Maggie of the Mist, Madeleine M. [e book reading free TXT] 📗

She grabbed her cloak from a hook by the door and flung it on. “Be back in time to work in town.” She called to Uncle Will as she hastily packed what would be her noon meal.

“Be careful, then, Megs,” came the rumbling reply from the bedroom. “I’ll let the other two know that you won’t be joining them.” Maggie silently thanked her uncle as she walked with purpose to the stables, her arms carrying her bag of food and the case holding her instrument. He always seemed to find a way to understand her when she needed him to.

Gregor shifted impatiently while Maggie wrestled with his saddle. Since she never really needed to use the saddle – usually riding bareback to the few places she went – her skills for putting it on were not the best. Her instrument would be safest if it was tied to the saddle. Soon, she had the saddle on properly, with her instrument strapped on tight. Gregor was rewarded with a handful of oats for standing through her efforts with the saddle. When she offered the treat, the horse shook his head and Maggie thought she saw him roll his eyes. “Oh, come now! It could not have been that bad.” She scolded him as she climbed onto his back. He turned his head to look at her, arching an eyebrow. Veils, this horse has more personality than most people I’ve met! Maggie laughed quietly as they rode off towards the burned ruins.

The canopy of green above her allowed only the sun to penetrate in a few spots, speckling the almost untouched path with random warm rays. The birds chirped calmly in the tall trees, and the water laughed quietly as it ran alongside Maggie and Gregor. She tried to take slow deep breaths so she could ponder what might happen when she had to leave. A smooth breeze tried to whisk away her deep thoughts but they held their ground. She had dropped Gregor’s reins a while ago to braid her hair and hadn’t felt the need to pick them up again; Gregor knew where he was going.

With a stronger wind tugging at her thoughts, Maggie pushed them away. Instead she focused on the large looming trees of the mighty Curtian forest. She had seen only a few maps in her life but each one showed the forest covering most of the country, from the mountainous border all the way to the Great Sea. Some of the trees were older than the country itself, meaning they had stood for thousands of years. On a few random trunks, vines climbed up them, trying to reach the sun beyond the leaves. This forest had been her inspiration when she had worked on the personal mark of that Tine’la sword. Maggie began to wonder, not for the first time, about the linked rings. She tried to search her mind for a meaning, but by the time the familiar, weather worn stones came into view, she had nothing.

Maggie slid from Gregor’s saddle with a contempt sigh. This place felt like a second home to her. She knew she would miss it when she left – whenever that might be. Gregor was tethered to a low branch on the outskirts of the clearing, that way he could just take a few steps and be hidden in case someone came wandering by. Maggie doubted anybody would come, but it was better to be safe. She removed the case from the rope that held it securely in place during the ride, and walked up to a somewhat level boulder about waist high. Undoing the buckles, Maggie was relieved to find that her fiddle hadn’t been damaged from the lack of use.

She pulled out the bow and tightened the horsehair that would make the strings sing. Then she rosined it to prevent it from slipping from the strings. After releasing the wooden instrument from the leather ties, she attached a shoulder rest and checked to see if it still held its tune. Maggie smiled when it was in perfect pitch. A quick glance into the surrounding forest told her that there was no one close enough to hear. For all she was shy around people in general, Maggie was twice as anxious when others heard her play. She stashed the empty case between some rocks where the grass was tall.

With a deep, slow breath, she brought the bow up to the strings. The sun gleamed off of the stained maple body and her fingers quickly found their places on the ebony finger board. Maggie’s spirits soared with the melody when she started to play and a smile came to her lips when she heard the sounds echo among the giant trees. She played through her mental list of songs she knew. Maggie laughed out loud as the notes carried her to a place of peace, a place she knew she always go when she needed to escape the world for a short while.

The morning passed quicker than she realized, and suddenly the high sun was covered by dark grey clouds. She didn’t really notice until a large drop of rain hit her forehead. Gripping the neck of her fiddle, Maggie moved with quick but careful steps towards Gregor as the rain fell faster and harder. Once under the protection of the foliage, she realized she had left the case out in the rain, but decided that it wouldn’t get that wet where she’d put it. Just as the rain was easing up, Maggie heard something off in the distance. “Mighty Warrior and the stars above!” A young deep voice echoed through the forest. Maggie froze.

The rain stopped. Maggie was hesitant to retrieve her case. Who else is in the forest? She caught herself asking, and then chided herself. “I’m just over reacting,” she said aloud to fill the sudden silence that hung in the air. The birds had quieted and the critters had scampered off to find shelter from the abrupt downpour. Only the light sound of water dripping from the leaves high overhead broke through the hushed forest.

