Holes in the Veil

by Beth Overmyer

  At the front of the masses by the steps leading up to the inn, there were two men who seemed to be in charge. Aidan wondered if he could latch on to Slaíne’s Pull and give her a Tug before she reached them, but he knew he couldn’t risk it without giving himself and his abilities away.

  “What’s happened?” Slaíne demanded of one of the men in official uniform of red tunics and chainmail overdress.

  “Miss,” he said, beginning to put a hand on Slaíne’s shoulder, which he seemed to think the better of. “You need to calm yourself.”

  That had been the wrong thing to say. “Calm meself?” she said. “Ya don’t get to tell me when to calm. That man is a family friend. I’ve every right to know if Titus is going to recover.”

  The other man in uniform came up beside his comrade. “Miss, your friend has had quite a shock. He should be fine, though.”

  “Then I can speak to him?”

  Feeling a bit of a coward for remaining in the background, Aidan approached Slaíne and put a hand on her shoulder. “Please,” he said to the men, “my wife won’t rest until she knows that Titus is being taken care of.”

  The two lawmen exchanged a quick glance before the second one said, “He’s not seeing anyone.” He held up a hand as if to waylay their protestations. “But I can tell you that, though his nerves seem to be frayed, there is no actual sign of him being stabbed.”

  Aidan looked at Slaíne. “See, my dear? It was all a misunderstanding.” He leaned in to whisper to one of the lawmen, “Titus has been known to have those from time to time.”

  “Where is he being kept?”

  “Titus is in his room, resting.”

  Slaíne opened her mouth, probably to come out with some other falsehood to work her way inside, but there was a cry from within. The crowd behind them surged forward as a young urchin ran outside. “Sirs,” he said to the men in charge. “I have a message for you. You asked me to keep you abreast of what was happening with the drunk.”

  “Thank you, Jon. If you’ll give us a minute….” He gave a pointed look at Slaíne and then Aidan.

  The urchin took no notice. “He’s dead.”

  “What?” Slaíne squeaked. “No.”

  Aidan squeezed her shoulder and tried drawing her back. He’d forgotten how strong she was. “How…?”

  “Stroke or something like,” the young boy blurted out before he could be stopped. “Doc says he could nay take the stress.”

  “Thank you, Jon, that’s quite enough.” The lawman turned to Slaíne. “Does Mr. Rifron have any family that should be notified?” The man gave her a knowing look. “Why don’t you go inform them, miss.” And with that, the two lawmen turned and went inside.

  Chapter Six

  Aidan

  It took a bit of persuasion, but Aidan convinced Slaíne to leave the inn, as there were no answers left for them there. He made a few discreet inquiries from some of the crowd, and discovered that Titus had no family in the area but was a homeless wanderer who took the occasional job to provide shelter and drink for himself. But then Aidan and Slaíne had to leave the area, as an uproar arose from the kitchen about the missing food that Aidan had Dismissed earlier.

  The weather was fair, and the lightly overcast sky promised the night would be warmer than the previous one had been. Aidan led the way out of the village, stopping at a butcher’s shop and a bakery on the outskirts. The feast he’d taken from the kitchen would not last them forever, and he felt it would only be fair to spend more coin in the town before he left it like a bandit. Steak-and-potato hand pies ordered in a large number would certainly draw attention, so he ordered half a dozen, and Slaíne came in after and ordered five. He also bought bread and jam, and some dried meat to sustain them for the next fortnight.

  Their water bladders had been replenished the day previous, so they made no stop at the last well they saw, but instead stopped inside a quilter’s shop and purchased bedrolls to keep them warm if the nights grew cold. The tentmaker’s shop was closed, so Aidan Dismissed a few items he hoped were tents from the other side of the wall. Arms overflowing with purchases, Aidan and Slaíne entered the woods and, once he was certain they had not been followed and were not being watched, Aidan Dismissed everything they had bought.

  Up to this point, Slaíne had been brooding. Now, with the town fading behind them, she talked in earnest. “It’s nay any coincidence that the man dropped dead. Who falls over and dies from something they’ve imagined?”

