The Keeper (15 page)

Chapter 18

Scathach's Challenge

T
HE DRAGON on Antimony's watch blew out the date in rings of smoke: the twenty-seventh of July. Four more days until the Lughnasa festival. And four more days until she'd have to steal the Book of Magic.

Antimony ignored the nervous feeling in her stomach and vaulted down
Eachtra's
sock ladder. The other Wrens were already clustered around Scathach, the druid who lived in the volcano and knew all about Fire Magic. Antimony's slingshot flexed in delight. Now that they had finally reached the fire-fields, it could get some real action. Antimony joined Oisín and Tom at the back of the group. Caoimhe was collecting ashgrass, a wispy plant that only grew by volcanoes. Everybody else was captivated by Scathach.

She was the kind of druid that it was difficult not to listen to. For a start, she was made out of smoke. Her red eyes glowed like embers and her long hair blew like strands of smoke in the wind. She had a gravelly, smoky voice and stood very still as she spoke, daring anybody to whisper or divert their eyes. Like all the other druids, Scathach thought her magic was the only kind that mattered.

‘This is not about messing with numbers or your feelings. Fire Magic is about survival. Fire Magic is about fighting for your life.'

Scathach's fiery eyes scanned her rapt audience and rested upon Stephen.

‘So you're the young thing that has An Freagarach?'

Stephen nodded.

‘I've trained every warrior that's ever held that sword,' Scathach said. ‘And I can tell by the state of you, you're not even fit to spit on their boots yet.'

Stephen coloured quickly, but he stepped forward and drew An Freagarach.

Scathach smiled and drew a smoking silver sword of her own.

‘What's the matter? Don't want to hit a woman?' Scathach said as Stephen hesitated.

Stephen shuffled his feet, wanting a way to prove he was tough but not a breaker of that inviolate code that boys should never hit girls.

‘Do you think the Morrígan will wait to ask?' Scathach sneered. ‘I should have known you had no hope of saving that sister of –'

Stephen attacked as soon as Sorcha was mentioned. The swords of stone and smoke clashed against each other, sparks flying from An Freagarach. The fight lasted only seconds but it was the fiercest Antimony had ever seen. Stephen had the passion, swinging An Freagarach ferociously. But Scathach had the expertise. In one motion she had leapt over his head and tripped him up. An Freagarach clanged to the ground. Scathach stood over Stephen with her own sword tipped against his chin.

‘Anybody can hold the strongest sword,' she said. ‘Only a warrior can use it.'

There were a few giggles from the crowd as Stephen walked back to join them.

‘Easy to laugh, hard to step up,' Scathach said as the laughter died. ‘Anybody else got the fire?'

Antimony heard her own voice carry through the air. ‘I do.'

Scathach looked at her curiously. ‘I knew your parents. They could have been great warriors.'

‘They were great magicians,' Antimony said, reaching into her pouch for her slingshot and some small fire stones.

She sparked the stones against her slingshot and concentrated. Fire Magic was all about the nose. Antimony remembered her mother's voice.
Breathe slowly, find your centre, concentrate
. Antimony looked down and saw that the stones had made a long gleaming sword. She held it above her head and braced herself. This would be easy. All she had to do was lean to the left as she charged and then veer to the right, catching Scathach off guard and sending her sword to the ground. Then she'd release a stone from her slingshot and it would be over.

Two seconds later, she was sitting on the ground, drenched in water.

‘Any fool can start a fire,' Scathach said. ‘It's knowing how to control a fire that makes you a real fire druid.'

Antimony shook out her hair. Her ribs stung. All she remembered was charging. From the look on the other Wrens' faces, she didn't think she had matched Scathach terribly well.

‘If you want to be a true warrior, you'll have to try much harder. This is the first time in years that
Eachtra
has travelled so close to Droichead an Chlaímh and not one of you looks like you have a hope of setting foot on it, let alone crossing it.'

Everybody looked at the thin bridge she was talking about, which stretched across the gaping volcano towards Cnoc na gCnámh. It was the most terrifying bridge Antimony had ever seen. Not only did it span a bubbling volcano, but Droichead an Chlaímh itself was a long narrow sword. A sharp edge ran along its centre, glinting as though it could cut you just for looking at it. Its surface was wide enough to place a foot on either side of the sharp centre, but both sides sloped down perilously.

