A Walk Upon Snow and Stars ✓

1. Empty Hearts, Empty Homes

When the Rust Plague struck Eastmoor, the poor people died left and right. The disease spread faster than wildfire. Some said it came from the swamp flies, others said it was the sweltering heat, for the summer this year was unlike any other--hot and humid like sizzling oil.

But none knew how to get rid of it, not even the old healer who lived at the end of the lane.

Those who caught it succumbed to it within days, giving in to delirium and a terrible fever. Awful red-brown spots crawled all over their faces and limbs as the disease took hold. By midsummer, it became so bad folk would cross to the other side of the street if they so much as saw a hint of red-brown upon one's face.

So when little Linnea--eldest of her three grandchildren--returned home from play one evening, feverish and pale with those telltale spots just beginning to appear on her face, her parents put her to bed in the room upstairs and made sure no one saw her.

Luna tried desperately to save the sweet child, toiling day and night at her bedside. In her youth, she'd dabbled a bit in the arts of healing magic. Besides, she knew all sorts of remedies for ailments, as grandmothers do, and had written them down neatly in a little red journal, lest she should forget. She knew how to deal with a fever that just wouldn't go away, how to cure a stomach ache and to soothe a sore throat, how to ease off pain in the limbs and ways to treat many more ailments. She was not born with the gift of magic, but working closely with the earth for so many a year had its way to imbue one with powers--the gentle magic of the earth which healed.

But it turned out there are evils in this world that are far too strong for a good grandmother's remedies.

The girl fought bravely for days until she gave in, closing her eyes one grey dawn, never to open them again.

Yet there was no time to grieve, not even for a proper burial, for her son Filip caught it next. This time, he decided to take no risks. He put his wife Amelia, the remaining children, Luna and Oliver in the downstairs rooms, as far away they could possibly be from him.

He locked himself upstairs, hoping he would be fit to join the rest when he got better. He never did.

Luna carried the meals to him when he grew too weak.

"Let me see you," she pleaded every time she placed the food outside his door. "I can help--if you'd just let me in, just this once--"

"No, Mother," he'd say through the door. His voice was weaker than the last time, each time they spoke. "There's no cure for this curse. Even the healer has no clue. You saw how it was with Linnie."

"It all happened so quickly." Luna sat down on the floor, tears filling her eyes. "Let me try again. Everything will be fine once the fever goes down. Won't you please open the door and let your mother in, my sweet child?"

"I'm sorry." His voice was choked with tears. With a click, she heard him bolt the door shut. "Keep the others safe, Mother. Don't let any harm come to them."

One morning, he did not answer the door. On the other side, there was only silence.

Luna could protect no one.

Her daughter-in-law Amelia spent her last remaining strength in grieving over the loss, too great for her heart to bear. It was grief that broke her mind, before the accursed Rust Plague could take hold of her--and no matter how much Luna soothed and comforted her, it was not enough. One night, she ventured out in the woods without a word, never to return.

When the telltale marks began to appear on Oliver's face, he knew he was done for as well.

"Keep them safe," he'd said to her, before removing himself from their company, much in the same way Filip had done. He retired to the spare room upstairs. He never came back down.