The Storm Keeper's Island
Page 7
It was over in less than twenty seconds.
The islander bared her teeth to the sky as a cloud rushed down to meet her, wreathing her body in wisps of purple and grey before seeping into her skin.
Fionn closed his jaw. She was human. Like him. And she had drowned a Soulstalker twice her size without even touching him! A realisation struck him as a spear went flying past his nose, weaving unnaturally before impaling itself in the heart of a Soulstalker one hundred paces away. He hadn’t seen any of this up on the headland with his grandfather. The candle had burned past all of the new wax, and it was burning still – the flame burrowing its way into the darkness underneath.
This definitely wasn’t supposed to happen.
The battle had moved on and somehow Fionn had moved with it.
The wind was growing impatient. It dragged him along the strand, away from the frenzied clash of sword on stone. Up ahead, the ravens had formed a shrieking black circle. Fionn held the candle out like a lantern, as a gust jerked him through the middle like a puppet, through beaks and feathers and beady eyes, until he found himself standing in a cove with two ancient sorcerers.
The rest of the battle faded to white noise as Fionn’s breath bulleted out of him.
They can’t see me. They can’t see me.
Morrigan hovered across from him, wearing a cape sewn from his worst nightmares. In the shifting darkness, Fionn could make out the imprint of contorted faces stitched together like patchwork, each one stretched into a gaping, screaming mouth.
Even invisible, Fionn could not hide from the sheer terror of Morrigan. The souls engulfed her skeletal body, pulling the warmth from the air and turning it into something cold and dreadful. Her hair was slick and black and endless, her skin so pale, the light shot through it and glistened along her glacial bones.
Fionn thought he might throw up. He tried not to imagine his own face bursting from his body to join the others.
Be brave.
He shuffled forward on shaking legs.
She can’t see me. She can’t see me.
Morrigan’s bloodless lips were moving around muttered incantations, her obsidian eyes trained on the figure kneeling before her.
Dagda, Fionn realised.
His head was bent to the earth, his white hair obscuring the side of his face, so Fionn couldn’t tell whether he was conscious or not. Only that he looked more human than he could have ever imagined. Weak, breakable. His staff lay forgotten beside him, the emerald stone half covered in sand.
The darkness speared Fionn’s heart as he inched towards it. Step by step, sweat turning to ice on his brow, shadows kissing his fingertips. The fear was almost paralysing, but now that he had made it here, somehow, he had to know. He had to see how it had ended.
Morrigan was unspooling Dagda’s soul, her incantations turning guttural with need. Strands of light had burst from the sorcerer’s chest and were floating through the air in gleaming, gossamer threads. As they moved towards her, they turned oily and black, seeping through her teeth as she gulped them down.
This was not how the story was supposed to go.
The shadows around Morrigan were growing while Dagda’s light was dying.
Something was very, very wrong.
The wind slammed its fist into Fionn’s back. Do something!
‘Hey!’ Fionn brandished the dying flame in his fist. ‘Get up! She’s going to kill you! Get up and fight!’
Dagda slumped forward, his body shuddering as the last thread of light left him.
No no no no no!
‘Get up!’
He couldn’t hear Fionn. Of course he couldn’t. But what else was he supposed to do?
Do something!
Fionn slammed his fist into Dagda’s back. ‘Do something!’ he roared.
Fionn’s fingertips jolted. A spike of warmth surged up his arm and exploded inside his chest.
The island hiccoughed.
Morrigan turned her endless gaze on him.
The world shrank to two obsidian pinpoints.
Fionn fell to his knees, a scream guttering in his throat as an icy fist closed around his heart.
Dagda staggered to his feet.
Morrigan blinked between them, the shadows around her faltering for a precious, fleeting second.
Dagda pointed his staff at her and a bolt of searing bright light speared her chest.
The candle in Fionn’s fist went out. Morrigan’s howls chased him through the layers, as the world tilted and then went black.
Chapter Eight
THE STRANGE TOURIST
It was almost an hour before Shelby Beasley found Fionn huddled in a ball at the end of the beach.
