Chapter 7: Chapter 7: A New Beginning

The morning after she left her village, Keira sat beside a small creek, watching the water flow over smooth stones. Her stomach cramped with hunger, and her water skin hung nearly empty from her belt. She’d taken what she could carry from the abandoned cottages—a few hard biscuits, some dried meat, a spare cloak—but it wouldn’t last long.

The silence was the worst part. No voices calling across the common, no children playing, no familiar sounds of daily life. Just wind through empty doorways and the creak of unlatched shutters.

“There should be a ford upstream,” Carl’s voice came gently in her mind. “The water will be cleaner there, away from… what remains.”

She nodded and walked along the creek bank, stepping carefully over loose stones. The ford was exactly where Carl had said—a shallow crossing marked by worn stones where countless feet had passed over the years. The water ran clear and cold, unmarked by the devastation that had claimed everything else.

As she refilled her water skin, her stomach growled loudly enough to echo off the creek banks.

“The rosehips along the bank there,” Carl observed. “Not filling, but they’ll help with the hunger pangs. And see those young shoots near the willows? Tender enough to eat raw.”

Keira gathered what he suggested, chewing the bitter shoots and tart rosehips. It helped, though not much. Her body craved real food—bread, cheese, her mother’s hearty stews. The simple act of eating made the absence of everything familiar feel sharper.

“This won’t sustain you long,” Carl said pragmatically. “Your mother’s training makes you valuable, but only where there are people who need healing.”

Keira thought about that as she chewed the bitter shoots. The merchants had always come from the north - that road led to Millbrook, and beyond that to the larger towns and eventually Brighstone, the capital.

“Then north it is. More people means more need for healing, and larger towns have the coin to pay for it. The trade road will be well-traveled - safer than back roads, with inns and other wayfarers. You’ll have choices about where to settle.”

She shouldered her pack and continued along the road, following cart ruts that suggested this path led somewhere inhabited. Or had, once.

* * *

By midday, Keira crested a low hill and saw a cluster of buildings ahead. Her heart lifted at the sight—perhaps half a dozen cottages arranged around what might generously be called a hamlet.

“Is that Millbrook?” Carl asked.

“I don’t think so,” Keira replied, studying the settlement. “This is just a few houses. Millbrook is supposed to be a proper village with a market square and everything.”

As she drew closer, the familiar signs became apparent. No smoke from chimneys. No voices. No movement except for a few chickens pecking aimlessly in an overgrown garden.

The first cottage she approached had its door standing wide open. Inside, she found what she’d begun to expect—still forms on beds, the air thick with the smell of death. She backed out quickly, covering her nose with her sleeve.

“Check the other houses,” Carl advised gently. “Look for preserved food stores, anything that might sustain you longer than foraged plants.”

The second cottage was empty of people entirely, though signs of hasty departure were everywhere—overturned furniture, scattered belongings, clothes strewn across the floor. The third house held two more bodies, but also something precious: a pantry with several wheels of cheese wrapped in cloth, a sack of grain, and dried sausages hanging from the rafters.

Keira’s stomach cramped at the sight of real food. She hesitated only a moment before filling her pack with what she could carry. The dead had no use for it, and she needed to survive.

“Practical thinking,” Carl observed approvingly. “The living take precedence over the dead.”

A fourth cottage yielded a small crock of honey and some hard biscuits that hadn’t yet gone stale. By the time she’d searched the last house, her pack was considerably heavier but her prospects much improved.

As she prepared to leave the silent hamlet, Keira paused, looking back at the empty houses. “Carl,” she said quietly, “what happened here? Was it… was it the same plague?”

“Yes,” Carl replied, his mental voice heavy. “The same progression. The same devastation.”

“But how could it reach here too?” Keira felt a chill despite the warm afternoon. “This place is nowhere near my village.”

“That is the question, isn’t it?” Carl mused, and she could sense his ancient mind working through the implications. “How far did this plague spread? Was it just these two settlements, or…”

“Or what?” Keira asked, though she dreaded the answer.

“Nothing good, child. But we’ll know more once we reach Millbrook.”

One of the wandering chickens approached her hopefully. She scattered some grain for it and the others that appeared, then shouldered her pack and continued north, her steps heavier than before.

Behind her, the nameless settlement returned to its quiet vigil, another small casualty in what was beginning to feel like a much larger tragedy.

