Abigail

1 - Abigail Finds Out

10 YEARS LATER

*

It was a normal day in Nowhere, the day everything changed. Abigail leaned back in her chair, letting its two legs hovering in the air. She could see the castle grounds better that way, and in the leftmost window, the edge of the evermist. Her heart beat faster. It was thin today. Maybe it was just her imagination, but it seemed to be thinner a lot this week. Thin enough walk through.

"Abigail? Abigail?"

Her attention snapped back to Mistress Rain, the chair legs slamming with unintended sharpness on the stone floor.

"Mistress?" she said with a strained smile. Laz snorted from behind her, though no doubt her brother had been paying, if possible, even less attention.

"You must focus, child. Your braid is one thing, but we are nothing if not our history."

Mistress Rian wore her long black hair in a perfect Skafi braid, tight and curt as her posture. Abigail touched her own braid, fingering the loose-strands self-consciously.

"History is everything to a Skafi," Mistress said, and Abigail held back a groan. She had heard this speech a million times. She tried to look attentive, but her mind wandered.

If the evermist was thing, she could leave again today. The castle was stifling in the Bitter Winter, and the Thaw was eight days late this year. She didn't care much for the cheery fire and the mothers dutiful knitting while they exchanged gossip and horror stories of the Great War.

Her mother had fought in the Great War. Her mother had died.

Mistress Rian's voice broke through as if reading her mind. "We will each die, no doubt. But our people? Our legacy? Our history! It is written on eternal pages and we keep it alive when we speak it—so we must learn it!"

She was out of breath and waited for an answer.

"Yes mistress," Abigail replied, her voice thin. Our people, she thought bitterly. Aren't we all that's left of our people? She sighed. Now there was a conversation she really didn't want to try and have again.

No sooner had the class dismissed than Abigail tossed her bright green cloak over her head and shoulders and slipped through the nearest exit. She breathed in deeply, and the winter air stung her lungs.

She grinned. They don't call it the Bitter Winter for nothing. A quick glance around her proved the grounds were quite emptied. Her feet carried her to the curve of the mist she had seen thinning quickly.

Most people could not walk through this magical fog of "protection", even a thin layer, but Abigail was not most people. And when the conditions were right, and her knack crystal was strong, it was easy as one foot in front of the other.

She breathed in again with a smile, and through the mist she went.

* * *

The air was clearer away from the grounds. You could smell the salt of the troubled Sea and taste the magic as it tingled on your tongue.

She smiled, relishing the freedom as she walked the perimeter of the mist. Wild white mares weren't unusual with the Awake Forest so near to the southwest side, and one wandered her way now. She dug through her cloak's deep pockets.

"Ch ch ch," she called, holding up an apple. The horse was a beauty, well-kept and gentle. Abigail ran her fingers through the beautiful mane and leaning against the majestic animal.

"O-ho!" a voice called.

Abigail jumped. A man? Here? She peered around the horse and saw a stubby man with brightly colored red and orange robes. A mandolin was strapped on his back and a coin purse around his waist.