The Lost Tide Warriors

by Catherine Doyle

  With the other trolls, he added in his head.

  Elizabeth glowered at him. ‘That’s no tone for your elder, boy,’ she said, with equal frostiness. ‘I’ve come to see you, since you’re not at school, where you’re supposed to be. I’m surprised you have to be told at all, in fact. We never had to do this sort of thing with past Storm Keepers. Even your grandfather was good in his time.’

  ‘What sort of thing?’ said Fionn, ignoring the jibe.

  ‘As if we haven’t had enough trouble dealing with all those disgusting dead fish this morning, now there’s a whale washed up over on Aphort Beach. Douglas is down there as we speak.’

  Fionn went very still. ‘A whale.’

  ‘A whale,’ echoed Fionn’s grandfather. ‘Have you told Maggie?’

  ‘Maggie is long dead,’ said Elizabeth, her disdain momentarily softened by bewilderment. ‘For goodness sake, you were at her funeral, Malachy.’

  ‘What does it look like?’ asked Fionn, suddenly breathless.

  ‘I don’t know,’ she said sharply. ‘A whale is a whale. It’s big and ugly and it’s upsetting the children. Do you want to start doing your job at long last and do something with it, or will I have Douglas deal with it?’

  Panic rushed through Fionn like a font. This was a test, and he was about to fail it. He couldn’t do what Maggie Patton did with that whale, not in a million years.

  ‘Some time this century, please, Fionn,’ said Elizabeth, tapping her foot impatiently. ‘The carcass is already stinking up the beach.’

  ‘C-carcass?’ Fionn stammered. ‘You mean it’s dead?’

  Elizabeth frowned at him. ‘Well, of course it’s dead. And if we’re not careful it will explode too. Then we’ll have an even bigger problem on our hands.’

  Fionn caught his breath before it whooshed out of him. This was no coincidence – the Soulstalkers set foot on Arranmore, a shoal of rotting fish heralding their arrival, and now this: a dead whale. What else was coming? What other terrors would the days before the solstice bring if he didn’t find a way to protect his island?

  He needed a plan. He needed a miracle.

  ‘A dead whale,’ said Fionn’s grandfather, to himself. ‘That’s going to upset your mother, Cormac. Bad luck for the island. Bad luck for everyone.’

  Elizabeth gaped at him. ‘What on earth has got into you, Malachy?’

  ‘Can Douglas deal with it, please?’ Fionn dodged around Elizabeth, pulling his grandfather by the sleeve of his coat. ‘Grandad isn’t feeling well and I want to get him home.’

  ‘Who was that old woman?’ said Malachy, looking over his shoulder as Fionn led him away. ‘I don’t think I know any Russian oligarchs.’

  Elizabeth Beasley stared after them, with her mouth wide open.

  Within seconds, Fionn’s grandfather had forgotten the encounter completely.

  The same, Fionn knew with unsettling certainty, could not be said of Elizabeth.

  Fionn’s mother was waiting for them inside the cottage. She turned at the sound of the front door opening, a half-peeled parsnip raised in accusation. ‘There you are,’ she said, glaring at Fionn, while simultaneously beckoning them in. There were chopped carrots by the sink, a basin full of half-peeled potatoes on the counter, and a chicken roasting in the oven. It bathed the little kitchen in a warm, delicious glow. ‘Shut the door and keep the heat in. Are you all right, Malachy? You look very pale.’

  Fionn’s grandfather was already drifting into the sitting room. Fionn followed him inside and helped him slip off his wet shoes and socks as he sank into his favourite armchair. He was still wearing his buttoned-up coat and hat, and the bottom of his trousers were damp with seawater.

  ‘Fionn.’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Can you come in here, please?’

  Fionn dragged himself into the kitchen to face his mother. She was leaning against the oven, with her arms folded across her chest. ‘I’ve just had a visit from Elizabeth Beasley.’

  ‘I am sorry,’ said Fionn. ‘I wouldn’t wish her on my worst enemy.’

  ‘Any particular reason you decided to skip school without telling me, and then go off gallivanting with your grandfather who you know very well isn’t supposed to be out and about, without leaving me any kind of indication where you might have gone?’

  Fionn cleared his throat. ‘It was Storm Keeper business.’

  There was an awful stretch of silence. Fionn could feel his mother’s gaze, like a fingerprint on his forehead. ‘What sort of Storm Keeper business?’

