Chapter 10: Chapter 10: All That Remains

“We need to go,” George said. He moved toward his pack, avoiding the corpses on the road. “Now. Before anyone else comes.”

They packed quickly. Sarah gathered their belongings with jerky movements, glancing between the withered husks and Keira. James helped Keira collect her things, but his touch was brief and careful.

Within minutes they were walking again. The easy rhythm of their journey was gone. Sarah and George walked several paces behind James and Keira, whispering constantly.

“They are talking about you. About what they witnessed.”

Keira glanced back at the couple, catching sight of Sarah’s pale face and the way George kept shaking his head, as if trying to deny something. What are they saying?

“Sarah feels vindicated. She told you all the plague was caused by dark magic, and now she believes she is been proven right. She is connecting your survival to your… abilities.”

A chill ran down Keira’s spine that had nothing to do with the afternoon air. What exactly is she saying?

Carl was quiet for a moment, clearly listening to the whispered conversation behind them. “She is asking George if he remembers what she said about dark magic causing the plague. How you’re the only survivor from your entire village. She is wondering aloud if that’s truly coincidence.”

Keira’s steps faltered slightly. James noticed immediately, glancing at her with concern. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” she said quickly, though her voice came out smaller than she intended. Behind them, the whispered conversation continued, punctuated by Sarah’s increasingly urgent tone.

“Now she is saying that power like yours does not come from nowhere. That it has to have a source, a purpose. George is trying to calm her, but she is not listening. She has convinced herself that you brought the plague with you somehow.”

“Keira?” James’s voice was gentle but worried. “You’ve gone very pale.”

She wanted to tell him what Carl was hearing, wanted to warn him that their companions were turning against her. But how could she explain without making everything worse? How could she tell him that a voice in her head was eavesdropping on private conversations?

Instead, she just nodded and tried to keep walking, though each step felt heavier than the last.

Behind them, Sarah’s voice rose slightly, though she was clearly trying to keep it low. “I told you it was dark magic, George. You all thought I was being superstitious, but I was right. I was right all along.”

George’s response was too quiet for Keira to hear, but Carl provided the translation. “He is asking her to keep her voice down. But he is not disagreeing with her anymore. He is starting to listen.”

Hearing Carl’s translation, the safety she’d felt with the group started to disappear with each word.

James pointed out plants along the roadside, trying to act normal. But his efforts felt forced, and Keira saw how his eyes kept darting to the ring she wore.

“She is telling George about the chickens now,” Carl reported. “How she knew there was something unnatural about that situation. She is working herself into quite a state of religious conviction.”

As the afternoon wore on, the whispered conversations grew more intense. Sarah’s voice carried fear and anger, while George’s responses became shorter. James seemed oblivious, focused on the road ahead.

Keira felt their stares. Conversations stopped when she glanced back. Sarah kept her distance as if Keira were dangerous.

By evening, Keira walked alone despite being surrounded by her companions. The family feeling was dying, already replaced by suspicion.

They found a clearing beside a stream. They made camp in awkward silence—George gathering firewood, Sarah unpacking supplies, James checking their water. The easy cooperation was gone.

As Sarah prepared dinner, the tension came to a head. Keira sat apart from the others, close enough for warmth but far enough to feel like an outsider.

“We need to talk,” Sarah said abruptly. She set down the pot she’d been stirring and looked directly at James. “About what happened today. About her.”

James frowned, glancing between Sarah and Keira. “Sarah, perhaps this isn’t the time—”

“When is the time?” Sarah’s voice rose slightly, then she caught herself and lowered it again, though her words remained sharp. “James, you saw what she did. That… that thing that came out of her. Those men turned into withered husks in seconds.”

“They were bandits,” James replied firmly. “They meant to rob us, to kill us. To do worse things to you specifically. What happened was terrible, yes, but they brought it on themselves.”

George shifted uncomfortably but nodded agreement with his wife. “It’s not just about the bandits, James. It’s about what she is. What she can do.” He looked toward Keira, and she saw fear in his eyes. “That kind of power… it’s not natural.”

“I told you all the plague was caused by dark magic,” Sarah continued. “I was right. I was right all along.” She gestured toward Keira. “She’s the only survivor from her entire village. Everyone else died, but somehow she lived. Don’t you think that’s suspicious?”

