The Dark Divide (10 page)

‘Are you loyal to the Empresses?’ she demanded. Her eyes narrowed as she studied him, waiting for his answer. ‘Given what you are, I’d be surprised if you said yes. But you might be loyal to them. That might explain what you’re doing here.’

‘If I say I’m not, are you going to kill me?’

‘I’m more likely to kill you if you say yes,’ she replied with an alarming amount of vehemence.

‘In that case, may the evil bitches rot in hell,’ Ren said pleasantly. ‘How many empresses are we hating, exactly?’

‘What sort of question is that?’ Kazusa asked, rolling her eyes. ‘It’s that way.’

‘Excuse me?’

‘The path down to the village. It’s over there.’ She pointed to the left with her trembling sword.

Puzzled by her odd behaviour, Ren spied the faint game trail they’d been following and set off toward the edge of the ridge where the ground sloped less sharply, heading down toward
Shin Bungo
and hopefully some answers. He glanced up at the sky for the thousandth time, hoping to spot Trása, but if there were any owls about this morning, he couldn’t see them.

Trása, wherever she was at the moment, and in whatever form she had assumed, was on her own.

Shin Bungo
turned out to be the last thing Ren was expecting. It wasn’t a concentration camp or a fort, despite its outward appearance — it was a fireworks factory.

That explained the thick walls. They weren’t trying to fight off their neighbours. These walls were built to contain an explosion.

Kazusa’s family had been in the fireworks business for generations, she explained as they reached the valley floor and headed for the compound entrance. She was much chattier now they were within shouting distance of home. The Ikushima factory, Kazusa informed him as they walked along the rutted road beside the wall, had been here long before the
kozo
plantations surrounding them had spread out so far, planted by the greedy newcomers sent by their noble families in the middle kingdom, the
Chu-cho-
, to seek their fortune here in the colonies.

Ren filed that away for future reference — even in this reality, Ireland was occupied. Not by the British this time, but by the Japanese.

It was not a recent event, Ren figured. There had been more than one wave of immigrants to Ireland from
Chu-cho-
. Kazusa spoke of more than eight generations of fireworks masters in her family, and although she clearly had some Asian heritage
she was not the pure Japanese of Chishihero or Hayato. Hardly surprising, Ren thought. Eight generations in a new country … at that point, you were no longer immigrants. You were locals and you were probably marrying the natives and having kids with them, too.

Kazusa didn’t have much good to say about this latest wave of immigrants who, Ren gleaned, were responsible for a great deal of trouble in her part of the world. He gathered there were moves afoot by the neighbours to move the Ikushima family’s factory to a remote area because of the risk to the surrounding forests. Kazusa scoffed at the very idea, claiming her family had been here much longer than those wretched
kozo
trees, and if they wanted magic so badly, then they shouldn’t have killed all the
Youkai
.

Ren hadn’t been paying much attention to Kazusa’s chatter until then, but that dragged his attention back with a savage jerk. ‘Whoa! Hang on, did you say they killed all the Faerie?’

Kazusa shrugged. ‘Well, maybe not all of them — you’re proof enough of that — but they’re pretty thin on the ground these days.’

Ren stopped walking. He needed to get this cleared up now. The last time someone decided he was
Youkai
they tried to slit his throat. ‘I’m not Faerie, Kazusa. I’m human.’

Kazusa never got the opportunity to argue the point. Someone spotted them from the walls. A shout went up and a few moments later the gates swung open and a dozen or so mounted samurai galloped out to surround them.

Here we go again.
Ren raised his hands in a gesture of surrender. The lead horseman skidded to a halt, swung his leg over his horse’s neck, and jumped to the ground. He was heavily armoured, and when he removed his
kabuto
his long dark hair was gathered up into a thick ponytail on the very top of his head. Kazusa dropped her sword and threw herself at him. The
warrior hugged her briefly and then pushed her away, holding her at arm’s length.

‘I told you not to leave the compound.’

‘And I told you there was no chance of finding the
yabangin Youkai
by thundering around on horseback,’ she shot back, looking very smug. ‘I found him. Sleeping in the Tanabe forest.’

