The Dark Divide (3 page)

But who knew for sure where Hayley had finished up?

Was she stuck in Darragh’s reality now? Blind and helpless … although even blind, knowing Hayley, she wouldn’t be helpless for long. Was she trapped in that incomprehensible world of Druids and Faerie? A world that made very little sense to Ren, even though apparently he belonged there.

How would it seem to someone like Hayley who had no idea what she was stepping into?

And who would explain it to her? His friend Brógán? The great, but scarily taciturn warrior, Ciarán?

Ren wished he’d had time to study Darragh’s memories — time to get a handle on this magic thing. He could feel it. The very air in this place trembled with magical power waiting to be tapped. Even more frustratingly, buried in his head was the knowledge to do something with it. Hidden in his mind was all the magical expertise he needed to be gone from here. He simply hadn’t had time to think.

Trása elbowed him and pointed to the main house with its upturned eaves and intricately carved lintels. ‘He’s back.’

Ren turned to discover the warrior who had ordered the others to watch them, had appeared on the veranda of the main house. A moment later, a woman stepped out of the house and
stopped next to him, and beside her was the largest dog Ren had ever seen. The woman was a walking Japanese cliché — dressed in a red silk kimono embroidered in exquisite golden dragons. Ren had to stifle the urge to laugh, an urge that vanished almost immediately when she stepped forward with small steps and a hollow tapping sound, her wooden
geta
echoing on the veranda’s decking. The dog compelled much more respect. Powerfully muscled, with a sleek tan coat, it looked like a well-trained mastiff, the way it walked by her side. It also looked as if it could eat either of them in one or two bites. The woman stepped down into the raked sand of the courtyard and shuffled forward.

She stopped and studied Ren and Trása with dark, cold eyes. The dog sat beside her, his eyes also fixed on them.

‘Lord Hayato says you claim to be lost travellers,’ the woman said in the same, almost-the-Japanese-he-knew the warriors spoke. Even wearing the wooden sandals, she was only shoulder-high to Lord Hayato, but somehow she seemed much taller. Her hand rested on the dog’s head, which was higher than her waist.

‘
Warewareniha shogunha imasen
,’ he said, repeating what he’d told his captors when they’d first discovered them several hours ago, just after they had come through the rift from Ren’s reality. ‘
Warewareha mayoteiru tabino monodesu
.’ We have no lord, we are lost travellers.

The woman stared at him for a moment and then produced a small square of paper from the pocket of her kimono. With brisk, rapid movements, she folded the paper back and forth until it took the vague shape of a heart. Once it was done, she tossed it into the air, closed her eyes, and a moment later the little origami heart vanished in a puff of tiny white flakes.

‘His heart is true,’ she announced. ‘He speaks the truth.’

Her declaration seemed to have little effect on their escort. Or the fixed stare of the huge dog. There were no lowered bows or sighs of relief. The men continued to glare at them from under
their highly polished
kabuto
with suspicion and mistrust. One of them even spat on the ground muttering, ‘
Ronin
.’

‘He knows your name,’ Trása whispered with alarm.

Ren shook his head. ‘He means mercenary, I think,’ he told her. ‘It’s almost the same word in Japanese.’ At least he hoped that was the case. It was too scary to contemplate the alternative.

Ren took a step forward, feigning a confidence he didn’t feel, and bowed as low as he could to the woman. He ignored the dog, figuring unless she commanded it to attack, the mastiff would not bother him if he did not bother it. Clearly, this woman was in charge and she’d just magicked up a bit of origami to determine if they were telling the truth. The warriors were probably her minions. Even the stern Lord Hayato seemed to defer to her. Ren grabbed Trása’s hand and tugged her down into a bow as well, addressing the woman as he bent over.

‘We are honoured to be in your presence,
kakka
,’ he said, hoping that calling her
Your Excellency
was a compliment and not an insult, if her rank was higher than that. Ren wasn’t sure about this reality, but he’d seen his mother almost run out of Tokyo a couple of years ago for mispronouncing an honorific when she met some local dignitaries during a banquet held in her honour after she won her Oscar. He didn’t want to make the same mistake.

