Authors: Jennifer Fallon
‘Magic, of course,’ she said. ‘How else?’
‘That’s bullshit.’
‘Suit yourself. It’s not like Santa Claus. You don’t have to believe in it, for it to work.’
Pete scowled at her. He really was a suspicious, untrusting sort of fellow. ‘Can you really free us from this … this …’
‘Go on,’ she prompted. ‘Say it.’
‘Magic spell holding us down,’ Logan said, not waiting for his brother. ‘Let us up. Please.’
Trása smiled briefly at Logan and then rose to her feet. ‘Your brother has better manners than you do,’ she said to Pete, and then, taking a step back, she waved her arm, releasing the magical bonds that held the two men down.
Free of Delphine’s magical bindings, they scrambled to their feet and looked about them, uncertain about what to do next.
‘Where are we?’ Pete asked, taking in the stone circle and the trees beyond with a disbelieving glare.
‘Do you mean geographically, or in what reality?’
‘There’s a difference?’ Logan asked, looking around. His gaze finally settled on Trása and he slipped off his jacket, holding it out to her. ‘Aren’t you cold?’
Trása had been too busy to notice the crisp night air, but now Logan mentioned it, she was cold. She was also aware he was probably offering her the jacket because she was naked. The men from Rónán’s reality were oddly shy when unexpectedly confronted with a naked Faerie.
She smiled her thanks. ‘Of course there’s a difference,’ she said, slipping the jacket on, grateful for its warmth, ‘but right now, I don’t have time to explain it to you. I have to decide between saving the lesser
Youkai
of this realm, or Darragh in the realm you just came from.’ She glanced up at the moon. ‘I may already be too late.’
‘Darragh?’ Pete asked. ‘There’s nothing you can do for him now, Trása. He’s going to be in prison for a very long time. Where is Ren?’
They’d only been gone from that reality a couple of weeks. She couldn’t imagine what Darragh had done in that short time to get himself thrown in gaol. ‘Ren is busy. Why is Darragh going to prison? What did he do?’
‘What
didn’t
he do? Murder, kidnapping … where is Hayley Boyle, by the way? Is she here, too?’
Trása shook her head. ‘She made it home to my reality. I think. Who did Darragh murder?’
‘Warren Maher. The bloke whose car you stole from the golf club.’
‘That would have been Sorcha, not Darragh,’ she said, shaking her head. Trása was sad Warren was dead, but she hadn’t known him long enough for it to cause her lasting grief. She cocked her head sideways, as a thought occurred to her that changed everything. ‘Will Darragh be in prison long?’
‘Twenty or more years at the very least,’ Pete told her. ‘It’s a mandatory life sentence for murder.’
The prospect didn’t worry her nearly as much as Pete might imagine. A few weeks ago, that had been the plan she worked out with Plunkett to keep Rónán safe.
Maybe she didn’t need to worry about Darragh at all. If he was in prison for the next twenty-odd years, he was safe.
Understanding that lifted a huge weight from Trása’s shoulders. If Darragh was safe, then her path was clear. She had to help the
Youkai
of this realm, which meant letting the ambush at the Tanabe compound go ahead as planned. Delphine must die.
The
Matrarchaí
sorceress had a crystal wand that allowed her to open a rift back to the world from where she had come. It might take some time to figure out how to use it, but oddly
enough, time was the one thing Rónán and Darragh had, although they probably didn’t appreciate that yet. Thanks to the interference of the
Matrarchaí
, Undivided twins were almost pure
sídhe
. They were long-lived. Now Darragh had survived the
Lughnasadh
power transfer, a few years in a Dublin gaol in Rónán’s realm where there were rules about the humane treatment of prisoners was not so bad. If it took them the whole twenty years to find that reality again, in a lifespan liable to encompass centuries, it barely mattered at all. Better yet, they would know where to find Darragh when they got there. They wouldn’t have to scour the world looking for him the way they did when they went looking for Rónán in the same reality.
Trása looked at Pete and Logan and realised the same applied to them. They were Undivided. They would live for centuries.
And they were part-
sídhe
, which meant the magical time-dilating effects of
Tír Na nÓg
would not bother them.
Of course, they knew nothing about who they were or what they were. That was going to take some explaining, and Trása didn’t really know where to begin.
