Finn's Choice (25 page)

Seated between Tara and Lochlan, Finn swallowed another mouthful of corned beef, then leaned closer to Tara. “Do you know yet?” he said under the general buzz of conversation.

“No.” Tara cut her eyes once toward her master, who was laughing at something Mac Roth had just said. “She still hasn't made up her mind.”

“What are you guys talking about?” Lochlan asked, helping himself to another serving of potatoes.

“Kel wants to keep renting the house for a while longer. To make sure the Steels are safe, or so she says.”

Finn groaned under his breath. “What are we going to do?”

“Hey!” Lochlan poked Finn with his elbow. “Are you going to tell me what's going on or not?”

“Gideon and Kel O'Shea like each other,” Finn whispered.
“Like
each other.” He wiggled his eyebrows up and down.

“Really? Gideon and Kel O'Shea?” Lochlan blurted out in a loud voice. Classic O'Neill. “Are they dating or something?”

The entire table went dead silent.

“Sadly, no,” Mac Roth spoke after a long minute.

“We're working our way there.” Kel O'Shea shrugged.

“Define ‘dating,'” Gideon said at the same time.

After dinner, the Knights disappeared into the living room. Finishing kitchen duty in record time, the three apprentices headed
upstairs to Finn's room. Lochlan claimed the desk chair, spinning it around and draping his arms over the back. Finn and Tara flopped down on the bed, Tara sitting cross-legged on the foot while Finn leaned back against the headboard.

“Still can't believe I'm
here
. And not
there
.” He nodded eastward.

“I would've liked to have stayed longer,” Tara said with a sigh, then she brightened. “Hey!
We
should go together. When we finish our apprenticeships. The three of us. We could backpack around. There's probably some of our people still in Ireland we could stay with.”

“And we should ask Savannah and Rafe to go with us, too,” Lochlan said. He rested his chin on the back of the chair. “So they don't feel left out of the adventure.”

“‘The adventure?'” Tara snorted. “Dude, this is real life, not some book. Of course, if it
was
a book, I'd be the heroine and
you'd
be the sidekick with the goofy name.” She poked Finn's leg. “Or you. You both qualify for sidekick material.”

Finn nodded absently.

“There's a secret, magical otherworld, full of heroes and monsters, going on side-by-side with our world. I mean, us humans' world. Which is pretty awesome. It gives my boring, everyday life a kind of…” Savannah had frowned as she tried to explain. “A kind of glow. And, maybe Tolkien and Rowling and Le Guin and the other authors knew it, too. But they couldn't tell the truth, because people would think they're crazy. So they told it through stories.”

Savannah's words came back to him, even as he listened with one ear to his friends squabbling good-naturedly.
I guess authors are
like bards
, he thought.
In a way. Maybe, one day, I'll write some stories of my own
.

“Lochlan!” Mac Roth bellowed from downstairs. “Come along, lad. I am in need of my beauty sleep.”

Lochlan started to say something, then waved it away. “Nope. Too easy.”

After Mac Roth and Lochlan left, followed a few minutes later by Kel O'Shea and Tara, Finn started to head upstairs, his bed whispering to him. A word from his master stopped him.

“Come sit a bit. We'll keep the fire company until it dies.”

Gideon leaned an elbow on the mantel while Finn sank down on the sofa and rested his head on the arm. The crackle and snap of flames kept pulling his eyelids down. As did the aroma of wood smoke.

A soft chuckle. “Busy day, eh?”

“Busy five months,” Finn said around a yawn. “Do you think the rest of my apprenticeship will be like this?”

“Oh, no doubt. Perhaps even more. But, the day will come, sooner than you think, when you will no longer be an apprentice. You'll be a Knight, with the occasional apprentice to train, and maybe even a family of your own.” Gideon sighed. “Ye gods.”

Finn raised his head. “What?”

“The very thought sent a chill down my spine.”

“The thought of what?”

A corner of his master's mouth curled up. “Why, the thought of another Finnegan MacCullen.”

Shifting his duffle bag to his other shoulder as he walked, the man glanced around the neighborhood with the eagerness of a traveler returning to a familiar place. He had dismissed the taxi he had hired at the airport while a few blocks away, his body grateful for action after being cramped on planes and uncomfortable airport chairs for the last eleven hours.

Slowing down to a stroll, he paused and tilted his head back, relishing the warmth of the spring afternoon's sun on his face. With a trace of a smile, he nodded at the mountain range to the west just peeking above the suburban houses.
Hello, old friends
. Moving on, he picked up his pace, singing softly in rhythm with his stride. “‘The minstrel boy to the war is gone; in the ranks of death ye shall find him. His father's sword, he hath girded on, and his wild harp slung behind him.'”

At the end of the cul-de-sac, he stopped in front of his
destination—a small dark green house set between two towering pine trees. A stone wall, broken by a wrought-iron gate with a Celtic knot gracing its center, enclosed the yard. He brushed his fingers along a strand of bronze wire wrapped around the gate's railings. They looked new, he noted. The yard beyond was well-tended, as was the
sláinte
nettle hedge on the north side. It perfumed the air with a spicy-earthy aroma. On the far side of the hedge, a newer model truck sat parked in the gravel driveway. He raised an eyebrow at the vehicle and gave a soft laugh.

