Chapter 7

The Plan

OISÍN thought he was going to be sick.

‘Drink some tea,’ Caoimhe said, placing another mug of hot nettle tea on the table. There didn’t seem to be any herbal remedy for an evil witch kidnapping your sister, so Caoimhe kept on making tea. It was what her parents always did in a crisis. Several mugs of tea sat in front of them on the table, cold and strangely sad.

Oisín pushed the latest mug away from him and went over to the sink for what felt like the hundredth time. Instead of two taps, several thin pipes hovered over the sink, reminding Oisín of a church organ. Each pipe dropped a different liquid into a jar below. Caoimhe explained that druids communicated by Water Magic, so each pipe transported messages. The one that dribbled drops of rain told the weather. Another, dropping chunks of ice, told news from Caoimhe’s friend in New Zealand. A bright orange stream filled one jar with a recipe for orange juice curry from Jimmy’s mother. There was only one jar that Oisín was looking at, though: one filled with thick black liquid. Oisín tapped his finger against the jar. A sickly sharp woman’s voice came out.

‘Bring me the Book of Magic by Lughnasa, or never see your sister again.’

‘We know what it says,’ Stephen snapped.

Stephen continued to pace around the kitchen. The adults had all gone upstairs, but no matter how hard he twisted his neck, Stephen couldn’t hear what they were saying.

Oisín was still staring at the thick black liquid. Every now and then it shifted shape so that it showed the face of a beautiful woman, who was smiling in triumph. Beside her, a small girl was sleeping.

‘At least she’s safe,’ Caoimhe said.

Stephen glared at her. ‘Why don’t you swap with her then?’

Caoimhe turned pink and went over to make another cup of tea. Oisín hoped she was right, that at least Sorcha was safe. Madame Q had explained that Sorcha was in an enchanted sleep, deep in Cnoc na gCnámh, the Hill of Bones far to the north of the island, where the Morrígan lived. Nothing bad would happen to her. As long as they gave over the Book.

‘Why didn’t she just take the Book?’ Oisín said. ‘Or just take me?’

‘That’s not how she works,’ Tom said grimly. ‘She wants to cause the most pain possible.’

Oisín could tell that both Tom and Caoimhe felt horribly guilty. They all did. Even Antimony looked uncomfortable, though it could hardly have been her fault at all. He turned away from the sink and looked down at his little book with a mixture of dread and disgust. He hated the Book for causing all this trouble. He’d give it over to the Morrígan in a second if it saved Sorcha. Yet it wasn’t the Book’s fault, was it? And if he gave up the Book, what would the Morrígan do with it? And what would he do without it?

‘Give me that thing, Dirtface.’

‘It’s not yours,’ Oisín said, standing up to Stephen.

‘I’m taking it up north. Hand it over!’

Stephen lunged for the Book but Oisín had been ducking from him long enough to know how he worked and dived under the table. Stephen jumped on top of him, trying to wrestle the Book out of his hand. Oisín heard a mug smash, saw nettle tea pool across the floor. And then Stephen screamed.

Oisín pulled himself up and saw Caoimhe quickly dipping her pen in the nettle tea and shooting a stream towards Stephen’s jeans. They had been on fire. For a second, Oisín had a terrible feeling that the Book of Magic had caused it. Then he saw Antimony’s slingshot.

‘I told you it would be real next time. Leave the Book alone.’

‘Stay still,’ Caoimhe said, before Stephen could respond.

A small pair of scissors had emerged from the tip of her pen and she was cutting the frayed bottom of his jeans so that they were even. Oisín hadn’t noticed how unusual her pen was until now. It was made of thick bark, with circles inside like the rings of a tree trunk. Each circle had a different kind of material, which Caoimhe could shoot out and retract with a swish of her hand. One moment she was dabbing Stephen’s ankle with dock-leaf, the next, grass had emerged from the tip and she was dusting ash from his runners. He didn’t seem to be hurt, which Oisín had to be thankful for. Whatever he felt about Stephen, with Sorcha missing, he needed all the siblings he could get.

Stephen was still staring at Antimony, who kept her slingshot in the air. Before either of them could do anything, the adults clambered down the ladder. Jimmy Houlihan swept his eyes over the spilled tea and charred table leg but decided not to say anything. He placed his hand on Oisín’s shoulder, the way people did at funerals. Oisín sat down, feeling even sicker than before.

‘Chin up, boy, chin up. Help is at hand!’

Oisín looked up at the stout elderly lady who had come in behind Jimmy and Cathleen.

‘Mrs Fitzfeather,’ said the woman, bustling over and shaking Oisín’s hand vigorously. ‘Captain of Eachtra. We’ll sort it all out for you.’

Mrs Fitzfeather was short, with an eyepatch, lots of bright shawls around her and a variety of facial hair that matched her white curls. Madame Q stood beside her with a grimace, which made Oisín suspect that she was too delicate for Mrs Fitzfeather’s booming voice.

