The Keeper (13 page)

Deirdre of the Sorrows returned her hands to her mouth and she turned around to Oisín.

‘The calamities! The two brothers have arrived!'

Oisín didn't know what she was talking about, but at that moment his image had just appeared alongside Stephen's on the screen. A large whirlpool formed in the centre of the room and Deirdre of the Sorrows crouched on the edge and stirred it, peering in as if she was checking on soup.

‘The Well of Woes has always told of two brothers,' Deirdre of the Sorrows said in a sad voice.

Oisín remembered Cassandra's prophecy with a lurch.

‘It doesn't even look like a well,' Antimony said loudly.

‘Too worried about your parents to see clearly!' Deirdre of the Sorrows cried out. ‘Oh, my children, the Well has always said that two brothers will come, one with a sword, the other with a book. Our land will be saved, but they will destroy the ones they love.'

With those words, the two brothers on the waterfall screen started to fight. Oisín and Stephen couldn't help staring, along with everybody else. Deirdre of the Sorrows kept on stirring at her well, in the same kind of trance Cassandra had been in. Oisín felt his stomach churn as he watched what was happening on the waterfall. Stephen's sword had broken and Stephen was on the floor, fires swirling around him. Standing over him in the smoke was Oisín, holding a small book up towards the sky. The image kept repeating as if on a loop: Stephen falling, Oisín holding up the book, Stephen falling. Oisín saw with a terrible start that it wasn't just Stephen who was falling, but Sorcha as well, and Antimony and Tom and Caoimhe and Lysander Quicksilver.

‘Stop!'

There was a flash of fire and silver. The picture burst into flames and cleared. Stephen waded over and retrieved An Freagarach, which he had flung across like a dart. Oisín could see that he was trying to be calm, but his hands shook as he picked up the sword and his face looked very red and confused.

‘Oh, my child –' Deirdre of the Sorrows began, but Stephen cut her off.

‘I'm done with this, thanks,' he said.

Oisín couldn't look at him as he stormed by. The words from Cassandra's prophecy swirled in his head.
Brother will fight brother, siblings sunder
. Mrs Fitzfeather hadn't believed it, though. And what did Deirdre of the Sorrows know about anything?

She seemed to know about water at least, for, as Stephen left, she scooped one of her watery hands through the pool and picked up a drop that looked identical to the rest.

‘Oh, my children,' she said, holding the drop up so that it sparkled in the sunlight. ‘That boy has done what none of you has yet. He has produced a real magical tear.'

Chapter 15

The Enchanted Forest

J
UST WHEN Oisín was ready to have some time away from the Book of Magic, he found himself spending more time with it than ever. Although
Eachtra
veered around the dense Enchanted Forest, the Wrens went through it for a week. It was one of
Eachtra's
many traditions, ensuring that the Wrens could have their own adventure and the druids could have a bit of peace. The Keeper of Books fussed about the Book of Magic leaving its drawer (‘Moonlight shining on it and it won't even be at the right temperature!') but eventually she relented.

Mrs Fitzfeather was equally concerned. ‘I can smell trouble,' she said gruffly as Oisín prepared to leave
Eachtra
. ‘You might be better just leaving that thing in the forest, boy.'

Oisín wasn't sure what to say, so he gave a polite nod and headed towards the boundary of the Enchanted Forest where the Houlihans were already clambering aboard an oak. The Wrens would travel through the forest on trees, and Tom and Caoimhe were gently encouraging their tree to move its giant roots. Antimony, who had very little interest in Earth Magic, was interpreting Mrs Fitzfeather's comments.

‘Of course she wants you to think that she doesn't want the Book,' she said knowingly. ‘But think about how suspicious she's been, wearing those shawls as if she's always cold, turning up in the cave right after the Morrígan left. And I know that eyepatch is hiding something.'

Oisín nodded mechanically. By the time their oak tree had started to move, Antimony had already accused half of
Eachtra
of being in league with the Morrígan. Oisín opened the Book of Magic and tried to ignore her various theories, which implicated everybody from Nuala Nugent to the merry-go-round horses.

The Book of Magic snuggled into his hands, breathing in the deep magic of the forest. Swirls of green and woodland creatures were already appearing in the Earth Magic section. They weren't the only addition. Oisín had noticed several small new black lines in the Book, but he'd never seen one form until now. He watched as a spindly black line slowly spread across the page, like a crack in the parchment. Another line joined it, cobwebbing out from the edge. Oisín placed his finger upon it and felt the page crackle.

‘Oisín! Put that thing down. We're here.'

Oisín turned to Tom in surprise. Surely he hadn't spent the last two hours just staring at the Book of Magic? It seemed that he had, though, for when he looked out from his branch, the clearing was bright with the afternoon sun. Antimony was still speculating about the Morrígan.

‘Antimony, we can't ban people with green eyes from coming on our tree,' Caoimhe said patiently. ‘It would exclude most of us for a start.'

