Another text.
Tara: Mam feels really bad. Don’t make it worse.
Fionn wasn’t trying to make it worse – he was trying to organise his thoughts instead of opening his mouth and erupting like a volcano. He couldn’t tell what he was angrier about – that she took him away from here in the first place, or that she sent him back.
He replied to Tara, his fingers flying over the screen: Coming.
He stuffed his phone into his pocket and looked up to find a familiar pair of beady eyes peering down at him. ‘You’re still here.’
‘Where else would I be?’ said Elizabeth Beasley. ‘Isn’t this my island too? Shouldn’t I want to protect it?’
‘I couldn’t tell by the way you spoke inside.’
Elizabeth smiled sadly. ‘Come with me, Fionn. I want to show you something.’
‘What could you possibly have to show me?’
‘It’s a day for secrets, isn’t it?’ Elizabeth turned from him, beckoning him across the schoolyard. ‘I don’t want your grandfather to hear us. He’d be very angry at me for interfering.’
When Fionn didn’t follow her, she glanced over her shoulder.
‘It’s about his … condition. I know how to make a new candle that will save him, but the wax is in the attic at my house. It belonged to Bridget Beasley, many years ago. He’d be too proud to ask me for it himself, but he’d listen to you if you gave it to him.’ Her voice softened. ‘You’re the apple of his eye. You wouldn’t even have to tell him where you got it from.’
Fionn couldn’t read her face at this distance. He could only see the swing and shine of her hair as she moved through the school gate. He rolled on to his feet. ‘Why would you want to help him?’ he asked, trailing after her.
‘Because I’ve known your grandfather all my life, Fionn. We have more history between us than you could possibly imagine. No matter what you think of me, my loyalty to this old place runs deeper than my blood. I am an islander first, and a Beasley second.’
Fionn’s phone beeped in his pocket. ‘Let’s talk about this after the rest of the meeting.’
‘If you’re sure his candle will last,’ she said, looking over her shoulder. Her eyes shone with the promise of magic, of hope. ‘Once it goes out, it will be too late to mix the wax.’
Sam: Everyone’s waiting for u mate.
Fionn hovered by the school gate, one foot on either side. ‘I want to save both of them – Grandad, and the island too.’
Elizabeth shrugged. ‘What if I told you, you could do both?’
Fionn glanced back at the school. His phone was ringing in his pocket. He pressed the side button and set it to ‘silent’, before following her down the deserted roadway.
Chapter Twenty-Two
THE BEASLEY BOAT
It was much chillier down by the strand, where the wind brought a skim of frost with it. Elizabeth’s strides quickened as the school shrank into the landscape behind them. Fionn jogged after her, his breath making clouds in the air. ‘Where are we going?’
‘You’ll see,’ she said, waving a finger up ahead. ‘We’re almost there.’
The thunder of unexpected footsteps announced Bartley’s arrival. He caught up with them easily, not a hair out of place. ‘What’s going on?’ he demanded. ‘Where are you going with my gran, Boyle?’
‘Bartley, come with us,’ Elizabeth said, linking her arm through her grandson’s and leading him along the strand. ‘We’re going over to the house for minute.’
Bartley screwed his face up in confusion. ‘You’re supposed to be back at that meeting, Boyle. Everyone’s waiting for you.’
‘Hush, Bartley,’ said Elizabeth sternly. ‘This is far more important. This is about family.’
‘But –’
‘I said hush!’ she snapped.
Unease grumbled in Fionn’s stomach when they stopped at the lifeboat station. It was bolted shut, and nowhere near Elizabeth’s house.
‘I’m going back,’ he said. ‘Whatever this plan is, it can wait. I’ll get my grandfather and we can go together.’
Elizabeth ignored him and made a show of patting her coat pockets. ‘Where is that blasted key? I had it on me this morning.’
‘Why would you have a key to the lifeboat station?’ asked Bartley. ‘And what are we even doing here?’
Fionn turned to leave.
Elizabeth grabbed him by the sleeve. ‘Hang on!’ she said, her nails digging into his wrist. ‘You can’t go back yet.’
‘Let go of me,’ said Fionn, wriggling free.
Elizabeth shuffled backwards until she was pressed against the door of the lifeboat station, like a frightened mouse.
