The Dark Divide

by Jennifer Fallon

  And it would be cruel to tell them that as soon as Rónán found a way out of this realm, she was gone from here and they would have to fend for themselves.

  It was hard to say how long she’d been in this reality’s version of Tír Na nÓg. Time moved differently here. When she arrived, she knew she only had a few days before Lughnasadh, but she wasn’t sure exactly when it was. Trása wondered if she would feel anything — whether she should return to the fireworks factory and see if Rónán was still there or if he had already left with the Empresses for Nara.

  She was still pondering that when she heard a sound behind her. Trása was standing on the edge of a wide bough, looking down over the glorious magical expanse of Tír Na nÓg, deep in thought. She turned in time to see a cluster of aelf blink out of existence with a giggle. They had left a basket behind, filled with apples, pears and persimmons. It was real fruit too, not the magical tastes-wonderful-but-doesn’t-do-anything-to-quell-your-hunger sort of fruit that her mother was prone to serving. She smiled and called out a thank-you, guessing the laughter and rustling leaves above her head meant the pixies had retreated there, too shy to face her directly.

  She reached down and picked up an apple, biting into it with a sigh, pushing aside the folds of the gossamer shift the water sprites had brought her as a gift, so she wouldn’t tear the flimsy fabric. The apple was delicious. Even mundane food served in Tír Na nÓg tasted better than it did on the outside.

  ‘Them pesky pixies not been bothering ye again, have they, mistress?’

  She turned to discover Toyoda and two of his ninja-Leipreachán companions standing on the branch behind her. Trása had to stop herself from laughing aloud at the sight of them.

  ‘No, they’re not causing trouble. They brought me food.’

  Toyoda frowned, not happy to hear that. Trása wondered whether he was jealous or just annoyed that he hadn’t thought of it first. Not that he’d been here — Trása had sent him on a mission.

  ‘Did you see him?’ she asked, before Toyoda and his friends — who he’d introduced earlier as Isamu and Eita — had a chance to be distracted by a battle with the pixies over who was going to bring her the best gifts.

  ‘He still be at the Ikushima compound, mistress,’ the one on the left informed her. Trása had no idea whether it was Isamu or Eita as they both had their faces wrapped in their ninja hoods, leaving only their eyes visible and some ginger whiskers poking out in odd places. ‘As be the Empresses.’

  ‘Really?’ she said, thinking aloud as much as discussing the issue with three ridiculously dressed Leipreachán. ‘I thought they’d have taken him back to Nara long before now. How long have I been here?’

  The three Leipreachán looked at each other for a moment and then shrugged. ‘Not sure, mistress. But it be Higan No Chu-Nichi, so that be telling ye something.’

  Trása frowned. She didn’t know what Toyoda thought the date was telling her but she did know Higan No Chu-Nichi was what the Japanese colonists here called Lughnasadh. ‘It’s tonight?’

  Toyoda’s eyes lit up. ‘Will ye be celebrating it with us, mistress?’

  ‘Maybe,’ she said, not really listening. She was puzzled. Why hadn’t the Empresses taken Rónán back to their capital in Chu-cho-?

  Or killed him outright when they realised he was Faerie?

  ‘Are they holding Renkavana prisoner?’ she asked, thinking perhaps the evil little Empresses had some nefarious plan in mind, perhaps a public execution. Perhaps they planned to make an example of Rónán and any sídhe foolish enough to step through a rift into this corner of their far-flung empire.

  ‘He seemed fine to us, mistress,’ Eita said. Or maybe it was Isamu. She really couldn’t tell. ‘Seems like he be in great favour with the Empresses, not their prisoner.’

  Why? she wondered. If the Empresses are determined to wipe out the sídhe, why are they feting Rónán like a long-lost friend? Couldn’t they tell what he was?

  Or did being only mostly sídhe mean they thought he was from the equivalent of the Konketsu in another world?

  ‘Do you suppose they’d welcome me with open arms if I went back there to fetch Rónán?’ she asked. After all, she was only half-sídhe. Arguably, she had less Faerie blood in her than Rónán and would well qualify as Konketsu. Would she get the same reception? Or had Chishihero branded her irrevocably as a dreaded Youkai because she could shape-shift? Perhaps nothing she did would change the minds of those two little girls with too much power and a bloodlust for her kind that defied logic.