  Aidan opened his mouth to answer, but Slaíne was not finished.

  “And another thing, it was nay just his imagination. Someone or something was trying ter keep him silent about my curse.” She nodded sagely.

  Though he wished she was wrong, Aidan knew the odds were against it being a mere coincidence. “I agree with you, Slaíne.”

  She stared at him for a moment as they crashed their way back onto the main path leading north. “You do? You ain’t gonna argue? Say I’m overreactin’? Take offense at something?”

  He scowled at her. “I don’t do those things regularly enough to warrant that attack.”

  Slaíne threw her head back and howled with laughter. “Right. And me name’s Bob. But that’s nay the point anyhow. Whoever’s cursed me’s hurt that poor fellow.” She made a sign that superstitious folk made to ward off foul spirits. Then she looked at Aidan, her brow wrinkled. “But that don’t explain you.”

  “What of me?” He pushed through a particularly thick patch of undergrowth they could not find a way around, and then helped Slaíne untangle herself from some creeping myrtle.

  “Well,” she said, “you was trying to help me break the curse and nothing happened to you.” She squinted at him once they had availed themselves of the groundcover. “Maybe ’cause you’re Blest?”

  Perhaps that was the case. It sounded right. But all of this talk about curses was wearing on him. Aidan did not want her to raise her hopes too high or become obsessed with the subject, lest she be brutally disappointed if her curse could not be lifted. She had seen enough disappointment in her short life, he knew. So he tried to move the conversation away from the topic entirely. “We’d better pick up our pace if we want to be left in peace tonight.”

  She clucked her tongue in response. “I don’t think no one’s following us.”

  “That’s not what I meant.” He moved a little ways ahead. “There are wolves in these parts. At least, there were the last time I traveled through. They should leave us alone, but there’s always the odd chance our luck will run out.” If there was such a thing as good luck and bad luck, surely the good always ran out for them. Not that he believed in such nonsense…mostly.

  The going was trying on both their nerves and their bodies. Slaíne was able to glide over quite a bit of the overgrowth and bracken, leaving Aidan on the ground to crash through what he could or go around it entirely. But she could not fly between trees that were too close to squeeze through no matter how high she went. True, Aidan thought, she could fly over the trees themselves, but if her gift was anything like his, it took its toll on the mind if overused. Plus, he knew she did not wish to awaken the curse’s wrath by getting too far from the one it had latched her to.

  Eventide was nigh upon them when their pace slowed considerably. They had not traveled as far north as he would have liked, but neither of them was in the shape nor frame of mind to continue onward, so he proposed that they stop. “Let’s look for a suitable place to make shelter – preferably something with lower branches, should we—” He hesitated and then amended, “Should I need to quickly get off the ground.”

  Slaíne let out a tirade of swear words as the hem of her dress caught on some briars and tore. After pulling herself free, she joined Aidan in searching for good high ground on which to make their camp. Once they had spotted what they were seeking, Aidan felt in his cache in Nothingness and Summoned what he had stolen
from the tentmaker’s shop. What he found was the hide of some great animal, weatherproofed and foul-smelling, a length of rope, and three other smaller hides. The first he laid out on the ground, and then Summoned a water bladder and four hand pies; a bit much, maybe, but the walk had been hard and the day had been trying. Better to start the night off with a full stomach.

  The sun had set, and the night world around them crept to life. Crickets keened and bullfrogs croaked their songs as a light breeze rustled through the budded treetops overhead. Aidan tore into his pasties and did not need to look to know that Slaíne was doing the same. He passed her the water bladder, and she half drained it. Aidan said nothing on that score, for he knew from the sound of the frogs that water was nearby; he could refill that bladder and any others they drained before they set off in the morning.

  “Why did ye nay get a tent or the like earlier?” she demanded after they had devoured their respective meals. “Would’ve saved you some cold nights.”

