The Keeper (4 page)

‘That's more than a month away. Are they going to stay that long on the island?'

Cluaiscín shrugged. It didn't look like Antimony would be giving him any more worms.

‘Then I need a way to make them stay here until then,' Antimony said, rummaging in her pouch to pick out something from the very bottom.

Cluaiscín's green eyes bulged when he saw the small jar she pulled out.

‘Miss Antimony, you can't!'

Antimony ignored him and opened the jar. She turned her nose away from the wisps of indigo smoke that swirled out of it.

‘Miss Antimony, that's deep magic, dangerous magic. Are you sure your mother would want you to do this?'

Antimony paused. She wasn't at all sure what her mother would have wanted. She remembered the first time she'd shown her
béal tine
in her laboratory. Antimony could hear her voice as if she was on the branch beside her.

‘
Béal
is the Irish for mouth,' she had started. ‘And
tine
, as you know, means fire.'

‘Why do I have to learn Irish?'

Antimony bit her lip as she remembered. She wished she hadn't complained to her parents so much.

‘Because it's one of the magic languages and you have to,' her mother had said in the voice she used when Antimony was being impertinent. ‘And because
béal tine
is one of the most valuable things we have here. It can only be brewed in small amounts, just once a year, on the feast of Bealtaine.'

Antimony's mother had gone on about how Bealtaine was different from
béal tine
, even though they sounded a bit the same. At ten years old, Antimony hadn't cared about words, though. Not when there were things to be blown up.

‘What is it? Fire that talks?'

Her mother had used her serious voice when she responded.

‘
Béal tine
speaks the future that you desire. It has the power to change the course of events.'

On the hazel branch, three years later, Antimony's skin still prickled when she remembered what her mother said next.

‘It's very dangerous to use.
Béal tine
can make something happen. But it never happens in the way you think.'

Antimony looked at the jar of dark, swirling flames. Would her mother have wanted her to use it? Would she have even wanted her to take it from the laboratory after the fire?

Cluaiscín's voice snapped Antimony back to the present.

‘Miss Antimony, Cluaiscín has seen bad things, many bad things, but
béal tine
is always –'

Cluascín stopped talking and jerked from shock. Antimony had yanked one of his beautiful black feathers off.

‘No, Miss Antimony,' Cluascín flustered, but it was too late: she was already sticking the feather into her arm. A single drop of her blood fell cleanly into the jar. Antimony broke the feather carefully into small pieces and sprinkled it on top. Because Cluaiscín had seen the boy, the pieces of his feathers were all that was needed to make a connection to him, and for
béal tine
to work. That, a drop of her blood and a sacrifice.

Cluaiscín froze, wondering if after everything he had done for her mother, Antimony would …

‘Relax,' Antimony said, as if she could read his mind.

She'd already taken a worm from her pouch. It plopped into the jar and immediately tried to climb upwards, as if it could sense what was coming.

Looking at the poor creature, Antimony almost felt sorry for it. This was the deepest magic she had ever done. She felt her skin tingle, from both excitement and fear. The worm pushed its body upwards. Antimony didn't have time to be sorry. She mumbled the words she wanted to happen and backed away.

A single, dark-blue flame shot out of the jar, brilliantly hot. It burnt out in seconds, leaving nothing in the jar but a small pile of indigo ash.

Chapter 5

The Tuatha Dé Danann

O
ISÍN had never landed on a magic beach before. He stood at the edge of the DART carriage, wondering whether or not the ground would try to eat him. Not so bothered, Sorcha brushed past him and leapt off the train.

‘We're on holiday,' she shouted happily to the winds. Her ankle was still sore where the raven had pecked it, so she hopped on one foot across the sand.

‘Come back!' Stephen and Oisín shouted in the same older-brother voice.

Stephen shook himself, as if trying to remove any similarity with his strange younger brother.

‘Don't get any ideas, Bookbrain. We're going home in a minute.'

Stephen looked around the strange island. They were surrounded by sea and forest. The DART train sat peacefully on the sand, as if it had always meant to end up there. Home had never seemed further away.

