“Can’t kill me? Or won’t?” he asked before he could stop himself.
Her face fell. “You’re safe from me. Shouldn’t that be enough?”
Wondering how he had offended her, he tried smoothing it over before she refused to share her information. “I’m sorry. I shall speak of it no more.”
Her smile returned, and he wondered at her. “You don’t even know what you’re sorry for.” She held up her hands. “All right. Give me a moment to collect m’thoughts.”
Aidan tried to appear impassive, but he could feel the tension of anticipation tightening his muscles and setting his jaw. His heart beat so hard it hurt. His hands grew moist, and it took enormous strength of will to remain still, afraid that the slightest movement might make the girl change her mind.
There were several more moments of silence between them ’til at last she spoke. “I don’t rightly know much about the Blest…your kind,” she amended with a nod toward Aidan. “The Four rarely spoke of such things in front of me.”
Aidan gave her a moment before prodding. “Whatever you do know could be of great help to me.” They sat in silence for a moment, until he swallowed hard and said, “Please. Please tell me everything you know.”
Slaíne looked up at the sun, her face bathed in its glow. “As far as I can understand, there are maybe three or four Goblets. Together, they’re called the Immortal.” She paused and wetted her lips with the tip of her tongue. “There’s the Summoning Goblet, which I’ll return to in a moment. There’s also something like a War Goblet – or was it Warring?” She bit her lower lip and squinted. “Can’t recall. But each Goblet comes with a gift.”
“A gift?”
Slaíne nodded. “Yes. Whoever drinks of the Warring Goblet is given the warrior’s mind. He’s nearly unbeatable in battle. The Summoner – that’s you – can make objects disappear, reappear, and can draw or repel them…what you’ve been calling Summoning and Calling.”
Aidan nodded. “How much do you know of the Summoning Goblet?”
“Next to nothing, only what I know about the others: the drinker has the ability for only so long. Until, well, they make water or what have you.” She snorted. “Doesn’t explain you, though. You don’t happen to have a giant iron goblet on your person, do you?”
“I did,” Aidan said slowly. “Until I threw it to the elves. What was I thinking?”
“Oh, probably about not getting yourself killed.” She smirked at him when he looked up, and then returned her own gaze to the sky. “Might still happen, the dying part. If the Four knew of me telling you this….” She shuddered.
He wanted to press her for more answers, but sensed that if he did so, she’d stop talking altogether. So he removed his intense gaze from her face and stared down at his filthy hands. The cut had healed almost miraculously. His hand felt almost new.
Aidan flexed his fingers, and a clump of weeds tore themselves, roots attached, from the ground and shot into his hand. He hadn’t meant to Call them. Their Pulls were so weak, they’d just responded to his feelings, perhaps. He knew without looking that the girl had risen to her feet and took a step to her left.
“That’s pretty much all I know. Sorry if it weren’t very useful.”
Aidan still didn’t look up, but twined the blades of grass around his fingers. “What of Cedric’s grave?” He looked up, and was not surprised to find her startled. “You do know about old Cedric, then?”
“‘Old Cedric’, he calls him,” she scoffed. “Cedric the Elder’s just a legend. Myth.”
“No, he’s real.”
Slaíne narrowed her eyes. “You mean to tell me that you believe the Goblets Immortal were made from wizard blood? Nonsense.”
Hoping to lead her to reveal more information, he shrugged. “So, what if I do?”
“Because, Mr. Aidan, it’s a very dangerous business, believin’ in wizards. An’ if you’re thinking of lookin’ for him….” She tossed her head, and her cap went flying away in a breeze. She didn’t seem to notice as her red curls cascaded down her shoulders. “If them legends be true, you’re already good as dead.”
Aidan held up a finger. “But what if Cedric the Elder is already dead? What if he has something buried with him?”
That brought Slaíne up short. She closed and opened her mouth a few times, and then took to pacing. “You want to go after a wizard’s tomb?”
“I might.” He tried to sound nonchalant, but the girl saw right through it.
“A wizard’s grave would be cursed, of course. You’d better have an awful good reason to want to go diggin’ there.”
That brought Aidan’s temper to the surface, but he let it cool before he spoke again. “Believe me. I do. And I don’t believe in curses. That’s child’s talk.”
For all that his words did, he might as well have slapped her. Slaíne recoiled.
Aidan laughed. “You really do believe in them?”
It was her turn to grow angry, it would seem. “How could I not?”
He leaned back, and his manner became playful. “Is this about your supposed curse?”
She took a step back as he rose to his feet. “I don’t wish to speak of it.”
“Come now. Tell me about it.”
She gave him a dark look and said, “How about I show you instead?” And she took off at a run.
Confused, Aidan hesitated before running off after her. “Slaíne! Wait. Please come back. I didn’t mean—” He swore as he caught sight of her, just fifteen yards ahead in a circle of maples. “Come back, we don’t know if these parts are…safe.”
She took a purposeful step back. And another.
The Pull between them warned him before it happened.
Slaíne’s body convulsed, and she was thrown up into the sky as if by an invisible hand, and tossed around like a reed in the wind, all before hitting the ground with a dramatic thud and a flash of red light.