  Aidan rolled his eyes but found himself more amused than anything. “Because I couldn’t afford it and, despite what it must seem, I haven’t always been so keen on stealing.” There, let her think on that.

  “You’re keen on it now, then, are ya?” She gave him a meaningful look, shook her head, and lay back on the hide. After a moment, she sighed.

  “The fool of a man’d

  naught but his looks

  The pity’s the more

  His love’s sight was dark.

  T’fool open his mouth

  The blind lass appear

  Hear nothing but rubbish

  Baptize ’im with beer.”

  It was the first time he had heard her sing in what felt like forever. The song was obviously meant to provoke him, but it had other consequences that Aidan tried to ignore. He allowed himself to crack a smile, but would not look at Slaíne, fearful of what his eyes might tell her. When the silence became unbearable, he let out a burst of derisive laughter and then lay down himself. As on all nights, he did a quick inventory of Pulls near and far, just to make certain he had not been followed. There were no human Pulls for a few miles. Human Pulls were always strongest, anchoring and slowing him down. On normal occasions, Aidan paid little mind to other, less substantial Pulls that might belong to animals or unmoving objects. Perhaps it was because he had not done a thorough search in a few weeks, or maybe it had something to do with the fact that they had come in contact with a murdered man that day, but whatever the case, Aidan closed his eyes and tried to identify the lesser living Pulls.

  There were no repulsions caused by iron, save for the one created by the Drifting Goblet, which Slaíne still kept charge of. He felt her Pull and then moved beyond it to what he thought might be deer feeding on the outskirts of their twilit camp. Aidan froze. There was a stronger Pull than a deer’s out there, but weaker still than a human’s. He had felt this particular Pull before. Recently, in town. “Concentrate,” he murmured to himself.

  Aidan ignored every Pull from around him, and focused on exploring this familiar one in particular. It was moving slowly, and truly was surrounded by what felt like deer. It was difficult to tell, though, because nonhuman Pulls were harder to identify if he was not used to them. The wind shifted, and the deer Pulls scattered, along with the familiar almost-deer one.

  Slaíne yawned loudly. “Where’re we bound tomorrow?”

  He could not explain it, but Aidan found himself reluctant to give her a direct answer. “We’ll stay our course,” he offered after a moment’s hesitation.

  At once she seemed to catch on to his leeriness. “What’s wrong? Do you sense something?”

  Aidan ground his teeth, trying to dismiss the anxiety rising inside him. “It’s nothing. I feel a mite anxious about the scene we left behind at the inn.” He tried to convince himself that was it, and after the Pull moved off into the distance, the easier it became to believe that he had imagined any need to feel alarmed.

  The moments crawled by in silence, and the strange Pull disappeared entirely. Aidan sighed his relief and handed Slaíne one of the smaller hides to cover herself from the cold night air. He would bring out the bedrolls, should the hides prove to be insubstantial.

  She accepted the hide and curled up apart from him. “All’s well now?”

  Covering himself with the other hide, he grunted and then sat up. “I’ll keep first watch.” Perhaps it was unnecessary, but Aidan was taking no chances. He yawned, and took another swig from one of the water bladders. “You should get some rest. We’ll be doing a lot of walking tomorrow.”

  “Like we don’t ever,” she mumbled, but Aidan pretended not to hear her.

  Bats flittered overhead, and owls hooted their early songs. The air cooled, and Aidan’s shoulder prickled uncomfortably, so he rubbed it with vigor, hoping to stop or at least delay any visions for that night.

  “The Questing Goblet gives the drinker good luck, yes?” Slaíne said after a moment, making Aidan jump. She laughed. “Sorry. Did nay mean ter startle ya. I was just thinking…. Maybe that would break the curse.”

  Having nothing to add to the statement, Aidan merely sighed and thought some very selfish thoughts. He found himself saying, “Is it so awful?”

  She tensed. “Is what so awful? The curse?”

