The storm raged on, and the tent leaked. Horses whinnied their displeasure nearby. Aidan wondered if his horse and saddle would still be there in the morning, or if the Romas would merely abscond with everything, including the tent over his head. The woman, Trudy, had meant to kill him. What was to stop the others from leaving him there paralyzed, fit to die?
He could try Dismissing the drug from his system. He felt it coursing through his blood. But it was a tricky business, Dismissing foreign objects from one’s body. With his luck and current level of alertness, he might end up Dismissing a vital organ or a vein. No, he would have to simply wait and hope that whatever they’d slipped him wore off.
There was some shouting outside, and the tent flaps ripped open. “Well, you’d just best get the bleedin’ antidote,” said Isaac. “Or I’ll skin the both of ya.”
“We meant no harm,” said Trudy, her voice quavering.
“We’re sorry. Truly we are, Isaac,” said the girl.
Isaac swore. “And how much did you give him?”
Someone sniffled. “Not more than ten drops.”
“Ten drops?” Isaac roared. “He’s probably dead.”
At last Aidan managed a groan. He might as well be dead, for all the good his limbs were doing him.
“Antidote, now!”
“Yes, sir,” said Trudy.
“Can you hear me, milord? Girl, fetch us some water. He ought to be dead, the poor lucky fool.” There was some scuttling around, and a wave of ice-cold water hit Aidan in the face.
“If you can hear me, don’t try to move. We’re going to fix you up. You’ll be well again soon.”
“I’ve got it, sir,” said Trudy.
There was silence followed by a whine, and then something vile was poured down Aidan’s throat. He was about to spit it out, but a hand was clamped over his mouth and his jaw was held shut until he had swallowed every last drop.
“Sorry about this. It’ll burn like the dickens.”
An inferno swept into Aidan’s chest, beat in his heart, and rushed through his veins. And yet, through all this, he could not make a sound, though his mouth was open and he was most definitely screaming. But with the fire came the assurance that feeling and life were re-entering his limbs, that he was no longer paralyzed.
“If the poison didn’t kill him, this surely will,” the girl whimpered. “Do something, Isaac. He’s as white as a ghost.”
“Nah, the worst is over. You’d best go back to your tent and pray I don’t horsewhip the both of you at dawn.”
Aidan gasped as the rest of the antidote coursed through him. He moved his fingers, wiggled his toes, turned a hand over and tried to lift it to his sweaty brow.
Isaac grabbed his arm and held it down. “You’d best not, milord. You’ll be weak as anything for the rest of the night at least. Here, let me fetch something for you to drink.”
Despite the warning, Aidan sat up. The whole world came back into sharp focus as weakness overtook him and he was forced to flop onto his back. That’s what you get, Aidan, he thought. That’s what you get for even half-trusting someone. He watched his breath puff out in great clouds in the darkness. His whole body ached and felt feverish. He wanted to leave. He needed to leave. But he knew he was in no condition to ride, and the roads would be in no condition for him to make an escape either.
Isaac returned presently and lifted an iron goblet to Aidan’s lips. “Please drink, sir. You’ve probably sweated the rest of the poison out. You’ll be quite weak and thirsty, I’d imagine.”
Aidan was not in the position to resist. The water that poured down his throat was cold and fresh, and his mind cleared at once. He said, “I know you did not mean for this to happen, Isaac. Stop blaming yourself.”
“I’m glad you understand, milord.” He was quiet for a moment, the only sound the rain beating against the canvas. “You don’t remember me, do you? Nah, you can’t have done. You was but a boy.”
Aidan clenched his jaw for a moment before responding. “You do know me, then?”
Isaac laughed without humor. “The poor Ingledark orphan—’scuse me, presumed orphan. Never did find your folks, did you?”
Aidan let the silence answer for him. Of course he had never found them. Why else would he be in this position?
“Well, then. You don’t remember a beggar named Isaac Taylor, do you?”
