The Goblets Immortal

by Beth Overmyer

  Slaíne repeated herself, obviously feigning disinterest as she brought the embers to a healthy blaze with some straw and twigs. “What are you?”

  “I heard you the first time, m’dear.” The woman grunted, put out her pipe, removed her boots from the table, and looked good and hard at the girl tending the fire. “I saw you for a while now. I’m not sure how this all is going to play out, but you have a part. Yes, I see that very clearly.”

  The girl turned, her brow now wrinkled and soot-covered. “You see things? Like, things that aren’t there?”

  She gave Slaíne a gentle smile. “More like things that aren’t there yet. But not all things. There seems to be no rhyme nor reason to it. But it comes with a price….” She let her words trail off, a thoughtful look on her face. “You see what I’m saying, dear girl?”

  “You’re a fortune-teller?”

  “No, Slaíne. No more than you are a bird.”

  That caused Slaíne to drop the log she’d been carrying. She opened and closed her mouth a few times, and Aidan wondered what the older woman had said that would have such an effect on the girl. He was about to ask something, but the seer raised her hand to cut his questions off.

  “Never mind now, milord. Slaíne, I have something in common with your quest.” She was quiet and hesitated before saying more. “You might want to check that Pull at the door, Mr. Powell.”

  Aidan was on his feet before she spoke. He threw the door open, behind which he felt only one Pull, and found a servant with an ear pressed against the wood.

  The strange wire-thin man jumped at the sight of Aidan and straightened up at once. “Ah, er…dinner will be another twenty minutes.” He flinched as Aidan gave him a warning glance before slamming the door in his face.

  After a moment, when he was certain the way was clear, Aidan sat back down in his chair. “You were saying?”

  The woman held up a finger. “Slaíne, you’re going to kill that fire with too much compassion. Why don’t you sit down as well?”

  The girl shrugged and flopped back in her seat. She was fidgety, spooked.

  “She’s fine,” the seer said before Aidan could ask her what the matter was. “So, you’re both wanting to know where to find old Cedric’s grave.”

  “Myth,” Slaíne said.

  The seer shook her head. “History. You’d think people would learn not to argue facts with a seer, of all people. Now, catch me up: How many of the Goblets Immortal have you ever seen?”

  “One,” Slaíne and Aidan answered together.

  “Ah, yes. I wondered if you’d come across one. Those are – harder to see. Iron of the Six. You would’ve been somewhat repulsed and compelled by it, would you have not, Mr. Aidan?”

  Aidan gave a noncommittal shrug. He would tell the seer what he wanted to and no more, and only then when he felt like it.

  “Very well. I see you’re not going to make this easy for me. There are at least four Goblets, all of their makers slaughtered shortly after their creation, their blood drained dry. As you will of course know, wizard’s blood is molten iron…of the most magical sort.”

  “But don’t iron and magic not mix?” Slaíne surprised Aidan by asking.

  The seer gave her a knowing look, the meaning of which Aidan still did not comprehend. Again the seer drew out her pipe, filled it with tobacco leaves, and was prepared to light it, before changing her mind. She emptied the leaves back into her tobacco pouch and put away her pipe. “No, I need a clear head for this. Iron and magic, magic and iron. Each repels the other, for magic is pure, and iron is polluted. The two cannot mix for this reason. But wizard’s blood – why, it’s the purest. Still, ’tis very unruly and unmanageable for even one that is Blest. Unless, he…. Ah, I’m getting ahead of myself.” She shuddered and licked her chapped lips before continuing.

  “Now, Cedric had the uncanny ability to succeed at anything he set his mind to. That was his Gift, which he imbued the Questing Goblet with. Whoever so drinks of that Goblet takes into himself Cedric’s ability…that is, until the affected liquid runs out of their system.”

  “Which means that people like me should not exist.”

  The woman shook her head and wagged her finger with a small smile on her face. “You take for granted, Mr. Aidan, your mother.”

