A/N: I'm not going to lie to you all – this chapter starts light and gets dark. Darker than I originally intended, but parts of it wrote themselves.
The next part of this story is not going to be easy at all. I am rating this chapter M for subject matter relating to death (I tried to whitewash it as much as possible). TW for character death.
As much as this story is based on mythology, there are obviously elements of reality in it. Phyllis giving birth in the last chapter is one example. Death is not something I or anyone else likes to dwell on, but it is part of this story. I've known that from the beginning.
A huge, huge thank you to those of you who have kept reading this. This is obviously not a fluffy fic (though there is fluff, and actually more to come – because really, it can't be dark all the time) and I appreciate any feedback you all are willing to give. I love you all.
Autumn slipped away, and spring came again. It grew warmer. The grass in the meadow grew thick, though Charles worried about the heavy rain drowning the grass, making it difficult for the flocks to graze there.
The stream remained high, and flooded twice.
"I am glad of one thing," Charles boomed to Elsie one soggy morning as they stood outside. Water dripped from his hood, and he blinked furiously to clear his eyes. The stream thundered down the hill beside them. "At least this spring you haven't frightened me half to death saving a lamb."
"Do I frighten you?" She teased him, resting her hand on his arm. He smiled.
"Not anymore."
Jimmy came up the hill, his blond hair plastered against the side of his face. "Master, we've herded the rest towards the pen. Alfred's putting them in there now. Is there anything else we need to do?" He kept his gaze on Charles, not looking at Elsie. It was obvious he wanted to get out of the rain as soon as possible.
The shepherd surveyed the apprentice for several moments while his wife struggled not to roll her eyes.
Let the poor lad go inside and dry off!
"No," he said finally. "You can go home. If the gods favor us, it will stop raining when we start shearing them tomorrow."
Jimmy nodded, and ran past them up the hill. They could hear him yelling to Alfred.
"You're too hard on him. On all of them, but especially James." Elsie said once they were inside. She sighed as she used a cloth to dry her hair.
Charles yanked a fresh tunic over his head. "I wasn't sure he was going to come back," he said stiffly. His belt was forgotten in his hand. "Last summer, he kept on about how boring it was here…"
"He said he would come back in the spring, and so he has. What more do you want of him?"
He blustered a bit, eating a leftover piece of cheese. "That he work the same as Alfred and Andrew, without complaining about it! They don't talk back to me!"
She snorted. "Because Alfred hopes one day to buy part of the flock from you. And Andy is sweet on Daisy – he's hardly going to say anything to anger you," she reminded him. "You have a hard time with James because he reminds you of you. He has his own opinions. There's nothing wrong with him expressing them." She tossed the cloth onto a pile needing to be washed and stood up. "They all are like you, in different ways. You do influence them. More than you know."
"You have an effect on them," he said, still nettled. "They all like you. Very much."
She knew what he was trying to say.
"Charles," she took his hand. He dropped the belt on the floor. "You know neither Alfred nor Andy like me in that way. They're used to me now, and they know I am very much taken." She smiled. "James did not see me for a long time. It is usual for me to have an effect on most mortal men if they've never seen me, or have not seen me in a long time. All he did was stare for a long time his first day back, until Alfred hit him!"
"Last year, he wanted to seduce you," he persisted. "I cannot forget that so easily."
"Forget, or forgive?" she asked, taking his other hand and getting him to face her. "He has no effect on me. There is only one man – only one being in the entire creation who I married, who I desire. Who I love," she said, her eyes searching his. "You know it's true."
"I know," he whispered, feeling ashamed. "You must think me a fool. I am not jealous of him, truly, but seeing the way he reacted to you…in a way, it reminded me again of how everyone else sees you."
The most glorious woman ever seen.
Elsie stepped closer to him. "I don't care how everyone else sees me," she said. "I am your wife. No one else's." She reached up, gently moving aside a wet curl of hair on his forehead.