He thought for a moment. There had been a man, maybe fifteen years Aidan’s senior, that could hardly make a decent wage, so poor were his connections. He’d been put in the stocks twice for thieving, and was suspected of house-breaking, though that last charge couldn’t be proven.
“When Lord and Lady Ingledark went missing, taking their youngest and leaving you behind…well, we know your uncle took over your fortune to manage.”
“He managed all right,” Aidan said, trying and failing to keep the bitterness out of his voice.
“Starved you, he did. Beat you, too, I’d imagine. Is that what led you to—”
“You said you were a beggar, sir,” Aidan said, cutting the man off. “I remember no beggar, just a man fallen on hard times.”
Isaac clapped him on the shoulder. “You always were a good lad. Gave me your last crust of bread before…well, before that bad business with Dewhurst.” He spat. “So, what made you return to Breckstone?”
“Just a visit with an old friend,” Aidan said. As kindly as he remembered Isaac, Aidan was not going to mention the sale of his estate and the money it provided him just then. The man would find out soon enough.
“Pol and Trudy will take your and my watches tonight, sir. I’ll keep my eye out for ya, in case there’s more trouble.”
“That won’t be necessary.”
Isaac snorted. “Proud as an Ingledark, that’s for certain. No, I ain’t letting anything happen to you in your weakened condition. My fault. It’s my fault what happened.” The man moved to the mouth of the tent and muttered to himself.
Aidan covered himself with the blanket as best he could, as Isaac repeated, “My fault. All my fault.”
Aidan sighed. “And I thought that was my mantra.”
Chapter Three
“Tethered and tied to the bow of Pridewyn
A maiden cries “Woe!” into the wind
Tossed in the waves that spit in her face
The sea a drunkard at his gin
If only, if only I could take her place
She’s freer than I, no ache in her chest
Since thou hast come nigh to me
Ne’er free can we be
The be-cursed children called the Blest.”
Aidan awoke with a start. He felt…not himself, but like a great bat hanging upside down from some great height, the blood rushing to his head. When he finally opened his eyes, the sun was up and he was lying in the dirt. “Oh.” He looked around for the source of the strange music, but was not enlightened and was now all the crosser for it. Aidan blinked. “Who was singing?”
“Ah, the dead man rises…and hallucinates,” said Isaac with a laugh as he stooped into the enclosure. “No worse for the wear, I trust?”
With a grunt, Aidan sat up and tested his arms by shaking the stiffness out. The dream – for it must have been a dream – was now receding into the dark corners of his mind. “All seems to be in working order.” No thanks to your people.
“You’re a good man, milord. A good man.” Isaac pulled a bag off his back and tossed it onto the ground near Aidan. “Here.”
Aidan eyed it, feeling for the contents. He sensed no real Pull, but it was definitely full of something heavy. Iron. “What is this?”
“An apology.” A moment passed, and Aidan did not move. Could this be yet another trap? Isaac seemed to have read his thoughts, as he said, “Go on, open it up. It ain’t gonna bite you.”
With trepidation, A
idan reached inside the large moldy pouch and produced an iron goblet. “Thank you….”
“But you’ve no use for it?” Isaac chuckled. “You don’t understand. That is a magic goblet.”
Aidan eyed him askance. “What?”
“Aye. I—I don’t rightly know how to say this but I pinched it from your uncle.”
Aidan smirked, and turned the vessel around in his fingers, eyeing the design to see if it was familiar. “I doubt he missed it. We had numerous…. What?”
It was Isaac who was now laughing. “You still don’t understand. This was his to guard. I took it after – well, after your folks disappeared. I figured it would be safer in my care than his.”
The pulse in Aidan’s eye began to tic, and he shuddered involuntarily. “Why?” Perhaps if he had not been poisoned by this man’s ‘family’, he wouldn’t feel so cross. As it was, a headache was forming. “You said it was magic?”
“Just a hunch.”
