The Undivided

by Jennifer Fallon; Jennifer Fallon

  Brógán was sweating, despite the chill in the air. ‘When the Council sees what you’ve done to Ciarán …’

  ‘Sees what?’ Marcroy asked, looking down at the unmoving warrior. Where is that wretched Leipreachán with the water? ‘We’ll heal him up and he’ll be as good as new, as soon as we’re finished here. Unless …’ He let the sentence hang, and turned to look at Brógán. ‘Well, if he dies because you won’t talk, the Druids will be able to draw their own conclusions when they see his body.’

  ‘They’ll know Ciarán was murdered.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘I’ll make sure they know who is responsible.’

  ‘You most certainly will not,’ Marcroy told him, marvelling at the young Druid’s naïveté. ‘If Ciarán dies, my lad, you’ll die with him. Or perhaps not,’ he said, changing his mind as a better plan came to him. ‘Perhaps I’ll just send you to Tír Na nÓg. And let it be known among the Druids that you’re enjoying the full delights of my magical homeland. I’ll arrange for you to have your very own Daoine sídhe lover. Trása’s mother is particularly fond of young Druids …’ He smiled sympathetically. ‘The conclusion the Council will draw from that news will be that Ciarán was betrayed by one of his own. Good thing being trapped in Tír Na nÓg will mean a time shift for you, isn’t it? Perhaps, by the time you convince somebody in my land to show you the way out, everyone in this land will have forgotten your treachery.’

  Brógán shook his head. ‘Nobody will believe a Druid would betray his own kind.’

  ‘Ah, what delightfully short memories humans have. Has the name Amergin already faded from your thoughts?’

  The young man looked away, unable to meet Marcroy’s eye. ‘Of course not.’

  ‘So, the Council will believe you betrayed Ciarán.’ He turned his back on the young man, adding, ‘In fact, by now they’re probably expecting it. Hardly surprising, I suppose, that the Undivided — the supposed pinnacle of Druid wisdom and prudence — have gone whoring around another realm for a bit of a lark.’

  ‘They’re not whoring around another realm!’ Brógán objected before he could stop himself.

  ‘Then enlighten me, young Brógán,’ Marcroy said, still with his back to the bound Druid. ‘What are they doing there, if not having a lark? Refining their magical skills? I doubt it, given they’ve jumped to a world without magic. Or perhaps they’ve gone there to fetch technology. Is that it? Are the Undivided now so corrupted by the one-half of them raised in a world filled with poisonous technology, that they have gone to that world to bring back the tools to destroy us?’ Marcroy didn’t really believe that, but as he was saying it, it occurred to him the argument would sound very compelling when he delivered it at the Lughnasadh Council.

  In fact, with this foolish act, the Undivided had handed him the very weapon he needed to remove them. With the return of Rónán, his plan to remove them had seemed doomed, but now there was real hope.

  Even if Darragh returned with Rónán in time for the Lughnasadh, all Marcroy had to do was reveal where they’d been. He was quite certain, in light of such news, the idea of transferring the power to the new heirs, even with the Undivided alive and well — and restored — would seem prudent, rather than premature.

  Before Brógán could answer his question, however, the Leipreachán returned with a pitcher of water, which he unceremoniously tossed over Ciarán. The warrior groaned, but didn’t regain consciousness as the water pooled on the dirt floor around his head.

  Marcroy didn’t mind. He could have healed the warrior and restored him completely. Even Brógán, had Marcroy left him unbound, had the power to undo all the damage done to Ciarán thus far. That was part of what made this method of extracting information so effective. It wasn’t that Brógán couldn’t stop what was happening to Ciarán. It was knowing he could ease the warrior’s pain, heal his wounds, take away the hurt … if only he were free.

  Or if he betrayed the Undivided.

  One option was in front of him, visibly suffering. The other in another reality with no guarantee — Marcroy had been at pains to point out — they might ever return.

  It had never occurred to Marcroy to do the reverse — torture Brógán to make Ciarán talk. The warrior Druid would have stood there and watched him pull Brógán apart, limb from limb, and not offered so much as a comment on the weather, if that comment meant betraying the Undivided.

