When noon came and went, Aidan was scarcely able to remain in his saddle, so strong and sudden was the tug in his gut. He’d lived in villages of hundreds, but each person’s Pull tugged him in a distinctly different direction. The Pull he felt now was urgent and centered in one direction alone. But despite the strength of the Pull, Aidan could only sense five humans in the near distance. Four had a Pull lesser than the average human, but one was making it hard to breathe. One person with that strong a tug on me? he scoffed. I must be delirious.
Triumph seemed to sense his master’s urgency, for he broke into a gallop, whinnying.
Aidan leaned back, pulling on the reins. “Whoa. Easy there.” Whether he said this to himself or his horse, he was uncertain.
Blue smoke wafted over the hill up yonder. Aidan continued to calm his beast and resist the urge to run perhaps into a trap. It wasn’t easy; the closer he got, the more he wanted to shout in frustration. The Pull was nigh unbearable.
At last he gave in to his temptations and followed the path to the source of his longing. The trees thinned shortly, and there sat an open wagon pulled by four milk-white horses. Glamour, he thought with both excitement and dread. A haze hung over all, and the image of how things were was clouded by shadows of how things were wished to be seen.
It was too late to retreat. Whoever was casting the Glamour knew a stranger was near. Why cast it otherwise?
Aidan dismounted and called out a greeting. The one with the strong Pull, he could tell, had run off into the brush beyond the small encampment, but he could feel that four beings remained near at hand. Aidan blinked, trying to separate reality from illusion so he wouldn’t trip, and entered into the four’s line of sight.
Four old women sat around a fire, though the Glamour showed him quite a different picture. In the illusion, three young noble women stood to greet him, their green frocks whipping in a non-existent breeze. They were beautiful beyond compare, quite a contrast to reality. The sight of them put lead in Aidan’s stomach, and when they spoke, the back of his neck prickled uncomfortably. “Who are you and what do you want?” one of the women asked.
Aidan made sure to look at the illusion instead of the person who was really speaking. The fact that he could see through Glamour could be the trick up his sleeve that he needed. He’d hesitated too long.
“Speak up, my good man. We are not seers to know your mind.”
Aidan smiled with difficulty. He was no actor, but this surely was a charade of the most dangerous and irksome kind. “Of course. I am called Aidan, and my business concerns—”
“Where did that urchin get off to?” said one of the old ladies, her voice raspy and thick with phlegm. “I be needin’ my tea.”
“Hush, Treevein,” said one of the others.
The three illusions and the four real women stared at him, until, with a pop, the Glamour faded. It took them a moment, but squinting, the leathery-skinned horrors seemed to realize that they were no longer protected from view. “Leech, what did you let it drop for? We had him good and rightly fooled. Look at how shocked the poor man is.”
The largest of them, presumably Leech, grunted and shrugged and muttered something about it not being her fault.
“Aye it were,” said the smallest of them. She leered at Aidan, who pretended to shake himself out of a daze. “Now we’ll have to kill him or hear him out.”
“Not a good idea to attempt a murder,” said the one they called Treevein. “Not before tea at least, and definitely not before we know whether or not he’s got power.”
“Of course he ain’t got power,” said Leech. “Look at the boy. He’s got mortal written all over his face.”
“Where is the urchin? She could sort this out for us.” The oldest woman turned her wrinkly head to address Aidan. “She’s been complaining of a headache for the last twenty-four hours, but we all know she was having one of her fits.”
“Fiddle-faddle. Slaíne don’t have no fits,” said Treevein. “Jus’ loses control, ’tis all.”
As they spoke, Aidan sensed this Slaíne moving about in the wood. The Pull distracted him from the banter, making him an easy target for the four elves – for he was certain that was what they were – if they were to turn on him. He knew this, berated himself for it, and yet could not control his steps that led past the brush.
