The Keeper (12 page)

‘OK,' Oisín said, feeling his legs tire as he pushed against the shadow-fish. ‘Now we have to get out of here.'

The already cold water had just dropped several degrees and he was worried that the flapping wings he had heard above belonged to ravens.

‘Is that an opening?' Antimony said, peering towards the other end of the cavern. ‘Yes, look, there's a ledge and an archway and –'

Oisín understood why Antimony had stopped. Far away, at the other end of the cavern, Oisín could just make out a creature unlike any he'd ever seen. It was sort of like a stingray, with a flat black body like a long slippery rug. Several long tentacles emerged from its sides like snakes. What worried Oisín, though, were the green eyes on its head, which gleamed like glittering emeralds and seemed to be looking right at him.

Oisín felt the shadow-fish pulse with energy as the creature slithered into the water. Soon all Oisín could see were its two green eyes, gleaming terribly in the darkness. They floated on top of the water, moving closer and closer. Oisín felt the water rise around him. He could hear Antimony panicking, forgetting again how to tread water. Oisín barely noticed. He was hypnotised by those eyes, remembering Granny Keane's words:
She's a shape-shifter. No matter what she changes to, you can always recognise her by three things: the ravens that follow her, a terrible chill in the air around her and those green eyes of hers that will drown you in sadness
.

Oisín swallowed a gulp of cold water as the shadow-fish gripped his legs. He knew before Antimony whispered in his ear: he was looking into the eyes of the Morrígan.

Chapter 13

An Freagarach

O
ISÍN wished he had the Book of Magic with him. Without it, he felt useless. The Morrígan's green eyes were getting closer and closer. The shadow-fish wound around his legs, trapping him in the water. Oisín couldn't think of a single thing to do. Magic felt a lot less like electricity and more like a puzzle that he could never hope to solve.

The Morrígan's eyes pierced into him and Oisín felt her stripping away his foolish hopes until all that was left was a terrible cold despair. He craned back his head, staring at the cavern's ceiling. He'd look at anything to avoid the Morrígan's gaze.

There was a layer of stalactites on the ceiling, or was it stalagmites? Oisín had never paid attention in geography class and now he was going to die without knowing the difference, which seemed a strange thing to worry about.

A thought flashed in Oisín's brain. He looked up at the stalactite (‘c for ceiling', that was it!) and remembered what Cliodhna had told them about freezing. If he concentrated really hard …

Concentrating was very difficult when hundreds of fish were trying to drown you. Oisín kicked them away and tried to ignore the sound of the Morrígan's tentacles lapping through the water, getting closer and closer. He focused on the stalactite, picturing the ice in the freezer at home. The tip of the stalactite gleamed white and started to crackle. It was working. Oisín kept his gaze firm but focused. Water Magic was all about the gaze. If he could just concentrate …

The stalactite plunged from the ceiling, stabbing into the water as an icicle. It hung suspended on top of the water, and a circle of ice spread slowly around it.

‘Antimony, freeze the ceiling,' Oisín spluttered. ‘We have to get out of this water.'

He focused on another stalactite. It created another circle of ice as it landed. Oisín kicked the shadow-fish from him and clambered up on to the ice. The shadow-fish squirmed below, pushing their dark shapes against the underside of the fragile ice. Oisín pulled Antimony up.

‘She's getting mad,' Antimony said, staring at the Morrígan's green eyes, still coming towards them and flashing with irritation.

‘Don't look at her.'

Antimony picked up one of the fallen icy stalactites and put it in her slingshot. She aimed it at a pile of loose stones. They turned white and plunged towards the ground, spreading another layer of ice across the water. Oisín felt a surge of hope. Soon the whole ceiling was snowing and ice sealed off the passage they had come in through, stopping the flow of shadow-fish and trapping the green-eyed creature under ice. For a second, Oisín felt safe.

Then he heard a tremendous crackle. Oisín and Antimony watched in horror as a tentacle shot through and the Morrígan pulled herself on to the ice. She transformed in front of their eyes, contracting her tentacles until they were part of a long black cloak, worn by the most beautiful woman Oisín had ever seen.

