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

A startled gasp yanked Keith from slumber. Looking around, he saw Daileas staring straight at him. Sitting up, he noticed his boots were off and vaguely remembered removing them. Realization hit him like a bucket of cold water.

“Um, Keith… What is this?” Daileas asked hesitantly as he waved the white letter and envelope that had once been in his boot. Keith knew he was found out and decided it was no use to either of them if he lied now.

“It’s a letter from Uncle Camshron,” Keith sighed. “He wants to talk to me about his heir.” About me being his heir, he thought.

“Were you going to tell me?” Daileas sounded hurt but showed no sign of it. His young angelic face was a cold as stone. It made Keith feel uncomfortably naked, like his brother could see through him.

“Of course I was. I—”

“When?” His brother demanded cutting him off.

“When we were closer to Koal?” Keith’s answer sounded more like a question. In truth he had no idea when he was going to tell him.

“Right. And then what were you planning on doing? Leave me by myself?” Daileas’s face betrayed nothing, but his voice was suspicious and his eyes were full of mistrust.

“Never! I don’t even want to go, remember?” Keith leaned back and rested his head against the rough bark of an extremely large tree. He looked his younger brother in the eye. “How can you think that I would leave you when we got there? Someone has to watch you back.”

“I don’t need anyone!” Daileas’s composure broke and his anger flooded his face. Both Ash and Tracer became uneasy, prancing and pawing anxiously. “I especially don’t need you!” He threw the white paper and boots at Keith before stalking off into the forest. When he was nearly out of sight he yelled back, “You lie and deceive! You are no better than Da!” With that the trees fell silent.

Keith fumed. He was nothing like their father! Angrily pulling on his boots, jacket and cloak, and then stuffing the Veil-cursed white paper into his boot once again, Keith stalked over to Tracer. The tan horse seemed skittish after the brothers’ argument. Tightening his sword belt, Keith quickly hoisted himself into Tracer’s saddle and without much thought took off into the forest – in the opposite direction Daileas had gone.

Not long after parting ways Keith needed to let Tracer have a break, even though his anger still flared bright inside. Tracer’s tan hide was wet with sweat and he frothed at the mouth. Locating a stream that followed what seemed to be a path. Judging by its condition, Keith guessed that it was seldom used. Quietly raging to himself about being absolutely nothing like his hatred-filled father, Keith removed his packs and weapons from Tracer’s back. The horse deserved some rest after running through the unforgiving forest. Tracer had to dodge twisting vines, fallen logs and large rocks while being pressed hard by a furious rider. Patting the strong neck of his horse, Keith apologized for being so irrational. 

He slumped against a tree and noticed for the first time that the sky seemed darker. He pushed the thought away thinking it was only his mind causing the sky to match his mood. What kind of king would I be if I cannot behave rationally when insulted by my own brother? Keith took a deep breath and willed himself calm. His nerves were starting to fray and only Daileas knew how to rip them further apart. Just as he felt his breath return to what was somewhat normal, he felt something cold and wet drip on his hand. Then another cold and wet drop fell on his cheek. Rain. Veils! You’ve got to be kidding! The rain fell faster. Keith gave an annoyed grunt as he stood up. He didn’t realize how fast he had gotten up until he fell back down on his bottom with a wave of dizziness. “Mighty Warrior and the stars above!” Keith cried when his saddle sores hit the damp ground hard. Tracer jumped and bucked at Keith’s outburst. With only the saddle to burden his retreat, Tracer charged into the forest. All Keith could do was stare after him in shock.

Almost as soon as it started, the sudden downpour stopped. Keith stood up with slow stiff, movements. What just happened? Shaking the water from his dripping hair like a dog, he secured his bow and quiver full of arrows across his back and placed his dagger next to his sword on his hip. Folding his surprisingly dry cloak and jacket into the top of a pack, Keith shouldered the rest of the packs. Not really knowing anywhere else to go Keith decided to see if he could find Seaver’s friend and possibly stay the night or at least get another horse.

“Well,” Keith sighed grimly as he looked up at the retreating clouds and the returning sun. He pushed through the wet forest and back towards the road. “I guess I’m walking.”

