"No."
The man behind him was so close now that Darragh could feel his warm moist breath on his neck.
"What are you then?" the man named Liam asked, examining Darragh closely for any tattoos that might identify his allegiance. For a fleeting moment, Darragh wished he still had the triskalion tattoo of the Undivided on the palm of his hand. He could have invented his own gang.
"Fresh meat," the big man on the left announced, leering at Darragh with a broken-toothed smile.
Two large hands gripped Darragh by the shoulders as he was jerked backward, almost losing his footing. Liam moved even closer. He could feel the hard-muscled bodies of the inmates pressed against his, had nowhere to go and no way of getting out of this potentially fatal encounter. It was no secret that prisoners were stabbed, beaten or brutalized in some manner on a daily basis here. Darragh knew that if he couldn't find a way out of this in the next few moments, he would become today's statistic.
"What do you say, pretty gyppo boy?" Liam said, so close now they were sharing the same breath. "You gonna be my fresh meat?"
Darragh responded by bringing his knee up sharply into Liam's groin. The man dropped like a sack of wheat. Before the others had time to react, he drove his elbow backward into the solar plexus of the man holding him by the shoulders, ducking as he did so to avoid the punch thrown by the big man with the broken teeth. The punch connected with the man behind who grunted and let him go, doubled over with pain, his nose bloodied. Liam was writhing on the ground clutching his groin, swearing and screaming with pain. The broken-toothed man overbalanced with the force of his punch, but when he righted himself, he came at Darragh again, only this time, clutched in his right hand, was a short-bladed shank.
Darragh had only a split second to recognize the danger before the man was on him, holding the shank high, aiming to slash at his face or perhaps take out an eye. Still off balance himself, he stumbled backward into the arms of another prisoner. The man grabbed him and held him fast. Darragh struggled wildly to get free, but he was trapped. There was no way to avoid being slashed with the wickedly sharp sliver of metal. Everything was happening so quickly. The broken-toothed man lunged at him. Darragh fought against the man holding him, but the man had him in a crushing bear hug, trapping his arms against his body. He could see nothing but the shank coming for him, wondering if that would be the last thing he would ever see ...
And then the shank went flying as another prisoner slammed into the broken-toothed man. Darragh had no idea who his rescuer was or time to thank him. He wriggled his right arm enough to grab a chunk of fleshy thing on the inside leg of the man holding him and twisted savagely. The man let go with a yell. His heart pounding, Darragh staggered clear and looked around. There were a dozen or more men surrounding him now.
Is this how it ends? I'm sorry, Rónán ...
But his tormentors seemed suddenly reluctant to continue the fight as they picked themselves up, which Darragh figured meant the new spectators were a different gang to those who'd singled him out. In the background he could hear the guards running toward them to break up the fight.
The man who'd stopped the broken-toothed man from taking Darragh's eye climbed to his feet, glared at Liam's cohorts and then turned to Darragh.
He almost fainted from shock when he realized who it was who'd come to his rescue.
"Ciarán?"
Before Ciarán could answer, the guards arrived. Everyone stood back as if they were entirely innocent of anything more than standing around chatting about the weather. The shank had miraculously disappeared.
"All right, break it up," they yelled, batons in hand. "Come on ... what's going on here?"
"Donny slipped and fell, Mr Hughes," another man announced. Darragh turned to look at him and realized with shock that it was Jack O'Righin, Rónán's erstwhile friend and neighbor in this realm who was, without a doubt, back behind bars because of his involvement with Darragh and the disappearance of Hayley Boyle.
"Is that a fact?" Hughes said skeptically, as the other guards arrived to stop the fight. There must have been a dozen of them, not quite, but almost, outnumbering the prisoners gathered about. Hughes pointed to Liam, who was still writhing on the ground, tears running down his face. "What happened to that one?"
"Cramp," Jack replied with a perfectly straight face.
