The Book of Storms

Ruth Hatfield
"A boy on a quest against the power of the storm"
The Book of Storms – picture

A boy on a quest against the power of the storm

Eleven-year-old Danny’s parents are storm chasers – which sounds fun and exciting, and it is, so long as you aren’t the son who has to wait behind at home. And one night, after a particularly fierce storm, Danny’s parents don’t come back. Stranger still, the old sycamore tree in Danny’s yard seems to have been struck by lightning, and when he picks up a fragment of wood from the tree’s heart, he finds he can hear voices … including that of next door’s rather uppity cat, Mitzy. The stick is a taro, a shard of lightning that bestows upon its bearer unnerving powers, including the ability to talk with plants and animals – and it is very valuable.

So valuable, in fact, that it attracts the attention of a Sammael, an ancient figure of darkness and a buyer of souls. And he will do anything to get his hands on it … And so begins a dangerous and daring quest. Danny, who is bewildered, alone and unaccustomed to acts of bravery, must confront his fears, find his parents and unravel the secrets of The Book of Storms …

Publication Date: Thu 6 Nov 2014
ISBN Paperback: 9781471402982
ISBN Ebook: 9781471402999



Ruth Hatfield

Ruth Hatfield is from Cambridge, although she travels around a bit as she is a field archaeologist by profession. It's a good job for inspiration! Ruth has been writing stories for most of her life just to please herself, however, what she loves to explore is the way in which imagination gives us limitless possibilities to make our own lives extraordinary. In her spare time she eats books, gallops around on horses, pedals around on her bike and tries not to break too many bones.


His parents talked about storms like you'd talk about people. Was that normal? Actually, it clearly wasn't - they'd said so themselves. Danny had never noticed them talking like that, but then all this - the extent of it, the reason for it - had been purposefully hidden from him. He hated the thought. Of course there were loads of things that his parents tried to hide, like when they had an argument, or were sad, or there wasn't quite enough money for something and they thought that if they didn't say anything about it then Danny wouldn't notice that they were twitchy and distracted and full of tight little sighs. He never told them that he knew about these things, but they were obvious. Yet somehow they'd managed to keep this notebook entirely secret from him. His chest felt hollow as he stared at the dark blue cover. Could they have gone to find The Book of Storms? In the middle of the night? There was only one way to find out. 'We're going to see an old guy called Abe. . . Abel Kors . . . Korsakof,' he said, taking hold of the stick so that Mitz could hear him. 'Some weird name. He's got a book that might help me find them, if he'll let me see it. And if he won't, then . . . then I don't know, I'll think of something.' 'Something?' asked Mitz, blinking innocently. 'I'll steal it,' said Danny. 'I don't care if it's bad, I'll steal it.' He got up and made for the door, trampling on purpose over the mess still strewn across the floor. Mitz dropped down from the bed and stalked after him, her fluffy britches carrying her lightly over the mountains of chaos. 'Stealing isn't bad,' said Mitz. 'Everybody steals. Everybody that I know, anyway. But then I suppose we are all cats.' Danny remembered what it had felt like, last night, when he'd woken up and thought the roof was falling in. He remembered the bright gold of the night sky as the lightning set fire to the clouds. 'Not everybody,' he said, 'steals The Book of Storms.'