by L. K. Rigel
“I have seen it, Maxim.”
“Kaelyn… you lighten my spirit. If only I could tell her—but the abomination is never far from Idris’s reach.” The goblin spat out the regent’s name.
Idris. Ruler of the Dumnos fae. Igraine knew a little about the fae; Kaelyn had told her the basics. Idris was guardian of Prince Dandelion and Princess Narcissus. In place of their slain mother, Queen Sifae, Idris sat on the Moonstick Throne until such time the prince would be ready to take it.
“You can’t tell Boadicea. Nor anyone,” Kaelyn said. “Telling fate changes fate.”
“Wouldn’t it have been nice if someone had let Merlyn in on that detail,” Max said.
“I too learned it the hard way.”
“Hmph. Ten thousand pardons if I don’t cry for your hard life.”
“Why, Maxim. Was that a joke?”
Another grunt. Or maybe it was a goblin chuckle.
“Why do you think I live in a cave?” Kaelyn said. “To keep away from people. It’s off-putting to sit down to soup and to suddenly see my dinner companion prostrate with an arm missing and his innards gushing over the floor. It’s hard enough seeing things about people I don’t know… and torture knowing the fate of someone I love.”
Igraine’s head was spinning. In the blink of an eye, her entire world had transmogrified. And Kaelyn! There was so much more to the old woman than she’d ever let on.
“Then you shouldn’t have told me,” Maxim said.
“Perhaps not. But you’re shorter and uglier than I’ve ever seen you, my friend. You needed some good news, and you’re the one living soul I trust with a secret.”
Igraine’s ears filled with the sound of her blood rushing. Igraine will free Boadicea. A thousand questions competed for her attention. Kaelyn truly had the sight.
What else did she know?
Who was Boadicea?
The door swung open, and she had to jump back to keep from being stepped on.
“Hmph. Igraine, then.” The goblin tilted his thick head up and squinted, as if reassessing her.
“Good morning, Maxim.”
“Hmph.” With a nod, he went on his way, still shuffling, but with a lighter step than she remembered.
“Igraine, is that you?” Kaelyn indeed sounded stronger. The healing powers of Avalos were already at work.
Igraine expected to find her mentor in bed, an invalid. Instead Kaelyn was outside her room on the open-air terrace ensconced in a hanging chair large enough for two. She lay on her side, propped up by pillows, with a plate of food sitting on the cushion in front of her.
“How are you feeling?” they both asked at the same time.
“Better.” They both responded.
Kaelyn laughed and popped a blackberry into her mouth. “Sit down, dear.” She indicated an identical chair opposite hers. Between the two fantastical hanging chair-couches was a low table laden with fruit, cheese, nuts, and bread—and Igraine’s favorite drink.
“The Vengeance came!”
Twice a year, the ship from the mundane world was allowed to find its way through the mist of Avalos and weigh anchor in Fallen Bay at the island’s northernmost reach. The ship brought all manner of treasures from faraway ports: silks, ceramics, glass bowls, dates, olives, oranges—and coffee beans.
The pear hadn’t nearly been enough. With an eye on the pot of coffee, Igraine fixed a plate of food for herself.
“So,” Kaelyn said. “Now you’ve seen a goblin tunnel, and you’ve been transported by goblin magic.” She picked up another fat blackberry. “How are you feeling? Does your altered eye see a different world?”
“Goblin magic.” Igraine poured a cup of coffee and stirred in honey and cream. “I didn’t realize a goblin could do such a powerful spell—any spell, for that matter.
“The fae don’t do magic, Igraine. The fae are magic.”
“It’s odd to think of goblins as fae.”
“Fae of the highest order,” Kaelyn said. “The most gifted, the most noble—”
“So Zoelyn says.”
Igraine had been a practicing wyrder since her magic came in when she was eleven. She’d lived in the wyrding world all her twenty-three years, first at Avalos and then with Kaelyn. Yet it felt like she’d learned more in one cycle of sun and moon than all the other days of her life.
Now that Kaelyn mentioned it, she did feel different today than the day before Wennie’s birthday. But she couldn’t explain the difference—or even describe it.