Charles closed his eyes at her gentle touch. Why his apprentice's reaction affected him so, he could only guess. Maybe it was the young man's confidence. Maybe it was seeing more silver hairs in his own reflection, mixed in with the black curls on his head.
Reminding him that he was not getting any younger.
"You are not a fool," she said, sighing. "If anything, I am the fool."
He raised his eyebrows. She smiled, raising herself up her tiptoes to kiss him soundly on the cheek. "When I'm with you, I forget everything else."
"Mmm," he murmured. He knew she meant it, and it lightened his heart. He pressed his lips to her forehead as they wrapped their arms around each other. "You know, we don't have to go anywhere today. That does not happen often."
The sound of the rain falling steadily was peaceful.
"No," she rubbed his back. "Though I do wish it would stop raining. The sheep are miserable enough."
"I don't mind if it rains today. Only tomorrow." He kissed her nose.
Yes, if it rains all day, we can stay in house. Just us, alone…
"If it continues, I will have to start a fire," she reminded him. "Otherwise, we will never get rid of the damp in here."
"Are you cold now?" He asked, his eagerness receding a little. Outside, a low rumble of thunder echoed.
"Not yet." A certain gleam sparkled in her eyes as her fingers danced across his torso. "If you don't want me to get cold, there is a way you can keep me from being so-"
The words were scarcely out of her mouth before he kissed her. Once, twice, and again, hard, until both had lost count.
And most of their breath.
"I am glad," she gasped, her chest heaving, "that you never put on your belt. Once less thing for me to take off."
She slid her hands down his back and over his bottom, bringing his body closer to hers. He moaned, his lips below her ear.
"Woman," he rumbled against her soft skin, "what you do to me-"
They made love as rain poured down outside, their cries of pleasure drowned out by the roaring stream.
Though Charles, Elsie, and the apprentices had to endure several more wet days during the shearing, they were relieved when the skies finally cleared and sunlight began to dry the soaked ground.
Along with the sun came warmer weather.
It was near midday one beautiful day when their guests arrived. Joseph, Phyllis, baby Lily, Master Bill, John and Anna, and John's apprentices Toby and Daniel, came for a visit. Most of the talk among the lively group was about the weather, and the recent lambing season. Charles was pleased with it. Two of the ewes had given birth to twins, and only one lamb out of the entire flock had been lost.
They all sat outside, enjoying the warm spring air.
Both Alfred and Jimmy congratulated the new parents, though both lads declined to hold the baby. Andy held Lily. He did not seem to care what anyone thought.
They laughed at how the brown-eyed infant kept watching him.
"Best hold her while you can," Phyllis leaned over to him, speaking in a loud whisper. "Between Daisy and the men, I hardly ever get a chance! It's a good thing I'm the only one that can feed her!" Joseph, Bill, Charles, and John were deep in conversation and none of them heard her.
She shared a letter that Thomas had sent. The young man was very happy she and Lily were doing well.
...send Master Joseph my best regards, too. I'm sure you both will be a wonderful mum and dad. Lily is very lucky to have you.
Once her uncle Thomas meets her the fun can begin!
Elsie laughed. "That sounds more like him."
Phyllis smiled, setting aside the scroll. "He doesn't like people to know it, but he's very sweet, your son. From what Anna told me about the way he is with Master George, I know he'll be just as good to our Lily."
"'Sweet!?'" muttered Toby to Daniel and Jimmy at the other end of the low table. "Thomas? Is she mad? I've only seen him scowling!"
"He's not that bad," Alfred said, his mouth full of roasted lamb. "Just rather prickly."
"Maybe if he liked girls he would be nicer," Jimmy mumbled. Daisy heard him and scowled at him so fiercely he blushed and lowered his eyes. "Sorry. I didn't mean it."
"I don't think who he likes has anything to do with his temper," Andy shushed Lily, who was beginning to stir in his arms. "He's always been nice to me." Unable to quiet the baby, he stood up and handed her to her father before going off to watch the flock.