‘Nice try,' the Morrígan said with a light, fluttery laugh that sent shivers into the air. ‘But you can't ever hope to beat me. Not without your little book.'

‘You'll never win,' Oisín spat out.

‘Let's see what your sister thinks about that. She's very fond of me, you know.'

‘Leave Sorcha alone.'

Antimony pulled Oisín's shoulder back before he could move forward. The Morrígan gave another little laugh and tossed back her black hair, which curled down her head like tentacles.

‘So brave, so young. I admire that. But no need for bravery just yet. It's actually your friend I want to talk to.'

The Morrígan fixed her terrible eyes on Antimony. Antimony felt the fire return to her veins.

‘You want me, come and get me,' she said, stepping forward.

The Morrígan smiled and flicked her hair. In a second, one of her curls had actually turned into a tentacle and it whipped through the air, heading for Antimony.

‘No!'

A body leapt from the side of the cavern, launching onto the Morrígan just in time and pushing her to the ground.

‘Stephen?' Oisín gasped, staring at the figure tackling the Morrígan.

The Morrígan transformed back into her terrible stingray form, sending her long tentacles crashing across the ice. One smashed down inches from Stephen's head.

‘It's me she wants,' Antimony shouted, shooting smoke out of her nostrils.

The Morrígan didn't seem to care at that moment, and was intent on dealing with the irksome creature confronting her. She backed Stephen into a corner by the wall and raised one of her tentacles. This time she wasn't going to miss.

It happened before Oisín had time to do anything. Stephen gripped the rock for support, the tentacle drove through the air, it landed with a sickening smack and there was a flash of light and a terrible scream.

Stephen stood up, a long stone gleaming in his hand. The Morrígan's tentacle lay slumped on the ice where Stephen had cut it off. Stephen held up the granite stone he had pulled from the cave. It was shaped like a sword. Oisín realised it was the source of the orange glow he'd seen earlier.

The Morrígan looked at it with furious eyes. Oisín was sure she was going to raise another tentacle to attack, but she seemed to decide otherwise, and slunk off into the shadows.

Stephen stood staring at the stone in his hand in confusion.

‘Get her,' Antimony said, looking at the shadows into which the Morrígan had disappeared.

Stephen shook himself and ran towards the archway. Before he could get through, he crashed into somebody coming out.

‘Cassandra!' he said, steadying her.

Cassandra Quicksilver looked very dazed and her beautiful face was more worried than ever.

‘What happened?'

‘Later,' Stephen said, heading for the archway again.

This time he ran into Mrs Fitzfeather, who looked almost as worried as Cassandra.

‘What's all this business, boy?'

‘It was the Morrígan,' Antimony said, looking over at the spot on the ice where the tentacle had already dissolved into black dust.

Mrs Fitzfeather pulled her shawls around herself as if she was the one who needed protection.

‘No! That can't be possible! The Morrígan couldn't have been here.'

‘I'm afraid she could. You know the kind of deep magic these caves hold.'

It was Madame Q, emerging suddenly out of the shadows. Oisín wondered how long she had been standing there. She stared at him with her strange silver eyes.

‘You made a snowstorm in this cavern?'

Oisín nodded.

‘Without the Book of Magic?'

Oisín could see her searching the magical air for the Book's presence. He nodded.

‘That's very advanced magic,' Madame Q said carefully, unsure if this was a good thing. Her eyes swivelled over to Stephen.

‘Where did you get that?' she said, looking at his stone sword.

‘It just came out of the wall when –'

Stephen stopped, hearing footsteps behind them. Instinctively, he stretched out his arm, holding out the sword and its surprisingly sharp point.

‘New toy? I'd have thought you might be too old for that kind of thing.'

‘Lysander, stop!'

Lysander turned around and saw his sister beside him. He smiled.

‘Nobody told me we were having a party. Bit chilly, though. Perhaps I should magic up a fire?'

‘That won't be necessary,' Madame Q said curtly.

Oisín wondered how they had all happened to be so close to the cavern and yet none of them had come while the Morrígan was attacking him and Antimony.

‘What is that?' Cassandra said, walking over to look at Stephen's sword. She caught her breath. ‘No, it can't be.'

