They looked up, frowning. There was indeed an old woman standing on the edge of the headland. She was almost bent double to the ground, a grey shawl wrapped around her head and shoulders.
‘I thought nobody on the island knew about the pirate invasion until it was over,’ said Shelby. ‘Didn’t Hughie sneak out when everyone was asleep?’
‘Well, clearly not everyone,’ said Sam. ‘It almost seems like she’s looking at us …’
‘That’s impossible.’ For a heartbeat, Fionn thought he recognised her – but the idea of it was absurd. They were in 1728, and old women like Rose were hardly a new invention of Arranmore. He was only thinking of her now because of the food basket this morning.
‘She’s not watching us, she’s watching him. Look!’ Shelby pointed to the shallows, where a wooden sailing boat was gliding out to sea, its maroon sails stretched taut in the gathering wind. On the starboard side of the hull, in looping white paint, was the word ‘Saoirse’. Out in front, with one foot propped up on the bow, stood a towering beast of a man. His legs were the size of tree trunks; his burly arms were pale as moonlight; and his long hair was the exact shade of a mandarin orange. It whipped out behind him, dancing on the swelling winds as he bared his face to the open sea.
Fionn’s magic blinked an eye open, and he laughed without meaning to. He had seen this same Storm Keeper in Cowan’s Lake, and now here he stood, made of flesh and bone. ‘Hughie Rua! That’s him!’
‘He looks just like he did in the lake!’ said Sam gleefully.
‘Do you see the Tide Summoner anywhere?’ asked Shelby, standing on her tiptoes.
‘No.’ Fionn was doing the very same thing.
‘I think we’ll have to follow him out,’ said Sam.
Fionn pressed a hand to his chest to calm the sudden rush of nerves. He remembered his lifejacket, coarse under his fingers and puffed up to his chin. He might be going out to sea again, but at least he would float if he had to.
Be brave, he told himself. Be like Hughie.
At the end of the cove, two small rowing boats had been moored to the cliff-side. They unknotted the larger of the two and dragged it across the sand. They pushed it out into the current, clambering into it one after the other, while the blue rope strained between them.
The storm picked up.
The sky darkened.
Fionn and Shelby grabbed an oar each, and Sam held the candle high, as the memory hitched their course to Hughie Rua’s. Their little boat was welcomed by the current, and pulled into the unseen shadows of the Saoirse.
In the distance, a whip of lightning fissured the sky in two, heralding the arrival of three pirate ships with billowing black sails. They skulked through the low-hanging clouds like crocodiles.
Hughie Rua adjusted his own sails, until the Saoirse was travelling at an alarming rate. He threw his arms out wide, gathering the tide and pulling it under him. The sailboat rose up ten feet, then twenty, climbing the mound of the ocean until he was riding on his own tidal wave.
The unseen adventurers cried out as the wind reached down and dragged them up after it. The world tilted suddenly. Their rowing boat was almost vertical, the water sloshing them from side to side as they lay back against each other, grabbing hands and arms and legs and feet.
‘We’re climbing the sea!’ shouted Sam, a fistful of froth exploding in his face.
‘I feel like we’re going up a rollercoaster!’ said Shelby, the ends of her damp hair splayed out like eels along Fionn’s chest.
‘Hold on!’ yelled Fionn, sounding much braver than he felt. ‘Watch that candle, Sam!’
They climbed over the hump of the wave, the bow dropping as they drew level with the cliff-tops. The old woman was still there, hunched like an ancient statue.
Hughie’s sailboat was just three lengths ahead, hovering above the roiling ocean.
The enemy fleet quickened its advance, their sharp-nosed hulls puncturing the storm clouds. The decks were crowded with pirates; some of them were swinging from hanging nets, long guns slung over their shoulders as they tried to climb closer to the Saoirse.
‘They must have a death wish,’ said Sam, peering down on them.
‘They’ll be trounced!’ said Shelby giddily.