  She glanced up at the sky but the position of the sun in Tír Na nÓg was never a reliable gauge of what was happening out in the mundane world.

  If I leave here, will it even still be Lughnasadh by the time I get to Rónán?

  And what could she do? The transfer would take place and Rónán would die. Perhaps not instantly, or even tonight, but at best he only had a few days. There was nothing she could do to save him. Perhaps her plan to bring Rónán here to Tír Na nÓg might work, but how would she get him here if he refused to wane out of Shin Bungo? For that matter, he had no idea where this place was, so he couldn’t just will himself here.

  Her heart sank. She realised that even if Rónán wanted to escape the Empresses, he had nowhere to go.

  Was it fair that she hid here in Tír Na nÓg among her adoring new flock while Rónán perished for want of the means to open a rift to his own realm?

  Trása did not consider herself sentimental. She’d developed a hide thick enough to take the bruises life handed out to the half-human daughter of the most heinous traitor in living memory. She was surprised then to find herself not only worried about Rónán, but almost overwhelmed with guilt at the thought that she had left him behind, even though he had sent her away and ordered her to stay away.

  The Leipreachán must have mistaken her silence for concern — which was true enough, but she was not worried about what they assumed, or what they thought of her. ‘He seems fine, mistress,’ Toyoda assured her. ‘He not be in any immediate danger.’

  Not immediate, no, Trása silently agreed. The danger to Rónán comes from another realm that we can’t even reach.

  ‘I think I need to go back to Shin Bungo,’ Trása said, wondering how she could have contemplated leaving Rónán at a time like this. What was I thinking? I can’t sit here playing queen of the Faerie while Darragh’s brother dies a horrible death from magical withdrawal, alone, in a strange realm, with nothing — not even a familiar face — to see him on his way.

  ‘But Renkavana told us to leave Shin Bungo, mistress,’ Toyoda reminded her. ‘To protect ye from the Empresses. He not be happy if ye endanger yeself — and the rest of us — by going back.’

  Trása smiled. Endangering ‘the rest of us’ was the main concern of the Leipreachán, she figured. Her own safety probably came a poor second. ‘Renkavana’s not going to be in a position to object,’ she predicted. ‘How long until sunset out there, do you think?’

  ‘Not long, mistress,’ Toyoda said, looking worried. ‘Ye should stay here. It be Higan No Chu-Nichi. Stay and celebrate with us. Naught but trouble awaits ye in the mundane world.’

  ‘Naught but trouble awaits me wherever I go, Toyoda,’ she sighed, tossing away her half-eaten apple. ‘Why should this realm be any different?’

  Toyoda glanced at his two companions before facing Trása. ‘Ye mean to go, then, mistress?’

  ‘Yes, Toyoda, I’m afraid I do.’

  ‘Then ye leave me no choice but to stop ye by force, mistress.’

  Trása laughed. ‘How are you going to stop me?’

  ‘By ordering ye to stay … Tinkerbell.’

  She stared at the Leipreachán for a moment with a puzzled expression. ‘What?’

  ‘I be ordering ye to stay … Tinkerbell.’

  ‘Why are you calling me Tinkerbell?’

  ‘We be sorry, mistress, but if ye insist on this folly, we be having no choice but to invoke ye true name,’ Eita — or was it t
he other one? — said.

  ‘My true name? Who told you my true name was Tinkerbell?’ Trása knew the origin of the name. She’d been in Rónán’s reality for the better part of six months. She’d watched plenty of television, including the Disney channel.

  ‘Renkavana betrayed ye, mistress,’ Toyoda told her heavily. ‘We didn’t be wanting to tell ye, but he told the Empresses ye true name. One of the wood sprites overheard his treachery and brought us the news. And ye true name. We be so sorry, mistress, but we can’t be letting you leave. We need you here.’

  So Rónán told the Empresses my true name is Tinkerbell. Trása appreciated the irony. And the dilemma she now faced. If she defied the Leipreachán and his friends, they would know Tinkerbell wasn’t her true name. How soon would the information filter back to the Empresses? How soon before they learned Rónán had lied to them?

  And what did it matter? It was almost sunset, the Leipreachán claimed. Rónán probably wasn’t going to live long enough for it to be a problem.

  ‘I’m sorry, Toyoda,’ she said. ‘But Tinkerbell isn’t my true name. And Rónán needs me at the moment, a lot more than you and your friends do.’