  Aidan’s fists clenched in his lap. She had claimed before that she knew how to find his family, wherever they’d disappeared to. That is, she’d mentioned the fact right before betraying him. His tone was clipped when he asked, “What about my mother?”

  The seer sighed, exasperated apparently. “She’s the reason you can do what you can do. My mother’s the reason I can do what I can do. Aidan, your mother was part of the Circle, as was mine.”

  Aidan held up a hand. He wanted to hear more, but there was yet another Pull at the door, this time with three others behind it.

  “It’s only the servants,” the seer said as Aidan Summoned the silver blade into his hand. “You’re going to frighten them to death if you don’t put that away.”

  There was a knock on the door, followed by, “Dinner is served!” Only then did Aidan Dismiss his blade and took his seat once more.

  The seer clucked her tongue at him. “So suspicious. No one could buy your trust.”

  “They could…with my blood. All of it,” he said, throwing her previous threat back at her.

  That brought some color into the seer’s cheeks, but she said nothing.

  “Good, I’m half-starved.” Whatever Slaíne thought of the conversation, she didn’t let on, but hopped to her feet and offended the servants by trying to help.

  “We’ve got it,” one of the men said as she tried to take a heavy, hot platter from him.

  Aidan rolled his eyes and fought annoyance. “Slaíne, take a rest for once. You’ve earned it.”

  The girl gave him a funny look, but then plopped back down in the chair and stared at her fingernails. “They’ve got it, my hide.”

  As if to prove her right, one of the servants bumbled and dropped a tureen of peas and butter onto the floor. The young man swore and colored all unpleasant shades of pink and white. “Master’s going to see me hanged.”

  “Leave it,” the seer said as the servant got to his hands and knees and started scooping the ruined peas back into their dish.

  The man scrambled to his feet and scarpered right out the door, followed by the other three, who took a more leisurely pace. “Call if you need anything more,” said the last and snootiest of the four.

  The seer made an obscene gesture and muttered a warning at him before the man slammed the door. The words she had spoken before the meal’s arrival still hung in the air, but the woman paid them no mind as she grabbed the roast pheasant plate with indecent enthusiasm. “Goodness me, I haven’t tasted fresh game since four and twenty fortnights past.”

  Slaíne regarded the food, then Aidan, as if asking for permission to be hungry. When he didn’t respond, the girl plopped three generous dollops of potato hash onto her plate, then half a loaf of bread, before snatching Aidan’s clean plate and filling it with food as well. She waited then, looking at him expectantly.

  So caught up in the conversation, he’d all but forgotten his warning to Slaíne not to eat ’til he’d explored the food for nefarious Pulls. He took a moment, closed his eyes, and concentrated. There might be some dirt in the potatoes, so he Dismissed that. A bit of something he did not recognize in the pheasant and the carrots, so he Dismissed that element as well. And, just to be certain he hadn’t missed anything, Aidan went through the drinks and food stuffs on the table again.

  The seer snorted. “What are you expecting to find? I’ve been here with you the whole time, and one of you’s always been watching me.”

  “Better safe,” Aidan said, “than dead.”

  She gave him a bemused look, and attacked the roast pheasant with
her bare hands.

  Aidan grimaced. “It’s safe.”

  The woman snorted, spraying the table with partially masticated food. “Of course it’s safe.”

  Slaíne nodded and dug into the food as well.

  Aidan wished to join them; he knew he needed the nourishment. But that witch-of-a-woman might as well have dropped a stone into his stomach. What of his mother? What Circle? His shoulder pained him again the more he thought, though he strove to pay the cold twinges no mind.

  “Don’t mind if I do,” the seer said, taking the bowl of potatoes from Slaíne.

  How could he trust anything that came out of that woman’s mouth? There seemed no point in asking her to explain herself. Yet…what if there were some truth in her words? Aidan could stand it no more. “How did you know my mother?”

  Slaíne dropped her fork, and the room was filled with its merry ringing as it hit her tin plate. Aidan didn’t need to look at her to know that her eyes were cast down on her lap.