  Having observed Ciarán’s fanatical devotion to the boys since they were babies, Marcroy often wondered if it was Ciarán himself who’d fathered them. It wasn’t an unreasonable assumption. The boys were conceived during a Druid festival, after all, in which both the warrior and their mother would have taken part. Even Marcroy had been there, tasting the pleasures of human flesh, masked and anonymous as any Druid. If Ciarán wasn’t their father, he might well believe he was, which would have the same effect and could account for his loyalty to them. Whatever the reason, Marcroy knew there was no point trying to torture Ciarán.

  ‘Ye may have to wake him up the hard way,’ Plunkett remarked, frowning at the lack of response his pitcher of water had evoked from the Druid warrior.

  ‘Perhaps you should nip outside and see if the sun has fallen from the sky and been replaced by a pudding,’ Marcroy said.

  ‘Eh?’ Plunkett responded with a puzzled look.

  ‘That’s probably the only circumstance under which I’m likely to take the advice of lesser sídhe, Plunkett. I just thought it would be useful to know if we’re there yet.’

  Plunkett’s shoulders slumped as he mumbled an apology.

  ‘I should think so,’ Marcroy said. ‘Now leave us. Brógán and I have much to discuss.’

  Plunkett didn’t need to be asked twice. He blinked out of sight, the clay pitcher shattering into several pieces as it fell from his vanished hand. Marcroy turned back to Brógán and took the stool opposite him, pulling it closer so he could look the young Druid in the eye. ‘Do you know the danger, my hopeless young friend, that you court by protecting RónánDarragh?’

  ‘I’m not afraid of anything you do to me,’ Brógán announced. It was so obviously a lie that Marcroy couldn’t imagine why he bothered to waste his breath.

  ‘I’m not speaking of physical discomfort. Clearly, you’re not going to succumb to anything so crass.’ Marcroy let the compliment sink in. ‘I speak of the danger to our whole world.’

  ‘What danger?’

  Ah, you puny humans are so easy to lead in a merry dance. ‘Rónán has spent his life in a realm that has no respect for magic. No respect for our traditions. And worse, no understanding of the danger he brings with him into our world.’

  ‘And whose fault is that?’ Brógán asked. ‘You sent him there.’

  ‘And if you’d not interfered, that’s where he would have stayed. Do you not see, my young friend? You all condemn Amergin for his part in the plan to remove the Undivided, but he was a greater patriot than any who has come before. He sacrificed everything because he could see it.’

  Brógán was looking confused. ‘See what?’

  ‘The danger of those boys.’ He held up his hand to stop Brógán interrupting him, even though he was quite sure the Druid hadn’t been going to say a thing. ‘I know. You’re going to tell me there’s been bad Undivided before and you’ve managed just fine. But these boys … Amergin would never admit it, but he thought the boys responsible for the deaths of LonHarian.’

  ‘That’s absurd,’ Brógán said. ‘They died when the boys were not yet three. Lon fell from his horse.’

  ‘Think about that,’ Marcroy said. ‘What are the chances one of the Undivided would break his neck in a riding accident and be without a guardian or a Liaig to aid him? Think about the absurdity of Lon falling from his horse at all. Not only was he a master horseman, he was a Druid. He spoke to the animal directly. It would not have thrown him unless compelled to do so, by forces beyond Lon’s ken. And, when you think about it, who other than a Druid with the power of the Undivided c
ould wield those forces?’

  ‘The Daoine sídhe,’ Ciarán answered from the floor. ‘Don’t listen to his Faerie tales, Brógán. He’s spinning you a yarn made of lies and spider webs.’

  ‘Am I?’ Marcroy asked, looking over his shoulder at Ciarán. The warrior was too injured to do anything other than argue. ‘What would you know, you magically gifted thug? You wield magic with all the finesse with which you wield a sword in battle. Amergin knew the danger these boys represented. He also knew the only way to save the Treaty of Tír Na nÓg, preserve the power of the Druids and their relationship with the Tuatha, was to ensure the unbroken line of the Undivided remained intact. He found a way to do that, and instead of hailing him a hero, you all condemn him for it.’

  ‘He aided you in tossing one of the Undivided through a rift,’ Ciarán reminded him, attempting to sit up — no mean feat with two dislocated shoulders. ‘How is that … helping to preserve the unbroken line of the Undivided?’

