The Undivided

by Jennifer Fallon; Jennifer Fallon

  ‘The magic still works,’ Sorcha assured him.

  ‘Are you sure?’

  She nodded. ‘Were you not harmed by airgead sídhe any number of times in this realm, even with the rift closed?’

  ‘I guess,’ he said, frowning, a little worried now that they would try calling up the other reality, only to find they were stuck here forever. Ren might not have minded, under normal circumstances, but now the cops were after him, and staying here in this reality wasn’t likely to be much fun if they found him.

  Trása and Darragh appeared in the entrance of the antique shop. Darragh was carrying a plastic supermarket bag with a Superquinn logo that had obviously been recycled by the store’s owner.

  ‘Finally!’ Ren exclaimed.

  He gunned the engine to life as Trása and Darragh got into the car, pulling away from the kerb before Trása had fully closed the back door.

  Ren glanced at the bag in Darragh’s lap. ‘Did you get what you needed?’

  ‘I hope so.’

  ‘Now we need rainwater and somewhere private,’ Trása said, buckling up her seatbelt.

  ‘Why?’ Sorcha asked.

  ‘The scrying bowl won’t work otherwise,’ she said.

  Sorcha scoffed. ‘Why should we believe anything you tell us, Beansídhe?’

  ‘I don’t think she’s lying, Sorcha,’ Ren said. He remembered the first time he’d seen Trása on Jack’s terrace, astride the marble garden seat, stark naked and talking into a bowl.

  ‘I’m not lying,’ Trása said, giving him a grateful look. ‘It’s something to do with the chemicals that permeate everything in this world. I was here for nearly six months. It took me four of them to find a way to contact home, and I only managed it then because —’ She abruptly stopped talking.

  ‘Because why?’ Ren asked.

  Trása was biting her bottom lip, as if she was afraid. She hesitated and then let out a heavy sigh. ‘I had a triskalion pendant with me. I brought it from our realm. It had enough magic in it to enable me to link with home.’

  ‘And, of course, you don’t have one with you now,’ Sorcha said, glaring at her.

  ‘I flew here,’ Trása reminded the warrior. ‘Remember?’

  ‘So we can’t phone home and get them to open the door? Is that what you’re saying?’ Ren asked.

  ‘Not without a triskalion,’ Trása said, folding her arms and slumping into her seat.

  ‘Okay. No problem. You can buy Celtic jewellery everywhere around here,’ Ren pointed out. ‘The souvenir shops are full of it.’

  ‘It would have to be a triskalion infused with trace magic from our realm,’ Darragh said, frowning.

  ‘How did Brógán and Niamh contact you then?’ Ren asked, wracking his brain for a solution. ‘They must have had a way of calling home to let you know they’d found me?’

  Darragh shook his head. ‘We set a schedule of openings,’ he said. ‘Every full moon for the better part of a year, Ciarán took a fishing boat out from Breaga with a stone circle concealed in the hold, opened the rift and waited.’

  Ren almost missed a red light. He slammed the brakes on, wishing someone had mentioned this before they left the other reality. He glanced at the clock on the dash. It was almost five and the traffic was bumper to bumper again.

  At this rate, they’d never get to Hayley. Every time Ren thought of her, blinded and alone, his heart lurched, mostly with guilt. He couldn’t shake the belief it was his fault she’d been injured. Murray Symes might have run her down, but the only reason she’d been trying to cross the road was because he was on the other side of it. With Trása. The half-Beansídhe who had been sent here to keep him from his true reality by framing him for murder.

  There was so much traffic at the intersection, there was no point moving forward. Filled with frustration, he slammed his open palms onto the Audi’s steering wheel. It hurt more than he expected it to. He glanced down at his stinging palms for a moment then held up his left hand.

  ‘Is this triskalion still infused with trace magic from your realm?’

  Darragh stared at Ren’s tattoo and then opened his own hand. He nodded slowly. ‘It might be. Our link survived crossing the rift. There might be enough there … perhaps if we both —’

  ‘You’ll have to do it naked,’ Trása cut in.

  ‘What?’ Ren asked, turning to stare at her.

  ‘You’ll have to take your clothes off,’ she said. ‘There’re too many artificial fibres in the clothes of this realm. They interfere with the link. The light’s green.’

