The Undivided (2 page)

‘If we had to take our clothes off, couldn’t we have done this indoors?’

Brydie glanced down around the circle of her sisters, cousins and friends, wondering who was brave enough to voice such a sacrilegious thought aloud. It might have been Anwen. Since her betrothal to the queen’s only son, Torcán, last
Imbolc
, she’d become full of her own opinions, and with the security of her position of a soon-to-be princess, wasn’t afraid of sharing them. Not that Brydie disagreed with her distant cousin, shivering as she stepped out of her shift, leaving it in a puddle of pale linen on the grass behind her, but she would never have dared to say so.

Hugging her arms across her naked body against the chill, Brydie glanced up at the sun, barely visible through the trees. The sun lacked warmth, and what little there was the tall trees stole with their shadows. She shivered again and turned to her companions, noting with concern that the queen seemed to have only called the unmarried women of her court to this gathering in the sacred grove. Looking around at the dozen or so girls undressing around her, Brydie wondered what it meant. Was there a treaty to be sealed with a wedding?

More importantly, would the bride be ordered to the altar by her queen or permitted to volunteer?

Brydie chewed her bottom lip with concern. Queen Álmhath had been talking with quite a few border lords of late, even a couple from across
Muir Éireann
. The man visiting from Albion wasn’t anything to boast about, but he seemed a decent enough fellow, the few times Brydie was called to wait on his table these past few weeks. The other man, the Gaul … he was a pig. Brydie fervently hoped if this gathering had been called to select a treaty bride, it wasn’t because the queen of the Celts wanted something out of the Gauls.

‘Don’t slouch!’

Brydie straightened her shoulders, dropped her arms and lifted her chin, despite the bitter wind. One didn’t defy Lady Malvina unless one was feeling particularly in need of trouble.

The Druidess stopped beside Brydie but, fortunately, she fixed her attention on the girl beside her. Ethna was a year older than Brydie, but much thinner, her long brown hair tied back in a tight braid. At least Brydie had thought to let her own hair down as she undressed, figuring she might glean a little warmth from the thickness of it. Poor Ethna seemed to be feeling the cold a great deal more than the other girls, and a thin line of blood was trickling down her inner thigh. It was her
mìosach
time. Brydie felt sorry for Ethna and was relieved hers had finished a couple of weeks ago. Poor girl. Brydie might be teased constantly by the men of Álmhath’s court about her child-bearing hips, but at least she didn’t look as if she was going to snap in the first strong breeze like her companion did. The unfortunate girl was turning blue.

‘By
Danú
,’ the old Druidess sighed, shaking her head. ‘You’re a sorry specimen, Ethna Ni’Connell. Did your father never feed you at home?’

Ethna’s eyes began to well with unshed tears. Brydie wasn’t sure if that was because she was upset or just cold. Her pale, freckled skin was prickled with gooseflesh, and her teeth were actually chattering.

‘I … I …’

‘It’s not her fault,
an Bhantiarna
,’ Brydie said, taking pity on the girl. They weren’t exactly friends, but nobody deserved Malvina’s heartless scorn for such an insignificant thing as not having enough meat on their bones. ‘Ethna’s just naturally thin.’

Malvina turned her pale, watery eyes on Brydie, eyeing her up and down like a farmer calculating the net worth of a freshly slaughtered carcass. ‘And what’s your excuse for the way you stand there, Brydie Ni’Seanan? You’re just naturally built for sin, are you?’

A few of the other girls sniggered. Brydie refused to react to the taunt. It was a tired one, coined a few months ago by some
Ráith
lord, who’d drunkenly tried to petition the queen for a night with her, in honour of
Imbolc
. The queen had refused, of course, loudly telling the lord — and the other three hundred or so inebriated guests in her hall — that her court maidens weren’t put on this Earth by the goddess to sate the drunken lust of a man with ten children, and he’d be better served going home to his own wife to make number eleven.

It had all been a bit of good-natured fun, until then. Anwen and Torcán had just announced their betrothal, spirits were high, everyone was drunk and it was part of the sport to try coaxing a court maiden into your bed. It was just as much a part of the fun of being a court maiden to avoid a tryst until the queen gave her permission, and even Álmhath had laughed while she delivered her rebuke. As Brydie walked away from the table, however, the lord had called out to the queen in a plaintive voice that reached every corner of the hall. ‘Really? Not even a kiss, my lady? But look at her! She’s built for naught
but
sin!’

