The Moonstone Heiress- Chapter Three: Journey for Moonstones

Carlone's first night alone was nearly her last.

She was too sick to eat and barely strong enough to crawl to a nearby creek for water. Her cough came in violent fits she couldn't suppress, and blood appeared wherever blood wasn't supposed to be.

She knew what that meant.

Blood fever.

Carlone tried to keep moving anyway.

Faya might come looking for her. Perhaps Aunty would too.

That thought gave Carlone enough strength to stagger deeper into the woods.

She didn't make it far.

At some point, she collapsed beneath the trees.

When she opened her eyes again, daylight filtered through the branches. Whether she'd been unconscious for hours or an entire day, she couldn't tell.

But something had changed.

The fever had broken.

And Carlone was starving.

She ate whatever she could find nearby, first digging up half-grown sunchokes and then stuffing blackberries into her mouth until her fingers were stained purple.

Her mother had taught her which plants were safe.

Whenever Aunty became particularly intolerable—or particularly stingy with food—

Carlone's mother used to take her walking through these woods. Together they gathered whatever they could find to supplement what the people in the main house withheld from them.

Sometimes her uncle secretly brought bread afterward as a peace offering.

Never enough to depend upon.

Always enough to make Carlone love him for trying.

Thinking about that hurt.

So she stopped.

Over the next several days, Carlone's strength slowly returned.

She kept away from the main roads and followed the abandoned supply routes instead.

They had once been used heavily during the last war, but now respectable travelers avoided them.

Carlone didn't particularly care about respectable travelers.

She had decided where she was going.

Southeast.

Toward the coast.

Toward the cold beaches where Aunty's precious moonstones came from.

Carlone knew almost nothing about the world beyond the farm and market, but she knew moonstones had value. If she could reach the coast and find them herself, perhaps she could trade them for food and shelter.

It wasn't much of a plan.

It was the only one she had.

The journey would be hundreds of miles on foot.

Anything was better than going back.

Carlone expected to spend most of the journey hiding from travelers.

Instead, she rarely saw anyone.

News of the fever had apparently traveled faster than she had. Anyone with somewhere safe to go seemed to have already gone there.

Summer faded around her.

The nights lengthened. The mornings became colder.

One particularly windy day, while following a river south, Carlone finally admitted that she wasn't dressed for what was coming.

She couldn't bear to abandon the clothes she wore.

They were the last clothes her mother had given her.

So she adapted.

At night, she piled dry leaves over herself to trap warmth and keep the morning dew from soaking through her clothes. During the day, she gathered whatever food she recognized.

Mushrooms.

Wild leeks.

Berries.

Roots.

But even Carlone knew she couldn't survive that way forever.

She moved slowly.

Part of it was weakness. Blood fever had left her body exhausted.

But some of it was something she couldn't name.

There were mornings when she woke beneath the trees and simply didn't want to get up.

There were afternoons when she sat beside a stream for hours watching water move around stones.

There was nowhere she needed to be.

No mother waiting for her.

No uncle expecting her in the fields.

No market day coming at the end of the week.

For the first time in Carlone's life, no one knew where she was.

Sometimes that felt like freedom.

Sometimes it felt like she had already disappeared.

On her better days, she traveled perhaps two miles. She spent the rest of her time weaving honeysuckle vines into cord, improving her makeshift shoes, or wandering the overgrown trails in search of anything edible.

Fall slipped past almost without her noticing.

Then snow came.

Only a few delicate flakes at first.

Carlone stopped in the middle of the trail and stared upward.

"Oh."

Her grass-woven shoes suddenly seemed much less clever.

So did the makeshift shawl around her shoulders.

Snow meant frostbite.

Frostbite meant losing toes.

Losing toes meant she wouldn't reach the coast.

Carlone stood perfectly still and listened for any sign of civilization.

Nothing.

She waited.

The clouds shifted across the moon, darkening the sky enough for her to notice a faint glow beyond the trees.

Carlone headed toward it.

Perhaps there would be a village.

Better still, a church.

Whatever she thought of Aunty's church, surely there were other churches where a freezing child could get warm and perhaps leave with a blanket and some food.

Instead, she found a farmhouse.

A barn stood beside it.

Carlone considered knocking.

Then she remembered Aunty.

She chose the barn.

She slipped inside and buried herself beneath the hay.

When morning came, the sound of someone moving among the horses woke her.

Carlone remained perfectly still.

A farmer.

She heard him working outside the stable.

This was her chance to leave.

She should have taken it.

Instead, Carlone waited until he was gone and crept outside. A road ran past the farmhouse.

Roads went somewhere.

So she followed it.

The somewhere was called Hillside.

Carlone knew because a weathered sign told her so.

By the time she reached it, her legs were trembling from exhaustion.

The village was tiny.

And empty.

Carlone walked slowly down its main street. Shops stood shuttered on either side. Leaves had collected against doorways, and no smoke rose from the chimneys.

Only one building had an open door.

The church.

Carlone hesitated before going inside.

A middle-aged man in a clergyman's robe was sweeping the dusty floor.

"Hello," Carlone said.

The man stopped.

His gaze traveled over her tangled hair, makeshift clothes, and grass-woven shoes.

"Hello."

"Where is everyone?"

The man stared at her as though the answer should have been obvious.

"Didn't you hear?"

"Hear what?"

"When the fever came through, people fled. Those who didn't..."

He looked toward the empty street.

"...died."

Carlone swallowed.

"Why didn't you?"

"I'm not from Hillside. My congregation is west of here. I was sent to inspect the abandoned settlements where the church once had patrons."