Some of the Maiden’s warriors patrolled the sky as stars when Maggie awoke.  Despite the fact that her slumber had been blissfully without dreams, her mind still managed to drag her thoughts back to Aunt Heather and the fact that she would soon have to leave her home of fifteen winters. She crawled out from beneath the cozy blankets and shivered. This spring was one of the coolest she could remember. The freezing wood sent shivers through her body when her feet touched the floor.

With the slow return of the sun, Maggie started her stretches and other exercises that warmed her muscles. She might not have looked like it, but she could hold her own when it came to feats of strength. Usually she bested any boy that thought her weak and helpless and were foolish enough to voice that opinion. Once, the seamstress’s oldest boy had made fun of Maggie for working in the shop with her uncle. He had said that she would never be able to lift the hammer to pound the horse shoe. As it turned out, she could lift the hammer. She could throw it pretty well too. The boy had dodged the flying mallet at the last second and it hit the tree behind him. There was now a permanent divot in the bark where the boy’s head had been. Needless to say, the teasing stopped.

Where did I put my staff? She thought, looking around her small room. She often used her staff to loosen the muscles in her wrists and the rest of her arms.  After finding it behind the door, Maggie moved to the center of her room to prevent from breaking anything. In a series of high steps, wide leg swings, and twirling maneuvers, the wooden staff began to blur as her arms moved faster. When she could hear the rushing air and her pounding pulse in her ears, Maggie slowed her swift movements. Her breathing was fast and refreshing while her blood raced through her body warming her cold hands and feet.

Quickly trading her nightgown for an ankle length dress, Maggie returned her staff to its spot behind the door. It had been her aunt’s idea that she wore clothes like every other girl in the village, in case they got an unexpected visitor. Hiding her fighting ability under some skirts had saved her life, more often than not. Even if it had been only once, she thought to herself. Maggie sprinted down the stairs where she could smell a warm breakfast waiting. She got a hug from Uncle Will that almost smothered her, grabbed a plate of eggs, warm bread and a bit of pulled pork and plopped down at the little wooden table.

“Morning, Megs, my girl,” Uncle Will said cheerfully as he took the chair next to hers with a hot plate of his own. “Sleep well?”

“Not really,” Maggie replied truthfully. “When the other two get here, can you tell them that I’m not coming today? There’s something I want to do.”

“Of course,” The burly man sounded a bit concerned. His short, but unruly brown hair held a hint of grey by his temples, his clean shaven face had more laugh lines than actual wrinkles and his hazel eyes always held a smile. He reminded Maggie of a friendly giant. “Is everything alright?”

“Everything is fine. I just need some time to think.” Swallowing the last few mouthfuls, she got up and placed her dishes on the counter to be washed later.

Maggie went back up to her room and retrieved her basket of dirty clothes. Taking them out behind the little house she shared with her uncle, Maggie set the basket down by a large wash tub. She began pumping water from the pump next to it so she could do some laundry before she left. Dumping the clothes in the water, Maggie grabbed the bar of soap and washboard from inside their small multi-purpose wood shed. She whistled an upbeat tune while she scrubbed the garments in sudsy water in an attempt to help time pass. When the sun was not far above the tree tops, she had the last shirt hung on the line. Returning inside, and changing in to a clean pair of training clothes, Maggie started searching for something she hadn’t touched since Aunt Heather died. Once she had wandered around a few times, unable to locate it, she asked her uncle about it. “Have you seen my case? I can’t seem to find it.”

“Going out to play are we?” The big man grinned up at her from where he was inspecting a cracked chair leg. “I haven’t heard you in a while,” When Maggie stayed silent he sighed and returned to studying the defiant wooden leg. “I think it’s in Heather’s trunk, over there.” He pointed without looking up, to a large oak trunk with elegantly painted trim and brass hinges that sat in the corner near the kitchen cupboards.

There was a thin layer of dusk that Maggie stirred up when she lifted the lid. Her breath caught and she felt her throat close as she looked at the things in the old trunk. Dresses, dolls, blankets and books all slightly moth-eaten filled the oak box. There was the occasional pretty stone or a thin dagger. A strange contrast that made Maggie smile, it resembled her aunt perfectly. The case was near the bottom. When she carefully pulled it out, her heart began to feel heavier than the smooth stone that rested, hidden, beneath her rough cotton shirt. Aunt Heather had always loved to hear her