The Storm Keepers' Battle by Catherine Doyle

Author:Catherine Doyle [Doyle, Catherine]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781526607959
Publisher: Bloomsbury Publishing
Published: 2021-01-22T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty

THE RUNAWAY SORCERER

Fionn was flipped upside down and downside up, spiralling into rock and sand and seaweed. Froth shot up his nose and stung his eyes. He forgot where he was. He forgot who he was. There were only the distant screams of drowning islanders, fading … fading.

Then there was laughter, cackling from the far reaches of his mind.

Failure, taunted a familiar voice. You drowned your people like you drowned your own father. You cannot wield magic you don’t deserve.

Fionn let the words flow through him, swift and icy as a river. He didn’t have the strength to bat them away.

Give up your war, little Boyle.

Come to the Black Mountain,

Come to me before I come for you.

The blackness shifted. The world was crowding in on Fionn again. He was rolled on to his side. A stream of water spurted out of him. He coughed himself awake, blinking through salt-laden lashes to find himself curled up in a mass of sopping seaweed.

Tara was kneeling beside him. Her hair was drenched and her teeth were chattering. ‘W-what j-just h-happened?’

‘The power-storm broke,’ croaked Fionn. ‘I lost control.’

He sat up. All across the beach, islanders were on their knees, coughing and spluttering. Rose was vomiting seawater nearby. Others were completely unconscious.

One was marching towards him, with fire in her eyes.

‘What in Dagda’s name are you playing at?’ demanded Elizabeth Beasley. Her silver hair was plastered across her face, her fur coat draped over her like a dead animal. ‘Are you trying to get us killed?’ She pointed her ruddy pitchfork at the emerald staff, wedged in the sand. ‘If you had any sense at all, you’d give that to someone who can actually use it.’

‘That’s not how it works,’ said Tara, turning on her. ‘Try it.’

Elizabeth threw her a withering look. ‘I think we’ve seen enough magic today.’

Islanders were beginning to stagger to their feet. Fionn spied his mother across the beach helping Niall. She had a nasty cut on her forehead, and she was swaying from side to side. Mia was crying. Bartley was looking around frantically for his shield. Sam and Una were trying to rouse their dad, and Juliana was using her sword to cut Donal free from a tangle of washed-up fishing tackle.

‘We don’t stand a chance,’ said Elizabeth, echoing his thoughts. ‘You’re no sorcerer.’

Fionn dropped his head. He still couldn’t control his magic. Even with Solas, he wasn’t enough.

He rolled to his feet, leaving the staff behind him.

‘Where are you going?’ Tara called after him, but Fionn was already sliding over the wall. The wind chased after him, howling like a wounded dog, but Fionn kept his eyes on his feet.

He needed a minute. He needed a year.

But more than anything, in that moment, he needed his grandad.

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