Aidan quirked a smile. He tried to ignore the repulsion he felt to the metal and the urge to fling it aside; what would Isaac think of him? What would he suspect? “Magic,” he repeated. “So, are you going to tell me that you’re my fairy godfather or some other nonsense?”
The man grinned at that. “Nah. Me? I’ve not got a drop of magic in my blood. I am not Blest.” Ah, there it was. Before Aidan could open his mouth to protest, Isaac broke in. “You survived that poisoning when no man thrice your size should have.” His breath reeked of breakfast – sardines and burnt toast, it would seem – as he leaned in and whispered, “You’re Blest, aren’t you?”
Aidan set the goblet down and rubbed the remainder of sleep from his eyes. “I’ve heard that word applied to me before. I don’t know what it means.”
“Blest,” Isaac said again. “You’re an invincible, aren’t you? Like in the days of old? Legend says….” He looked around before continuing in a lower voice. “Legend says that you can do things that no ordinary man ought to be able to.”
As if to answer Isaac’s question, Aidan lost control of himself for a moment and Summoned his saddlebag, which thudded between them. He closed his eyes. This was not his day. “Oh.”
“Wowee.” Isaac whistled. “You are one of the Blest.”
“You mean there are others?” Aidan asked, knowing he was good and outed. The headache was not abating, and he had to make water rather urgently. He stumbled to his feet, Dismissed his bag again, and made his way away from the camp.
Isaac followed closely on his heels. “I always wondered how you survived. Why Dewhurst is really after you.”
Aidan found some brush and relieved himself there. To his surprise, Isaac continued to chatter from behind his back.
Aidan interrupted. “And there are others? Others like me? And what of the goblet? You said it was magical.” He made himself decent and followed the man back toward where the others were working.
“Goodness me, how would I know any of this? I only just started believing the rumors.” Isaac shook his head. “That goblet always did make me feel strange. It must really be magical. It must.”
“And you’ve kept these notions to yourself?” Aidan continued to look straight ahead. Everyone, he noted with his peripheral vision, was avoiding his gaze.
“The notion that a man can survive being murdered like that?” Again Isaac whistled. “Naturally, word got around camp.”
Aidan put out an arm and caught Isaac. “And you’ll keep it in camp?” He turned and extended his hand. “You’ll give me your word to keep this from traveling far and wide?”
Isaac bit his lower lip and gave a quick look around. “Yes, milord.” They both spat in their hands, shook, and returned to Aidan’s tent. There in the middle of the floor sat the chalice.
“And you are certain you want to part with the goblet?” Even now as he studied it, he sensed there was some truth to Isaac’s words. The vessel repulsed him, that was for certain; but there was something else there. It almost had a Pull as well…but that was impossible. Aidan shook himself out of a daze. “Perhaps someone could melt it down and find use for the metal.”
Isaac clucked his tongue once. “No, and don’t think we haven’t tried. It just won’t melt.”
Aidan scratched at the beginnings of a beard. Metal that wouldn’t melt…something felt off about this whole thing. He Summoned his saddlebag and put the goblet inside. “Is there anything you’re not telling me?”
“About the goblet? Or about legend concerning yourself?”
“Both.”
Isaac popped outside the tent for a moment, yelled at some of his crew, and then returned. “For the goblet, I have no idea. Probably won’t melt because of its magic. But as for yourself…. Legend says that there were men and women among us who could do all sorts of remarkable things. Making objects appear and disappear at will.” He nodded at Aidan. “They also had incredible luck, succeeding in everything they tried. Some say that they’d seen these mysterious folk – well, fly.”
Aidan could only nod like he understood. His luck had been abominable most of his life, and flying? If only that were possible for him. It would save him a sore seat after riding horseback for hours on end.
Isaac looked at him with a knowing eye. “Maybe these abilities haven’t come about yet. But I wonder…. Well, where did these abilities come from? Why some and not others? Luck? Fate?” A moment passed between them in uncomfortable silence. It would seem Isaac was warring with himself over something. A few times he opened and closed his mouth, his weight shifting as he looked heavenward and muttered a blessing. “All right. There’s one who might know, and her you’ll want to avoid.”