  Ren discovered Trása was correct. He eased the car forward and glanced at Darragh. ‘Is she right?’

  He shrugged. ‘Probably.’

  ‘Great,’ Ren sighed. ‘We’d better find somewhere secluded, then. They have laws in this reality, about getting your kit off in public.’

  ‘The more trees the better, too,’ Trása added from the back seat.

  ‘Of course,’ Ren said, rolling his eyes. Why was nothing ever easy? What’s the point of magic, if it’s going to be so frigging complicated? ‘Anything else?’

  ‘No,’ Trása said, either ignoring his tone or not getting it. ‘That should do it.’

  Ren looked at the clock again. It was 5:13. He figured they had until about eight o’clock before they could no longer just walk into St Christopher’s Visual Rehabilitation Centre pretending to be visitors. After that, they’d either have to break in to the facility or abandon their rescue attempt until tomorrow.

  The trouble was, any minute now, Warren would arrive home. Whatever happened between him and his wife, whatever she believed or didn’t believe about his wild tale, the fact was, his car was missing.

  One way or another, at some point in the next few hours, the Audi they were driving was probably going to be reported stolen.

  CHAPTER 58

  ‘You speak nonsense, Marcroy Tarth.’

  Marcroy was losing patience with Ciarán. His tiresome insistence on interjecting every time Marcroy drew breath was starting to irk the sídhe lord.

  ‘It’s only nonsense because you don’t like what I’m telling you,’ Marcroy said, standing over the prone warrior, still bound to the floor by magic.

  ‘Every word you utter is a lie!’ Brógán said, no doubt in an attempt to appear defiant. The young Druid healer had been much more forthcoming when Ciarán was unconscious.

  Marcroy was tempted to send Ciarán back into unconsciousness now, except it might be useful to have him hear what Marcroy was about to reveal. It might even make an ally of him.

  After all, Marcroy had once managed to turn the Vate of All Eire into a spy. Ciarán mac Connacht was hardly even a challenge after that feat.

  ‘Despite the self-serving deathbed confession Amergin made, it was Amergin himself who chose where to send Rónán,’ Marcroy said, ignoring Brógán’s protests. It wasn’t strictly the truth, of course, but it was close enough to fit with what these Druids knew to be true. ‘And to where does one abandon a child one is sworn to protect, without breaking one’s oath?’

  The two Druids didn’t answer immediately. Marcroy wasn’t sure if it was because they could not work out what he was telling them, or whether they were too appalled by it.

  Eventually, Brógán spoke up. He shook his head in wonder. ‘Amergin sent the child to the other realm’s version of himself.’

  ‘Don’t listen to him, Brógán,’ Ciarán insisted. ‘What he says is not possible. There is no magic in the world where they sent Rónán. You know that. You’ve been there.’

  ‘Of course there is no magic,’ Marcroy agreed. ‘But the Druid line Amergin was descended from remains true. Amergin sent Rónán to the man he would have been, had the treaty of Tír Na nÓg never been forged. His eileféin in the other realm.’

  ‘Patrick Boyle,’ Brógán said.

  Marcroy turned to Brógán. ‘Is that his name? Patrick Boyle?’

  ‘It’s the name of the man who rescued Rónán from the loch.’ Brógán w
as starting to accept the possibility even in the face of Ciarán’s objections. Marcroy supposed it was inevitable that Brógán be the one to see the connection first. After all, he’d spent months in the other realm tracking Rónán down, and every waking moment with the boy in this realm since their return.

  ‘You actually met Rónán’s father in the other realm?’

  Brógán shook his head. ‘No. And he wasn’t Rónán’s father, as such. But he was certainly around while he was growing up. I believe he married the housekeeper employed by Rónán’s adopted mother.’

  Marcroy nodded. It made perfect sense. ‘Keeping an eye on the child he was sworn to protect with no understanding of why he felt compelled to do so,’ he said. ‘So you see the danger. If Rónán tries to bring this Boyle character back to this realm —’

  ‘Amergin is dead,’ Ciarán pointed out from the floor. ‘It makes no difference now.’