Hughes seemed to debate the advisability of calling Jack out in his obvious lie. He glanced at the other guards, none of whom seemed to be in the mood to provoke a confrontation. Then he nodded slowly, pointed to Darragh and asked, "This lad one of yours?"
Jack stared at Darragh thoughtfully for a moment and then nodded. "Aye. I'll keep an eye on him."
"See that you do," the guard said. "I've got plans tonight. If he gets himself killed, we'll have to stay back to fill out the paperwork. You really don't want any of us that pissed at you, O'Righin." The guard turned and found himself face to face with the man whose nose had been bloodied in the fight. "Watch where you're walking next time, bozo," Hughes said. "You keep tripping up like that you might get hurt."
Nobody said anything while the guards departed, until they were out of earshot. By then, someone had helped Liam to his feet. The man was still bent double, but the fight had gone out of him. He ignored Darragh, and looked at Jack. "Sorry, Mr O'Righin. Didn't know he was one of ours."
"That's because you're a first-class fuckwit, Liam," Jack informed him pleasantly. "Now get out of here before I decide you're pissing me off."
"Sorry, Mr O'Righin," Liam said, and he and his friends skulked away quickly without looking back, finding another place in the yard to nurse their wounds.
Darragh was astounded. Jack O'Righin was a little old man compared to these thugs, and yet he commanded their obedience as if they were schoolboys.
But that was not the biggest puzzle here. That puzzle was how Ciarán mac Connaught, Celtic warrior, Druid sorcerer and guardian of the Undivided, came to be here, in this realm, in this place ...
"You okay?" Jack asked.
Darragh nodded. Other than a heart pounding so hard it felt like it might burst out of his chest, he was unharmed.
"Let's find somewhere we can talk in private, then," Ciarán said. "And I'll explain what's going on."
Chapter 7
An insistent knock on the door of Trása's room in the hommaru woke her during the night. She glanced at the incense clock as she threw back the covers and climbed off the futon. It was almost midnight. The Youkai who had come through the rift with her were nowhere to be found. Neither was Toyoda, her frequent Leipreachán companion. She wondered what mischief they were getting up to in the palace and how much she'd have to apologize for in the morning.
As she stumbled to the door, she couldn't imagine who'd be visiting at this hour and wasn't in the mood to entertain. After the events of the past day, Trása had lain awake for hours going over everything in her head, wondering if there was something she could have done. Something she should have done ...
It had taken her hours to fall asleep. She didn't appreciate being woken again so soon.
Trása slid the door open, wishing the flimsy rice paper screen could withstand her slamming it open in order to offer an impressive demonstration of her anger.
Her visitor was Rónán. He looked haggard.
"I'm not speaking to you."
"I need your help."
"What part of I'm not speaking to you didn't you hear me tell you?"
Rónán cocked his head to one side, genuinely puzzled. "That is truly the most absurd question I have ever been asked."
"Really? And here I was, thinking that 'Why have you left your brother stranded in another reality all this time?' was going to win the prize."
Rónán stared at her for a moment and then turned and walked away.
Trása let out a long-suffering sigh and called, "Wait!"
He stopped and turned to look at her. Trása threw her hands up in defeat. "All right. I'll bite. What's so difficult for
the great and all-powerful Renkavana that he needs my help with it?"
"Accessing Delphine's memories."
That surprised Trása. She'd thought, given the way he was talking earlier, the subject was closed and would not be allowed to be opened again for discussion. She glanced up and down the wide, rattan-matted hall, lit only by the evenly-spaced gilded lamps, to see if anybody might have overheard him, but they were alone.
Trása debated the issue for a moment. She wasn't speaking to him, after all.
"Come in, then," she said, finally. "We probably shouldn't discuss this out here."
