Fionn traced the curved edges with the pad of his thumb. ‘Your father’s medal.’
‘And now it’s yours.’ The stool creaked as his grandfather sat down again. It was dark in the back garden, but the moon was creeping into the sky and casting a glow. The birds had deserted them and Fionn was glad of the privacy. ‘I was going to give it to your dad but, well …’ Fionn didn’t dare blink in case the tears hiding underneath his eyelids slipped out again. ‘It’s too late to wish him back, lad,’ his grandfather continued, his words turning to careful footsteps on Fionn’s heart. ‘If maybe that’s what you were thinking about the Sea Cave. Even Dagda could not raise the dead.’
Fionn clamped his fist around the medal, and squeezed and squeezed until the pain in his hand was greater than the pain in his chest.
‘He took the oath, Fionn. He knew how it might end. And all the while, as long as I knew him, he was the bravest of us all.’
‘He didn’t get a shipwreck though. He didn’t get a story.’
‘You are his story, Fionn. You and Tara. And your mother. And me. As long as there is someone to remember you, you are never truly gone, and neither is your story. That is the wonderful thing about Arranmore. It never forgets.’
Fionn opened his fist and released the heat gathering inside it. ‘I don’t deserve this, Grandad.’ He set the medal on the workbench, thinking of what Elizabeth Beasley had said to him outside the church. ‘I don’t wear the sea behind my eyes.’
A cloud split overhead and the moon shone through it, dusting its light along the top of his grandfather’s head. He slid the medal back to him. ‘Bravery is just a matter of forgetting to be afraid, Fionn. Nothing more. Nothing less.’ He tapped the medal. ‘You don’t have to wear it. Put it under your pillow if you like.’
‘Why? So the Sea Fairy can visit me?’
He laughed and the wind swirled around them and rustled the hair on the crown of Fionn’s head, as though it was laughing too.
‘You never know,’ his grandfather said with a wink.
Chapter Thirteen
THE SEA FAIRY
Long before midnight, Fionn sank into a dream, where the sea climbed up the cliffs and spat its guts on to the land. Merrows with bloody tails and black teeth clawed at his ankles, crooning as they peeled their scales off and stuck them to his skin. Let not the deep swallow me up, they moaned as bronze medals tumbled from their gaping mouths. Let not the deep swallow me up!
‘Hey!’ echoed a distant voice.
The Merrows shimmered, flickering in and out like holograms. A familiar lament broke through, the dream changing as the island woman’s song floated towards him on the wind.
Come to me, my fearless Boyle,
And see the magic I can brew.
This time the words were clearer, the melody arcing as he slipped down the cliff face in search of the voice.
Visit me beneath the soil.
Come and wish me back to you.
‘Fionn!’ Fionn woke with a start to find his grandfather’s nose less than an inch from his own. ‘Wakey-wakey, little stormling!’
Fionn groaned. His limbs were luxuriously heavy, the sheets rising around him like quicksand.
His grandfather bounced up and down on the side of his bed. ‘Are you ready for an adventure?’
‘Not interested,’ said Fionn, turning over.
His grandfather ripped the cover off him. Fionn yelped. The room was freezing, his pyjamas much too light to stave off the sudden chill of unwanted wakefulness. ‘Give me my duvet back!’
His grandfather leapt to his feet and pulled Fionn out of bed. He led him from the room, chattering at full volume, despite the fact that Tara was still sound asleep behind them. ‘Hello, I’m Malachy Boyle and I’ll be your Sea Fairy this evening!’ He was still wearing his pyjamas, and deck shoes that made his footsteps echo down the unlit hallway where the candles peered after them in curious silence. ‘Please keep your arms and legs inside the vessel at all times.’
‘What vessel?’ Fionn asked the back of his grandfather’s head.
His grandfather whistled his tuneless song, only pausing to make sure Fionn put his trainers on in the kitchen.
‘Lace them up good, lad.’ He plucked a grey cap from the stand by the front door and blew a layer of dust from it. Particles spiralled in the air, catching the light from the candle on the mantelpiece.
Still half asleep and thus unusually compliant, Fionn bent down to tie his laces. ‘Why?’ he asked. ‘What’s going on?’
