The Dark Divide

by Jennifer Fallon

‘Who is Rónán?’ Pete asked.

  ‘The young man you know as Ren,’ Darragh explained patiently. ‘In the realm where he belongs, he is Rónán.’

  ‘You said you were trying to be nice. Is that how you feel about your mother? That you should be nice to her?’

  Darragh looked at him for a moment, a little confused. ‘I barely remember her.’

  ‘You spoke to her only an hour or two ago,’ Eunice reminded him. Even she seemed to be getting a little impatient with his insistence that he wasn’t Ren.

  He turned to Eunice, shaking his head. ‘My mother was the Druidess, Sybille of Aquitania.’

  ‘A Druidess?’ Symes asked in an even voice. If he was surprised by Darragh’s answer, he was too experienced to let it show.

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘This is your mother from the other reality?’

  Darragh looked at Symes with great concern. ‘Obviously. Am I not explaining this clearly enough for you, Doctor?’

  Pete bit back a smile at Darragh’s question and the shrink’s thinning lips, which gave away more than Symes imagined. The good doctor might claim to have intimate knowledge of what made Ren Kavanaugh tick, but this kid was pretty adept at pushing his buttons, too.

  ‘And this realm? This is the other reality you took Hayley to?’

  Darragh nodded. ‘Rónán was hopeful magical healing might prevail where your technology had failed her.’

  Pete was watching Darragh closely for some tiny giveaway tic or movement that might prove useful, but the boy was calm and undaunted by his surroundings. He recalled the last time he’d interviewed Ren. The kid had been a real smart-arse — full of attitude and teenage rebellion. This kid was the opposite. He was calm and collected, even cooperative — except for the bullshit story he was peddling about coming from an alternate reality.

  ‘My brother was well-intentioned, Doctor. He meant her no harm.’

  ‘I knew it!’ Pete exclaimed, unable to contain himself. ‘You’re Ren’s twin brother, aren’t you?’

  Darragh nodded calmly and looked Pete straight in the eye. ‘Why do you sound so surprised, sir? You have seen us together.’

  ‘Thank you!’ Pete cried in relief, glad people would stop accusing him of seeing double. Now the kid had confirmed his story. He glanced over his shoulder at the one-way mirror, behind which he was fairly certain Brendá Duggan was watching the proceedings. ‘So you’re not Ren Kavanaugh, are you?’

  ‘No, of course not.’

  ‘And your brother’s tattoo?’

  ‘Is on the opposite hand to mine,’ Darragh said, as if such a thing were so obvious there was no need to mention it.

  ‘Detective … please …’ Symes began, but Pete ignored him. The shrink had been brought in to interrogate Ren Kavanaugh, and this wasn’t Ren Kavanaugh.

  ‘Do you know where Hayley Boyle is?’

  ‘I told you, she has been sent to my realm to have her sight healed.’

  ‘You planning to stick to that story?’

  ‘It’s the truth,’ Darragh said.

  Pete stood up. ‘Then we’re done here,’ he said. He glanced at his watch. ‘Interview ended at seven twenty-three pm.’

  ‘What are you going to do?’ Eunice asked. She seemed even more unsettled about this than Symes.

  ‘Not your problem anymore, Counsellor,’ he said. ‘You heard him. He’s not your client.’

  ‘That’s absurd!’ Symes exclaimed, not wanting to give up his multiple personality theory so easily. ‘Turn the recorder back on. We’re not done here yet.’

  ‘Yes, we are,’ Pete said. ‘We’re done. And so is Hayley Boyle, if I’m not mistaken.’ He turned to the boy, adding, ‘Isn’t that right, Darragh?’

  Without so much as a flicker of remorse, the young man looked Pete in the eye and nodded in agreement. ‘I fear you speak the truth, sir, because unless you know how to open a rift to another reality, nobody in this realm will ever see Rónán, Trása or Hayley Boyle again.’

  CHAPTER 26

  Brydie spent much of the next few days in the dark. Although Anwen had thought up the plan to hide the jewel that once belonged to Marcroy, it was Torcán who had ostensibly commissioned the jewelled collar for his bride as a gift. Brydie supposed Torcán — having been given credit for the idea — was waiting for the right moment to present it to her, so she could wear it at the ceremony. Brydie couldn’t see anything while the necklace was in the bag. She could hear voices sometimes, but muffled, so she couldn’t really make out what they were saying. She spent her time trying to decide why the queen had allowed Marcroy’s gift to be reset into something her future daughter-in-law would wear.