  ‘But that would make Hayley Boyle the alternate reality version of Trása,’ Brógán added thoughtfully, following his own train of thought.

  That news caught Marcroy completely off guard. ‘He has a daughter?’

  ‘It’s why they’ve gone back,’ Brógán said absently. ‘She was injured and Rónán wanted to help her. But she can only be healed magically by bringing her back here and —’ Brógán abruptly shut his mouth.

  Marcroy was flabbergasted.

  ‘That’s why the Undivided have gone rift running? To bring back Trása Ni’Amergin’s eileféin?’

  ‘Do not say another word, you fool,’ Ciarán ordered, with a remarkable amount of authority despite being bound and helpless on the floor. ‘You’ve said too much already.’

  Marcroy was too entranced by the idea of Trása’s eileféin to bother chastising the warrior. What was she like, this human version of his niece? Did they look alike? Was her mother of sídhe stock like Elimyer, or was she the result of some random coupling that rendered any latent power she might possess completely useless?

  And what would happen when they brought her back here?

  In a heartbeat, Marcroy’s plans had again changed. This unexpected bonus, brought on by the foolishness of two boys with an overdeveloped sense of chivalry, was a gift from Danú herself.

  Everything he’d done he could now explain to the Brethren. The Undivided would break the treaty themselves, and the sídhe would be free of its obligations. He couldn’t hide his smile. ‘By the goddess, do they not realise what they’ve risked by doing this?’

  From the look on Brógán’s face, it was clear he was starting to work it out. It was bad enough both boys had left this realm at the same time — worse that they were the Undivided and specifically forbidden to leave. Although the effects would not be immediately felt, if they stayed away too long their loss would eventually begin to tell on every Druid who needed the Undivided to draw down the sídhe magic. But it was even worse than that. Rift running was dangerous at the best of times, which is why the jewels that made it possible to open a dimensional rift — as opposed to opening a veil to travel between locations in the same realm — were so carefully controlled.

  To knowingly bring back someone’s eileféin …

  That wasn’t just foolish, it was criminal; a breach of Tuatha law that defied belief. That in itself was enough to breach the Treaty of Tír Na nÓg.

  Marcroy turned on Ciarán. ‘You permitted this?’ he asked. ‘Worse, you actively encouraged it by opening the rift for them?’

  ‘No law has been broken,’ Ciarán said. Interesting that he had stopped accusing Marcroy of lying.

  ‘Not yet,’ Marcroy said. ‘But the moment those boys step through the rift with both Trása and this girl … what did you say her name was?’

  ‘Hayley Boyle.’

  ‘Hayley Boyle,’ Marcroy repeated, savouring the taste of his victory. ‘The moment she sets foot in this realm, the treaty is broken.’

  ‘There is nothing in the treaty about the Undivided going rift running,’ Ciarán reminded him.

  ‘I’ll grant you that, but the clause regarding human respect for Tuatha law is very specific,’ he said. ‘You know this, Ciarán, better than most. You’ve been gifted with the power to open rifts into other realms. Do you not remember the responsibilities that go with that power? The oath you swore when it was given to you?’

  Ciarán couldn’t meet his eye, which was encouraging. ‘I remember.’

  ‘And yet here you stand … or rather … lie,’ Marcroy said, ‘complicit in the very act that will destroy the Treaty of Tír Na nÓg and the Druids along with it.’

  Brógán stared at Ciarán in alarm. ‘Is that true? Have we broken the treaty?’

  ‘Of course not,’ Ciarán said, but he sounded less certain than he had a moment ago. ‘There is no Tuatha law that prevents both the Undivided leaving this realm. It’s a Druid law, and unlike the laws of the Daoine sídhe, we can break those as often as we please without fatally incurring the wrath of our queen. As for this girl … there’s no guarantee they’ll even find her. Or that they’ll bring her back. And even if they do, you heard the Leipreachán. Trása flew through the rift into the other realm in bird form. Assuming she even survived the crossing, she would have to come back to this realm with Rónán and Darragh and the other girl for the eileféin law to be breached.’ Ciarán looked up at Marcroy, his eyes furious. ‘It’ll take more than you twisting the facts to bring down the Druids, Tarth.’