He leaned the broom against a pew.

"Most everyone went north during the summer. It's too cold for the fever to spread there."

Carlone thought of the farmer she'd seen that morning.

She didn't mention him.

The clergyman was studying her now.

"Where did you say you came from?"

Carlone hadn't said.

The realization came to both of them at nearly the same time.

The man's expression changed.

He stepped backward.

Carlone suddenly remembered what her mother had told her.

People say survivors can continue spreading the sickness.

She had survived.

If the stories were true, she might be putting this man in danger simply by standing near him.

"I'm sorry," Carlone whispered.

Then she ran.

She didn't stop until Hillside was far behind her.

By then, Carlone was too exhausted to make it all the way back to the farm where she'd slept the previous night. She rested beside a river where the snow hadn't settled and ate the last of the food she'd collected.

A pear.

Her final good piece of fruit.

After that, it would be bark, crab apples, chickweed, and whatever else she could find.

Carlone sighed and finished the pear.

As evening approached, the cold sharpened.

She hated the idea of returning to the farmer's barn.

She hated freezing more.

So she went back.

By the time she arrived, the farmhouse was dark.

Carlone slipped into the barn without being seen and settled into the hay again.

It smelled faintly of mold.

That seemed strange.

If horses lived here regularly, the hay should have been fresher.

Perhaps the farmer had only recently returned.

Or perhaps he didn't really live there.

Carlone fell asleep wondering which explanation was true.

Voices woke her the next morning.

She froze beneath the hay.

"...young lady who ran away from her parents."

The clergyman.

Carlone held her breath.

The farmer answered.

"Haven't seen anyone. Wouldn't care to."

Carlone carefully moved closer so she could hear.

"I'm only here inspecting the property," the farmer continued. "My brother-in-law sold it to

me cheap. Settled a family debt in the process. I'm passing through myself."

Carlone almost smiled.

If the farmer left, the house would be empty.

She could stay here.

Perhaps even for the winter.

Outside, the two men continued talking.

"Child alone in weather like this won't last long," the farmer said.

Carlone's smile disappeared.

"Do you think she's a fever carrier?"

A pause.

"No," the clergyman replied. "She didn't have the green skin."

Carlone stared at her arm.

Green?

She held it toward a crack of morning light.

Her skin looked exactly as it always had.

She examined the other arm.

Nothing.

Outside, the men moved farther away.

Carlone remained hidden until she heard horses departing.

Then silence.

The only two people she'd seen in months were gone.

Carlone was alone again.

Only now she had a farmhouse.

At least temporarily.

She waited as long as she could before going inside.

The moment she entered through the side door, an old familiar feeling returned.

She was back in Aunty's house.

Not really.

But her body seemed to think so.

Carlone moved quietly from room to room, always keeping track of the nearest exit.

The cupboards were almost empty. She found several jars of preserves, a few half-spoiled onions, and some potatoes in a bin.

Upstairs were empty bedrooms.

One reminded her of Kuli.

Another made her think of Faya.

Carlone sat on the edge of the bed.

Had she been wrong to leave?

Not about Aunty.

Never about Aunty.

But Faya had saved her.

Carlone was almost certain of that now.

Perhaps Faya had searched the forest afterward. Perhaps she was still searching.

Carlone felt a sudden stab of guilt.

Poor Faya.

She had been the only kind one of them.

But going back wouldn't help her.

If Carlone returned, Faya would spend the rest of her life trapped between Carlone and

Aunty.

No.

Leaving had been the right thing.

It had to be.

At the foot of one bed, Carlone found a hope chest.

Inside were clothes.

They were too large, but they were warm.

Carlone changed.

Then she carefully folded the clothes her mother had given her and placed them inside a canvas sack.

She tied the drawstring securely across her shoulders.

Those clothes weren't rags.

They weren't something to trade.

They were hers.

No matter what happened, she wouldn't lose them.

In the barn, Carlone found a heavy leather coat that appeared to have been used by farmhands for metalwork. She also found oversized boots meant to be worn over work shoes.

She took both.

She still slept in the barn.

Taking food from an abandoned house was one thing.

Being caught sleeping in someone else's bed felt much more like being a thief.

And Carlone knew what happened to thieves.

So she kept herself close to the woods, ready to run if anyone returned.

That night, sleep refused to come.

Carlone remembered what her mother had told her.

Grandmother had survived blood fever.

Now Carlone had survived it too.

Was she a carrier?

The clergyman had been close to her.

If she really carried the fever for life, had she exposed him?

Carlone stared into the darkness.

Maybe survivors weren't carriers.

Maybe people were wrong.

There were so few survivors, after all. And those who survived kept it secret.

How could anyone know for certain?

Then she remembered what the clergyman had said.

She didn't have the green skin.

Carlone pulled up her sleeve again, though there wasn't enough light to see anything.

What did green skin have to do with blood fever?

Her grandmother had never been green.

At least, Carlone didn't think she had.

Carlone curled beneath the borrowed coat.

She made herself a promise.

No one would ever know she'd survived the fever.

Not until she understood what survival meant.

By the end of the week, she'd eaten nearly everything useful left on the property.

Carlone packed the canvas sack.

Preserves.

A few potatoes.

Her mother's clothes.

Whatever else she could carry.

Then she stood beside the road and looked south.

The winter seemed as though it might be mild.

The coast was still hundreds of miles away.

And somewhere between here and there was an entire world Carlone knew almost nothing about.

She tightened the sack across her shoulders.

Then she started walking.