The Undivided - Prologue

One thing to make clear first. I DO NOT own the following text. This is an excerpt from the book The Undivided by Jennifer Fallon, as requested by Twili. Hope you enjoy it.





It shouldn't be so easy to take a life...

The assassin pondered that thought as he approached the cradle rocking gently in the centre of the warm, candle-lit chamber. Their mother would have set the cradle in motion to soothe the twins before she left the room, trusting their visitor so profoundly that it would never occur to her the children might be in danger.

He reached the cradle and stopped to study it for a moment. The oak crib was carved with elaborate Celtic knot-work, inlaid with softly glowing mother-of-pearl brought up from the very depths of the ocean by the magical walrus people, the marra-warra. It had been a gift from Queen Orlagh, centuries ago, and had rocked generations of twins to sleep since then.

Generations that would end now. Tonight. By his hand.

He glanced down at the blade he carried. The airgead sidhe caught the candlelight in odd places, illuminating the engraving on the blade. He hefted the razor-sharp weapon in his hand. Faerie silver was useless in battle, but for this task, nothing else would suffice.

Warmed by the fire crackling in the fire pit in the centre of the large round chamber, the twins slept peacefully, curled together like soft, precious petals, the left one sucking her thumb, the other one making soft suckling motions with her mouth, unconsciously mirroring her sister. The girls were sated and content, blissfully ignorant of their approaching death. Even if they had been awake, it was unlikely they would recognise the danger that hovered over them. The man wielding the blade above their cradle - the man who had come to take their lives - was a friend, a dependable presence they trusted to keep them safe.

"You can't seriously mean to do this."

He glanced over his shoulder. A figure stood in the shadow by the door, a presence that was both alien and familiar. A presence so like himself it may have been nothing more than a corporeal manifestation of his own conscience.

"It has to be done. You know that."

The figure by the door shook his head and took a step further into the room. The assassin found himself staring at a mirror image of himself, except the face of his reflection was filled with doubt and anguish, while his own was calm and resigned to what must be done.

"They are innocent," the anguished manifestation of his guilt announced.

"They are our death."

"If preventing our death requires the death of innocent children, then perhaps we deserve to die."

The assassin didn't answer, turning back to stare down at the twin girls he had come to murder. It wasn't who they were, but what, that made their deaths so necessary.

Why am I the only one who sees that clearly?

His conscience took another step closer. "I won't let you do it."

"How will you stop me?" he asked as he raised the blade. One of the girls was stirring - they were too alike to tell which was which. She opened her eyes to smile up at him, her face framed by soft dark curls. Her sister remained asleep, still peacefully sucking her thumb.

Which will be harder? he wondered idly. Killing the one who is asleep and ignorant of her fate, or the one staring up at me with that sleepy, contented smile?

"I'll kill you if I have to, to stop this."

The assassin smiled down at the twins, dismissing the empty threat. "Even if you could get across the room before the deed is done, you can't kill me without killing yourself, which would achieve precisely what I am here to prevent."

He moved the blade a little, repositioning his grip. The candlelight danced across its engraved surface, mesmerising the baby. He was happy to entertain her with the pretty lights for a few moments. His mission was to kill her and her sister, after all, not to make them suffer.

There was a drawn out silence as he played the light across the blade. Behind him, the presence that was both his conscience and his other half remained motionless. There was no point in his trying to attack. They were two sides of the same coin. Neither man could so much as form the intent to attack without the other knowing about it.

The girls would be dead before anybody could reach the cradle to stop him.

"There must be another way." There was a note of defeat in the statement, a glimmer of acceptance.

"I wouldn't be here if there was," the assassin replied, still staring down at the baby he had come to kill. "You know that," he added, glancing over his shoulder. "You're just not willing to accept the truth of it."

The other man held out his hand, as if he expected the blade to be handed over, and for this night to be somehow forgotten. Put behind them like a foolish disagreement they'd been wise enough to settle like men. "They're just babies ..."

"They are our death and the death of much more besides."

"But they're innocents ..."

The assassin shook his head. "Only because they lack the capacity yet to act on what they were bred to manifest. One they have grown ..."

"Dammit ... they're your own flesh and blood!"

The assassin gripped the blade tighter and turned back to the cradle, steeling his resolve with a conscious act of will. It didn't matter who they were. It's what they were. The was the important thing.

It was the reason they had to die.

"They are abominations bred to cause chaos and strife."

"What we've seen in other realms may not come to pass."

"Of course it will," he said, growing impatient with an argument he considered long resolved. He reached into the cradle with his left hand to pull back the furs covering the children. The twin who was awake grabbed his finger. Her blue eyes smiling, she squeezed it gently. Behind him, his other half watched, too appalled to allow this, too afraid to stop it.

"Help me, or leave," the assassin said, feeling the accusing eyes of his companion boring into his back. "Just don't stand there feeling disgust, as if you had no part in bringing us to this pass."

His nemesis wasn't ready to give up just yet. "Perhaps what we've seen won't happen here ..."

"I'm not prepared to take that risk."

"But you're prepared to have the blood of innocents on your hands?"

"Better the blood of two children than the blood of the thousands who don't deserve to die." The assassin was still a little amazed he felt so calm. It was as if all the anguish, all the guilt, all the fear and remorse, all the normal human emotions a man should be battling with at a time like this were a burden carried by someone else, leaving him free to act, unhindered by doubt.

If that wasn't a sign of the rightness of this deed, he couldn't think of anything else that could be.

He extracted his finger from the soft, determined grip of the baby girl, her skin so supple and warm, her gaze so trusting serene it was heartbreaking.

But not heartbreaking enough to stay his hand. He raised his blade, transfixed by the guileless blue eyes staring up at him. And then he brought it down sharply, slicing through the swaddling and her fragile ribs into her tiny heart without remorse or regret.

He was quick and, he hoped, merciful, but the link between the sisters was quicker.

Before he could extract the blade from one tiny heart and plunge it into another, her twin sister jerked with pain and began to scream.