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- Herausgeber: The O'Brien Press
- Kategorie: Für Kinder und Jugendliche
- Sprache: Englisch
- Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2023
'Cat didn't notice a shadow slinking into the room and leaning in closer … as if it were listening.' When Cat finds out that her cool new neighbour, Dr Becca Ryan, is a witch, she's fascinated. Cat already loves magic – she has The Sight – and she's sure she can learn loads from Becca. But Cat has other things on her mind – her mum has a boyfriend and Cat's not happy. When she turns to Becca for advice, she gets more than she bargained for. Cat and her friend Shane are sent off on a perilous quest for an ancient harp that, when played, can influence the thoughts of anyone who hears it – and it seems like Cat will go to any lengths to find it … As they face shape-shifting wolves, demons and magic on the island of Hy-Brasil, Cat and Shane learn many things about themselves – and prepare to battle an ancient and terrifying power …
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Praise for The Book of Secrets
‘Fast paced and thrilling.’
Irish Independent
‘A brilliant fantasy fairy tale story set in modern-day Ireland.’
Sunday Independent
For Richard who cheers me on every step of the way.
Contents
Prologue
From the Darkness of the Well
It was dark at the bottom of the well, so dark that Cethlenn never knew whether it was night or day, and that was just how she liked it.
Her world consisted of little more than damp stone walls coated with centuries of mould and slime and the snuffling sounds of mice and voles who would occasionally pass through her lair. No creature ever stayed long in the well and that was also to her liking. After thousands of years, Cethlenn simply wanted to be left alone with her memories.
It had not always been this way. Once upon a time, Cethlenn was a warrior and a queen. Her people were a mighty tribe known as the Fomorians, and they worshipped her for her cruelty and her cunning. For many years, she led the Fomorians into combat with spear in hand and her beloved husband Balor by her side. The mere sight of them on the battlefield was enough make grown men and women tremble and weep. Together, Cethlenn and Balor ruled the land with an iron fist, until one day, a new tribe landed on the rocky shores of their island kingdom.
They called themselves the Tuatha Dé Danann – the people of the Goddess Danu – and they set about conquering the Fomorians’ land. Cethlenn and Balor did not take such an insult to their rule lightly, and soon the two tribes began to clash. The Tuatha Dé Danann were strong, but so were the Fomorians, and neither tribe was able to gain the upper hand. So it remained until the fateful day the two forces met on the fields of Moytura for their final battle.
It was a memory that would live on in Cethlenn’s mind forever because it was the day she lost everything – her husband, her kingdom and her purpose. The Tuatha Dé Danann had finally defeated the Fomorians and become the rulers of the land of Ireland.
Cethlenn survived the Battle of Moytura and went into hiding, trying to process her grief. Through her long years of isolation, she often thought back to that day and wondered how different it might have been if only her plans had come to fruition, if the Fomorians had been able to hold onto the treasure they had stolen from the Tuatha Dé Danann…
In time, her sadness turned to anger, which burned white-hot inside her. Soon, her only thought was of revenge.
For many years, she roamed the land from shore to shore, over mountains and through valleys, waiting for her chance to strike, but her enemies were powerful, and she was alone, a shadow of her former self. As time wore on, her flesh decayed and her bones became dust and Cethlenn found herself as little more than a spirit, trapped somewhere between life and death, but still her anger fuelled her, even if there was nothing she could do but watch and wait.
She would slip into the Tuatha Dé Danann’ s strongholds, an unseen shadow, and do her best learn all she could about her enemies and how they might be defeated. She became convinced that the way to defeat them lay with the very treasure that the Fomorians had tried to steal away all those years ago. But Cethlenn was just a spirit and without a body, what could she do?
Eventually, all things must end, even the reign of the mighty Tuatha Dé Danann. The day came when they were forced to retreat to the Otherworld, far away from Cethlenn and her schemes. For the first time in centuries, Cethlenn was truly alone, a ghost among an unfamiliar people, with all hope of vengeance gone.
It was then that she found the well. Cethlenn knew that wells are in-between places, trapped somewhere between the Otherworld and the mortal realm, just as she herself was, and it seemed as good a place as any to wait out the rest of eternity.
