The Undivided

by Jennifer Fallon; Jennifer Fallon

  CHAPTER 40

  Darragh glanced around at the gathered Druids, the rest of whom were still masked. He caught sight of Marcroy out of the corner of his eye, standing to the left of the dais where Farawyl had led the ceremony thus far, next to Álmhath and Torcán. Marcroy seemed impressed that Darragh was uncowed. He wondered if the Tuatha envoy thought him brave, or too naïve to be intimidated.

  He fixed his gaze on the high priestess. ‘I have been busy, a Mháistreás.’

  It wasn’t the response Farawyl was expecting. She frowned. ‘You do not honour your position, Leath tiarna, by being glib.’

  ‘I speak the truth, my lady, nothing more. Why have you convened the Council of Druids?’

  Farawyl hesitated. She was probably composing a verse in her head, so the Council would be recorded for posterity. As high priestess, it was her duty to maintain the oral record of Druid history, just as it was Colmán’s job to ensure every important moment in the lives of the Undivided were captured and preserved in verse. Although Darragh couldn’t see Colmán, Darragh knew that behind him somewhere on the edge of the circle, the Vate would be taking it all in too, and probably trying to find a way to make it rhyme.

  ‘It has been suggested, Leath tiarna,’ she said after a long silence, ‘that your brother, the lost twin of the Undivided, is truly lost and can never be returned to us.’

  ‘Suggested by whom?’ Darragh asked. He was tempted to look directly at Marcroy, but that would be revealing too much of what he was thinking.

  Farawyl didn’t like having to explain herself. Not even to one of the Undivided. ‘That is not really the point, Leath tiarna.’

  ‘Am I not permitted to face my accusers?’

  ‘You are not being accused, my lord. It is merely a suggestion. At this stage.’

  Darragh glanced around the circle. It was hard to tell which Druid was which under their animal masks. ‘And at what point does the stage change, my lady?’ he asked. ‘You’re hardly suggesting I be removed. There are no heirs to take the place of my brother and I. He may not be here, but you cannot deny he lives, or the magic would not flow and I would be dead.’

  Farawyl paused, took a deep breath, and gestured toward the Celtic queen. ‘Our guest, Queen Álmhath, has some news in that regard, which she wishes to share with us.’

  For the first time, Darragh felt unsure of himself. The real reason for the queen’s visit with Marcroy would now be revealed. But why had she chosen the Council of Druids to reveal it? He glanced at the queen and then fixed his eyes on Marcroy. It was Marcroy and not the queen pulling the strings in this particular puppet show. ‘Is her majesty planning to take on the role of the Undivided herself?’

  Álmhath stepped forward and raised her chin, the better to be heard. ‘I bring you tidings of great joy, princes of the Druid,’ she began loudly, holding her arms out wide. ‘Like you, our people have grieved the lost twin of the Undivided these past fifteen years. I am happy to reveal that the pain his absence has caused us will soon be a thing of the past.’

  Darragh fought to keep his expression neutral. They’ve found Rónán, his mind was screaming. How? This Council was organised days ago. How could she know Rónán is back? How does Marcroy know he’s back? How would he have known Rónán would be back in time for this?

  Darragh fixed his gaze on the queen and spoke as calmly as he could manage. ‘Your words fill me with anticipation, an Bhantiarna. Are you telling me you have found my brother?’

  Álmhath smiled at him, shaking her head. ‘Alas, no, Leath tiarna. I wish I brought such happy tidings for you.’ She looked up and addressed the rest of the Druids. ‘I do, however, have happy tidings for the rest of us. We no longer need to find the lost twin. The Faerie have found new heirs!’

  Darragh’s relief that Rónán’s return remained a secret was so intense that, for a moment, he didn’t fully appreciate the ramifications of Álmhath’s announcement.

  ‘Not wishing to burden you with false hope,’ the queen continued, ‘Lord Tarth did not bring this news to me until he was certain these are the heirs we’ve all been searching for. Lord Marcroy has examined the twins and confirmed they are, indeed, psychically linked and capable of fulfilling our part of the Treaty of Tír Na nÓg.’

  This was the last thing they were expecting. It was the last thing Darragh was expecting, too. Why hadn’t he seen this coming? His dreams were filled with dark images of murdered babies and an argument with his brother. While disturbing, the visions had sustained him, because they meant that one day Rónán would come home. They might fall out over those unnamed baby girls in the future, but it didn’t matter, so long as Rónán was found.