  ‘The maritime sort?’ said Fionn.

  His mother frowned. ‘Is this about the dead whale over on Aphort Beach?’

  Fionn sighed. ‘Sort of.’

  ‘Or the legion of Soulstalkers that arrived this morning,’ she added, in a steely voice.

  Fionn blinked at her. ‘You saw them too?’

  His mother tried to suppress a shudder but he could see it rattling behind her eyes. ‘I saw the boats through the library window. The temperature dropped by ten degrees in the space of a minute. I had to get the spare heater out of storage. Then I ran into Sonia Patton, who said Sam came home in the middle of school, half soaked and raving about merrows and a beachful of rotting fish. And now, this whale business …’

  ‘I did say something was coming,’ said Fionn.

  ‘Not to most of the island, you didn’t.’ His mother shook her head. ‘You and your grandfather are much too secretive, Fionn. This is a problem we are all part of now, and sooner or later we are going to have to do something about it.’

  ‘Sooner than you think,’ muttered Fionn.

  ‘Cormac!’ called his grandfather, from inside the sitting room. ‘Can you put the kettle on?’

  ‘I’ll do it,’ said Fionn’s mother. ‘Go and make a fire for your grandad, then come back here, peel the last of the potatoes, tell me exactly where you were, and I won’t ground you.’ She smiled, but her eyes were still sad. The same as always. ‘Deal?’

  ‘Deal,’ he said glumly.

  Fionn set about lighting a fire, shovelling coal and sticks into the little grate, his fingers shaking all the while. He dumped in too many firelighters, struck a match and prayed it would take. Then he went back to the kitchen to make tea.

  He stirred it in a trance, mahogany turning to milky brown. Round and round the spoon went, the metal of it glinting like a merrow’s fin.

  We are bound to the Tide Summoner.

  If you are worthy, you will find the shell.

  Fionn’s grandfather accepted his mug gratefully, setting it on to his lap, beside his bouquet of purple flowers. ‘Will you fetch your mother for me, Cormac? I have something for her.’

  ‘She’s out right now,’ said Fionn, placing the fireguard in front of the grate and watching the candle on the mantelpiece with a familiar rush of resentment. ‘She’ll be home soon.’

  When he turned around, his grandfather’s eyes were closed. ‘Winnie,’ he whispered, a smile dancing on his lips. ‘Winnie, Winnie, Winnie.’

  Chapter Six

  THE WARRIOR’S HEART

  That night, Fionn stood before a gaping chasm and watched the darkness shift beneath his feet.

  Everything dying and everything dead, A soul filled with fear and a heart sick with dread, came Morrigan’s familiar, mocking voice. Soon the sun will turn its back on you, And I will stretch the night around me like a shroud.

  Fionn dangled a foot over the chasm. The ground rippled, and a face formed in the darkness. He recognised the pallid skin and soulless eyes, the deep crimson hair, and a smile full of purpose.

  Ivan.

  Tick-tock, Storm Keeper.

  Tick-tock, comes the Reaper.

  Something prodded him in the back and Fionn stepped off the ledge, tumbling into the infinite blackness, where there were no names, no voices, no souls at all. He woke with a scream throbbing in the base of his throat.

  The wind was howling down the chimney, wobbling the candles on the shelves. Fo
r once, Fionn welcomed the cold; it quelled the fire in his cheeks and filled his lungs with new breath. His hands were still shaking. He slid one under his pillow and clamped Dagda’s emerald in his fist. It was perfectly round, and warm to the touch. It had been months since it followed him home from the Sea Cave, stowed away in the pocket of his jeans, and though it served no purpose in Fionn’s life, he kept it close to him. It reminded him of the ancient sorcerer – that he existed, once. That he was powerful, once.

  More powerful than her.

  He turned the emerald over in his fist, studied the green glow in the half-light of the little sitting room.

  Where are you?

  And why aren’t you helping me?

  Slowly, softly, the wind died down, and Fionn’s pulse settled in his ears.

  He could hear someone already awake in the cottage. He sat up, just as his mother burst through the sitting-room door. Her hair was piled in a messy bundle on her head, and she was wearing a woolly green cardigan over her chequered pyjamas. ‘Get up,’ she said, shooing at him with her hands. ‘We have people coming, and I haven’t showered yet. We need to get some biscuits out and put them on a nice tray. And flick the kettle on, find some nice mugs. God, I hope we have some decent custard creams or gingernuts left. Your grandad is always scarfing them down when he thinks I’m not looking!’

