Doyle - The Storm Keepers Island

Praise for The Storm Keepers Island

The Storm Keepers Island will blow you away. Magical in
every way Wise, warm and wonderful
Eoin Colfer, author of the Artemis Fowl series

Doyle has taken an ancient story and found something
new and bold and wild in it Only real bone-deep
writers and storytellers do that
Katherine Rundell, author of The Explorer

Funny, dark and blazingly beautiful, The Storm Keepers
Island is a thrillingly inventive adventure
Kiran Millwood Hargrave, author of The Girl of Ink & Stars

Flickers with a rare and wonderful magic
An unforgettable story
Abi Elphinstone, author of Sky Song

Gripping, poignant and beautifully written
Destined to become a modern classic
Louise ONeill, author of The Surface Breaks

A book of storms and heart and magical islands that sing
your name through the rain and beckon you through
layers of time A stunning story of courage and hope
Cerrie Burnell, author of Harper and the Scarlet Umbrella

Deep and lyrical Love and hope communicated is
perhaps the greatest magic of all, and thats what
Catherine achieved in this book
Hilary McKay, author of The Casson Family series

An incredibly special and magical book! I was spellbound
Katherine Woodfine, author of
The Sinclairs Mysteries series

The Storm Keepers Island is unforgettable the kind of
story that will grab you by the heart and not let go
Katie Tsang, co-author of Sam Wu Is NOT Afraid of Ghosts

Funny, heartrending, terrifying Im on
tenterhooks for the next book
Lauren James, author of The Loneliest Girl in the Universe

A warm-hearted tale full of magic, friendship and humour
Alex Bell, author of The Polar Bear Explorers Club

A magical rush of an adventure story about family,
bravery, and harnessing the storm within
Fionn is a hero to really root for
Anna James, author of Pages & Co.

For my grandparents,
Captain Charles P. Boyle and Mary McCauley Boyle
of Arranmore Island

In a field full of wild flowers, a boy and a girl stood side by side beneath an ancient oak tree. The sky was angry, the thunder growling like an angry beast.

Are you ready? asked the boy nervously.

The girl raised her chin, her wheat-blonde hair sweeping down her back in a curtain. Ive always been ready.

They pressed their palms against the gnarled trunk. The tree began to quiver, its branches stretching as it shook itself awake. There was a brief silence and then a crack exploded above them. A whip of lightning leapt from the clouds and split the centre of the tree in two. Flames erupted along the bark, climbing across the branches and devouring the leaves until everything was a bright, brilliant gold.

Betty? said the boy uncertainly. Should we

Sssh! hissed the girl. Its about to say something.

The tree began to whisper. It was much louder than the boy expected the crackle and hiss of surrounding flame slowly turning into words. Ssssspeak or be sssspoken to.

The girl asked her question. As the tree considered it, she grew restless, tapping her fingers against the charred bark. The air grew heavier, a veil of mist curling the strands around her face.

The tree did not speak to the girl again.

Instead, it turned its attention to the boy and climbed inside his head. He fell to the ground, twisting and writhing, as a vision unfurled in the blackness of his mind.

He was standing on the edge of a headland with the clouds gathering in his outstretched hands and the wind wreathing his body. He felt the sea rushing through his veins, leaving salt crystals in the lining of his heart.

He knew that he was changed forever.

Betty had been wrong.

The island had chosen him.

He tried to blink himself awake but the tree tightened its grip on his mind. Another vision pushed its way through. Something they had not asked to see.

Watch, hissed the tree. Pay attention.

A boy appeared before him. He was a little younger, but he was wearing the same nose and the same eyes. In one hand, he held an emerald as green as the island grass. In the other, a crooked staff that pointed out to sea. They stood apart from each other, looking but not really seeing as ravens filled the sky in plumes of feathers. The earth cracked beneath their feet and a shadow crept across the island and buried them in darkness.

The boy woke up. Back in the field of wild flowers, it was pouring with rain.

Betty, he said, a droplet landing squarely in his mouth. You wont believe what Ive just seen.

The girl was standing over him, her narrowed eyes like burning coals. She kicked him in the ribs. Dont you mean what you just stole!

Stop! He twisted away from her as she kicked him again. I need to tell you something. Can you stop, please? Ow! Listen to me. I saw ravens, Betty. I think

The girl wasnt listening. She was stalking away from him, through wild flowers and sodden grass, her chin tipped to the weeping sky.

The boy wanted to call her back, to tell her this was much bigger than her that it was bigger than both of them but she had disappeared into thin air, leaving only the faintest ripple behind.

The boy tried to swallow his fear. Somewhere deep inside the earth, the darkness was rising again, a darkness more terrible than anything the world had ever seen.

It was too late to stop it now.

Fionn Boyle sat hunched on a plastic chair with his arms tucked into his sides and his chin tucked into his chest, and tried not to be sick all over his shoes.

The ferry groaned. Fionn couldnt help noticing the rust around its edges, the flaking blue paint, how the horn sounded like a dying cow. He tried not to imagine how much seawater he would have to swallow to drown from the inside out. Tara wasnt watching him just then but Fionn knew sisters could smell fear. If he hurled his lunch up, hed never hear the end of it.

To make matters even more grim, Fionn was wedged between two nattering old ladies, and his phone was dead in his pocket. No coverage. Not even one bar. Sometimes the old ladies would stop and chew on a secret like it was too big to swallow. Sometimes Fionn could feel their gazes prickling on the side of his face, like they were waiting for him to join in. Mostly the waves roared and drowned out all of it.

That was the worst of all: the ocean right underneath him. In his most gruesome nightmares, it would suck him up and gulp him down and he would wake suddenly, dripping in sweat.

The sea air burned in his lungs and stung his cheeks as he watched the mainland fade away, first to a green smudge on a grey horizon, and then to nothing at all.

Already, Fionn missed the Dublin smog, the clang of roadworks and the half-finished tram tracks cutting up the city and flinging tourists from footpaths. He never thought about whether he liked it or not the noisiness of a city constantly in motion only that it was familiar, and to Fionn familiarity meant home.