  Before the Leipreachán could object, Trása resumed her hawk form and swooped toward the entrance to Tír Na nÓg, leaving her gossamer shift to float gently on the magical air and land with a whisper on the branch she had left behind.

  CHAPTER 45

  Anwen and Torcán were married in the sacred grove at dawn on Lughnasadh. It was a surprisingly simple ceremony, given the groom was the queen of the Celts’ only son. Colmán presided over the ceremony, so of course it rhymed, badly. Having seen Colmán when he wasn’t trying to be Vate of all Eire, Brydie wondered, from her amethyst perch, if he deliberately mangled things to appear foolish, or if he really had no clue of how bad he was.

  The vows, however, had been composed by Anwen, which served to highlight how painful Colmán’s poetry was by comparison. Brydie watched Torcán and Colmán — the only members of the wedding party in her line of sight — as Colmán draped two strips of embroidered ribbon over Anwen and Torcán’s joined hands, tied them together, and waited as they swore their troth.

  ‘I belong to me and you cannot command me,’ Anwen announced, meaning every word, Brydie was quite certain. ‘But I will serve you, beloved, and bring you mead, while ever you treasure my heart. The bounty I bring you will taste sweeter, because it will be served by my hand, with my love and with my care, and my heart seasoning everything I prepare for you.’

  ‘I swear your name will be the first name to cross my lips each morn, and the last to cross my lips each night …’

  Fat chance, Brydie thought, sceptical of this whole charade. Anwen might be good at composing vows, but Brydie doubted her sincerity.

  ‘Each mouthful of food, I will save some for you. Each drink I take, I spare some for you. I will stand beside you in battle and know that your shield will protect us both. In the presence of Danú, and Leucetios, the Bellona, Bel and Sionnan, Llyr, and Goidniu, Easal, Cebhfhionn, Finncaev, and Cliodna. May these gods and goddesses bear witness to my pledge and hold me true to it, until death take me from you, or you from me.’

  Brydie was impressed, as much by Anwen’s ability to name all those gods and goddesses without stumbling over a single name, as she was by the vows. Torcán repeated them, much less fluently than his bride, and then Colmán declared them wed and everyone cheered and retired to Temair for the wedding breakfast — quite an affair despite the fact they were all due at Sí an Bhrú later that day for the ceremony investing the new Undivided.

  Álmhath had spared no expense, but the result was more than just a bountiful celebration of her son’s nuptials. By mid-morning, almost everyone from Temair was well on their way to being drunk, which did not augur well, Brydie suspected, for the evening festivities after the investiture of the new Undivided at Sí an Bhrú.

  Brydie had a bird’s eye view of the entire proceedings. Anwen didn’t take the necklace off, even when she retired to her own chamber to change into something warmer for the journey to Sí an Bhrú later that morning.

  Álmhath came into her chamber as Anwen was putting the finishing touches on her hair. It had been braided with rare golden samphire flowers for the ceremony. Now she was shaking her long hair free of the petals and brushing it out, before she braided it again for the journey. The daisy like flowers she had managed to retrieve intact sat on the table in front of the brass mirror. Brydie supposed Anwen was planning to press them as a keepsake of this auspicious occasion. At least, that’s what she would have done with them. Who knew the workings of Anwen’s mind?

  ‘So,’ Álmhath said as she stepped up behind Anwen, watching her new daughter-in-law. ‘It is done.’

  ‘It was necessary, Álmhath,’ Anwen said.

  ‘I do love my son, you know. I will be displeased if you hurt him.’

  Anwen turned from the polished brass mirror to face her mother-in-law. ‘I mean him no harm, Álmhath. But the greater good of the Matrarchaí is my overriding concern. You have no daughter to carry on your role as head of the Matrarchaí in this realm. That situation had to be addressed, and we don’t have time for you to conceive a girl child of your own, or for your son and me to produce a granddaughter who can be trained in time.’

  ‘I knew it! I knew you were marrying Torcán for something other than love!’ Brydie shouted triumphantly.

  ‘I am sorry,’ Anwen continued, ‘but we all have to make sacrifices, and I would argue, my lady, that the greatest sacrifice here is mine, not yours. This business of separating the Undivided and Marcroy finding the replacement twins we were hiding has forced our hand. Sadly these new twins were never meant to inherit because they’re barely gifted enough to empathise with each other.’