Fionn tried to swallow his nerves. There was an eerie familiarity creeping over him. Though the ships were larger and more intricate than the ancient vessels that had first brought Morrigan to Arranmore, there was something about those black sails … the speed with which they were ploughing through the ocean …
The memory quickened and the thought evaporated. The sea climbed again and they climbed with it, perched precariously on Hughie Rua’s magical wave, with the world looking up at them. The clouds wreathed their shoulders, static crackling along their skin and plucking strands of hair from under their hats.
There was a ship directly below them now.
Fionn squinted at the letters scrawled along its hull, pressed the name between his lips: The Corpus.
The wave stared to bubble.
‘Why do I suddenly feel like we’re about to die?’ shouted Sam.
Shelby groaned. ‘I wish we hadn’t eaten all those sandwiches!’
Fionn gripped the sides of the boat. Up ahead, his ancestor crouched down and threaded one arm through the anchor chain.
The candle in Sam’s fist was shaking violently. ‘I regret this decision,’ he called over his shoulder, just as Hughie released a triumphant shout, pulled his free hand into his chest and closed it into a fist.
The sky ignited. There were three awful seconds of nothingness when both vessels seemed to hang by an invisible thread, then the wind snapped and the sky roared and the world dropped.
The wave surged over The Corpus, taking them all with it, screaming at the top of their lungs. Hughie Rua threw his head back and laughed as they flew down, down, down, following his billowing sails into the sea. The wind pulled their cheeks from their mouths and stole their breath, their stomachs flipping upside down and inside out as they cut through the air.
Their screams ran their voices hoarse before they hit the water.
Then they left the world behind them, piercing the skin of the ocean in two identical points.
In the murky blue-blackness, Shelby’s hand found Fionn’s, and Fionn’s hand found Sam’s. Their lifejackets swelled around their necks, their rope stretched taut between them as the current tried to tear them apart. The ocean flung them out, and they found themselves bobbing on a changing tide without a boat beneath them. Sam waved the sopping candle at Fionn. The sea had extinguished it.
With their breath shuddering from them in staccato gulps, and the wheels of time spinning them, Fionn grabbed the candle from Sam and pressed his lighter to the wick.
A flame sprang up instantly, and the wind cut into Fionn.
They caught the memory by its tail, and Fionn was turned to flesh inside it. The sea hiccoughed, and from below, the rowing boat slammed into them, bruising the backs of their legs as it lifted them out of the water. They were flung forward, their oars spinning furiously, as they glided into a mess of black sails and broken masts. The tidal wave had drowned The Corpus. Now it was floating as driftwood along the waves, the desperate cries of dying pirates making bubbles in the froth.
Fionn reached for the edge of a sail, the hem sodden between his fingers. From the deep, a hand speared through the water and grabbed him by the wrist. He screamed as the nails dug into his skin. It tugged him sharply, the entire rowing boat tilting until Shelby spun around and slammed the hand with her oar. ‘HEY! GET OFF!’
The fingers went limp and then slunk away, disappearing underneath the sail.
Fionn curled his hand into his chest. ‘Thanks,’ he said to Shelby. He handed the candle back to Sam. ‘Here. You should hold it again.’
Sam took it gingerly. ‘Oh, yippee.’
The memory turned them around and sent them after Hughie Rua. He was advancing without pause, the remaining two ships shouldering
themselves to his attack.
He was still laughing.
‘He’s a madman,’ said Sam.
‘Isn’t he?’ said Fionn proudly.
Hughie was back at the bow, with his hands fastened on his hips. He was relishing this. He was made for this. And with two pirate ships still bearing down on him, he wasn’t one bit afraid.
They followed the path forged by Saoirse. The wind was doing most of the work – not that Hughie paid any heed to an empty rowing boat swept up in his adventure. There was another ship coming straight for him.
The Mors.
Hughie bared his teeth. ‘Come on then! Do your worst!’
The Storm Keeper raised his hand and the wind picked up in a sudden, violent gust, nearly lifting Sam clean out of the boat. Fionn tugged him back in by the straps of his lifejacket.
Keeping one hand on the mast, Hughie lifted his other to the sky. The clouds sank lower, and with an almighty roar, he threw his head back to the storm and pulled a lightning bolt right out of it.