  But he had had no warning of this particular revelation, and it rattled him to the core.

  ‘What can you tell us about these precious heirs, an Bhantiarna?’ he asked, trying to figure out how this was going to change his own plans. ‘Where are they? When can we meet them? When can they be brought to Sí an Bhrú?’

  ‘Their names are Broc and Cairbré,’ Álmhath said. ‘They are currently under Lord Tarth’s protection at Tír Na nÓg, and will remain there until arrangements have been made to brand them.’

  ‘Where did you find them?’ a voice from the circle called out.

  ‘They hail from a remote village in southern Limerick.’

  ‘When were they born?’ another Druid wanted to know.

  ‘They are seven years old.’

  That news sent another buzz of concern through the ranks of the gathered Druids.

  ‘How is it these boys remained undetected until now?’ Farawyl asked the queen, her voice full of concern. The Matrarchaí were supposed to check every set of twins born in the realm to find the next Undivided. It was hard to believe there were seven-year-old twins anywhere that had slipped past them.

  ‘They came from a small, insular community, and their mother was unable or unwilling to name the father,’ Álmhath explained. ‘Their grandfather kept them hidden, in the hopes of making a marriage alliance with a neighbouring farmer, by convincing him his daughter was pure.’ She glanced at Marcroy, who nodded in agreement.

  Darragh didn’t doubt the story for a moment. Nor did he doubt Álmhath was speaking the truth about having found new heirs. There was no way to fake something like that. But why hadn’t she mentioned they were girls?

  ‘And when do you propose to bring these remarkable children to Sí an Bhrú?’ he asked. This unexpected turn of events was going to change everything for him and Rónán.

  Álmhath glanced at Marcroy before she answered. ‘It has been suggested that Lughnasadh would be an appropriate time to transfer the power.’

  ‘The Autumn equinox?’ Darragh asked. A month was plenty of time to figure out what to do. And then he realised what she’d said. ‘Wait … did you say, transfer the power?’ he asked incredulously. It was one thing to brand new heirs in anticipation of them one day assuming the role of the Undivided. But it was quite another to transfer the power while the current Undivided were alive and well.

  Álmhath turned to Farawyl, who nodded slowly. ‘The queen of the Celts is right. We must consider what action we can take, within the confines of the treaty, to restore the power of the Undivided.’

  ‘I wasn’t aware the power of the Undivided was compromised,’ Darragh shot back.

  Farawyl’s lips narrowed. She was unused to people talking back, and certainly not in front of the full Council.

  ‘Clearly, wherever he is, your brother lives, Leath tiarna,’ she conceded. ‘Even you have acknowledged it is unlikely he will ever be found. Surely your Sight would have told you otherwise, if that were not the case?’

  ‘I have never said anything of the kind.’

  ‘You gave up your brother’s place at table,’ Farawyl reminded him.

  ‘I have not given up hope, however,’ Darragh said. ‘Nor have I shared my visions, so there is nobody present who can say whether they are reliable or not.’ Darragh was in no mood to get inv
olved in a discussion about the reliability of his Sight. Besides, he had a more immediate problem. He held up his tattooed palm for all of them to see. ‘I survived receiving the power, an investiture I shared with my missing brother. I’ll not survive having it taken away. And wherever he is, neither will he.’

  ‘That is the nature of the treaty, Leath tiarna,’ Farawyl agreed, clasping her hands together in the sleeves of her robe. ‘Your predecessors, LonHarian, surrendered their power willingly for the good of their people.’

  ‘LonHarian were grown men with full lives behind them. I’m in excellent health. You are passing a death sentence on me and my brother if you transfer the power now,’ Darragh said. ‘What is the point of shoving me aside to invest the power in a couple of seven-year-olds?’ He glanced around the circle, wishing he could read the faces behind the masks. ‘Is that what you want? Another ten years of Regency? Do you not recall how the last one turned out?’

  Should I tell them Rónán is back? he wondered as he waited for someone to answer. Could I end this now, by telling them the Undivided have been restored?

  But the announcement of these new heirs had blindsided him. For the first time, Darragh was uncertain about his future. He’d seen his brother in his visions, but there had been no hint in that future of the one confronting him now.

