Maggie of the Mist - Madeleine M. (best ebook reader for pc txt) 📗

of his stall. They both jumped on him for the ride around the village. Maggie had her hood up; she was shy with strangers, and was only confident in familiar surroundings; like her uncle’s blacksmith shop and the other shops in the little square.

 

For a quiet man, Uncle Will had strange ideas. He insisted that she learn how to ‘protect herself properly’, as he had put it, and that was not usual – a girl being trained in fighting. Since she was about ten years of age, she and her closest friend, Vika, started training with Vika’s older cousin, Redd. Now he was training other young people in a village near the boundary between the Highlands and the Lowlands. Even two years after his departure, the girls still practice their skills in the mornings alongside Redd’s younger brother, Angus, and worked in the afternoon. The young trio had become quite the deadly group – as deadly as a group of young teens could be.

 

Today they were lucky. They passed not a soul on the road, but Maggie kept her hood covering her face, she felt more secure. The girls talked about little things; how many bull’s eyes Vika could hit with her throwing knives; how many moving targets Maggie could catch with her bow and arrow; how much Angus was improving with his crossbow; as well as improvement with the sword for the three of them. All the things that had happened during the morning’s training were usually covered by the time the thatch roof of Vika’s house could be seen around the next bend.

 

After words of farewell to Vika’s family, Maggie decided to go to the village over the hills, instead of using the road. Even if Vika hadn’t made her promise to go that way out of safety’s sake, she would have gone all the same. She used to ride that way all the time, when Auntie Heather was alive. Going over the hills usually takes half as long as the road, but Maggie knew how to take her sweet time. There was an old path that was not used as often as it had been many moons ago that served quite well as a passage through the ancient fields of a fiefdom from times past.

 

She walked down it now with Gregor following. Maggie felt calmer if her feet touched the ground in this part of the woods. The way the sun tried to penetrate through the leaf roof above her, reminded the young girl of a dream she would occasionally have. Most often it came after she would play among the ruins with Aunt Heather and Vika and Angus. That was when she was much smaller. But occasionally, at the turn of the season, she would have it again and more vivid. In this dream there were always the same people without faces and their animals chasing her, but whenever she reached the clearing, and they almost caught her, everything would stop and she would wake up. Maggie knew that she was too old to have nightmares and kept reminding herself of it, but somehow they always found their way back to her.

 

Upon entering the clearing, Maggie looked around. The last time she had the dream it was at late harvest. There was a stone building burning, and a crying child, and a man that looked and sounded like her own Uncle Will trying to save it – but that was just a dream, right? Nothing of that dream was real. It couldn’t be. She was standing there, among the ruins, thinking of the stories that her loving Aunt had told her long ago…

 

“Once, t’was two great an’ powerful clans: the sons of Tine’la and’ the sons Gregor. Their feud is almost as old as this land and just as mysterious. No one truly knows what happened, but these clans started to fight” Aunt Heather’s voice echoed in her memory, and once again she was a child listening to her Aunt’s stories. “The Tine’la gained power in the government an’ because the McGregors were such a big threat, they decided to destroy them. Thus began the Kingdom's Divide. Many years passed and grand battles were fought. The Kingdom split in two lands, one ruled by Tine'la, the other by the banished McGregors. Today, we call these lands Curta and Tìrbogha.

 

“This old clearing used to have a giant stone castle right over there,” and she would point to the ruins that Maggie played in, “An’ it belonged to one o’ the most powerful McGregors, Lord Grant an’ Lady Anice Maria, who threatened the Tine’la. So, one night about this time o’ year, a group of Tine’la came an’ burnt this magnificent stone structure to the ground. It would be the first o’ many warnin’s that they would send out to their enemy.

 

“Clan McGregor fled to the highlands, to hide until the time came to strike back an’ take what rightfully belongs to them!”

 

“Auntie,” Maggie heard her childhood voice in the back of her mind, “Do we like the sons of Gregor or the sons of Tine’la?”

 

Auntie Heather had just smiled at her and said, “Megs, can you keep a secret?”

 

Maggie’s face was full of excitement, “Aye, I can” she had said eagerly.

 

“Aye? Alright,” Auntie Heather had leaned down and whispered in Maggie’s tiny ear a secret, one that she would hold sacred for the rest of her life, “Megs…” The soft voice of her aunt seemed to echo around the ancient stones that Maggie was perched on. “I think that we’re fer the McGregors. D’you knows why?” Maggie had shaken her head, “T’is because I am one.”