Other than John, no one but Elsie noticed how little Anna ate. Despite the sunshine the young woman was rather pale. She yawned more than once, but dismissed it, saying she had not slept well the night before.
Elsie averted her eyes, taking a drink of her wine.
Your sickness will soon pass.
She could hardly wait until Anna knew for certain. Perhaps she suspected, but Elsie knew she would not want to say anything, for fear of being wrong.
How happy you will be! And John as well!
She remembered that golden afternoon for a long time. The laughter and joy. Though there was not a cloud in the sky, a shadow grew over them.
It was an unseen enemy. It was not a divine being hidden from view, though the gods in their true form knew of its existence.
The first news Charles and Elsie heard of it came in a short message for Jimmy, four days later.
His mother had died suddenly of a virulent fever.
When he went through Downton, intending to travel home, he was stopped by Richard. The healer warned the young man not to travel north. The fever was raging there, he said. The king had written to Violet and Isobel telling them of the sickness.
Richard feared it would come to the village.
Jimmy returned to the house, shaken.
"There's nothing I can do at home," he told Charles and Elsie. "Mum's already gone and-and buried, and if what Master Richard says is true, most everyone living between Ainderby and the king's palace is either sick or dying. Or already…" he swallowed, not finishing.
He did not need to.
"Surely not," Elsie said, feeling hair on the back of her neck stand up. "It cannot be that bad."
But something in Jimmy's eyes told her he was telling the truth.
The young man looked from her to the shepherd. Charles was frowning, his eyebrows knitted together.
"Where did Richard hear this?"
"From the priestess Isobel, who got a message from the king," Jimmy said. "The king wrote that no one at the palace has fallen ill-" he paused as both husband and wife breathed sighs of relief, "-but he feels they're 'an island in the middle of a raging sea', is how he put it. Master Richard met me outside the temple, and we went in. The priestess showed me the letter."
"Well." Charles forced himself to unclench his fists. He felt Elsie slip her hand into his, and he squeezed it. "You had best stay here until it's safe to travel again. I do hope you can go home later, to honor your mother the way she should be remembered."
But by sunset the following day they received more bad news. Master Bill sent Daisy home, and she brought word that several people in Downton had the fever.
"Phyllis is gone to John and Anna's with Lily," she said to Elsie that evening, pulling a bucket of water out of the well. "Master Joseph sent her. He thinks the air is better outside of the village."
Fires were lit by some people to keep out unhealthy air. Others insisted that fire would do nothing to halt the spread of the fever, and had begun to dig a long trench in the road north of Downton. The hope was that those with the sickness had been unlucky enough to come from places already raging with fever, and if the villagers blocked the way, no one else would get it.
Daisy did not think any of them were right. Though she was glad Phyllis and Lily were staying outside the village.
"But they can't keep people from coming into Downton," she argued to her father. "What happens if the king lets Thomas, Sybil and Edward come home? Will the villagers keep them out, just because they came from the north? It's not fair!"
Charles agreed with her, but he knew fear could be just as dangerous as the fever. He would keep his family and the lads as safe as he could.
"Do you know how to stop it?" He asked Elsie late that night. His wife had been very quiet ever since Jimmy had returned after his failed journey.
"I do know," she laid her head against his chest, glad of his strength. "But I have no power to do so, not against this. Not as a mortal or as a goddess. It is for the Healer, Adam, to heal those who are ill."
She had told Charles what she had done for Phyllis. That was different, she explained. She had power over fertility, and the rite of childbirth.
But the fever was another thing entirely.
"Even were I to tell people the knowledge I know," she said, feeling a lump in her throat, "Many would not believe me."
"If there is anything we can do to protect ourselves and our friends, tell me," he kissed her hair. "You know I believe you."
The important thing, she told him, was to keep as clean as possible. Especially their hands. That was not a promise that if by doing so no one would become ill, but it would help.
Charles saw firsthand the next day what Elsie had meant. May trudged through the fields to the meadow. Her sister-in-law's family in Thirsk was all down with the fever. Petunia had gone there to help.