  Fionn rubbed the sleep from his eyes, blinked once at the dull sky outside the window and then once at his mother. ‘Mam, the sun’s not even up properly. Who are you expecting so early?’ he croaked in his morning voice, before thinking to add, ‘And who eats custard creams at breakfast-time?’

  ‘Can you put your things away in the bedroom?’ she said, ignoring his question before turning around and yelling, ‘TAAAAAARA!’

  Fionn winced.

  A half-second later, Fionn’s sister trudged through the door, bleary-eyed and unkempt. ‘I’m here,’ she yawned. ‘I’m helping. I said I would.’

  ‘Helping with what?’ said Fionn, looking between them.

  His mother was clanging and banging her way through the kitchen, pulling out plates and mugs and dusty old biscuit tins. ‘The meeting,’ she said, her head in the cupboard under the sink. ‘It was your sister’s idea.’

  Fionn turned, very slowly, towards Tara.

  She folded her arms across her chest. ‘Now, don’t get mad …’

  ‘I’m already mad,’ said Fionn, to save himself time.

  ‘Last night, we had a long talk about your role in all this scary business, and we made a decision.’

  Fionn frowned at his sister. Yesterday evening he had told them everything he knew about the Soulstalkers, their plans for the coming solstice, and the two short days that separated them from Morrigan’s rising. He had even confided in them about the merrow Lír’s song and the elusive Tide Summoner, choosing to go against his gut and trust his sister instead of excluding her. And this was how Tara had repaid him …

  ‘You made a decision about me without consulting me?’

  ‘You were asleep,’ said Tara without blinking. ‘We decided that that old shell is a waste of our time and we’re better off coming up with a proper strategy before we all get killed.’

  ‘But –’

  ‘We decided to be practical,’ Tara interrupted. Fionn glared at his sister.

  She ploughed on determinedly. ‘We’ve called an urgent island meeting to discuss the Soulstalker situation and prepare the islanders for what we’re facing. The committee will be here in twenty minutes, so clean yourself up and try to look like you know what you’re doing. It’s not like you inspire confidence, even at the best of times.’

  Fionn stared at Tara while her words waded through the morning mist in his brain. ‘The committee,’ he repeated. ‘And who are they exactly?’

  ‘Found the good tray!’ called Fionn’s mother from inside the kitchen. ‘Everyone can relax now!’

  ‘Representatives from the other families,’ said Tara coolly. ‘And the non-descendants too. It’s an island problem, after all.’

  ‘It’s my problem,’ said Fionn. ‘I’m the Storm Keeper.’

  Tara whipped the blanket off him. ‘You’ve had enough time, Fionn.’

  ‘Hey!’ he yelped, folding his arms around himself. ‘I didn’t even know about the Tide Summoner until yesterday. That changes everything.’

  Tara didn’t look at him; she just kept folding his blanket, smaller and smaller and smaller. ‘It doesn’t change a thing, Fionn.’

  ‘Yes, it does!’

  Tara dropped the blanket on the floor in a neat square. ‘Tell that to the islanders who watched two more boatloads of Soulstalkers arrive late last night.’ She whipped the sheet off the couch cushions and balled it around her arms, faster and faster and faster. ‘You slept right through it.’ She dropped the scrunched sheet on to the folded blanket, then plopped his pillow on top. ‘The world still turns, you know. Even when you’re sleeping.’

  ‘So you decided to go behind my back and take control of everything?’ said Fionn, getting to his feet.

  ‘I wouldn’t need to go behind your back if you didn’t insist on keeping everyone in the dark while you try to do everything yourself. Do you realise how pig-headed that is?’

  ‘I’m not pig-headed,’ said Fionn. ‘This is my job, not yours. I told you about the Tide Summoner. I’m going to find it.’

  ‘Oh, don’t be ridiculous,’ snapped Tara. ‘We don’t have time for a wild goose chase!’

  ‘Fionn, Tara,’ warned their mother from inside the kitchen, where she was now bent double over the sink, trying to scrub a stubborn grease-stain off the ‘good tray’. ‘It’s too early for bickering.’

