Maggie of the Mist by Madeleine M. (best ebook reader for ubuntu txt) 📕

Sunlight streamed through the dew covered leaves. As the rays hit the trees, a green light seemed to illuminate them, like the forest was an emerald sky. A slight breeze moved through the branches, without disturbing anything. There was a small creek running along the floor of the forest. Wisps of mist were dancing on top of the water’s glass like surface. Along the edge of the creek was a foot path. And suddenly penetrating the silence was the pounding of booted feet.

She ran. Running faster than her legs had ever gone before.  This time they wouldn’t catch her. They couldn’t. She had run this same old foot path along the water’s edge many times before and each time the path never changed, never wore down.

Her trousers got caught on the same bushes as always. Her long blonde hair had come out of its braid and was now flying behind her as she ran faster. In the direction that she came from, far back, she could hear them coming. Horses’ hooves, loud and thunderous against the ground, men yelling, most on the horses, others on foot, along with dogs barking – each one of them were all coming for her.

Past the pounding of her heart in her chest, she could hear them gaining. She was almost to the clearing and that’s where it always ended, but this time something was different. She couldn’t quite place it until she looked to the sky.

“No!” she screamed at the top of her voice. The sight of a black pillar of smoke, bellowing up from the direction of the clearing, almost made her stop, almost…

She risked a quick glance over her shoulder and regretted it. Not only could she hear them louder than a moment ago, but she could see them as well. Ahead, she could see where the trees gave way to the clearing. This place held lots of memories of her Aunt Heather. Now the dark smoke made her sprint at top speed the last few hundred paces.

They were just a few seconds behind her as she burst into the clearing. The first thing she saw was a giant castle that was never there before, engulfed in flames. This time she did stop.

She didn’t care if they caught her now, anything was better than watching the castle from her childhood stories burn to the ground. To her surprise, the men and horses and dogs ran right past her. Strange, she thought as she watched their receding backs, they seem to be going towards the fire, almost like – and her thoughts stopped there.  She heard her name faintly; a voice seemed to dance on the whispering wind – “Maggie!”

She couldn’t move. As she watched in horror, flames winked in almost every window of that stone mansion, spreading with every passing breath. Then the sounds which still haunt her dreams came, men, women, and children, all crying out for help. Everywhere, people were screaming as they ran for their very lives. This was a true nightmare. Finally, when she thought she could bare the stench of scorched things no longer, the worst sound of the whole thing rang out… an infant crying from inside the castle. She could never say why she thought it came from that burning boulder; it just sounded like that was where the child was.

Maggie broke into a run again. She followed the sound into the burning stone structure. Dodging falling debris and increasing smoke, she met a very scared looking nurse.

“Will! Will! Come help, I can’t get to her.”  The woman was in tears. Her uniform was smeared with soot and her hair was a mess. “Please help!” After all that running Maggie was tired, but at the sound of her Uncle’s first name she began to jog up the stairs toward the nurse just as a man she had never seen before came up the stairs behind her.

“Where is she, Martha?” said a familiar voice. But poor Martha was getting too excited to speak. “Martha! Where is she?” the man yelled this time. All Martha could manage was a trembling hand pointing up the biggest staircase and then the sound of a child crying came again.

Her legs were numb, but Maggie could still follow the man up the stairs and down the hall to a room with some rubble piled in front of the door. The child was trapped inside. With alarming speed the man cleared the debris blocking the door. But when he tried the handle the lever was jammed. He looked around frantically, trying to find something to smash off the door handle. He soon found a brass vase on the floor a few strides down the hall and began to bash the only obstacle between him and the wailing child inside.

Through the pounding of her pulse, she heard her name being called again. She looked around but she didn’t see anyone calling her. The only things around her were the flickering flames, the roaring heat and crumbling stone. There it was again, only louder. The man was still hurling that vase at the door, was it him?

“Maggie! Maggie, it’s going to be alright. Can you hear me, Maggie?” The voice penetrated her thoughts. “Maggie! Maggie, it’s okay.” The voice seemed to make everything stop.

