Chapter 13: Chapter 13: Thirteen

A few months into their life in Brighstone, the awkwardness of their early days had smoothed into something that felt natural, almost effortless. The rhythm of daily clinic had also started to settle in.

James looked up from his breakfast porridge. “The neighbors have been talking about the midsummer festival coming up,” he said, setting down his spoon. “Sounds like quite the celebration. Dancing, music, the whole marketplace decorated with flowers and ribbons.”

Keira paused her eating, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Oh, that’s my birthday actually. Midsummer’s day.”

The silence that followed made her look up. James had gone completely still, his expression shifting through surprise, embarrassment, and something that looked almost like panic.

“Your birthday,” he repeated slowly. “Midsummer’s day. That’s… that’s in three days.”

“Yes.” She watched his face carefully, recognizing the look of someone mentally scrambling to catch up. “It’s not a big deal, Dad. I’ve never really celebrated much. Mom and I usually just had a special dinner, maybe some honey cakes if we could afford them.”

But James was already pushing back from the table, his breakfast forgotten. “Three days,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair. “I should have asked. I should have known this already. What kind of…” He caught himself, looking at her with obvious guilt. “I’m sorry, Keira. I should have thought to ask about your birthday months ago.”

“It’s alright,” she said quickly, though something warm bloomed in her chest at his obvious distress. The fact that he cared enough to be upset about not knowing meant more than any celebration could. “Really, I don’t expect anything special.”

“Well, I do,” James said firmly, his expression settling into the determined look she’d learned meant he was making plans. “A young lady’s thirteenth birthday deserves proper recognition.”

Over the next three days, James began acting strangely. He would disappear for short periods between patients, returning with small packages wrapped in cloth that he quickly tucked away. She caught him in hushed conversations with Cora at the bakery, gesturing awkwardly and looking thoroughly out of his depth.

“What do young ladies like?” she overheard him asking Jacob one afternoon when the elderly craftsman stopped by to check on a healing cut on his thumb. “I mean, for gifts. Special occasions.”

Jacob’s weathered face creased with amusement. “Depends on the young lady, I suppose. Ribbons? Jewelry? Pretty fabrics?”

James made a noncommittal sound that suggested none of those options felt right to him. When Jacob left, Keira pretended to be absorbed in organizing their herb stores, hiding her smile. Whatever he was planning, he was taking it seriously.

On the evening before midsummer, she heard him moving about downstairs long after their usual bedtime, the soft sounds of careful preparation drifting up through the floorboards. When she finally drifted off to sleep, it was with anticipation fluttering in her stomach—not for whatever gift he might have managed to find, but for the simple fact that someone cared enough to make such an effort for her.

* * *

Keira woke to the smell of something special cooking downstairs—not their usual porridge, but the rich scent of eggs and bacon. She dressed quickly and padded down to find James standing over their small cooking fire, clearly concentrating harder than usual on what should have been a simple meal.

“Happy birthday,” he said, looking up with a slightly nervous smile. “I thought… well, special occasions deserve special food.”

The table was set with their best dishes—the ones they usually saved for when Master Jonathan visited—and there was a wrapped bundle beside her bowl. James had clearly been up early, preparing this surprise breakfast with the same careful attention he brought to his most delicate surgeries.

“Thank you,” she said softly, settling into her chair. The eggs were only slightly burned at the edges, and the bacon was perfectly crisp. “This is wonderful.”

They ate in comfortable quiet for a few minutes before James cleared his throat and gestured toward the wrapped bundle. “I should mention, I’m not entirely sure what’s appropriate for a young lady your age. I may have… missed the mark.”

Keira unwrapped the cloth carefully, revealing a leather case tooled with her initials and the words “Master Healer” beneath them. Inside, nestled in fitted compartments, were the finest medical instruments she’d ever seen—a bone needle so thin it was almost translucent, a small surgical knife with a blade that caught the morning light like silver, tweezers precise enough for the most delicate work, and silk thread wound on tiny spools.

For a moment, she could only stare. These weren’t the rough, serviceable tools most healers made do with. These were the kind of instruments Master Jonathan carried, crafted by skilled artisans who understood their purpose.