‘You went into their forest?’ The warrior muttered something under his breath, and shook his head as he let her go. ‘You are forbidden to enter the forest, Kazusa. If the Tanabe found you …’

‘They wouldn’t hurt me, Namito. Even Chishihero wouldn’t dare.’

‘No, but she would hold you for ransom,’ he warned. ‘And if you go onto their lands again and they catch you, I won’t pay it.’

Kazusa was grinning broadly, and even Ren could tell the young man didn’t mean a word of his threat. He finally turned his attention to Ren and bowed politely before addressing him. ‘Thank you,
wagakimi
,’ Namito said, ‘for bringing my sister home safely.’

‘He didn’t escort me home!’ Kazusa objected. ‘He was my prisoner!’

Namito ignored her. He tucked his helmet under his arm, revealing a young man not much older than Ren. He had distinctly Asian features and startling blue eyes that were out of place in such a handsome, oriental face. He bowed once more, smiling. Namito must have appreciated the fact that Ren had humoured Kazusa by allowing her to capture him and bring him here. ‘I am Namito,
Daimyo
of the Ikushima. The
Youkai
are welcome here.’

‘Except I’m not
Youkai
,’ Ren replied, bowing to his host. He needed to clear that up at the outset. Being
Youkai
in this reality was a health hazard. ‘My name is Ren. Ren Kavanaugh.’

Namito nodded sympathetically. ‘Of course, it would be foolish to announce such a thing. The Ikushima will honour your wish to remain anonymous,
wagakimi
.’ He glanced at his men who nodded
agreement. Then he turned to his sister. ‘Do you understand, Kazusa? You are not to tell anybody about Renkavana. No bragging to your friends that you captured a
Youkai
.’

Kazusa scowled at her brother, but nodded. ‘He’s not much of a
Youkai
anyway,’ she said. ‘He can’t even heal himself.’

Everybody turned to stare at him. Ren realised Kazusa was talking about the cut on his face. The cut Chishihero inflicted on him when she’d struck him. Not used to having the power to heal his own wounds magically, it had not even occurred to Ren to fix it. As soon as he thought of it, though, he realised the knowledge was there in his mind, among all the other unsorted and confusing information he’d acquired from his twin brother’s mind during the
Comhroinn
. All he had to do was will the healing to happen.

But if he did heal it — now Kazusa had drawn attention to his injury — there would be no denying he was
Youkai
. The Undivided, the Druids and the complicated hierarchy of magicians from Darragh’s reality were unknown here. In this reality, as far as Ren could tell, there were the
Youkai
— who were mostly dead — and the human sorcerers who wielded magic with origami.

There seemed to be no room in the middle for a human who could wield magic because he happened to be branded with a magical tattoo.

Namito didn’t see a problem with Ren’s injury, though. He smiled down at his sister, explaining, ‘Of course he wouldn’t heal it, Kazusa. That would reveal what he is.’ Namito looked to Ren. ‘I apologise for my sister, Renkavana. She has never met one of the
Youkai
before. Will you be bringing your mate to join us?’

‘My
what
?’

‘The female
Youkai
,’ he explained. ‘The Tanabe captured you and your mate together at the
rifuto
stones, but she escaped in the form of a bird before Chishihero could have her killed.’

Namito had an impressive spy network, Ren realised, if he knew about Trása already. And that they had come through the rift at the stone circle in the forest. Although it did explain what Kazusa had been doing, scouring the Tanabe plantation for escaped
Youkai
. She must have heard her brother talking about it and decided to help. Ren couldn’t imagine any circumstance where Namito would send this little girl out to search for rogue
Youkai
on her own.

‘I don’t know where Trása is,’ Ren told him, thinking the truth was the safest course for the time being. ‘What do you know of the rift stones?’

‘Not much,’ Namito said. ‘And here is not the place to discuss it. Will you accept the hospitality of the Ikushima,
wagakimi
?’

He says that like I have a choice
, Ren said to himself, but he smiled and bowed, wondering if the Ikushima were planning to kill him too, but were just being polite about it.

‘I would be honoured,’ he replied.
Manners cost nothing
, as Kerry Boyle was fond of saying. And if there was any chance he could find his way home, he needed allies. Until he found Trása and figured out how he was going to get back through the rift to the reality where he belonged, Kazusa and her brother would have to do.