  The seer’s reaction was to laugh. “Sir, I never knew your mother.”

  “You just said—”

  “I said that our mothers were in the Circle. Had to have been. They’re the ones what killed the wizards and kept their Goblets. Really, milord, do keep up with the conversation.” She gave him a moment, smiling as if waiting for her words to sink in.

  But the words meant nothing to him.

  “This ‘Circle’,” Slaíne said through a full mouth, “was it made of all women?”

  The seer shook her head. “Nay, Miss Slaíne, as I think you right well can guess. You do need men for certain things.”

  Slaíne made a face. “If you say so.”

  The seer continued. “When a woman who is with child drinks from one of the Goblets, she temporarily takes on its powers. But the miracle growing inside her – why, the Goblet’s powers become part of the being’s makeup.”

  Aidan frowned. “All right, if what you are saying is true, what was this Circle of yours? What was its purpose?”

  She looked him square in the eyes, searching their depths. “To create a new world order, but of course. Now, before you say another word, let’s finish what’s in front of us. And despite what you might think, I know precious little of the Circle. It’s Meraude what you’ll want to ask these questions.”

  Slaíne snarled at the mention of the mage.

  Aidan thought of arguing with the seer, demanding more answers there and then, but his stomach was clenching and practically howling with hunger. So he finally gave in and ate.

  * * *

  Once the ladies had cleared every last crumb and morsel from all of the dishes on the table, and Aidan’s stomach could hold no more, the seer insisted that she was quite tired and in need of rest. “I’ll still be here when you two awake. Now, my room is across the hall from yours.” She passed Aidan one key. “And try not to fight too loudly tonight. The innkeeper’s wife is already thinking of turning us out.”

  One key? “I don’t like this.” He was not going to leave Slaíne with this woman, no matter how much she said she was sorry for the betrayal.

  “What don’t you like, Mr. Aidan?”

  “I don’t trust you, with her or myself.”

  Slaíne’s gaze flitted back and forth between the two. She worried her lower lip, and seemed uncertain as to what she was to do.

  The woman nodded and smiled her gap-toothed smile. “Granted. If ever you were a trusting man, milord, I drove it out of you. But what does Slaíne have to do with our supposed feud?”

  “Supposed feud? You tried to kill me.”

  “No, I handed you over to be killed.”

  “A technicality. I don’t want her staying alone with you. In your room or anywhere.”

  Slaíne frowned but said nothing.

  The seer threw back her head and laughed, repulsing Aidan with the sight of her blackened teeth and the smell of her fetid breath. “Is that all?”

  Aidan folded his arms, quite aware that the girl might make more of his concern than there was.

  When Aidan didn’t respond, the woman smirked at him. “The girl won’t be staying in my room with me.” She folded Aidan’s hand over the one key. “Good evening. Slaíne. Lord Ingledark.” And cackling, the seer left them standing together, one apparently confused, the other annoyed.

  Chapter Eleven

  “You can have it,” Slaíne insisted. The two of them were standing as far from the other as possible, pretending there was nothing to feel awkward about. “I’ll sleep on the floor.”

  Aidan shook his head. “What sort of man would that make me?”

  Slaíne laughed, a jarring sound. “Human.” She pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes. “You’re serious?”

  “When am I not?”

  “When you’re being caustic.”

  Aidan drew breath to argue, but then released it with a great huff. This situation ought not be. But it was. Every other room in the inn was occupied, and the seer had long since locked herself inside her own accommodations, ignoring Aidan’s periodic banging on her door. This shouldn’t have been a problem…wouldn’t have been a problem, if he hadn’t been such a thirsty idiot. He could not recall the incident in the nymph’s camp without a shudder and prickly stab of shame in his chest. “You are not sleeping on the floor.”

  “Ne’er slept on no bed anyways.”

  “All the more reason why you should take it. I will hear nothing more on the matter.”

  Slaíne scowled at him. “Did it ever occur to you—”

  “Hush.”

  “That I don’t want—”

  “Not another word.”

