The Undivided (19 page)

Neat trick.

The figure pocketed something he held in his right hand and then walked toward them until he was only a few feet from Ren. He hesitated, then he pushed back the hood of his robe.

Ren stared. He knew this person’s face as well as he knew his own reflection.

Shocked, he briefly glanced at Niamh, then fixed his attention on the young man who’d emerged from the lightning.

When he finally found his voice, ‘What the
fuck
…?’ was all he could manage.

Darragh took the better part of a day to reach the village of Breaga. He took a circuitous route through a number of villages north and west of the coast, to confuse anybody who thought they saw him briefly appearing in the standing stones, as he moved from one place to another.

Anybody who did report seeing him — either to his own people or to agents of the
Tuatha
— would be laughed at. It was common knowledge by now, after all, that Darragh the Divided was currently locked in his room at
Sí an Bhrú
, keeping company with Queen Álmhath’s court maiden, the lovely Brydie Ni’Seanan, and that — both being young and virile — they probably wouldn’t emerge for days.

Even so, he’d almost been discovered more than once, the closest call being on his way through Naase. Like all the stone circles used for opening rifts, it was located outside the village, its entrance facing northeast, directly opposite the lowest stone, the only one in the circle with a flat top. It was raining when he arrived, and moments after he stepped through the rift, from the standing stones at
Sí an Bhrú
, the red lightning began to arc a second time, indicating another rift was about to open. Darragh dived for cover on the outside of the stones, squatting to flatten himself against the wet rocks. He held his breath as two of the
Tuatha
emerged from the rift, unaware they were observed. The two — a male and a female — were deep in conversation, picking up their discussion mid-sentence as they emerged, as if the rift was nothing more than a minor interruption. The male
sídhe
pocketed his jewel as soon as the lightning stopped, and the two moved off, heads bowed against the rain. They pulled up their hoods to cover their pointed ears and long hair, and hurried down the muddy track toward the town, and whatever business they had there.

Darragh didn’t waste any time wondering what the
Tuatha
were doing in Naase, although Ciarán might have been interested to hear of it. As soon as they were out of sight, he stepped back into the centre of the standing stones and opened his palm to reveal the small red jewel he carried, etched with the intricate knot-work spells that allowed him to open the rift. He quickly scanned the standing stones until he found the symbol for Breaga, sparing a thought for the young woman currently ensconced in his chambers back in
Sí an Bhrú
, with promises of keeping up the illusion she was there with him.

He’d spent much of the night lying awake, talking to Brydie after he’d discovered her eavesdropping on his conversation with Ciarán. She was by turns frustrating and oddly willing to help. There had been no further talk of trying to steal his seed, although it was clear that, had he shown the slightest inclination, Brydie would have been more than happy to oblige. She’d been chosen that morning, she claimed, by Álmhath, looking for someone to thrust into his bed, selected merely because she was in the right part of her menstrual cycle. Darragh thought there might be a little more to it than that. The girl was stunning. Even if the sacred grove had been full of fertile maidens, Darragh suspected Álmhath would still have chosen Brydie.

One baited a trap, after all, with the most delicious bait at one’s disposal.

Even after talking with her for hours, Darragh still wasn’t sure whether he’d met the girl of his dreams, or the most conniving little vixen ever to darken the halls of
Sí an Bhrú.
Brydie was either the best ally he could have found to hide his absence, or she was, at this very moment, betraying him. His only consolation, if that proved to be the case, was knowing she still thought Ciarán was searching for some rogue rift runner, not his long-lost brother. But Darragh knew that for the time being at least, Brydie wouldn’t betray him. She had been given a mission by the queen of the Celts and until she managed to consummate her union with one of the Undivided, she wasn’t, Darragh suspected, planning to go anywhere or betray anyone.

Who knows, maybe, if luck is with us, she’ll have two of us to choose between by tonight.

It was a fleeting thought, however, and Brydie was far from his mind when he arrived in Breaga, filled with both anticipation and trepidation.

After months of fearing they would never find his brother, Darragh was suddenly afraid of what Niamh and Brógán might have brought back.

What if Rónán turned out to be uninterested in his true origins?

Even worse, what if he was a fool? Or a fop? Or so corrupted by the technology of the reality where Amergin and Marcroy had abandoned him, he wasn’t capable of dealing with the reality where he belonged?

What if he hated the idea of having a brother?