Encouraged that Sorcha was still in one piece, Oisín put his foot onto the sand and took a step. The sand felt as soft and scrunchy as any other beach he'd been on. He had almost forgotten the chilling feeling the ravens had given him. The Book of Magic nuzzled happily in his hoodie pocket. Oisín felt a rush of excitement: all he could see ahead was adventure.

‘Careful!'

Sorcha had fallen over before Stephen's voice reached her. Hopping was not her strong point at the best of times, and a time that included a giant dog running into her could not really be considered the best.

‘What is that thing?' Stephen said, racing over to help Sorcha up.

‘Don't mind Giant. He's just chasing the chestnuts.'

The children turned to see a friendly curly-headed boy running out from the forest. The dog freed himself from Sorcha and bounded over to the boy.

‘Here you go, Giant,' the boy said, taking out a couple of chestnuts from his jeans and throwing them into the air. They smashed against each other and exploded into coloured fireworks on the sand. Giant jumped up to catch the sparks while the boy stood still, as if chestnuts always burst into multi-coloured sparks where he was from.

‘Hi, I'm Tom,' he said then, giving a friendly wave.

‘Is your hand a tree?' Sorcha asked.

Tom blushed as if he'd forgotten something.

‘Oh, yeah! Not really, my sister was mixing a potion to heal a cut and then this happened. She'll be able to fix it though. I hope.'

Oisín was about to ask what kind of potion could turn an arm into a tree when Stephen bustled over. He seemed determined not to notice anything out of the ordinary.

‘Have you got a phone I can use? Mine isn't working.'

‘What's a phone?' Tom asked.

‘Like this,' Stephen said, holding up his mobile.

‘You're not from this island, are you?' Tom said slowly.

‘No!' Stephen said, appalled that anybody could mistake him for a native of a place where boys sprouted branches for arms.

‘You're Milesians, aren't you?' Tom said, delight creeping onto his face. ‘Can I have a look? I've never seen Milesian magic.'

Tom picked up Stephen's phone as if it was a rare, precious object.

‘What's a Milesian?' Stephen said briskly. ‘And where are we?'

Oisín answered before Tom could. As soon as he said it, he knew he was right: ‘The island of the Tuatha Dé Danann. The island of the fairy folk. Milesians are the people who drove the Tuatha dé Danann out of Ireland.'

‘No hard feelings, though,' Tom said with a smile. ‘I mean, it was probably so many great-great-great grandmothers ago that we can call it a truce.'

Tom held out his hand and Oisín shook it. It was rather odd, shaking a twig, but Tom didn't seem to mind. Stephen took a step back as Oisín introduced them all. Tom was too busy talking to notice any rudeness.

‘I can't believe you made it over here! What kind of magic did you use? Must have been some Water Magic to get that train across. Did the dolphins help you?'

Oisín felt the Book of Magic flutter in his pocket and was just about to tell Tom about it when something stopped him. Somebody else was watching. A girl with long dreadlocks stood at the edge of the forest, holding a slingshot to her chest as if she was deciding whether or not to use it.

‘Oh, that's Antimony, my sister,' Tom said, catching Oisín's gaze. ‘Antimony, come over and say hi. Milesians have washed up on the beach! Can you believe it?'

It seemed that Antimony could believe it, as she walked over very calmly. She had put down her slingshot but there was something about her stare that was much more troubling.

‘You don't look very like brother and sister,' Sorcha said before Oisín could kick her.

‘Adopted sister,' Antimony added.

‘Auntie Money is a funny name,' Sorcha said, still deciding whether she meant ‘funny' in a good sense.

‘It's a chemical element,' Antimony said proudly. ‘My parents were alchemists. And I pronounce it Ant-IM-onee.'

Stephen had no interest in how to pronounce strange names, especially when they belonged to stranger people.

‘Can you take us to an Internet café or something?' he cut in.

‘Is that a kind of magic place?' Tom asked.