  ‘He kept Rónán and Darragh apart,’ Marcroy said. ‘But the magic stayed intact. All you had to do was find the new heirs and transfer the power to them, and everything would have been fine. Darragh and his missing twin would have faded into history as a quirk, soon replaced by heirs who were worthy of the mantle of the Undivided, and not just waiting for an opportunity to destroy everything.’

  Marcroy turned back to Brógán. Arguing with Ciarán was a foolish idea, but if Ciarán was going to be a part of the conversation, Marcroy needed the Druids to hear a few unfortunate truths. Truths were not normally something he would contemplate sharing, but in this case, truth was probably the only thing that would sway either man to his way of thinking.

  ‘You lie, Marcroy,’ Ciarán said, lowering his head back on the muddy floor. He was in too much pain to do anything but lie there. Still, the man’s courage was the stuff of legend. He might eventually find a way through the pain. Marcroy waved a hand over the warrior’s broken body, tying him to the floor with the same invisible bonds he used to secure Brógán to his stool.

  ‘I’ve no need for deception,’ he informed them, rising to his feet. With an audience of two, he needed to be in a position to read both their faces. ‘I wish only to mitigate the damage you two have done by letting the Undivided go rift running.’

  ‘Ignore him, lad,’ Ciarán said. ‘Ignore him and his silver-tongued stories. They’re all lies and trickeries.’

  Brógán nodded, Ciarán’s courage bolstering the lad’s resolve.

  No matter. He turned to Brógán. ‘Tell Ciarán of the technology-ridden reality where you found Rónán of the Undivided, lad,’ Marcroy said.

  Confused, Brógán looked up at him. ‘Tell him what about it, exactly?’

  ‘Nothing,’ Ciarán insisted from the floor, gritting his teeth against the pain. ‘Don’t … listen to him. Tell me nothing.’

  ‘Tell him of the man you found Rónán with,’ Marcroy said, pacing between his two captives. ‘About his father.’

  Brógán was looking very confused. For a moment, Marcroy wondered if he’d been mistaken. Perhaps he should have interrogated Trása a bit more closely about Rónán’s familial arrangements in the other realm before condemning her to avian form. ‘Was the boy not in the company of a dark-haired man of middling height? A man who saved him from drowning as a child, and then raised the boy as his own?’

  The young Druid shook his head. ‘He was adopted by a woman. A famous woman, in her realm …’

  ‘Who was the man?’ Ciarán asked despite himself.

  ‘The only man Amergin trusted in the other realm to take care of Rónán,’ Marcroy told him, squatting down to regard Ciarán’s swollen, battered face. ‘Himself.’

  CHAPTER 57

  ‘She’s an in-patient at St Christopher’s Visual Rehabilitation Centre,’ Jack told them, when he rang later that morning. ‘Room four-three-two.’

  ‘You managed to get her room number?’ Ren was impressed.

  ‘I rang Kerry and told her I wanted to send Hayley some chocolates to cheer her up.’

  ‘And she believed you?’

  ‘Why wouldn’t she?’ There was a pause on the line, before Jack asked, ‘You gonna be okay, lad?’

  ‘Yeah, Jack, I’ll be fine. Thanks for this.’

  ‘Least I can do.’

  ‘That, and taking care of Warren,’ Ren reminded him, glad the Audi’s owner was no longer their problem. Jack had promised to keep him occupied for the next few hours, which hopefully was all they would need to find Hayley and get her back to the stone circle at the Castle Golf Club. Warren had made a few token protests, but Ren suspected it was for show. Since informing Warren that his captivity for the next few hours would be taking place in a massage parlour, he had become remarkably co-operative. He’d left with Jack and they’d not had to spare him a thought since. ‘Is he behaving himself?’

  ‘Taking his punishment like a man,’ Jack chuckled. ‘You toss that cell phone you’re on as soon as you’re in the clear, won’t you?’

  ‘Sure. I owe you one, Jack.’

  ‘Laddie, you owe me more than one. I hope we both live long enough for me to collect some day.’

  Ren ended the call and leaned forward in the driver’s seat, studying the entrance to the small antique shop where Trása and Darragh were currently hunting for a crystal bowl.

  ‘Any sign of them yet?’ asked Sorcha.