Keira felt her stomach clench. They were talking about her as if she wasn’t there, discussing her like she was some kind of dangerous animal they needed to decide what to do with.

“Sarah, you’re frightening yourself with wild theories,” James said, though his voice carried less conviction than before. “Keira is a child who’s been through terrible trauma. Yes, what we witnessed today was… something. But that doesn’t make her responsible for the plague.”

“Doesn’t it?” Sarah’s eyes blazed with conviction. “Think about it, James. Dark magic powerful enough to drain the life from five men in seconds—where does that come from? What if she didn’t just survive the plague? What if she caused it?” She grew more heated. “She deceived us. She deceived all of us. Her magic caused the plague, and she’s been lying to us from the very beginning!”

“That’s enough,” James said sharply, rising to his feet. “I won’t listen to you accuse a child of causing the deaths of thousands of innocent people.”

“Then what do you suggest we do?” George asked quietly. “Just pretend nothing happened? Travel with her to Brighstone and hope she doesn’t… do that again?”

“She saved our lives today,” James insisted. “Whatever else you might think about her, she protected us when we couldn’t protect ourselves.”

“By using dark magic!” Sarah stood as well, her hands clenched into fists. “James, I can sense these things. My faith protects me from evil influences, and everything about that girl screams wrongness. She needs to go. Tonight.”

Keira’s breath caught in her throat. They wanted her gone. These people who had become her family, who had shown her kindness and given her hope for the future—they wanted to abandon her in the wilderness like some kind of rabid dog.

“Absolutely not,” James said, his voice steel. “I will not abandon a child to die alone on the road, no matter what fears you’ve conjured up.”

“Then you’re a fool,” Sarah snapped. “And you’ll get us all killed for your misplaced compassion.”

* * *

The argument ended in bitter silence. Sarah turned away from James with a sharp, disgusted gesture, her face set in hard lines as she busied herself with cleaning their dinner bowls. George avoided everyone’s eyes, poking at the fire with unnecessary vigor. The crackling flames seemed unnaturally loud in the tense quiet.

James moved closer to where Keira sat hunched beside a fallen log, her arms wrapped around her knees. His voice was gentle when he spoke, though loud enough for the others to hear.

“You’re staying,” he said firmly. “Don’t let their fear make you think otherwise. What happened today was terrible, but you protected us. That matters.”

Keira looked up at him with red-rimmed eyes. “They hate me now.”

“They’re frightened,” James corrected. “Fear makes people say cruel things they don’t always mean.” She did not believe him. Sarah’s accusations had carried the weight of absolute conviction.

As they prepared for sleep, James made a point of arranging his bedroll close to Keira’s, a silent statement of protection that wasn’t lost on anyone. Sarah watched this with tight-lipped disapproval but said nothing more. She and George settled on the far side of the fire, whispering occasionally in voices too low to make out words.

“I’ll take first watch,” Sarah announced. “George, you take second. James can have the dawn watch if he likes.”

It was a reasonable arrangement, the same rotation they’d used before. James nodded agreement.

“Try to get some sleep,” he told Keira quietly. “Tomorrow we’ll sort all this out. Things always look different in daylight.”

Keira lay awake long after the others had settled, staring up at the canopy of stars visible through the pine branches. Her mind churned with Sarah’s accusations, with the fear and disgust in George’s eyes, with the terrible knowledge that her found family was breaking apart because of what she was.

“Rest, child. You’ve endured much today. Your body needs sleep to recover.”

I can’t stop thinking about what Sarah said. That I caused the plague. That I deceived everyone.

“Her words came from fear and superstition, not truth. You didn’t cause the plague itself.”

But you did kill them all in my village. To save me. Finn, Lena, everyone who was getting better.

“I saved your life. The plague would have claimed you otherwise. I protect what matters most.”

But Sarah was right, wasn’t she? I am responsible for all those deaths.

“You are responsible for surviving, child. Nothing more. Their deaths allowed you to live. A fair exchange.”