‘There's no such thing as magic,' Stephen snapped. ‘Our train just got – lost. And we need to get back to Dublin. Can you take us to your parents?'

He was using the slow speaking-to-foreign-people voice that their father used on holiday in France.

‘Is he OK?' Tom said, turning to Oisín. ‘Maybe too much water got in his head or something?'

Oisín had to bite back a laugh before Stephen hit him.

‘Come on, we're going,' Stephen barked. ‘If you want to play games and pretend that your sister mixes potions and that your parents are alchemists or whatever that's grand for you, but we've got to get back to Dublin before dark.'

Something Stephen had said upset Antimony, because she stepped in front of him before he could move.

‘Don't insult my parents,' she said slowly.

‘Get out of my way,' Stephen responded.

Oisín was about to warn Antimony that he didn't think that Stephen would have a problem pushing a girl when he realised Antimony could look after herself. She closed her eyes and pinched her nose slightly.

‘Don't believe in magic?' she asked.

Sorcha screamed before Stephen did.

‘Fire! Your runners are on fire!'

Stephen looked up in amazement. Smoke was billowing out of Antimony's nostrils and sparking at his runners. Stephen dived to the ground and tried to put out the fire in the sand. Tom bolted over, rubbing a large dock-leaf on Stephen's shoes and making sure to keep his branch-arm away from the tiny flames.

‘Antimony, you shouldn't be doing magic like that,' he spluttered.

‘It's only fake,' Antimony said, crossing her arms. ‘Next time it'll be real.'

‘Sorry,' Tom said to Stephen, as if it had been his fault.

‘Get off!' Stephen said, standing up again and feeling rather foolish to find that the flames weren't actually dangerous.

He started to back away slowly, thinking it best to keep an eye on somebody who could blow fire out of their nose.

‘You shouldn't walk backwards, it's really not very healthy.'

It was a green-haired girl, carrying a stack of books and a small jar of red liquid.

‘My other sister, Caoimhe,' Tom said to Oisín, who probably would have guessed that the girl with leaves in her curly hair was related to Tom in some way. ‘Caoimhe, this is –'

‘I made this for you,' Caoimhe said, holding out the jar. She didn't seem at all perturbed to find three strangers on the beach.

‘Are you sure this will work?' Tom said, eyeing the liquid warily.

‘Drink it up! It will fix your arm.'

Caoimhe gave it a quick stir with her pen and handed it to Tom, who gulped it down quickly.

‘Delicious,' Tom said, screwing up his face to suggest quite the opposite. ‘You should market this, Caoimhe. It's almost as good as Dad's seaweed stew. Whoa!'

Oisín stared at Tom's arm. Even after everything that had happened to them since the morning, he was still amazed at seeing magic. And whatever Stephen might say, there was no other word for what was happening to Tom's arm. The bark crackled and cracked, dropping to the sand like bits of metal. Tom's finger-twigs started to twist and thicken, hairs sprung up on his arm and freckles popped back like magic buttons. In a few seconds, Tom was moving an arm that looked just like Oisín's.

‘Can I have some? I'm thiiiiiiirstyyyyyy,' Sorcha asked.

‘Maybe that's not such a great idea,' Oisín said quickly. Magic was exciting but it wasn't really something for younger sisters to meddle with.

Sorcha gave a sigh and flopped down on the ground beside Giant.

‘Do you like chocolate?' Tom asked, crouching down to her.

Sorcha nodded solemnly.

‘We can get you some back on the farm. Dad's been growing chocolate bees. He'll be excited to see you all – we never get Milesians here – and maybe they'll even know if they can find one of those phoney things.'

Stephen rolled his eyes, but didn't bother to correct him. He hoped that Tom's and Antimony's parents were slightly more normal than their children.

Tom held down his hand and pulled Sorcha up. He turned back to his sister.

‘Caoimhe, am I supposed to have six fingers?'