For a time, her peace would occasionally be disturbed by pilgrims who believed the well to be a holy place and came in search of blessings from the water. But they had not come by for many years. Like Cethlenn, the well was largely forgotten. And so she was alone in her silence. Until one day, she heard a voice.
‘It has to be around here somewhere. Are you sure you don’t smell anything?’
The sound came as a shock to Cethlenn. She could not remember the last time she had heard a voice – a human voice – and so close to her!
‘Nothing yet. Sorry, Becca. If it was here, I’d know. Nothing gets past these nostrils!’ said a second voice ‒ an animal voice, Cethlenn noted, and yet it seemed to be speaking directly to the human… She should ignore them. What did she care for humans and their ways? But after so many years with nothing but her own regrets to keep her company, Cethlenn couldn’t help but be intrigued. She allowed herself to drift up the well, just a bit, so she could better hear their conversation.
‘I don’t get it,’ said the human – Becca, she supposed. ‘According to the map, the holy well should be right here.’
‘Pfft, map shmap!’ said the animal. ‘Come on, it’s getting late and I’m starving! Let’s just go and… oh! Wait a second, what do we have here?’
‘Have you found it?’ the human’s voice raised to an excited pitch.
‘Hang on, let me just… eeewww! Yuck, that is definitely the smell of stinky old well water. It’s right over here, Becca.’
The human squealed and suddenly, Cethlenn’s world was ripped apart. A beam of sunlight lit up the well for a moment before it was covered up again by the face of a young woman peering down at her. Cethlenn almost shrank back before remembering that this woman couldn’t see her. Shame flooded through her. How far she had fallen from her days as a warrior queen.
‘Well done, Vinnie! You’re getting an extra mouse for dinner tonight.’
Becca’s face disappeared from the hole and a smaller, furrier face appeared in her place. It looked to Cethlenn like a pine marten, or perhaps a stoat.
‘Woohoo!’ said the small creature Cethlenn now knew to be called Vinnie. ‘Want me to start digging this up? As well as being an expert sniffer I am, in fact, a world-class digger.’
‘I know you are,’ said Becca. Cethlenn could almost hear the smile in her voice, and it made her sick. ‘But let’s leave it as it is for now. It’s already getting dark, and I don’t want to risk disturbing the magic. We have the location so we can always come back another day and open it up properly…’
Becca was saying something else, but Cethlenn was no longer paying attention. She had spoken of magic. Magic. Hearing the word uttered on mortal lips set her mind aflame. Could this human woman know something of the old ways? How could that be? Back in Cethlenn’s time humans were pathetic creatures, made to be ruled. She moved closer now, her spirit pressed against the opening of the well, desperate to learn more.
‘So this is definitely the right well?’ asked Vinnie.
‘I can’t be sure until I get some of the water and run some tests,’ said Becca, ‘but I think so. There’s something about this place… I can almost feel the air humming with old magic. Can’t you?’
The stoat made a small squeak of agreement.
‘But that’s a job for another day,’ Becca continued. ‘Right now, I think we should head back home and get dinner started. Hop up on my shoulder.’
‘Now you’re talking!’ said Vinnie.
At that, Cethlenn snapped to attention. She could hear the sound of whooshing grass as the woman began to trudge back through the field and away from the well. Away from her. She had only a moment to consider before Becca would be too far away for her to follow.
When she took refuge in the well all those years ago, it was because she believed that when the Tuatha Dé Danann left the mortal realm, the last dregs of magic had left with them. She thought her chance at revenge was long gone and that she would stay in this dark hole until time and memory were no more. But the appearance of this young woman complicated matters. She said she was going to come back another day, but that could be weeks away and now that a new world of possibility had opened up for her, Cethlenn found she could no longer wait a single second. Without a backward glance, she surged up through the mouth of the well and began to follow the young woman home.
After so many years rotting in isolation, Cethlenn’s mind had begun to whirr back to life and the first thing she thought of was revenge.
Chapter One
Crosses and Not
‘I don’t think I’m doing it right,’ said Cat, throwing her half-finished St Brigid’s Cross down on the coffee table in frustration. ‘It’s all weird and wonky looking.’
‘You’re weird and wonky looking,’ said Shane.
‘Oh, ha ha! And I suppose yours is perfect, is it?’