That had set the revellers rolling in the aisles and Brydie had not been able to shake the description ever since.

Failing to get a rise out of Brydie, Malvina moved on. Ethna smiled timorously at Brydie as the Druidess moved around the
circle. ‘Thanks, but you didn’t have to say anything. It’s not that cold.’

‘You look like a freshly hooked fish, Ethna,’ Brydie said, smiling.

Ethna rubbed her arms for a moment and glanced toward the entrance to the grove. There was no sign of the queen yet. ‘Do you think Álmhath is looking for a treaty bride?’

‘Probably.’

‘Will you stand forth?’

Brydie shook her head. ‘With my luck she’s done a deal with that Gaulish pig, and he’d beat me every day, feed me nothing but snails and expect me to bear him ten sons who all have manners just as bad as his.’

‘I’d go if I was asked,’ Ethna said, lowering her voice. ‘I’m sick of this place. Sick of Temair.’ She glanced down the line at Malvina’s back. The Druidess had stopped to chastise another girl for taking too long to get undressed. ‘Sick of the Druids.’

‘Then I hope for your sake Álmhath asks for volunteers,’ Brydie said. ‘You can be sure I won’t be fighting you for a seat on any boat crossing
Muir Éireann
.’

They fell silent after that, each girl wrapped in her own thoughts while they waited for the queen, all of them thinking much the same as she and Ethna were thinking, Brydie supposed. Álmhath needed a bride to seal a treaty and, as was the custom, the bride would come from among her court maidens. She cast a furtive glance across the circle at Anwen, wondering what she was doing here. With her betrothal to Torcán, she should be off the market. Had she angered the queen in some way? Had Torcán wearied of her already?

‘Kneel for your queen!’

Each of the twelve girls knelt on one knee as Álmhath swept into the grove, wearing a long white cloak. A handsome woman in late middle age, she had an air of timelessness about
her that Brydie envied. She hoped she would be as commanding some day.

‘You have been called to discharge your sacred duty,’ the queen announced with no preamble, as she pushed back the hood of her robe to reveal her thick, braided auburn hair, flecked with more and more silver each year. ‘As daughters of
Danú
, you are honoured to do her work, and there is no greater honour than to bring forth the next generation. We are women, blessed by
Danú
with the means to nurture our race and ensure its continuation. As court maidens, you are further blessed with the means to keep our borders safe. To that end, I will be selecting two of you …’

Brydie bit her lip. The queen had said ‘selecting’. There was no chance of avoiding a marriage now, if she was one of the chosen.

It wasn’t that Brydie was averse to the idea of an arranged marriage, in principle. She just didn’t like what was on offer. Brydie wasn’t naïve enough to believe in dashing princes and happy-ever-afters, the way the bards went on and on when they told their romances. She clung to the hope, however, that the accident of birth that gave her enough noble blood to secure her place as a court maiden also meant she’d eventually marry someone with a modicum of good manners, at the very least.

‘… to take up this blessed duty for your queen, your country and your race. Rise now, so that
Danú
and I may see you as you truly are.’

All of the girls stood a little taller as the queen approached them. Unlike Malvina, Álmhath seemed aware it was cold and knew the girls must be suffering. She made her rounds quickly, examining each girl critically for a moment, asking her when her most recent
mìosach
had finished, before smiling at them briefly and moving on. Every girl got the same attention and the same brief smile, unless like Ethna, there was clear evidence of their menstrual cycle, and the queen had no need to ask. It was
impossible to tell what the queen was thinking. Malvina stood at the entrance to the grove, as if to block any girl foolish enough to attempt an escape.

Finally, the queen finished her circle and turned to face them. ‘Those blessed by
Danú
this day are Ethna and Morann.’

Beside her, Ethna let out a little squeak of glee. Sighing with relief, Brydie hoped the young woman still felt that way after six months in a Gaulish court. Whatever plans the queen was making, apparently they didn’t involve her. Perhaps she’d chosen girls with clear evidence of their fertility, which would make sense if the queen of the Celts was promising these border lords fine healthy sons out of their new brides. Brydie waited, head down, for the queen to leave the grove so she and the others could get dressed and out of this persistent, bitter wind, relieved her cycle had apparently excluded her.

