After writing my story for the Marvelous Tales competition last week run by @playfulfoodie I found myself reluctant to leave the world I had created. I actually had trouble with the story itself, because I felt like the opening I dreamed up demanded far more than a short story. So I have chosen to turn it into a serial and I hope everyone will enjoy it.

My copious thanks to the entire gang in fiction-workshop for support, encouragement, and all sorts of hilarity. If it weren't for them, spearheaded by @rhondak enticing me over from facebook, I wouldn't even be back to writing. @jrhughes and @carolkean deserve extra kudos for their editing work (along with someone who isn't on steem who saw it before they did), although others pitched in as well. But both had several comments that really helped push this story up in quality. Any remaining flaws and weaknesses are, of course, my own, as I stubbornly refused to do some things that were suggested, although I may have to work on a side story to keep @carolkean interested in critting my work.

If you haven't seen part one yet, see Misty Vale.

Without further ado...

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The Saga of Misty Vale: Chapter 2

One moment Eudora wandered lost in never-ending mist. The next she saw a slight glow of light beyond eyelids that wouldn't open. Thunder rolled above and the air, crackling with power, carried the scent of strong magic. The spell to protect Princess Regina? But the expected odor had a taint of something--someone--unfamiliar. An enemy mage? Panicking, she struggled to open her eyes.

Once her eyes opened and eventually focused, after the thunder had stopped echoing, she realized she lay in her room above the tavern in Misty Vale. Her magic was weak; she was weak. Pulling on every morsel of power in her body, she tried to trace the scent to its source, to identify the caster.

Again she wandered the endless, featureless mists. She smelled nothing. As she had time and again, she picked a direction and walked. She tried counting her steps to have some sense of distance, of time, but the numbers escaped from her mind, which itself felt thick with fog.

When she again found herself in bed, the smell of the magic had weakened some. If only she knew how long it had been, she'd have had a chance of guessing how strong the magic was.

Eudora’s stomach growled and her mouth was so dry that her tongue was glued firmly to the roof of her mouth. Finally she managed to open her mouth and called for help, but only a groan emerged.

She wiggled and wormed and pushed off with shaking limbs until at last she sat propped against the wooden headboard of the narrow bed. After resting a few moments, she surveyed the room. A chair stood by the bed, her copy of her favorite romance, Where the Burble Roam, open upside down on the seat. The door was ajar, but the hallway beyond empty. On the nightstand, a tin cup rested with a pitcher beside it.

Water. She moaned, trying to form the word but her tongue tangled. Slowly her arm responded and reached for the cup. Shaking, her hand lifted it from the table. Although weak, her arm laboriously brought the cup towards her mouth. Watching her arm move, she realized it was gaunt.

How long had it been? From the smell of the spell in the air, it could have been only a day, maybe two. She'd never been near magic like this to know for sure how long the odor lingered nor how it spread. But never had she heard of overexertion absorbing flesh from the body. She was already thin before she recited the triggering incantation, but now her skin stretched tight over the bone.

Finally she got a trickle of water tipped into her mouth. As some dribbled down her chin, she swished the water around then swallowed. Her throat was scratchy and sore, but the moisture felt good, even if room temperature and stale. Quickly she gulped the last from the cup. Her hand fell to her lap and she dozed off.

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“Eudora!” Brent's voice invaded her dreams. “We need you. Mary is dying.” An image formed quickly in her mind--a young woman, vivacious smile, joy in her eyes, long blond hair... heavy with child. Two lives.

She willed her eyes to open. “The baby?” Slowly but with determination, she turned to put her feet on the floor.

“Breech. Joe's trying to turn it,” Brent said, shoving her boots onto her bare feet. “But it's stuck and Mary has started to bleed.” He tied the laces efficiently.

Questions swirled in her mind along with a niggling worry about the traces of magic that lingered in the air. With effort, Eudora focused her thoughts on birthing and babies. Brent helped her to her feet. She swayed, grabbing Brent's arms with both hands to stay up.

He put his arm around her to steady her. “Can you walk?”

She put one wobbly foot forward and took a step. “I need something to drink, a little food maybe.” Another step. “No way I can cast a healing spell without a little energy.”

He helped her through the doorway. “There's soup on the stove. But we need to hurry.”

“Get me to the railing, then find my healing kit and grab me a mug of soup while I walk down.”

Brent practically dragged her to the stairs. “Sally has your kit. She used some herbs.” Then he hurried down.

Eudora grabbed onto the railing and ordered her legs to hold her up. She was almost to the bottom when Brent returned with a mug and her cloak. “Stove is out. It isn't hot.”

“Good.” She grabbed the mug and guzzled the lukewarm soup.

Brent wrapped the cloak around her shoulders. When she took the mug from her lips, he swung her into his arms. “Faster this way.” He carried her from the tavern, leaving the door banging, and headed for the house Thom and Mary had been assigned. It wasn't far to their cabin.

Eudora mulled over what herbs seemed likely to help and which ones Sally might have already used. She felt Brent's limp worsen. His attempts to protect King Anton from the ambush led by Michæl Ballademager left Brent with a thigh muscle cut to the bone--and left Vestony without a king. Although she had performed several healing spells after the battle, Brent’s muscle had suffered permanent damage.

“Put me down. I can walk now!” Eudora wiggled to try to get her feet to the ground.

He held her firmly a few more steps until they reached the doorway to the house. She entered the simple dwelling. No sounds of birthing or baby.

Brent pointed at a rear door. She took a deep breath then knocked and swung it open.

By the bed. Joe, his red hair sticking out in all directions. His shirt sleeves rolled up and his arms slick with blood and fluids. He turned towards her. Tear trails ran from his eyes into his thick beard. The knife in his hands dripped blood.

Mary. On the bed. Her skin white with the pallor of death. Her legs hung over the side. The bedding around her red and brown with blood. Her nightgown torn asunder. Her belly cut open from just below her ribs to the blond curls between her spread legs.

Sally stepped out from behind Joe. The skirt of her brown dress damp and spotted. Her plain brown hair hung in clumps where it escaped her usual tight bun. The blanketed bundle in her arms streaked with dark blood. Her shoulders shook with sobs as she hunched over her cradled bundle.

Eudora summoned her magic and sent it towards the baby. A heartbeat, weak. But it didn't breathe. Heal. She prayed to the ancient goddess Hekla that it wasn't too late. That she could have the strength to save the babe. Slowly she felt the baby’s life force awaken. Breathe. A girl. The tiny lungs inflated.

A weak cry broke the pregnant silence. Eudora slipped into darkness.

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