His grandfather pulled a candle from his pyjama pocket and waggled it back and forth. ‘I’ve been looking for this storm all night,’ he said triumphantly. ‘It had rolled into one of my shoes!’
Fionn sprang to his feet and tried to knock the candle from his grandfather’s grasp. ‘No!’
His grandfather hopped backwards. ‘Careful, or Maggie Patton will come back and haunt us! She had to sleep for thirty-six hours after recording this one!’
Fionn knew exactly why.
The candle was tall and thick and perfectly round. It was a blue that was as grey as it was green, almost see-through in parts and murky towards the bottom, where the sediment might gather in an ocean. Fionn could smell it perfectly; even unlit, it was sticking to the insides of his nostrils. It was rain-soaked wood and battered sails, the ragged calls of frantic men dipped in seaweed and swirled inside a tide of salt and brine. It was sheets of freezing rain and the burnt shriek of lightning striking sea. It was peril and adventure and terror and hope all rolled together, and it was unapologetically pungent.
His grandfather pulled Fionn over the threshold to the cottage and out into the garden. With triumph gleaming in his eyes, he placed the candle in his teeth, twined his fingers in Fionn’s and brought the flame to The SS Stolwijk. It fizzed to life, and the door slammed shut behind them.
A breeze rippled out from the cottage in an enormous circle. Everything before Fionn – the bushes and the trees and the grass and the flowers – bent their heads to the earth and bowed to the Storm Keeper of Arranmore.
The gate to Tír na nÓg creaked open.
‘Let’s go!’ he called, exhilaration tripping through his voice and propelling them down the headland as he plucked the candle from his teeth. He brandished it high above him, the flame waving back and forth at the moon as if to say, Hello. Remember me?
‘Grandad!’ shrieked Fionn, as the wind shoved him impatiently. ‘You’re going too fast!’
‘Knees up, lad!’ his grandfather shouted, his own knees springing to his chest with every stride. ‘That’s it, very good! Lift them higher! Just like this! Good! Excellent! Let’s show the island just how brave you can be!’
They raced across the headland, the stars bursting overhead while the moon swam across the sky and shattered the darkness. ‘Hurry up!’ yelled his grandfather, and the wind whooshed at Fionn’s back as if to help him along.
‘I’m going to be sick!’ cried Fionn, tugging at him to slow down.
The island was flying past at an alarming rate, the houses and trees disappearing into the earth. ‘The bigger the storm, the faster it burns,’ his grandfather yelled. ‘Time waits for no one! Not even the Boyles!’ He whooped as another of the island’s layers peeled over them, the memory slowly taking shape. ‘Nearly there, lad! We have to get to the pier before morning!’
Fionn was getting a terrible stitch in his side. ‘Can. We. Turn. The. Candle. Off?’ he wheezed. ‘Please!’
‘There’s no fear in the doing of it, lad!’ His grandfather’s words weren’t at all strained. His breathing was perfectly even as he charged ahead, the candle brandished high above him like an Olympic torch. ‘There’s only fear in the beforehand, Fionn, and this is the beforehand!’
‘If you think this is going to change anything then you’re wrong!’ yelled Fionn. ‘I told you I’m not a brave person!’
‘Nonsense! How can you know who you truly are until you figure out where you come from?’ His grandfather�
��s blue and white pyjama bottoms had gathered above his ankles and his pyjama shirt was whipping out behind him like a cape. ‘Watch out for that tree root!’Right as he said it, a root erupted from the ground. He hopped, clearing it effortlessly, like a gazelle on a nature programme. Fionn tripped over it.
His grandfather yanked him to his feet and dragged him onwards. ‘I said watch out!’
‘How did you know that would happen?’ Fionn heaved, just as he was tugged sharply to the right, out of the way of an old wooden carriage that appeared from nowhere, trundling up the hill and nearly running Fionn over.
‘Just as I suspected!’ His grandfather waggled the candle back and forth, his eyes glinting with glee. ‘They can’t see you when you’re not holding the candle! Our voyage continues!’
Fionn squeezed his grandfather’s fingers tighter, trying to keep up. ‘How did you figure that out?’