Rónán didn't say anything, but he walked back and stepped across the threshold before stopping to look around the room. Trása wondered what he thought of the intricate woodcarvings on the furniture or the gold leaf, silk-screened walls, or the beautifully painted sliding doors. Perhaps he wasn't impressed. He'd been here for three years now and, even in the other realm where he'd been abandoned, he'd grown up amidst substantial wealth, after all. Perhaps he barely noticed the beauty of this place.
He waved his hand, lighting the lamps with magic as casually as Darragh might have done in Sí an Bhrú. Then he turned to her as she slid the door shut and said in English, "Is there anybody about who can overhear us?"
That was always a problem in a society where lacquered rice paper was considered a building material. And it explained why he was speaking a language only a few people in this reality understood.
"I don't think so. Why?"
"Because I have to ask you something difficult."
She snorted at that. "Wow, is it so hard for you to ask for help that you don't want anybody else to know about it?"
He glared at her and said nothing.
She sighed again - something she seemed to do a lot around Rónán - and moved away from the door. "I'm sorry. You truly do bring out the worst in me, Rónán. What do you want?"
"Help to go into Delphine's memories."
"You don't need my help. You put the walls up in your mind to keep the memories out. You can take them down anytime you want. Why do you need me?"
"Because I'm afraid."
Trása's anger withered in the face of his simple admission. She'd been imagining all sorts of nefarious reasons for Rónán's inaction. Fear hadn't even been on her list.
"Afraid of what?"
He shrugged and sat down on the edge of the futon, hands clasped together, his head hanging down. "Afraid I'll go mad, or do something dangerous. Afraid of what they'll do to me. Afraid they'll make me like her."
"That's absurd," she said, crossing her legs to sit in front of him on the floor. "You won't become her. You didn't become Darragh when you shared his memories, did you?"
He lifted his head to look at her in surprise. "Didn't I? You're the one who's always telling me how like Darragh I am."
"That's because you're identical twins, idiot, not because of the Comhroinn you shared with him."
He shook his head. Trása wasn't sure why. "I never told you what happened when we went back to Pete and Logan's true realm, did I?"
"It was a dead world. Pete said there was nothing left alive there. He didn't know why."
"I tried to find out why."
Suddenly, Trása thought she understood. "You accessed Delphine's memories?"
He shook his head. "I became Delphine. I tried to kill Pete and Logan. I couldn't control it, Trása. She's dead, for God's sake and she took me over like she'd found another body to inhabit."
"That's why Pete and Logan are so insistent that you don't try again?"
"You can't blame them."
"But ... Rónán, that was three years ago. You've learned so much since then."
"But what if I haven't learned enough?"
"Then Pete and Logan will probably kill you," she said, only half joking.
"I can feel her, you know ... Delphine pushing against my mind ... trying to break out. And I'm not an idiot, Trása. I do know what a gold mine of intelligence I've got tucked away inside my head. It's just -"
"You don't want to turn into an evil, murderous, child-stealing bitch with a lingering affection for Pete and Logan?" she finished for him.
Rónán managed a thin smile in response. "If it were only that, I'd have done this a couple of years ago."
"Then what's stopping you?" she asked, some of her frustration with him leaking into her voice. "We've been stuck here for three years, Rónán. You've been studying everything you can get your hands on. You've pretty much mastered everything this realm has to offer, including that crazy ninja kuji-in stuff. What's your problem?"
Rónán was silent for a time before he answered. When he did finally speak, what he said took Trása completely by surprise.
"I have nightmares."
"Nightmares?"
"Actually, it's only one nightmare that repeats itself over and over."
"Nightmares about what?" she asked, a little impatiently. Rónán seemed to be wallowing in a fair bit of maudlin self-pity. Trása couldn't figure out why and was in no mood to indulge him. Somewhere out there, Teagan was alone and frightened, a prisoner of the Matrarchaí, and she needed their help. The gods alone knew what had become of Darragh and Sorcha these past few years. Or Hayley - not that Trása really gave a fig about what happened to Hayley Boyle. But Rónán certainly didn't have time to feel sorry for himself.
