When a mysterious illness strikes the village, Lucy must use all her skill to stop the plague. But who is the stranger whose past holds the cure — if only she can unlock his secrets.
Mary dusted flour from her hands as the morning sun streamed through the windows of the apothecary. Another busy day was underway.
She sighed wistfully, watching villagers bustle by on the cobblestone lane outside, going about their daily errands. She longed to join them.
But as Brighton’s sole healer, her duties kept her pinned inside grinding herbs.
A knock at the door jolted Mary from her daydreaming.
Wiping her hands on her apron, she swung open the heavy oak door and came face-to-face with the mayor.
“Mr. Johnson!” she exclaimed in surprise. “How can I help?”
The mayor shifted nervously, a rare sight for the usually unflappable man.
“I’m afraid it’s rather urgent, Mary. Old Man Simmons took ill last night, and his condition has taken a turn. He’s asking to see you.”
Mary gasped. Simmons had treated Brighton’s ills for nearly fifty years.
If even he had been struck down, what hope was there for the rest of them? She snatched up her satchel of medicines.
“Lead the way, sir.”
An Unexpected Summon
As Mary hurried behind the mayor, whispers and worried glances followed in their wake.
“Poor Old Man Simmons… who will care for us now?”
She tried to ignore the panic rising in her heart. How was one healer able to tend an entire village?
At the Simmons cottage, Mary pushed open the creaky bedroom door with dread.
The ageing apothecary looked ghastly pale against his feather pillows. She bent to examine him, clicking her tongue at his high fever and rasping breaths.
After trying several remedies, to no avail, she sat back with a sigh.
“I’m afraid there’s little more I can do except make him comfortable. The illness has taken too strong a hold.”
Simmons grasped her hand with surprising strength.
“Promise me…you’ll take my patients. Brighton needs a healer.”
Into Mary’s wide eyes, he pressed a leather-bound book of cures before his grip loosened forever.
Choking back tears, Mary nodded.
“I promise.”
Stepping Into New Shoes
The news of Simmons’ passing sent the village into a tizzy. Everywhere Mary went, people bombarded her with questions.
“Who will provide our tonics?”
“What if the flu returns this winter?”
“Can you handle old Mrs. Watkins’ gout and little Timmy’s cough at once?”
Mary tried to reassure them, but inwardly quaked at the responsibility.
As a healer’s daughter, she’d trained alongside her father for years.
But managing an entire village’s needs alone? Impossible.
Seeking refuge, Mary retreated to her apothecary to organise Simmons’ book of remedies.
Sunlight spilt across tightly cramped script, revealing generations of healing knowledge. She turned a page and froze.
Scrawled along the margins was a note:
“My apprentice, Lucy, shows promise. Should anything befall me, the village may count on her care until a permanent solution arises.”
A grin crept across Mary’s face. Perhaps there was a way after all…
An Unexpected Summons
That evening, Mary sat Lucy down besides the fire.
“I have a proposition for you, dear.” She recounted Simmons’ final request and the village’s predicament.
“Brighton needs two healers until another can be found. Will you be my apprentice officially?”
Lucy’s eyes glowed with excitement, despite her nerves.
Helping people was her deepest passion, even if the scope terrified her too.
Taking a deep breath, she replied,
“I’ll do my best not to let you down, Mother!”
And so began Lucy’s apprenticeship in earnest.
Each dawn, she rose to grind herbs besides Mary, memorising remedies by the glow of lamplight after sunset.
The work was gruelling but rewarding as the villagers’ aches eased under their care.
One blustery night, a knock sounded at the still-open surgery door.
Lucy started — no one called at such a late hour without grave cause.
She sighed, preparing herself for another emergency.
But the sight that greeted her was wholly unexpected…
An Unfamiliar Face
“Mayor Johnson!” Lucy gasped.
The mayor stood hunched against the gale, bearing a shivering figure in his arms
“Please, help him if you can,” he panted.
Laying the man gently by the fire, Lucy examined him by lantern light.
His skin burned fever-hot, and his face twisted in agony.
But what concerned her most were the strange markings scoring his flesh—like jagged lightning splitting his skin. She’d never seen their like before.
Lucy hurried to fetch Mary, returning with herbs and a poultice.
But as Mary examined the man, even her experienced eyes showed confusion.
“I don’t know this illness,” she admitted softly.
“We’ll have to watch him through the night and pray.”
For long hours, they kept their silent vigil, ministering small comforts as the storm howled outside.
Just when dawn’s rays began to filter through, the man stirred with a ragged gasp.
Lucy started—his eyes were open, glassy with fever, but conscious.
He croaked a single word:
“Water.”
