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

do, he always knew the goings-on in the house. Now that Keith knew who he wanted, he had to go and find him. He thought he had overheard a maid say that the old boy had been courting the cook as of late. Since she would probably still be cleaning up after the messenger and preparing the evening meal, Keith made out for the kitchen. Chapter 3

The western horizon was a bright orange as the sun set. Shopkeepers were closing up after a long day of business and were either going home or to the pub. The little square had only a couple of locals sitting by the garden. The few beggars that the village had soon came out looking for scrapes. Somewhere close by a lonely dog barked. A chill touched the air as the sun fell lower in the sky. Little birds chirped as they perched on the sill facing into the shop. Uncle Will had lit a lamp and hung it above Maggie’s little work space as she hovered over her project.

 

Maggie didn’t notice any of this.

 

She didn’t want to lose the image in her mind as she carved the hilt with a steady hand. Vines and leaves encircled and intertwined each other. The metal looked as if a plant had grown around it and left an imprint. The young girl had already finished the small decoration on the butt of the blade and the sheath. Her hand began to cramp from the way she clutched the tool. She sat up to loosen her back muscles, cringing as her stiff body protested the movement. The soft lamp light gave a warm look to the cold hard metal.

 

About to set down her sharp carving utensil and hammer, another idea came to Maggie. She let her hand guide the way throughout the hilt, searching for the right spot for the image. Without really knowing the purpose of her hand’s movements, Maggie watched in amazement as two rings that were linked in the center appeared before her eyes in a once empty space. Surely this symbol held some meaning, but she was unsure of what that meaning was exactly. She had to smirk at the likeness to a fairy tale; one day she was to meet the boy she had made this for and their fates would intertwine and be link together like her two rings. Such childhood nonsense was amusing. Things like that never happened.

 

Maggie let her eyes scan her handiwork. It was definitely one of her better pieces. Once she had gotten a design request that included a precise picture of the order. Because it was one of her first carvings that she had done on her own, she made sure to practice the design on a piece of wood. By the time she was ready for the actual hilt, she had tidy collection of wooden objects the same size as a sword hilt with mistakes riddled throughout the entire surface of each one. Later, she gave them away as Winter Solstice gifts to the shop owners that they shared their little square with. Well, she thought to herself smiling, at least I’m getting better.

 

Setting aside her finished work, the girl busied herself with the return of her tools to their somewhat proper places. Maggie had never been one for organization. Upon hearing the approach of a person outside, she tugged on her old cap so it covered more of her face and began to wipe the hilt, and other metal components of the blade’s gear with a damp cloth. Soon a very sweaty and very out-of-breath man came clomping into the shop. Maggie would have been hard pressed not to know this wonderful hunched over man. His name was Seaver and it was he who would bring orders and collect them for a lord of a fiefdom not too far off of the village’s main road to the south. She adjusted her cap again so he could see her smile as she brought out a bench and a warm earthen cup of some tea Uncle Will had made for her once she was finished working.

 

“Good evening, Master Seaver,” Maggie said as she offered him the mug with delightful smelling brew. “What is it that your lord needs now?”

 

The old stable hand smiled up at her, showing his mouth of missing teeth, in thanks for the warm tea. “I’ll be needin’ that sword, if ye’d be so kind, Mistress Maggie,” he said after he had taken a sip from the mug.“Young Master just got called to arms. His brother being more excited than not, told him to get his sword as soon as I could run home with it. Else wise he’d leave ‘em behind,” sighing as he shrugged and leaned back on the bench he continued, “Seems the young master would hear naught of that! He expects me back with that sword by dawn, done or no.”

 

Walking over to the work table that held the “young master’s” blade Maggie sighed. “Give me a moment and I’ll just finish polishing this sheath. Help yourself to more tea. Uncle Will usually makes more than a potful anyhow.” She perched herself on the taller stool and took out the cloth and polish kit that was sitting on a shelf. While she worked, Seaver filled her in on news from the castle. It was nice to know someone out of the village who was as trustworthy as this man. Ever since the first order made by the lord, they had spent many a night talking about the harvest, weapons and Maggie’s training as well as Seaver’s family, the goings-on at the castle Seaver worked as a stable hand at and anything else that peeked their interest. Throughout their conversation, the old man became more restless with each passing refill of the drink and soon he was pacing the floor of the small shop. When Maggie was done cleaning up the new leather sheath, the blade and the hilt, the sun was almost well in bed and the tea pot nearly empty. Luckily there was a moon bright enough that one could see straight across the village’s square. Seaver would have no trouble in terms of seeing where he was bound.