All four began hissing and spitting at him in protest. “Now where do you think you’re going, me good lad? Ain’t nothing worth havin’ back in the wood. Unless you’re in the market for a no good, lazy, dawdling servant,” Leech said, then she shouted, “Slaíne, show yourself.”
The one with the large wart on her nose chimed in. “Yeah, girl. Pour us some tea. We have a guest.”
Aidan felt Slaíne come nearer to the camp, and strained to see what made his heart leap with excitement. Instead of enlightenment, he found himself puzzled.
She was a wisp of a girl, so thin it physically pained Aidan. She wore the clothing of a boy and seemed to have the bearing of one. Her gray eyes locked on Aidan, accusing, before she turned to her mistresses.
This is what’s Pulling at me? This mite of a girl? Perhaps there is someone yet in the woods. But as he studied her, explored her Pull on him, he realized there was no one else within a mile, and even if there were, he would not give them a second thought.
The elves must have noticed him staring at their servant, for the fattest one said, “Oi! Girl, show the man your hair.”
Aidan resisted the urge to groan. “Really, that’s all right.”
“You not in the market for a serving wench, then?”
The girl peered at him sideways and stumbled over to the woodpile.
Aidan unwittingly took a step in her direction. “No, I have no use for a servant.”
The four elves shared a knowing look. “But you ought to at least have a look. She might change your mind,” said the smallest elf. “Girl, leave the woodpile. The gentleman needs some tea.”
“That is not necessary,” Aidan assured them. It would seem that either the Pull or some Glamour were muddling his thoughts, distracting him from his purpose. “I was – wondering….” And then he forgot.
The girl fetched a tin cup, filled it, and approached Aidan hastily without saying a word.
Relief washed over him as the girl placed the cup in his hands. “Thank you,” he said.
She seemed relieved, too. But then she scowled at him all the same and stalked away.
One of the elves piped up again, still trying to drive a sale. “She’s a docile little thing, never mind that flaming mane of hers.”
The girl was tucking strands of fiery red hair back into her cap, her eyes on him defiant. Bother me and I’ll show you just how docile I am, she seemed to say.
Aidan raised his eyebrows. Docile? My horse. But still he continued to watch her.
She moved about lithely, each step measured, like some wild cats he’d seen skirting around him in the shadows. I’d put some meat on those bones, he found himself thinking. A strong wind might carry her away.
The girl stumbled again as she continued to tend to the fire. The elves laughed.
“Not normally so clumsy, this one. She likes you, mark my words.”
“Why wouldn’t she? He’s a handsome man. Strong as an ox, I’d wager. He’d be a good master.”
Aidan felt a rush of blood run to his face. This is getting out of hand. Poor girl.
“Show him your teeth, Slaíne.”
The girl shot her mistresses a dirty look, cringing away when the tall one lifted a whip. Her eyes widened for a moment, her jaw clenched tight as the elves all cackled and taunted her.
“Really,” said Aidan, “there’s no need for this. I am not in the market for a slave.”
“They’re straight, those chompers of hers.”
“White as milk.”
“She won
’t cost you much. We’ll give her in exchange for, say, that Goblet of yours. The one you are hiding in your saddlebag…. Don’t look so surprised, sir. It’s calling us.”
It took Aidan a moment to regain his wits and recall where he was and that he should be mindful of his horse, who he was relieved to see grazing with the four white mares. “I am not—”
“And throw in a gold piece, Mr. Aidan. Gotta be fair to ourselves, ladies.”
“Aye,” they all said, nodding.
“Blast,” he said as he attempted to shake the haze from his brain.
The four sisters laughed. “Something the matter with the both of them.”
“Aye. ’Tis a sign.”
“Aye, an omen.”
Slaíne stared into the fire, her face void of emotion. She didn’t move, even as one of her owners grabbed the cap off her head and waves of red curls poured down her shoulders. It would seem she had given up.