What if he didn’t want to know his twin?

What if they couldn’t stand each other?

Darragh forced himself to stop thinking like that. It was pointless. Rónán would be what he was and there was nothing Darragh could do about it now. When he stepped onto the stone platform for the last leg of his trip to Breaga, he forced himself
to be calm and contained, and had almost convinced himself there was nothing to be concerned about.

His serenity lasted long enough to draw on the power of the stones, focus it through the jewel to open the rift, and to connect with the stones in Breaga. But as soon as he stepped through the rift and saw a hooded figure standing in front of Ciarán, with the big man’s hand on his shoulder, Darragh’s knees threatened to give way.

He took a deep breath, tucked the jewel safely into the pocket of his robe, and walked forward, pushing back the hood, barely able to contain his excitement.

Rónán stared at him for a painfully long moment. Then he exclaimed, ‘What the
fuck
…?’

Darragh stared back. He didn’t understand what his brother was saying. Rónán spoke a language he didn’t know, but the shock in his expression told him what the words probably meant.

‘Well met, brother,’ he said warmly, hoping Rónán remembered enough of his native tongue to appreciate the sentiment.

Rónán said nothing. He just stood there, speechless.

‘It is up to me, I suppose, to make the formal introductions,’ Niamh said. ‘Rónán, this is your twin brother, Darragh. Darragh, your long-lost brother, Rónán.’

Darragh wanted to grab Rónán in a bear hug. He wanted to check he was real. To hold him so he could be certain he was actually a real, live, warm, breathing person and not a figment of his tormented imagination. Rónán was clearly flabbergasted to learn he had a brother. Darragh, on the other hand, had spent a lifetime knowing that his other half was lost to him. To have him back, to have him standing there, whole and solid, was almost as overwhelming for Darragh as it was for his twin.

‘What the
fuck
…?’

‘Why does he keep saying that?’ Darragh asked Ciarán in a low voice, frowning.

‘He’s shocked, that’s all,’ Niamh explained. ‘He didn’t believe me when I tried to explain about this being a different realm to the one he knows. So we gave up explaining and brought him here to meet you.’ She shrugged. ‘Sometimes it is better to show, rather than tell, don’t you think?’

‘I have … a
twin
?’ Rónán managed to stutter, asking the question in Gaelige, much to Darragh’s relief, although his accent was strange. Darragh hadn’t considered the possibility his brother no longer spoke his native tongue, but clearly some vestige of it remained. It wouldn’t take long, Darragh knew, for him to recover the knowledge. The Druid gift for languages was one of the reasons their order was so respected among the nations of the world.

Or at least they
had
been respected — until Amergin and Marcroy Tarth had tried to circumvent the Treaty of
Tír Na nÓg
by separating the Undivided.

Darragh studied Rónán closely, drinking in the sight of him. Except for his hair, which, although exactly the same shade of dark brown, was cut short the way the Romans preferred it, looking at Rónán was like looking in a mirror.

‘No f-freakin’ way …’

More stammered words Darragh didn’t understand. He smiled. ‘You were not expecting this, I think.’

‘This isn’t real,’ Rónán said in Gaelige, shaking his head, pale and wide-eyed with astonishment.

Darragh, in answer, pushed his robe aside, and unsheathed the table dagger he carried on his belt. Rónán stared at him warily as Darragh opened his palm to reveal the triskalion tattoo. Then he held his arm out, and carved a shallow cut across his left forearm.

‘
Jesus Christ!
’ Rónán cried in pain, clutching his own arm.

Rónán pushed back the sleeve on his robe to reveal an identical cut — and tattoo — the blood beading across his skin. He stared at the blood.

‘No
fucking
way … this is insane.’

‘As is standing here in the open, chatting like a couple of gossipy fishwives,’ Ciarán warned, looking toward the village. ‘We should head back to the hut. You and your brother can catch up while we walk,
Leath tiarna
.’

‘It was you!’ Rónán accused Darragh, in a mixture of both languages, with a look of dawning comprehension. He pulled his shirt out and lifted it to show Darragh the long slice across his ribs.

Darragh opened his robe and lifted his shirt to reveal a perfectly matched slice across his own ribs. ‘We are more than brothers, Rónán — we are the Undivided.’