She tapped him on the shoulder. ‘Are you doing your best impression of a sea turtle or do you have an awful stomach-ache? I can’t tell. Groan once for turtle, twice for food poisoning.’
Fionn raised his head.
The dying sun haloed her face, the edges of her mouth creased in an exaggerated frown. She glanced behind her. ‘Do you want me to get your sister? Bartley’s walking her home. I said I’d give them a minute to say goodbye.’
Somewhere in the very back of Fionn’s mind, a little voice said, Gross. He got to his feet, his knees still knocking together.
‘I’m fine. I just … I must have fallen asleep.’ He turned his face to the ocean, his breath tripping as he watched the waves lapping against the shore. The beach was deserted. The battle was long over.
They had survived.
He had survived.
Mercifully, Shelby was not at all like her older brother. She waved his strangeness away, her braces glinting at him when she said, ‘I suppose there’s nothing wrong with a bit of fresh air. I love the way it smells like seaweed here. You don’t really get that back home, do you?’
Up above, the gulls were making their little pterodactyl noises. ‘I suppose not,’ said Fionn distractedly. He could still feel the imprint of Morrigan’s gaze inside him.
She had seen him.
One minute he was invisible, the next he was trapped beneath her stare.
He had felt it in his bone marrow. He couldn’t shake the sensation off, no matter how many years stood between them now.
She felt unbearably close.
To him. To all of them.
‘Shelby,’ he said urgently. ‘Can you tell me what else Dagda left behind to protect Arranmore?’
Shelby blinked in surprise. ‘Not one for small talk, are you?’
‘The gifts,’ pressed Fionn. ‘I need to know about the gifts.’
‘OK …’ she said slowly. ‘Well, there’s the Sea Cave, for that which is out of reach. But you already know about that thanks to yours truly.’
Fionn nodded fervently. ‘Keep going …’
‘Um. There’s the Whispering Tree, for that which is yet to come.’
‘What does that mean?’
‘It shows you the future. Kind of. I’m not exactly sure how it works, but my gran says you can ask it any question and it will tell you the answer. She visited it ages ago and she’s still angry at it. How you can be mad at a tree, I have no idea,’ mused Shelby. ‘But I did see her threaten a sheep once, so I suppose I shouldn’t be too surprised.’
Fionn blew out a breath. ‘OK. Good. What else?’
‘The Merrows, for invaders that may come.’ Shelby sounded more sure of herself now. Her eyes were twinkling with that same impossible wonder. ‘And before you ask, merrows are not mermaids. My gran is very precise about the whole thing. Apparently, they’re more like monsters than humans. They don’t have many dealings with us.’ Shelby grimaced. ‘Which is probably a good thing. I’ve only just got over my fear of dolphins and their creepy smiles. And anyway, we don’t have any business with an army of sea barbarians, do we?’
An army of sea barbarians. Fionn’s shoulders relaxed.
‘Then there’s Aonbharr, the flying horse, for danger that cannot be outrun.’ Shelby beamed so wide it looked like the sun was
shining out from behind her face. ‘If I had my way, we’d be looking for him, but Bartley’s still stewing over the pony that bucked him off during his eighth birthday party. My mum says he has pony-related-post-traumatic-stress-disorder but I don’t think that’s a real thing. It probably doesn’t really matter either way, because he’s obsessed with that stupid cave.’ She took an exaggerated breath before adding, ‘I’m assuming you already know about the Storm Keeper?’
‘Yeah, yeah. The weather stuff,’ said Fionn dismissively.
Shelby looked at him strangely. ‘Then that’s all of them, as far as I know.’
Fionn was starting to feel better. There really were things in place to stop Morrigan. Useful things.
And Bartley Beasley was afraid of ponies. Ha!
‘Thanks, Shelby.’
Shelby shrugged. ‘Glad I can be of some use today.’
‘No Sea Cave yet?’ Fionn fished.