The casual dismissal of her friends‘ lives made her stomach twist, but she was too exhausted to argue further. Gradually, exhaustion began to win over anxiety. The emotional and physical toll of the day’s events weighed heavily on her small frame. Her eyelids grew heavy, and despite the turmoil in her mind, sleep finally claimed her.

Hours passed in dreamless slumber. The camp grew quiet except for the occasional crack of settling wood in the dying fire.

In the deep hours before dawn, the ring on Keira’s finger suddenly turned ice-cold.

She jerked awake to the sound of something hitting the ground beside her bedroll. The fire had burned low, casting everything in dim orange light and dancing shadows. Confusion fogged her mind—what had woken her?

Then she saw what lay crumpled just a few feet away. What had once been Sarah was now a withered husk, her body reduced to skeletal remains wrapped in leathery skin and clothes far too large.

Keira stared in bewildered terror. What had happened? Why was Sarah…?

“No… no, no, NO!” George’s anguished howl shattered the silence as he scrambled from his bedroll toward the remains of his wife. “Sarah! SARAH!” He dropped to his knees beside the husk, his hands hovering over what little remained. “What did you do? What did you DO TO HER?”

His grief-stricken eyes found Keira sitting up among her blankets, and his face twisted with rage. “Murderer! Demon! You killed her!” He lunged forward, scrambling over the dying embers of their fire, his hands reaching for her throat. “I’ll kill you for this! I’ll—”

The familiar black mist erupted from her ring, wrapping around George’s charging form before he could reach her. His cry of vengeance became a strangled gasp. She watched in horror as his body shriveled with the same terrible efficiency that had claimed his wife, his clothes collapsing around bones as life drained away in seconds.

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Two husks now lay in the clearing. Husband and wife, reduced to empty shells in the space of seconds.

Keira sat frozen between the corpses, her breath coming in short, panicked gasps. Only then, in the awful silence that followed, did she notice the knife gleaming in the dirt near her bedroll. A cooking knife. Sarah’s knife.

The truth hit her like a physical blow. Sarah had tried to kill her. Had crept up while she slept with that blade raised to strike, and Carl had…

“Dear god,” James’s voice cracked through the silence as he struggled upright from his bedroll, taking in the horrific scene. “Keira… what happened here?”

“She tried to kill me,” Keira whispered, pointing at the blade with a trembling hand. “Sarah… she had the knife… but I don’t understand, I was asleep…” Her words dissolved into broken sobs that seemed to echo endlessly in the still forest air.

James looked from the knife to the positioning of the bodies, then to Keira’s genuine terror and grief. Understanding dawned on his face.

Slowly, he approached the weeping girl, his movements gentle despite the carnage around them. “It’s alright,” he said, though nothing about this nightmare was alright. “It’s over now. You’re safe.”

But even as he offered what comfort he could, she knew that everything had changed forever. The group that had traveled together, that had become something like a family, was gone. Destroyed not by bandits or plague, but by fear and the terrible power that clung to her.

* * *

Keira clung to James, shaking with sobs. The horror crashed over her—Sarah’s twisted face, the falling knife, George’s howl cut short. James held her, stroking her hair while staring at the withered husks that had been his companions.

“I need to understand what happened here,” James said quietly when her sobs subsided to hiccupping breaths. “Can you tell me? All of it?”

Keira pulled back slightly, wiping her nose on her sleeve. Her eyes were red-rimmed and haunted. “I was asleep. Something woke me up—a sound. When I opened my eyes, Sarah was…” She gestured toward the desiccated remains. “She was right there. With the knife. She was going to…” Her voice broke again.

“How did this happen?” James asked, trying to piece together what he was seeing. “What happened to them?”

“Careful, child,” Carl’s voice whispered in her mind. “The truth of my nature would complicate things immensely. Tell him only what you must.”

Keira took a shaky breath. “I don’t know how I do it. I just know that I can. When I really want the mist to take people… it does.”

James studied her face in the growing light, his expression troubled. “The bandits yesterday. You did that deliberately.”

Keira nodded miserably. “They were going to hurt us. All of us. I tried to reason with them, but they wouldn’t listen. So I… I wanted them gone.”

“And tonight?”

She looked toward Sarah’s remains. “I woke up and she was there with the knife. I wanted her to stop.”