"What are they doing to ward against the fever?" Elsie asked warily, holding a ewe lamb on her lap. The young animal nibbled on a slice of apple from her hand. "We heard some in Downton are lighting fires."
Not that it helps at all.
May shook her head. "A few there tried that, only to wake with fevers the next day. The butcher sacrificed his best milk cow to the Healer God. Petunia said everyone who watched him do it made sure to have him sprinkle blood on them-"
Elsie swallowed in revulsion. She felt a weary sense of inevitability.
Mortals will try almost anything when they are afraid.
"Have they tried giving baths to the sick?" Charles clutched his crook. May stared at him.
"In blood? No, not that I heard, but-"
"Not blood," he said, seeing Elsie's shoulders tense out of the corner of his eye, "Water. And soap."
The older woman's eyebrows almost disappeared into her hair. "I know the weather is warmer, but it's still much too cold for people to have baths this early in spring! Have you lost your mind? Those with the fever would die right off if they bathed in water!"
He opened his mouth to protest, but Elsie touched his foot. She gave a tiny shake of her head.
It is as I said. They will not listen.
Alfred ran to Downton two days later to see Ivy. Everyone gathered by the well to hear the news when he got back. From how slowly he walked from the road and the stoop of his shoulders, they knew it was not good news.
Daisy was relieved to hear Ivy was well. Her friend was living on her own at home because Richard was hardly there.
"Why did he not send her to the temple?" Charles asked. It seemed unlike Richard to leave his niece alone, even though Ivy was old enough to care for herself and there was little fear of her being alone anymore. The fear from the attacks on the young women the previous summer had mostly gone.
Alfred ran a hand through his bright hair.
"Half of the temple girls have the fever," he said finally. "And some people have been thrown out of their homes at the first sign of it, so they started going to the temple. If they're able to get there. People are terrified," he answered the others' outraged looks. "Children and old people have been abandoned on the temple steps. I went as far as the door, but the priestess told me not to come any farther. The door was open. The whole floor was covered with bodies. Many of them were covered…"
Charles and Elsie exchanged a horrified glance. Jimmy, Andy and Daisy said nothing.
There was nothing to say.
Some who had the fever were still being cared for by loved ones and friends. The farmer Tim and his wife Margie had taken in their dead neighbors' four children. Three of those children, as well as two of the couple's own, had the fever.
Martha was also ill. She was being cared for by her servants. A message had been sent immediately to the queen, but no reply had come yet.
Both of John's apprentices had fallen ill just that morning.
"Oh no," Elsie cried, putting a hand over her mouth. "The poor lads! What about John and Anna?"
"Anna's fine," Alfred reassured her. "John sent word for her to stay at home. He's well, but he wanted her to stay away from the village for now. He said he'll sleep at the forge, and try to care for the lads as best he can. He said he hates being away from Anna, of course, but he would rather she stay well than risk coming to Downton."
The tall apprentice knew he would never forget the look on the blacksmith's face. He had never known Master John to look afraid before.
He swallowed, thinking of Ivy's wide, frightened eyes; of the white strips of cloth tied to wooden staves in front of places where the fever raged, including Eala's temple.
It felt like Downton was being drowned in white.
And fear.
The haggard look on the priestess Violet's face as she warned him to stay out of the temple haunted him. But it was the smell that had drifted through the open door that he remembered. Of filth, of sweat, of a sickly odor that he couldn't place but he somehow knew was death.
"Alfred? Alfred!"
He roused himself when Daisy grabbed his arm. "Did you see Master Bill or Master Joseph?"
Sighing, he closed his eyes. "Yes, both of them. Master Bill has the fever," he said, and she groaned. "Master Joseph didn't want to let me in to see him, but I walked past him because I knew you'd want to know how he was."
Daisy hugged herself, her heart sinking. "How-how did he look?"
"Pale. Weak," he said as honestly as he could. "But he smiled and told me that you shouldn't worry about him. That he was well looked after."