Aidan hated to leave her with these cruel women, and the thought of trying to escape her Pull filled him with uneasiness. But what use had he for her? He could scarce take care of himself, never mind adding another mouth. And yet he found himself saying, “I’ll think about it. But first, I have some questions in need of—”
The she-elves laughed. “Smart man, this one. Knows a deal when he sees it.”
He suppressed a sigh. This conversation would be a long, winding one, he could tell. Small-talk, he thought with loathing.
“Oi, Slaíne, where be them tea cakes?” The fat one smacked her lips and patted her belly.
“So, you said you had a question,” said Leech.
He jumped on the opportunity and got right to the matter: “What do you know of the Immortal, and how would I go about uniting them?”
“Not so hasty, not so hasty,” said the fourth she-elf, the one with the warty nose. “We’ve just met, and that is a personal question.”
“Aye, very personal.”
“What is personal?” he asked, another wave of befuddlement washing over him. Was he going mad? Or were these elves’ particular brand of Glamour unusually strong?
“Personal? What’s personal, he wants to know,” said Treevain. “Why, it’s personal just in the fact that it can get your body killed.”
“Yes, nothin’ more personal than death.”
The four cackled.
Aidan thought of the goblet, and for whatever reason, that cleared his head and distracted him from the ridiculous Pull and the Glamour.
“Well, if you aren’t willing to part with that information, I shall move on. Good day, ladies.” He turned, hoping to hide his intentions.
His hopes were dashed. “Consider your ruse found out,” said Reek. “You need us and our precious information.”
Aidan turned to face them, his eyebrows raised. But feigning innocence wouldn’t work with these power-wielders, as he very well should have known. It would seem that he would have to bargain. “What do you want for it?”
“What do we want, he asks.” The third elf snorted and twisted her ugly head to look over her shoulder. “She’s gone farther than she ought.”
“Mm. Slaíne’s not rightly in the head, thinking she can push the boundary.”
“Foolish.”
“Absurd.”
The end to Aidan’s patience seemed near in sight. He flattered himself to be a moderate-tempered man. But chitchat…all nonsense and fluff and the match to the tinder of his ire.
“It’s not working, Reek,” Treevain murmured to the one with the warty nose.
“What did you say?”
“I said your Glamour is not working.”
Reek snorted. “Nonsense. It’s your Glamour that’s off.”
“Nay,” the former insisted.
“It would seem, ladies,” said Leech, “that all our Glamour is off. Shall we start again? Together on three? Two…four…. Erm….”
“Enough!” said the tall one, causing the others to stop and wonder at her. She, however, stared at Aidan, suspicion forming in her gaze. “The Goblet.”
“What of it?” Aidan demanded, uncertain why he found himself on the defense.
Treevain nodded. “I wondered.”
“I thought so,” said Reek.
“We’ve been fools!”
“Shut up,” said the tall one. “He can hear every blasted word we’re saying. Glamour does nay work on this one – at least, not entirely.”
Aidan tensed, preparing to Summon or Call whatever he needed to make an escape. But the four did not attack as he had expected. Instead, they sat there, contemplating something with ugly bewilderment on their faces. They remained like this for some time, staring and twitching.
Finally, after expelling wind, Reek said, “Well, I think that’s decided then. We can’t kill him.”
“Aye,” said the other three, dispirited.
“Too few of you left. What better way than to irk the mage?”
“Mage my warts. That scum bucket of rotting eel souls.”
“Mage? You mean Meraude?” Aidan asked.
The four glared at Aidan as if he had uttered a very vulgar, ungentlemanly word. “We’ll thank you not to mention that pig snout’s name in our presence.”
“Oh, aye,” Reek and Treevain agreed.
“Sorry,” Aidan offered.
The four grunted. “It happens. Only, don’t let it happen again,” said the fat one. “Time to get to the business of the matter.”
Aidan narrowed his eyes, his pulse quickening.
“The choice is left to you: the Goblet for the girl or for the – the ah, what was it he wants again?”