The silence stretched between them, filled only by the distant sound of birds beginning their dawn chorus. Eventually, Keira spoke the question that had been burning in her chest.

“What happens now? Will you send me away?”

James’s response was immediate and firm. “No. Absolutely not.”

“But I killed your friends.”

“They were my neighbors,” James corrected gently. “Good people who I traveled with because the roads are dangerous and we all needed to reach Brighstone safely. I liked them. Sarah could be kind when her fears didn’t get the better of her, and George was steady and reliable.” His voice grew harder. “But I never imagined—never in my worst nightmares—that Sarah would try to murder a sleeping child.”

Keira’s shoulders sagged with relief and renewed guilt. “She was afraid of me. Maybe she was right to be.”

“No.” James tilted her chin up so she had to meet his eyes. “Listen to me, Keira. Sarah let her fear turn into hatred, and her hatred into attempted murder. Whatever happened to her after that, it was a consequence of her choice to attack an innocent child. You did nothing wrong.”

“But people died because of me. Because of what I am.”

“People died because a plague swept through the land,” James said firmly. “People died because bandits prey on travelers. People died because Sarah chose violence over compassion.” He paused, his voice gentling. “You are not responsible for the evil choices others make, Keira. You’re responsible only for your own.”

Fresh tears spilled down her cheeks. “I killed them,” she whispered, the words coming out broken and small. “Sarah and George… I killed them both.”

“You had no other choice,” James said firmly. “You acted in self-defense. Sarah came at you with a knife, and George attacked you in his grief. You did what you had to do to survive.”

Keira nodded, wiping her eyes again. Around them, the forest was coming alive with the sounds of morning—birds calling, leaves rustling in the breeze, the normal rhythms of a world continuing despite the horror that had played out here.

“We should…” James looked toward the two withered forms, his expression pained. “We should bury them. We can’t leave bodies on the road for other travelers to find. Especially bodies in this… state.” He paused, his voice growing more practical. “We’ll also have to deal with those bandits from yesterday before we move on.”

“We should start with George,” James said, approaching the crumpled form with visible reluctance. “Then Sarah.”

He knelt beside George’s remains, studying the withered husk that had once been a man. The body looked fragile, like parchment that might crumble at the slightest touch. James reached down and grasped what remained of George’s legs, just above the ankles.

“I’ll pull him over here where the ground is—”

The dry pop of separating joints cut through his words. George’s legs came away in James’s hands with a sound like old leather tearing, the hip joints giving way where dried tendons and ligaments could no longer hold them together. James stumbled backward, staring in shock at the disconnected limbs he now held.

“Oh, dear God,” he breathed, his face going pale. The legs were intact but severed at the hips, leaving George’s torso behind on the ground like a grotesque broken doll.

Keira gasped, one hand flying to cover her mouth. “James, I—” She took a step toward him, then stopped, unsure whether to help or flee. The sight of George’s body coming apart was somehow worse than the initial withering had been—a reminder that what Carl’s power left behind wasn’t really human anymore.

James set the legs down gently, his hands trembling slightly. “I should have… I didn’t realize they would be so…” He wiped his palms on his trousers, though there was nothing to clean off. The desiccated remains had left no moisture, no residue—just the memory of that awful tearing sound.

“It’s because they’re so dry,” Keira said quietly, forcing herself to look at George’s separated torso. “Everything that held him together is gone.”

James nodded, swallowing hard. “We’ll need to be more careful. Move them piece by piece if necessary.” He looked around the clearing, his healer’s mind searching for a solution. “Do we have anything to wrap them in? Blankets, spare clothes?”

Keira hurried to their belongings, grateful for something practical to focus on. She found two travel blankets, well-worn but clean, and brought them back to James. “These should work.”

“Good thinking.” James unfolded one of the blankets beside George’s remains. “We’ll gather… all of him… onto this, then wrap it up.”

Working together, they collected George’s separated parts. The desiccated limbs were surprisingly light—no heavier than dried kindling.

“He weighs nothing,” she whispered as she helped James position George’s torso on the blanket.

James nodded grimly as he folded the blanket around the remains, creating a neat bundle that could have contained camping supplies rather than human remains.