“What’s this?” An odd object lay on the table beside the sugar bowl, a long brass tube, wider on one end and narrower on the other, both ends made of glass. “A container of some sort?” But it held nothing, and the ends were sealed.
“It’s called a scoping glass,” Kaelyn said. “Point it at the lake and look. No, the other way… through the small end.”
Igraine complied—and jumped. “Oh!”
Maxim appeared in the glass, close enough to touch. She reached out for him and grabbed empty air. Without the scope, he was gone—but she saw him in the distance, on the bridge going to Mistcutter Island.
“What is this device?”
“Velyn finagled it from the captain of the Vengeance,” Kaelyn said. “He brought it to me this morning hoping to cheer me up, sweet boy.”
A pleasant eagerness rose within Igraine at the thought of Velyn, and she shifted in her chair. Maybe she’d invite him to her cottage while she was on the island. Her mind drifted. Did her fisher king have any interesting tattoos? My fisher king…
“To you every man in the world is a sweet boy.” Igraine felt her face go red and raised the glass to her eye. “You probably think that goblin is a sweet boy.”
“Matter of fact, I do, Little Miss Clever Cauldron. As you might, when you learn to see differently.”
Again Maxim seemed near enough to touch. His sour expression was clear enough, as well as the intricately carved buttons on his embossed leather waistcoat and the shimmer of the collar on the blouse beneath—what?
“Kaelyn, I believe your goblin is wearing glimmermist!”
“What of it? The stuff is his creation.”
“Goodness.”
“I suppose he had no idea what to expect when he came to my rescue. He had prepared for battle. How heroic.”
“Kaelyn.” Igraine set the glass down. “Are all goblins so grumpy?”
“No. Which is surprising, considering,” Kaelyn said. “Maxim is a special case. Many and many years ago, when he was young and full of himself, he made a terrible mistake. It so angered the high gods that they cursed all of goblinkind. He’s been goblin non grata in the Blue Vale ever since.”
“Goblin non grata.”
“Heh.” Kaelyn’s eyes twinkled. She was feeling better. “At the time, my great aunt Morwenna gave him sanctuary. He lived here for a hundred years or so.”
“A fae at Avalos.”
“No one was happy about it, especially Maxim. But in true Maxim style, he made the best of it, kept busy. He made the abbey’s windows and showed the colony at Fallen Bay how to blow glass bowls and the potion bottles we love so well. He constructed the two bridges to Mistcutter Island, and together he and Velyn built the Redux, which keeps a true course no matter how rough the sea or how thick the mist.”
How strange, Igraine thought, to think of Velyn alive during the time of Merlyn. He looked thirty at most, but he’d always just been there, like the mist, like the apple trees.
“Maxim worked hard to win everyone’s respect and admiration. In the end, he won their begrudging tolerance.”
“Tolerance. An insult, I’d think. To him.”
“Very good, Igraine,” Kaelyn said. “He’s a prideful goblin. He left us when Idris imprisoned his sister in a cruel device, a fae glimmer glass.”
“But that’s…”
“An abomination,” Kaelyn said. “Another remnant of Merlyn’s meddling where he should not. He created the mirror for Idris and exchanged it for a bit of f
airy magic. In his arrogance, Merlyn believed no fairy would ever be able to animate a glimmer glass.”
“But Idris succeeded.”
“He used Maxim’s sister, Boadicea. Imprisoned her within the mirror.”
Boadicea!
“The poor gob won’t return to Avalos. He stays in the faewood now, at the fae court near Boadicea. In his heart I believe he longs for his goblin home in the vale.”
Boadicea. Igraine could barely stand to keep quiet about it. She’d only just met her first goblin, and it turns out she’s fated to save his sister? How in Sun and Moon’s name could that be?
Kaelyn wouldn’t tell. Igraine knew that much. Indeed, it would distress the old woman to know Igraine had overheard so much. And yet she’d all but told Igraine everything just now.
Right. Igraine scoffed and shook her head. She’d just been given one of Kaelyn’s oblique lessons.
“Poor Maxim.” Kaelyn leaned against her pillows, suddenly looking tired and disoriented. She smiled at Igraine, and her eyes lit up. “Oh, my dear. I wanted to tell you something… to give you something. There, on the table. It’s called a scoping glass.”