  The queen nodded, looking a little chastened. ‘I know. And I appreciate the reason you married Torcán, and your dedication to the Matrarchaí in doing so. I just wish I didn’t have such a strong feeling we’ve failed miserably already.’

  Anwen must have smiled reassuringly, given her tone when she replied. Brydie could no longer see her reflection in the brass mirror, so she couldn’t be sure. ‘We haven’t failed, an Bhantiarna. Not yet. We have the seed of the Undivided.’ Anwen’s hand briefly touched the jewel.

  ‘Trapped in a djinni’s spell,’ the queen reminded her.

  ‘Which is better than nothing. I’m sure Lady Delphine will find a way to retrieve our prize.’

  ‘In the meantime, we must smile and nod while Marcroy thwarts our plans,’ Álmhath said, frowning.

  ‘A temporary setback, sister,’ Anwen assured her. ‘Sooner or later, we would have removed RónánDarragh ourselves. You know that. In a few years it would have become very obvious they were not what they seemed.’

  She was talking about the Undivided being sídhe, Brydie realised. Why would the Matrarchaí need to remove Rónán and Darragh?

  ‘Because if they’re mostly Faerie, they’d not age like ordinary men,’ Brydie said aloud, as the solution came to her.

  Ye gods and goddesses, she thought. This isn’t the first set of Undivided twins to be removed prematurely, just the first time the Tuatha Dé Danann beat you to it.

  ‘How can we be sure they will be dead?’

  ‘Nobody survives the power transfer. You know that.’

  Álmhath nodded. ‘And the sídhe know it too. And yet they allowed Marcroy to subvert Amergin and separate the twins. We don’t know where Rónán and Darragh are, Anwen. So once the power transfer happens, we can’t be sure they are dead.’

  ‘I see your point,’ Anwen said, jostling Brydie up and down with her nodding. She wished she knew what Álmhath was talking about. Brydie didn’t get the point of this discussion at all. ‘You’re afraid that if we don’t confirm the death of RónánDarragh,’ Anwen continued, ‘we risk them appearing some day, returning from another realm, after our Undivided have achieved Partition. They could destroy everything.’

&
nbsp; Our Undivided? Brydie thought, rather confused by this discussion of which she was mostly ignorant. Is she talking about the new heirs, BrocCairbre? RónánDarragh? Some other, as yet undiscovered, or unborn twins?

  Brydie glanced down and rubbed her belly. Is she talking about me? About the twins I might be carrying?

  ‘We haven’t failed, an Bhantiarna,’ Anwen had told the queen a few moments ago. ‘Not yet. We have the seed of the Undivided.’

  ‘Trapped in a djinni’s spell.’

  ‘Which is better than nothing at all.’

  ‘The obvious solution,’ Anwen said, ‘is to keep our little friend trapped in the djinni’s jewel, until we can confirm RónánDarragh are dead. Any twins gifted enough to achieve Partition can only be destroyed by their ancestors — and let’s face it, it is almost unheard of for the retiring Undivided not to perish during the transfer of power from one generation to the next — then we do not allow those twins to be born until we know the danger is gone.’

  ‘That could take a very long time,’ Álmhath warned. ‘RónánDarragh are probably ninety per cent sídhe. If they survive the transfer, they could live forever.’

  Anwen shrugged, knocking Brydie off her feet. Again. ‘Your precious twins aren’t going to survive you jumping about like that, Anwen,’ she called, annoyed but not harmed by the constant jostling. Anwen couldn’t hear her, of course, but she felt better for yelling at her.

  ‘RónánDarragh are long-lived, an Bhantiarna. Not immortal. We will ensure they are dead, one way or another. If not from the ceremony this evening, then the Matrarchaí will find them and kill them. Once we have confirmed their demise, we will release our vessel from her djinni spell and allow the next generation of Undivided to be born. These twins will be able to achieve Partition and rid us of the intolerable burden of sídhe interference in our use of magic. Once that is done,’ she added, turning back to the brass mirror to finish doing her hair, ‘we can start working toward what we have achieved in so many other realms — the annihilation of all Faerie races — because unlike the Christians are fond of saying, it is not the meek who shall inherit the Earth, Álmhath. It belongs to those prepared to eliminate any competition for it.’