The Dark Divide

by Jennifer Fallon

  Aoi looked stunned that he didn’t want her. ‘What is the matter, Renkavana? Do you not think I’m pretty?’

  ‘I think you’re gorgeous,’ he assured her. ‘But … well …’ He was floundering, not sure what to say that wouldn’t offend her. After all, Aoi had offered her life as security against his good behaviour. It was rude of him to just push her away.

  On the other hand, laying a hand on this girl was — Ren was certain — a very short road to a whole world of trouble and pain.

  Then something useful from his brother’s memories popped unbidden into his mind — the first time he was grateful for the Comhroinn rather than confused by it. He might be all bumbling idiocy around strange girls, but his brother wasn’t. ‘It’s just … well, we hardly know each other, Aoi.’

  She smiled up at him and stepped a little closer. ‘It is my intention that we will get to know each other intimately, Renkavana.’

  Aoi meant it, too, Ren realised. On the verge of panic, suddenly Darragh’s confidence around women didn’t seem enough and Ren was out of his depth.

  ‘That’s really … flattering,’ he said, taking another step backward, until he was pushed up against the wall of the hut, ‘but what about your brother and your grandmother? What would they have to say about this?’

  ‘My brother and my Obaasan would welcome a child of the Youkai into the Ikushima.’

  ‘Child?’ Ren repeated, wide-eyed with alarm. ‘Who said anything about a child?’

  ‘I would bear your progeny with pride, Renkavana,’ she said. ‘For the honour of my House and my family.’

  ‘Okay, this is getting outta hand,’ he muttered in English, taking Aoi firmly by the shoulders to prevent her moving any closer. ‘Look,’ he told her in her own language, ‘I appreciate what you’ve done for me. It was very brave of you to take that oath to commit jigai to keep me here, but that doesn’t make you my girlfriend. I like you, but you’re too old for me. We can be friends, but there won’t be any funny business. Is that clear?’

  Aoi studied him for a moment and then she stepped back. She didn’t look offended. She seemed … relieved.

  My brother and my Obaasan would welcome a child of the Youkai into the Ikushima, she’d said.

  Jesus Christ, did they put her up to this?

  Ren wanted to ask, but he was afraid of the answer. Fortunately, now he had rejected her so forcefully, Aoi didn’t seem to be interested in any further conversation. She merely bowed low to him, muttered a goodbye and turned and hurried through the rain to the main house, leaving Ren wondering if he wouldn’t have been better off if he’d let Chishihero slit his throat the other night and be done with it.

  Ren thought — or at least hoped — his rejection of Aoi would mean the end of her plans to seduce him, and for a day or so, he figured he’d taken care of the problem. Aoi avoided him all the next day, and when he saw Namito at breakfast the following morning, no mention was made of his sister’s attempt to seduce their guest. Ren found himself missing Trása even more than he had before, figuring she might be able to give him some insight into this awkward situation. At the very least, she could tell these people he wasn’t Youkai and put an end to this idea that he was able or willing to provide the Ikushima with any sort of child, let alone a half-Youkai one.

  He was encouraged by her absence, though. If she’d been gone this long, perhaps she’d found a Leipreachán and was receiving instruction on how to open a rift in this realm, to get back to his own.

  Time was ticking on. Ren figured he had less than a week until Lughnasadh and the power transfer. He tried very hard not to think about it — given he might well be dead in a few days — but it was always at the back of his mind.

  Get a move on, Trása, he urged her silently, wishing telepathy was one of his gifts. We need to get out of here.

  But at dinner the following evening, the situation became infinitely worse. When he arrived for dinner, Aoi was there along with Namito and the old lady, and Kazusa, who was dressed up like a miniature geisha. Ren smiled at her, wondering at the outfit. ‘What’s the occasion?’ he asked. ‘Was I supposed to dress for dinner?’

  Before she could answer, Masuyo smiled and indicated that Ren should take his seat. He sat down staring at them all, wondering where the food was.

  ‘Do you find her pleasing, Renkavana?’

  ‘Pleasing how, exactly?’ he asked, figuring the question was about as laden with danger as Kiva charging into his room in a panic before a red carpet event — as she was wont to do — to demand ‘does this dress make me look fat?’.