Maggie’s eyes fluttered open. She gasped for breath. As she looked around, Maggie realized that she was back in her bed. The early morn flowed into her bedroom window. Her Aunt’s quilt was twisted around her legs. Next to her, Uncle Will was sitting on her bed, his large hands still on her shoulders. His face was filled with concern.

“I heard you hollerin’ all the way down in the garden. Are you all right Magdalene?” He looked her in the eye. At the use of her full name, a bolt of realization rushed through her – this dream was becoming a serious matter.

“Uncle Will,” cried Maggie, “It was that same dream again.” she paused for a breath and leaned into him, “Only this time ‘twas so much worse…”

*****

The coffin was surrounded by candlelight in the family’s private chapel. The night air that nipped at the windows outside was cold and clear, but inside, the room was stifling and the air was thick with incense and candle smoke. The man lying dead was liked only be those few who had only known his name, not by those who knew him for what he really was. The dead man’s oldest son stood at the head of the wooden box, hatred threaded throughout his entire face. The light from the some twenty candles flared in his green eyes, as they glared down at the death vessel.

Yes, he was the heir to his father’s riches, but he didn’t want them. Possibly, he would gain his father’s role in a high office with the royals, but he had never wanted to be like this dead man in front of him. Indeed, he wore black for morning, yet he knew he would never miss his own father. For the man lying in front of him was as cruel and wicked as one could be towards a pair of motherless boys. However, those boys weren’t mere boys, not anymore.

This young man let his shaggy red hair fall into his face to hide the wrath he knew lay in his eyes. He felt the pain when his fingernails dug into his palms as he clenched his hands into fists, and accepted it – for he had known greater pain. The weight of his sheathed sword at his left side was a constant reminder. Looking into his younger brother’s eyes – his mother’s eyes – was even worse.

The boy merely blinked when his younger brother walked into the little chapel. “Keith?” Keith looked down into his brother’s face – but not much for his brother was almost as tall as himself. His hair was also as shaggy as a dog’s but it was as black as night, and that hair made his pale skin seem ghostly white. His eyes were as blue as the Great Sea. He was almost an angel. Long eyelashes, boyish face, beautiful singing voice and all. His only fault was his need to play jokes.

“What is it, Daileas?” Keith tried not to sound too happy for this new distraction. But he was relieved that he had something else to think about, none the less.

“A messenger has arrived,” Daileas paused for tension. “He comes from the King!”

The sun came out from behind the clouds and sent all the shadows running across the ground. A young girl was sitting in her bed room window. Her straight, long blond hair was back in a braid that fell almost to the small of her back. She wore a pair of her uncle’s old trousers on her long, crossed legs. Her slender index finger and thumb were unconsciously worrying away at the top button of her faded blue shirt she wore when she was training. The fair skin that covered her body made her freckles stand out a little as they danced across her arms as well as her pink cheeks, and ever so slightly upturned nose. Her thoughtful dark blue eyes were staring out into the world, the same old world that never seemed to change.

She was an obedient girl, for the most part. Since the death of her aunt a few years ago, she was taking on the role of a woman faster than she had planned. Doing both the house chores, many of the yard chores, and helping her uncle in his blacksmith shop, she somehow still found time for her friends that lived near the workshop.

“Maggie? What are you looking for?” asked her younger cousin, Vika, from where she sat on the girl’s bed. Vika was wearing the shirt and trousers her mother had made for her to train in, her dirty blonde hair was also pulled back in a braid that reached down to her waist. She looked harmless – with her determined green eyes that held a hit of blue the same colour as the sea, and her small, thin but tall figure – yet when she saw a threat of any kind it would never last long. Vika was very violent when it came to protecting the ones she loved.

“Nothin’ really,” Maggie replied, she didn’t take her eyes off the window pane. “Well, answers to unanswerable questions, I guess.” Vika got up and walked over to where her friend was sitting. Without looking up, the older girl asked “Want me to take you home on my way to the shop? Otherwise, I’m sure that you’d love to stay and finish my mending.” With one glance at each other the two girls began to laugh, and ran out of the room to grab their cloaks.

With the sun out again, the spring air was a bit warmer than what it should have been for this time of year. The friends jogged past the garden and into the stables. There, Maggie got Gregor, her chestnut gelding, out