Time Walkers 2 Book Bundle: The Legend of the Bloodstone, Return of the Pale Feather (Time Walkers 1-2)
Authors: E.B. Brown
2 Book Bundle
T
HE
L
EGEND
OF THE
B
LOODSTONE
Time Walkers Book 1
R
eturn
of the
P
ale
F
eather
Time Walkers Book 2
E.B.
Brown
E.B. Brown
Copyright
2012 E.B. Brown
2 Book Bundle Edition July 2013
Return of the Pale Feather
E.B. brown
Copyright 2013 E.B. Brown
2 Book Bundle Edition July 2013
Of Vice and Virtue
E.B. Brown
Copyright 2013 E.B. Brown
2 Book Bundle Excerpt July 2013
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Contents
Return of the pale feather
Preview: of vice and virtue
James County, Virginia
October 2012
“S
tupid freakin’ barn
,” she muttered.
There really was no good reason for her to be out in the old barn this late, but she would lose what was left of her composure if she sat in the empty house any longer. She could hear grandpa as if he stood there beside her, his accent slurring his words together as it did when he was angry.
“Maggie-mae, yer head is full of bricks, I swear it, girl!”
Although she wanted to smile at the thought, she could not. It was still too fresh, too raw. Her lips twisted downward, and she shook off the flash of anger that surged as she thrust her fists into her front jean pockets and took a swipe at a tuft of loose straw with her boot.
Death sucked; there was nothing much more to say about it. No one to blame, no way for her to fight the advance of time. The Reaper claimed him, and there was not a blessed thing she could do about it.
Making things right around the farm? Well, there was a problem she could manage, and she had two good hands and two strong legs to work with. At least it was something.
Sunset dipped away beyond the horizon and the crimson orange sky streaked with that glowing time of peace before nightfall, her anger seeming like an intrusion into the cycle of nature. The wind kicked up, fluttering the edges of her red parka so she zipped it fully closed, putting off the luxury of mourning when there was so much work to do. She heard the roar of the waterfall beyond the meadow, the riverbanks swollen to overflowing from the recent storm. It left the ground sodden, like an overused sponge.
Her hood fell back off her head with the next gust of wind and the rain soaked her long hair as she walked through the courtyard back to the barn, the damp earth squishing beneath her boots.
The old dairy barn loomed first on her to-do list. Over one hundred years old, the field stone foundation stood crumbling in some spots, in dire need of reinforcement. Determined to ready it for the construction work, she labored to clear the debris most of the afternoon. It was a solitary task, one that kept her occupied until early evening, but she was pleased with her efforts and glad for the distraction. It would be quite useful as a private foaling box when it was finally finished, far enough from the main horse barn to provide a birthing sanctuary for the broodmares.
Maggie shook the stiff work gloves off her soiled hands and threw them onto the bale of musty straw at her feet. The muscles in her shoulders ached and her legs cramped at the effort, yet she bent to tighten the laces on her sodden work boots anyway. She rested one hand against the cold stonewall to balance herself, but as she rose up she noticed a few rocks cluttering the ground. She considered ignoring the debris, then felt foolish after she worked so hard all day. What was a few more minutes picking up rocks?
“Move yer lazy ass!” she berated herself. A laugh escaped her lips at the thought of how silly it was to be talking to no one in an empty barn, and she promptly bent to the task. She grasped the hem of her parka upward until it pouched, then tossed a few of the smaller stones into her makeshift bucket. As she reached out closer to the wall to chase a stone poking out beneath the scattered straw, something sharp jabbed her fingers and she drew back at the flash of pain.
“Damn it!” she muttered. She jerked her arm away and sat back on her heels, grasping her throbbing fingers with her other hand and trying to hold the rocks in her parka up with her elbow. A trickle of bright red blood dripped from two torn digits, both sliced clean across the fingertips. She instinctively raised them to her lips and stuck them in her mouth and her rock collection tumbled to the floor.
It was a disgusting habit and probably not very sanitary, but it was the only thing to do at the time.
To her dismay, her questionable method did little to stem the bleeding. She swore a few words under her breath and kicked her boot across the straw to find the source of her injury. It would likely turn out to be a rusted nail or piece of metal, and she scowled when she figured her tetanus shot was most likely overdue.
“What addles yer brain, Maggie? I told you I would clear the barn!”
Fingers still clenched around her bleeding hand, she glanced up to see Marcus striding toward the barn. Twenty years her senior and adamant about a promise to her grandfather to watch over her, he took his oath seriously, watching for a chance to swoop in and honor his duty. His hulking shoulders braced against the rain, the moisture dappling his unruly swatch of black hair and dripping into rivulets down his tight jaw. She could see his thick brows furrow over the slit of his eyes as he approached, stomping through the mud and apparently oblivious to the slush he sent flying in his wake.