  ‘Pleasing to the eye,’ Masuyo suggested. ‘Attractive. Desirable.’

  Oh … this is so not happening to me.

  ‘Pleasing, yes,’ Ren agreed carefully. ‘And very attractive. But desirable?’ He shook his head, wishing he were even half the diplomat his brother was, and not just pretending. ‘She’s a bit young for that, don’t you think? I mean … no offence, Kaz … but she’s a little kid.’

  ‘She has already commenced her menses,’ Masuyo announced.

  I really didn’t need to know that.

  ‘What is it you dislike, Renkavana? Her manner? Her appearance? Is she not young enough?’

  ‘Oh … you are sick, lady,’ Ren muttered in English. In her own language he addressed her more carefully, hoping his talent for language was such that there was no way he would be misunderstood. ‘Obaasan, I don’t find Kazusa desirable because she is a child, and where I come from, a person doesn’t desire children unless they are sick in the head. I come from a reality where grandmothers protect their children, not whore them out to strangers.’ He hadn’t meant the last bit to sound so harsh, but he couldn’t help himself. What Masuyo was suggesting was monstrous.

  Aoi muttered something under her breath that sounded suspiciously like ‘I told you so’ to her grandmother. Namito’s expression didn’t change. Ren got the feeling he was a party to this under protest. If he wasn’t, then to hell with Aoi’s jigai oath. If this is what they did to children as a matter of course in this realm, he was out of here. They all deserved to die.

  ‘You told Aoi she was too old for your taste,’ Namito said, breaking his silence. ‘Now you claim Kazusa is too young? Must we line up every nubile female in the compound for you to choose one the right age?’

  Ren looked around the table at them in stunned disbelief. Kazusa was smiling at him, almost as if she was oblivious about what exactly it was her grandmother was planning for her. Aoi wouldn’t meet his eye. Namito seemed frustrated and angry, but Ren wasn’t sure if the Daimyo was angry at his guest or his grandmother. Masuyo looked determined. And annoyed.

  ‘You people are crazy,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘Certifiable, card-carrying lunatics. The lot of you.’

  Aoi and Kazusa both gasped. Masuyo had turned purple and looked ready to burst something vital.

  ‘You offend us at our own table?’ Namito asked, bristling at the insult.

  ‘You started it,’ Ren shot back, alarmed at how childish that sounded. And how inappropriate it probably was. This was a world where people committed suicide rather than face dishonour. Not a good idea to belittle their customs, he guessed. He rose to his feet, figuring he would be better served leaving now, before he did too much more damage. He’d lost his appetite and any desire to spend a moment longer in their company. Ren turned to Masuyo, the architect, he was sure, of this diabolical plan. ‘Thanks for the offer, Obaasan, but I decline. I decline your granddaughters. I decline every nubile female in the compound. And I decline your hospitality.’ He glanced at Aoi, adding, ‘I’m sorry you took that oath, Aoi, because you really shouldn’t have. You don’t know me. And if the choice I have is between you committing Seppuku and me sleeping with your little sister … well, bad luck for you, I’m afraid.’

  Without waiting for an answer, he turned and left the dining room, grabbing his geta on the way out and carrying them in his hand. He wasn’t sure he had the guts to leave the compound i
tself, knowing Aoi would have to follow through on her oath if he did, but the least he could do was not share a meal with them.

  It was fully dark when he emerged onto the veranda. He glanced up at the sky for a moment, hoping to catch sight of a white owl, but the sky was empty. Where the hell are you, Trása? I’ve got to get outta here.

  He headed down the steps and along the raked path to his own hut. Someone had lit the torches lighting the path. Most people had eaten, he guessed, and were taking care of the last chores of the day before seeking their beds. That was another thing he’d learned about realms without electricity. They tended to go to bed much earlier than he was used to. He walked in stockinged feet across the compound, carrying his wooden sandals, back toward his own hut, the damp sand soaking his feet.

  ‘Renkavana!’

  Ren stopped, hung his head for a moment in resignation and then turned to find Namito coming up behind him, armed with a katana and carrying a spare.