“They’re beautiful,” she breathed, running a finger along the knife’s perfect edge. “Dad, these must have cost…”

“They’re an investment,” James said quickly. “In your training. You’ve been using my spare instruments, but a healer should have her own tools. Proper ones.”

She looked up at him, seeing the hope and uncertainty in his expression. He genuinely thought this was a good gift, she realized. Not just because of the quality or cost, but because he saw her as a real healer, someone deserving of professional recognition.

“Dad,” she said, unable to keep the laughter out of her voice, “you do realize most girls my age get ribbons or sweets, right?”

The nervous tension in James’s shoulders eased as he caught her tone. A slow smile spread across his face. “Well,” he said, settling back in his chair with renewed confidence, “I didn’t have the coin to buy you a more appropriate gift. Like a sword in your size.”

The laughter caught in her throat. She stared at him, seeing the knowing glint in his eyes, the way he was watching her reaction. He’d been paying attention. All those evenings when she’d returned from training, thinking she was being discreet about her aching arms and bruised hands—he’d noticed. He knew exactly what she really wanted, even if he couldn’t afford to give it to her yet.

“You’ve been watching,” she said quietly.

“I’ve been listening,” James corrected gently. “And learning. About who you are, what matters to you.” He paused, his expression growing serious. “I may not understand why you feel the need to learn swordwork, but I can see that it’s important to you. So when I can afford to get you a proper blade…” He shrugged. “Until then, you’ll have to make do with being the best-equipped young healer in Brighstone.”

Warmth spread through her chest, different from the simple pleasure of receiving a gift. This was recognition, acceptance, support for who she was rather than who others thought she should be. After a few months of calling him Dad, this felt like the moment when it became completely true.

“Thank you,” she said, carefully closing the leather case. “For understanding.”

“Thank you,” James replied, “for letting me try to be your father.”

“Congratulations Keira. Tell me, is this what you want, is staying here and learning to become a physician your chosen path?”

Keira tensed up at his mentioning of chosen path, a callback to the aftermath in her village. She pushed through the feeling though Yes. I want to continue what mom taught me… and make up for what you… what we did.

“Search your feelings child. Is this truly what you want?”

Keira considered his request for only a moment before she was sure Yes. I want this. I want to be here with James and learn, I want to save people.

“Very well. By now you should know that I will always answer your questions. However, given how young you still are, my gift to you is that I will instead actively help you with my knowledge and not require you to ask specific questions that you do not even know you should ask.”

Keira did not really know how to react to that. She knew that his knowledge was valuable but didn’t even think about it that much. But didn’t you… help me on your own already? Like how to stop the bleeding of boy, for the amputation?

The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

“I did. In that moment you wanted to help that boy and I decided to give you a better chance at doing just that. That is a very good example of what I am talking about, except that I will do so to prepare for the future, your future, and not to solve an immediate crisis.”

Ok. Thank you. How will this work now, what are you going to do?

“I will give you knowledge that seems to have been forgotten over the generations, child. From what I have observed, the medical understanding has degraded considerably from what it once was. The tools for the most meaningful improvements don’t exist in this age, and what you can accomplish with my teaching is primitive by comparison. Yet even these primitive techniques will seem miraculous to them.”

What do I have to do?

“Nothing right now, I will let you know over the next year or two. It will be a long process, and that is a good thing as we do not want to make you a spectacle over night. Some parts we could start right now but they won’t really show their use for years to come. Others will require equipment that costs more coin that you currently have. This is a long term plan, Keira. Trust me and it will all make sense in the end but it will require effort from you to see this through.”

Thank you, Carl.

* * *

By afternoon, the marketplace had transformed into something magical. Garlands of summer flowers draped between the stalls, musicians played lively tunes from a small platform erected for the occasion, and the air hummed with laughter and conversation. Children darted between the adults, their faces sticky with honey cakes and fruit preserves, while couples danced to the cheerful music.

Keira walked beside James through the festive crowd, acutely aware of how he kept glancing around as if uncertain of his role in all this celebration. She’d seen him confident and commanding in medical emergencies, but put him in a social gathering and he became awkward, unsure of the protocols of being a father at a community event.