‘Brydie Ni’Seanan?’

‘
An Bhantiarna
.’ She dropped to one knee, her heart in her mouth.
What have I done now?

‘Come with me,’ the queen commanded. ‘
Danú
has work for you, too, my dear.’

‘You’re wounded,
Leath tiarna
.’

Darragh pulled his linen shirt down over his head, covering the fresh cut on his left side.

‘It’s nothing. Just a scratch. Alessandro got the better of me.’

Colmán nodded, frowning, but asked for no further details. Darragh was counting on that. After all, he regularly practised swordcraft with the
Ráith’s
Roman swordmaster, Alessandro, down in the yards. The true reason for his injury was something he intended to share with no one — a good thing too, as his experiment had apparently achieved nothing more than a nasty slice across his ribs.

‘You probably should have healed it magically as soon as it occurred,’ the Vate scolded, ‘rather than risk an infection that might take you from us.’

‘I’m lucky like that, Colmán,’ Darragh told the Vate with a shrug, as he tucked the linen shirt into his leather trousers and then pulled his hair out from under the collar, so he could tie it back with a strip of leather. ‘I rarely suffer infection.’ He was glad that was all Colmán was asking. It had not occurred to the Vate — thank
Danú
— to question why it was he was training with Alessandro and not his Druid bodyguard and mentor, Ciarán. It would be difficult and awkward to explain away
Ciarán’s absence. And how Alessandro had managed to wound him using a blade forged from
airgead sídhe
when they should have been practicing with wooden blades, or blunted iron at the very least.

Nor had he asked why Darragh hadn’t healed the cut even now. That was also a relief, because his reason was one he didn’t want to share with anybody. It sounded too insane if he said it aloud.

‘
Danú
smiles upon thee,
Leath tiarna
,’ the Vate agreed with a low bow. ‘We should offer her our gratitude.’ He closed his eyes for a moment, clasping his hands in the deep sleeves of his robe. ‘
Danú
smiles upon Darragh of the Undivided,’ he intoned, committing the statement to memory.

Unable to read Latin or any other written language, but able to recall the entire oral history of the Undivided at will, Colmán took his job as court bard and chief custodian of Druid history very seriously. Colmán was a stickler for detail, too. Darragh sometimes feared he might start chronicling what he ate for breakfast each morning, believing such minutiae should be preserved for posterity. Unfortunately, Colmán had a habit of composing his epics as events unfolded around him, rather than waiting until he had the whole story, as Amergin had. The old Vate always found a way to make his chronicles interesting, leaving audiences hanging off his every word, fighting for space at the table when news got about that he was ready to relate another tale.

Darragh finished tying back his hair and studied the new Vate. The Vate opened his eyes and was looking at Darragh expectantly. In the flickering candlelight of his large underground bedchamber, it wasn’t easy to tell if the old man was waiting for him to do something worthy of being chronicled, or was simply there to act as an advisor. His role as Vate required him to be both.

Not that Darragh trusted Colmán’s advice.

After Amergin’s betrayal it was hard to trust anybody.

Even with the ability to see glimpses of the future, Darragh was still not certain his new Vate was really on his side. Not that his gift of prescience was much of a gift, he often mused. His dreams had given him no warning of Amergin’s betrayal. These days his dreams focussed on future events involving his long-lost brother — a mixed blessing, given they indicated he would eventually find Rónán — but that they would fall out over the fate of another set of twins Darragh had never been able to identify.

Darragh missed Amergin. The old Druid might have been able to shed some light on his disturbing visions of the future. Odd that he felt that way, given how comprehensively his most trusted advisor had betrayed him, but he was still a lot more fun to be around than Amergin’s dour, overly formal replacement. In his whole life, Amergin had not called Darragh ‘
Leath tiarna
’ more than a handful of times. Colmán managed to work it into every other sentence.

‘I’m sure the goddess appreciates your devotion, Vate,’ Darragh told him, bracing himself for the coming day. He glanced around the stone-walled underground chamber and realised with some relief that it wasn’t the one in his dream. Last night had been the clearest vision yet. The chamber of his dreams might not even be in the vast network of Druid halls here in
Sí an Bhrú.
‘Are they on their way yet?’

