the sun would reach them. Everybody looked quite normal.
It was the Book of Magic. That was why he was feeling so strange. Heâd have to tell Granny Keane about it before they went home.
When he got back to the bench, Stephen and Sorcha were in the middle of an argument.
âRavens donât have green eyes,â Stephen said, not looking up from his game.
âThis one did,â Sorcha protested.
âIt couldnât have.â
âIt did.â
âWhat kind of bird did you say pecked you?â Granny Keane said, sitting forward suddenly on the bench, as if she was waking from a dream.
Usually Granny Keaneâs voice was quite light and airy, as if it belonged to somebody much younger than a lady in her eighties. People who saw her long wispy hair and bright turquoise beads sometimes thought she might be a little odd in the head and so she was always able to get a discount at the market or to convince the police that she could never have been speeding. Every now and then, though, her voice had a sudden sharpness, as if she was all too alert. This was the quality her voice had now.
âWhat kind of bird was it?â she repeated.
âA raven,â OisÃn answered in a small voice.
âAnd what colour did you say its eyes were?â
âGreen,â OisÃn and Sorcha said at the same time.
Nobody could fail to notice the effect these words had on Granny Keane. A shadow flickered across her face, as if she was remembering some deep, forgotten sorrow. Her own big green eyes pulsed with a strange emotion, and OisÃn thought he had never seen her look fiercer.
Are you OK, Gran?â he asked as she looked far into the distance.
It took a moment for Granny Keaneâs eyes to return from the place in the past where they had been. When they did, they focused on OisÃn as if seeing him for the first time. She stared not at the packet of Maltesers in his right hand, but at the little book sticking out of his hoodie pocket.
OisÃn pushed it out of view and sat down on the bench, handing Sorcha the Maltesers. Lots of feelings were tugging at his insides, but he couldnât give up the Book. Not yet.
When Granny Keane eventually spoke, it wasnât what OisÃn expected to hear.
âHave any of you heard of the MorrÃgan?â
None of them had.
âDonât they teach you the old Celtic stories in school?â
âSome of them,â OisÃn replied.
âJust the boring ones,â Stephen added. âTheyâre all about silly swans turning into children or old guys falling off horses. I donât know why we bother with them. Dad says that Irish will be obsolete in a few years â that means extinct.â
âThanks, Dictionary-dot-com,â OisÃn said under his breath.
âRemind me to thump you later,â Stephen growled.
Granny Keane ignored the pair of them.
âThey never teach you anything useful at school,â she fussed, sounding a lot more like a regular granny than usual. âOf course you havenât heard of the MorrÃgan.â
âWhat is this MorrÃgan thing?â Sorcha asked.
âShe is the Great Queen of Battle Madness,â Granny Keane said.
âIs she a giant?â Sorcha asked.
âItâs not her size that you need to worry about,â Granny Keane said. âSomething as small as a pea can hold all the trouble in the world.â She looked back towards OisÃn and he had a strange feeling that she was looking right at the Book of Magic.
âWhat is she like?â Sorcha asked, her small eyes huge.
âSheâs the Queen of Shadows,â Granny Keane said and, once again, something strange and sad seemed to shift across her face. âShe feeds off all the despair of the world: all the bad thoughts and broken promises, all the little lies and unkind truths that make our world go round. She skulks in the shadows of the world, and when somebody is feeling at their
It was the Book of Magic. That was why he was feeling so strange. Heâd have to tell Granny Keane about it before they went home.
When he got back to the bench, Stephen and Sorcha were in the middle of an argument.
âRavens donât have green eyes,â Stephen said, not looking up from his game.
âThis one did,â Sorcha protested.
âIt couldnât have.â
âIt did.â
âWhat kind of bird did you say pecked you?â Granny Keane said, sitting forward suddenly on the bench, as if she was waking from a dream.
Usually Granny Keaneâs voice was quite light and airy, as if it belonged to somebody much younger than a lady in her eighties. People who saw her long wispy hair and bright turquoise beads sometimes thought she might be a little odd in the head and so she was always able to get a discount at the market or to convince the police that she could never have been speeding. Every now and then, though, her voice had a sudden sharpness, as if she was all too alert. This was the quality her voice had now.
âWhat kind of bird was it?â she repeated.
âA raven,â OisÃn answered in a small voice.
âAnd what colour did you say its eyes were?â
âGreen,â OisÃn and Sorcha said at the same time.
Nobody could fail to notice the effect these words had on Granny Keane. A shadow flickered across her face, as if she was remembering some deep, forgotten sorrow. Her own big green eyes pulsed with a strange emotion, and OisÃn thought he had never seen her look fiercer.
Are you OK, Gran?â he asked as she looked far into the distance.
It took a moment for Granny Keaneâs eyes to return from the place in the past where they had been. When they did, they focused on OisÃn as if seeing him for the first time. She stared not at the packet of Maltesers in his right hand, but at the little book sticking out of his hoodie pocket.
OisÃn pushed it out of view and sat down on the bench, handing Sorcha the Maltesers. Lots of feelings were tugging at his insides, but he couldnât give up the Book. Not yet.
When Granny Keane eventually spoke, it wasnât what OisÃn expected to hear.
âHave any of you heard of the MorrÃgan?â
None of them had.
âDonât they teach you the old Celtic stories in school?â
âSome of them,â OisÃn replied.
âJust the boring ones,â Stephen added. âTheyâre all about silly swans turning into children or old guys falling off horses. I donât know why we bother with them. Dad says that Irish will be obsolete in a few years â that means extinct.â
âThanks, Dictionary-dot-com,â OisÃn said under his breath.
âRemind me to thump you later,â Stephen growled.
Granny Keane ignored the pair of them.
âThey never teach you anything useful at school,â she fussed, sounding a lot more like a regular granny than usual. âOf course you havenât heard of the MorrÃgan.â
âWhat is this MorrÃgan thing?â Sorcha asked.
âShe is the Great Queen of Battle Madness,â Granny Keane said.
âIs she a giant?â Sorcha asked.
âItâs not her size that you need to worry about,â Granny Keane said. âSomething as small as a pea can hold all the trouble in the world.â She looked back towards OisÃn and he had a strange feeling that she was looking right at the Book of Magic.
âWhat is she like?â Sorcha asked, her small eyes huge.
âSheâs the Queen of Shadows,â Granny Keane said and, once again, something strange and sad seemed to shift across her face. âShe feeds off all the despair of the world: all the bad thoughts and broken promises, all the little lies and unkind truths that make our world go round. She skulks in the shadows of the world, and when somebody is feeling at their
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