‘Keep up the courage, boy!’ Mrs Fitzfeather shouted, pumping Oisín’s hand as though this might make him feel better.

‘Perhaps we can get to the plan, Mrs Fitzfeather?’ Madame Q said in a crisp tone.

‘Of course, of course,’ Mrs Fitzfeather said, pulling her shawls around her and moving her hand away from Oisín’s. It paused in mid-air, hovering slightly above the table.

‘This is the Book, is it?’ she asked.

‘Yes.’ Oisín nodded.

‘Such a troubling thing,’ she said, her fingers drifting towards the Book’s cover. ‘So powerful and so dreadful.’

Her stubby fingers rested inches from the cover and Oisín had to restrain himself from pulling it away.

‘Mrs Fitzfeather?’

Madame Q’s voice broke Mrs Fitzfeather’s concentration. She jerked her hand away from the Book.

‘Yes, yes, looks like the real thing,’ she said finally. ‘That does make things more difficult. I wonder if we shouldn’t destroy it.’

‘We can’t destroy it,’ Madame Q said quickly. ‘At least not until Lughnasa.’ She turned to Oisín with a curious expression. ‘Then you could transfer it to somebody more suitable.’ She weighed each word slowly, as if imagining herself as Keeper of the Book of Magic.

‘You know that’s not what we agreed,’ Mrs Fitzfeather snapped. ‘Transferring the Book is not part of the plan.’

‘What is this plan? What are you going to do to save my sister?’ Stephen asked, pounding his fist down on the table in frustration.

‘Don’t worry, boy,’ Mrs Fitzfeather said gruffly. ‘We have it under control. As some of you know, Eachtra travels north every year. While we don’t normally like to travel so close to the Morrígan’s territory, we could do it this year.’

‘What?’ Oisín asked. Are we going with you on Eachtra?’

‘Not a bit of it, boy, that’s far too dangerous!’ Mrs Fitzfeather said, laughing at the idea of such an enterprise. ‘You’re both Milesians, you’d be sizzled in a volcano or strangled by an octopus in no time.’

‘But won’t the Morrígan want to see me?’ Oisín asked. ‘I’m the only one who can give away the Book.’

‘He has a point,’ Madame Q started.

‘We agreed on this!’ Mrs Fitzfeather said in a sharp tone, which suggested that they hadn’t agreed about much at all. Her one green eye flashed with fury. She turned back to Oisín and attempted another smile. ‘Far too dangerous for you to face the Morrígan, boy. But Eachtra has a shipshape crew. Our Keeper of Books will guard it in our library.’

‘What about Sorcha?’ Stephen almost shouted.

‘Do sit down, young man,’ Madame Q said. ‘The finest druids in the world travel aboard Eachtra. I can assure you that we are more than a match for the Morrígan. We’ll find a way to release your sister without giving up the Book.’

Or a way to just keep the Book, Oisín thought. When it came to it, he knew that Madame Q wouldn’t give up the most powerful book in the world for a seven-year-old girl. Frustration boiled up through his body.

‘And what are we supposed to do? Just wait here?’

The last hour of waiting had been agonising. He didn’t think he could face a whole summer watching tea grow cold while Sorcha was trapped in the Morrígan’s chamber.

‘That’s exactly it, boy. You will just wait here.’ Mrs Fitzfeather said, as if Oisín had solved a particularly difficult sum. ‘We’ll have to convince your parents that you’re all away at the Gaeltacht, but a little magic dust on the envelope should persuade them that this is perfectly normal. And the Houlihans have agreed to look after you, just don’t be clogging up their kitchen.’

‘It’s the best option,’ Jimmy said, avoiding Cathleen’s gaze.

‘I don’t need to be babysat,’ Stephen said. ‘Just show me which direction the Morrígan’s mountain is in, and I’ll be off.’

‘Technically, Cnoc na gCnámh is a hill, not a mountain,’ Madame Q said, supremely unconcerned with Stephen’s frustration. ‘Although, certainly, it is as impressive as any mountain and often referred to as such.’

‘I don’t care if it’s a hill, a mountain or a mongoose,’ Stephen shouted, his clenched knuckles turning white. ‘Just show me which direction it’s in. I don’t need any book: I’ll kill her with my bare hands.’

‘You’ll have to stay put,’ Madame Q said firmly. ‘There’s no way you can make it up north by Lughnasa on your own.’

‘If it’s that far, how can Sorcha already be asleep up there? I knew you were lying to us!’

‘I did no such thing,’ Madame Q said icily. She clapped her hands together and produced a cloud of silvery smoke. A map of the island appeared instantly.

‘We are here,’ Madame Q said, gesturing to the bottom of the map. ‘Cnoc na gCnámh, the Morrígan’s Hill of Bones, is up here.’ Madame Q stretched her arm to the tip of the map, where a large mound of bone loomed. ‘Cnoc na gCnámh is protected by the Morrígan’s dark magic –only she can whisk there in seconds. Unless you are a far superior druid to myself, which I somehow doubt, it will take you weeks to travel that far north.’

