The Keeper (8 page)

Nothing happened. Oisín wasn't concerned. He
knew
he was right, even if he couldn't say why. He just wasn't speaking the right words. Or the right language. Most of the other words in the Book had been in Irish. But what was the Irish for wind? Oisín wished he'd spent less time looking out at the clouds in Irish class.
Scamall
, that was the word for cloud, but that wasn't any use.
Spéir. Bogha báistí. An ghrian ag taitneamh
. Lots of weather words spun through Oisín's head but not the one he needed. How was he supposed to climb Sliabh na Gaoithe if he couldn't think of the word for –

Sliabh na Gaoithe!
Of course!

‘Gaoth!' Oisín shouted.

He repeated the word to the Book, sure he was onto something. The Book shifted slightly, the tiniest of movements. Oisín whispered the word again, concentrating as hard as he could. Just when he was about to give up, the pages started to move, flapping in time with an invisible wind of their own. When they stopped, Oisín saw a picture of a tiny cloud blowing five words across the page. He peered at the page to read them:
Rith ar nós na gaoithe
.

Oisín searched his brain.
Rith
was the Irish for run, that was easy.
Nós
was harder. He remembered Granny Keane saying something about
sean nós
music, and he knew that meant ‘old-style' music. Run in the style of the wind?

‘Run like the wind!' Oisín shouted, and seconds later that was what he was doing, legging it around the mountain as fast as he could manage. He ignored the wind whooshing at his face, concentrating instead on the words,
rith ar nós na gaoithe
, calling them again and again.

Oisín wasn't exactly sure how or when it happened. One moment he was running, the wind whacking him in his face, the Book of Magic fluttering in his hands. And then the next, he couldn't quite feel the ground underneath his feet or the weight of his hands. He'd had dreams before where he'd been running and jumping and then suddenly he was flying and this was a little like that, except much, much better. He couldn't feel his legs or hands because he didn't have any: he'd turned into the wind.

Oisín gasped (or he felt like he did, since he wasn't sure if he still had a mouth to gasp from) as he looked down and saw the road Cathleen's van had swerved along far below. He was about halfway up the mountain face, but he was being pulled further and further from it by the gusts of wind. Oisín twisted whatever particles he was made up of now and found a current that was going in the right direction. Up, he thought, and tried to turn his wind-self up towards the clouds. It was harder than he might have thought, but he managed it and then he was zipping along with the wind, travelling faster and faster, up and up and up.

It was the most wonderful feeling he had ever had. Snow-covered fields and icy rivers were far, far below and he was high above the ground in the open air. He
was
the air, at once himself and part of everything around him. He did a little loop-the-loop through the wind currents with joy, suddenly feeling very free. Oisín might have continued flying and flying if he hadn't seen the top of Sliabh na Gaoithe coming into view. Making his way into a downward current, he focused on reaching the mountain top where he could see Angus Óg and a number of figures. Down, down, he thought to himself and then he was doing it, dipping like a plane approaching a runway. The ground gulped up to meet him, closer and closer and then it was right in front of him and –

‘You might need to work on your landing,' a crisp English voice said.

Oisín had bowled into a tall blond boy. He was about fifteen and impeccably dressed.

‘Sorry,' Oisín said, glad to see that he still had his voice, and the rest of his body for that matter. The Book of Magic was still in his hands, the words already invisible as if nothing had happened.

The boy stood up, dusting snow off his blazer and casting an appraising glance at Oisín.

‘Wind magic is very advanced. How did you manage it, Pipsqueak?'

‘It's Oisín.'

‘Right. But what's your secret?'

The boy's blue eyes landed on the Book of Magic. He checked himself and held out his hand.

‘I'm Lysander Quicksilver,' he said in a confident voice. ‘One of Madame Q's Quints.'

Lysander shook Oisín's hand very formally, as if he were fifty rather than fifteen, but his eyes remained fixed on the Book.

‘Lysander? Are you keeping time or not?'

It was Angus Óg, flapping over towards them. Lysander rolled his eyes.

‘Of course I am,' he said, pulling out a sleek silver pocket watch from his blazer. Lysander's clear voice rang across the mountain.

All right, everybody, ten seconds before this party is closed to all losers.'

Oisín looked around the mountain. Most of the other children had made it to the top. Caoimhe gave him a smile. Tom beamed at him with curled horns still on his head. Antimony looked at him in surprise. Medb Gaultney gave him a curious look, as if she hadn't quite decided where he slotted into her life.

‘Nine, eight, seven.'

