The Hound at the Gate (9 page)

“Kel O'Shea.” Gideon bowed his head briefly, an unusual light in his eyes. “
Fáilte
.”

The female Knight smiled at the welcome. “Thank you. Gideon Lir. Finn MacCullen. This is Tara Butler.” She gestured toward the girl. A trace of pride colored her voice. “My new apprentice. Actually, my
first
apprentice,” she amended. “Tara turned thirteen just ten days ago.”

“Hello, Knight Lir,” Tara said. “Hi, Finn.” Her hair was smoothed back into a ponytail that hung forward over one shoulder. A fringe of bangs brushed her eyebrows. Her hoodie, the exact shade of Tuatha De Danaan blue as her eyes, proclaimed her a fan of U2.

Finn stood, one hand still holding up the crate lid. “Hi.” To his chagrin, the lid slipped from his fingers and fell with a crash and a rattle. Heat flooded his face, then moved outward to his ears.
Smooth, MacCullen, real smooth
. “Sorry,” he mumbled. His face grew hotter when Tara tried not to smile.

Gideon came to his rescue. He gestured toward a vacant chair. “Would you care for tea, Kel?”

“Thanks, but no. I'm putting together a little competition this afternoon. Want to join us?”

“The events?”

“Oh, some knife throwing, a boxing match or two, a game of hurling if we can get enough players. Maybe even a wrestling match. Which Mac Roth will win, as usual.” She looked around. “Where is he, by the way? And Asher?”

“Lochlan,” Gideon corrected. “Asher was the O'Neill cousin who was killed in July.”

Finn tried to ignore the remorse that always stabbed him at the mention of the dead apprentice.
I know Gideon keeps telling me it wasn't my fault. Maybe someday I'll believe him
.

O'Shea winced. “Right. Sorry, I should have remembered. They have such a huge clan, I'm always getting the kids mixed up.”

As the Knights chatted together about the O'Neills and other families, Tara walked over to Finn. She glanced around the campsite. “Cool setup you guys have here. I like this old-school look. Kel's got us in a tent that looks like it could take on an Everest expedition.
Talk about overkill.” She nudged the wooden crate with the toe of her sneaker. “I like things more basic. Back to nature and all that.”

Finn blinked in surprise. “You
like
camping?”

“Sure. Who doesn't?”

“I just thought… Well, you know. Being a girl and all—”

Her eyes narrowed. “What does
being a girl
have to do with whether I like camping or not?”

Finn wondered why the air temperature had suddenly dropped ten degrees. “Um…well, most girls…” He caught himself, and tried again. “I mean
some
girls don't like—”

“Oh, I get it. You're one of those guys.”

“What guys?”

“Guys that think females can't do what males do, right?” Her voice was sharper than the edge of Finn's knife.

Feeling as if he were lost in the middle of a bog and sinking fast, he scrambled to save himself. “No, I'm not one of
those guys
. In fact, my friend, Savannah, is really good at—”

“Kel told me I might run into other Fey with this attitude. But I always thought it would be an older Knight. Not an apprentice who's the
same age as me
.” She huffed out a breath, blowing her bangs out of her eyes. Jutting out her chin, she squared up to Finn.

He gawked at her sudden fierceness. “I-I didn't say that! All I did was ask if you liked—”

“Do you always make such snappy conclusions about people?” Tara stepped closer and poked him in the chest. “Or do you wait until you know them better. Like for more than two minutes?”

Finn felt his blush all the way to the tips of his toes. A tiny piece of his brain noticed that the two Knights were watching. Mortified at looking like a fool in front of them, he slapped her hand away harder than he meant to. The sound seemed to echo around the clearing.

“Finnegan!” Finn jumped at Gideon's growl.

“Oh, for Danu's sake. Not again.” O'Shea walked over and took her apprentice by the elbow. “You just had to fly off the handle, didn't you? After we had just talked about this.”

“He's the one who started the whole stereotyping thing,” Tara protested as her master pulled her to one side.

Flummoxed by the warp speed with which he had managed to infuriate Tara and embarrass himself in front of everyone, Finn clenched his fists in frustration. He shot a glare at the apprentice's back as she stood fidgeting while O'Shea scolded her in a low voice.

