The Goblets Immortal by Beth Overmyer (read 50 shades of grey .TXT) 📕

The sea a drunkard at his gin

If only, if only I could take her place

She’s freer than I, no ache in her chest

Since thou hast come nigh to me

Ne’er free can we be

The be-cursed children called the Blest.”

Aidan awoke with a start. He felt…not himself, but like a great bat hanging upside down from some great height, the blood rushing to his head. When he finally opened his eyes, the sun was up and he was lying in the dirt. “Oh.” He looked around for the source of the strange music, but was not enlightened and was now all the crosser for it. Aidan blinked. “Who was singing?”

“Ah, the dead man rises…and hallucinates,” said Isaac with a laugh as he stooped into the enclosure. “No worse for the wear, I trust?”

With a grunt, Aidan sat up and tested his arms by shaking the stiffness out. The dream – for it must have been a dream – was now receding into the dark corners of his mind. “All seems to be in working order.” No thanks to your people.

“You’re a good man, milord. A good man.” Isaac pulled a bag off his back and tossed it onto the ground near Aidan. “Here.”

Aidan eyed it, feeling for the contents. He sensed no real Pull, but it was definitely full of something heavy. Iron. “What is this?”

“An apology.” A moment passed, and Aidan did not move. Could this be yet another trap? Isaac seemed to have read his thoughts, as he said, “Go on, open it up. It ain’t gonna bite you.”

With trepidation, Aidan reached inside the large moldy pouch and produced an iron goblet. “Thank you….”

“But you’ve no use for it?” Isaac chuckled. “You don’t understand. That is a magic goblet.”

Aidan eyed him askance. “What?”

“Aye. I—I don’t rightly know how to say this but I pinched it from your uncle.”

Aidan smirked, and turned the vessel around in his fingers, eyeing the design to see if it was familiar. “I doubt he missed it. We had numerous…. What?”

It was Isaac who was now laughing. “You still don’t understand. This was his to guard. I took it after – well, after your folks disappeared. I figured it would be safer in my care than his.”

The pulse in Aidan’s eye began to tic, and he shuddered involuntarily. “Why?” Perhaps if he had not been poisoned by this man’s ‘family’, he wouldn’t feel so cross. As it was, a headache was forming. “You said it was magic?”

“Just a hunch.”

Aidan quirked a smile. He tried to ignore the repulsion he felt to the metal and the urge to fling it aside; what would Isaac think of him? What would he suspect? “Magic,” he repeated. “So, are you going to tell me that you’re my fairy godfather or some other nonsense?”

The man grinned at that. “Nah. Me? I’ve not got a drop of magic in my blood. I am not Blest.” Ah, there it was. Before Aidan could open his mouth to protest, Isaac broke in. “You survived that poisoning when no man thrice your size should have.” His breath reeked of breakfast – sardines and burnt toast, it would seem – as he leaned in and whispered, “You’re Blest, aren’t you?”

Aidan set the goblet down and rubbed the remainder of sleep from his eyes. “I’ve heard that word applied to me before. I don’t know what it means.”

“Blest,” Isaac said again. “You’re an invincible, aren’t you? Like in the days of old? Legend says….” He looked around before continuing in a lower voice. “Legend says that you can do things that no ordinary man ought to be able to.”

As if to answer Isaac’s question, Aidan lost control of himself for a moment and Summoned his saddlebag, which thudded between them. He closed his eyes. This was not his day. “Oh.”

“Wowee.” Isaac whistled. “You are one of the Blest.”

“You mean there are others?” Aidan asked, knowing he was good and outed. The headache was not abating, and he had to make water rather urgently. He stumbled to his feet, Dismissed his bag again, and made his way away from the camp.

Isaac followed closely on his heels. “I always wondered how you survived. Why Dewhurst is really after you.”

Aidan found some brush and relieved himself there. To his surprise, Isaac continued to chatter from behind his back.

Aidan interrupted. “And there are others? Others like me? And what of the goblet? You said it was magical.” He made himself decent and followed the man back toward where the others were working.

“Goodness me, how would I know any of this? I only just started believing the rumors.” Isaac shook his head. “That goblet always did make me feel strange. It must really be magical. It must.”

“And you’ve kept these notions to yourself?” Aidan continued to look straight ahead. Everyone, he noted with his peripheral vision, was avoiding his gaze.

“The notion that a man can survive being murdered like that?” Again Isaac whistled. “Naturally, word got around camp.”

Aidan put out an arm and caught Isaac. “And you’ll keep it in camp?” He turned and extended his hand. “You’ll give me your word to keep this from traveling far and wide?”

Isaac bit his lower lip and gave a quick look around. “Yes, milord.” They both spat in their hands, shook, and returned to Aidan’s tent. There in the middle of the floor sat the chalice.

“And you are certain you want to part with the goblet?” Even now as he studied it, he sensed there was some truth to Isaac’s words. The vessel repulsed him, that was for certain; but there was something else there. It almost had a Pull as well…but that was impossible. Aidan shook himself out of a daze. “Perhaps someone could melt it down and find use for the metal.”

Isaac clucked his tongue once. “No, and don’t think we haven’t tried. It just won’t melt.”

Aidan scratched at the beginnings of a beard. Metal that wouldn’t melt…something felt off about this whole thing. He Summoned his saddlebag and put the