  ‘Glory hog,’ said Tara to Fionn. ‘You just want to be the next Hughie Rua. Do you think that was clever of him, sneaking out in his little boat and facing all those pirate ships alone? Do you think he was brave not to ask his own islanders for help, to not even tell them what was happening? To just risk their lives instead?’ She swept her hand around. ‘You know what I think? I think it was all ego and arrogant stupidity!’

  ‘Why would he panic the other islanders when he didn’t have to? He wasn’t alone. He had the Tide Summoner,’ said Fionn defiantly. ‘He stood up against those pirates with an army of merrows at his back, and that’s exactly what I plan to do when I find the shell!’

  Tara rolled her eyes. ‘Look. Do you want my advice?’

  ‘Obviously not,’ said Fionn immediately.

  ‘We only have two days left,’ she went on anyway. ‘That stupid shell is gone. It’s been gone for hundreds of years, in fact. We have to find our own path.’

  ‘And what path would that be?’ asked Fionn. ‘One you get to choose?’

  ‘Well, it looks like only one of us is fit to,’ said Tara viciously. ‘Or did your magic miraculously start listening to you overnight?’

  Fionn scowled at his sister. ‘What’s it like living with the devil inside you, Tara? Does it get very warm at night?’

  ‘OK, that’s enough!’ their mother shouted through the archway. ‘Tara, go and get dressed. Fionn, move your stuff into the bedroom and fix your hair.’

  Without another word, Tara tightened her ponytail, and marched into the hallway, disappearing without a backward glance. Fionn stalked into the kitchen, where his mother was scrubbing her fingers raw. ‘Are you sure she’s yours?’ he asked her. ‘What if there was a mix-up at the hospital and you took home Lucifer’s baby instead? It happens, you know. I read an article about it once.’

  ‘Fionn, you might be the Storm Keeper but you’re a McCauley too, and we don’t speak to our siblings that way,’ said his mother sternly. ‘Even at our worst, my brothers and I always apologised to each other.’

  ‘Yeah, but did you hear what she said about –’

  ‘It’s an archway, Fionn, not a soundproof bunker.’ She placed the tray down with a dull thud and dropped the rag in the sink. ‘Tara’s trying to help you, sweetheart. She’s right about Hughie Rua.
He went out against those ships all by himself, when he could have taught the rest of the islanders how to use those candles, and let them help him. If it wasn’t for the wind carrying him back to shore that day, he would have drowned by himself in the ocean.’ She dried her hands on the tea towel; they were blotchy and red, her thumbnail chipped down the middle. All for a stain Fionn couldn’t even see. ‘He gambled their lives without giving them a choice …’ Her voice was climbing; she swallowed the sudden shrillness. ‘He didn’t have to go by himself. That’s all we’re saying.’

  Fionn suddenly knew exactly who his mother was thinking about – not Hughie Rua at all, but someone else who had gone out in a boat by himself, in a time much closer to theirs. Someone who hadn’t had a choice. Someone who never made it home.

  ‘Mam,’ he said quietly. ‘This isn’t like that.’

  Fionn’s mother pulled her cardigan tighter around her. ‘Your father did not leave this green earth so that we would hide under our beds and make you face those monsters alone. Your father –’ Her voice broke unexpectedly. She stared too hard at the floor, a shadow moving behind her eyes.

  ‘Mam,’ said Fionn. His heart was aching; his throat too. ‘It’s OK.’

  ‘Arranmore people are loyal, Fionn,’ she went on. ‘They will help if you ask them to. No matter the odds. No matter the consequences. You don’t have to carry this burden all by yourself, working magic or no magic.’ She stared at him with red-wired eyes. Fionn recognised that look – it came from sleepless nights and stress-filled days, hours spent in her own head, dwelling in secrets he’d never known. ‘Do you understand what I’m saying?’

  Fionn nodded. ‘We’re going to face this threat together.’

  ‘Yes, we are,’ she said, taking his hand and squeezing it tight.

  Fionn saw it then, for the first time in his life, though he supposed it had always been there, mired in rain clouds, beating its way through the darkness. His mother had a warrior’s heart.

  He hoped he had one too.

  ‘Now, please move your bedding, and put the good throw over the couch. I will not have Elizabeth Beasley looking down her nose at us, impending doom or not.’ She slipped by him, unwinding her hair from its messy knot. ‘I’m going to shower. Get the door when it goes. And please, be polite.’