‘One of the McIntoshes crossed it first,' Conor McIntosh boasted.

‘Many a year ago,' Scathach said brusquely. ‘No Wren has succeeded in crossing for the last fifty years. Fitzfeather hasn't even bothered to take
Eachtra
here in ten years. Don't think about magical trickery. People have tried to fly across, to ice the lava below or to cover it in grass. None of this will work. The only way to cross Droichead an Chlaímh is to be a true warrior. The only thing you need is fire in your belly.'

‘And a hole in your head,' Tom whispered.

Antimony ignored him. She had a vision of herself, bravely crossing Droichead an Chlaímh, the best Wren on
Eachtra
. That was what her parents would have wanted, wasn't it? Something to be proud of? They'd be proud in a few days. When she had the Book of Magic. Antimony pushed away the thought that maybe they wouldn't be so proud about how she was planning on getting it. Who were her parents to judge? Whatever they had been mixing had been dangerous enough to get them killed, to send her into exile. Her parents were the last people who could judge her.

‘I'm ready,' Antimony said, stepping towards the bridge.

‘I'm not into death unless I get the credit,' Scathach said, stepping in front of her. ‘You're not ready, nowhere near ready, until you've had some proper training.'

So training was what Antimony did. Her little dragon announced the twenty-eighth of July and Antimony was up with the dawn, running laps around the volcano, practising her balance, shooting fire-apples to improve her concentration. Usually
Eachtra
travelled towards the northwest part of the island so that the Wrens could tackle the Fire dragons that lived in the volcanoes there. This year,
Eachtra
stayed put, parked as close to Cnoc na gCnámh as it could get. Everybody was waiting for the Lughnasa festival. And whatever plan the druids had to battle the Morrígan.

The days whirled by. Antimony's dragon puffed out 29, 30, 31 July: the day before Lughnasa.

Antimony rose with the sun as usual and started her laps of the volcano. The only other people there were Caoimhe, who was collecting more ashgrass, and Stephen, who raced Antimony every morning.

‘It's disgraceful,' Caoimhe said as Antimony tried to run by unnoticed. ‘This grass should be tended by a team of fire botanists, but Scathach doesn't have even one! Just because it's a bit of work to look after!'

‘A bit of work' meant watering the ashgrass with almost boiling water every hour, trimming it carefully so it didn't set itself on fire and giving it the right balance of shadow and sunlight every day so it didn't wilt or bleach out. Caoimhe was sure she would discover some healing properties, even though, so far, ashgrass had proved successful only at singeing her eyebrows.

‘Maybe this one will work,' Antimony said, though she was confident that she would find another pile of ash in their cabin that night.

She ran on. She didn't like getting too close to Caoimhe; she didn't like getting too close to anybody. It was better when she was doing laps. Running was great for pushing the thoughts from her head. All Antimony thought about was her route as she leapt over patches of fire and kept one foot in front of another. There was no time to think about the Morrígan or
béal tine
or guilt. Antimony was exhausted; she was happy.

‘Move it! Azi Ogoni could lap that volcano in half the time,' Scathach barked as Antimony ran by. Antimony thought of her father beating her best time and found some energy in her calf muscles. Stephen was coming up behind her.

‘Naoise would wipe the floor with you,' Scathach shouted after him. ‘Fionn Mac Cumhaill would have done a marathon by now.'

Antimony beat Stephen that morning, which made her feel good. They walked over to the small Fire Forest together, where Scathach had already started training the rest of the group. They were aiming darts at fire apples which were perched on top of the bare trees. Medb smiled at Pádraig, wondering if he'd get her an apple.

‘That pretty smile might work for you now,' Scathach barked at Medb, ‘but if you really want to do great things, you'll have to start fending for yourself.'

For a second, Medb's beautiful face burned with anger. Then, she ripped off the sharp gold necklace she wore and launched it into the air. Everybody gasped as her
torc
struck right through the fire apple. Medb looked annoyed that she had shown her skills and her green eyes flashed with anger.