That clearly meant nothing to Rónán. He was still getting over the realisation that his many and varied injuries over the years were also Darragh’s. Rónán said something else in the tongue Darragh didn’t understand, and then repeated it in Gaelige when he saw Darragh’s blank look. ‘It’s you!
You’re
the reason for all the cuts. Getting my stomach pumped …’

‘I have my share of injuries caused by you, brother.’ Darragh smiled, understanding how startling this must be for his twin, but anxious that Rónán accept the truth as quickly as possible. There was so much to catch up on. So much for Rónán to learn.

So much they could achieve as the Undivided.

‘I fell off my bike a couple of times. But you tried to kill yourself! Thanks to you they sent me to a fucking shrink.’

Niamh impatiently translated Rónán’s rapid, excited accusation. He seemed able to speak his version of Gaelige only when he was calm. Darragh smiled when he realised what Rónán was so upset about, glad he could clear that up. ‘I never tried to kill myself, Rónán. That was others trying to kill me … us actually, given that if one of us dies, we both do …’

‘We must leave here now,
Leath tiarna
,’ Ciarán said, even more firmly, before Darragh could add anything more. ‘The locals are starting to wonder about us.’

Darragh looked toward the village. The residents of Breaga were starting to emerge from their houses, warily watching the Druids who were using their stones.

‘You speak wisely, old friend. Let’s go.’

Rónán was too dumbstruck to object. Still clutching his stinging arm, he turned without protest in the direction of the hut. The curious villagers would go back inside as the Druids walked through the village. Darragh wasn’t too worried as the people here would know it was unwise to interfere in Druidic business. Álmhath was unlikely to have spies this far from
Sí an Bhrú
. Breaga’s relative isolation — and its proximity to the sea — was much of the reason he’d chosen this place to rendezvous with his brother.

Even so, Darragh found himself hard-pressed to care if someone did report to Álmhath. Rónán was back and, right now, that was all Darragh cared about.

‘Do you remember anything about your life before you were taken?’ Darragh asked, falling in beside Rónán. Niamh walked on the other side and Ciarán behind. It was a silly question. He knew that. Rónán was only three years old when they threw him through the rift.

It didn’t seem fair, though, that Rónán had lost all memory of Darragh, when not a day in the last fifteen years had gone by when Darragh hadn’t thought of Rónán.

‘Taken?’ Rónán asked in the foreign tongue. ‘You mean from the Gardaí station?’

Confused, Darragh looked at Niamh again for a translation. ‘Rónán was imprisoned when we found him,’ she explained. ‘I think he’s confusing his original abduction with his most recent one.’

‘Does he not remember our mother tongue?’ Darragh asked.

Niamh shrugged, glancing over her shoulder at Ciarán. ‘They teach a version of it in the schools of the other realm, but what
they call Gaelige is only a first or second cousin to the language we speak.’ She smiled reassuringly. ‘Give it time,
Leath tiarna.
He is your twin. He has your gift for languages. It won’t take him long to remember.’

‘I’m right here, you know,’ Rónán said in his oddly accented Gaelige, a little annoyed, apparently, by a conversation that excluded him. ‘And I understand enough to know what you’re saying. Why does she call you
Leath tiarna
?’

‘For the same reason she calls you
Leath tiarna
,’ Ciarán replied grumpily.

Darragh smiled at Rónán’s blank look. ‘Individually, brother, we are the Half-Lords of All Eire. Together we are the Undivided.’

Rónán considered that for a moment, before thrusting his hands deep into the pockets of his Druid robe. ‘There’s no chance, I suppose,’ he said after a time, his command of his native tongue improving noticeably with every sentence, ‘that I was the one Murray Symes ran down, and it’s me — not poor Hayley — lying in hospital in a drug-induced coma?’

‘No, Rónán,’ Darragh said. ‘You’re not in a coma. You are home.’

Rónán sighed. Darragh recognised the gesture. He’d done it himself a million times. ‘I know … it’s just … well, the coma thing would have been easier to swallow,’ Rónán said.

‘I’ve no doubt,’ Darragh agreed. ‘You must have many questions for us.’

Rónán nodded warily. ‘Do we have parents?’

‘Of course,’ Darragh said, glancing at Rónán with an odd expression. ‘Do they not have parents in the reality where they found you?’

‘Yeah … but …’ Rónán sighed. ‘Dude, I’ve spent the last fifteen odd years wondering where I came from. It’d be nice to have some answers.’