At that moment, the screen door opened. A young boy burst out. Letting the screen slap shut behind him, he paused at the edge of the porch and raised his arm. In his hand was an empty paper towel roll. He pointed it at the sky, then, with a whoop, he leaped off the porch. Slashing and stabbing, he danced about the yard. “Take that, ye manky beasties.” He ducked once, then lunged forward, impaling an imaginary foe with the cardboard tube. “Eat bronze!” Then, to the man's delight, he thrust again and shouted, “‘I am a spear on the attack, pouring forth combat!'”

“‘I am the god who fires your mind,'” the man finished with a smile that quirked a corner of his mouth. “Well struck, boyo. The Amandán haven't a chance against you.” The boy froze, noticing the man for the first time. His blue eyes widened under a mop of dark red hair.

“A fine morning to you,” the man said. He waited, suddenly reticent about entering, even though every inch of the yard and house was as familiar to him as his own fingers.

“Hi.” The child lowered his make-believe weapon and eased closer. Standing on tiptoe, he craned his head and peered over the wall. His gaze swept from the large hunting knife the man wore at his hip, then locked on the man's throat. “Is that a torc?”

“'Tis.”

“Are you a Knight?”

“Aye.” The man gestured toward the boy's right arm. “I'll place a fair wager that you are, as well. Might I see your mark?”

The boy laughed. A grin, one that was oh, so familiar, spread across his face. The man's heart lurched. “I'm not a Knight. But I'm going to be. When I grow up. Just like my mom and dad.”

“To be sure.”

The boy took another step closer. “I know you.” He scrunched up his face, sending freckles dancing. “I think.”

“Do you, now?”

The boy nodded. “Mom and Dad have a picture of you. On their desk.” Another step brought the boy to the gate.

“And I know you, as well, lad. Although last I saw you, six years ago, you were a wee babe in your mother Tara's arms.”

Realization lit up the young face. “You're Gideon Lir.”

“I am.”

“You were my dad's master.”

“I was.”

The boy beamed. “I was named after you.”

Hampered by an unexpected lump, Gideon cleared his throat before answering.

“Just so.”

The boy opened the gate and stood to one side. “
Céad mile fáilte
. That means ‘a hundred thousand welcomes.'”

Stepping through, Gideon laid a hand on the red head. “Thank you, Lir MacCullen.” Then he shut the gate behind him, and followed Finn's son along the flagstone walk.

Finn stood inside the doorway, watching through the screen as two of the three people he loved best in the world got to know each other. In this place. Where his own adventures had begun years ago.

He thought back to something his master had once told him:
We Celts have always believed that life is a Circle. An unending, repeating pattern that twists and turns and bring us back to the beginning
. “Aye, ‘tis true,” he whispered, using his best Irish accent. His grin widening, he slipped outside, letting the screen close softly behind him. Walking to the edge of the porch, he leaned a shoulder against the porch's column. “What have I told you, son, about letting strange folk into our yard?”

Dropping the duffle by his feet, Gideon paused on the walk, a matching smile lurking in a corner of his mouth. An eyebrow lifted—a gesture so familiar that Finn felt himself tumble backwards in time until he was thirteen again.

“‘Strange folk,' is it? A foine way to greet yer old master.” Five
years of living in Ireland had refreshed Gideon's lilt and made it green as a meadow in spring. “But, then, you always were a bit cheeky, Finnegan MacCullen.”

“Um…sir?” Lir tugged on Gideon's sleeve, his face turned up to the Knight's. “Dad goes by Finn, not Finnegan.”

Both Knights laughed. Then, Finn hurried down the steps and flung his arms around the older Knight, secretly pleased he was as tall as Gideon. A fierce embrace, then they stepped back and examined each other.

“What's with this showing up a day earlier stunt? Tara and I were all set to pick you up at the airport.”

“Why, simply following a family tradition. Here. Leave that be, lad.” Gideon stopped Lir, who was trying to pick up the duffle. “'Tis too heavy for you,”

“Oh, I can do it. I'm strong.” Taking the bag by the strap, Lir walked backward, hauling the bag through the grass to the steps. “See?”

“He's as stubborn as his mother.” Finn watched with pride as his son dragged the duffle—almost as big as he was—up one step at a time, then wrestled it through the door. He turned his head in time to catch Gideon's expression. “What?”

“As stubborn as his mother, eh?”

“Well…”

Gideon chuckled. “Speaking of Tara, where is she?”

“Grocery store. She lost the coin toss. Speaking of wives—”

“Were we?”

“We are now. When are you and Kel O'Shea going to get married?”

“And what is so wrong with a long courtship whilst enjoying our extended visit to Éireann?”

Finn rolled his eyes. “Only you would call five years an ‘extended visit.' You're not getting any younger, you know, and—”

A shadow ghosted across the yard. They stiffened and looked up, freeing their blades in twin flashes of bronze. Overhead, a crow floated past on inky wings, a black X against the blue sky. It cawed once, mocking them, then flew away, heading west toward the wooded foothills. Their eyes followed the crow's path, then they glanced once at each other.

“The lad?”

“We'll take him with us—he loves hiking with Tara and me. We'll just make this short tracking practice. He'll be safe enough with two Knights.”

“And Tara?”

Finn pulled a cell phone from his pocket with his free hand. “Texting her right now to let her know where we are.” As he tapped a thumb on the screen, his son burst through the door, task complete.