The shaking and twitching continued until Aidan came to his senses and ran to her. “What the devil…?” He threw himself down next to her, though was hesitant to touch her.
“Told ya.” Her voice was a thin rasp, and her features were gray. A small spasm overtook her once more, before her eyes closed and she lay still, her chest barely rising before it fell.
“Slaíne?” He shook her, and was startled to find that her flesh was cold to the touch. He took her pulse. It was faint at first, but the longer his fingers lingered, the steadier and stronger it became.
Aidan Summoned his cloak and covered her as violent shivers racked her body. “Slaíne,” he said more sharply, shaking her.
The girl stirred slightly but did not wake.
So much for reaching Wontworth that day.
Chapter Six
Noon became afternoon, and afternoon ran into evening, and still Slaíne did not wake. What had she been thinking? It was apparent that she’d known what would happen to her if she wandered off. And yet….
Aidan knew that he was more than partially to blame. He had, after all, scoffed at the mention of a curse, thus provoking her to take action in order to prove her honesty. To think of the night previous also gave him pain. He had left the girl at the camp, ordering her to stay where she was, oblivious to the fact that it would affect her so. For now, though the exact particulars of the curse were unclear, it was apparent that there was a boundary for her, and that that boundary was attached to a person. Perhaps she could only wander so far from another living being before the curse attacked.
Two fits in two days? The notion pushed all thoughts of the Goblets from his mind and surpassed every worry, even his family, though he was not generous enough to admit it to himself.
The longer she remained comatose, the more unbearable his guilt became. In truth, her color was better, and she’d started to snore softly. Though he could not absolve himself, sitting under the weight of h
is faults proved misery to the point of pain. It was pointless, as it was done and could not be undone.
Before eventide gave way to night, and the wood was plunged into semi-darkness, Aidan came to his senses and took action. He built a fire. He cut a few vines that seemed safe and drained their fluids into a bone-dry bladder.
The air was chill for late spring, and he sorely wished he’d a second cloak, but didn’t think of removing the one he had from his traveling companion. Instead, he built up the blaze to quite a height and reveled in the heat it gave off.
Night fell, overtook, and enveloped them in a cloak of darkness. The sky was overcast, hiding the waning moon, so that the only relief from the inky night was the ravenous blaze, which seemed on the verge of burning out every five minutes, no matter how much fuel he provided.
Aidan Called all manner of dry twigs and branches within the range of his reach. He was separating a larger branch into four separate parts when the girl sat up with a groan. “How are you feeling?” he asked without looking from his work. The sense of guilt again became overwhelming.
“Feels like I’ve been bludgeoned to death with a burning skillet.” Of all things, she laughed. A weak, insincere one, but a laugh nonetheless.
“But you’re not dead.” He winced at having pointed out the obvious.
This time her laugh had more warmth to it. “Not yet, anyhow.” She was on her feet now, he knew, but still didn’t even glance at him. The crunching of leaves and the slack in her Pull announced her approach. “Anythin’ need doin’?”
Now that it was apparent she was alive, well, and in tolerable condition, Aidan’s temper flared. “What were you thinking?”
“No need to shout.” She was shouting, too.
“Maybe there is.” He turned to her and pointed at the sky. “Not only did you almost get yourself killed—”
“Did not.”
Aidan ignored that. “Your fit cost us the remainder of daylight. I should’ve left you with your rightful masters.” He caught her hand mid-strike and did not let go. He’d gone too far and he knew it as regret deepened and he wondered at himself. Why did she bring out such anger in him?
When she spoke, it was through her clenched teeth. “Let. Go.”
“Slaíne, please forgive me. I behaved poorly.” His grip on her tightened by a degree and, without a thought, he pulled her in closer. “Come, shake hands with me and let’s be friends.”
Her hand and arm had gone limp. “We can nay be friends.”
“But—”
“You shoulda done.”
“Should have done what?”
Her look lacked reproach but held plenty of anger. “Left me with the elves. Give me my hand back, sir. I’ve still need of it.” Slaíne’s voice was as slack as her arm, but her Pull tightened, contracted, made it strangely unbearable being at such a distance, though a matter of a few inches. Still, he relinquished his grasp and watched her arm fall back to her side.
“Where are you going?”
Slaíne had turned her back to him and was trudging out of the reach of the flames. The look she threw back over her shoulder was grim. “To make water, if that’s all right with you.”
Aidan grimaced, the girl scoffed, and they both went about their own separate business.
The fire was still ravenous. Nothing, it would seem, could keep it from flickering to the brink of death. Aidan could not use green wood; the fire would smoke. Instead, he Called anything dry that he could sense, driving himself near to the point of mental exhaustion. He’d been at it nigh half an hour when he heard her footsteps returning to camp.
“There you are. I wondered where you’d—” He turned at this point, and a pale fist pummeled him in the side of the head. Stars swam before Aidan’s eyes as he tumbled to the ground, marveling at the girl’s strength and wrath. He looked up.
Where he’d assumed Slaíne was standing, there stood a stooped figure cloaked in black, its sickly white skin blinding in the fire’s light. The fire! Whatever this creature was, he began putting out the blaze, screeching as sparks flew.