‘The lookouts have not reported any sightings,
Leath tiarna
.’

‘That might be because they don’t
want
us to see them, Colmán.’

‘Aye,
Leath tiarna
,’ the Vate agreed, nodding his balding head as he stroked the greased ends of his grey-flecked, forked beard. To Darragh’s immense relief, the fashion these days among younger men was to remain clean-shaven. But Colmán was old-
fashioned. He didn’t just
dislike
change. He actively discouraged it, believing even minor alterations to the way they lived were a direct path to the loss of all their magic. ‘The deceitfulness of the
Tuatha
knows no bounds.’

‘Probably not wise to mention that while we’re dining with them,’ Darragh pointed out with a wry smile. It wasn’t that he disagreed with the Vate. The
Daoine sídhe
were notoriously untrustworthy and nobody knew that better than Darragh. It was Colmán’s intense, implacable hatred of the Faerie that amazed Darragh. Or rather, his suspicion that this most recent Vate of All Eire had been chosen for that quality alone.

There would be no epic poems composed by this bard, repeated with reverence and awe by future generations. No songs, no plays, no grand tales of derring-do. Colmán was unsmiling, unlikable and uninspiring.

But Colmán would never — as Amergin had — allow himself to be seduced by the
Daoine sídhe.

The Druids had learnt their lesson. There would be no more talk of closer ties with the
Tuatha Dé Danann.
No Vate would ever again stand at his right hand with a
leanan sídhe
for a wife. The music, the songs, the epics and the laughter that came with a bard magically inspired by his Faerie muse were gone from
Sí an Bhrú
and the place felt poorer for it.

On the other hand, there was a chance that someday soon — assuming today’s meeting wasn’t a plan to unseat him — for the first time in fifteen years, the Undivided might be reunited. Darragh forced that thought away. It was too easy to get excited at the prospect, which more than likely would end in nothing but bitter disappointment once more. The chance of finding one soul among hundreds of millions in an unfamiliar reality … well, Darragh was many things, but a foolish optimist wasn’t one of them.

Guilt and impending death had forced the confession from Amergin about the fate of Darragh’s brother. His life force
finally drained by his
leanan sídhe
wife, Amergin had gasped the belated admission of his role in Rónán’s disappearance with his very last breath.

The revelation had shaken the Druids to their core. Even Darragh — with months to get used to the idea — still wasn’t sure how he was supposed to deal with the news that the man he’d considered both a father and a friend — a man he’d trusted with his very life — was the one responsible for taking half of it away.

Amergin’s co-conspirator was on his way here now. Marcroy Tarth. The most seductive, the most deceitful of all the
Daoine sídhe.
Darragh knew it was going to be hard to keep a level head. Hard to listen to Marcroy’s silver-tongued flattery and not accuse the
sídhe
to his face of being a lying, cheating ghoul with no interest in anything but his own amusement.

Even harder not to ask for news of Trása.

Darragh had tried looking into the future a number of times since they’d sent Trása away, to see if there was any sign of her, but his dreams of her were blurred and unsettled, never stopping long enough for him to form a clear picture of her destiny. Whatever the future held for Trása Ni’Amergin, it was not fixed. That gave Darragh cause for hope. And sometimes despair.

‘Did the
Tuatha
indicate how many of them we should expect?’ Darragh asked, as he fell into step with Colmán. They headed into the torch-lit passage leading to the cross-shaped chamber where the Undivided usually held court.

Built several thousand years earlier,
Sí an Bhrú
was originally intended as a place to prepare the
Tuatha
dead for their journey to the underworld. The rise of the Druids and the need for a secure home for the Undivided had caused the kidney-shaped stone fort, which covered more than an acre of the rich farmland of the Boyne Valley, to be turned into a thriving community of Druids, bards, magicians, and their families. They’d occupied
the site since Boadicea ruled the Celts in Britain, extending it and repairing the quartz-covered exterior walls, so it looked today exactly as it had 3500 years ago, when it was first constructed.