With arms crossed over his chest, Aidan turned the Roma’s words over in his mind. If he could discover the origins and limits of his abilities, perhaps he could find a way to undo the damage he had done. “Tell me.”
Isaac shuddered and muttered something that sounded like, “Curse my hide,” before coming out with, “The mage’s name is Meraude.” He scratched his beard. “She’s…well, she’s not a good sort. Some say she hunts down magic folk and kills them.”
Aidan tried to keep a neutral expression, his heart racing all the while. Isaac, he remembered, had not been the first to mention that name. “How would I go about finding this Meraude?”
Again Isaac hesitated before admitting, “There are four sisters who could tell you. In truth, they’re elves, but—”
“Elves?” That caused an uneasy stirring in Aidan’s stomach. He’d had dealings with elves in his youth, when he was still naïve and wandered too far into a certain wood. He’d barely escaped two of the ‘fair’ folk with his life, and he had the scars on his back to show for it. “What are their names?”
But Isaac was shaking his head. “They go by many. But I won’t be telling you any of them. No, the sisters would know I told you about them, and above all, you must not say it was I that sent you. They’ll accuse me of working for Meraude, see?”
Aidan nodded. “How shall I know these sisters?”
“Deep calls to deep. Most likely, if you want to find them, and they wish to be found, they’ll find you.” He nodded at the goblet. “Keep your belongings close to your person, and make no deals with them. But when you do make a deal, make sure you don’t break it, or there’ll be hell to pay.”
“Yes, but what do they look like?”
Isaac sighed. “Well, they use Glamour, don’t they? Their faces must change half a dozen times a day. At least, that’s how I would work that sort of magic.”
Aidan had seen Glamour before, of course. It always looked like a puff of colored smoke to him, a thin screen in front of the real image. Perhaps it had to do with his other abilities that he could see through it.
“Thank you, Isaac. For everything.”
The man blushed beneath his beard. “Nah, no trouble. No trouble. And truly, I’m rig
htly sorry for what went on last night with the women. If there’s ever any way I can make up for it….”
“No harm done.” Aidan extended his hand, and the men shook.
“If ever you need anything, know that the Bartlett Band of Romas is always at your service.”
“I shall hold you to that,” Aidan said with a smile, leaving the tent behind.
“Milord?”
“Hmm?”
“I hope you find happiness,” Isaac said through a pained smile.
Aidan shrugged and replied, “I neither need nor seek it. But I thank you all the same.”
He untethered his steed. The beast turned his head to look at his master, and then went back to grazing on a bag of feed that had been left him. Aidan patted Triumph’s side. “Getting fatter, are we?”
The horse whinnied. And that is when Aidan felt a strong Pull.
Pulls of varying degrees of strength were not uncommon to Aidan. He experienced them on a daily basis from everything and everyone. But human Pulls were the strongest. The more people within a mile, the more he felt anchored down.
What he felt now was pure magnetic misery. He’d never experienced anything like it, not by a half-fold. It was as if – but no, the thought was crazy. And yet…and yet it felt like someone was Calling him. But you couldn’t Call a person; their strong Pull would hold them where they were as an anchor. I’m being absurd.
The feeling abated, and Aidan decided that he had imagined it, until he involuntarily skidded two paces from a standstill position. He frowned. Who would try to Call me? Lord Dewhurst? The man didn’t have a drop of magic running through his veins.
Aidan’s stomach lurched, and he gave whatever was bothering him a tentative Pull, knocking himself onto his bottom. With a grimace, he leapt to his feet, mounted his horse, and walked him out to the main road.
“How about some exercise?” Aidan turned the reins in his hands, and left the company and so-called protection of the Roma camp.
* * *
Aidan rode through the day and into the early afternoon, guided by no map, no memory, but by the Pull, foolish though it was. And whenever he thought he might doze off in his saddle, that Pull would jerk him awake.
The Goblets Immortal Page 3