  When Darragh told Ren he needed to contact Brógán to let him know when Ciarán should open the rift again, Trása announced they’d only be able to make the call using a scrying bowl. They couldn’t use a plastic bowl, she’d said. It needed to be crystal. Something with a trace of lead in it.

  Worried a shopping centre might have cameras and security, Ren had spied this cluttered little store on the side of the road as they drove past. It was the kind of place likely to have an inexpensive crystal bowl, and they had enough cash left over from Warren’s wallet not to have to use his credit card.

  But they seemed to be taking an inordinately long time.

  ‘What’s taking them so long?’ Sorcha asked.

  ‘Maybe they can’t find the right sort of bowl,’ he suggested.

  ‘Or the half-Beansídhe bitch has run off with the money.’

  Ren looked at Sorcha with a frown.

  ‘She is nothing but trouble, Leath tiarna,’ she said. ‘You would do well to remember that.’

  ‘I haven’t forgotten. She’s the reason I’m wanted by the cops.’

  ‘A plan her monstrous uncle put her up to,’ Sorcha said with complete certainty, and a surprising amount of venom. Sorcha had something of a history with Trása’s ‘monstrous uncle’, Ren guessed.

  ‘That’s Marcroy Tarth, right?’ he asked, rifling through the muddied memories he’d acquired from his brother. ‘What’s his problem?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I mean, why’s he trying to mess with the Undivided?’

  ‘Mess with?’

  ‘This is the guy who chucked me through the rift, right? Isn’t there some sort of treaty you guys have that’s supposed to prevent stuff like that?’

  ‘You speak of the Treaty of Tír Na nÓg,’ Sorcha said. ‘It was drawn up nearly two thousand years ago, to turn back the Roman invasion of Britain. It bestows power on the Druids through you and your brother, but I doubt there’s anything specific in it preventing Marcroy from trying to sunder the Undivided, although I believe there are specific clauses preventing the Tuatha from killing you.’

  ‘What a comfort,’ Ren said, turning to look at her. ‘So the Druids and the Faerie did a deal and kicked Caesar’s arse —’

  ‘Claudius,’ she corrected. ‘Julius Caesar tried and failed to invade Albion years before Claudius sent his army across the Oceanus Britannicus.’

  ‘So how come you needed Faerie help? I thought the Celts were big hairy dudes who could fight like demons.’ Then he added, ‘Not unlike Ciarán, now I come to think of it.’

  Sorcha apparently didn�
��t think that was funny. ‘It’s obvious why we needed help,’ she said. ‘In this realm — without it — the Druids lost.’

  ‘Fair point,’ Ren said, the conversation bringing more and more of Darragh’s knowledge to the fore. ‘So, what happens next? The Romans are coming, you’re all shitting yourselves, and the Tuatha offer to help?’

  ‘The Tuatha were at even more risk than the Druids,’ Sorcha explained. ‘The Romans are fond of innovation and technology. Allowing them to expand their empire would eventually lead to a realm like this — full of machines and empty of magic.’

  ‘They couldn’t have known that.’

  Sorcha looked at Ren oddly. ‘Of course we could know it. You think rift running is a recent thing? The Tuatha have been aware of the consequences of allowing technology to flourish for thousands of years.’

  Ren hadn’t considered that.

  ‘In the Druids,’ Sorcha said, sounding much more like the eighty-five-year-old she was than the young woman she looked like, ‘the Tuatha found a human civilisation that shared many of their beliefs and worshipped the same gods.’

  ‘But the trouble was, humans who could wield sídhe magic weren’t exactly common,’ Ren said. The knowledge was in his mind, once he knew to look for it. ‘And they needed an army of magicians to defeat the Romans. Hence the tattoos.’ He held up his hand to examine the triskalion.

  ‘Psychic twins proved the most susceptible to the magic,’ Sorcha told him, although Ren already knew it. ‘The Undivided are the gateway for the magic. The Druids all have the same triskalion mark tattooed in magically infused ink, usually above their hearts. It enables those who have the … predisposition … to tap into the sídhe magic. The tattoos allow the flow of the magic.’

  ‘So what happens while we’re gone?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I mean Darragh and me are both here in this reality. Does that mean the Druids are screwed until we get back? Actually,’ he added with a frown, ‘if the magic isn’t flowing, can we even get back?’