As they left the long passage carved with the tri-spiral triskalion similar to the one magically tattooed on Darragh’s right hand, they entered a large round chamber with a steeply corbelled roof rising to an opening some twenty feet above them, which served as a chimney and provided the only source of natural light. Around the walls recesses containing large stone basins — once meant to hold the cremated remains of those being laid to rest — blazed with fires kept burning to provide both light and heat. The hall was filled with servants setting up tables for the evening’s feast and the enticing aroma of roasting meat. Darragh’s stomach rumbled, reminding him he hadn’t broken his fast yet this morning.

‘The
sídhe
gave no indication of the size of their party,
Leath tiarna
,’ Colmán said. He looked at Darragh anxiously. ‘They simply asked to meet with you and Queen Álmhath. Did you hope to limit their numbers for some purpose?’

‘Not really,’ Darragh said with a shrug, thinking it would pay to eat something before the cooks became so engrossed in the preparations for tonight’s feast they forgot to see to any other meals for the residents of
Sí an Bhrú
. ‘I just wouldn’t put it past Marcroy Tarth to turn up with the entire
Daoine sídhe
host so he can pretend to be wounded by our inhospitable rudeness when we can’t accommodate them all.’

‘He’d not dare!’

‘He’d dare it … and before you know it, we’d find ourselves in his debt for not smiting us where we stand for breaking some long-forgotten clause in the Treaty of
Tír Na nÓg
.’

Colmán looked alarmed, not aware, apparently, that Darragh wasn’t serious.

‘I shall have the lookouts report on their numbers as soon as
the
Daoine sídhe
are in sight,
Leath tiarna
, so we may make the appropriate preparations.’

Darragh nodded, thinking Amergin would have known he was joking. And he’d have issued such an order without being asked, too. Just in case.

‘Is there anything else I should know before our guests arrive?’ Darragh asked, as he glanced around the hall. Like the rest of
Sí an Bhrú
, the stone walls were carved and painted with brightly coloured emblems depicting the Druid castes — the scales of the
Brithem
, the sword of the Warriors, the herbal wreath of the
Deoghbaire
and
Liaig
among the most colourful, and the tri-spiral of the Undivided. Dried flowers and herbs festooned the ceiling corbels, sweetening the air by combating the lingering smell of smoke from the peat fires that warmed the hall in the stone recesses. Wooden tables were being laid out for the occasion, with additional benches brought in to accommodate the expected influx of guests. A special head table had been set up on a raised dais at the far side of the hall, overseeing the rest of the tables, for Darragh and Marcroy, Álmhath, and her son Prince Torcán and his betrothed, Anwen, Colmán, whatever escort Marcroy chose to accompany him, and an empty seat, as always, for Darragh’s missing brother, Rónán.

‘I wish to renew my objection to this meeting,
Leath tiarna
.’ Colmán’s whole stance reeked of disapproval. ‘Particularly with Ciarán away.’

That made Darragh smile. ‘You think they’re going to try and murder me over dinner?’

Colmán tugged on his beard again, a sure sign he was worried. ‘I’m just saying,
Leath tiarna
, no good will come of letting those unnatural creatures believe they are entitled to be treated like men.’

‘Not a lot of good has come of treating them any other way,’ Darragh pointed out. ‘And you must admit that, without
them, the Druids would have faded into oblivion a thousand years ago.’ Darragh wasn’t trying to pick an argument with his Vate. He had no radical reformist agenda, and certainly no time nor sympathy for the growing Partitionist movement who didn’t understand the role of the Undivided in maintaining the Druids’ magic and wanted the rule of the Undivided — and him along with it — brought down. But there was a certain amount of amusement to be had watching Colmán’s face turn purple as he contemplated the idea that Darragh might actually be entertaining a modicum of compassion for the Faerie race. ‘Do we know when our beloved queen and her not-so-beloved son will arrive?’

Colmán shook his head. ‘We’ve received no word from her majesty either,
Leath tiarna
.’

‘The respect for our order is overwhelming,’ Darragh remarked. ‘Did the queen of the Celts even bother to let us know if she is planning to attend this summit?’

‘She sent a message saying she would try,
Leath tiarna
.’

She’ll try
. Darragh shook his head. There was a time when the mere prospect of meeting with the Undivided struck fear into the hearts of rulers across the length and breadth of the land. Across the whole world, even. And into the Otherworld, besides. There was a time when oriental emperors, Egyptian pharaohs, Roman consuls and Indian maharajas made the long trek to these emerald shores to pay their respects.