“Keira! James!” Cora’s voice called out from behind a table laden with fresh bread and pastries. “Come try the midsummer cakes—they’re traditional for birthday celebrations.”

As they approached, Cora beamed at Keira with maternal warmth. “Thirteen today! My, how you’ve grown. And such a capable young lady—I heard you helped set Peter Fletcher’s broken wrist just yesterday.”

“We worked together,” Keira said, glancing at James. “Dad did most of it.”

“Nonsense,” James said firmly. “You diagnosed the fracture before I even examined it. Your hands are steadier than mine for the fine work.”

The pride in his voice made several nearby neighbors smile approvingly. Laura, bouncing her toddler on her hip, nodded enthusiastically. “She has such a gift. When my Tom had that fever last month, she knew exactly which herbs to brew. Saved us a trip to the expensive physicians in the upper district.”

“Takes after her father,” Jacob observed, approaching with a wooden cup of festival ale. “Good hands, good instincts. You’re training her well, James.”

Keira watched James navigate the compliments with growing confidence, clearly pleased but trying not to appear too proud. The neighbors treated them as an established family unit, their questions and comments assuming a shared history, a natural father-daughter bond. No one questioned their relationship anymore; it had become simply part of the community fabric.

“There’s to be dancing later,” Cora mentioned, wiping flour from her hands. “And archery contests. Do you shoot, Keira?”

“A little,” Keira admitted. “Not very well.”

“Well, today’s for trying new things,” James said, surprising her. “Would you like to enter the contest?”

She looked at him, seeing the earnest encouragement in his expression. He was trying so hard to give her a normal teenage experience, to let her be just another child enjoying a festival day. “Maybe just for fun.”

The archery contest proved to be more entertaining than competitive. Keira’s shots went wide more often than not, but she found herself laughing with the other children, cheering their successes and commiserating over missed targets. Nathan was there with his family, and she noticed he was actually quite skilled with a bow, his arrows clustering near the center of the target with impressive consistency.

“Nice shooting,” she told him as they retrieved their arrows between rounds.

“Thanks. My father taught me—says it’s useful for hunting, and you never know when you might need to defend yourself.” He glanced at her arrows, scattered around the outer edges of the target. “You’re getting better, though. Your last shot was much closer.”

“Practice,” she said simply, then caught herself. The word applied to more than just archery, and from Nathan’s knowing look, he understood the reference to their evening training sessions.

When the sun began its descent toward the horizon, the festival took on a more relaxed atmosphere. The formal contests gave way to impromptu music and dancing, families gathering on blankets to share food and watch the entertainers. James had bought them meat pies and sweet cakes, and they found a spot near the fountain where they could watch the festivities while eating.

“Having a good birthday?” James asked, settling beside her on the low stone wall.

“Yes,” she said simply. “The best I can remember.”

The festival continued around them, and for Keira, this quiet moment felt like the real gift of her birthday. Not just the fine instruments or the special breakfast, but the confirmation that she and James had built something real together. Something that would last.

* * *

As the festival wound down and families began gathering their things to head home, Keira found herself walking beside James toward their clinic. The day had been perfect—better than any birthday she could remember—but she wasn’t quite ready for it to end.

“Dad,” she said as they reached their door, “would it be alright if I went to practice for a bit?”

James paused, his hand on the door latch. “Training? Tonight?”

“Just for a little while. I know where to go now—somewhere private, away from the streets.” She met his eyes hopefully. “I promise I’ll be careful.”

He studied her face for a moment, then nodded. “Be back before full dark. And take care with that sword—it’s still too heavy for you.”

Twenty minutes later, Keira made her way across the field behind the old mill, the wrapped sword heavy in her arms. The location Nathan had suggested months ago had proven perfect—far enough from the main roads to avoid curious passersby, with enough open space to move safely. The summer evening was warm and still, perfect for training.

She was unwrapping the sword when Nathan appeared at the edge of the field, as she’d hoped he would. He joined her most evenings now, drawn by curiosity about real weapons and perhaps by the simple pleasure of shared secrets.

“Happy birthday,” he called out, jogging over to where she stood. “How was the festival?”

“Good. Really good.” She hefted the sword, testing her grip. “Dad gave me medical instruments. Professional ones.”