 

“Auntie Heather, I don’t care who you claim ta be, I love you anyways,” little Maggie had said not knowing the true danger that would befall her aunt as she wrapped her tiny arms around the small woman’s short thin waist. Even when she was small Maggie was tall compared to her Auntie Heather.

 

“An’ I love you,” Auntie had said returning the young girl’s hug. The thin little woman had let sadness seep into her eyes; it seemed to drip down into her mouth, for her next words were hoarse. “Megs, I don’t want you to ever forget this story. One day, it will help you discover why you are, who you are. No matter whom you or what claim to be, your truth will always come out. Promise me that you will never forget this.”

 

Little Maggie had looked deeply into her beloved Auntie Heather’s eyes. “I promise Auntie. I’ll not ever forget,” she whispered in a soft childish voice as she climbed into her auntie’s lap. The two happily sat, watching the sun set and the evening star take to the sky.   

 

Maggie whipped tears from her eyes. When she was little she didn’t know how dangerous it was just to know a McGregor, let alone to be one. Once she got older she had a whole new respect for her Auntie Heather. Especially, since the ‘accident’. That was what she was always told ‘t’was just a terrible accident’, but she had seen it. She had seen and knew that what happened was no accident.

 

The day was turning from morning to noon. So not to be late, Maggie made her final lap around the grounds, mounted Gregor and replaced her hood. With one last looked behind her, at her favourite childhood playground, she rode off towards the shop.

 

Maggie almost always hated coming into town, though she did it almost every day. She would only speak when spoken to, nod or wave when the same was done by another first and kept her head low whenever a group of drunks came reeling out of the pub. The only thing that didn’t make her feel awkward was when she smiled at all the people who ran the stores and booths that surrounded the often busy square. These people were like family to her.

 

She had been told on a number of occasions that she had a smile bright enough to block out many of the stars in the night sky. Maggie loved to smile at every person she knew, despite her shy nature. It was a weakness of hers – smiling.

 

Uncle Will was waiting for her when she got back. His thick arms were unhitching Laddie – the cart horse – as she came riding shyly through the busy village square. When he saw her he waved his big hand, and started to walk over to her with heavy steps, helping her put Gregor back in his stall next to Laddie.

 

“There’s ma girl,” He said as Maggie got off her horse and hugged the large man, “Now, let’s go inside, get you to work, and you can tell me ‘bout your mornin’, then I mine.” Uncle Will put his arm around Maggie as the two of them walked in the front door of his homely blacksmith’s workshop.

 

As the two talked, Maggie set to work. Tucking her braid up under her cap she got from an old rusty nail nailed into a beam, she put out more shoes, swords, armour, and any other stray item she could find in the boxes around the little shop. Once everything was on display, Maggie went on to cleaning the shop. While Uncle Will started making some new shoes and repairing the old ones brought in. Soon after Maggie was done cleaning, she took out her latest work; engraving the handle of a new sword.

 

There was something special about this fine blade. Sure it was being made for the eldest son of a Lord who had a seat in the house of government, as well as a Tine’la. However, that wasn’t what made it different; there was no requested design for the handle. Most everyone of important status asking for a sword requested a specific design. Since there was none, Maggie got to make up her own as per request. As she sat at her little work bench – dressed as a working boy – she stared at the metal hilt, awaiting inspiration. 

Chapter 2

“What!” Keith felt anger flaring up inside him as he slammed his fists on the table in front of him. “The last time Camshron asked us to chase after the Black Clan, our father ended up dead!” He could hear the echo of his voice boom around the main hall along with the bang of his wooden chair against the stone floor from his standing up too fast. Keith could feel the heat rise to his cheeks when he caught Daileas looking at him. The boy resembled their mother – those same caring eyes.

 

“Please, sir. I–I am merely a messenger. M’ Lord sent one to all available members o’ the clan. Sir, it isn’t a request, but a demand – a call to battle.” The little man was quivering in his soaking wet boots. The rain hadn’t ceased, nor slowed. It just came down harder. The redhead was irritated, but not enough to send this carrier back out into the downpour. He always tried not to be like his father.

 

 “Nettie.” Keith waved to the small serving girl who stood in the corner of the room. He braced himself for the title that he felt belittled him. He was the rightful lord of this house