‘There’s another way to save our family, Bartley,’ she said, wringing her hands. ‘Why risk our lives against the Soulstalkers when we can bargain with them?’
Fionn and Bartley exchanged a glance. ‘What?’
‘We’re going to stand up and fight, Gran,’ said Bartley. ‘That’s what we decided.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous. I have our family to think about,’ she said, her dark eyes blazing. ‘And in the likely event this goes badly for the island, I’d rather you were safe than dead.’
Fionn backed away from her.
Elizabeth stayed where she was. ‘You know they’re not interested in the rest of us, Fionn. They’re only interested in you …’
‘Gran,’ said Bartley uneasily. ‘What have you done?’
‘This is the price, Bartley. A Beasley boat for a Boyle Storm Keeper. A guaranteed safe passage. Clemency.’
Fionn slipped his phone from his pocket and scrolled to his sister’s number.
‘It’s too late for heroics now. I’ve made us a bargain, and we’re going to take it.’
‘A bargain with who?’ asked Bartley.
Ivan stepped out from behind the lifeboat station. ‘Have a guess?’
Fionn pressed the ‘call’ button.
Elizabeth lunged for him and knocked the phone out of his hands. It went flying through the air, the screen flashing at him as it disappeared in the long grass.
Fionn turned on his heel and ran.
There was a line of Soulstalkers blocking the road.
‘I’m sorry, Fionn. But this is the trade,’ Elizabeth called after him. ‘I have to look after my own!’
‘Whatever Ivan promised, he lied to you!’ said Fionn as the Soulstalkers surrounded him. ‘You won’t be safe, no matter where you go!’
Elizabeth only shook her head, pressing her lips together.
‘Bartley! Do something!’ shouted Fionn.
But Bartley seemed paralysed by fear. His jaw hung open, his eyes round with shock.
The Soulstalkers fenced Fionn in as Ivan marched towards him. He grabbed Fionn by the throat, his gloves crackling as Fionn choked the name from his lips. ‘Bartl—’
Bartley just stood there, blinking.
Coward! Fionn screamed inside his head. Dirty rotten coward!
His vision was blurring around the edges. He tried to reach for his magic, one final time, but he couldn’t feel it, not even the tiniest flicker.
His thoughts became a jumble.
Malachy, Cormac, Fionn.
Fionn, Malachy, Cormac.
The wind was howling.
The earth was trembling.
Cormac, Malachy, Fionn.
‘Lights out, Storm Keeper.’
Fionn gurgled.
The darkness reached out and buried him in its fist, and his body crumpled to the shuddering earth.
Chapter Twenty-Three
THE CURSED CAULDRON
In the soupy blackness of his mind, Fionn could hear chanting. The words were distorted, garbled by the faraway rush of water. A droplet landed on his cheek and slithered into his hair.
Tick-tock, watch the clock.
Tick-tock, crumbling rock.
His thoughts flitted by like moths, the wings crushed to dust before he could catch hold of them.
Where am I?
Fionn twitched. He was lying on something cold and soft. Sand, slicked with mist. There was water nearby; waves that spat the scent of seaweed into the air and blew froth up his nose. Slowly he became aware of his body – his arms half crushed beneath him, his legs bent away from each other.
‘Wakey-wakey, Storm Keeper!’ came Ivan’s voice. He kicked him sharply in the ribs. ‘Get up!’
Fionn raised his face from the sand, and found himself in the middle of a cove. The sun had long surrendered to the horizon, and in its place a moon was rising. It was the only beacon of light in a starless sky. Up above, the craggy cliffs peered over him, straining for their reflections in the waves. Fionn groaned as he turned, his neck creaking with the effort. Everywhere he looked, hungry eyes peered back at him. A colosseum of Soulstalkers come to watch him bleed.
‘Look alive, Keeper.’ Ivan dragged Fionn to his feet by the scruff of his neck, and pulled him along behind him. ‘The solstice is upon us.’
Fionn’s eyes adjusted quickly, first to the darkening night … and then to the three onyx shards glistening in the distance. Black Point Rock. They were in Hughie Rua’s Cove. On one end of the crescent-shaped bay, a mound of sea-slimed rocks climbed up towards the cliffs, and on the other end, much too close for comfort, the Sea Cave lay buried inside the rock.