  ‘Bring down the Druids?’ Marcroy gasped, his hand on his heart, offended by the very suggestion. ‘Bring down the Druids? Can you not see, my old friend? I’m doing my utmost here to preserve them, something you’re sworn to do too, are you not? I’m trying to save these foolish boys from themselves, not destroy them. Or your silly little order of Druids.’ He turned to Brógán. ‘You understand I’m trying to help, don’t you?’

  ‘If you’re trying to help, why did you capture us the way you did? Why torture Ciarán? Why not just come to us and explain?’

  Ah, Marcroy thought. He has a point there.

  ‘Because there is no other way to make you listen,’ he said, hoping the young man was too befuddled to notice the flaw in his logic. ‘You know what Ciarán is like. I had no choice but to restrain him. He’d run me through if I ever got close enough and you weren’t going to talk to me because he’d poisoned your opinion of me before we’d even met. How else was I meant to warn you of the danger in which these foolish boys have placed your entire order in?’

  Brógán shook his head. Ciarán wasn’t helping much, either. Perhaps it was time to kill him.

  For a moment, Marcroy pondered the ramifications of killing a Druid lord as powerful and well connected as Ciarán mac Connacht. The Treaty of Tír Na nÓg wasn’t clear on that point. Although killing using magic was strictly forbidden, it wasn’t exactly forbidden to kill a Druid using mundane means — or for a Druid to kill one of the Tuatha for that matter. Those who had drafted the original treaty had been wise enough not to fill it with conditions that could not easily be kept, so the past deaths had never actually caused a treaty breach.

  Orlagh — when she bothered to take notice of what was happening outside the sídhe kingdom — claimed it was because practical women and not men had written the agreement. Orlagh and Boadicea had hammered out the terms in plenty of time to defeat the Romans, while Claudius was gathering his forces in Gaul. By the time he arrived in Albion, ready to take the islands, Boadicea had an army of gifted Druids at her back. A good thing, too, Marcroy thought. In other realms, where Boadicea ignored or refused an alliance with the Tuatha — so Marcroy had heard from half-human rift runners who had visited other worlds — things had gone rather badly for her and rather much better for the Romans.

  Before Marcroy could make up his mind whether Ciarán mac Connacht would live or die, Brógán suddenly sat straighter in his chair, and his eyes rolled back in his head.

  Recognising what it meant, Marcroy hurried over to the young Druid and squatted down to listen.
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br />   ‘They’re trying to contact you from the other realm, aren’t they?’

  Brógán shook his head, but there was no denying it.

  ‘Warn them!’ Ciarán called out from the floor. ‘Warn RónánDarragh they’ll be coming home to a trap!’

  Marcroy waved his hand in Ciarán’s direction, extending his bonds to cover his mouth, and turned his attention to Brógán.

  ‘Ignore Ciarán,’ he said, as Brógán fought the magical link. He needed water to make it complete, but that was easily fixed. It was raining outside. Marcroy just needed to be sure Brógán told whoever was trying to contact him only what Marcroy wanted them to know.

  ‘It’s a trap!’ was high on the list of things he’d prefer Brógán keep to himself.

  ‘Your duty is to make sure RónánDarragh are returned to this realm in safety,’ Marcroy said carefully.

  Brógán nodded, straining against his bonds.

  ‘If you alarm them,’ said Marcroy, ‘that won’t happen, you understand that, don’t you?’

  The young Druid nodded again, his eyes desperate.

  ‘Then I’m going to let you go outside and find some clear water, and you’re going to speak to whoever is seeking to contact you from the other realm. You will assure them everything is fine here, then find out when and where they want Ciarán to open the rift, and nothing more.’

  Brógán glanced at Ciarán, but the warrior couldn’t move at all.

  Marcroy moved, blocking Brógán’s view of the Druid lord. ‘If you don’t, my brave young friend, I will kill Lord mac Connacht, and then you. Then the Undivided will never come home.’

  Ciarán would know that preventing a rift runner from coming home violated the treaty so comprehensively that Marcroy could never carry out such a threat, but Brógán still had much to learn.

  Brógán nodded, and Marcroy released his magical bonds. He offered Brógán a hand to steady him, satisfied that the Undivided would have no inkling of what waited for them on their return from the other world.