* * *

By the third day, Keira had fallen into a rhythm of sorts. Walk until tired, rest when she found water, sleep curled against trees or abandoned carts when darkness fell. Carl’s guidance proved invaluable—he knew which plants were safe to eat, how to find the cleanest water, where to shelter when rain threatened.

“Your pace is good,” he observed as she climbed a gentle hill. “Steady but not rushed. Important to conserve strength when you don’t know how far you’ll need to travel.”

The view from the hilltop showed another village in the distance, smoke rising from at least a few chimneys. Keira’s heart lifted—signs of life.

But as she drew closer, the familiar pattern emerged. Too few people moving about. Empty houses with doors standing open. The smell that she’d learned to associate with places where many had died and not all the bodies had been properly tended.

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Still, there was life here. She could see figures moving between buildings, heard voices carried on the wind. After three days of solitude, even the prospect of strangers felt welcoming.

“Caution, child,” Carl warned. “Survivors of catastrophe can be… unpredictable. Protective of what little they have left.”

Keira nodded and approached the village carefully, keeping her hands visible and making no sudden movements. A woman hanging laundry noticed her first—a gaunt figure who watched suspiciously as Keira walked up the main street.

“You lost, girl?” the woman called out, her voice wary.

“Just passing through,” Keira replied, trying to sound harmless. “Looking for… well, for anyone still alive, I suppose.”

The woman’s expression softened slightly. “Aye, well, there’s precious few of us left. Where you coming from?”

“Greenwood. North of here.”

“Greenwood?” The woman shook her head grimly. “Haven’t heard from them in weeks. The sickness reach you too?”

Keira nodded, not trusting her voice to explain more.

“Same everywhere seems like. We lost so many people, we lost count. Every family mourns, some families are gone entirely.” The woman gestured toward the center of town. “There’s an inn still serving food, if you’ve got coin. Owner’s a decent sort—lost his whole family but still tries to help folk passing through.”

Keira thanked her and walked toward the inn, noting how many houses stood empty, their gardens already going wild. The arithmetic was becoming clear and terrible. If this village had lost so many people, and her own village had been completely wiped out…

The inn was a two-story building with warm light spilling from its windows and the sound of quiet conversation drifting out. Keira pushed open the heavy wooden door and stepped inside.

The common room held perhaps a dozen people—all adults, she noticed. No children. They looked up as she entered, their faces showing the hollow-eyed exhaustion she was beginning to recognize in plague survivors. But they didn’t seem hostile, just curious about the newcomer.

Near the hearth, three people sat at a table apart from the others. A middle-aged man with graying hair and careful, intelligent eyes was examining what looked like dried herbs. Across from him, a younger couple sat close together—he with a beard and calloused hands that spoke of outdoor work, she with auburn hair and worry lines around her eyes.

“Travelers,” Carl observed. “See their packs by the table? And their clothes—well-made but practical, designed for the road. Not locals.”

The innkeeper, a stocky man with kind eyes and deep grief etched in the lines of his face, approached her table. “What can I get you, lass? Stew’s good today, and we’ve got ale or milk if you prefer.”

Keira’s stomach responded to the mention of real food with an audible growl. “Stew, please. And milk.” She fumbled in her small purse, hoping she had enough coin.

“Three coppers,” the innkeeper said, and Keira gratefully placed the coins on the table. It was most of what she had, but after three days of foraged shoots and stream water, proper food felt worth any price.

“Traveling far?” the innkeeper asked kindly as he waited.

“North, toward the larger settlements,” Keira said. “Somewhere safe to stay. I know herbs, so maybe… maybe someone would want that.”

“Herbs, eh?” The innkeeper paused thoughtfully. “Can’t say I’ve much use for that these days - not many guests passing through anymore. But you’re welcome to stay here a few days if you like, help me around the inn. Not much work, mind you, but there’s always something that needs doing. Fair trade for bed and meals.”

“A kind offer, child, but consider - if this village has lost so many that the inn sits nearly empty, how long before there is no inn at all? Places like this… they don’t always recover.”

“That’s very kind of you,” Keira said carefully. “I’ll think about it.”

As she waited for her meal, she couldn’t help but overhear the conversation at the nearby table. The older man was speaking in a cultured voice.

“What we saw in Greybrook was heartbreaking,” he was saying quietly. “Fifty families reduced to just ten people. And always the same progression—cough, fever, delirium, death.”