Lucy fetched a cup, helping him sip slowly as colour seemed to seep back into his wan face.
When he’d drained it, those strange eyes found hers.
“Thank…you.”
An Uncertain Recovery
Over the next few days, the stranger’s fever broke.
His markings faded, leaving unmarred skin behind.
But although physically healed, he remained weak and silent, staring out the window for hours with a haunted expression.
Lucy tended to him gently.
Her natural calm seemed to soothe whatever demons plagued his mind. One evening, as she helped him eat some broth, he finally spoke.
“My name is Marcus.”
His voice was hoarse from disuse yet somehow musical.
Lucy smiled warmly.
“I’m Lucy. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Marcus, even under such odd circumstances.”
Her light tone eased some of the tension from his shoulders. Marcus studied her carefully.
“You have a gift for healing, Lucy. But that illness…it was no natural thing.”
He turned away, shuddering.
“I must go, once I’m strong. Danger follows me.”
Lucy frowned. What dark fate had brought this man to their village with such strange afflictions?
And now that he was well, where would he go—back to the life that had left him so broken?
An idea began forming in her mind.
An Invitation
By the next morning, Marcus had regained enough strength to stand, though moving still tired him.
Lucy broached her plan hesitantly.
“There must be somewhere you belong, Marcus. But until you find your path again, why not stay here, and assist me?”
His brow creased in confusion, as if the idea of finding purpose was foreign.
“I am no healer.”
Lucy smiled gently.
“No, but you’ve experienced what I lack. And two sets of hands make lighter work. Let me teach you, as my mother taught me. Then, when you wish to leave, you’ll do so with skills to help others wherever your feet may carry you.”
Marcus wanted to refuse — obligation meant bondage after all he’d endured.
But staring into Lucy’s open, hopeful face, an unfamiliar warmth bloomed in his chest.
Perhaps another kind of bondage, of purpose and camaraderie, need not be shackled at all…
“Very well,” he nodded slowly. “I accept your offer, Lucy.”
She beamed. Though uncertain paths lay ahead, together they would walk them.
An Interruption
Spring unfurled across the village in a riot of colour and rebirth, mirroring Lucy and Marcus’ student-teacher bond blossoming daily.
He proved a quick study with a healer’s innate gifts, and each patient’s smile healed some inner wound of his own.
One sunny morning, Lucy bustled about the stillroom, blending salves, when shouts arose outside.
Exchanging worried looks, apprentices hurried to the lane and froze in horror.
Two gaunt travellers were pulling a waggon full of limp bodies up the road.
As they descended, Lucy recognised the elder: Oaken, from a hamlet miles west.
His voice cracked pleadingly.
“Please…you must help them…”
Before he collapsed in exhaustion, Oaken rasped the terrible tidings: a deadly flux had struck his village overnight, felling young and old alike.
These few survivors were all that remained.
Lucy and Marcus sprang into action, bearing patients inside with grim efficiency.
They worked through the day and night in a haze — grinding herbs, applying poultices, and coaxing sips of remedy between the afflicted’s cracked lips.
Outside, the wind howled, as if nature itself wept for the fates of the sick.
But inside, hope burned in two pairs of determined eyes, refusing to let another soul succumb that day.
By dawn, the last wracking coughs had subsided—the plague was stayed.
Exhausted but relieved, healer and apprentice slumped side by side, taking comfort in each other’s companionship.
As the sun’s early rays shone through the windows, Lucy stirred from her weary slumber.
Turning, she smiled gently at Marcus, who was still asleep next to her.
Though darkness clouded his past, here he had found purpose, helping others through their suffering.
She rose quietly, not wishing to disturb his rest after their long vigil.
Checking on her patients, Lucy was glad to see colour returning to their cheeks as steady breaths signalling life prevailing over death.
Her skills and Marcus’ aid had granted these villagers a chance at recovery.
Preparing restorative tonics and broths for when they woke, Lucy glanced outside.
A solitary figure caught her eye — Oaken, gazing west towards the ruins of his village.
Steeling herself with a breath, she fetched an extra dose and stepped outside.
“Any news of others?” she asked softly, offering the tonic.
Oaken took it gratefully, shaking his head as he drank.
“We were the only three who made it so far. The others…”
His voice cracked with grief.
Lucy laid a comforting hand on his arm.
“You found help where you needed it most. Now let nature take her course — focus on regaining your strength, as your people would want.”
Her words seemed to lighten his heavy heart a bit.
As Oaken turned back to his vigil, Lucy returned inside, hopeful but wary.
What other lives might yet be saved if she broadened her skills, and what new threats to wellness lurked beyond these village borders?
Only time will tell.
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