“To my dear slippery fellow:
They may search high
They may search low
Ask yourself why
And drop all pretenses
Find me by using all your good senses.
Yours ever,
The Elder.”
They looked at each other as Aidan said, “The Elder…could that mean Cedric the Elder? What if—”
“The poems are about the wizards who made the Goblets Immortal?” The words hung in the air between them like a lightning storm.
Chapter Four
Aidan
Between the two of them, Aidan and Slaíne sorted the mounds of papers into eight piles: one for each wizard, equaling six piles; one for anything that looked like it might be about a different wizard but they couldn’t tell which; and a rubbish pile that consisted of receipts and other useless things. The ‘might-be’ pile was the largest by far. In second place was the rubbish stack. Aidan kept the map with Cedric the Elder’s pile, to be studied once they’d finished sorting.
Slaíne translated whatever Aidan could not make out, scribbling hasty notes in the margins if there was room. By the time they’d made decent progress on finding clues for each wizard, and thus each Goblet – since each Goblet was made from its corresponding wizard’s blood – the sun was but a small half circle through the warped glass window. The fire had long since died down, the embers smoking gently.
“We should eat something,” Slaíne said at long last, setting the quill back into its inkwell. Her stomach growled in agreement as she stretched her arms above her head and yawned. “I feel like me brain’s gonna leak out me eyes.”
Aidan grunted his response. He would have plenty of time for food later. The feeling that he was on the brink of some discovery burned bright within his breast, and he continued to pore over the same page over and over again, hoping to absorb the true meaning behind the words. “Each wizard seems to have his own title to go with his name…and strange ones, at that. Cedric the Elder is normal enough, but he must have been the head wizard, their better. No, maybe their eldest.”
Slaíne yawned pointedly, but he ignored her.
“If we can find Cedric’s grave, and drink of the Goblet that is reputed to have been buried there, then we shall be able to find all of the others at the very least. At the very most, we can kill Meraude.” He laughed and went back to his studies.
The girl was not done with him yet, it would seem. Her Pull approached, and her footfalls made her presence known in a none-too-quiet way. She cleared her throat. “Sir? You forgettin’ somethin’?”
Aidan blinked and all of their food stores appeared on the bed nearest the window. “There. Eat what you think is best.”
“You’re not going to ration it?” She sounded horrified. Her tone then turned suspicious. “You don’t mean to not eat, do you?”
He could scarce absorb her meaning, but it didn’t matter. He had a few questions of his own. “Who do you think this ‘Slippery One’ is? I see many mentions of him in fights with the ‘Knowing One’, who must be….” He turned the page over. “Ah, the Knowing One must be the originator of the Seeing Goblet.”
“Uh-huh,” Slaíne muttered through a mouthful of food. “Sir, don’t mind me saying so, but you’re talkin’ an awful lot.” She paused. “Are you all right?”
What sort of question was that? Of course he was all right. In fact, he hadn’t felt so hopeful since…well, for a very long time. “I’m perfectly well,” he assured her, setting the page in his hands aside and picking up another one. “Why do you ask?”
Slaíne muttered a few very choice words. “Are you— I mean, is that thing still in your head?”
That caught his attention. “What the devil are you talking about? What thing in my head?” When she gave him a pointed look, it occurred to him what she meant. “Oh. The person who took over my body? That?”
“Yes, that.”
Aidan shook his head. “No. I can’t feel him right now.” Something hard hit him in the back of the head, and he spun around with a few choice words of his own on his lips as an apple rolled to a stop on the floor. In pain and confused, he looked at her. “What did you do that for?”
“You are obsessed.”
Stupidly he stood there, staring at her and then the apple. “Obsessed? Slaíne, this is important work. You want to find the Goblets Immortal, don’t you?”
She shrugged. “Not particular like.” Before he could start an argument, she forestalled him by tossing a hunk of bread at his face, which he Called into his hand. “All I’m sayin’ is you gotta be careful.”
“Careful?”
“Mm.”
“Careful of what?”
Her eyes flashed. “Wantin’ revenge too much.”
Aidan couldn’t help himself; he began to laugh, a true belly laugh. He went back to his work when she leveled a glare at him. He needed to think, not be distracted by feelings he didn’t deserve to have. “Slaíne, you of all people are one to preach about the dangers of vengeance. You want Meraude dead as much as I. She did, after all, kill your family, too.”
“Yes, maybe. But I still take care of myself.”
Now looking at her, he tore off a hunk of bread with his teeth and chewed it with exaggerated savagery. It was easy to be angry, easier than…. “There,” he said, crumbs flying from his livid lips. “Happy?”
It was Slaíne’s turn to laugh. “Men.” Then she went back to her small meal of dates and dried meat, facing away from him entirely.
After a while, Aidan took another bite of bread and a few gulps of water. He hadn’t realized how hungry he was until then, and allowed himself to sidle up next to Slaíne. “Forgive me.”
Apparently nonplussed, the girl looked up at him. “What?”