The younger man nodded grimly. “Though it’s strange how random it can be. Remember Redhill? Nine out of ten people survived there, except all the elderly died. Seemed to spare the healthy ones almost entirely.”

“It’s different everywhere,” the woman said, her voice heavy. “My cousin in Fairfield said they lost the entire governing council, both priests, and nearly every child under ten.”

Keira felt a chill that had nothing to do with the evening air. Her village hadn’t been unique—this devastation stretched across the entire region.

The innkeeper returned with her stew and milk, setting them down with a sympathetic pat on her shoulder.

The older man at the nearby table looked over. “Forgive me for overhearing, but I couldn’t help but notice you mentioned knowing herbs. That’s valuable knowledge, especially for someone so young.”

Keira met his eyes, noting the genuine concern there. “My mother was the village healer. She taught me what she could.”

“And you’re traveling alone to find work? That’s quite a journey for one so young. Do you have family where you’re headed?”

“No,” Keira whispered, her composure finally breaking. “I don’t have anyone left. Everyone in my village… they’re all gone. I’m completely alone.” Her voice caught on the last word.

The young woman from the older man’s table was out of her chair immediately, moving to comfort her, wrapping gentle arms around Keira’s shoulders. Keira stiffened for a moment - she wasn’t used to being touched by strangers - but then the warmth and genuine comfort broke through her defenses. “Oh, sweetie,” Sarah murmured. “You’re not alone now.”

Keira took a shaky breath and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, embarrassed by her outburst. The woman was still crouched beside her chair, watching with kind, patient eyes. When Keira looked up, the woman smiled gently.

“I’m Sarah, this is George my husband and this old oaf there is James. He has a habit of making children cry, being a doctor and all that.”

James looked stricken. “I just asked her if she has family where she’s going…”

Sarah gave him a patient look. “I know you’re concerned about where she’s headed, but when you see a child traveling alone these days, asking about family just reminds them of what they’ve lost.”

James ran a hand through his graying hair, looking genuinely remorseful. “Look, I clearly have no talent for this sort of conversation. But we’re heading to Brightstone - I’m hoping to establish a practice there. If you’re looking for somewhere to go, you’re welcome to travel with us. Someone with herb knowledge would certainly be useful to have around.”

George chuckled softly. “How thoughtful of you to consult your traveling companions before inviting another, James.” He turned to Keira with a warm smile. “Of course you’re welcome. We’d be glad to have you along.”

Keira looked around the group, seeing genuine kindness in their faces. Keira felt a warmth spread through her chest that had nothing to do with the stew. After days of solitude and uncertainty, the offer of companionship and shared purpose felt like salvation. “Yes,” she said, her voice stronger than it had been in days. “I’d like that very much.”

* * *

That night, sleeping on a real bed for the first time since leaving her village, Keira felt something she hadn’t experienced in weeks: hope. Not the naive hope of childhood, but something tempered by loss and hardship. She’d found people who were good and purposeful, who saw value in her knowledge and accepted her presence without question.

“You chose well, child,” Carl’s voice came softly as she drifted toward sleep. “They all seem like decent people. And traveling in a group will be far safer than continuing alone.”

They seem kind, Keira thought back. Real kindness, not just politeness.

“Indeed. And you’re no longer isolated with your burdens. Sometimes simply having others nearby makes all the difference.”

The kindness in Carl’s words, the mention of her burdens, suddenly broke something loose inside her. All the grief she’d been holding back through days of survival came rushing forward at once. She pressed her face into the pillow to muffle the sobs that wracked her small frame.

Mom. Finn. Lena. Everyone. The names of the lost echoed in her mind as tears soaked the rough fabric. She cried for her mother’s gentle hands and patient teaching, for games of Mill under the old oak tree, for the familiar sounds of her village that she would never hear again. She cried for the terrible loneliness, for being twelve years old and utterly alone in a world that had become strange and dangerous.

“Let it out, child,” Carl’s voice came softly, with a gentleness she hadn’t heard before. “Grief carried alone grows heavier with each step. There is no shame in mourning what you’ve lost.”

The crying came in waves until she was exhausted, her small body shaking with the force of emotions finally released. Eventually, the tears slowed, leaving her drained but somehow lighter. She lay still in the darkness, feeling hollowed out but no longer quite so alone.

For the first time since she’d put on the ring, Carl’s presence felt almost comforting rather than ominous.

“Rest well,” Carl said. “Tomorrow begins a new chapter of your story.”