  She was no closer to working it out when she was unceremoniously knocked off her feet as the necklace was shaken out of its velvet bag and dumped on a table. A large eye loomed over her for a moment, studying the jewel, and then moved back a little to reveal Anwen staring down at her.

  In a fit of childish pique, Brydie poked her tongue out. Then she laughed.

  Anwen has no idea I’m trapped in here.

  That set her pulling all kinds of silly faces at the court maiden. It was childish, but Brydie had nothing better to do with her time, and the idea that Anwen’s own bridal gift was making fun of her amused Brydie no end.

  A few moments later Brydie was knocked over again as Anwen raised the necklace up and tied it around her neck. Now, instead of having to look at Anwen, Brydie discovered she had an excellent view of the queen.

  ‘Do you like it?’ Álmhath asked her future daughter-in-law.

  ‘Very much, an Bhantiarna.’

  Brydie felt, rather than heard, Anwen reply. Resting on the young woman’s upper chest, as she was, the sound reached her through touch as much as her ears, which gave Anwen’s voice an interesting, and not unpleasant, timbre.

  ‘Well, try to look surprised when Torcán gives it to you tonight at supper,’ the queen said. ‘He’ll be disappointed if he knows you’ve seen it already.’

  The light vanished as Anwen’s fingers covered the jewel momentarily. ‘It’s a great responsibility to be trusted with something so precious, an Bhantiarna,’ Anwen said.

  Responsibility? Brydie thought. That’s odd. Why would Anwen think the queen entrusting her with the necklace is a responsibility? It wasn’t as if it was a family heirloom. It had been finished only a few days ago. Anwen knew that.

  ‘Well, if you’re right about what it contains, I can’t think of anywhere safer to hide it out of Marcroy’s reach. At least, not until you’ve found a way to release her.’ The queen took a seat at her table, shaking her head. ‘I should never have let Brydie accept a gift from Marcroy. I knew at the time it must be a trick of some kind.’

  Oh, by Danú, she knows!

  Filled with elation and relief, Brydie stood up and pressed her face against the faceted surface of the jewel. She knows. Someone knows I’m in here! How long before I’m free? She began to wave madly at the queen, shouting as loud as she could, but Álmhath was too far away. Brydie wanted to weep with joy. She had so much to tell the queen … about Jamaspa, about Darragh …

  Well, maybe not so much about Darragh, she decided.

  Of course, the queen couldn’t hear her cries, and perhaps it wouldn’t have made a difference, even if she was peering into the amethyst with a magnifying glass. Nobody else had been able to see her trapped in here. Why should the queen be any different? She probably didn’t realise Brydie could see and hear her.

  The relief of simply knowing the queen knew she was trapped in this wretched stone and was working toward her release was exhilarating. The news banished the slowly escalating despair Brydie was trying to overcome. She had hope. Eventually, the queen would find Jamaspa or another of the Djinn and she would be freed. Maybe any one of the sídhe could release her. Maybe Marcroy himself could save her? He should take some responsibility for her predicament, after all. He was the one who had given her the brooch …

  Wait … how does Álmhath
know I’m in here? Brydie wondered.

  No Druid had noticed the magicked jewel or the young woman trapped inside. Anwen hadn’t said anything to Colmán when he handed over her belongings.

  How does the queen of the Celts know something magical that the Druids don’t?

  She was still pondering that mystery when another presented itself, even more unsettling than the idea that the queen of the Celts had some sort of unsuspected magical ability.

  ‘It will be a tragedy,’ Anwen said, ‘if that bloodline is lost, after all we’ve done to nurture it.’

  Álmhath took a seat opposite her court maiden at the table, bringing Brydie much closer to the monarch, bringing her near enough to see the strain and weariness on her face. She smiled encouragingly. ‘We will prevail, my lady. All is not lost.’

  My lady? Why is Álmhath addressing Anwen as an equal?

  ‘That’s only because it’s not Lughnasadh yet,’ Anwen replied, reaching for the wine decanter. ‘By Danú, how did Marcroy find those boys? We had them so well hidden.’