The Soulstalkers streamed around him, filling every inch of Hughie’s little cove. Some carried big hulking rocks with them, stacking them on top of each other to make a rudimentary parapet, while two burly men dragged a cauldron across the sand. It was wide and thick, and hewn from stone – over half Fionn’s size and certainly twice as heavy. They heaved it up on to their makeshift altar, settling it with a thud that sent something dark sloshing over the rim. Fionn tasted the sudden tang of copper in the air.
They paused at the base of the parapet. ‘The tide is still out,’ said Ivan, turning to leer at him. ‘Even the sea is afraid of us.’
It was then that Fionn noticed the Tide Summoner hanging from his neck.
Ivan crooked his finger and Fionn was shoved up on to the rocks. The Soulstalker climbed up after him, curling his fingers around the back of his neck. ‘Beautiful solstice,’ he crooned. ‘A night to die. A night to live.’
Before Fionn could form a proper thought, let alone a plan, he was bent roughly over the cauldron’s rim. Smoke shot up his nose and into his mouth, and he retched. The liquid rippled, plumes of grey turning cloudy white, as a man’s face appeared in the centre. It was long and thin and made of angles. He looked, disconcertingly, like Ivan, only he was much older. Under a slim red beard, he had that same, sloping mouth. His keen eyes were swollen with pupils. They blinked at Fionn, growing bigger as he loomed closer.
The tang of copper grew stronger. Fionn’s head was spinning so fast, he couldn’t see straight. The cauldron had its own strange brand of magic. Just like Cowan’s Lake, it had recorded its memories, only these ones were full of dark magic. It was making him sick.
The man turned sharply to something over his shoulder, and then everything turned red, the icy planes of his face disappearing in rivers of blood. The cauldron hiccoughed and a young woman appeared. She was pale and wan, with wide grey eyes. Fionn knew them too well – darkened and empty, they had bored into him once before on an ancient beach.
Fionn was so entranced by the strangeness of Morrigan trapped inside the cauldron that he forgot the Soulstalker looming over him. Ivan reached over his shoulder and dangled the Tide Summoner by its rim. ‘Let’s start with this, shall we? Seeing as you won’t be needing it.’
‘NO!’ Fionn choked on his scream as the shell tumbled into the cauldron. The liquid hissed, soupy rivers of black rising up to claim it. And all the while Ivan held him still, his fingers like a vice around his neck.
The Tide Summoner disappeared slowly into the cauldron until there was nothing but blood-black oil bubbling below him. Ivan withdrew a knife from his pocket. It glinted in the corner of Fionn’s eye as he brought it to the back of his neck. Fionn squirmed against the lip of the cauldron. He tried to reach into the hole in his chest, to hook a tendril of that weeping magic and call it up from the depths of him.
Please, he implored.
Don’t let this be the end.
Please.
Ivan brought his lips to his ear. ‘Try not to squirm too much.’
There was nothing now but the taste of smoke on the back of his tongue, the glug-glugging of the cauldron as it began to lick Dagda’s magic from the Tide Summoner.
Dagda help me.
I beg you.
Fionn felt the blade press against his neck, a half-second before the world exploded.
Ivan screamed as the ground was ripped out from under them. They were flung backwards into a spray of shale and sand and falling rock. Fionn freewheeled through the air, thrown out towards the sea where he landed in the shallows with a heavy splat! He pressed his cheek to the sand, narrowly avoiding the metal cauldron as it whooshed over his head and landed with an almighty crash!
Amidst the chaos, a familiar voice rang out. ‘Happy solstice, you bloody monsters! Who’s got my grandson?’
Fionn raised his head from the froth, and blinked into the shifting moonlight. The dust was clearing. His grandfather marched right through it.
‘Let me impart this precious kernel of wisdom in what will surely be your final moments in this world.’ He raised his hand to the quivering earth. ‘Hell hath no fury like a grandad scorned.’
The second blast ripped the cliffs apart.