Perhaps it would be easier to just show them. She could take them back to
Tír Na nÓg
, hide them there until Delphine was taken care of and let the lesser
Youkai
of this realm show these men what she didn’t have the words to explain.
‘That’s all very nice,’ Logan said, looking about impatiently, ‘you two catching up and all, but are you going to tell us what is going on? What happened to our moth … to Delphine? And Tiffany? How come a few minutes ago, you were a dog? And how the fuck did we wind up here, anyway?’
Trása nodded. ‘I’ll explain everything, all in good time,’ she said. ‘But right now, if you want to avoid Delphine taking you prisoner again, you need to come with me.’
‘To where?’ Pete asked, full of suspicion and doubt.
‘Home,’ Trása said in the language of the Faerie, figuring it was both the truth and the one thing that she didn’t need to explain. ‘There is nothing to be afraid of, LogánPeadar of the Undivided. I am taking you home.’
By Danu, the djinni was right. The Undivided are still alive.
Ciarán gasped when they brought Darragh in and sat him in the dock of the Dublin Criminal Court beside a uniformed prison officer who looked as if the task of guarding such a heinous prisoner was keeping him awake. He actually yawned as he took his seat, and then crossed his arms and lowered his head, probably so nobody would notice if he dozed off.
Until this moment, Ciarán had not believed that Darragh could have survived the
Lughnasadh
power transfer. To see him standing there now, alive and well — although in a great deal of serious trouble — left the Druid doubting everything he thought he knew about his own realm, and his loyalties.
Although he was shackled, someone had given Darragh a bright orange coverall and his hair had been trimmed. He looked like Rónán had looked, when they first brought him back through the rift to his own reality. The lad paid no attention to the public seating. Ciarán pulled the baseball cap he was wearing down a little, to avoid being recognised. He had not decided how he was going to extract Darragh from this reality yet. Until he did, it might be better if Darragh didn’t start building up false hope of rescue.
Ciarán still wasn’t sure he believed his eyes. Was Marcroy
playing another trick on him? Did that wretched
djinni
, Jamaspa, have a hand in this?
It was only a few weeks ago that Ciarán had been lying in a crude hut in his own realm, battered and broken following his torture for information about where Darragh and Rónán were hiding. Ciarán had sworn he would die before betraying the young men he was pledged to protect, an oath he had been very close to fulfilling. He had been resigned to his death — resigned to the knowledge he would never see either Rónán or Darragh again, and that in dying, he had saved them from the evil of the
Tuatha Dé Danann
.
Marcroy had released Brogan by then, to answer the scrying message from Darragh and arrange to open the rift. They’d left him lying there, alone and in agony, waiting for death or perhaps a wild pack of weremen, to find him.
Locked in magical bindings placed on him by Marcroy Tarth, unable to heal himself or escape from something so powerful, Ciarán was waiting to die when the
djinni
turned up and set him free.
‘The Brethren have need,’ Jamaspa said, as Ciarán drank deeply from a pitcher of ale the
djinni
magicked up for him, ‘of a champion.’
‘Hope you find you one,’ Ciarán had told the
djinni
, wiping the foam from his lips. He put the pitcher down and glanced out of the door at the setting sun. Now he was healed and his thirst quenched, it was time he was gone from here.
Lughnasadh
wasn’t far away and he needed to stop the transfer from happening, or the boys he was sworn to protect would die.
‘I believe I
have
found him,’ Jamaspa said, looking at the warrior expectantly.
Ciarán shook his head. ‘I appreciate you letting me out of Marcroy’s bindings,’ he’d said, ‘but that’s all you’re going to get from me, Jamaspa. My gratitude.’
‘My aid costs more than a mere thank you,’ Jamaspa said.
‘Then tie me down again and leave me to die,
djinni
, because that’s all I have for you. My allegiance is already sworn, and that’s where I’m going. To save the Undivided.’
‘Then your purpose and the Brethren’s coincide.’
Ciarán turned for the door. ‘I find that unlikely.’
‘Perhaps you should hear me out, before you make such a hasty judgment.’ The
djinni
shimmered across the hut to block the door. ‘You owe me that much, at least.’