‘Everything is welcome on our tree,' Tom said, as a red squirrel hopped over. Tom cleared his throat. ‘Everything good, anyway.'

Oisín looked up and caught Tom looking at the Book of Magic. Oisín was about to challenge him, but Tom turned around quickly, suddenly absorbed in helping the squirrel crack an acorn.

After a few days, Oisín got used to the rhythm of the forest, which experienced four seasons every day. Each morning, the forest was full of the life of spring. Bluebells popped up, birds cracked out of eggs, leaves curled off the tips of trees. The Wrens did most of their work in the morning, taking care of the trees and harvesting any useful herbs. Cathad, a cheery druid with long white hair that trailed along the forest floor, told them about
dinnseanchas
(the lore of placenames) and how to speak Forest, the sign language that all the animals shared.

Their break arrived with summer every afternoon, which meant the Wrens could lounge in hammocks or play mossball. In the evenings, the Wrens travelled in their trees (except for Stephen, who preferred to walk on his own). The leaves had turned golden by this stage, and it was the perfect time for roasting chestnuts over a fire and telling stories about the Great Elk that Cathad insisted still roamed through the trees.

As night fell, winter crept through the forest. Snow drifted through bare branches, all the animals curled into holes in tree-trunks, and the Wrens bundled up in blankets in their trees.

Though Oisín got used to snow melting every morning, he couldn't quite get the hang of Earth Magic. It should have been easy, since both Tom and Caoimhe were eager to help him with it. Caoimhe knew the names of every herb and Tom could sign fluently in Forest and had hands as tough as bark. Earth Magic was all about touch, and Cathad kept telling them that any good druid's palms were full of calluses (his hand reminded Oisín of an Ordnance Survey map). But while Tom could feel a tree's heartbeat just by pressing his palm against it, every time Oisín tried to steer their oak they ended up stuck in shadow-swamp. Part of the problem was the Book of Magic. More and more black lines were appearing on each page, like cracks in tarmac, and Oisín found himself captivated by their progress.

He told himself that it didn't matter whether or not he mastered Earth Magic. After all, Antimony had no time for it and Lysander Quicksilver refused to get his sky-silk shirt dirty with tree-sap. There was a part of Oisín, the part that loved running through trees with his hands in the air, that felt sad that all the green swirls in the Book of Magic were slowly being covered with black lines. This was a small part, though, a tiny voice at the back of Oisín's head, as quiet as snow falling in the night.

By their last afternoon in the forest, the part of Oisín that was suspicious of the Book was smaller than the insects that buzzed around their oak. Oisín was in the crow's nest that Tom had made at the top of their tree, the Book of Magic nuzzled in his hands.

There was a lot happening in the forest below. Nuala and Noreen were bouncing on the moss trampoline (they were experts at falling over), Orion Jones was playing the magical scales in a field of musical toadstools and Yuriko Ada was admiring the Butterfly Tree, which had a different set of bright, fluttering ‘leaves' every afternoon. Most of the other Wrens were playing mossball. Magical moss was a bit like green snow, except less cold and a good bit furrier. It was also easier to pick up than normal moss and made a satisfying squelch when it met its target. Even Caoimhe, who had been busy experimenting on daffodils, couldn't help launching several mossballs at the Gambaro twins when they attempted an ambush.

There was only one thing that Oisín wanted to look at, though, and it was already in his hands. He was so absorbed in the Book of Magic that he didn't hear Tom climbing up the ladder behind him.

‘Mossball?'

Oisín didn't bother to turn around.

‘No, thanks.'

Tom was still standing in the crow's nest.

‘Did you see the Garden of Wishes?' he said, pointing down to a small garden below. Oisín wished there was a spell to stop Tom from talking.

‘You plant a tree for every wish you have. As long as your wish is alive, so is the tree. Dad brings me here every year to make a wish. My first one was that little chestnut tree over there. Ten years ago and it's still growing.'

‘What did you wish for?' Oisín couldn't help asking.

‘To be taller.'

Neither Tom nor the tree was particularly tall, but Oisín supposed there was still time. Tom continued pointing out each tree: a flourishing elder when he wished that his mother's vegetables would have a good year, a confused cactus when he hoped his Dad would find the secret spice he was looking for, a shrivelled clump of nettles which seemed as unsuccessful as Tom's wish five years ago that Caoimhe would stop practising magic medicine on him.

‘Somebody just made a wish,' Oisín said, pointing to a small bud.

‘Me,' Tom said, colouring slightly.

‘What did you wish for?'

‘I can't say yet.'

Oisín felt the Book of Magic flutter in his hands. He felt a blast of irritation. ‘You wished for this, didn't you?'

Tom couldn't have looked more shocked.

Oisín was surprised to find the words coming out so easily. ‘Because you don't have your own
croíacht
. You're jealous.'