‘It is,' Madame Q said with a grim smile. An Freagarach.'

Oisín saw the confusion on Stephen's face. ‘It's the lost sword from the Dagda's cauldron,' he said slowly.

‘The sword that can cut through any enemy,' Antimony said in awe.

Lysander's eyes flared with envy. An Freagarach is one of the most magical items that exists. That lunk couldn't have just
found
it.'

‘Don't call me that.' Stephen's voice was level, but An Freagarach was stretched out, its tip resting against Lysander's chest.

‘Try it,' Lysander said with a twinkle in his eyes.

‘Stop it!' Madame Q said irritably, parting the two of them with a quick flick of her wrist. ‘That sword is not to be trifled with. It could change everything.'

‘It could kill the Morrígan,' Stephen said in a strange voice, looking down at his new sword.

‘It could kill everybody,' Mrs Fitzfeather said in a worried tone. ‘I'm not sure it's a good …
Cassandra!
'

Everybody turned to where Cassandra had fallen on the floor. For a terrible second, Oisín thought she had brushed against An Freagarach.

‘She's having a prophecy!' Mrs Fitzfeather said. She looked around the cavern as if seeing it for the first time. ‘We're in the Pool of Prophecy. That's why the magic is so strong. We can't let her get to the water, you know the charge it has.'

Madame Q seemed to have the opposite opinion.

‘Lysander, help her,' she said quickly, cutting a small circle in the ice with a flick of her fingers. The shadow-fish had all disappeared and the clear water gleamed. Lysander eased his sister in, supporting her arms on the ice. Cassandra closed her eyes as the water wrapped around her body.

‘Get her out of there,' Mrs Fitzfeather barked.

‘No, we have to hear the prophecy,' Madame Q said firmly. ‘Lysander, hold her.'

Lysander gripped onto his sister as she started to shake. Oisín wondered if Mrs Fitzfeather wasn't right. Whatever was happening to Cassandra didn't seem very pleasant. After a moment she stopped shaking. Her face was completely blank and her eyes had turned silver. The words came out in a low, flat tone:

Calamity creaks towards us

A shadow passes across the land

Woe will circle woe before the crash of corn

Brother will fight brother, siblings sunder

The children of the golden hair will split

The dearest of the deer will be lost

War rears its head

Good and evil fade, strong fights stronger

The six that will not be found shake free

What would be kept must be given away

The Queen of Shadows –

‘That's enough!'

Mrs Fitzfeather pushed Lysander out of the way and gripped Cassandra. She was surprisingly strong and had Cassandra out of the water in seconds. Cassandra coughed, her face returning to normal.

‘You should never interrupt a prophecy!' Madame Q said in a terse voice.

‘Teenagers shouldn't be giving prophecies,' Mrs Fitzfeather flared.

‘She's my Quint!'

‘And she's
my
responsibility!'

For perhaps the first time, Oisín could see why Mrs Fitzfeather was the Captain of
Eachtra
.

‘Or perhaps you're afraid what the prophecy will reveal.' Madame Q said, looking at Mrs Fitzfeather curiously.

‘I don't have to listen to prophecies to know how to lead my life,' Mrs Fitzfeather responded.

A series of glances passed between the two old women and Oisín was sure a lot was being communicated. It was Lysander who broke the silence.

‘Maybe next time you can try something cheerier, sis? Perhaps something about kittens?'

Nobody laughed. Oisín looked at Stephen swirling An Freagarach through the air, as if it were an extension of his arm. He felt a chill pass through him. Oisín hadn't understood most of Cassandra's prophecy, but a couple of words rattled in his head.
Brother will fight brother. Siblings sunder. Before the crash of corn
. The Lughnasa Festival was approaching with its harvest.

Oisín gulped. Whatever trouble the prophecy told of, it was coming soon.

Chapter 14

Deirdre of the Sorrows

I
F THERE was any benefit to being attacked by the Morrígan and her legion of shadow-fish, it was that Oisín gained another friend. Not that being Antimony's friend was exactly easy. Antimony spent half the day scowling at the other Wrens (all of whom she was certain were helping the Morrígan) and the rest of the day grumbling about how boring Water Magic was. As Antimony had previously spent her days silently following Oisín, this was an improvement. Especially now that staring at Oisín was everybody else's favourite hobby.