‘I used my genius sense of intuition!’ His grandfather’s laughter soared and the wind joined in – the island and its Keeper working hand in hand. ‘I haven’t adventured like this in such a long time, Fionn. I forgot what it smelled like!’
To Fionn, it smelled suddenly and disconcertingly like manure. The layers kept rustling and within them Fionn saw workhorses with flared hooves clopping by, men with strange hats and oversized newspapers and old women in shawls, carrying baskets up and down the headland.
Too soon, the pier rose before them. Morning had come quickly and it had brought winter with it. Fionn’s teeth were rattling in his mouth. He couldn’t feel the tips of his fingers or his nose. Overhead, the sky was a dark, swirling grey, and just out to sea, beyond the port, the clouds were rumbling.
The memory had crystallised. It smelled like thunder and rain, and it seemed to Fionn less like an adventure and more like a snarling beast.
He tried to pull his grandfather back. ‘That’s enough!’ he yelled, almost tripping over himself as he charged on to the long wooden pier. ‘We shouldn’t be here! It’s not safe!’
His grandfather cackled delightedly and all the birds cackled with him. ‘That’s just your fear talking, lad! I told you, there’ll be no fear in the doing of it!’
At the end of the pier, a group of women and children were huddled around a wooden lifeboat, hugging the men about to board it. Fionn’s heart lurched up his throat. The vessel looked more like a giant canoe than a ship capable of saving anything. The men were dressed in black rain jackets that looked like tarpaulin capes, wellingtons and waterproof hats with brims so wide they hid their faces, so Fionn couldn’t tell whether they were scared or not.
The children on the pier were crying.
‘No, no, no, no, no, no,’ Fionn pleaded with his grandfather. ‘Anything but the boat. I can’t go near the water!’
Time tripped again. The huddle of well-wishers splintered apart and Fionn’s grandfather charged right through the middle. No one noticed them sprinting by in their pyjamas, not even the little boy with big blue eyes who was nearly knocked over as Fionn’s grandfather launched himself off the pier.
Fionn tumbled into the lifeboat after him. Time moved them away from the island, the boat bobbing up and down as the men fanned out to opposite sides of the mast. Fionn scrabbled after his grandfather until they were huddled together in the very back of the boat, one arm wrapped tight around the anchor chain in case the wind blew them overboard.
‘You nearly killed that child back there!’ Fionn roared over the might of the sea.
His grandfather laughed, blissfully unconcerned by the panicked call of men charging up and down the deck, trying to steer themselves out to sea. ‘That little boy was me!’ His laugh was wheezier this time, chilled by the ice water collecting between his toes. ‘I must have thought it was the wind!’
A fierce wave crashed against the hull and the boat dipped on to its side. Fionn clutched the anchor chain and screamed as a lifeboatman leaned over him and pulled the wayward sail back into position. The pole nearly nicked his shoulder but he ducked just in time, tucking his head in between his knees.
His grandfather squeezed his hand, pulling him closer until they were balled up together, a mismatch of gangly limbs in wet pyjamas, the candle blazing defiantly between them. ‘I’ll hang on to the candle, lad,’ he said, winking at him. ‘I think every man on this boat would have a conniption if an eleven-year-old boy suddenly appeared before them.’
Fionn was glad not to be holding it. Either he’d end up scuppering the rescue mission or the island would kick him out of the layer, and into the sea, before he got the chance to –
‘HOLD YOUR BREATH!’
Fionn held his breath as a wave crashed over them, rushing into his ears and down his neck and through his skin into his bones until he could barely breathe from the sudden shivering. Shouts rang out on deck, the sails frantically adjusted as the water dipped and time tripped and they were pulled further out to sea, into the eye of the storm.
Fionn rubbed the salt from his eyes as a mouthful of seawater spluttered out of him. The island had disappeared behind them and it had started to rain. A chill scuttled up his spine and settled in his chest. Great. I can cross pneumonia off my bucket list.
‘It’s so cold,’ said Fionn accusingly. ‘Why couldn’t we have sailed into a heatwave?’
