Chương 53: Chapter 34: Finding Purpose - Part II

Ciara POV The market feels different after Aibell leaves. Perhaps because her destination had always been obvious. The bakery existed long before we arrived in Fallowspire. Her father's inn had prepared her for it, years ago. Even before she stepped through the door, I think all three of us already knew how the afternoon would end. My own future feels considerably less certain. Merrow pushes my chair slowly through the eastern district while the market continues around us.

Merchants call to customers; children chase one another between stalls and somewhere nearby a blacksmith's hammer rings steadily against metal. The city no longer feels unfamiliar. When we first arrived, every street had felt temporary. Every building had belonged to someone else. Now I find myself recognizing shopkeepers, remembering names and occasionally stopping to speak with people from the district. The silence stretches comfortably between us for a time. Eventually, Merrow speaks.

"You ask a great deal of questions." I look toward her.

"Is that a criticism?"

"No." She adjusts her grip slightly upon the wheelchair.

"It is an observation." I consider that. She is correct. Over the past several weeks I have asked about medicines, herbs, roots, teas, poultices and plants whose names I can barely pronounce. At first, curiosity seemed explanation enough. The grove had become filled with unfamiliar things and Merrow possessed answers. Perhaps it became something more.

"My father kept records." The words surprise even me. Merrow remains silent.

"He worked for a minor lord before we settled near Blackthorn. Handling ledgers, inventories and taxes." A faint smile appears.

"I spent years helping him with numbers. The healer continues walking.

"And what about herbs?" I look toward the market.

"My mother. My father liked books. My mother liked gardens. One taught me to read. The other taught me which plants would make me sick." Merrow's mouth twitches.

"Useful knowledge." A faint laugh escapes my lips.

"Mostly." For a while neither of us speaks. Eventually, Merrow guides the wheelchair toward a small square where several benches sit beneath a pair of trees. The noise of the market feels more distant here. She sits, while I wait. I have learned that Merrow rarely speaks without reason.

"You notice things." The statement catches me off guard.

"I think everyone does."

"No." The healer shakes her head.

"You notice details." I find myself frowning. She continues nonetheless.

"You noticed the herbs drying beneath the Heartwoods. The medicine supplies. The amount of food remaining." I realize where this is going.

"Those seem like ordinary things."

"They are." Merrow folds her hands.

"Yet most people still fail to notice them." The realization settles slowly. She isn't describing skills. She's describing me.

"I lost my leg in Blackthorn" I say quietly. Merrow meets my gaze.

"I am aware." Despite myself, I laugh. The healer's expression remains entirely serious.

"Your legs are not the part of you I was discussing." The answer leaves me without words. For several moments I simply watch people crossing the square. Lives that had seemed permanently beyond my reach.

"My father always said ledgers tell stories." Merrow looks toward me.

"He sounds wise." I shake my head.

"No, he was mostly annoying." The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

"Also common among wise people."

"I don't know what I'm supposed to become." The confession leaves me more quietly than I intended. Merrow studies the trees overhead.

"Neither do I." I blink. She turns toward me.

"I was a healer before Fallowspire. I am still one here. But I am also still deciding what I am now." That surprises me. Merrow always seems certain, calm and steady. Apparently even healers continue searching. The thought proves strangely comforting. Eventually, she rises.

"You know herbs. You know numbers. You can read and write. You keep asking me questions. All these are qualities I can use. I require assistance." I stare at her. Merrow's expression does not change as she continues.

"I cannot pay much at first. Five copper a day while you learn." My eyes widen.

"Merrow-" She continues.

"You would help me. You would organize supplies. Keep records and most importantly learn." The market suddenly seems very quiet. The noise itself has not changed. Merchants continue arguing somewhere behind us. Wheels rattle across uneven stones. A blacksmith's hammer rings steadily in the distance. Yet Merrow's words seem to settle over everything else, leaving me staring at her while my thoughts struggle to catch up. Five copper. The number immediately forms itself inside my mind.