“Yes, you already told—”
“Velyn finagled it from Captain Raymond.” Kaelyn jabbed her first finger repeatedly toward the object. “You must have it, Igraine. Take it. It’s yours. I have seen it.”
“Now you’re toying with me, old woman.” To calm her, Igraine picked up the glass. “Get some rest. Sleep awhile.”
She kissed her mentor on the forehead and turned to go, but Kaelyn grasped her wrist.
“You did set a boundary when Maxim came for us, yes?”
Igraine had to think about it.
“Your own boundary, Igraine. At the cave.” Kaelyn’s fingers dug into her skin.
“Oh. Yes. Yes, I did,” she said. “Our castle is doubly protected. No one will storm its gates.”
“Good, good. Mustn’t let Idris see.” Kaelyn fell back and closed her eyes. “Mustn’t let Elyse see… Good, good.” She let go of her grip on Igraine.
“What do you mean, old woman? Do you know Elyse? Let her see what?”
The only answer was a ragged snore, badly faked.
« Chapter 15 »
Igraine’s Altered Eye
Igraine left Kaelyn to pretend to sleep in peace. But once the old woman had rested, some answers had better be forthcoming.
In a fog of bewilderment, Igraine walked until she found herself at the edge of the lake. What did Kaelyn have to do with the fae Idris… or the faeling Elyse? There was something… something in her mind about Elyse, about Glimmer Cottage, but the more Igraine tried to think of it, the more it eluded her mental grasp.
Remember, remember… Remember what?
It was gone. There was nothing to do now but stop trying so hard and wait for it to come back of its own accord. Something would trigger the memory.
She came to the bridge over the lake and went on. She had no idea what to say to the goblin, but she couldn’t stop thinking about his sister and felt compelled to seek him out. She crossed the bridge to the monument and found him sitting on the wooden bench that faced the stone.
“It has a name.” Igraine sat down beside the goblin. “Mistcutter, the Sword of Mist and Rain.”
By his reaction, he knew the name already. No surprise. She looked away, nervously playing with the scoping glass.
“May I see that?” The goblin took the brass tube from her hands. He didn’t look through the device but examined its construction, turning it and running his fingers over the metal. He took a cutting instrument out of a pouch that hung from his belt. The blade caught the sunlight and glinted. “Do you mind?”
“Not at all.” She shook her head, though she had no idea what he intended to do.
With deft fingers making quick, strong strokes, he began to etch delicate cuts in the brass, making it glitter as if bejeweled. As intricate as the work appeared, he worked absent-mindedly, as if his hands had just wanted something to do. His eyes were on the marble stone which held the sword.
For all the goblin’s confidence and brusque manner, there was a quiet sadness within him, and Igraine felt the urge to cheer him up.
“They say this sword was forged by the greatest goblin who ever lived.”
“Huh.”
It was something between a scoff and a grunt. The corners of his goblin mouth turned down—even farther down—and amusement flickered over his face.
“Brother Sun and Sister Moon,” Igraine said. “Was it you? Did you forge Mistcutter?”
He squinted at her, and she knew she’d guessed rightly. She burned to know more, but he wouldn’t tell her anything. Goblins were notoriously private creatures. They did what they did and said what they said for their own goblin reasons.
But she kept quiet and hoped. Maybe he’d tell her on account she would free Boadicea one day. However impossible that seemed.
“I was a young and idealistic treesap,” he said.
Yes!
“A human—a wyrding man, the mage Merlyn—came to me in the Blue Vale and flattered my ego and convinced me to make the sword.”
“Merlyn isn’t spoken of kindly at Avalos.” To say the least. Kaelyn and Zoelyn both called him a charlatan and cursed his memory. After today, Igraine had a better understanding why.
“He was a self-important meddler. He played with people’s lives as if they were dolls, but I didn’t know that then. And who am I to talk? I let him flatter my own self-importance. My vanity. He said he had the sight, and that I’d be a greater gob than Vulsier ever could be. In those days, I worshiped Vulsier—um, of course I still hold him in the highest esteem.”