“Finnegan MacCullen.” Gideon pointed at the ground by his feet. “Now.”

Fuming, Finn planted his feet and refused to move. Gideon lifted an eyebrow in warning.

You better get over there
, Finn warned himself, recalling what had happened just three weeks ago when he had stubbornly refused to obey a direct order during a hunt. A hard cuff on the head, thirty push-ups, and a five-minute lecture delivered in such a deep brogue Finn could barely understand half the words—that had been his reward. Relenting before the other eyebrow went up, he dragged himself over. He winced when his master reached out and grabbed him by the scruff of the neck.

“Tara Butler is not only a fellow apprentice, but also a girl and a guest, is she not?” Gideon said in a tone that made Finn gulp.

“Yes, sir.”

“Then
treat her as such
.” The Knight gave him a rough shake with each word.

“Yes, sir,” Finn gasped. He rubbed the back of his neck when Gideon let go. At the unspoken command from his master, he walked over to where O'Shea and Tara stood, the girl now as red-faced as Finn.

Taking a deep breath, he forced himself to look her square in the eye.
When you offer up an apology, lad, do so manfully
. “Tara Butler, I'm sorry I was rude.”

“You should be. Ow!” She winced when her master pinched her arm. “Yeah, I'm sorry, too,” she replied, clearly not sorry at all.

Hoping to salvage what he could, Finn plowed along. “And I really don't think you're a girl.”

“What?”

“No. Wait. What I
meant
to say is that I don't think you're a
real
girl.” Finn groaned silently when the words left his mouth.

“What the heck is
that
supposed to mean?”

Behind him, he could hear Gideon coughing, trying to smother a laugh. Standing behind her apprentice, O'Shea was holding her hand over her mouth.

Feeling like possibly the biggest fool in the entire history of all known and unknown universes, Finn prayed for a pack of Amandán to burst into camp and kill him. Right then.

No such luck.

“Are you trying to say you don't think I'm a
girly girl
?”

Finn nodded in relief. “Exactly.”
And now I'm going to shut up before I say anything more stupid. If that's possible
, he thought.
Which I doubt
.

“Oh. Well, okay then.”

“And, on that note, we are out of here,” O'Shea said. “Come on, Tara, before you and Finn start throwing punches.” The Knight nudged her apprentice toward the path, but then lingered a moment. “Gideon. It's good to see you again.”

“The pleasure is mine, Kel.”

“And I'm glad you're back.”

“As am I.”

Finn blew out a long breath as they walked away.
Sheesh. And Gideon says
I
have a hair-trigger temper
?

Shaking his head in disbelief, he started to say something when he noticed Gideon still watching O'Shea until she disappeared behind a stand of trees. His master continued to stare at the spot, as if remembering something. A faint smile curled one corner of his mouth.

Finn blinked.
He likes her
. The realization made him suddenly aware of something he knew-but-didn't-know. Or didn't
want
to know, for some reason.

That his master was more than just his master. That Gideon was a person. With likes and dislikes. With faults and strengths.

That Gideon was a man. And just like his master, one day Finn would be a man, too.

An uncomfortable awkwardness made him turn away. His cheeks, already warm, grew warmer when Gideon headed for his tent, singing softly under his breath about a maid with the nut-brown hair. “What do I need to bring?” he said loudly, trying to drown out his master's voice.

“A knife or two. The ones you use for target practice.”

“Gideon, I suck at throwing,” Finn protested. “Can't I try another event? She said they might have boxing. And I saw my gloves in the crate.” He frowned at a sudden thought. “Is that why you've been teaching me?”

“Aye. It is a useful skill for a boy to know, even in this century. But also to help control your temper.”

That's for sure
. Finn thought back to all the times he had hammered on the punching bag in their back yard to rid himself of the uncontrollable warp spasms. “So. Boxing?”

“And knife throwing,” Gideon said, refusing to relent. “You need all the practice you can manage. Bring your gloves,
both
your knives, and your jacket for later. I'll leave a note for Mac Roth and Lochlan.” He ducked inside his tent.