Tom's face had turned beetroot. ‘Not every druid needs a
croíacht
to do magic. There's lots of magic you can do without toys.'

Oisín felt the Book wriggle in his hands. He thought of the nastiest thing he could say to Tom. ‘Caoimhe said that's why you couldn't be a Wren last year, even though you were twelve. Because you still hadn't found a
croíacht
. They just took you on this year out of pity.'

Tom looked as if he might hit Oisín or, worse, start to cry. He took a moment before he spoke.

‘Be careful of that book. Those black lines can't be a good thing. I think you should spend some time away from it.'

‘Yeah,' said Oisín, ‘and give it to you? Nice try.'

Before Tom could respond, Oisín pushed past him and climbed down to the branches below. All he wanted was some quiet. Instead he found Antimony in the middle of her conspiracy theories.

‘It's easy for you, she's not trying to kill you,' she said to Caoimhe. ‘I'm sure she's here. And I'm going to figure out who she's disguised as.'

Caoimhe focused on removing magical moss from her hair. Antimony didn't need an interested audience.

‘I bet Deirdre of the Sorrows would love to see us swallowed in shadow-swamp. She feeds on misery.'

‘She doesn't even have green eyes,' Caoimhe said, exasperated.

‘Not now. But who knows what colour her eyes were when she wasn't made of water? Or Madame Q? We all know how much she wants the Book.'

‘She was with us when Sorcha went missing.'

Caoimhe turned her attention to their tree, which was swerving wildly as if it was trying to throw them off.

‘She could have transformed easily while we were searching,' Antimony said. And her eyes turned green when she held the Book of Magic, as if it was revealing what she really was.'

‘Most druids have green eyes,' Caoimhe said in exasperation. ‘I have green eyes. Am I a suspect?'

Antimony shrugged, as if she hadn't discounted the possibility. Their tree started to pick up pace, even though Caoimhe was urging it to slow down.

‘So everybody who has green eyes is a suspect,' Caoimhe said sarcastically. ‘Medb Gaultney, the Keeper of Books, Gael and Graciela Gambaro, Mrs Fitzfeather –'

Antimony was about to express her feelings on Mrs Fitzfeather when Tom came running down the ladder.

‘What's going on? Why are you steering us towards the Forest of Shadows?'

‘Probably because I'm the Morrígan,' Caoimhe snapped. ‘Why don't you take over? This thing won't listen to me.'

Usually the oak responded as soon as it felt Tom's hand. This time, though, it ignored him, and went on stomping through the forest at a ferocious pace. Oisín peeked out through the branches. They were in a different part of the forest where winter fell a lot sooner. The air was bitterly cold and the bare trees were much thinner and closer together. The oak tree didn't mind, sending branches crashing to the forest floor. When Oisín pulled his head back, Caoimhe and Antimony were almost shouting.

‘Or the Quicksilvers,' Antimony said darkly. ‘Both of them were hanging around our tree earlier.'

‘They have blue eyes!'

‘Quints can change the colour of their eyes,' Antimony continued.

‘Lysander saved us from the snow-snakes,' Caoimhe said. ‘He's hardly trying to kill you.'

‘You just like him because of his posh accent,' Antimony said. ‘I wouldn't be surprised if you were helping him. I bet you'd love to practise medicine on my bones!'

‘I'm not the one who talks to ravens.'

‘Stop!' Tom shouted.

Both of his sisters turned to look at him in surprise.

‘Don't you see what's happening?' he said, his voice shaking. ‘It's the shadows. They'll make you feel bad things. Say things you don't mean.'

Antimony seemed to wake from a dream and looked out at the dark forest ahead of them. Though the trees were bare, shadows clung to their branches like leaves, shifting ominously with the breeze.

‘Why did you bring us here?' she asked.

Tom looked over at Oisín.

‘It's that thing,' he said slowly. ‘It's pulling us in.'

As soon as he said it, Oisín knew it was true. He could feel the Book of Magic pulse in his hands, could feel it pulling them into the Forest of Shadows, an adjacent forest north of the Enchanted Forest, which they definitely weren't supposed to travel through.

‘The Book can do that?' Antimony said, suddenly afraid.

‘You're the Keeper, make it stop,' Caoimhe said sharply.

‘Fine,' Oisín said, standing. ‘Stop!'

To his great surprise, that was exactly what the Book did. Their oak pulled to an immediate halt, its roots dangling in mid-air.

‘I can see when we're not welcome,' Oisín said, shoving the Book into his hoodie pocket.

‘Oisín, wait. You can't get off here! We're by the Forest of Shadows.'

Oisín ignored Tom's voice. He ignored Cathad's warnings about leaving their tree at night. He clambered down their tree and ran into the Forest of Shadows. Within only a few steps, the Houlihans' calls sounded very far away.

There was one other thing that Oisín ignored: the steady stream of insects past his feet, rushing as if to get away from something, scurrying from the very direction that Oisín was walking towards.