Bread, oil, clothes and shoes for my children. The calculations arrive automatically because they always have. My father used to say that numbers become a habit if you spend enough years around ledgers. The figures arrange themselves before I consciously begin thinking about them. Merrow notices the expression on my face.

"You disapprove." I blink.

"No."

"You're calculating." She is correct.

"I have children." Somehow, that feels important enough to say aloud. The truth is that I have spent the entire afternoon thinking about myself, about work, about purpose, about who I might become. Yet every decision I make eventually returns to the same place. Eammon and Aine. Everything else comes afterward. Merrow nods slowly.

"I know."

"Five copper would help, but-""It isn't meant to last." That catches my attention. The healer folds her hands together. The afternoon light filtering through the trees paints soft shadows across her face, making her appear older than usual.

"You would be learning. You know herbs already, at least more than most people. You understand measurements. You can read and write. But healing is still a profession." She pauses briefly before continuing.

"While you learn, I can offer five copper."

"And afterward?" Merrow studies me for a moment.

"Ten." The answer arrives with the same certainty she applies to everything else.

"If you become capable of managing the shop, preparing medicines and helping patients on your own, then you should be paid accordingly." Ten copper. The number settles differently. A respectable income. Enough to contribute properly and support my children. Merrow continues before I can answer.

"Healers earn more than bakers." The statement is so unexpectedly blunt that I find myself laughing.

"I imagine Aibell would object to that."

"She may."

"And you?"

"I would be correct." Genuine amusement reaches her eyes. The moment passes quickly, but it leaves something warmer behind. I look toward the market square again. Several children run between the stalls while their parents call after them. A woman bargains with a merchant over vegetables while two laborers carry timber toward one of the nearby streets. Ordinary life continues around us.

"There is something else." I turn back toward Merrow.

"You read and write." I nod.

"My father insisted."

"He was wise."

"He was stubborn."

"Those qualities more frequently than you realize." That earns another laugh from me. Merrow gestures toward the district around us.

"There are many children here." The meaning takes several seconds to arrive.

"Teaching?" She nods.

"The evenings belong to you and the district has families. Many children never receive proper instruction. I don't suppose many families would be willing to spend much on education if any at all, but given you can make them understand the future possibilities, some may agree." The thought surprises me. I remember sitting beside my father while he balanced ledgers and corrected my handwriting. I remember my mother naming herbs one by one while I repeated them back to her.

Knowledge passed from one generation to another so naturally that I never considered it unusual. Until now.

"You think people would pay for that?"

"A few copper at most." The answer is practical.

"Perhaps more if the children survive your handwriting."

"My handwriting is perfectly acceptable." Merrow's silence somehow feels judgmental. I sigh.

"It is adequate."

"That sounds more believable." For a while, none of us speaks. The sun has begun its slow descent toward the western walls and the market has started losing some of its afternoon energy. Merchants pack away their wares while the crowds gradually thin. Somewhere across the district, Aibell is likely preparing for her own future. I realize something then. Aibell found work connected to her father. Kaelen found purpose through his master. Even Garrick's path somehow circles back to the dreams he once chased.

And now Merrow has somehow led me back to my own parents. My father and mother taught me the knowledge I am going to monetize today. Neither of them lived long enough to see where those lessons might lead. The thought hurts, yet strangely, it no longer feels entirely painful. Merrow rises from the bench and moves behind my chair once more.

"You do not have to answer today." I look up at her. The healer's expression remains as calm as ever.

"But I think you already know." The truth is that I do. As Merrow begins guiding the chair back toward the market, I find myself looking toward the streets of Fallowspire differently than before. The city no longer feels temporary. The district no longer feels borrowed. For the first time since Blackthorn burned, I find myself thinking not about surviving the coming winter or finding shelter for my children. Instead, I find myself wondering what I their future can be if I accept this job.