‘Because this is character building,’ said his grandfather, much too happily. ‘You know, if you’re very careful about it, sometimes you can burn multiple candles at once and stitch entirely separate layers together.’
‘Why didn’t you bring a Summer Sun with you then?’ moaned Fionn.
His grandfather inclined his head towards the crew. ‘Best not to chance it with all these people involved. And anyways, it’s all part of the adventure!’ he said, nudging his shoulder against Fionn’s. ‘We’re almost there, lad.’
There was no going back now, not through time or over the sea. There was nothing to do but endure the memory and hope it didn’t drown them both.
If they survived this, Fionn was so telling his mother.
Time was rushing them into the storm, the waves growing big enough to wash them out every time the boat tried to climb over one. Fionn kept his eyes shut and held his breath when his grandfather told him to. ‘Open your eyes!’ he shouted after a while. ‘I can see the Stolwijk!’
‘Ship ahoy!’ shouted a lifeboatman.
Fionn raised his head. The bellowing man had dropped the sails, his balance firm, despite the chaotic rocking of the boat. His hat had blown off some time during the journey and Fionn could see his face now. He was impossibly tall, his head was shiny and bald, and his gaze was the same colour as the roiling sea. It was a familiar, unforgettable blue.
‘That’s my dad!’ shouted Fionn’s grandfather. This time, there was more than just excitement in his voice, the kind of something that pinches the corners of your heart and makes you feel full up all of a sudden. ‘Isn’t he awfully brave, Fionn?’
Fascinated as he was by the man who looked strangely, alarmingly like a younger version of his own grandfather, Fionn was drawn to the beast looming over his shoulder. A gigantic grey cargo ship more than ten times the size of their lifeboat had rolled on to its side. Rocks jutted out of the sea like shards, skewering the end of the ship and holding it in place as the sea devoured it.
A symphony of swear words rippled over the deck as all at once the men beheld the impossibility of the task ahead.
‘Show time!’ whooped Fionn’s grandfather, a bouquet of fresh rain droplets landing in his mouth.
‘Drop anchor to windward!’ yelled Fionn’s great-grandfather. Fionn and his grandfather scrabbled towards the corner of the boat, away from stomping boots and the overspill of greedy waves. Time whooshed them forward, the anchor chain unfurling as the lifeboat drew level with the SS Stolwijk.
The crew of the Stolwijk were huddled at the stern of the ship. The wind was shattering their distress calls but they were flailing their arms. A wave broke over them and for a heartbeat they disappeared
entirely. A scream stuck in Fionn’s throat. ‘You said there’d be no fear in the doing of it,’ he shouted at his grandfather. ‘But I’m more afraid than I’ve ever been before!’
His grandfather pulled him closer, the candle clutched tightly in his fist. ‘Just watch!’ he said as another wave crashed over them. Time danced and whirled, painted the sky grey and then white and all the while, Fionn watched. He watched as the men in the lifeboat fired a rope across the sea, with an attached life-buoy suspended, like a harness. The line broke, and broke again, until finally, the third attempt held. The crew on the Stolwijk grabbed on to it, pulling it across the stern and fastening it to the ship.
‘Excellent! Outstanding! Did you see that, Fionn? Isn’t it brilliant!’ His grandfather whooped as though he was watching a film and not sitting in a puddle up to his knees, shaking right down to the marrow in his bones.
Fionn glanced at the candle. The flame was still blazing but the wax was more than half melted and he knew if it went out, they’d tumble right down into the ocean without a boat or a buoy to save them.
‘Look!’ His grandfather pointed the candle. The Arranmore men had huddled along the side of the lifeboat and were ferrying the first survivor along the rope in the buoy. The waves lapped at his knees as they pulled him across. The men heaved and groaned until the waterlogged sailor finally reached them. They dragged him into the boat by his shoulders and the empty buoy swung back out on the rope. ‘The first survivor, Fionn! And look how relieved he is! He can barely stand up!’
Fionn suspected it was trauma rather than relief that had brought the poor Dutch sailor to his knees. He didn’t say as much; he was too distracted. Adrenalin was zinging in his fingers and heating the tips of his ears and he found that he kept forgetting to be afraid.
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