They repeated the process with Sarah, her withered form even more fragile than George’s had been. When James lifted her, one arm detached at the shoulder with that same dry tearing sound, but by now they were prepared for such things. Keira held the blanket steady while James arranged Sarah’s remains, his movements becoming more efficient as shock gave way to grim necessity.

“There,” he said, tying the corners of the second blanket to secure it. “Now we need to find suitable ground for burial. Somewhere travelers won’t accidentally disturb them.”

As they gathered their remaining belongings and prepared to leave the clearing that had witnessed so much horror, Keira couldn’t help but notice how easy it was to carry the wrapped bundles. Between them, James and she could manage both bodies without strain—a fact that somehow made everything feel even more wrong.

These had been people just hours ago. Living, breathing, thinking people with hopes and fears and plans for the future. Now they were lighter than the packs on their backs, reduced to something that barely qualified as remains.

The weight of what she had done—what Carl had done through her—settled over Keira like a heavy cloak as they walked deeper into the forest, looking for a place where Sarah and George could rest undisturbed. Behind them, the clearing already looked almost normal, as if nothing terrible had happened there at all.

* * *

After burying them in a quiet grove where wildflowers would eventually grow over their graves, they retraced their steps along the forest road. The walk back took nearly two hours, their pace slower now, weighted with exhaustion and grief.

The bandit bodies lay exactly where they had fallen, five withered forms husks across the road like discarded scarecrows. James approached them with the same grim determination he’d shown earlier, though Keira noticed his movements were more mechanical now, as if he was forcing himself through necessary motions.

“At least we have practice now,” he said quietly, unfolding one of the spare blankets they’d salvaged from the bandits‘ own packs.

The process went more smoothly this time. They knew to expect the brittle joints, the way limbs would separate with that awful tearing sound. Working together they wrapped each desiccated form, James handling the heavier torsos while Keira gathered the lighter extremities that had inevitably broken away.

The youngest bandit—barely more than a boy—came apart almost completely. She found herself wondering if he’d really had children, as he’d claimed in those final moments, or if it had just been desperate pleading.

They found a suitable burial site in a depression near the treeline, far enough from the road that travelers wouldn’t accidentally disturb the graves. The ground was soft with years of fallen leaves, making the digging easier despite their fatigue.

As James worked to cover the last of the graves with earth and stones, Keira walked back to where the bandits had fallen. Among their belongings were the weapons they’d dropped—rusted knives, a dented axe, and near where the scarred leader had collapsed, a sword.

She knelt and picked it up, surprised by its weight. The blade was longer than her arm, steel that had seen better days but still held an edge. The leather-wrapped hilt fit awkwardly in her small hands, clearly made for someone much larger, but there was something about holding it that felt… significant.

Carl, she thought, testing the sword’s balance as she’d seen fighters do in the village. Could you teach me to use this?

“Interesting thought, child,” came the immediate reply, tinged with what sounded like approval. “Yes, I could teach you. I’ve been with many sword masters over the centuries—knights, dueling masters, common soldiers who lived by their blade. I’ve observed every technique, every style.”

Could you teach me enough to… to defend myself? Without having to… She couldn’t finish the thought, but Carl understood.

“To a point, yes. The fundamentals, proper stance, basic cuts and parries—these I can guide you through. But swordwork is learned through the body as much as the mind. Without a living opponent to practice against, there are limits to what I can provide. Still, it would be enough for you to handle common threats. Bandits like these, perhaps even trained soldiers if they underestimate you.”

“Keira?” James’s voice called from behind her. “What are you doing?”

She turned, still holding the sword, and found him watching her with curious concern. “I was thinking,” she said slowly, the words forming as she spoke them. “If I could learn to fight… properly, I mean… maybe I wouldn’t have to…” She gestured helplessly at the freshly covered graves.

James walked over, studying her face rather than the weapon in her hands. “You want to learn swordwork?”

“I don’t want to kill people the way I did. Sarah was right about one thing—what I can do is horrible. But if I could defend us normal ways, defend myself normal ways, then maybe…” She trailed off, looking down at the sword. “Maybe people wouldn’t have to see that. Wouldn’t have to fear me for it.”