“This is important to me, Slaíne.” He picked up one of the remaining pasties and bit into it. “I spent most of my life believing that I had killed my family or made them disappear to somewhere in Nothingness. Now that I know Meraude killed them, I can avenge my parents. And my brother, Sam.” And finally have peace. He chewed in silence for a moment, well aware that she was watching him, but not wanting to see her expression. The pasty was dry crust stuffed with savory onions and potatoes at one end, and raspberry jam at the other. He ate it with gusto, enjoying the tartness at the finish.
Slaíne sighed again before saying, “You eat like an elf.”
* * *
Aidan studied the map long after Slaíne had turned in for the night, neither saying a word to the other. Her soft breathing now filled in the silences between crackling logs and crinkling papers, and it was more distracting than anything he had ever experienced. Perhaps he should give up for the evening and get some sleep himself. Dawn would break before he knew it, and then he would be sorry when they had to make their way on the road again.
The map was unlike any Aidan had ever seen. Instead of many names of towns and roads, there were mostly drawings of landmarks: curves that could be a mountain or a molehill, gnarled trees that could be a forest or an orchard, and scattered throughout in a tiny scrawl was the occasional riddle. Again Aidan read the poem at the top of the map, and again he wondered if he would end up bald from tearing his hair out. “The Elder is Cedric,” he said, causing Slaíne to snort and turn over in her sleep. He tried to ignore her. “He talks of the Slippery Fellow, who I assume is the Summoner, whose name I’m yet unsure of….”
Slaíne groaned and tossed over again. “Ruddy well go to sleep already.” She muttered some nonsense about rotting turnips and began to snore.
The lantern ran out of oil then, and the light died. Aidan swore and Dismissed it, and searched for the candles in Nothingness, but thought better of it. He would wait ’til morning’s light before having another look. Sleep tugged at the corners of his eyes. He stretched and yawned, and set the papers back
on the floor. They would keep.
Aidan rose to check on the fire once more, pulled on the door handle to make certain everything was secure, before crawling beneath the coverlet of the single bed nearest the door. As he began to drift off to sleep, he felt the now-all-too-familiar cold tingling in his shoulder and tried to wake himself. It was no use. Aidan began to dream…if that was what he would call it.
The man who had taken over his body now more than once was standing next to the intact barn back on the Ingledark estate. His dark eyes were crinkled in good humor, but he soon wore a scowl. “Are you sure it was wise to leave Tristram alive?”
Aidan groaned as his eyes adjusted to the light; it was morning here. “I can’t go around killing everyone, you know. People will talk.”
“Talking people are the problem. I shouldn’t have let you stop me.”
That made Aidan snarl. “Let me? See here, friend, this is my mind and my body. You just keep inviting yourself in. I won’t have you—”
Salem started laughing. “Easy, Aidan. I’m only giving you a hard time. Though I am questioning if you’re going soft.”
Aidan leveled a glare at him. “Is there a reason you’re here?”
Was it his imagination, or was the stranger hurt? It must have been a trick of the light, because the next moment Salem was smiling and laughing again. “I wanted to know how you were getting on with the map.”
“I’ve been puzzling over it and the other papers all night, but I’m not really getting anywhere with them. What?”
Salem was looking at Aidan as if he were missing something. “Aidan, I think Meraude might have wanted you to have the maps. Do you know why?”
Aidan shrugged. “No, not really.”
Salem shook his head. “You are the only one who can find the Questing Goblet.” He looked at Aidan as if letting the idea sink in.
What did he mean? “Does the Goblet have a certain Pull?”
The man was already shaking his head. “Not the Goblet. The place.” When that did not enlighten Aidan, Salem began pacing. “Let me teach you some magical history.” He cleared his throat self-consciously before continuing. “Forgive me, I’ve only learned this since I was…well, since coming here. It’s still new to me, in a sense.”
“Go on.”
Salem nodded his appreciation and started again. “Around five hundred years ago, there was the Great War. Not a human war, mind, but one where magic-kind battled for their freedom from the seven wizards in power at the time. Many elves, centaurs, goblins, and the like lost their lives in two three-day battles. One of the wizards sided with and fought alongside the creatures, which put him in favor when the wizards lost and their blood was drained. Anyway, where magical blood is spilled, that is where you will find Cedric the Elder’s tomb.” He stood there looking at Aidan, as if that was enough to explain how Aidan was going to find the Goblet.
Aidan cleared his throat. “Salem, is it?”
The man hesitated and then nodded. “Yes. What?”
“I still don’t quite see.”
With a knowing look, Salem perched atop a bale of hay, which Aidan hadn’t noticed until that moment. “Well,” he said, “why do you think you found the elves so quickly when you needed to? How did the goblins and nymphs find you?”
Aidan shrugged. “Someone said that deep calls to deep.”
Salem was shaking his head. “Yes, but no. All magical beings share a likeness in their makeup, which allows us to identify each other – sometimes, if the conditions are right and the being is paying attention. But you’re a Summoner. You have Eldred the Slippery’s blood flowing through your veins, a blood that cries out for all things, especially other magical blood. That’s why the Goblets repel and yet draw you at the same time.” He looked rather pleased with himself. “Unless I indwell – which means I take over your body momentarily – nothing can stop you from sensing magic but iron, and even that makes itself known to you. You’re our best hope of finding the battleground where magical blood was spilled. You find that, Aidan, and you can kill Meraude. Claim the Goblet before Meraude can, and all magic-kind is saved.”