She looked over at Shane who was tying a rubber band over one arm of his own cross, which Cat noticed to her annoyance was indeed perfect looking.
‘It’s not that hard,’ he said, shooting her a self-satisfied grin.
‘Well done, Shane,’ said Cat’s granny, who was hovering over them inspecting their handiwork. ‘You must take that home with you and show your mammy and Uncle Brian.’
The sound of pots and pans crashing to the ground grabbed Granny’s attention and Cat took the opportunity to mouth Nerd! at Shane, who stuck out his tongue in return.
‘What’s going on in there?’ Granny yelled. ‘Do I need to come in and clean up your mess?’
A small bald head appeared at the living-room door and looked in at them sheepishly. It had been three months since Cat first met the fairy known as the Clurichaun, but she still felt a little thrill whenever he appeared. It reminded her that the events of Halloween night had really happened, that she had ventured into the world of dangerous and magical creatures and lived to tell the tale. Granny had always told her she had ‘The Sight’ – the ability to see all things supernatural – but a small part of her had always wondered whether Granny was just trying to make her feel special. When she had woken up on Halloween morning to find that her baby brother Mikey had been taken by the Pooka and the Trooping Fairies and a Changeling had been left in his place, all doubts were gone. She really did have The Sight. Ever since then, life hadn’t been the same – it seemed as though there was magic everywhere and Cat wanted to learn about it all.
‘Nothing to be worrying about, Mrs Donnelly,’ said the Clurichaun, sweating slightly and darting his eyes back toward the kitchen. ‘I’ve got it all under control.’
‘All right,’ said Granny, with some scepticism. ‘But call me if you need a hand. The last thing I want is for you to be burning yourself on the hob.’
‘Again,’ added Cat, under her breath.
The Clurichaun gave a little bob of thanks and scurried back to the kitchen.
Granny sighed, ‘What will I do with that fella?’
Another unpleasant surprise Cat had on Halloween morning was learning that Granny was in hospital having suffered a heart attack. She spent a full week recovering and arrived home to find the Clurichaun at her door with cap in hand, looking shamefaced. Apparently, he was feeling guilty over the part he had played in Cat and Shane’s Halloween adventure and refused to leave until he made amends. Since Granny wasn’t back to full health, she agreed he could help out around the house until she got back on her feet. That was almost three months ago, but the Clurichaun showed no sign of leaving. Granny pretended to be annoyed by it, but she had to admit that having an extra pair of hands around to help with the cooking and cleaning was useful. Plus, Cat knew that they ended each day by sharing a box of biscuits and catching up on that day’s soaps. She thought that Granny secretly enjoyed the Clurichaun’s company, even if she did complain about him.
‘Is this any better?’ she asked, holding up her latest lopsided attempt at cross-making.
Granny tutted, ‘All right, budge over and I’ll show you how it’s done.’ She lowered herself to the floor with a small groan and reached for a handful of reeds. ‘We’ll do one of the three-armed crosses first – they’re easier than the four-armed ones to get the hang of. Now, watch my hands.’
Cat watched as Granny began to weave the reeds together, forming a perfect triangle .
‘How do you do that so quickly? It has to be magic!’ she said, only half joking.
Granny smiled and tied off each arm of the cross with a rubber band. ‘It’s no magic, only years of practice. You’ll get the hang of it soon, Caitriona.’
‘Why are they called St Brigid’s crosses?’ asked Shane, already halfway through weaving his second one, which Cat couldn’t help but notice was looking even neater than the last. ‘They don’t really look like crosses do they? More like ninja throwing stars or something.’
He lobbed the cross at Cat to demonstrate his point.
‘What do they be teaching you in school these days?’ asked Granny, rolling her eyes. ‘They’re crosses because the story goes that, hundreds of years ago, St Brigid visited a pagan chieftain who was dying. She was trying to teach him all about Christianity and as she spoke, she picked some pieces of straw off the floor and began to weave them together into this cross shape.’
‘Oh,’ said Shane, who was clearly a little disappointed in the origin story. ‘That’s it?’
‘Well… no, actually. Brigid is an interesting figure and there’s a lot more to her story than that. Run upstairs and grab that notebook of yours, Caitriona. You may want to write this down.’