CHAPTER 11

It was dark before Patrick knocked on Jack’s back door. By then, Darragh and Sorcha had spent an informative day watching the television, learning about the chaos at the golf club and the unsuccessful attempts of the Gardaí to locate the fugitive, Ren Kavanaugh, and his missing cousin, Hayley Boyle, whom Rónán was now accused of kidnapping. This accusation was in addition to the charges laid against him several weeks ago, when Trása had burned down a warehouse and with the help of the
Leipreachán
Plunkett O’Bannon, framed him for murder.

Or rather, Darragh had been watching TV. Sorcha had complained the shiny box gave her a headache just after lunch, and had gone to lay down in one of Jack’s many empty guest rooms, which was an extraordinary thing for her to do. Normally, Sorcha behaved like a caged cat, prowling around looking for trouble, always alert to any danger.

Darragh could never remember Sorcha opting for a lie-down over patrolling the grounds. He wondered if this realm was making her sick. He’d gained a lot of information in the
Comhroinn
with his brother, including Rónán’s knowledge of biology, germs and the nature of disease. It was possible, he realised with the benefit of his brother’s high school education,
that Sorcha had contracted something in this reality for which her immune system was unprepared. Although rift runners jumped safely between realities regularly in Darragh’s world, they were always either part-Faerie, or human magicians with the ability to heal themselves as soon as they reached a magical realm. Maybe the mere act of channelling Faerie magic gave Druids some immunity. Darragh was certainly feeling no ill effects from this realm.

But Sorcha was neither Faerie nor Druid.

Perhaps this realm wasn’t just making her ill. It could be killing her.

Sorcha’s health, however, was the least of his problems. Darragh had to convince Patrick Boyle his daughter was safe first, so Patrick wouldn’t turn him over to the authorities. They had no reason at all to believe he wasn’t his brother, and would be happy to lock him up and throw away the key for murder, arson, and now, kidnapping.

Darragh was waiting in the dining room. In the background, he could hear the television in the other room. Yet another report about the Castle Golf Club and the search for the fugitive, Ren Kavanaugh. The reporter was explaining the same thing reporters had been explaining all day long — nobody knew a damned thing.

‘…
says Inspector Duggan, who is leading the investigation. She is refusing to say if there were any injuries following the shoot-out last night, or if indeed this investigation is in any way related to the investigation surrounding the escape from legal custody of the son of the Oscar-winning actress Kiva Kavanaugh, despite her appearance at the scene this morning
.
This is Logan Doherty
.
Back to you, Liam
…’

Jack led Patrick into the dining room, saying nothing. He disappeared for a moment and the TV went silent before he reappeared and went to the sideboard, took out two glasses
and a bottle of Powers Irish whiskey, pouring his visitor a glass without asking if he wanted one. He thrust the half-full glass at Patrick. ‘Have a seat.’

Patrick looked down at the glass in his hand, staring at it as if he didn’t know how it got there, and then took a long swig before he uttered a word.

‘What have you done with my Hayley?’ he asked finally.

‘As far as I know, she’s safe and well,’ Darragh said.

‘Don’t fuck me about, Ren,’ Patrick warned. ‘You tell me where she is, or I swear, the Gardaí’ll be knocking down Jack’s door in the next ten minutes.’

‘I’m happy to tell you everything you want to know, Patrick, but you’re not going to believe me,’ Darragh warned.

‘Aye,’ Jack agreed with a sour laugh. ‘He’s got that much right.’ The old man pulled a chair out from the table and offered it to Patrick. ‘Seriously, Paddy. Take a seat so the lad can explain what’s going on.’

‘Do the IRA have her?’ he asked, glaring at Jack.

‘What the feck would the IRA want with your wee lass?’ Jack asked, offended by the question. ‘Now take a seat and listen to the lad. And keep an open mind. Trust me, fella, you’re going to need it.’

With some reluctance, Patrick Boyle did as Jack asked and took the seat opposite Ren at the polished dining table.

Darragh took a deep breath. He had spent much of the day running through various scenarios in his head about how this conversation would go, and they all ended in Patrick not believing a word of what he told him. For Amergin’s
eileféin
to even begin to accept what Darragh was about to reveal, he needed to be convinced Darragh wasn’t lying.