  Was his vision flawed? What did he know of his brother, anyway? He’d met Rónán for a few hours, he didn’t know him yet. There hadn’t been time to perform the Comhroinn, and to complete it. He needed his brother’s total trust and co-operation and he didn’t even know if Rónán would agree to stay in this realm.

  ‘I suggest we decide what to do once we’ve seen these boys,’ a voice called out from somewhere behind Darragh. ‘Lughnasadh is not that far away. We can decide then whether to make the transfer or whether we need to give the young lads time to adjust.’

  A general murmur of agreement rippled around the circle. Darragh remained silent about his brother. He needed time to figure this out. He needed time to look into his future.

  Perhaps he was destined to die a month from now and his recurring dream hadn’t been a vision, but simply … a dream.

  ‘Aye,’ another voice called out. ‘We are missing one of the Undivided, but we’ve been missing him for the past fifteen years. Another month won’t matter, one way or another.’

  That comment was also met with a general murmur of agreement. Farawyl nodded and turned to Álmhath. ‘Then it is decided, an Bhantiarna.’ She turned to Marcroy and added, ‘Will you bring them to us for the Lughnasadh and inform your queen that we have new heirs to be invested?’

  ‘A duty I will perform on her behalf with great pleasure,’ Marcroy said, looking pointedly at Darragh. There seemed to be some sort of silent warning in the look, but then Marcroy looked away, as if something had distracted him, leaving Darragh to face the high priestess.

  ‘Then we are done,’ she announced. ‘Danú has spoken. May the blessings of Danú and her kin stay with you in your endeavours. We thank the powers of the sun.’

  ‘We thank the powers of the sun,’ the Druids echoed.

  ‘We thank the powers of the moon.’

  ‘We thank the powers of the moon …’

  And on it went, as Darragh stood in the centre of the circle in the hot sun, Farawyl droning on, counting the moments until he could get back to Breaga and speak to Rónán.

  Hopefully, his brother would be ready to embrace his destiny.

  If he wasn’t, then they were both as good as dead.

  CHAPTER 41

  As the high priestess began the long ceremony to wind up the Council of Druids, Marcroy watched Darragh. He felt a moment’s pity for the lad. It was clear Darragh hadn’t seen this coming. Interesting. The lad had the gift of Sight, which was one of the first things they looked for in a twin, when one was seeking a new set of heirs. And yet the young man looked stunned when Álmhath announced they’d found Broc and Cairbré. Clearly, Darragh had not had any hint that his future was about to be cut short.

  Their eyes met for a moment as Marcroy tried to decide if Darragh’s Sight had failed him, or if the young man had seen a future that extended beyond Lughnasadh. If he had, then perhaps the fault lay with Marcroy’s plans and not Darragh’s prescient abilities. Marcroy would have to discuss this possibility with Jamaspa when he returned, pleased beyond words he’d thought to give Brydie the brooch inhabited by the djinni. Jamaspa would have some interesting tales to tell about Darragh, Marcroy thought, having spent so long in the young man’s chamber while he romanced Álmhath’s court maiden.

  ‘Psssst!’

  Marcroy realised someone was hailing him, and looked down to find Plunkett O’Bannon crouched on the hem of his cloak. Marcroy glanced around, but the Druids, the Celtic queen and her son were engrossed in the closing ceremony.

  ‘By Danú, you’d better have a good reason for seeking me out here,’ Marcroy hissed, lifting his foot and bringing it down sharply so the Leipreachán was pinned by his neck to the stone paving of the Druid circle.

  The little man nodded, his eyes wide with fear.

  Marcroy cursed softly, and turned his attention back to the Council. He wasn’t pleased by the outcome. Doing nothing until Lughnasadh was not what Marcroy had hoped for, and it was not enough to hold Jamaspa and the Brethren at bay. They wanted Darragh — and, by default, his missing brother in the other realm — disposed of as soon as possible.

  Still, the Autumn equinox wasn’t that far away. They could wait, he supposed, until then.

  The ceremony was likely to go on for some time yet. Marcroy took the opportunity to drop his kerchief and then squat down in the pretence of retrieving it — his foot still on Plunkett’s throat — to look the little Leipreachán in the eye.