Cat gave a little squeal of excitement and bounded up the stairs to her room. In the centre of her desk was a hidden drawer that contained a few small treasures Cat wanted to keep safe, the most important of which was the notebook she had dubbed her ‘Book of Secrets’. Her first Book of Secrets was an old copy book covered in Cat’s doodles where she would note down all the stories her Granny told her about ghosts and fairies and magic. She had given up that Book of Secrets to the Queen of the Fairies on Halloween night in exchange for her baby brother Mikey’s life – something she occasionally thought was a bad deal on those days when Mikey was throwing a tantrum.
When Granny offered to help her make a new Book of Secrets, she decided it should be a bit more special. She found a beautiful hardback notebook with a deep mossy green cover on sale in the newsagents in town and persuaded her mother to buy it for her.
She had also picked up a gold marker and when she got home had written ‘The NEW Book of Secrets’ on the cover in her best curly handwriting, so it looked suitably important and magical.
Cat grabbed the notebook along with her favourite pen and headed back downstairs to find the Clurichaun had served up some tea and Hobnobs. Cat jammed one of the biscuits in her mouth and opened the notebook to the next blank page. ‘Ready!’ she said through a mouthful of crumbs.
‘All right,’ said Granny, settling into her storyteller voice that Cat knew so well. ‘Tell me, what do you know about Brigid?’
‘She’s one of the patron saints of Ireland,’ said Shane.
‘And?’ said Granny.
Cat and Shane looked blankly at Granny. They didn’t know much else.
‘Lord bless us and save us; they really don’t be teaching you much at school! She is indeed one of the three patron saints of Ireland along with St Colmcille and St Patrick, although for my money, she’s far more impressive than either of those lads were. Her father was a pagan chieftain and back in those days, daughters were only seen as worthy if they were good marriage material and by that, of course they meant young and beautiful,’ said Granny, with a roll of her eyes.
‘That isn’t fair!’ said Cat. ‘What do someone’s looks have to do with whether or not they’d be a good wife or husband?’
‘You’re right, it isn’t fair, but her father was a cruel man and that was his way of thinking. In his mind, Brigid needed to be married off to the highest bidder as soon as possible. If he’d had any sense, he would have seen what a brilliant smart girl he had, and he’d have let her make up her own mind about what she wanted to do. For as long as she could remember, Brigid had wanted to be a nun, so she prayed and prayed to make herself as unattractive as possible – and it worked! Every man who came to her father looking to marry Brigid got hit with a sense of unease about the girl and each and every one of them decided that she wasn’t the wife for them. Word got around and soon, no man in the country would even darken their door. Eventually, her father gave in and let her go off and become a nun.
‘In time, Brigid went on to perform many miracles. You might have learned in school about the time she went to the King of Leinster and asked him for land to build a monastery on. He refused at first, but our Brigid had a plan. She made a deal with him to give her as much land as she could cover with her cloak. The king thought this was very funny indeed and agreed, thinking it would be a bit of fun. Little did he know, Brigid’s cloak was magic, and when she spread it out it grew and grew until it covered half the countryside! I don’t think he was laughing any more after that.
‘Brigid was also a great healer. When I was a girl, everyone would leave a scrap of cloth outside on the eve of St Brigid’s Day – an old rag or dishtowel. The story goes that Brigid would bless the cloth as she passed by with the morning dew and then you would take it back inside and use it to cure headaches throughout the year. There’s also a holy well dedicated to Brigid not too far from here but I haven’t been there myself in many years.’
Cat jotted down notes in The Book of Secrets as Granny spoke, but she couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed. So far, everything Granny said sounded like it could have been done by any saint. She couldn’t see why Brigid was so special.
‘But there’s another side to the story that makes Brigid even more interesting and complicated, at least in my eyes,’ said Granny, pausing to take a sip of her tea.
Cat perked up. Now we’re getting somewhere, she thought.
‘In ancient times, long before St Patrick brought Christianity to these shores, there was a tribe who lived on this land called the Tuatha Dé Danann, named after their great goddess, Danu. They were a powerful people who were deeply skilled in magic and the old ways, and they’ve even come to be thought of as gods and goddesses themselves. Their high chieftain was a man called the Dagda – a big strapping man whose powers were associated with the weather, agriculture and fertility. He had several children, one of whom was a daughter who was said to have been born with fire in her hair, and he named her Brigid.