  ‘Not as well hidden as you thought,’ Álmhath said.

  It struck Brydie as very strange that Álmhath was speaking to Anwen as though she was the courtier and Anwen the monarch. It was true Anwen was soon to become her daughter-in-law, but in private the balance of power seemed reversed. Álmhath was trying to reassure Anwen. In public, Anwen tended to behave like a spoiled brat who considered her betrothal to the queen’s son licence to do whatever she pleased. Brydie thought she might understand the queen granting Anwen some leeway in private but this went beyond appeasement. If she hadn’t known any better, Brydie could have sworn Anwen and not Álmhath was the woman in charge.

  But the greater mystery was the boys the queen spoke of. Did she mean Broc and Cairbre, the Undivided heirs Marcroy announced he’d found, only a day after Brydie arrived in Sí an Bhrú? Those rare, psychically linked twins who would soon become the channel for Tuatha magic?

  ‘The Tuatha have found something they weren’t meant to find. We are now in somewhat of a bind, because of it.’ That’s what Álmhath said to Brydie in the wagon on the way to Sí an Bhrú and sent her to Darragh with instructions to fall pregnant. Is this what she meant by something they weren’t meant to find? Had Marcroy Tarth located the Undivided heirs Anwen had hidden from him? From the Druids?

  Why would she hide the twins?

  Why would she confide in Álmhath about it?

  And why was the queen of the Celts answering to one of her court maidens, even if that maiden was betrothed to her only son?

  ‘The Matrarchaí have overcome worse, an Bhantiarna,’ Anwen said. ‘We will survive this.’

  The queen shook her head, unconvinced. ‘This is not the same as your people coming through the rift to stage an accident to hide the fact that the Undivided are long-lived,’ Álmhath said. ‘Or one of our midwives smothering a newborn with pointed ears, or cat-slit eyes.’

  Anwen rose to her feet, turning to the fire so Brydie could no longer see the queen. ‘The Matrarchaí have been developing this bloodline for two thousand years. There are those who believe we were only one generation short of achieving Partition in this realm.’

  Brydie couldn’t see Álmhath’s face, but she sounded concerned. ‘I know you don’t want this to happen now, but I’ve never understood why. Is there a problem with the new twins? Are they inadequate in some way?’

  Anwen shook her head. Brydie could tell by the way she was thrown this way and that by the movement of her neck. ‘BrocCairbre will be adequate as the Undivided, but that’s the problem. They are not RónánDarragh.’ She sighed, her breath making the jewel tremble for a moment. ‘In this realm, it will set us back … assuming we can recover at all. I am not sure my sisters will be interested in pursuing Partition here, if the transfer goes ahead.’

  She turned to face Álmhath who had gone quite pale. Even through the tinted filter of the amethyst, Brydie could see it. ‘You can’t mean to abandon us, my lady. Not now. Not after everything we’ve done for you.’

  The court maiden shrugged. Once again Brydie could tell simply by the direction she staggered as Anwen raised and lowered her shoulders.

  ‘I’m still not convinced Marcroy — or perhaps one of the other Faerie races of this realm — doesn’t suspect what we’ve been up to. Perhaps they have taken it upon themselves to thwart our plans. It always struck me as too convenient that it was Rónán they tossed through a rift as a child.’

  ‘You mean, if they wanted to find a way to subvert the Treaty of Tír Na nÓg, why this generation? Why not the one before? Or the one before that?’

  By the movement in the stone still tied around Anwen’s neck, Brydie guessed she was nodding. She sat back on her heels, astonished by what Anwen was saying. She remembered the conversation she’d had with the queen on their way to Sí an Bhrú, when Álmhath had told Brydie what she expected of her.

  ‘The Matrarchaí are the reason the line has never been broken,’ the queen had told her. ‘The reason why, after sixty-six generations, humans still occupy Sí an Bhrú.’

  Brydie had been stunned by what the queen was telling her, but it was starting to make sense. ‘The Matrarchaí know the secret of producing the psychic twins needed to preserve the Treaty of Tír Na nÓg.’

  Álmhath had nodded, smiling grimly. ‘Your father said you were a bright girl.’