"I dream about murdering babies."
Trása really had no idea how to answer that.
"I'm not sure whose children they are," Rónán continued, apparently content that she was listening. She didn't need to comment, "but in my dream I kill them in their cradle. I think they're Darragh's kids. He's in the dream, too, trying to talk me out of doing it."
"Talk you out of it?" she asked. "Not fight you or wrestle the weapon from your hands? Just calmly discuss why you shouldn't murder his babies?"
He shrugged. "In my dream, Darragh seems to know it has to be done."
"Do you think he's afraid they might be Empress twins?" She was intrigued now, in spite of herself. Besides, she was unable to imagine any other circumstance - even in his brother's imagination - where Darragh would agree to something so heinous. "Maybe you're trying to kill them in your dream so they won't become tools of the Matrarchaí?"
He nodded. "I realize that now, but here's the kicker. I've been having those dreams since I was twelve or thirteen. Darragh had them, too."
This was very interesting, but hardly helpful. "What does any of this have to do with why you won't access Delphine's memories, or us finding a way to rescue Teagan?"
"Since I locked away Delphine's memories, the nightmares have stopped."
Trása was silent for a moment as she let that sink in.
"You selfish prick," she said finally, disgusted at him. "You've let everyone rot here in this realm, you've left your brother stranded in another ... all because you don't want your sleep disturbed. You're unbelievable!"
Rónán glared at her, clearly annoyed by her anger. He stood up, shaking his head. "I knew you wouldn't be any help."
"You got that much right."
"Well, I'm sorry I disturbed your sleep," he said, heading for the door. "I'll not burden you again with my trivial, selfish problems."
Trása didn't bother to respond. She was glad to be rid of him. How could anybody do such a thing? How could he be so self-absorbed, so callous, so -
She jumped to her feet, staring at him in shock, as it suddenly occurred to her exactly what he was trying to tell her. "Oh, my God, it's the Sight! You're having a true dream, aren't you?"
He stopped, his hand on the door latch with his back to her. "Don't worry about it, Trása. It's not your problem."
In three strides she was across the room. Grabbing him by the arm she turned him around to face her. "You're afraid if you delve into Delphine's memories you'll change something and the dream will come back. And if it's a true dream then it has to happen someday."
"Selfish of me to fear that, I know,
" he said, shaking off her grasp. "I'll be sure to be more thoughtful in the future."
"Get over it, Rónán. I was just ..." She threw her hands up. This was much bigger than she imagined and she really didn't want to fight with Rónán. Quite the opposite, in fact. He was just so ... so ... She sighed, yet again. "Okay, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said you were being selfish. I didn't understand."
"You meant it, though."
"Only because I wasn't thinking things through. You know me. I start yelling first, and then ask questions later. I said I was sorry."
He seemed unconvinced by her remorse.
"Please."
Rónán studied her in the dim light, as if debating how much he could trust her, and then he shrugged. "Do you really understand, Trása? Because I do want to help Teagan, I truly do. And it's eating me up that I can't go back for Darragh, but do you really appreciate the risk?"
She nodded. "If you do anything to change the status quo, then the dream will come back and then one day you really will have to kill Darragh's children."
"It's more than that," he confessed. "You see, if that nightmare ever comes true and if I don't have the balls to do it, something even worse will happen, because if there is one thing about that dream that rings loud and clear, it's that a lot more people will die if I stay my hand."
Trása was silent for a moment as she found herself forced to reassess everything she had thought about Rónán and what fuelled his inaction these past three years.
"How can I help?" she asked in the end. Nothing else really mattered.
"Tell me how to get into Delphine's memories without going mad. Without her taking me over. And without making that dream come back."
"Maybe it's not her memories being locked away," Trása said, as it occurred to her that Rónán's fear, while legitimate, might be misplaced. "What if it was Delphine's death that caused the dreams to stop, not the Comhroinn or anything she might have known?"
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