Madame Q’s finger traced the path from the Houlihans’ beach up to the north of the island. ‘Then there are the obstacles that Eachtra faces. There’s Sliabh na Gaoithe, the Mountain of Wind; Linn an Bhróin, the Pool of Sadness; the Forest of Shadows; and, of course, the fire-fields in the north.’

Oisín looked at the silvery map with awe. Madame Q’s fingers moved slowly over huge mountains, across deep rivers, through dark forests and finally across a series of flames to the bare mound of bone where the Morrígan lived. He couldn’t believe Sorcha was so far away. Madame Q clapped her hands and the map dissolved.

‘We’ll come on your boat, then,’ Stephen said.

‘Eachtra is a magical vessel, not a boat!’ Mrs Fitzfeather said with a touch of wounded pride. ‘We don’t have room for any Mileseans who can’t do magic. You’ll be much safer here. Think of it as a summer holiday.’

Stephen clenched his fists, as if he was considering whether it was ever appropriate to fight with elderly ladies. He seemed to decide against this course, storming out of the room and into the forest instead.

‘It’s understandable,’ Cathleen said. ‘He just wants to do something.’

‘We agreed, it’s safest for them to stay here,’ Jimmy said in a calm voice.

‘Sometimes you can’t afford to be safe,’ Cathleen said, looking out into the forest.

Jimmy placed his hand on her shoulder but Cathleen shrugged it off.

‘Ah, leave me, Jimmy. I know what the plan is.’

She shot a dark glance at Madame Q and Mrs Fitzfeather and stalked off into the forest. Jimmy’s shoulders dropped, as if he’d been punched.

It was already causing divisions, Oisín thought. He’d only had it for a day and already everybody was fighting over the Book of Magic. Could it be that great if it caused so much trouble?

‘Best get this thing aboard Eachtra,’ Mrs Fitzfeather said, standing by the edge of the table.

‘Maybe I should look after it,’ Madame Q said, stepping forward.

For a second, Oisín saw the desire in both their eyes, the strange hold the Book of Magic had over people. Mrs Fitzfeather caught his gaze and started as if she had been surprised by a mouse. She pulled her hand back from the Book.

‘Maybe neither of us should take it,’ she said. ‘It isn’t something that a powerful druid should get too close to.’

‘I can mind it for the moment,’ Antimony said, a little too quickly.

‘That won’t be necessary,’ Madame Q said. ‘Jimmy, you will look after it. It should have no effect on a druid of your level. You can bring it when you drop off your children tomorrow.’

‘Sure,’Jimmy said, too distracted to be offended that Madame Q didn’t think him a good enough druid to be tempted by the Book.

He winced apologetically at Oisín as he picked up the little book and put it in his pocket. His green eyes flashed for a second, but he seemed mostly immune from the Book’s power.

Oisín gripped the table. He felt a tug at the Book being taken from him, but he didn’t have enough energy to resist. How did he think he could ever be its Keeper or have a croíacht? He didn’t know anything at all about magic and now his little sister was in trouble because he couldn’t just leave the Book on the floor. It was all his fault.

‘I’m going to bed,’ he said.

‘Don’t worry, boy, we’ll get your sister back,’ Mrs Fitzfeather said, slapping his back as he walked towards the ladder.

He turned back to find Madame Q looking at him. It didn’t matter if she could see through him, it was pretty clear what he was feeling at the moment. He dragged his feet up the ladder, taking the kind of slow steps that Sorcha took when she didn’t want to go to bed. Oisín felt a terrible pang at the thought of her, miles and miles away in a cold cave.

On an ordinary night, Oisín would have been blown away by Tom’s room where Jimmy had made him a moss bed. At the very top of the tree, it was full of Cathleen’s inventions and the wonderful smell of outside. Oisín couldn’t muster up any excitement, though, even when the leaves moved from side to side like windscreen wipers to keep out the rain. He dug his head into the pillow and wished he could get to sleep.

‘Oisín!’

Oisín turned to see Tom and Caoimhe crouched beside him.

‘I don’t want any tea.’

‘We’ve got a plan.’

Oisín leant back on the pillow and looked at Tom.

‘What kind of plan?’

‘We feel really bad about letting your sister run away like that,’ Tom said, looking at the floor.

‘It’s not your fault,’ Oisín said quickly. ‘What’s the plan?’

Tom and Caoimhe looked at each other. They both seemed a little unsure how to broach the subject.

‘It’s not that we don’t trust Madame Q,’ Caoimhe started.

Tom coughed a little, to show that he didn’t entirely agree.

‘But …’

‘We just don’t think we should leave the adults with that book.’

‘But what can I do? I can’t go aboard Eachtra.’

‘Maybe you can,’ Caoimhe said, sharing a glance with her brother.

After they had told him their plan, Oisín found it even harder to get to sleep. He listened to the rain pattering against the leaves, wondering if he was about to do something very stupid.