 

Waving good-bye to the man and wishing him vailspeed, Maggie noticed that he was more chipper or energetic then when he had arrived. As soon as she had handed him the sack with the order, he bolted like he hadn’t been the panting man that had come through the door. Shrugging it off, she cleaned up her work space for it to be ready for a new project tomorrow afternoon. Walking through the furnace room, Maggie helped her uncle to douse the fire and the two walked out the horses in the little stable that they shared with the baker and the seamstress whose shops were on either side of the smith’s. Dumping Gregor’s saddle into the wagon, the girl tied him to one side of the cart so she could ride with Uncle Will without worrying he might wonder off. It was a bad habit that Maggie still worked on to break. If she wasn’t watching him at all times, he would manage to amble off, leaving her to find him. It was all a great game to the gelding; he liked to run once he knew she was following him.

 

“Did you finish that fancy hilt you were working on?” Uncle Will asked as Maggie climbed up on to the bench of the wagon and he flicked the rains. “I don’t believe I got the chance to see it finished.”

 

Maggie just shrugged. “Seaver came and got it before I was finished polishing it even. He told me that the ‘young master’ had been called to arms and since his brother was more into going than he was, he needed his sword so he could watch his back.” Remembering the sudden change with her friend she asked, “What was in that tea? Seaver gulped over half the pot down before I had a chance to take a sip from my mug. When he left he looked—,” the big man beside her started to shake the wooden perch with his chuckles. “You put flower dew in it, didn’t you!” she gasped. The dew from certain flowers in the meadows – near the old fiefdom that burned – had some kind of substance on them that replenished one’s health, or in Seaver’s case, strength and breath. Too much of it could cause something that was similar to a child’s sugar-rush, and the old man definitely had more than his share. Uncle Will nearly fell off the bench with laughter that rumbled in his chest.

 

Maggie just sighed, shaking her head. Old Seaver was a childhood friend of her uncle’s and they were forever playing jokes on one another. The stable hand would sleep well, once the effect from the dew wore off. She was sure that her friend would come back in a day or two. He would have a plan to get back at the large blacksmith.

 

Maggie laughed as she scrambled for the reins that Uncle Will had let go of as he fell from the cart. The big man rolled away from the wheels while Maggie slowed Laddie down. Gasping, he climbed back into the cart with movements that would have been considered less than graceful. Imagining the old man rushing around like an over-energetic child and seeing her uncle fall off the cart caused a broad grin to spread over her face. While the man next to her threw his head back and held on to Maggie’s shoulders with his big hand, letting his roaring laugh echo off of the trees lining the dirt road.

 

Once her uncle’s breath was somewhat normal she looked behind them, out of habit. It was to make sure that her horse was still tied to the back of the cart. Somehow, the gelding always managed to break loose and run off, making Maggie follow as fast as she could, trying to catch him. Gregor shook his head – the jingling harness still firmly secure to the cart – as soon as she let her eyes wander in his direction, almost like he was saying ‘immature humans’. Maggie just smiled back at the horse. Sometimes it seemed like if he wanted to he would speak in Labaid, the common language of both Tìrbogha and Curta. Taking up Laddie’s reins again and flicking them to let him know that he could continue, Maggie had to keep checking on her laughing uncle to make sure he was somewhat stable on the creaky wooden seat.

 

Maggie had changed back into her dress not long after their return home, and was cooking their meal over the fire in the kitchen. She was humming when Uncle Will came in and hugged her from behind. Maggie finished cooking while he set the table behind her. This was their normal routine; at least it had been since her aunt had left. Sitting down, he said the little prayer he always had asking for the Warrior of the Sun to grant protection and strength; the Maiden of the Moon to provide knowledge, guidance and bravery; and the Vail’s Guard to bring peace to