‘And from where have you travelled,
muhousha
?’ she asked coldly.

Ren frowned. He’d granted her a title of great respect and she had responded by suggesting he was some sort of criminal. He wondered if the truth-telling spell was still in effect, because suddenly he wasn’t sure if it was a good idea to confess they’d stepped through a rift from another reality.

‘From a very distant place,
kakka
,’ he said as he straightened to look her in the eye. She was a woman in her late thirties, he guessed, and well-used to being in command. ‘One where
the customs are much different to yours. I trust we have done nothing to offend you.’

‘What is your name?’

‘Ren Kavanaugh.’

‘That is a
yabangin
name,’ she said, studying them even more closely. Her gaze shifted to Trása and her frown deepened. Abruptly she turned to Hayato and spoke so rapidly, Ren was only able to catch every third word or so, and they weren’t promising as far as he could tell. As soon as she finished speaking, Hayato signalled to several of his men. Four of them immediately dismounted and converged on Trása, one of them unsheathing his
katana
as he went.

Trása screamed as the men grabbed her and forced her to her knees. The mastiff began growling. One of them pulled her long blonde braid aside and pointed excitedly at her delicate, almost pointed ears.

‘Hey!’ Ren cried in English, rushing forward. ‘What the hell?’

‘She is
Youkai
!’ the samurai cried out. ‘Look!’

Another man raised his
katana
. Trása screamed as her hair was pulled and her head jerked back to expose her throat. Ren was shoved roughly to his knees beside her by the man holding Trása’s hair.

‘Rónán!’ Trása cried in panic. ‘Do something! They’re going to kill me!’

‘For God’s sake! Call them off!’ Ren demanded of the woman who was obviously in charge, still on his hands and knees. ‘She didn’t do anything to you!’

The dog growled low in this throat, forcing Ren to lean back. The woman stood impassively, ignoring his pleas, doing nothing to stop Trása’s impending execution.

He scrambled to his feet and tried to lunge toward Trása, but one of the warriors grabbed him from behind. Not that he could have done much against four armoured men with swords, and
a dog probably trained to kill, but he couldn’t stand by and let them murder Trása just for being Faerie. At least, he assumed that’s what they were panicking about, given the way the man had spat the word
Youkai
.

He couldn’t understand that, either. This world fairly dripped with magic. The woman commanding them to slay Trása wielded it with impunity. Why the fuss over one half-
beansídhe
interloper, even if she was annoying at times?

Faerie were magical creatures, and without them, humans had no magic. In Ren’s limited experience — and certainly his brother’s memories offered nothing to contradict the impression — one tended to appease the
Tuatha
if one wanted to use their magic, not kill them on sight.

And yet, in this reality, being identified as even half-Faerie seemed enough to get you slaughtered on the spot.

‘Trása!’ he called to her, as he struggled to shake off the men holding him back. ‘Change!’

‘
What
?’ she screamed as they forced her to her knees.

‘Change into a bird and fly away!’ he cried in English, as she thrashed about in the grip of the man trying to keep her still long enough to line up the blade so he could cut her throat. Fortunately, the men trying to hold Trása didn’t understand what he was saying. There was still a chance at least one of them could get away. ‘Fly away! Now!’

‘But what if I can’t change back?’ she sobbed between cries as she fought them with every ounce of strength she owned.

‘I’ll find a way to change you back,’ he promised urgently. ‘But even if I can’t, better a live owl than a dead Faerie!’

Even through her desperate struggles, Trása must have seen the logic in his words. Without warning, she went limp in the arms of her captors. Her sudden capitulation took them by surprise. The warriors stepped back from her for a moment looking puzzled and more than a little concerned.

It was enough. Before they could grab her again, the half-human, half-
beansídhe
girl morphed into the white owl shape she favoured, flapped her wings once, and launched into the air with a screech of protest.

The dog lunged forward, snapping at her tail feathers, while the woman in the kimono screamed in anger as Trása flew away into the darkness to freedom.

CHAPTER 2

Marcroy looked through the shimmering opening of the rift and saw only rotting corpses.

The smell wafting back was beyond awful. Marcroy’s eyes watered with the stench of it, and he hadn’t even stepped across to the other side.