"I am sure Joseph is doing the best he can." Charles put his arm around his daughter and kissed the top of her head. "Try not to worry, love."
She gave him a squeeze back, a small smile on her face warring with her furrowed brow. "I'm going to go tell May the news. She would want to know what's going on in Downton."
"Give her our regards," Charles said. He sent the lads back to their work.
Elsie stood with her hands on her waist. As the younger ones walked away, she watched her husband's shoulders slump. She came up behind him and wrapped her arms around him.
"By the gods," he muttered. He turned his head to look at her, and put his hand over hers that rested on his chest. "Sorry, I don't mean to be disrespectful."
"I know."
He was quiet for a while. A breeze rustled through the grass.
"It would be wrong of me to ask you to save our family and friends, as much as I want to. I know you cannot defy your uncle again. The risk is too great. For us." He sighed, and Elsie closed her eyes, feeling his heart beat beneath their hands. A soft sob reached her ears. She looked up, and saw him crying.
"Oh Charles," she whispered, catching his tears on her fingers. "There is no shame in wanting those we love to be protected from harm. Or to be afraid of what could happen. I only wish I could defy the God of the Underworld every time someone is in danger of dying."
He gulped, trying to gain control over his emotions. "I know. It's not just that…I have seen the fever rage before. I know what it can do. I worry about you."
"Me?" Her eyebrows went up. "Why? You know even if I had the fever at its worst, it would not finish me."
"I know." He curved his hand around her face, his thumb on her cheek. "But Elsie, before this is over I fear some of those we love will die. Do you know how that feels? What it is like?"
He assumed she had seen people die. Surely she knew something of the suffering of mortals.
But when it happens to those close to you, it is different.
He remembered all too well the pain when his grandfather and brother-in-law died of the fever. And the horror of his sister's death. She had been so vibrant and full of life, excited to see her unborn child. His mother, dying of grief after learning of his father's death. Alice's long struggle, and how hard she fought to stay alive for him and for their children.
He shoved away the thought of Elsie separated from their family and friends after they all had gone to Elysium. Now was not the time to dwell on that.
"I do know something of death, yes," she murmured. "Not in the same way as you do." She took a shaky breath. The thought of anyone she knew dying filled her with simultaneous horror and dread. "But I trust that if it comes – when it comes," she corrected herself, knowing it was true, "that you will help me bear it. As I will comfort you." They held each other for a while until both were calmer.
"I told Daisy to not worry," he joked, trying to lighten the mood. "But I cannot seem to take my own advice!"
"You hide your fears well around her," she kissed him on the lips. "And I think I've heard it said that an idle mind runs wild, while a busy one is concerned with the tasks at hand. Go," she gently patted him on the back. "Watch the flock. Train Nosi. You did say you were going to teach her to look after the sheep. Alfred's already started with Vyr."
"We can't have Alfred besting me," he said, sounding more like his usual self. He picked up his crook where it leaned on the well. "You need to sleep if you're going to watch the flocks tonight."
He gathered his animals from the hill and whistled for Freya and Nosi. In a patch of land just south of the meadow, he began to teach the puppy commands. How to gather the sheep together. How to walk behind them to guide them. She did well, though at times she grew distracted. Charles smiled at her chasing a squirrel before calling her back.
The animals had been moved to the meadow, and he was busy untangling a lamb from a hawthorn bush when he caught a glimpse of something out of the corner of his eye. He squinted, shading his eyes with his hand, at the figure making her way across an abandoned field of wildflowers.
Daisy.
He had seen her run before and knew how fast she could be. But now she ran a few short steps, then slowed down before speeding up again. Twice she stopped and bent over. By the time she got close enough for him to really see her, he realized what was wrong with her.
"Papa," she sobbed, tears pouring down her red, blotchy face. She threw herself into his arms.
"Is it May?" he asked, his heart pounding. "Does she have the fever?"
He was terribly afraid of her answer. Only one thing would make his daughter cry that badly.