Igraine had no idea who Vulsier was, but Maxim’s mention of the sight hung in the air between them. She felt he could tell from her face that she knew about Boadicea.
“Merlyn filled my head with notions of glory,” the goblin went on. “He said the sword would serve the will of the high gods.”
“And did it?”
“I… don’t think so.” He laughed ruefully. “Maybe. I’d like to believe so. But such a weapon is too dangerous for the mundane world. I couldn’t make myself destroy it, so I brought it here to Merlyn’s sister, Morwenna. She was abbess of Avalos in those times. I begged her to hold it in safekeeping. She rendered the sword in this marble stone, away from the world.”
“Ah, I see,” Igraine said. “Like Excalibur.”
“Excalibur was but a shadow of… of this.”
“A shadow the knights of Dumnos believed in.”
“Just so. Velyn forged and Morwenna wyrded Excalibur using this sword as a template. When Artros pulled Excalibur from its stone, the knights of Dumnos believed it was the same weapon Utros Pendragon had used to pierce the impregnable wards on Tintagos Castle and take possession of his Igraine.”
Igraine’s cheeks warmed. Kaelyn had once told her: You’re named for Igraine, who inspired a desire even the high gods couldn’t deny.
“Excalibur was dangerous because men believed it could do terrible things,” Maxim said. “But this sword actually can do them.”
“And do you know… is Excalibur truly kept by the Lady of Nine Hazel Lake?”
The goblin nodded. “Morwenna felt the weapons should be kept apart.”
The sword. The weapon. He wouldn’t call Mistcutter by its name.
“It’s said that in all the wide, wide world only one person can draw Mistcutter from the stone,” Igraine said. “I’ll wager you’re the one.”
“I’m not the one.”
Why, Igraine? The very name of the sword affected him like a blow. Why must you speak before you think?
“What if you needed it?” she said. “What if there was a goblin emergency and only Mistcutter could save the day?”
Maxim raised an eyebrow. “Goblin emergency.” His grimace moved closer toward a real smile, if a sad one. “Creating the sword was a sin against the high gods. When I saw it in action, it was worse th
an blasphemy. I never want to hold… it… again.”
Igraine had heard of goblin honor. Here was a goblin brought low, who admitted to sins against Brother Sun and Sister Moon, yet he clung to his honor.
“Who is the one then?” she said. “Your archenemy, I imagine. Is that why you’ve hidden Mistcutter here on Avalos?”
“You’re full of questions.”
“I don’t mean to be rude. I… it’s just that I’ve never met a goblin before. I’ve never met any fae before. There’s so much to learn.”
“I’ve never met a girl so eager to know.”
“I’m not a girl. I’m twenty-three.” Suddenly she was embarrassed. To a goblin she must seem very young indeed—especially one who’d been alive at the time of the Pendragon. “How old are you, Maxim—if it’s not too rude to ask?”
“Oh, hundreds and hundreds of years. And hundreds more than that. I’m not sure how many. But I was born, not fallen, so I’m not among the eldest.”
Born, not fallen. What did that even mean? She started to ask but sensed that really would be pressing it. Instead she said, “Is the one a goblin too, the one who can take the sword from the stone?”
“That only Kaelyn knows. And she isn’t telling.”
“Kaelyn again,” Igraine said. “I had no idea she was so…”
“Wonderful?” Maxim stood up and glanced toward the bridge, returning the scoping glass.
“Thank you.” Igraine couldn’t be sure without standing herself, but he seemed taller than before.
“I should go,” he said. “Velyn wanted to treat Mavis with some Avalos apples. She’ll think she’s too fine to pull a cart.”
He turned away from Mistcutter with no formal leave-taking, no act of reverence. He just walked away, swaying from side to side with a halting gait, his forward progress made with plodding deliberation.
Igraine’s heart compressed a little for the wretched creature. There was no joy in him. More than anything, she wanted to learn how to save his sister.
“I’m so glad we met!” She caught up with him. “Thank you for talking with me. I know the fae don’t like the wyrd very much.”
“Hmph. Goblinkind live by goblin rule,” Maxim said. “And I live by Max rule.”