She shook her head mournfully. ‘I wish Bartley would let me take over for a bit. He’s terrified that if he’s not leading the way, one of us will steal the dumb wish.’
Fionn tensed. A new breed of anxiety was suddenly spider-walking up his spine. ‘There’s only one wish?’
‘Well, one per generation. That’s why Bartley’s so picky about who he takes with him. I’m family and Tara … Well, she’s loyal to him because of their … romance.’ She wrinkled her nose. ‘But he sees you as a threat. It’s my gran’s fault putting the old family rivalry in his head. Don’t take this the wrong way, but she’s been poisoning him against you for as long as I can remember. Well, both of us actually, but I like to think for myself.’ She smiled apologetically. ‘If I had my way, we would all go.’
‘Don’t you want the wish though?’ said Fionn, trying not to appear too offended by all that unearned Beasley hostility. ‘If there’s only one, how come Bartley gets it?’
‘I want the horse,’ said Shelby with renewed excitement. ‘I love my gran but whoever gets that wish will end up having to answer to her. She’s the reason Bartley’s so obsessed in the first place. And I’m no one’s puppet.’
‘But why would –’
‘Oi! Shelby!’ As if summoned by the mention of his name, Bartley Beasley appeared on the headland with his chin in the air and his hands on his hips. He marched towards them. ‘Uncle Douglas has the barbecue on! We have to go!’
‘Speak of the devil,’ said Shelby.
‘Literally,’ said Fionn.
‘What are you doing over there with that weirdo, Shel?’ yelled Bartley. ‘Stop annoying my sister, Boyle!’
‘I’d better go before he gets even more cranky,’ she said, backing away from him. ‘See you around, Fionn!’
* * *
When Fionn made it back to the cottage, there was a raven sitting on the chimney and a man loitering in the front garden. Fionn recognised him immediately by his flaming crimson hair. It was scraped into a ponytail today but his beard was as full and vibrant as it had been in Donal’s shop, and he was still wearing the weird jumper despite the warm day. He was inspecting the briars, twirling the thorns between his fingers, like a poet scouring for inspiration.
‘Can I help you?’ said Fionn, slowing to a stop.
The raven kraa-ed as it flew away.
Fionn tried not to jump out of his skin.
It’s just a bird. I’m not afraid of birds.
The man regarded him with an easy smile – a full set of bright white teeth made all the whiter against the shock of red. He released the thorns and dug his hands in his pockets. ‘I’m looking for the Storm Keeper.’
Fionn tensed. Perhaps it was the unexpected raven or the memory of Morrigan’s gaze branded in his mind, but he was suddenly on high alert.
‘Alas, your sister says he’s not here,’ the man went on. He was slimmer than Fionn remembered, his shoulders bony and his chin sharp, his body carved with angles instead of curves. ‘Or was she lying to me?’
‘Sorry, who are you?’
The man’s chuckle was a musical arpeggio. ‘Forgive me, Fionn. I often forget to introduce myself. I’m Ivan. I arrived a couple of days ago from Dublin.’ He dipped his chin, his hands still dug into the pockets of his jeans. ‘I am just fascinated by the history of this island.’
Fionn didn’t know which made him more uncomfortable – the familiarity with which he was speaking to him or the fact that he hadn’t blinked since they began their conversation. ‘What brings you here?’
‘Curiosity,’ said Ivan, stepping into his path. Fionn tried to place his accent but he couldn’t. It was easy and fluid, a singsong cadence that made it seem as though he might burst into song at any moment. He didn’t sound like he was from Dublin. ‘If I’d have known where all the good Irish weather had been hiding … I would have come a lot sooner.’
‘Don’t get used to it. The weather here is just as unpredictable.’
A glint sparked in Ivan’s eyes. ‘Is that right?’
Fionn got the feeling he had just made a misstep. Uneasiness was grumbling in his stomach, the events of earlier creeping over him again. He needed to be inside in the comforting dimness, away from human interaction. ‘I’d better go.’
Ivan didn’t move out of his way. ‘Do you happen to know when your grandfather will be back? Your sister didn’t seem to have a clue.’