"She-she's dead," she gasped, clutching his cloak. "And-and Master Drake, and Mistress Petunia-"
"All of them?" His voice cracked, his heart falling within him. And she went alone, and found a house full of the dead…
Daisy shook her head. "N-no," she stuttered. "Jacob's alive, but he's got the fever too. He was trying to bury his mother and his strength gave out. I found him crawling toward the house." She shuddered, fresh sobs pouring out of her, her voice rising in horror. "He's younger than Thomas, and his whole family is dead!"
Charles wasted no time. He whistled to Freya and told her to gather the sheep by the ash tree. He knew Elsie's dog would protect them.
"We have to tell your mother and the lads," he said as gently as he could, his arm hooked beneath Daisy's shoulders. His chest felt tight. Soon, very soon, he would give in to his own grief, but in the meantime he had to help his neighbors. Tears came to his eyes.
Neighbor. Jacob is the only one.
That poor lad.
Daisy nodded, but she could not stop crying. Her father picked her up as if she were a tiny child, and carried her to the house.
"I will go with you," Elsie said immediately when he told her what happened. Her face was white. "Never mind my rest, I have to help-"
"I need you to watch the flocks," Charles said. "Alfred is sleeping, and I need the other two to help bury Petunia."
"And I need to look after Jacob, if he is to live," she argued. "I won't have you, Daisy, going back there-"
"I want to," the girl said thickly. Her eyes were red-rimmed, but clear. She cleared her throat and stood up straighter. "I've known May all my life. I want to say goodbye. And Mother," she reached out and took Elsie's hand. "I don't want you getting the fever. I've had it before. It's not so bad."
Charles and Elsie held a silent conversation. It was true that the goddess would be fine, but Daisy could never know that. But what if their daughter became ill?
We have all likely been exposed to it already. Whether they know it or not, Elsie thought.
"All right," she said finally. "But Daisy, remember what I said – wash with clean water after you're finished there."
There was an eerie silence as the small group approached Drake's farm. Andy and Jimmy pulled their tunics over their noses at the sight of Petunia's body, half covered in dirt. Charles felt his belly twist. A brown buzzard inched near the corpse.
"Shoo!" Charles bellowed, chasing the bird away, hitting it with his crook. He went into the barn where the horses whinnied at him. Reminding himself that they needed to be fed before he left, he found several wooden shovels. "James, Andrew, bury Mistress Petunia as well as you can." He gave them to the lads and went with Daisy into the house.
It was dark, and there was a foul odor in the air. "Jacob?" Daisy called. Father and daughter breathed sighs of relief when they heard the young man answer, his voice weak. Daisy removed a blanket from the window so they could see. Sour milk was spilled on the floor, and several rats scattered from a half-eaten moldy loaf of bread.
"We will help you as soon as we carry your aunt outside," Charles told Jacob, touching his arm. The lad's skin was hot to the touch. Daisy opened a water skin to let him drink, but he was so weak Charles had to lift his head.
"It happened so fast," Jacob whispered. "Dad had the fever two days ago and was gone by sunset. By the next morning Mum was fading fast, and she died before midday. By then Aunt May couldn't move from her bed. I don't know-" he coughed. "-when she died. I just know when I got up today to see how she was, she was gone." He choked back a sob, a tear running down his face. "I tried to bury Mum. The gods know I tried-"
"And they know you are a good son," Charles said. He never thought much of Petunia, but he could hardly blame her son for missing her.
He opened the door further to let in more light. May lay on her sheepskin as though she was sleeping, but several flies crawled in her hair. Her eyes were still open.
They wrapped her in a blanket and carried her outside. Jimmy and Andy had finished burying Petunia next to her husband. Charles and Daisy helped them dig a hole for May, and in a short time, they were able to lay her gently in the ground.
Daisy sat down next to the three mounds of dirt. "I will say prayers for them," she said. "It's the least I can do." Her chin wobbled a little. Andy sat down next to her, wiping sweat from his forehead.