James was quiet for a long moment, considering. “It’s not a bad idea,” he said. “Though it takes years of practice. And even then, you will still be waker than boys and men.”

“But it’s something normal people do,” Keira said, hope creeping into her voice. “Something that doesn’t make them into monsters.”

“You’re not a monster, Keira.” James’s voice was gentle but firm. “But I understand why you’d want other options.” He looked at the sword in her hands, then back at her face. “If this is what you want to try, then we’ll find a way to make it work. Perhaps when we reach Brighstone, we can find you proper instruction.”

Keira nodded, hefting the sword again. It was heavy and unwieldy in her small hands, but it represented something she desperately needed—the possibility of protecting herself and others without resorting to the terrible power that made people look at her with fear and horror.

“We’ll begin tonight, when you make camp,” Carl murmured in her mind. “Proper stance is the foundation of everything else. Master that, and the rest follows.”

As they gathered their belongings and prepared to continue north toward Brighstone, Keira kept the sword at her side. It felt strange and awkward, this length of steel that she barely knew how to hold, but it also felt like hope.

Maybe there was another way. Maybe she didn’t have to be the girl who turned people into withered husks. Maybe she could be something else entirely.

* * *

By late evening they had arrived back at the grove where they’d buried their former companions. The sight of the freshly turned earth sent a pang through Keira’s chest, but there was a practical comfort in returning to familiar ground. Their fire ring was still there, surrounded by stones they’d carefully arranged just hours ago.

“We’ll camp here tonight,” James said, setting down his pack with visible relief. “No point in searching for another spot in the dark.”

They went through the motions of making camp—gathering firewood, unpacking their bedrolls, preparing a simple meal from their remaining supplies. But the routine felt hollow without Sarah’s efficient bustling or George’s steady presence. The silence stretched between them, filled with too many ghosts.

After they’d eaten and James had settled by the fire with one of his medical texts, Keira quietly picked up the sword and walked to the edge of their camp. The weapon felt impossibly heavy in her small hands, the point dragging against the ground despite her efforts to keep it raised.

“First lesson,” Carl’s voice came patiently in her mind. “Simply hold it. Feel its weight, its balance. Your arms will strengthen with time, but for now, understanding the blade is more important than wielding it.”

Keira gripped the leather-wrapped hilt with both hands, trying to lift the sword to what felt like a proper position. Her arms trembled with the effort, and after only a few seconds she had to let the point drop back to earth.

“Again,” Carl instructed. “Lift it, hold it as long as you can, then rest. Your body must learn to carry steel before it can learn to use it.”

She tried again, managing perhaps ten seconds before her arms gave out. Then again, and again, each attempt a struggle against the sword’s unforgiving weight.

“What are you doing?” James’s voice came from behind her, gentle but curious.

Keira turned, still holding the sword though its point rested on the ground. “Trying to hold it,” she said, slightly breathless from the effort. “It’s too heavy for me. I can barely lift it, let alone swing it.”

James approached, studying her stance and the way she gripped the weapon. “You’re quite small for a blade that size,” he observed. “Most swords are made for grown men with years of training behind them. Don’t strain yourself to the point of injury. Building strength takes time.”

Keira nodded, lowering the sword again. “I have to start somewhere.” She looked back toward the graves of Sarah and George, barely visible in the gathering darkness. “I have to try.”

James watched her for a moment longer, then returned to his book by the fire. “Practice as long as you like. Just don’t overdo it.”

For the next hour, as darkness settled fully over their camp, Keira continued her simple exercise. Lift the sword, hold it as long as possible, rest, repeat. Her arms burned and her shoulders ached, but she persisted with grim determination.

“Adequate for a beginning,” Carl murmured. “But understand, child—for months to come, this will be your training. Building the strength to hold steel without trembling, to lift it without strain. Only when your body can manage the weapon’s weight will we move to actual swordwork. It is a long road ahead.”

Keira gave the sword one final lift, holding it for perhaps fifteen seconds before her strength gave out completely. As she walked back to the fire, the weapon heavy at her side, she felt something she hadn’t experienced in days—a small spark of hope.

It would be a long road, learning to fight with steel instead of shadows. But it was a road that led away from the horror she’d witnessed in herself, toward something that might let her sleep without fearing what she might become.