  Slaíne stomped her foot. “This is stupid. I’m allowed to talk.”

  Aidan gritted his teeth. “I never said you couldn’t talk. Talk, talk all ruddy night, if you please.”

  Her face grew red and her eyes sparkled with rage. “You sayin’ I talk too much?”

  He groaned. “Women!”

  “What about us?”

  The tension from the past few weeks caught up with him in that moment, making him fatigued and lightheaded. Her Pull, ever a nuisance and frustration, did not help. The closer Slaíne came, the more he felt like either violently kissing or strangling her.

  “What about us?” Slaíne continued to come at him, her face flushed, her eyes full of madness.

  Maybe she felt the friction as well. Or maybe she was completely deranged and had no idea how close Aidan was to performing violence.

  “Girl,” he warned, standing his ground, “I wouldn’t push me if I were you.”

  She threw up her hands and spun around to face the wall. In her haste to turn away from him, her shirt dipped down over her shoulder, the one where she’d been whipped that night by the elves. It had healed over nicely. Her skin was smooth and shiny in that spot…. No, not just that spot. All over, her skin glowed with an impossibly attractive sheen of sweat. She was filthy. He was filthy. And yet….

  Aidan shuddered and closed his eyes, willing himself to calm. He needed to cool them both down and fast, before any lines were crossed and he made an even bigger fool of himself. “Slaíne.” His voice broke on her name, so he tried again. “I’m going to try the wretched woman again, see if I can’t persuade her.”

  He opened his eyes, and found that the girl had turned around to look at him, her expression curious but still guarded. “I’ll just go then.” Aidan wasn’t moving, but she was. Turn and leave, you idiot. The door’s just there.

  Nearer she came and nearer, her luminous gray eyes searching his own dark ones. Whatever she saw there must have frightened her, because she flinched and looked away. “All right.”

  With that, Aidan turned and propelled himself out the door, which he shut behind himself with more force than he’d meant to. Instead of knocking on the seer’s door, he approac
hed the innkeeper’s wife, who was bustling by just then with an armful of towels. “Excuse me, ma’am.”

  “Eh? Whadduya want?” She smelled of sulfur and looked as though she’d gotten on the wrong side of a pumice stone.

  Aidan took a step back from her stench. “I was wondering if a bath could be drawn for my…friend?”

  The woman’s bushy eyebrows drew together. “Not much hot water to be had here, laddie. Takes me bairns a right good hour’s worth to heat enough water for two tubs.”

  “Just one tub will be required.”

  Her eyebrows shot heavenward. “You and your friend be sharing, then? That’s not hygienal.” She stopped to hock up a lungful of phlegm into one of the clean guest towels, which she straightened and moved to the bottom of her pile.

  “Right. Still, I would pay—”

  “Of course you would pay. Blimey, I ain’t running no blasted charity here. For the love of Petere!” Again she hacked and spat. “All right, a silver piece will cover the bath.”

  “A silver for one bath? You’ve got to be joking.”

  The lady shrugged her broad shoulders. “Take it or leave it, that’s what water’s worth in these parts. Bathing is a luxury.” She sniffed and made a face. “I’d assume you of all guests would realize this.”

  Aidan resisted the urge to barter and haggle. “Fine, one silver for one bath.”

  The innkeeper’s wife nodded, her nose still thrust high in the air. “Very good, sir. I’ll throw in a cake of soap for two pence.”

  “Done, madam.”

  * * *

  While he waited for the water to be heated and the copper tub to be filled, Aidan did not reenter the room nor did he bother the seer again. The hall was narrow, but at the end of it there was a chair and a side table covered with a small assortment of books, so that was where he made himself comfortable. Unfortunately, he realized as he settled in, most of the books were poetry. The rest that weren’t, the books with crisper pages and stiffer spines, had only to do with one topic: botany. What sort of inn keeps study books? But reading materials were far and few between in Aidan’s line of work – wandering – so he opened one and tried to absorb himself in it.