‘No one knows for sure who Brigid’s mother was, it may have been Danu herself or it may have been another figure called the Morrigan.’
‘I’ve heard of the Morrigan!’ said Cat. ‘Wasn’t she a goddess of war or something?’
Granny nodded. ‘She was indeed. She would take the form of a crow and circle the battlefields of ancient Ireland, foretelling the warriors’ doom.’
‘So she was evil?’ asked Shane.
‘Lord, no!’ said Granny. ‘One thing you’ll learn about mythology and Irish myths in particular, is that things are rarely black or white. The Morrigan wasn’t bad, but neither was she good. She simply was. Anyway, no matter who her mother was, it seems that Brigid took strongly after her father, becoming the goddess of spring, poetry and healing.
‘She was born on the pagan festival of Imbolc, which marks the first day of spring. Can ye guess when that is?’
Cat’s eyes lit up; she could see where Granny was going with this. ‘Is it the first of February?’ she asked.
Granny gave her a wink.
‘Same as St Brigid’s day…’ said Shane. ‘Wait, so they’re same person?’
‘Some people think so,’ confirmed Granny. ‘When Christianity came to Ireland, the Church worked hard to make sure the pagan religion was stamped out and the old gods and goddesses soon passed into myth… but maybe, just maybe, not all of them did. They share a name, both of them are associated with healing and with water, they share a feast day, and they both were fierce protectors of women. But no matter what you believe, the first of February is still a day to celebrate Brigid and all that she stands for.’
‘What do you believe, Granny?’ asked Cat.
Granny smiled. ‘Oh, I believe lots of things. Caitriona. For example, right now I believe that it’s high time you were headed home, young Mr Culligan, before that uncle of yours has my head.’
Shane checked his phone and winced. ‘Oops, he texted me fifteen minutes ago telling me dinner was almost ready! I better go. See you tomorrow, Cat. Thanks again, Mrs Donnelly.’
‘That’s “Granny” to you, lad, and don’t forget to take your crosses. Tell your uncle to hang them above the door for luck.’
Shane nodded and headed out the door, calling his goodbye into the Clurichaun.
‘That reminds me,’ said Granny, hauling herself to her feet. ‘I better tell the bould Clurichaun to head away before your mam gets home.’
Granny shuffled into the kitchen and Cat picked up another handful of reeds, determined to make the cross right this time if it killed her.
Chapter Two
Of Witches and Familiars
Cat had been having a perfectly normal day, right up until the moment a small, furry creature fell from the sky. She and Shane were walking home from school and arguing about whether it would be cooler to be able to fly or to read minds (fly, obviously), when a screech from overhead made her look up just in time to spot something fall from the branches of tree and land right on Shane’s head.
For half a second, Cat did nothing, too stunned by the strange turn of events to do anything other than stare in shock. But then Shane came to his senses and began to yell.
‘Agh!’ he cried as the creature squeaked and scrabbled around his neck. ‘Get it off me, get it off me!’ The last word came out as almost a sob.
Cat burst out laughing. She knew he would find a way to pay her back later, but she couldn’t help herself ‒ it was too ridiculous.
‘Oh dear, I’m so sorry!’ said a voice Cat didn’t recognise. ‘This is all my fault. Vinnie ‒ stop messing around and leave the poor boy alone!’
As Cat wiped the tears from her eyes, she watched as the furry little creature jumped from Shane’s shoulder and into the waiting arms of a woman she had never seen before. She was short – only a little taller than Cat herself – and had a round, friendly face. Her bright pink hair stood out at all angles, and it looked as though it hadn’t seen a hairbrush for months. She wore round wire-framed glasses that made her eyes look huge and owl-like. When she adjusted them, Cat noticed that she wore chunky silver rings with stones of various colours on each finger.
‘He didn’t hurt you, did he?’ asked the woman while the creature writhed around in her arms and let out an angry squeak. ‘Oh hush, I didn’t ask how you were because I know you weren’t hurt! Honestly, Vinnie, you’re such a drama queen.’
‘I’m OK … I think,’ said Shane, looking dazed and more than a bit dishevelled after his encounter. ‘I’m sorry, is that a rat you’re holding?’