  ‘If you’re back here in this realm,’ he whispered, ‘I can assume your companion returned with you safely?’

  Plunkett nodded silently.

  ‘Your mission is accomplished?’

  Plunkett squirmed uncomfortably, his face turning an interesting and not unpleasant shade of blue. The Leipreachán managed a strangled reply: ‘Of course, tiarna.’

  ‘Then why are you here?’ Marcroy hissed. He straightened, stepping a little harder on the Leipreachán’s throat. He looked around. The Druids were still giving thanks for everything from last night’s dinner to the very air they breathed. Only Torcán seemed to notice the Leipreachán under Marcroy’s boot, and he found it amusing, rather than cause for concern. At a nudge from his mother, he turned back to repeating the prayers Farawyl was reciting.

  Marcroy glanced down at Plunkett then joined in the prayers, ensuring all the deities were thanked. When the thanks were done, the circle full of Druids, led by Darragh, filed out of the stone circle and headed down the grassy slope toward the huge quartz-covered Ráith with its turf-covered roof that was Sí an Bhrú.

  Marcroy waited until he was alone with his minion. He bent down, grabbed Plunkett by the throat and picked him up, holding the wriggling creature at arm’s length. ‘Why are you here bothering me, Plunkett? Is it because you failed me, and you wish to confess your ineptitude in the hopes of clemency?’

  ‘No, no!’ Plunkett gasped. ‘We did exactly what ye asked! I swear we did! We put him in a place he canna ever escape from, tiarna, I promise ye!’

  There was an edge of panic in the Leipreachán’s voice that worried Marcroy. This was not the report of an underling proud of what he had achieved. This was the panicked whining of failure and repentance. ‘What happened?’ he demanded.

  ‘I did what ye said,’ Plunkett was desperate to point out. ‘Exactly as ye asked. We found him. It took months, but we found him. And I came up with a plan. I found a way for the mongrel to put the lad away and, when we got back, I went straight back home to Breaga. Just like ye ordered me to.’

  ‘Then what’s the problem?’ The irritating creature wasn’t sweating undiluted fear because he’d done exactly as ordered. Something had gone wrong and Ma
rcroy was in no mood for a drawn-out narrative.

  ‘Ye told me to report anythin’ unusual, once I be home.’

  ‘And …’ Marcroy prompted.

  ‘I saw him. In Breaga.’

  ‘Saw who?’

  ‘Darragh,’ Plunkett said. ‘I saw him meeting with Ciarán and Sorcha. They be meeting in a shepherd’s hut outside the village. I figured that was unusual enough that ye need to know about.’

  Marcroy frowned. What was Sorcha doing in Breaga? She was a complication he didn’t need. For that matter, what business did Ciarán have in the remote coastal town? Or Darragh? ‘When did you see them?’

  ‘No more’n a few hours ago.’

  Marcroy shook the Leipreachán. Hard. ‘That’s not possible. Darragh is here.’

  ‘I swear, tiarna, it’s as true as me hangin’ here,’ Plunkett insisted.

  Marcroy wanted to disbelieve him. But he knew Plunkett well enough to know that only fear of his master’s wrath, should this sighting not be reported, would bring Plunkett O’Bannon willingly within Marcroy’s reach now his debt was paid.

  Had Darragh sneaked out? Was that why the boy seemed so smug at the start of the Council? He had supposedly spent the last few nights with Brydie.

  ‘Breaga, you say?’ Marcroy asked. It was an insignificant little coastal hamlet. What were two powerful warriors doing there, meeting with Darragh?

  Plunkett nodded.

  Marcroy eased his hold around the Leipreachán’s neck. ‘Show me,’ he said. ‘Show me what you saw in Breaga.’

  CHAPTER 42

  Trása’s summons to visit her uncle, Marcroy Tarth, arrived via Leipreachán. Although he could have called her using any one of the numerous shallow pools that collected moisture among the branches, he sent Plunkett O’Bannon, that irritating little sídhe Trása had been so glad to see the end of when she returned to her own reality.

  The Leipreachán appeared on the wide branch outside her mother’s dwelling, and began knocking with his shillelagh. Trása emerged, poking her head out to see what the racket was about. She’d thought it might be Éamonn, her mother’s pet artist, who was prone to artistic tantrums when he feared his inspiration was fading.