“
Me brain
is just fine, Marcus,” she teased, mimicking his thick brogue. His brows narrowed but his eyes twinkled as she rolled her eyes upward and gave him a half-hearted grin, holding up her damaged digits for his inspection. The wound to her fingers continued pulsing, obviously in need of a few stitches. “But my fingers have a little problem.”
“Funny girl,” he grumbled as he inspected her hand. “What on Earth! Did you need to work yerself bloody? Couldn’t just listen to me for once and stay in the house, you red-headed hellion!” he snapped.
“I couldn’t stay in there anymore, Marcus…I needed to be busy.”
He blotted her bleeding hand with the edge of his flannel shirt, but raised his gaze to hers at her response. His faced creased and his eyes widened as she scrunched her nose and tried to shake off the glimmer of wetness threatening to spill from her eyes.
“Ach, I’m sorry,” he grunted, dropping her hand and pulling her into a hug. “I didn’t mean to shout at you. Your granddad would kick my arse for treating you so.”
“I can kick your ass on my own,” she sniffed, leaning her head against his shoulder for a moment. His chest rumbled and his arms tightened around her as he chuckled, and she could not resist a poorly aimed punch to his kidney.
“Maybe, my wee terror, maybe,” he agreed. With one calloused hand, he smoothed her damp hair from her forehead and looked into her face. “But I miss him, too, you know, verra much.” His thick brogue cracked with the words, and Maggie flinched at the uncommon emotion. Marcus had always been her constant, steady throughout any crisis. The oldest friend of her grandfather and the closest thing to family she had, the solemn giant was all that was left to keep her grounded to a life that seemed more like a distant dream.
“Yeah, well, there’s still work to do,” she mumbled, uncomfortable at sharing his sadness lest she fall down a slope with no way to scramble out. She stepped away from him and wiped her hand on the leg of her denim jeans, avoiding his gaze to avert any more shared grief.
“Aye, there is, but you need a few stitches first. The mess will still be here on the morrow, I promise to leave it for you, but you’re done for tonight. I’ll bring the truck around, wait here out of the rain.”
She said nothing but nodded, acquiescence easier when it remained silent. His mouth tightened in a thin line and he shook his head as he walked away, muttering under his breath. Maggie turned back to the pile of debris and bent to clear it before he returned.
She did not locate the source of her injury, but she found the last few rocks. She picked one up and meant to toss it in her makeshift pouch, but it felt warm as if it had lay in the sun all day and she paused to look closer at it. It was oval shaped and smooth against her palm, and in the glare from the single light bulb hanging above her head, it gleamed a dark green color, nearly black. Her hand throbbed again, but this time it was from the spreading warmth in her palm beneath the stone. She leaned one hand against the stone wall to steady herself as she looked closer at it and noticed there was a vein of crimson running through the center. Had she stained the stone with her own blood?
Bile suddenly rose in her throat and she choked back a wave of nausea. Shaking her head in disgust of her own weakness, she supposed the chore could wait until the morning and she could surely use the rest. She clutched the smooth rock in her bloody palm and pushed off the wall with her good hand to stand. Her vision abruptly exploded in a halo of darkness.
“Whoa,” she said, reaching for the wall and missing. Tiny bursts of stars now filled the blackness, and she grabbed for the wall again without success. Was she going to pass out? She thought it might be best to sit down, but control of her traitorous body was lost. Her legs buckled and collapsed in a useless heap as the rest of her flaccid body followed.
“Maggie?
Maggie
!”
She heard the echo of his voice but could not respond, unable to push the words from her throat with the pressure of the darkness engulfing her. An urge to lie down on the ground pulled her closer to the floor, as if she could melt through the dirt and join somehow with some primal force to stop the maddening spin of her senses.
She felt a burning in her palm as the strange pulling sensation increased, reminded of that time as a child when she waded too far out in the ocean and the current became too strong. The riptide sucked her out, persistent at first, but quickly changed into a demanding dredge that pulled her further and further from shore. Her first impulse was to fight the pull, but as it began to rise the pressure was too great, and the only thing left was to submit and let it carry her away. Marcus was her savior that day, but in the barn, no one could help her. Now the power surged from the stinging in her hand and the tide heaved her down to the earth where she thought if she could only press her cheek to the damp ground, the urge might be relieved.
A sliver of fear washed through her blood as her vision began to change, the dark haze overcome by a growing ember of light.
Bright, it was so bright!
Her shoulder gave way and she let her head follow, eager now to make the pressure stop, but perplexed that the light now surged stronger, blinding her, with each inch she pressed closer to the earth. Numbness throbbed in every muscle, coursed throughout her limbs, and churned in a heap in her belly. It proceeded to drop down deep through her gut, and she thought she surely would vomit. She opened her eyes.
Only a shimmering sunset greeted her confusion, a sunset that seemed to grow larger and larger until it engulfed her. At last, when she thought she would burn because she could not tolerate the heat anymore, she dug her face into the cold mud and closed her eyes to the madness.