“No worries,” Finn replied. “Rafe once told me you can't pick your family, just your friends.” Changing the subject, he glanced down at the mess on the floor. “Guess I should clean that up.”

“I'll help.” Lochlan stood up. “After all, I'm kind of the reason you went nuclear.”

While Lochlan gingerly picked up shards of broken glass, Finn found a rag and wiped the linoleum dry. Floor cleaned, they finished making lunch and carried the sandwiches over to the table while the Knights talked.

“I disagree with ye, Lir.” Mac Roth reached for a sandwich. Half of it disappeared in one bite, two chews and a swallow. “Why not confront her directly and tell her we know of her meetings with the Amandán and of her interest in Finn here?”

“Because then she'll be doubly on her guard. No, we'll go about our daily lives and see if she doesn't trip herself up and reveal her true plan.
Then
we confront her.”

“With a dagger at her throat, eh?”

Gideon shrugged. “I should be so lucky.” He studied his apprentice for a moment, then tore his sandwich in half and slipped the rest of it onto Finn's plate.

“Well, ye've always been the better strategist. I'll follow yer lead for now.” Mac Roth munched down the rest of the sandwich, then rose. “Come, Lochlan. Ye've a list of chores waiting for ye.”

Lochlan choked on a mouthful of ham and bread. “What list of chores?”

“Why, the one ye've just earned by disobeying me. Lir, I thank ye for yer hospitality. Ye two keep yer heads down and yer hides intact.” He nodded and left. Lochlan followed, sandwich in one hand. The front door thumped closed a moment later.

“Speaking of chores…” Gideon walked out of the kitchen. While Finn finished eating, he returned with paper and pen. Sitting back down across from the apprentice, he began writing, pausing now and then to drum his fingers as he thought. Once he glanced out the kitchen window and murmured. “Number twenty-four—cut the grass in the back yard.” At Finn's grimace, he added, “By hand.”

* * *

Flinging himself face-down on the sofa, Finn groaned.
Ye gods, I'm finally done. I can't believe it's taken me three whole days to get through that stupid list of chores
, he thought.
I would have been done in
two
days if Gideon hadn't kept adding to it. Which was totally unfair. And mean
. He stretched his back, wincing at the pull of sore muscles from the daily workouts that Finn was sure his master invented just to cause the most agony.
He's trying to kill me, before the Amandán do, and rob him of the satisfaction
. He burrowed deeper into the cushions. The sound of Gideon singing as he bustled about the kitchen preparing supper grated on his nerves.
He's happy because he's making me miserable. Typical
. With a sigh, he curled onto his side, then closed his eyes.

Ten minutes later, he grunted at the hand shaking him. He blinked awake and peered up; Gideon was leaning over him.

“Supper is on the table, Finn. And eat lightly. We'll be doing…”

“…yeah, yeah, I know.” He sat up with a sigh and scrubbed at his hair until it stuck out from his head. “Fitness drills afterwards.”

“Your choice, boyo.” Gideon turned and headed back.

His upper lip curled as he silently mocked his master. “‘Your choice, boyo.'” When Gideon wasn't looking, of course. He was insolent, not stupid.

Finn pushed off the sofa. On his way to the kitchen, he idly noticed the chunk of iron pyrite Rafe had given him, sitting on Gideon's desk. The Knight was using it as a paperweight. He shrugged and continued toward the kitchen.

His stomach rumbled when he caught the scent of shepherd's pie. “Oh, man—my favorite.” Two steaming bowls, already filled with savory lamb stew topped with clouds of mashed potatoes, sat on the table. Both the aroma of the meal and the evening sun glancing through the window warmed the room. Snatching a spoon from the table, Finn started shoveling food into his mouth even before his bottom hit the chair.

“So what are we doing later?” he asked in a mashed potato-y tone of voice. He hastily swallowed when his master raised a warning eyebrow.

Gideon thought for a moment. “I've something I would like to try this evening.”

“A new exercise?”

“Aye, in a way.” He pointed a spoon at Finn's bowl. “That's all you get for now. You may have more after we're through.”

Finn slowed down, determined to make it last. He grabbed a slice of brown bread from the basket and used it to sop up every last morsel of stew. While he ate, he kept glancing across the table.

Empty plate pushed to one side, Gideon sat deep in thought. He rubbed his knuckles along his stubbled jaw, brows pinched together. As Finn watched, he nodded to himself as if coming to a decision, then rose and carried his dishes to the counter. “Finish up, then out back.” He disappeared into the living room. Finn heard him open the door leading down to the basement, footsteps echoing faintly as he descended.

After licking his spoon clean, Finn dumped his own bowl in the sink and headed outside.

He wandered to the far side of the yard where the grass grew thicker, though now neatly trimmed. The voice of a weather forecaster droning on about the increase in afternoon storms drifted faintly from the direction of Ms. Martinez, the elderly, and rather deaf, neighbor to the north of them. Finn grinned as he recalled Gideon consenting to help move a concrete birdbath from her back yard to the front just last week. His master had ended up carrying it back and forth a dozen times before she decided to leave it in its original spot. All the while, Gideon had struggled to keep a tight rein on his annoyance.

The screen slapped open. Gideon appeared, carrying two sets of boxing gloves. He joined Finn and handed him a pair.

“How is boxing going to help me hunt Amandán?”

“You'll see.”

Finn pulled on the gloves. He held them up while Gideon laced them tight. While he waited for his master to finish his own preparations, he walked over to the punching bag and gave it a few thumps. The massive gloves stuck on the end of his still-too-skinny-for-his-taste arms made him feel like a cartoon character.
All I need is a goofy name and… Oh. Yeah. Right. Never mind
.

“Finn.”

Jogging back, he took a stance a few feet from the Knight and waited for instructions. For a long minute, Gideon stood looking at him, an uneasy expression on his face. Taking a deep breath, he spoke.

“Do you remember when I mentioned to you that the warp spasm could be useful in a fight?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And do you trust me? Trust me to train you in the best way I know how?”

Finn nodded, unsure what to say.

“Right. Then I want you to try to hit me. Land a blow anywhere and any way you can.” He held up his gloves and indicated for Finn to do the same.

Balancing on the balls of his feet, Finn raised his gloves. Keeping his chin tucked as Gideon had taught him, he jabbed in the classic right, left, right combo.
Smack. Smack. Smack
. Each punch was blocked by the Knight's lightning-fast moves. Warming up, he danced to the side, trying to break through Gideon's guard.