  ‘You have insulted my House, my family, my Obaasan and my sisters.’

  ‘What can I say, Namito? It’s been a busy day.’

  ‘I demand you allow me the opportunity to restore my family’s honour.’

  ‘Knock yourself out,’ he said, turning away.

  He figured he was safe. Namito wanted to restore his honour. He wasn’t going to stab Ren in the back. The Daimyo wanted a fight. Ren had no intention of giving him one.

  ‘Stop!’

  Ren took a deep breath. This is going to get very ugly.

  He turned to face Namito again, under no illusions about how long he would survive a sword fight. His entire experience with bladed weapons involved a school term of weekly classes with Olympic foils, the odd bit of instruction with bored stuntmen while on set with Kiva, a few lessons with Ciarán that ended, every single time, with him getting his butt kicked, and the knowledge — but not the skill — acquired from his brother during the Comhroinn. He would last a minute or less, he figured, if he allowed this to escalate into an actual fight.

  The problem was, in this world where people offered to kill themselves as a surety against a stranger’s good behaviour, a mere sword fight to the death to restore a man’s honour was probably a routine occurrence.

  Everyone had stopped to watch. Aoi and Kazusa had come out onto the veranda with Masuyo. Fiery torches lined the path, making Namito look every bit the devastatingly well-trained samurai he was. Ren glanced around, his heart sinking.

  The bigger the audience, Ren realised with despair, the less chance he had of talking his host out of this.

  Namito tossed the blade to Ren, who took a step back so that it landed in the sand at his feet.

  ‘You are a coward, Renkavana.’

  ‘Sticks and stones, dude,’ Ren muttered to himself. He looked at Namito, shaking his head. ‘I’m not going to fight you.’

  ‘Then I will kill you.’

  ‘Really?’ Ren asked, wondering if it was bravery or complete idiocy to call his bluff. ‘Kill me? And then what?’ My brother and my Obaasan would welcome a child of the Youkai into the Ikushima, Aoi had said. They’d thrown Kazusa at him, too. He was banking on Namito wanting him alive more than his honour restored.

  ‘Wound him, Namito,’ Masuyo called out from the veranda. ‘He can still give us what we need without his limbs.’

  Charming, Ren thought, taking another step back as he watched Namito warily. Would he refuse to attack an unarmed man, or was offering Ren a weapon enough for the forms to be served?

  It proved to be the latter.

  With a roar, Namito raised his weapon and charged. Ren glanced at the blade on the ground, realised he had no chance of reaching it in time, even if he’d known what to do with it. The best he could do, in the split second between Namito’s attack and losing an arm at the shoulder, was to turn away and try to protect his head.

  Ren braced himself, waiting for the pain, wondering if he could manage to somehow zap himself away from here again, as he had when the Tanabe had tried to kill him …

  But the pain never came. The air was suddenly filled with an angry screeching, a blur of feathers and cries of shock and alarm. Ren opened his eyes to discover Namito under attack from a huge eagle, furiously flapping its wings. He dropped his katana and fled the open courtyard for the shelter of the veranda attached to the main house as the eagle drove him back.

  The bird didn’t continue the attack once Namito was disarmed. Instead, it landed in front of Ren, stretched its wings in an awesome show of defiance, and then it morphed into a young woman, naked, magnificent and furious.

  ‘How dare you!’ she shouted, looking around at the terrified Ikushima. ‘In the name of the Youkai I demand you leave my mate alone!’

  CHAPTER 32

  Namito had found, or been handed, another katana. He raised it, prepared to continue his attack now he realised he was facing a Youkai rather than a wild bird. He stepped down into the torch-lit yard, his sword at the ready, and began to cautiously move forward. Ren was still breathing hard, his heart pounding at his narrow escape. He had not expected to avoid a fight with Namito by having Trása come to his rescue. He watched her facing down the Daimyo and smiled. In this mood, she truly was something to behold.

  Trása laughed scornfully at the samurai as if he was a child waving around a bread and butter knife. ‘Are you so foolish, Daimyo, that you would attack a Youkai and her mate?’