Nathan grinned. “Of course he did. What did you expect, jewelry?”

“That’s what I said.” She managed to lift the sword to a proper guard position, her arms already trembling with the effort. “He said he didn’t have the coin for a more appropriate gift. Like a sword in my size.”

“Smart man.” Nathan watched her struggle to hold the weapon steady. “May I?”

She handed it over gratefully, watching as he gripped the hilt and lifted it with far less effort than the movement cost her. The sword looked more natural in his hands, proportioned correctly for his height and reach.

“Right,” she said, drawing on Carl’s patient instruction. “Feet shoulder-width apart. No, wider. You want balance, not just strength.”

“Good,” Carl’s voice murmured approvingly in her mind. “He learns quickly. Show him how to hold his elbows—closer to his body, not flared out like wings.”

“Elbows closer,” she instructed, moving to adjust Nathan’s stance. “You want power from your core, not just your arms.”

It was strange, teaching someone else the techniques she could barely perform herself. But Nathan listened carefully, accepting her corrections without question despite the obvious fact that he could execute the movements far better than she could. Month by month, she’d been building the knowledge even when her body couldn’t match it.

“Now try a basic cut,” she said, stepping back to give him room. “Diagonal, from right shoulder to left hip. Don’t just swing—guide the blade.”

Nathan followed her instruction, the sword moving in a clean arc that would have taken Keira weeks of practice to achieve. The ease of it made something twist uncomfortably in her chest. She’d been working for months just to build up enough strength to hold the weapon properly, and here he was executing movements she could barely attempt.

“Envy is natural,” Carl observed gently, clearly sensing her frustration. “But remember—you carry knowledge he lacks. Strength without understanding is merely flailing.”

“That was good,” she managed, pushing down the spike of jealousy. “But watch your footwork. You’re standing too square—turn your body so your left side is forward.”

They spent the next hour working through basic positions and cuts. Nathan’s natural strength and coordination meant he progressed quickly, but Keira found that her months of careful observation and Carl’s instruction gave her a deeper understanding of the principles involved. She could see mistakes in his form that he didn’t notice, anticipate the balance problems that would emerge from improper technique.

“Why do you know all this?” Nathan asked during a break, lowering the sword with obvious reluctance. “I mean, you can barely lift this thing, but you understand how it should work better than I do.”

Keira considered how to answer. “I’ve been studying it longer. Thinking about it more carefully, maybe.” She paused. “Sometimes you learn more by watching and thinking than by just doing.”

It was true, even if it wasn’t the complete truth. Carl’s centuries of experience, filtered through her careful attention, had given her insights that raw physical practice couldn’t match. But she could see that Nathan was developing his own instincts, learning through his body what she only understood in theory.

“Your turn,” Nathan said, offering her the sword.

She took it, immediately feeling the familiar burn in her shoulders as she raised it to guard position. Her movements were slow and careful, limited by strength rather than knowledge, but she could feel the improvement from months of work. She could hold the weapon longer now, execute basic cuts without losing her balance entirely.

“Better,” Nathan said encouragingly. “You’re getting stronger.”

“Slowly,” she replied, lowering the sword before her arms gave out completely.

“Everything worthwhile takes time,” Nathan said with a shrug that reminded her suddenly of James. “Besides, you’re still growing. Give it another year or two and you’ll probably be stronger than me.”

The casual confidence in his voice made her smile despite her frustration. Nathan had become something she hadn’t had since leaving her village—a friend her own age, someone who treated her as an equal rather than a tragic figure to be pitied or a gifted child to be admired.

As they wrapped up the training and began the walk back toward town, Keira reflected on her thirteenth birthday. The medical instruments, the festival, even this evening training session—all of it felt like pieces of a life that was finally taking shape. Not the life she’d been born to, but one she was choosing for herself, with people who supported those choices.

“Same time tomorrow?” Nathan asked as they reached the edge of the field.

“Of course,” Keira replied. “Thanks for… this. For helping.”

“Thanks for teaching me,” Nathan said simply. “Even if you are the strangest teacher I’ve ever had.”

Walking home in the gathering dusk, Keira felt the contentment of a day well spent.