Chapter Twenty-Four
THE SINKING SOULSTALKER
The beach exploded, bones cracking and bodies thudding as the cliffs rushed to meet them. Overhead, the moon swelled in the night sky, as though it was coming down to take a closer look. Blood-curdling screams filled the little cove as Soulstalkers scrabbled to unbury themselves from the crumbling earth. Fionn’s grandfather blasted a pathway right through it.
He stopped on the edge of the ocean with raw fury in his eyes. ‘Come out of the sea, lad!’ He waved his candle, the flame crawling up inside it as he marched along the sand. ‘Show your snivelling face, Ivan. We want our Tide Summoner back!’
Fionn limped through the shallows, staring at his grandfather in dawning alarm.
Malachy Boyle had ripped the anchor from his own candle and turned it upside down.
He was burning up the very essence of his life and turning it to pure, undiluted power.
‘Grandad, no!’
Fionn’s grandfather wasn’t listening. He was too busy scouring the beach, upturning groaning Soulstalkers and flinging them into the sky like leaves.
‘Where are you, Ivan?’ Fionn’s grandfather yelled. ‘Come out and fight me, you creepy little insect!’
Fionn’s magic flickered in his chest – it was an ember buried in a cavern of icy fear, but it was enough to get his attention. To turn his head. The Tide Summoner was nearby. He could feel it. He scanned the shoreline, his chest growing warmer as he stumbled through the shallows, until … There! Just up ahead! The shell glinted bone-white in the moonlight, a stone’s throw from where the cauldron was wedged into the damp sand.
Fionn ignored the stiffness in his limbs and sprinted towards it, just as a Soulstalker emerged from a pile of rubble and launched herself in his direction.
Fionn leapt through the air, falling on the shell like it was a bomb about to explode. ‘I’ve got it!’ he yelled. ‘It’s here, Grandad!’
‘Take it with you!’ his grandfather shouted. ‘Get back to safety!’
Fionn tried to run, but the Soulstalker grabbed him by the back of his jumper and elbowed him in the ribs, yanking the Tide Summoner from his grasp.
Fionn pulled her by the hair, tussling back and forth for it. ‘Give it to me!’
‘Watch out, lad!’
Suddenly the ground cracked in two. The sand burrowed into itself, forging a gaping chasm between them. Fionn scrambled away, just the Soulstalker slipped into the hole.
She reached out in a panic, grappling at nothing.
Fionn plunged his hand into the sinkhole, and felt the shift of gravity pulling him down. He ripped the Tide Summoner from her hand, throwing himself backwards before the hole could claim him too. The Soulstalker screamed as she disappeared – the last streaks of her brassy hair lost to the shifting sands. It covered her in a golden wave, the ground belching as it gulped her down.
And then she was gone.
‘FIONN!’
Tara and Sam skidded to a stop on the edge of the crumbling cliff.
‘FOUND THEM,’ screamed Tara, over her shoulder, while Sam waved a candle back and forth.
‘Climb up to us, mate! Hurry! We’ll hold them back with the wind!’
Relief rushed through Fionn. He slung the Tide Summoner around his neck and took the first steps towards freedom.
Behind him, across the cove, his grandfather stumbled.
Chapter Twenty-Five
THE STORM KEEPER’S SACRIFICE
Fionn hovered on the slip of sand between the Atlantic Ocean and his battered island, and felt the Tide Summoner’s pulse thumping against his own.
His heart was splitting in two.
His grandfather had dropped to his knees. The moon poured its silvery light over him as the Soulstalkers crawled out from the rubble and fanned around him like the wings of an avenging angel. Ivan was at their helm, grinning from ear to ear. The candle in Fionn’s grandfather’s fist was gone, its magic spattered in grey puddles along his hand.
‘Get up the steps, mate!’ shouted Sam. ‘Shelby’s almost here!’
‘They’ve got Grandad!’ Fionn yelled back. ‘They’re going to kill him!’
‘You have to come back up, Fionn!’ shouted Tara. ‘He knew, Fionn! He knew what he was doing!’
Fionn unwound the Tide Summoner from his neck and drew his arm back as he ran towards them. He threw the shell with all his might, his breath hitching as he watched it sail through the darkness, landing halfway down the rocky slope. Sam lowered himself on to the slick rubble, his knees shaking as he took the rocks two at a time.
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