The wart-nosed elf huffed and scratched her backside. “He wants to know about the Goblets.”
“Reek! He wants to know about the Immortal.”
“Isn’t that the same—”
“Silence.”
Aidan was hit by another strong attempt at Glamour, which almost knocked him backward. The anchor that kept him from falling over was the Pull between him and the girl, who seemed to have turned around and returned to the elves’ camp.
The fattest elf swore. “What will it be, man? And how soon can we make the exchange?”
Aidan rubbed his head, which throbbed to the rhythm of his pulse. So, the goblet had something to do with the Immortal? Perhaps they were merely trying to confuse him.
“Don’t make a deal with the elves.” Isaac’s words continued to echo around in his mind. He knew better than to make a deal with any elf, let alone four, no matter how decrepit they appeared.
He thought of the goblet as the four stared at him, waiting for his answer. If they wanted it so much, then perhaps it wasn’t the wisest of ideas to let them have it. “Can I have a night to think on it?” He might as well have asked them for each of their right arms as well, judging by their reactions.
“Wants to wait, does he?” Treevain spat. “No doubt so he can run off with the Goblet and the information we’ve given him.”
“You haven’t given me a single piece of information,” Aidan reminded her.
The sisters exchanged dark looks. The tallest one shook a bony finger at him. “Ah, but haven’t we? We’re offering you a good deal here, laddie. I’d take it, if’n I was you.”
Aidan’s head ached, and he did not think he could match wits much longer, what with their cheating and using Glamour. If he had such a gift at his disposal…. Much more useful than willing things away.
“We’ll give you three minutes to think about it, and then….” Reek drew a line across her nose. “We’ll slice that fine nose of yours off’n your face.”
Aidan narrowed his eyes, which he locked on to hers. “Give me tonight, and you will have your answer in the morning. I vow.”
“He vows, does he, sisters?”
“What good is a vow?�
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“I’ll take it,” said Treevain. The others looked at her. “He has truth in his eyes.”
The others leaned forward, as if to catch a glimpse of what their sister said. “I don’t know about truth,” said Reek. “I see pain. Lots of pain. And he’s hungry.”
Aidan did not change expression at that. He knew elves could be extra perceptive when the moon was near its fullest. Just as he was recalling that fact, the Pull between him and the girl fluctuated, slackening as she stalked back into camp.
“He be wanting to know about the Blest as well. But is he cursed? Hmm. What think you, Gully?”
The one named Gully made a face. “Cursed, yet perhaps not cursed. Pain there, yes. Lots of pain.” She sniffed the wind. “And regret. Blames himself for something.”
“Might be his hand,” Reek suggested. “Maybe he regrets letting it get right an’ filthy infected.”
The other three tutted.
“We’ll throw some salve into the deal. Slaíne! Where be that scheming little blight on the face of humanity?”
“Up a tree?”
“Higher ’n that, I’d wager.” All four cackled. Reek said, “Go ahead and make your camp. We’ll talk later in the evening.”
Aidan nodded, and was glad to be dismissed, seeing as his hand was throbbing painfully behind his back. He’d been ignoring the pain for a day now, where he had hastily sliced himself for blood. He walked back to his horse and examined the wound. The skin was a sickly yellow color, filled with green pus. Infected. He could skin himself alive for being so reckless.
As if in answer to his problem, he felt someone come nearer. It was her. He looked over his right shoulder. The elves were not watching him and did not seem to notice their serving girl approaching Aidan with something small and round tucked in her hands.
“What do you know of curses?” The girl passed him a jar of salve and stared at a fixed point in the horizon over his shoulder.
Aidan blinked, following her example by hiding the jar in his hands. “Excuse me? Curses?”
She blew a strand of red out of her face, which pinched momentarily as if she were in pain. “No matter. They say only She deals in curses now.”
The Goblets Immortal Page 4