Nor would he. For Marcroy Tarth, stepping through this rift would be just as fatal as it had been for the thousands of dead Faerie who lay rotting around this abandoned stone circle in the other reality.

The earth on the other side of the rift was piled three-deep in bodies, most of them obviously fleeing something in their own realm. What had driven so many to throw themselves into a world without magic? What had driven them to certain death? These
sídhe
must have known what they were doing. They must have felt the dearth of magic with the first breath they took of this new reality’s depleted air. Still, they stepped through rather than stay behind and face — what?

Marcroy looked at the
djinni
, Jamaspa, who had opened the rift to show him this carnage. ‘How many more?’ he asked, utterly shaken by the sight of yet another decimated world. There were no obvious signs of civilisation around the stone circle on the other side — that might mean the circle was in an out-of-the-
way place, or it could mean this entire world was dead, all other mortal forms of life gone, along with the magic. It would not be the first realm to suffer such a fate.

And while the Undivided lived, it wouldn’t be the last, either.

‘We have lost count,’ Jamaspa told him, his ephemeral blue form shimmering with emotion.

Marcroy stared at the carnage for a long, silent moment, and then turned to the
djinni
. ‘I don’t need convincing, Jamaspa. I understand the Undivided must be stopped. I have done nothing but work toward that end for years now.’

‘Granted,’ the
djinni
agreed. He waved a wisp of blue smoke that might have been his arm in the direction of the rift and it shimmered closed. The dreadful piles of bodies disappeared, replaced by the welcome ordinariness of their own sunset-reddened stone circle, just outside the entrance to
Tír Na nÓg
in the realm Marcroy called home. Inside
Tír Na nÓg
, the
sídhe
remained blissfully unaware of the fate that had befallen so many of their race from other realms. ‘Unfortunately, you took it upon yourself to fix things without consulting the Brethren.’ Jamaspa sighed heavily, causing his ephemeral body to bob up and down. ‘Do you remember asking me not so long ago, cousin, if my rift runners were mistaken about the future that awaits us if we do nothing?’

Marcroy nodded, picturing himself and the
djinni
looking down over
Sí an Bhrú
, remembering their conversation very well. ‘You said the Undivided twins, RónánDarragh, will destroy us —
Tuatha
,
Djinn
and all the others of our kind. I believe you made some sweeping claim that you had seen the destruction in other realities where they were allowed to rule united.’ Marcroy stared at the
djinni
. ‘This is what you meant, I suppose.’

Jamaspa nodded. ‘And now you know I was not exaggerating.’

‘If I recall it correctly, your exact words were “for the sake of all the
sídhe
races of this realm, we must destroy the Undivided”.
But they are missing and powerless. How can they have caused this?’

The
djinni
frowned. He seemed uncomfortable. ‘The Brethren were … remiss, perhaps … in not specifying the destruction of RónánDarragh would be most beneficial if it happened
before
they were old enough to breed.’

Marcroy was growing impatient with the
djinni
. He couldn’t see the problem. As far as he was able, he’d done everything the Brethren had asked of him. He devoted much of these past nineteen years to the task. Everything had gone according to plan. They were days away from success. ‘RónánDarragh in this realm have no offspring. When the transfer happens at
Lughnasadh
, the far less-powerful and problematic Broc and Cairbre will become the Undivided. Unless …’ His voice trailed off as he wondered what had become of Brydie Ni’Seanan, the attractive and undoubtedly fertile young woman the queen of the Celts had so blatantly thrown at Darragh a few weeks ago, before he disappeared into another realm.

‘If you speak of the young woman Álmhath threw into Darragh’s bed, she is taken care of,’ Jamaspa assured Marcroy. ‘She will not be giving birth to any child of the Undivided.’

‘Then we have nothing to fear,’ Marcroy said, glancing up at the last traces of the sunset. It was going to rain tonight, he guessed, looking at the formation of the clouds. He turned back to Jamaspa. ‘It is done, and you may inform the Brethren accordingly. Wherever they are, Darragh and his missing brother, Rónán, will perish on
Lughnasadh
, their line will end with them and the threat of Partition will be gone.’