  “No,” Aidan said, grimacing. “That’s not it. Of course the curse is awful. It’s a curse. What I mean to say is….” What had he meant to say? He bought himself time by clearing his throat and taking another swig of water. At length he shook his head. “Forgive me. My thoughts are muddled this evening.” He could feel her eyes on him.

  Slaíne let out a short laugh. “Hardly remember no time before the curse. Just my mam and papa and their lives.” She rolled over to face him. “Seems like life did nay really begin until later.” Her expression grew distant, and she shook herself. “Seems I’ve always been, but have nay always been alive, you know?”

  Aidan nodded. “I think I know what you mean.” He looked at the cloud cover above them. “Sometimes I think I died when my parents and Sam disappeared from my life.”

  “No,” she said gently. “You’ve got to get past that.”

  He felt a flash of irritation at the statement, but he let it go with a sigh. Slaíne was perhaps right, after all. If he wanted to avenge his family, he could not let his mind become muddled with emotion. But if rage and sorrow could not and should not drive him, what would? The need to make a better world without Meraude was one reason to pursue this path, a world where magic folk were accepted, valuable members of society where they did not have to hide their gifts. Yes, freedom for all was a noble thing worth fighting for, but anger bubbled around the edges of it, like an overfilled pie pulsing with heat in the oven. Aidan thought he might burst.

  Slaíne startled him out of his musings with a sad laugh. “I am nay one to talk. Not gettin’ past me own curse. Vengeance drives me too.”

  Aidan chuckled darkly, his breath clouding the air before him. “We find these Goblets, Slaíne, and then we’ll see what we’re really made of.”

  “Woe to Meraude on that day.”

  “Indeed.”

  * * *

  As the night deepened and the air cooled considerably more, Slaíne’s slow, even breathing told Aidan that she had fallen asleep. He watched her for a while, mindful of the Pulls in the surrounding area. Even though he couldn’t see her well in the darkness, he knew she was frowning in her sleep. If things were different, Aidan might reach out a hand and smooth out the lines of worry and whisper that all would be well. Yet it was not his place to do so, and he did not know if those words were a lie or not. So he looked away and peered into the darkness beyond, fighting the siren song of sleep and the cold spreading through his shoulder and across his chest.

  Aidan, said a soft voice in his head. Aidan, come out and play.

  Aidan shook his head and blinked aga
inst the pull of rest. “No,” he muttered, though he knew he was fighting a losing battle. He even went as far as to sit up and slap his cheeks, but they too were growing cold, and after another minute of resisting, he was conscious of falling backward as his soul separated from his body and found its way into the Beyond.

  Again he found himself in the orchard on his estate, only this time the sky was clear of any storms, and Salem was nowhere to be seen. Aidan spun in slow circles and considered calling out, demanding to know why he had been struck with a shovel the last time he had unwittingly visited the land of the magical dead.

  Wary, he crept into the thicket of apple trees bearing an array of strange fruit. For a moment he reached out his hand, prepared to pick one, but then he remembered he did not know what the fruit would do or whether or not it was poisonous.

  “What am I doing here?” he murmured.

  A twig snapped nearby, and he began to call out, but thought the better of it. Some instinct told him to remain silent and unseen.

  “Thought I’d felt something,” said a ragged voice that Aidan recognized. It belonged to one of the she-elves he had met a month or more ago. In faith, it was one of Slaíne’s former, now-dead, mistresses. “Now I doesn’t feel nuffink.”

  “It must be the hags. They like to creep in the grasses and among the trees,” said another familiar voice. It belonged to the nymph queen, the creature who had stabbed him in the shoulder weeks ago, thus making these encounters in the Beyond possible. “You wanted to tell me something important, you said.”

  There was a slight hesitation, and four Pulls moved closer. Aidan tried to slow his frantic breathing so as not to be heard, but he soon realized he needn’t have worried. Someone, presumably one of the elves, was wheezing and hissing with every intake and outtake of breath, masking well any sounds he made.

  “Where is Treevain?” said the nymph. “Surely you would want your matriarch—”

  “With all respect due,” said another elf, “that ’un’s gone wrong, all wrong.”