Oisín scanned the crowd. He couldn't see any sign of Mrs Fitzfeather. She'd have to let him stay once the deadline had passed.

‘Six.'

The two curly-headed girls heaved themselves up their woollen rope in a fit of giggles. Angus Óg flapped his feathers irritably.

‘Five, four, three, two …'

‘One.'

Lysander turned to see which voice had stolen his line.

‘He made it!' the boy with the magic football cried in admiration as everybody turned around to see the last child who had made it up the mountain. It was the boy who had climbed up with his bare hands, which were now chafed and cut with the cold. He didn't seem to want to relish his moment, hiding his face in his hood.

‘This doesn't count,' Lysander said, irritated. ‘You have to climb Sliabh na Gaoithe by magic.'

‘No,' Angus Óg said with a slow shake of his head. ‘“Use any means at your disposal.” That is the phrase. It's never been interpreted in this way. But that is the phrase. You've made it just in time.'

The boy nodded, as if that had never been in doubt.

‘Well, this is a day of firsts!' Angus Óg continued. ‘One boy turns into wind, another climbs the mountain without magic! Well, whatever your methods, you have passed the test. What is your name?'

The boy sat down on the snow and answered in a defiant voice that was very familiar to Oisín.

‘Stephen Keane.'

Chapter 9

Snakes in the Snow

O
ISÍN felt as if he were back at school. Stephen was surrounded by a group of admiring children, dying to hear about his bare-handed climb up the mountain. Oisín was sitting with the Book of Magic, almost as invisible as when he'd turned into the wind. The only people who weren't listening to Stephen's story were Lysander Quicksilver and his friends – and Antimony, who continued to watch Oisín carefully.

‘But how did you get to the mountain?' Caoimhe asked.

‘Your mum gave me that air bicycle of hers,' Stephen said.

It looked as if he was tiring of his fame. Every time he spoke, Nuala and Noreen, the two curly-headed girls, repeated what he had said as a question.

‘You got here on an air bicycle?' they gushed excitedly. They seemed incapable of speech that didn't end in fits of giggles.

‘I knew Mum was up to something,' Tom said. ‘Probably why she didn't notice our plan: she was too busy thinking about helping you. But why didn't you just ride that thing up to the top of the mountain?'

‘It's not the most stable device,' Stephen said, in a tone that suggested his feelings about magic hadn't changed all that much.

‘You know, nobody's ever climbed Sliabh na Gaoithe without magic before,' the boy with the magic football said in a tone that suggested he had a new hero.

‘Well, I wouldn't recommend it,' Stephen said, rubbing snow into the many cuts on his hands.

‘You wouldn't recommend it?' Nuala and Noreen chorused.

‘No,' Stephen said, walking away to get some fresh snow and a little bit of quiet. For a second, Oisín thought Stephen was coming over to talk to him. Maybe now that Oisín had climbed Sliabh na Gaoithe, Stephen would have some respect for his brother. Instead, Stephen glared as he walked past. Oisín braced himself and approached Stephen, hoping the right words would come.

‘What's up, Windboy?' Stephen said, not looking up from his cuts. ‘Did you have fun with your little book?'

‘I just want to help Sorcha,' Oisín said carefully.

‘Yeah, well, I hope she's having as much fun as you are,' Stephen said, dusting snow off his jeans. He walked away, looking like he wished Oisín was as easy to shake off.

Oisín swallowed and imagined the kind of patterns a snowball would make on the back of Stephen's head.

Tom came over, his goat horns still on his head.

‘He'll get over it,' he said hopefully.

‘Being an idiot is not something you get over.'

‘At least the plan worked. You're part of
Eachtra's
crew now, whatever Fitzfeather says.'

‘Yeah,' Oisín said, feeling strangely empty.

He didn't want to disappoint Tom, so he asked about Lysander and his cluster of friends to distract himself.

It was clear they were some sort of group. All four boys were dressed identically in pale blue shirts, dark grey trousers and indigo blazers, which were stitched with the same almost-invisible threads as Madame Q's dress. They were also all standing in the same way, with their hands in their pockets, their noses in the air and their striped ties loosened just enough to show that they were far too cool to be bothered with young kids. There was only one girl and she looked like a female version of Lysander: tall, with sleek blond hair, a pale blue blouse, a grey pleated skirt and a stylish silver scarf that flapped around in the wind.

‘Who are they?' Oisín asked.

‘Quints,' Tom said, spitting out the word as if it was dangerous. ‘They're Madame Q's special crew. Usually some of the older teenagers help out the younger ones. Just our luck to get stuck with Quints.'