Although Mrs Fitzfeather had sworn everybody to secrecy, by the next day the whole of
Eachtra
had heard about the prophecy. Oisín and Stephen got even more attention, especially as Stephen had started carrying An Freagarach in a scabbard over his jeans.

Antimony was an expert in avoiding unwanted gazes and showed Oisín the small cabins and corridors where you could rely on quiet on
Eachtra
. Unlike Tom and Caoimhe, she also understood how important the Book of Magic was. Caoimhe was too busy practising medicine on lake slugs (who could move pretty fast when they saw her approaching) and Tom still didn't trust the Book. Antimony did, though, and helped Oisín to race through his morning tasks so he could spend more time in the library.

In the quiet corridors of the twelfth floor, Oisín didn't have to worry about the other Wrens or prophecies. A small part of Oisín almost resented
Eachtra
's steady movement towards Cnoc na gCnámh because each day they got closer, the moment when he would have to part with his magic Book also came nearer.

That changed when they reached Linn an Bhróin. It was their last afternoon before they entered the Enchanted Forest. Linn an Bhróin was a semi-circular pool on the edge of the forest, surrounded by slender trees and a large waterfall.

‘Real weeping willows,' Tom said in awe as they sat on the edge of the pool and waited for a druid to appear.

It took Oisín a second to see what he meant. Instead of leaves, the trees around Linn an Bhróin grew small tears, which dangled off their branches like jewels. Every now and then, one dropped gently into the water and another appeared on the branch. Something stirred in Oisín as he put his toes into the cool water. He remembered Sorcha all alone with the Morrígan. Suddenly, he felt terrible for reading the Book of Magic all day and wishing that
Eachtra
would travel slower.

Antimony did not seem quite so affected by the pool.

‘The Pool of Sadness,' she said with a snort. ‘What kind of a stupid name is that? You know, in Nigeria, most druids don't even
use
Water Magic.'

‘You might have mentioned it,' Caoimhe said.

As usual, Antimony ignored her.

‘Or anything except Fire and Air. I mean, I don't see the point of it. Why would you –'

‘Use that anger, my child, use it!'

Everybody turned to see where the voice had come from. The water started to ripple strangely. Slowly, it pooled together until the outline of a body emerged: a very large woman with big cheeks and long hair, made entirely out of water.

‘I am Deirdre of the Sorrows,' she said in a commanding voice. When nobody did anything she added, ‘The
very famous
Deirdre of the Sorrows.'

Some people gave little gasps of awe, which seemed to be what Deirdre of the Sorrows wanted, but Oisín could hear a few ‘Who?'s across the bench. Antimony's was the loudest.

‘My dear,' Deirdre of the Sorrows said, wading over towards Antimony with an expression on her face that was at once tragic and greedy. ‘You must have so many sorrows. Think of it, the child of the infamous Ogonis! What you must have inside you!'

‘I don't have anything inside me. I didn't have breakfast this morning.'

There was some laughter, which Deirdre of the Sorrows pretended not to hear.

‘Oh, but you must be full of pain!' she said, swooping a hand back dramatically. ‘Let me see, dear.' Deirdre of the Sorrows turned her watery eyes on Antimony, as if she were a doctor examining a patient. ‘Ah, yes,' she said. ‘So much anger and betrayal! My dear, you must quench this fire with the water of sorrow.'

‘Why do we have to come here?' Antimony complained. ‘
Eachtra
doesn't even travel through this pool.'

‘My dear, travelling through the past is the ultimate adventure,' Deirdre of the Sorrows exclaimed. ‘Wrens always visit Linn an Bhróin. It's a special treat!'

Oisín didn't think it was much of a treat but it seemed that some of the other Wrens disagreed.

‘Look at that!'