Fionn, Shelby and Sam screamed as the bolt leapt from the clouds and skewered The Mors right down the middle. It ripped through the sails like a guillotine, setting the entire deck ablaze as it sheared it clean in half. The masts tumbled into the ocean, the ship groaning as it rolled over after them.
Their little rowing boat sloshed back and forth, as smoke wafted above the water.
‘Did you see that?’ gasped Fionn.
‘I can’t breathe!’ yelled Sam.
‘I’m in a dream!’ said Shelby. ‘Or maybe a nightmare!’
All of a sudden, the sea fell eerily quiet.
From a bruised cloud, the final ship emerged.
Fionn read the name scrawled on its hull.
The Evorsio.
It moved as gracefully as a swan.
Hughie Rua slumped against the mast.
‘He’s gone really pale,’ said Shelby.
‘He was practically see-through to begin with,’ said Sam.
‘But look. He can barely keep his eyes open.’
Fionn was still watching the ocean. There was something about that final pirate ship – a strangeness in the way it moved – that was making his skin prickle. It had seen Hughie Rua coming, watching on the sidelines as he drowned its companion vessels with little more than a flick of his magic. And yet it had still chosen to move against the Storm Keeper of Arranmore … Just what was so important about this invasion that could send these pirates so readily to their death?
Hughie had grown weak. He managed to make a ball of the wind, pressing it together with his fingers. He slung his hands over his head and fired it towards the last pirate ship. The wind bullet took a bite out of its hull, but The Evorsio stayed its course, skimming over the waves like a stone on water.
‘What’s he doing?’ muttered Shelby. ‘Why isn’t he using the Tide Summoner?’
All ego and arrogant stupidity, said Tara’s voice in Fionn’s head.
Glory hog.
Shelby banged the sides of their little boat. ‘Get up, Hughie!’ she screamed. ‘Use the shell!’
‘He can’t hear you,’ said Sam.
Hughie staggered towards the bow. He sent another gust out. Fionn barely felt it on his cheeks as it whizzed past.
The Evorsio dropped anchor, pivoting sharply as the ocean swung it around, a rail of loaded cannons suddenly blinking back at them. Fionn bristled as he caught sight of the captain spinning the ship’s wheel. It crossed his vision in a flash – streaks of crimson hair whipping through the air.
He was almost sure he had hallucinated it, until Shelby slammed her hand into his back and rocked him forward.
‘Was that … Ivan?’
The air exploded with cannon-fire. The iron balls cut through the water and blew a chunk out of Hughie Rua’s sailboat. There was an almighty crack. Several planks of wood fell away, taking the Saoirse’s name with it. Hughie was thrown backwards, his head slamming into his mast.
‘No!’ yelled Fionn.
The Evorsio swept closer – close enough that they could all see its captain’s face now: dark eyes and narrow shoulders, tattoos crawling like spiders up his bare neck. There could be no confusion now – no room for second thoughts.
‘It’s really him,’ gasped Shelby. ‘And he’s grinning! Look.’
Fionn was reeling.
The captain of The Evorsio was Ivan.
Ivan had led the invasion of 1728.
The pirates gurgling to their deaths were not humans but a contingency of Soulstalkers, most of them now scattered across the ocean by his ancestor’s magic.
‘Look! The Tide Summoner!’ Sam pointed across the sea, where Hughie Rua had lumbered to his feet. Blood was streaming down his face and pooling in the sides of his mouth. He was trying to remove something from the folds of his shirt.
With an almighty groan, he pulled it free. It was just the size of his huge hand – a spiralling white conch shell, rimmed in glittering gold. Fionn’s magic leapt in his chest, flaring white-hot in recognition. In want. A small part of him longed to launch himself into the sea and swim towards it.
Hughie braced himself against the mast. ‘Dagda help me!’ he heaved as he lifted the shell to his lips.
The cannons loosed their next assault, the balls whistling past their ears and missing their little boat by less than an arm’s length.
Above the thunder clash of an angry sky, the Tide Summoner rang out.
Chapter Twelve
THE TIDE SUMMONER
The song fell upon them like a veil. It was a strange, haunting lament that seemed to stretch time, turning seconds into minutes, minutes to hours, while an invisible finger plucked the strings of their hearts.
Eight waves to call the tide,
On the ninth wave, the Merrows ride.