Antimony vowed to keep a closer eye on Medb. She still hadn't figured out who the Morrígan was in disguise as and she wanted to make sure nobody else got the Book of Magic on Lughnasa before she did. Oisín had filled her in about the moonlight picnic and she was certain that one of the Quints was helping the Morrígan. She wished Cluaiscín was there to help her, but she hadn't seen him for weeks. She was on her own again.

Except for Stephen. If Stephen wasn't running laps beside her, he was sitting opposite her in the library, where Antimony spent all her spare time now. She went there after she left the Fire Forest and headed to the Water Magic section, which was the best place to spy on the Book of Magic and who might be paying it a visit. Sure enough, Stephen was there too, flicking through a stack of dark books as if reading was something to be got through as quickly as possible. Antimony wished he'd go away: she couldn't look at Stephen without thinking about Sorcha.

She opened Deirdre of the Sorrows' autobiography,
Why You Will Never be as Beautiful or Sorrowful as Me
–
and How to Cry about it
, the one book she was certain wouldn't distract her from spying. She stirred its pages, which were already disintegrating into tears. Her dragon announced that it was six o' clock: Lughnasa was getting closer and closer. Antimony's insides felt like dreadlocks tangling around each other. She had enough
béal tine
left, and she would be able to use the Book of Magic if she stole it. Did she want to, though? There were too many things to consider. There was the power of the Book as it pulled them towards the shadows, a power that even Oisín didn't understand; there was Oisín helping her to swim in the underground caves; Stephen saving her from the Morrígan; Sorcha; her parents. Whenever Antimony remembered her parents, all her insides twisted tight again.

She listened to Nuala and Noreen to distract herself. Neither of them was especially good at Fire Magic so they were stirring a book about underwater ponies instead. Like everybody else aboard
Eachtra
, they were talking about Lughnasa.

‘Do you think there'll be a proper Lughnasa feast here?' Nuala asked.

‘Oooh, I don't know,' Noreen replied, which, along with giggling, was pretty much her response to everything.

‘Because there aren't any real fields or crops,' Nuala continued. ‘But maybe we could toast with fire-apples or something?'

‘Oooh, I don't know about that.'

‘Medb says we're only staying here because of that missing girl and that
Eachtra
usually ends up in a much nicer place.'

‘Oooh, that's a shame.' Noreen sighed.

‘Do you think the Morrígan's hung up her bones yet?'

‘Oooh, I don't know.'

‘Medb says that her whole bedroom is made out of bones and that she has a chandelier made out of little girls' … agh! You splashed me!'

Antimony hadn't so much splashed as drenched Nuala Nugent. She couldn't help it. She could see how upset Stephen was getting and she had to do something.

Nuala Nugent stirred her book and sent a shaggy water pony towards Antimony in retaliation. With one vigorous shake, it managed to transfer most of the water from its mane onto Antimony and Stephen. They both stood up, furious, but felt a hand grab them before they could do anything.

‘This isn't the lost library of Atlantis,' Lysander Quicksilver said as he pulled them back. ‘Can't you children behave?'

‘Get off me!' Stephen shouted, pushing him away.

Nuala and Noreen scurried off as Lysander and Stephen glared at each other. Ben and Raqib strolled over, looking at the stack of dark books at Stephen's table.

‘What's this? Raqib said. ‘
Inside The Morrígan's Magic.
'

‘What's a Milesian meathead like you doing with dark books?' Lysander asked, suddenly interested.

‘None of your business,' Stephen said, gripping An Freagarach meaningfully.

Lysander smirked and strolled over to Antimony.

‘Didn't think you needed any help crying, Ogoni,' he said, looking at the book she was stirring.

‘You'll be the one crying if you don't get lost,' Antimony snapped. She didn't like how often the Quints ended up in the library, somehow always at the same spot where they could see up to the Book of Magic. None of them ever went to the twelfth floor – that would be too obvious – but she was sure that they were checking up on the Book too.

‘Come on, let's go,' Ben said. ‘We've got important stuff to do.'

The trio walked over to the glass lift. There was something about the way the three Quints stood – arms folded, noses in the air, smug smiles on their faces – that made Antimony place a fiery paper airplane in her slingshot and Stephen pick up a large book. Together, their missiles had the desired effect. Much to their surprise, all three Quints found themselves flung backwards into the large pool behind them.