Everybody followed Medb Gaultney's pointing finger. The running waterfall had turned into a sort of television screen. Oisín saw a couple of adults who looked very like Antimony, mixing magical potions in a laboratory. The picture changed and a child was at their feet, spitting out her first sip of firecocoa. The man laughed, a big, booming laugh. Another picture. The woman was standing talking to a raven, her hands on her hips, very much in control. Oisín looked over at Antimony who seemed hypnotised by Deirdre of the Sorrows' gaze. Oisín realised what was happening: Deirdre of the Sorrows could project Antimony's memories onto the waterfall just by looking at her.

‘Dig deeper, dear,' Deirdre of the Sorrows said in a soft voice.

A new picture came up, quite different from the others. A figure was running away, a cloak catching in the breeze. The two parents were looking out a window, fear on their faces, fire lapping at the bottom of their house. They were helping their child out, magicking her to the ground. The child looked up, crying. The adults were still at the window, fire creeping closer. The child started to scream.

Oisín dived into the water before he could think about it. He could see Antimony shaking, could hear Medb whispering to her friends. He had to stop it.

‘Oh, my dear, how clumsy!' Deirdre of the Sorrows said, almost toppling over in the water. She looked rather irritated until she stood up and saw Oisín in front of her.

‘Oh, my poor child!' she said. ‘The brother of the missing girl! Too overcome with grief to be able to stand up straight!'

Oisín blushed and wished he was able to move away from Deirdre of the Sorrows as easily as he had stepped over towards her. There was something about her gaze, which seemed so sympathetic and kind. Oisín had a hunch that all his feelings were being shown on the running sheet of water.

‘None of the rest of you can know how this boy feels,' Deirdre of the Sorrows announced. ‘Imagine the sorrow of having your sister murdered by the Morrígan!'

‘She hasn't been murdered,' Oisín blurted out.

‘Or she might have been eaten or tortured or be cold or crying or – oh, the woes that are probably happening!' Deirdre of the Sorrows said, stretching a watery hand out to Oisín.

Oisín tried not to think about Sorcha, but as soon as Deirdre of the Sorrows mentioned it, he pictured her, way up north, asleep with only the Morrígan for company. She'd be cold and thirsty and having bad dreams and –

‘Let it out, child, don't keep it in,' Deirdre of the Sorrows said as visions of Sorcha came up on the waterfall. Oisín could hear everybody whispering.

‘Oh, the things that are buried here,' Deirdre of the Sorrows continued, seemingly intent on making Oisín as miserable as possible. ‘Oh, what sorrows you have seen!'

Oisín squirmed and felt sadder and sadder. He thought of things apart from Sorcha – sitting in the yard on his own at break time because nobody would talk to him, the day that Stephen had stuffed him into a rubbish bin ‘as a joke'. He could feel his cheeks burning. He knew everybody was watching him on the waterfall.

‘Yes, nobody here could match these sorrows!' Deirdre of the Sorrows said, seeming to get happier the more misfortune she encountered.

‘Surely
you
could.'

It was Antimony, looking at Deirdre of the Sorrows with a defiant gaze. Her hunch paid off. At the mention of her own troubles, Deirdre of the Sorrows immediately broke away from Oisín and wobbled over to a more central spot.

‘Of course, my dear. Nobody can match the pain of Deirdre of the Sorrows!' she said, tossing her hair back dramatically.

A shell full of chocolate truffles rose up from the water and Deirdre of the Sorrows popped one into her mouth, as if chocolate were the only way to cope with being so sad.

‘Oh, how lucky you plain girls are never to know how hard it is to be the most beautiful woman in Ireland!'

The waterfall screen changed to show a very pretty young girl – Deirdre, before she had eaten quite so much chocolate. Once Deirdre of the Sorrows had started talking about her own sorrows, there was no stopping her. After a long history of how hard it was to grow up as the most beautiful girl in Ireland, whom everybody wanted to marry, she moved on to the moment she had met Naoise.

‘The most handsome warrior in the country,' she said as the image of a young man came up on the waterfall. ‘I knew as soon as I saw a raven drinking blood in the snow that that was what I wanted: a man with skin as fair as snow, with hair as black as a raven and with cheeks as red as blood. Oh, the pain of loving the most beautiful man in the world!'

‘Is this important to know for Water Magic?' Conor McIntosh asked.