The woman smiled. ‘Stoat actually. This is Vinnie ‒ named after Vincent Van Gogh.’
‘Like the artist?’ said Cat.
Vinnie the stoat puffed up his chest with pride and now that Cat had a better look at him, she couldn’t help but notice the small notch missing from his left ear.
Ah, thought Cat. I guess the name makes sense.
‘And I’m Becca Ryan … ow!’
To Cat’s astonishment, Vinnie the stoat leaned over and nipped Becca on the ear.
‘All right, Vinnie, point taken. Dr Becca Ryan, I should say. I’m not really used to the whole “doctor” bit yet, but Vinnie strongly feels that I should work it into every conversation.’
‘You’re a doctor?’ Cat asked, feeling a little confused. The only doctors she had ever encountered were her friend Ebele’s dad, Dr Abara, and the ones she had met in the hospital when Granny was sick, and they all seemed, well, a little more professional than this woman.
Becca laughed and quickly said, ‘Oh no, not that kind of doctor. I’ve just recently gotten a PhD in anthropology. It took me so long I was beginning to think I’d never get there.’
‘What’s anthropology?’ asked Shane and Cat was glad he asked because she was wondering the same thing.
‘It’s the study of human cultures and societies and how they develop,’ said Becca.
‘So it’s like history?’
‘History is certainly a part of it. So is archaeology and biology and natural science – what you focus on depends what area of anthropology you’re most interested in. My speciality was in folklore, specifically folk remedies.’
‘Folk remedies? Do you mean, like, magic?’ Cat asked, shooting a hopeful glance at Shane.
‘Well… yes and no. It’s complicated. If a folk remedy works, a lot of people would say it’s just an example of the placebo effect in action ‒ that’s where something only works because you believe it’ll work. But isn’t that a kind of magic itself? If you think about it––’
Vinnie the stoat began chirping in Becca’s ear and she threw her hands up in apology.
‘Sorry, sorry! Vinnie here was warning me that I was about to stray into nerdy territory, and I was in danger of boring you both. I can’t help it really, as an academic and a practising witch I could talk about this stuff till the cows come home!’
Cat and Shane stared at each other with wide grins.
‘You’re a witch?’ Cat asked. ‘A real one? Like with spells and stuff?’
Becca smiled. ‘I am indeed. Just like my mother and her mother before her. I actually come from a long line of witches going all the way back to at least the 1600s. At least, that’s as far back as the family tree extends. It could be even longer for all I know! As for spells, that’s actually the reason why you were hit in the head by Vinnie here. I’d spotted a nest at the top of this tree and was hoping there were some old eggshells inside. I’ve been searching for a robin’s egg for a spell I’ve wanted to do for the longest time. Of course, it’s entirely the wrong time of year to be looking for this kind of thing, sure it’s only just Imbolc… uh, that’s the first day of spring in the Celtic calendar,’ Becca said.
‘Oh, we know!’ Cat replied.
‘You do?’ said Becca, looking genuinely pleased. ‘Brilliant! I love knowing the younger generation hasn’t lost touch with some of the older ways.’
‘We have a good teacher,’ said Cat, thinking of Granny and wondering what she’d make of this strange young woman who spoke about magic and witchcraft so openly.
‘Anyway, as I said, I’d spotted this nest and thought maybe I’d be lucky and there’d be some shell scraps left over from last year, so I sent Vinnie up to check. Poor thing must have lost his balance. Speaking of which… any joy, Vinnie?’
Vinnie the stoat squeaked, and Becca frowned.
‘Oh well, better luck next time!’ she said.
‘Sorry,’ said Shane. ‘Are you … speaking with Vinnie?’
Becca nodded. ‘Vinnie here is what you’d call my familiar. Do you know what they are?’
Shane shook his head, but Cat jumped in right away ‒ she had read a lot about witches, but never thought she’d have the chance to meet one in real life and wanted desperately to make a good impression.
‘I do,’ she said, ‘they’re like animal companions that help witches out with spells and magic!’
‘Exactly right!’ Becca said and Cat felt herself beaming with pride. ‘I found Vinnie around two years ago when he was just a kit. Or I should say, we found each other