Aidan stumbled to his feet, Summoning the girl’s blade to his hand. He could not feel the man’s Pull, so when the light went out, he swung blindly. He connected with something solid, the silver blade hissing as his opponent collapsed.
The creature gurgled, sputtered, and was silent as the blade began to glow green. From the blade’s light, he could see many sets of red eyes peering at him in the darkness beyond. Still he felt no Pulls.
They screeched at such a high pitch!
Aidan’s hairs stood on end and he was overwhelmed with dread. “Slaíne,” he said as calmly as possible, hoping she could hear him from around the brush. “Run.” It would seem a useless exercise at this point, for their alcove was quite surrounded by the red eyes, whose owners’ growls and cries pierced the night.
Aidan spun in useless circles, swiping at the sounds as they crowded in. The creatures’ fetid breath wafted in on a chill breeze, turning his stomach as he swung out in a wide arc. He caught one of them with the silver sword. The blade again hissed and glowed a brighter green, by which he could now see that these creatures of the night were toying with him, willing to sacrifice the few for sport.
They were there to watch him die. And then? He shuddered at the thought.
“Give us.” The voice was a snarl. It reminded Aidan of something primitive, old…feral.
As he swung out again with the blade, there was a shrill cry from the brush, followed by a large flash of light. Perhaps Slaíne had happened across something to fight with, though that was too good to hope for.
Feel for Pulls, you idiot!
So used to feeling them, so desperate now when he could feel nothing but his own imminent demise. Darkness dragged him down to his knees, knocked the sword from his hand, grasped him by the throat and squeezed.
“Where is it?” the night roared.
All grew terribly cold. I failed them, was all he could think of his family. My fault.
The grip on his windpipe tightened. “Don’t touch it too long,” rasped a second voice. “It’s got power.”
It would seem that his body was acting of its own accord. Ignoring his inability to breathe, Aidan reached out and felt for the Pull of his sword. Nothing. But he tried again, and this time there was an odd prickling sensation in the back of his neck. These creatures, these so-called goblins, were not the night nor were they the wind. They were Nothing, and to Nothingness he sent the one clutching him.
Choking and sputtering, Aidan collapsed further still, his skin giving off an eerie green glow.
The goblins had backed away farther, their red eyes averting into the darkness. As one they cried out as wounded things, and were swallowed into the landscape beyond.
Aidan continued to glow, and would have wondered at himself if he had not thought of his poor traveling companion. “Slaíne?” he croaked. He cleared his throat and tried again, though it caused him pain. “Are you all right?”
Her Pull, which had disappeared during the attack, snapped back to life, nearly jerking him to his feet. Relief washed over him.
“They’re gone.”
Silence. He felt for her Pull again. It was high. Very high. Had she managed to climb a tree before the goblins attacked? Aidan stumbled to his feet and followed the unbearable tug. The farther his steps took him, the brighter his own glow became, until stopping, he could bear the brightness no more. Aidan looked up and there he saw an odd sight. Apparently unconscious, the girl floated in the air above him, glowing a faint blue.
He opened his mouth to shout her name, but a cold iron blade slipped beneath his chin.
“Drop your sword,” said the woman he could barely make out in the light of the glow.
Aidan complied. “Who—”
“Another word from you,” said a male voice from
near his left, “and we shall slit your throat. Attempt anything, and we shall let your lady fair fall.”
There was no other option left him. Aidan remained silent and clenched his teeth, furious at himself for being careless that evening. Hot rage pumped hard through his veins. He wanted to help the girl, to free himself, but he was beyond helpless.
“Sleep,” said the woman’s voice. She snapped her fingers, and the world grew dark. Aidan knew no more.
* * *
In that dark sleep, Aidan dreamt. He was back in the white stone room, staring at the empty throne, helpless to reach it, as he was frozen in place.
Someone tutted. It was Meraude again, dressed in dark violet. She glided around him, her eyes full of amusement that grated on him. “I take it you haven’t discovered Cedric’s hallowed grounds?”
Aidan blinked. “What makes you think I’m going to fetch your Goblet?”
She laughed lightly. “You need it as much as I do, Lord Ingledark. Tell me, where are you now?”
“What? You don’t know?” He knew he was sleeping. He’d much rather wake and see what was happening to himself and the girl. Last he’d seen, she was still hovering in the air like a fragile ornament waiting to be dropped.
The woman was speaking again, and Aidan forced himself to attend to what she was saying. “If you wish to see your family again, I and I alone can help you. And in order to help you, I need your location. Where are you?”
Aidan sighed and shrugged. “I was attacked.”
Her face fell. “Who attacked?”
“Goblins.”
She frowned. “And you survived?”
“Yes.” He was growing weary and wished to sit down. “Is it all right if I wake up now? I fear I’m not out of danger yet.”
“What do you mean?”
“What I mean is that something must have frightened the goblins off, and now I am with them.”
“A prisoner?”
Aidan nodded. “Most assuredly.”
Meraude took to pacing, her fair brow wrinkling with either worry or distaste. “This complicates things, to be sure. Can you use your abilities against them?”
The Goblets Immortal Page 8