Finn scurried to fetch his blades and jacket from his tent. It took him a few minutes to find it shoved under his cot. When he returned, Gideon was down on one knee, rummaging through the crate. Camping supplies were scattered about. He pulled out a hurley buried at the bottom and a small plastic tube of ointment.

“Here. Hold this.” He passed the stick to Finn, then slipped the container into his pocket.

While Gideon repacked the supplies, Finn ran his hand along the hurley, the wood smooth under his fingers and its surface darkened over the years with use and sweat.
And probably some blood
, he thought. A wry smile tugged at his lips at the memory of a few games with his cousins.

“I didn't know you played.” Finn held it closer to examine the Celtic rope pattern banding the handle; the design was worn off in places.

“It has been many a year. Do you?”

“A little. Just messing around with my cousins.”
When they'd actually
let
me play
.

“Good. We always need more men.”

“I don't have a stick.” He handed it back to Gideon.

“There will be extras about. But I best warn you—the rules of hurling
we
follow here at the Festival are not like the more genteel ones of mortals.”

“What are the rules?”

“First rule.” Gideon held up a finger. “Use your hurley to pass the ball, or the
sliotar
, from player to player to move it down the field. Unlike the mortals, we do not stay in our positions—it's more of a free-for all. And there is no limit to the number of times you can bounce the ball on the end of your stick. Only a throw between the posts scores a point.”

“Sounds a lot simpler than the way humans play it. What are the other rules?”

The Knight held up another finger. “No using the power of the Song. We compete heart to heart, muscle to muscle, wind to wind.”

“Oh.” Finn made a face.
Too bad—I'd have used the help
. “Next rule?”

“There are no other rules. The other team can do whatever it wishes to steal the ball. The first team that earns five points wins.”

Ye gods!
“Are you sure that's
hurling
? It sounds more like out-of-control lacrosse and rugby combined. With a little bit of football thrown in.”

“Oh, aye. 'Tis grand fun, to be sure, when played the Tuatha De Danaan way. The humans of Ireland stole the sport from us centuries ago and watered it down to the version the world knows today.”

That's because they wanted to survive the game
, Finn thought.

“Now.” Gideon studied Finn for a moment, then gestured at the boy's face. “Are you
certain
you're up to boxing after getting walloped earlier?”

Finn wiggled his still-tender nose, then winced. “Yeah, maybe you're right.” He sighed, then tossed the gloves back in the crate. “
Sláinte
nettle heals us pretty fast, but not that fast.”

They left the campsite and followed the path winding through other tents toward the open field next to the barn. Gideon carried his hurley over one shoulder. Reaching the area, they paused and looked about.

A crowd had already gathered. Knights and apprentices milled around in clusters. To one side of the barn, an archery competition was getting underway. The outline of a life-size Amandán was drawn in chalk across the building's weathered planks. A padded straw target formed its chest and belly. Someone had added a bubble coming from the goblin's mouth with the words
Kiss me, I'm Irish
inside of it. Finn spotted Kel O'Shea giving instruction to a cluster of apprentices, including Tara, who held a bow of her own. Near the open doors of the barn, Toryn Mull stood comparing swords with another Knight.

At the edge of the field, a group of Knights, mostly men, but a few women and girls, too, were standing around, hurleys by their feet or resting across their shoulders to form useful hand rests. While Finn watched, some of the apprentices began tossing the ball back and forth, flipping it from stick to stick. Near them, the Knights talked, pointing to one end of the field, then the other. One of them looked up.

“Gideon!” Dennis O'Donnell waved at him. “Good timing—we're getting ready to choose teams,” he shouted. “And bring Finn with you—we need numbers.”

“Leave your things here, Finn.” Gideon pointed at the Council's platform. Piles of jackets, sweaters, knives, daggers, and water bottles littered the space around the feet of the three chairs. After dumping their stuff, they jogged over to the playing field.

“You're on my team,” O'Donnell announced to Gideon. “And grab yourself a stick, kid.” He pointed to a pile of spare hurleys lying a few yards away.