"James," Charles said quietly, "Go feed the horses. And give them fresh water, please."
The young blond man usually argued against any extra work, but he only picked up the other shovels and went to care for the animals. Charles knew he was thinking of his mother.
Both of the apprentices looked shattered.
He drew some water from the well and carried the bucket inside. Jacob was asleep, but he woke him anyway. Wetting a cloth, he bathed the lad's face, neck, arms and legs, then unwrapped some food Elsie had sent with him. Charles had to feed him one bite of bread at a time.
"I can never repay you for this, Master Shepherd," Jacob whispered. "Thank you for your kindness, to me and my family."
"Sleep," Charles said. "Someone will come and tend to you as soon as we can. I am leaving fresh water and some food for you. Try not to worry about anything else," he tucked a blanket around his shoulders. "And never mind about repaying anything. I know if it was my family in trouble, you would help us."
He had some hope. If Jacob had lived this long, there was a good chance he would make it.
He hoped.
Scrubbing the floor, he was glad of the breeze that carried some of the foulness in the stale air away.
The evening meal was a silent one. Elsie could hear every bite and swallow from the others. Charles forced himself to eat, knowing if he didn't he would be hungry long before morning. He had to choke down his fish.
Daisy ate hardly anything. She pushed the food around in her bowl, round and round.
Elsie felt terribly guilty she had given in to the girl's request.
I should have gone to Drake's. It was bad enough she saw them dead, then to say prayers over them!
But she also felt conflicted. Daisy had known the neighboring family since she was born, and May had been a guiding figure to her since Alice had died. Surely her daughter deserved the chance to say goodbye to her friend and neighbors.
Her head throbbed and her heart ached after Charles had told her of what they had found at the farm. Something told her he had seen worse.
Her husband cried himself to sleep in her arms.
On the hillside late that night, she stared up at the glimmering stars in the inky-black sky. How could there be such beauty, and such ugliness at the same time? How did mortals live with it?
She longed to talk with Sybil. The Goddess of Peace had an insight into death that she did not. And she longed to see Thomas and Edward, just to make sure they were all right. She hoped with all of her might that the lads had not caught the fever.
She shivered, despite it being a warm night. Death was a strange thing. Few of the gods understood it, and most chose not to think of it at all.
There had never been a reason for her to speak to her uncle Hades about it before.
How did he decide which mortals to bring to his dark realm? And why, and when?
Tom might know.
The thought of her merry son-in-law made her smile. He would likely tell her it was none of her concern, and pretend she was trying to get secrets out of him.
Andy came to watch the flock while it was still dark.
"I am surprised to see you this early," she whispered. Somehow at the deepest part of night, talking any louder seemed wrong.
He sat down beside her, wrapping his cloak around him. "I couldn't sleep."
"You worked hard," she stood up, patting his shoulder. "You'll tire yourself out if you don't rest."
"I'll be all right. Good night."
Elsie stood a moment, hesitating. He did not look in her direction, but stared blankly at the ground.
"Really, Mistress. I'll be all right."
You are not, she thought, but she knew she could not push him to talk.
"Well," her voice was light. "Good night, Andy."
Inside the house, a low fire burned in the hearth. Elsie set aside her cloak and was about to lay down next to Charles when she heard a low cry. She pushed aside the blanket that hung next to Daisy's bed. It was a recent addition, as Daisy wanted some privacy when she was home. Her parents had agreed.
The girl rolled over, her breathing loud, deep in slumber.
Elsie let out a breath.
Just a bad dream.
That is no surprise, after what she's seen.
Part of Daisy's blanket had moved when she rolled over. Elsie reached down to pull it over Daisy's shoulder, but she gasped when her hand brushed the girl's face, and she dropped it. She pressed the back of her hand to her head, just to be sure.
She scrambled across the room and shook Charles. He groaned, then sat up when she whispered his name frantically.
"What's wrong?" He mumbled.
"Daisy," she whispered, close to tears. "She has the fever."