‘That red-haired girl said she wanted to be a Quint,' Oisín remembered.

‘She's just the type,' Tom scoffed. ‘Quints usually come from the richest families and my granda always said that the Gaultneys have more gold than good in them. She'll have to wait a while though: Madame Q only ever has five Quints at a time and most keep coming back until they're eighteen.'

‘Do you know these ones?' Oisín asked.

‘Sort of,' Tom said. ‘Sometimes they stay with Madame Q on our island during the year. Those two are the Washington twins: Ben and Brad. Their family owns most of the magic islands off America's east coast.'

The two American teenagers certainly looked like they were from a very rich family. Ben had a silver calculator with tiny diamonds for buttons and Brad had a variety of gleaming gadgets. Oisín had the impression that he was trying to show them off: one moment he was rocking back and forth on a silver skateboard, the next he was playing with his special sunglasses, which had a comb as part of their frame.

It seemed that the other Quints weren't that impressed with Brad's toys. A tall Quint snatched the silver baseball that Brad had started to toss up and down.

‘Leave my
croíacht
alone!' Brad shouted, but the boy had already rolled it across the snow. Brad skateboarded after it, looking like he was used to this treatment from the other Quints.

‘That's Raqib Paro,' Tom said, as the tall boy high-fived Lysander. ‘His family have an adventuring air-balloon in the Himalayas, but they wanted him to come here. They're some sort of chemists. And then there are the Quicksilvers.'

Tom pointed at Lysander and the girl who had to be his sister.

‘Their family has a second castle on this island. They're worse than Caoimhe: think they know everything and don't mind telling you.'

‘How come there are so many magical siblings here?'

‘There's
supposed
to be a special bond between siblings,' Tom said, as if his sister were proof that this couldn't be true. ‘Magic is stronger when they're together.'

Oisín was thinking that Stephen would be another exception to that rule when he realised that the Quicksilvers were coming towards them.

‘All right, Pipsqueaks,' Lysander said in his superior tone, ‘you are fortunate enough to be in our group.' He took in Tom's horns and smiled. ‘Perhaps the pack animal can lead the way.'

‘You'll have to forgive my younger brother,' the blond-haired girl said swiftly. ‘He hasn't quite perfected the Quicksilver charm.'

She turned to Oisín and flashed him a dazzling smile.

‘I'm Cassandra Quicksilver. It's a pleasure to have you in my group.'

Oisín shook her hand. She had the same piercingly blue eyes as her brother, the same flecks of silver glittering in them like snow in the sun. There was something else, a sort of cold in her handshake, that made Oisín shiver for a second. Cassandra pulled away and turned to Stephen, who was also in their group.

‘Here, this will help your hand,' she said, wrapping her scarf around his scars like a bandage.

Stephen grunted a sort of thanks, Cassandra's smile seeming to override any objections he had to using magic.

‘Are you supposed to be in charge?' Antimony said, folding her arms and tapping her foot. ‘Or should I just lead the way?'

‘Your mother was Ngozi Ogoni, wasn't she?' Lysander said, looking at Antimony like she was a juicy fish he'd just caught.

‘So what?'

‘She was one of the finest druids of this century. You're lucky.'

‘Yeah.' Antimony didn't seem to know what to do with a compliment and flicked her dreadlocks so they covered her face. ‘Can we leave before my feet break off?'

The walk to
Eachtra
was slow going. There were several snowy mountains to cross and the afternoon sun made everybody tired. Oisín began to miss the Houlihans' bumpy van and wondered why the younger children weren't allowed to use magic to get to
Eachtra
.

‘It's part of the tradition,' Cassandra Quicksilver said briskly, melting snow into drinking water with her
croíacht
, a tiny silver telescope. ‘Being part of
Eachtra
is as much about hard work as adventure.'

Medb Gaultney didn't agree.

‘My father will be appalled when I tell him we had to
walk
to
Eachtra
. He was going to send me to one of those summer camps on the American islands, but we thought Madame Q would be horrified to lose me. He'll definitely be having a word with her.'

The good thing about Sliabh na Gaoithe was that the wind drowned out most of what people said, so Oisín was able to ignore Medb's complaints. He was glad of the walk to distract him. Tom didn't like the Quints, the Quints didn't like the Houlihans, everybody knew who Antimony's parents were, but Oisín had no idea what had happened to them. It was all too bewildering to think about. At his school, Oisín didn't have any friends any more, which made things easier. He'd just sit with a book and read during lunch and he wouldn't have to worry about who was fighting with whom. Now he had been plunged into another world without really understanding the rules. Even the thought of starting secondary school in September seemed less daunting. Perhaps because there was less chance of getting killed at St Paul's, no matter how hard Stephen tried.