The sea began to swell.
Hughie Rua dropped the shell over the side of the Saoirse and slumped against the bow.
‘No!’ Fionn felt a terrible pull in his chest as the white spectre dissolved in the froth, sinking right before his eyes. He leaned over the boat, grasping helplessly at the water.
A sudden surge nearly knocked him into the sea. Shelby grabbed his lifejacket and pulled him back. ‘Let it go, Fionn. We’re too far from it!’
‘I have to dive for it! It’s the reason we’re here!’
‘Are you crazy?’ shouted Sam.
‘I can feel it!’ Fionn clutched the collar of his lifejacket. There was a fire erupting in his chest. ‘It’s here. It’s underneath us!’
‘You’ll lose your link to the memory if you dive in!’ Sam tugged on the rope. ‘If the candle goes out now, we’ll all be stranded in the middle of the ocean without a boat!’
‘Guys! There’s something wrong with Hughie!’ yelled Shelby, over another sky-shattering blast. A cannonball tore through the last of the Saoirse’s maroon sails.
The waves kept growing, great heaving crests pouring over the horizon and stampeding towards them. A drumbeat pounded in Fionn’s ears. It was keeping rhythm with the throbbing sea. Even the ocean knew. Somehow it knew …
The Merrows were coming.
The Evorsio was knocked off course by a towering surge. Another cannon blast – another chunk torn out of the little sailboat. Hughie had slipped out of view. There was only the tip of his leathered boot now, splayed across the deck. Unmoving.
The sea went still. The ninth wave was sucked down under the water until the surface looked as smooth and shiny as a coin. The sky flashed, the thunder roared, and from the depths of the undersea came the Merrows in an explosion of shrieking glory.
A thousand creatures shattered the surface in one endless smear of blue.
They all wore the same yellow eyes and shark teeth, clenched jaws so sharp they could cut glass. Their blade-like cheekbones protruded over hollowed cheeks, but all their tail fins were different – some were coal black and midnight blue, while others glinted tarnished gold and molten amber. Their torsos were honed differently a
s well, some bare and barely blue, others slashed and spattered by the sea’s debris. Some wore their hair like seaweed, long and coarse and matted with shells, but most had none at all, their ears flat and webbed beneath shining heads.
There was one alone that Fionn recognised, and he found her immediately.
Riding at the front of her army, wearing her coral and bone crown, and the most terrifying smile Fionn had ever seen, was Lír, Queen of the Merrows. Queen of Terror. She had come to answer Hughie Rua’s call, and though Fionn knew now of the Tide Summoner’s bond, he couldn’t ignore the stab of envy in his gut.
Lír released a savage cry, and Fionn’s magic jumped yet again, summoned by a power even greater than the Tide Summoner. Here was the Tide itself – living, breathing warriors, carved from the same ancient force. It felt for an awful second like the magic was trying to leap up his throat and burst from his mouth, to follow her call into war.
Why, he thought angrily, do you never answer mine?
The Merrows spread themselves in a wide circle, dragging the sea behind them. They surrounded The Evorsio, pushing the lone ship back towards the jagged rocks. Away from Fionn. Away from Sam and Shelby. Away from Hughie Rua’s unconscious body.
The sky opened in a gash of silver lightning, as the hull of The Evorsio splintered against Black Point Rock. Cannons rolled out, denting arms and fins and skulls and faces, as Soulstalkers jumped out after them, taking their chances in the sea. The Merrows were on them almost immediately, razing sharp teeth through ancient bone.
‘There’s Ivan!’ shouted Shelby. ‘He’s scrabbling up the mast!’
‘He’s going to jump on to the rocks!’ yelled Sam.
The Merrows were dragging their scarred bodies up the sides of the ship, webbed fingers tearing splinters from its hull and snapping wildly at Soulstalkers on their way down. Lír snatched one right out of the sky and broke his neck before he hit the water.
The wind was tugging at the collar of Fionn’s lifejacket. He looked over his shoulder, to Hughie Rua’s sinking boat. ‘Go and help him,’ he muttered. ‘You’re supposed to help him.’
The Lost Tide Warriors Page 9