‘The only important thing is to learn not to interrupt a beautiful story,' Deirdre of the Sorrows said, sounding not quite as sorrowful as usual. ‘Of course, if you want to really make it in Water Magic, you'll have to be able to make good tears. Air Magic is all about the brain and Earth Magic is about your body and Fire Magic is about your spirit but Water Magic is about your … heart!'

Deirdre of the Sorrows pointed dramatically at her heart and started to sob.

‘Many enchantments require magical tears. Luckily you all have me to produce so many of them.'

Tears started to stream down Deirdre of the Sorrows' watery face, so that it looked like she might dissolve back into the pool.

‘My Naoise was the most handsome warrior in the country and then he was murdered by the High King of Ireland because he fell in love with these beautiful eyelashes!'

Oisín thought that whatever happened to Naoise sounded quite sad, but it was hard to be too sympathetic when Deirdre of the Sorrows was blubbering like a baby.

‘Oh, and his lovely legs were broken,' she wailed as the water started to rise with her tears. ‘And then those beautiful bones were trampled on by boars and crumpled into the ground until they were mushed up. His lovely legs, no more!'

Dimitri and Pádraig stopped playing football at the thought of somebody's bones being mushed up. The weeping willows drooped, adding to the tears.

‘And his pale skin, no more! And his beautiful black hair, no more! And his lovely red cheeks, no more!'

‘And our poor ears, no more,' Tom said.

Oisín tried not to laugh, which was getting easier as all the tears were sending water up to his mouth.

‘And his lovely smile, oh, his lovely smile, twisted off his face!' Deirdre of the Sorrows sobbed. Her tears built into a crescendo, until her whole body was a running stream of tears and eventually she dissolved into the water. She waited a moment for dramatic effect before suddenly reappearing, fatter with tears than ever.

‘Thank you, thank you,' she beamed at her audience as if they were clapping wildly instead of looking confused. ‘I do think that was one of my best performances.'

‘That cute warrior guy looks like Stephen,' Medb Gaultney said, tossing back her ponytail and smiling at Stephen.

Stephen looked at his sword as if it might be able to transport him somewhere else.

‘No, his name was Naoise. Such a beautiful name! And so doomed!'

Before Deirdre of the Sorrows could start to cry again, however, she caught sight of who it was that Medb and her friends were giggling at and opened her watery eyes wide. ‘Oh, but, my child, the resemblance is something!' she said in a fluttery voice and quickly glided across the water towards Stephen. ‘My, what lovely black hair you have! But my Naoise would never have spiked his hair like that.'

Ignoring the giggles from the rest of the Wrens, Deirdre of the Sorrows continued to gaze admiringly at Stephen.

‘Such lovely black hair and such pale white skin and such bright red cheeks!'

The last part was definitely true. Oisín had never seen Stephen blush so much.

‘Oh, if you could have seen me all those years ago,' Deirdre of the Sorrows said, twirling her long hair in the water and attempting a giggle. She nearly toppled over, and held onto Stephen's sword to steady herself.

‘What is
that?
' she gasped. An Freagarach!' she whispered before he had a chance to answer, clutching onto the sword.

Stephen leant back, half afraid she was going to hug him, but instead she just touched the blade of the sword very gently, as if feeling for something.

‘This sword can only be used by the greatest warrior in Ireland, which used to be my Naoise,' she said in a shaky voice. ‘And here is the mark he made on it all those years ago.'

Something was etched in tiny writing inside a small heart on the sword.

‘“Naoise and Deirdre for ever.” And now he's dead!'

Oisín was waiting for Deirdre of the Sorrows to start listing all of Naoise's body parts that had been stamped to nothing again, but instead she clasped her hands to her mouth and backed away from Stephen as if something much worse had happened.

‘Oh, my child! You have An Freagarach! Nobody has ever had that sword and lived a long life!'

A ripple of interest passed across the pool, but Stephen wasn't concerned.

‘I'm just holding it for the moment,' he said coolly. ‘Once I get my sister, I'll be gone.'

‘Oh, no. The sword holds you. You can't be rid of it. And your sister will –'