This seemed easy…almost too easy. “So you’re saying if I simply just reach out and feel for this place, I’ll find it?”
The man sighed. “Aidan, I really don’t know how to Summon. I’m an Endurer. You know, strength.”
Aidan nodded. Since he’d felt Salem’s strength coursing through him before, it shouldn’t have come as a surprise. “Right. So, I’m supposed to figure this out on my own?”
“Well, the maps should be of some help.”
“They’re full of riddles.”
Salem nodded. “Yes, and they all seem to be saying the same thing: a Summoner can find Cedric’s tomb. But there are some other hints.” He made a face. “But no one will help me with them. I never was very good at puzzles and riddles.”
“No one will help you with them?” Aidan asked, brow furrowed. “Who are you asking exactly?”
Now the man seemed uncomfortable. Shaking his head, he hopped off the hay bale and motioned for Aidan to follow him. “The others. The other, you know, magical dead. We live here in the Beyond together.”
A thought occurred to Aidan, one that he had not entertained before. “So my parents—”
“Sorry, Aidan. They weren’t magical beings.” They made their way behind the mansion and into the orchard at the west end of the property. Salem began picking apples. “I assume these aren’t in season yet in the land of the living?”
Aidan shook his head. “No. But they seem to be here?”
“Everything’s always in season in the Beyond. Here.” Salem tossed a few at Aidan, who only just caught them. “Dismiss these. They should stay in your cache in Nothingness, just like anything from your world that you send.” Something was troubling the young man, but he wasn’t voicing it.
Aidan wondered if he should ask what was wrong, but thought the better of it. He always hated it when people meddled in his own affairs; why would anyone else be different? Dismissing the apples, he said, “Why don’t the other – er, the other magical dead—”
“Why don’t they want me helping you find the Questing Goblet?” Salem shrugged. “I’m not entirely sure. No one will give me a straight answer. Treevain was all right with my helping you, but she’s a bit mad, if you ask anyone. I had to steal the maps when no one was watching. If they find out you have them….” He gave Aidan a stern look.
The message was clear: Salem would be in trouble with his magical dead brethren if Aidan didn’t keep a closed mouth. He nodded. “Your secret’s safe with me.”
Relief lightened the man’s features, and he took a bite of a blue apple. “These ones taste like pumpernickel. Here, try it.” He tossed Aidan a blue one, one without a bite in it.
“Thank you,” Aidan said, trying not to make a face. He’d always hated pumpernickel bread, but he was afraid of offending, so he took a tentative bite. The apple, crisp and cold, tasted nothing like pumpernickel. It was sweeter than honey and tasted like a feast of desserts all packed into one mouthful: jam rolls, peach tarts, apple syllabub, cherry jam spread on a bit of holiday bread. All of the flavors of his childhood came rushing back to Aidan in that one overpowering bite. He felt young, innocent, and carefree, just like before…well, before everything went wrong.
“Like it?” Salem asked, his expression mischievous.
Aidan couldn’t speak for a moment, so he nodded instead. “That was – what was that?”
Salem smiled. “No one’s been able to agree on a name. I call them Memory Apples. Aptly named, yes?”
“I was thinking of—”
“Your mother’s great holiday parties?”
Aidan frowned. “How did you know?” Wonderful, the man was reading his mind. Could Aidan strangle someone who was already dead?
As if scenting
danger, Salem took a few steps back and tossed him a yellow apple. “These ones draw out the truth. They’re a cross between the Memory Apples and the regular red variety. Don’t bother taking a bite; they taste mostly like any ordinary apple. Catch.” He tossed another yellow apple and one pink and one blue one, along with an apple the size of Aidan’s head, calling out names as Aidan Dismissed each. “The big one is Meat and Potatoes. It’ll fill your belly and give you the nourishment you need for three days. The others taste like slop, but they help with eyesight and hearing. And these—” He threw five shiny red ones at Aidan. “Well, those are just regular apples.”
“You don’t have to give me all of this.”
“Sure I do.” He grinned at Aidan. “Now, let’s visit the vegetable garden. I think the fairy taters are the best, but we’ll see if you—” Salem’s face paled and he stopped talking.
Aidan looked at the darkening sky with Salem. Up until that moment, everything had been still and peaceful. Now lightning crackled in the distance. Thunder boomed, and hail fell from the heavens. “What’s happening?”
Salem turned to Aidan and put his hands on his shoulders. “Wizards walk the earth again, Aidan. Be – be careful. They did not all fight on our side last time.”
“Is that what this is all about?” He gestured at the sky as the wind began to whip through the trees.
With a shudder, Salem released Aidan and stepped away. “Yes, and no. But I think you should probably go now. It’s hard for the land when you dwell too long.” His expression was rueful, but he offered no further explanation.
“How do I leave?” Aidan asked, looking around to see if an exit would appear.
When he turned back, Salem had a shovel in hand and brought it down hard upon Aidan’s head.
Holes in the Veil Page 5