Stephen's hopes that the Houlihans would approach ‘normal' were disappointed. Sometimes their father said people were ‘eccentric' if they were so different from him that they got on his nerves. Their neighbours who grew their own vegetables instead of buying them at SuperValu were eccentric. Mr Jones, who could sometimes be seen talking to his Great Dane, was a little eccentric. Granny Keane was
definitely
eccentric. When Oisín met the Houlihans, he wondered if they were so eccentric that his father might have to think up a new word.

For a start, when Tom's mother held out her hand to introduce herself, she insisted they call her Cathleen instead of Mrs Houlihan, laughing and saying that it made her sound old. Neither of Tom's parents seemed very old to Oisín. Cathleen wore large wellies, jeans and a loose checked shirt. Bits of wool and bark poked out of her long red hair. Jimmy Houlihan was the spit of his son, with the same easy smile, but with rings in his nose and ears. Both Jimmy and Cathleen carried on about their kitchen as if it was perfectly normal to have three children drop in off an underwater DART, and the only problem was whether or not there was enough dinner to go round.

‘You're in luck: fresh seaweed stew with lemongrass cabbage today,' Jimmy Houlihan said as he stirred a vat of bubbling green soup and prodded some yellow cabbage.

‘Dad likes to experiment with food,' Tom whispered. ‘Sometimes it tastes really good.' Which made Oisín wonder if today was one of those times.

Cathleen dipped her finger in the pot of soup and tasted.

‘Interesting,' she said, and Jimmy tickled her affectionately before giving her a kiss, which Oisín had never seen his parents do and wasn't in any hurry to see either.

Cathleen picked a piece of wool from her hair and used it to attach a bundle of cutlery to a small-wheeled contraption, which looked a bit like a miniature unicycle.

‘Mum likes to invent things,' Tom explained as the wheel used the cutlery like skis to propel it towards the table and then deposited a knife and fork at intervals. Oisín thought it might have been easier to set the table by hand, but he didn't say anything. Stephen was less concerned with being polite.

‘Can you invent something to get us home?' he asked Cathleen.

It was clear the Houlihans' tree house made him uncomfortable. It was hard to pretend he was sitting down to a regular dinner when the table was a suspended slice of tree trunk. It was even harder to pretend that things were normal when Cathleen's inventions bustled about in every corner. A cluster of staplers snapped at insects like a Venus-fly trap by the window, tubes turned rainwater into washing-up liquid and what looked like mechanical frogs croaked in the corner.

‘They're supposed to be clocks,' Tom whispered to Oisín in a tone that suggested that Cathleen's inventions had the same success rate as Jimmy's cooking.

Cathleen pulled a hair from her soup and considered Stephen's request to make something to take them home.

‘There is my hot-air bicycle,' she said, chewing on her hair as she thought.

‘Mum, that thing couldn't make it to the top of our tree,' Caoimhe said.

‘That was a prototype,' Cathleen answered briskly. ‘Or I had that idea for the water-skis made out of ironing boards. You just have to bewitch the iron and then you can charge them and –'

‘Sink to the bottom of the ocean,' Caoimhe said, raising her eyebrows.

‘Maybe you should spend more time researching how to fix your brother's hand,' Cathleen said in a thin voice. Tom had five fingers now, but no thumb.

‘Don't worry about it all,' Jimmy said. ‘Madame Q is coming over. If anybody'll know how to get you back to Dublin, she will.'

‘Why is she coming?' Antimony said quickly.

Oisín had almost forgotten about Antimony. She'd sat there silently for the whole meal, tracing swirls in her soup rather than eating it. She hadn't forgotten about him, though, and continued to look at him carefully.

‘Because I asked her over,' Jimmy said in a firm voice.

Oisín could feel the unease around the table.

‘Dad, she's mad creepy,' Tom said between slurps of seaweed.

‘She's the smartest druid on the island,' Jimmy answered calmly.

Tom's face suggested that she could still be the creepiest. Antimony looked uneasy, as if she wanted to leave the table.

‘Does she have to come over?' Tom continued. ‘
Eachtra
launches tomorrow. We'll be seeing plenty of her then. And she'll be saying we should have been practising magic all year.'