‘No idea.’
His beard twitched. ‘I was under the impression he never left the house. Isn’t that why Rose from over the hill does his shopping for him?’ he said, plucking the detail from Fionn’s previous conversation with Donal and holding it over him now like an interrogation lamp. ‘At least, that’s what I heard …’
There was a long, lingering silence.
Fionn glared at Ivan. ‘What exactly did you want to talk to my grandfather about?’
Ivan smiled, the word coming through his teeth. ‘Caves.’
Fionn’s chest tightened. Ivan’s smile was suddenly too loud, his beard vibrating from the effort of it, and there were beads of sweat dripping down the sides of his face.
‘Well, I’ll let him know you came by,’ said Fionn, arcing purposefully around Ivan and striding into the cottage. ‘Have a nice day.’
Chapter Nine
THE RESTLESS ISLAND
Fionn’s grandfather had squeezed himself into the gap between the windows in the sitting room, his shoulders hunched together so he looked as narrow as a green bean. ‘Pssst,’ he hissed. ‘Stay low.’
Fionn shut the front door behind him. ‘He’s leaving.’
His grandfather pressed his face against the windowpane, like the worst spy of all time. ‘Finally.’
‘What a weirdo,’ said Tara from inside the kitchen. She was reclining across two chairs, scrolling through her phone. ‘It’s like he’s trying to kidnap you or something.’
‘He’s probably just an aggressive breed of tourist.’ He unstubbed his nose from the pane. ‘Where is he off to with a beard that big? Is he trying to outdo Dagda himself?’
‘And that polo neck,’ added Tara with equal disgust. ‘It offends me.’
Fionn hovered between them with his fists bunched by his sides. ‘I need to tell you both something.’
‘What do you want? A musical introduction?’ said Tara.
Fionn cleared his throat, his heartbeat suddenly galloping faster than a racehorse. ‘I came face-to-face with Morrigan today. I burned the rest of Fadó Fadó.’
His grandfather, who was loping away from the window like an exaggerated cartoon, paused mid-tiptoe.
‘You are such a liar,’ said Tara through the archway. ‘You can’t burn the end of Fadó Fadó.’
Fionn set his jaw. ‘I’m not lying.’
His grandfather spun around, his attention honed on Fionn like a laser point. ‘Explain …’
The memory was still looming over Fionn like a shadow. There was an aching fullness in his chest and he couldn’t tell if it was a pool of unshed tears or the scream Morrigan had trapped in his throat.
‘The candle burned,’ said his grandfather quietly. ‘After all these years.’
Fionn swallowed the lump swelling in his throat. ‘All the way to the end.’
His grandfather blinked once, slow and heavy.
In the kitchen, Tara’s chair scraped across the tiles.
‘Then I found them,’ Fionn went on quickly. ‘Morrigan saw me. She looked right at me and I felt it.’ He clutched his heart, as if he had been punched. ‘Then Dagda hit her with something and the candle died and I think I must have passed out but when I woke up I was still on the beach and the rest of the wax had melted all over my hand. The candle’s gone, Grandad. I’m sorry.’
He raised his hand as Tara marched through the archway.
She grabbed it and turned it over, tracing the rivers of inky black wax with her finger. ‘This could be anything.’
‘Why would I lie? I’m not you.’ He turned to his grandfather. ‘You believe me, don’t you?’
His grandfather lowered himself on to the side of the armrest, his knees creaking in the silence. He didn’t speak for a long time. He stared instead at a spot on the floor, his eyes glazing as though he was travelling somewhere else inside his head. Fionn counted his own heartbeats – ten, thirty, fifty, until – ‘Yes, Fionn. I believe you.’
‘What?’ said Tara, aghast.
‘I touched Dagda,’ said Fionn, spurred on by his grandfather’s unexpected support. ‘He was on his knees and then I don’t know what came over me but I sort of thumped him in the back and my fingers jolted and that’s when Morrigan looked at me! She got distracted and then Dagda leapt to his feet …’ He trailed off.