  Brydie recalled adding something about her mother’s line, and that Álmhath had told her there was more than one bloodline. ‘Yours happens to be one of the stronger ones,’ the queen had explained. ‘Fortunate indeed that your last bleed was near a fortnight past. We may not have much time, so it’s important you conceive as soon as possible.’

  ‘Why is time suddenly a problem?’ she’d asked.

  ‘The Tuatha have forced our hand,’ the queen had told her, frowning. ‘If we don’t act soon, there may not be a line to preserve.’

  ‘I wish I knew what the Tuatha are up to.’ Anwen sighed again, and for a moment Brydie was plunged into darkness as she placed her fingertips on the stone. ‘I wish she could tell us what she knows.’

  Danú, she really does know I’m in here …

  ‘Do you think Brydie discovered the truth about what they’re up to?’

  ‘She discovered something,’ Anwen said. ‘Which is why they trapped her.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ the queen asked, sounding a little doubtful. ‘I mean … they could have just killed her. Are you sure she’s in there? For all you know, she’s run off with Darragh and the two of them are rutting like rabbits somewhere, not caring what the rest of us think.’

  Brydie smiled at that image, but Anwen didn’t seem amused at all. ‘When Marcroy gave Brydie that stone it was a purple amethyst so clear it was almost transparent. I remember seeing it when you arrived at Sí an Bhrú. Brydie was wearing it on her kirtle. She has disappeared. Now look at it. The stone is so dark it could be mistaken for a topaz. That is the colour of a stone possessed by one of undiluted human blood, an Bhantiarna.’

  ‘So get me out of here!’ Brydie shouted, her pleas wasted. Nobody could hear her. But her voice trailed off as she put the pieces together.

  The bloodline of RónánDarragh the Matrarchaí were so desperate to preserve. Darragh’s ability to disappear in and out of his chamber without using the door. Álmhath speaking of staging accidents to hide the fact that the Undivided were long-lived. Matrarchaí midwives smothering newborn babies with pointed ears and cat-slit eyes …

  It all added up to one inevitable conclusion, she decided. The Undivided are not human. They are Faerie.

  And I was selected to continue the line, which means, Brydie realised, not sure how she felt about the revelation, I am probably mostly Faerie too.

  What does that make you, Anwen? she wondered. Are you human? Faerie? Or something else entirely?

  And why, when she spoke of achieving Partition, did Brydie get the feeling Anwen wasn’t talking about the few old men who sat around th
e hearth at Temair drinking mead, as they drunkenly fantasised about a world that didn’t rely on the untrustworthy Tuatha Dé Danann for their magic?

  CHAPTER 27

  Cuan Mó, in every reality Trása had ever visited, was a natural ocean bay dotted with hundreds of sunken drumlins — long, narrow, whale-shaped hills formed of gravel, rock, and clay debris. In the reality where Rónán grew up, they insisted the islands had been formed by the movement of glaciers. Trása had been to another reality where the drumlins were considered unhatched dragon eggs. There was supposed to be an island in the bay for every day of the year, but anybody who could fly over it knew that was a myth. There were barely more than a hundred drumlins.

  Still, the bay was impressive, particularly at low tide. Not far from here was, in her own reality, the small village of Breaga.

  It was raining when Trása landed in the trees, dropping the parcel she’d carried in her beak. This time she’d fashioned a sling from the torn strip of the sheeting from Ronan’s bed at the Ikushima compound so she could have some clothes to wear, as well as the bacon she needed to bait her trap. It may be necessary to seek out human civilisation in human form, she reasoned, and the temperature was dropping, every day a little cooler than the next. This way she wouldn’t have to waste time looking for something to keep warm.

  The trap was simple enough to recreate — it was little more than a box, made of twigs and leaves. The trap’s effectiveness lay in the enchantment she would cast over it, not its structural integrity. It took Trása less than an hour to fashion an effective trap. It took her a little longer to find a suitable clearing in the forest. Once she found a likely spot, she set the trap, baited it with the bacon and then stood back. She closed her eyes, feeling the powerful magic of this realm swirl around her, she called on the gods Flidais and Tuan MacCarell in the Faerie language of her own realm, to bind the Leipreachán’s secret name into the trap. Then she leaned forward and whispered the name over the trap, felt it settle on the fragile structure, stepped back and waited.