Oisín looked up at the sky and ignored the chatter. It was perfectly clear, not a cloud or a raven in sight. Yet Oisín couldn't shake the uncomfortable feeling that somebody was watching him. He tried to observe the rest of their small group, wondering if any of them had designs on the Book. Everybody was pretty busy keeping one foot following another.

Eventually Cassandra Quicksilver ran to the edge of a snowy cliff and clapped her hands in delight. Oisín looked at the vessel in the valley below.

‘That's
Eachtra?
'

‘No, Pipsqueak, it's the Taj Mahal,' Lysander said.

Oisín had never been to the Taj Mahal, but he had a feeling it would look less strange than
Eachtra. Eachtra
was shaped like a ship, with masts made out of telegraph poles and bright sails that looked like they were stitched together from lots of different bedsheets. But it also looked like
Eachtra
was built to move on land when it needed to: huge bicycle wheels came out of portholes on the hull and a dozen brightly coloured horses stood on the ground, as if it was no problem at all for them to pull a giant ship. The horses looked like they came from a merry-go-round and Oisín had a hunch there was something magic about them.

‘Mum says a lot of leftover things from the Milesian world end up here,' Tom said, grinning at the sight of
Eachtra
. ‘I guess they use them all somehow.'

There were certainly a lot of ordinary objects in unusual places: umbrellas were twirling as fans, enchanted toothbrushes cleaned the multi-coloured windows and frying pans scooped snow off the deck. Oisín was positive that one of the socks making up the ladders down the side was the Spiderman sock he had lost in the wash years ago.

‘We're nearly there,' Oisín whispered to the Book of Magic, which was flapping its pages excitedly as if it could feel the pull of the magic.

‘All right, calm down,' Oisín whispered, feeling odd talking to a book as if it were a pet.

It didn't seem to have any effect. The Book of Magic continued to writhe in his hoodie pocket. Oisín had a familiar feeling that something strange was about to happen. He looked down at
Eachtra
but everything seemed peaceful: the horses were chewing clover and there wasn't a bird in the sky. And then it happened.

‘The ground is moving!'

Oisín looked down, expecting Medb Gaultney to be exaggerating. Instead, he saw that the snow was shifting under his feet. Flakes of snow started to clump together like grains of sand, twisting this way and that into thin, narrow ridges.

‘Snow-snakes!' Tom shouted, stepping back.

‘Away from the edge!' Cassandra screamed, pulling Oisín and Medb backwards.

‘Give me my scarf!' she shouted at Stephen.

Oisín wasn't sure why Cassandra Quicksilver was worried about her appearance when the snow was shifting under their feet. He felt a shape slither under his foot and backed away. The Book of Magic flapped uncontrollably.

‘We have to run,' Medb Gaultney said, shaking as several shapes darted past her underneath the snow.

‘Stay still,' Lysander shouted, but Medb had already started to move. The snow-snakes were not happy to be disturbed. One emerged from the ground and reared up, ten feet tall and terrifying, with ice blue eyes and a darting icicle of a tongue pointed right at Medb Gaultney.

SNAP!

A thin silver rope whooshed through the air and sliced into the snow-snake. The snake dissolved instantly, crumpling to the ground in a shower of powder.

Oisín looked over to see Cassandra whipping her scarf through the air like a weapon.

‘Stay still,' she shouted, smashing another snow-snake with her scarf. Another flash of navy and silver filled the air. Lysander had turned his tie into a rope and lassoed a snow-snake as it coiled up behind Caoimhe.

‘Got one!' Stephen shouted, diving to the ground and thumping a snake with his fist. It hissed at him, squirming madly and thrashing its tail through the air.

‘Idiot,' Lysander shouted. ‘You'll only make them angry. Don't move!'

It was hard not to move when the ground was wriggling below you, though. Soon it seemed as if there were hundreds of snow-snakes swarming towards them. Everybody fought to keep them off. Lysander and Cassandra swirled silver ropes, Antimony shot fiery snowballs from her slingshot and Stephen rolled across the ground like a commando, intent on punching every snake he could. Even Nuala was knitting a rope to attack them with.

Oisín was determined to be helpful. He pulled the Book of Magic out of his pocket. The pages flapped backwards and forwards uselessly. Oisín searched his brain, but he couldn't think of anything he could do. He could turn into wind again and escape, but that wouldn't help the others and he wasn't sure if he'd be able to run. He could try, he supposed.