Much as he disliked admitting it, Jamaspa had a point. ‘Talk fast then,
djinni
. I don’t have much time, and what little I do have, I don’t wish to waste listening to nonsense from you.’
Jamaspa, oddly enough, didn’t take offence at Ciarán’s brusque manner. Instead, he shrank down to a smaller, better-formed blue cloud, with arms decorated with gold bangles and a discernible expression on his face. ‘You have travelled to many other realms in your time, have you not?’ the
djinni
began.
Ciarán nodded, folding his arms across his chest. ‘So?’
‘Then you have heard of Emperor twins?’
‘Only rumours,’ Ciarán said, frowning. It was a long time since he’d gone rift running. The thrill tended to fade as one acquired years and common sense. What Jamaspa spoke of was something akin to legend, but a legend feared beyond reason by the
Tuatha Dé Danann
. The legend of Undivided twins inexplicably powerful and beholden to nothing and nobody.
‘The rumours are more than rumours,’ Jamaspa told him. ‘There are realms — a growing number of them — where the Undivided have been created from Emperor twins and they have achieved Partition.’
Ciarán knew the
djinni
wasn’t referring to the vociferous but mostly harmless Partitionist movement who wanted humanity cut free of their bonds to the
Tuatha Dé Danann
, by destroying the Treaty of
Tír Na nÓg
and returning to lives without magic
or the need for it. Jamaspa spoke of true Partition, where the Undivided were powerful enough to take what magic they wanted without any help from the
sídhe
races. The Brethren’s fear, Ciarán didn’t doubt for a moment, was that in such a world, once humans had no need for the
sídhe
, they would decide to be rid of them, or enslave them or exploit them, which is what humans did to all the other creatures they came into contact with. They did it to their own kind too.
‘And why do I care for these rumours?’ he asked.
‘Because there are other rumours that hint at a foe capable of defeating Emperor twins before they have a chance to mature.’
‘Then you don’t need me,’ Ciarán said. ‘Your champions are already out there somewhere.’
‘In every realm where the Undivided have achieved Partition, they have turned on the
sídhe
and set out to destroy them, Ciarán,’ Jamaspa said. ‘We cannot ignore the chance to find a solution to that problem.’
‘I couldn’t agree more,’ Ciarán said. ‘Good luck in your endeavours. Can I go now?’
Jamaspa swelled in size, blocking the entrance. ‘Rumour has it Emperor twins can be destroyed by the rare Undivided who
didn’t
perish during the transfer of power from one generation of Undivided to the next.’
That gave Ciarán pause. ‘Are you saying RónánDarragh might survive the transfer?’
‘They are unusually strong,’ the
djinni
said.
‘Legend says they have to be of royal blood.’
Jamaspa nodded, which made him bob up and down in the air. ‘We believe they
are
of royal blood.’
‘That’s ridiculous. Whose …?’ Ciarán stopped, his jaw dropping as he realised what Jamaspa was implying. There was only one
Tuatha Dé Danann
of royal blood who spent any time among humans since Amergin brought his muse, Elimyer,
to court. That had irked the Druids, but Amergin and his royal
Leanan Sídhe
had only ever produced one daughter. There were no psychically linked twins to worry about.
‘By
Danú
… do you mean their father is —’
‘Lucky the Brethren haven’t extinguished him permanently,’ Jamaspa finished for him with a scowl. ‘Only the possibility that RónánDarragh might one day prove the salvation of our kind, maybe in this realm, but certainly in many others who need our help, has stayed the Brethren’s hand.’
‘Does he know?’ Ciarán asked, still a little gobsmacked by Jamaspa’s revelation.
‘He would never have helped Amergin throw Rónán through a rift to another world if he had known,’ Jamaspa said. ‘We assume he doesn’t.’
This news changed everything. ‘Do you know for sure that the boys will survive the transfer?’ Ciarán had asked, trying not to look too hopeful, too excited by what the
djinni
was telling him.
Jamaspa shook his head. ‘We won’t know until the power transfer at
Lughnasadh
takes place. If Rónán and Darragh survive it, we have our answer. And maybe our weapon. If that happens, to protect this realm, we need to bring them home.’
Ciarán nodded, beginning to understand the problem. ‘And you don’t know where Rónán and Darragh are, or you would have arranged your own rift runners to bring them back.’