Maggie thought that she best hurry and snatch the case before the owner of the angry voice decided to come strolling this way. Just as she reached the rocks where the case had remained dry and replaced her fiddle and bow, she heard the steady fall of feet and the snapping of fallen branches. Gregor noiselessly moved out of sight. Maggie’s heart skipped a few beats as she dove behind the old stones and peered between the cracks to see who was coming. She wished she had brought a weapon with her.

With the sound of approach becoming louder, Maggie could make out the shape of a man stumbling through the underbrush. She held her breath when he – it was a man – tumbled into the clearing. He was young, maybe a little older than her. His long hair was a mess of red and was slicked back out of his face as rain dripped from the ends. His shoulders were broad, but not so much so that he looked like he might weight lift boulders the same size as the ones she was hiding behind. His strong chest rose and fell with heavy breaths. His clothes looked to be of fine material, but it was hard to see with him mostly covered with mud. On his back he carried what looked to be saddle bags, a quiver and a bow. On his hip, rested a dagger and a sword.

He gazed scanned the damp ruins. When his piercing green eyes were almost looking straight at her, Maggie’s hand flew to her mouth to keep herself from gasping and the other found the stone under her wet shirt. The smooth pendent felt like it would burn her skin. Grabbing a hold of the leather band, she slowly pulled the necklace out of her shirt. She felt her eyes grow big as she took the soft glow that emanated from the palm size stone. Flicking her eyes back to the attractive young man, Maggie noticed that he had moved and was perched on a pile of rubble not far from her hiding spot. His packs were on the ground by his feet. From this angle he looked more like a boy than a man.

Just as she thought she could try and make a break for it and ask her uncle about the strange glowing stone, a very familiar head of black curls fell from the trees on the other side of the clearing. The red head jumped and almost toppled off the rock. Maggie tried hard to swallow her laughter. Little Laila was the youngest of the baker’s children, and even though she had seen only five summers, she had a better head on her shoulders than any of her four older brothers. Laila gave a girlish gasp and ran behind the closest rock.

“I know you’re there,” the stranger called with a surprisingly gentle voice. It was definitely the same voice that shouted curses through the forest. “You know that I saw you fall. Come here, I just want to make sure that you didn’t hurt yourself,” when Laila’s black curls peeked out from behind the stone, the boy smiled. It seemed to light up the dreary clearing. Maggie felt her heart skip a beat. “Come on, I promise I won’t bite you.”

With a small sigh, Laila timidly made her way over to the rock where the stranger sat. Maggie carefully poked her head above the rocks, caught the girl’s eye and winked. She giggled. Maggie ducked back down before the red head saw her. “What are you doing here?” Laila asked before he could completely turn his head. Smart girl, Maggie smiled. “You aren’t from around here, are you? I don’t remember seeing you before.”

The boy actually chuckled. “No, you’re right; I’m not from around here. I’m just passing by,” he got off the old stone and crouched so he was looking Laila in the eye. “Did you hurt yourself when you fell? You really shouldn’t have been in the tree, you know.” Her curls bounced as she shook her head in response to his question and Maggie released a breath she hadn’t realized she had been holding.

“Have you ever climbed a tree?” Laila asked with big eyes. “All the pretty girls climb trees around here,” her eyes flashed in Maggie’s direction and she giggled again. Maggie grinned back at the cheeky five-year-old from behind the rocks. The little girl leaned close to whisper loudly in his ear. “We climb trees to hide from the mean boys that chase us.” Maggie bit her tongue and covered her mouth with her hand to make herself remain quiet. I really need to talk to that girl.

The stranger laughed softly, but heartily and it carried over to Maggie, making it even harder for her to keep quiet. “Well, my dear,” he said as he sat her on the rock he had been sitting. “Tell me; are you any good at telling stories?” Maggie inwardly groaned. She would never get back to town in time to work, if Laila was going to tell one of her infamous stories. Slowly Maggie wrapped her hand around the case, and began to make her way back to Gregor in a crouch.

“Oh, yes!” Laila giggled and nodded.

“Do you know the one about what happened here?” he spread his long arms wide, gesturing to the ruined castle. Maggie, half way to the edge of the clearing, crouched even lower and didn’t dare move.

“The King sent troops here to destroy the castle,” Laila’s voice was hushed and she looked around nervously. “Apparently, the owners of the big castle made the King mad, so he came and burned it down. They burned everything,” The girl’s eyes lock with Maggie and Maggie smiled reassuringly. “At least that was what I was told.” She began moving again. Almost there.

The red head nodded. “Did you know that there