  ‘Mate?’ Ren asked behind her in a low voice. It wasn’t that he was ungrateful for her intervention, but he wasn’t expecting her to claim him like some pre-historic cave girl in a really bad movie. ‘When did I become your mate?’

  ‘Shut up, Rónán,’ she hissed, standing squarely between him and Namito. ‘And just play along.’ She glanced over her shoulder and added tartly, ‘Unless, of course, you’d like me to leave, so the nice little samurai man can carry out his plan to cut you into sushi.’

  She had a point. Ren glanced at Namito and the sword he was waving about so angrily. ‘On second thoughts, why don’t you just carry on saving me,’ he agreed and took a step backwards. This girl could morph into a tiger if she chose. Trasa didn’t need his help.

  Namito was watching them through narrowed eyes, perhaps weighing up his chances of attacking Trása before she turned him into a toad, or whatever it was she was planning to do. It occurred to Ren at that moment that other than morphing into a variety of avian wildlife, he really didn’t know what Trása was capable of. He knew she was half-Beansídhe, but he’d spent most of his time with her in a reality without magic, and Darragh’s memories of her were not in any way related to her magical ability.

  ‘The Empresses have a bounty on your kind, Youkai. Those pointed ears of yours will make an ideal trophy to prove the loyalty of the Ikushima.’

  ‘I was thinking your balls would make an excellent necklace,’ she shot back. ‘But now I look at you, I think they would make better earrings.’

  Don’t insult his manhood! Ren wanted to shout at her. You’ll just make things worse.

  Namito raised his sword even higher, her slurs bolstering his courage. ‘I will gut you like the vermin you are, Youkai.’

  Trása glanced over her shoulder at Ren. ‘Time to wane out of here, I think.’

  ‘Wayne?’ Ren asked in confusion. ‘Wayne who?’

  Trása glared at him for a moment, as if he’d done something really stupid. ‘You don’t know how?’

  ‘How what, for chrissakes?’

  ‘You don’t know? Shit!’ she said in English, and then she turned to Namito and held up her hand. ‘Stay your hand, Daimyo of the Ikushima. You have proved your courage. The Youkai honour you and your clan.’

  ‘Hey?’ Ren asked, as Namito lowered his katana, looking just as confused as Ren felt. What the fuck is she playing at? One minute Trása was dicing with death, and the next she was trying to play nice.

  ‘You dare much, Youkai, coming into Shin Bungo and insulting the Ikushima.’ Namito didn’t sound very certain, but at
least he lowered his sword. Nobody watching the exchange from the verandas made a move to interfere.

  ‘I dare much, because there is much I can offer you,’ Trása announced.

  Ren was at a total loss as to what she might be talking about, or why she’d changed her tune so suddenly.

  The next thing he knew, Trása was stepping up to Namito, so close she was almost nose-to-nose with him, and speaking in a strange, musical tone. ‘If I may beg your indulgence, Daimyo, I wish to speak to my mate in private. You will permit this.’

  Namito stared into Trása’s eyes as if he was bewitched, and nodded as he sheathed his katana. ‘You may discuss your private matter in Renkavana’s quarters. I await the offer you speak of.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Trása bowed low to the Daimyo and then she turned, took Ren by the arm and all but dragged him across the raked sand to the hut, slamming the sliding door so hard once they were inside, she almost knocked it off its rails.

  With a wave of her hand, Trása lit the candle on the table and then turned to Ren and punched him on the shoulder. ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

  ‘Ow! Tell you what?’

  ‘That the Undivided are sídhe. That you can wane like a Leipreachán?’

  ‘I have no idea what you’re talking about, Trása. Why did you tell them I was your mate?’

  ‘Because Youkai mate for life. They’ll stop asking you to mate with one of them if they think you’re already spoken for.’ She studied him for a moment and then changed her tack. ‘Even if you didn’t know, why didn’t Darragh tell me about the Undivided being sídhe?’

  ‘Probably because — like me — he didn’t know anything about it,’ Ren said as he rubbed his arm, certain some memory of that startling news would be hiding somewhere in his brother’s memories if he’d known about it. ‘What did you do to Namito?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I mean that Jedi mind-trick you just pulled. That these-aren’t-the-droids-you’re-looking-for thing you just did to him.’