I smiled my thanks at her before turning back to Carolan. “Well, what do we need to do?”

“The first step is to quarantine the sick.”

“And everything they use,” I added. “And their families.”

Yes.” He nodded in agreement. “I think it would be wise to limit contact with the sick to my assistants, and, perhaps, a few healthy volunteers, probably family members of those who have already been exposed to the disease. Then I must look through my records to see if I can find references to this disease.” He glanced sadly back at the room that was already filled with sick people. “The only thing we can do is make them comfortable and attempt to keep them filled with liquids.”

“Boil the water first, before they drink it.” Sounded like a good thought. They sure didn’t need wine, and I had no way of knowing how clean the water supply was—I hadn’t gotten sick yet, but I hadn’t been drinking much of my water straight (I prefer my water in wine form). “You should also make sure that the dirty linens are kept quarantined from the rest of the temple, and they need to be washed in boiling water, with lots of harsh soap.”

“Boiling water cleanses the evil from contagion.” He sounded pleased.

However he wanted to put it was okay with me; I was just happy he agreed.

“Yeah, as well as most germs.”

Carolan raised his eyebrows at me, but he didn’t argue or ask for an explanation.

“I am concerned about the origin of this outbreak. It would serve an ill purpose to have our warriors become sick as they are moving into position to entrap the Fomorians. If this pox originated at the Temple of the Muse, the warriors must stay away from that area.”

“Wait, you’re right about that, but—now, correct me if I’m wrong—I don’t think I’ve ever heard of horses coming down with a pox. Have you?” My mind was whirring like a hamster in a wheel.

“No…” Carolan was rubbing his chin again. “I can think of no instance of a horse pox.”

“How about a centaur pox?” I asked.

“Your husband would be more knowledgeable than I, but I do not believe I know of any such pox that has ever infected the centaurs.”

“Good.” I felt a load lift from me. “Then we’ll just be sure we have only centaur warriors go through the Temple of the Muse to attack Laragon from the east.”

“That would be wise, but we still must be certain we contain this outbreak.”

“Okay. Let’s get busy.” If I thought too long about what I was going to volunteer to do, I’d run screaming out of the room. This was one of the times it was better to act than to think.

“Love,” Carolan spoke softly to Alanna, “you cannot aid us here. I will not have you put in danger of contagion.”

“But you are exposing yourself.” She moved close to him and his arms went around her.

“I must.” He kissed her forehead. “You know I must. But I cannot do what needs to be done here if I am worried about your safety. You can help me by sending for my assistants, and then going to the kitchen to oversee the boiling of water and making of herbal tea.”

“And I need you to make sure the women are doing what they should be doing,” I added. “I’m sure Maraid is dependable, but she’s not you. And you have to round up the families of those infected, and keep your eye out for people who might be just coming down with the sickness.”

I heard Alanna’s sigh as she gave in. And I knew she would—her sense of responsibility and integrity would never allow her to be selfish or childish. It wasn’t in her nature to insist she stay here with Carolan. Alanna and Suzanna were women who put the needs of others before their own desires.

Not for the first time, I wished I could be more like them.

She kissed her new husband on the lips and I heard their whispered adoration for each other. Then she turned to me and gave me a hard hug.

“Keep watch over him for me.” She yanked one of my loose curls, reminding me of my own husband. “And keep watch on yourself, too.”

“Not a problem. Oh, and would you find ClanFintan and explain to him what’s happened? And ask him if he would come here when he has finished with the warriors.”

Alanna nodded and said, “I will see you this evening. I love you both.” She left quickly, as if she had to force her legs to start moving before her heart could order them to stop.

Neither of us said anything; we just watched her leave. Her quiet dignity touched our hearts.

“Okay…” I clapped my hands together, purposely breaking the moment before either of us did something ridiculous like start bawling. “Give me something to tie back this friggin hair with, and I’m yours to command. Just tell me what we need to do.”

“First, let us begin by arranging the patients in areas of most to least ill. Then we can get these linens and pallets changed and cleaned. And we must try and keep the patients hydrated and comfortable.” He pointed to a pile of what looked like clean strips of cloth. “And there is something you can use on your untamable hair.”

“Aye! Aye!” I saluted his back as I grabbed the makeshift scrunchie and followed him out into the room. “Hey, is it okay for me to crack open these windows? It’s nice outside and nasty in here.”

Carolan gave me a “yes” nod and I hurried to pull open the huge windows. Outside, the warm breeze held the heady scent of honeysuckle in bloom. I tried not to retch as the sweet smell mixed with vomit and disease.

I could already tell this was going to be a really long day.

3

While I was going to college I worked part-time as a unit secretary for a large Catholic hospital near the campus of the University of Illinois. As a rule, unit secretaries don’t do much dirty work. They’re just what the name implies—a secretary for a nursing unit. I usually worked on a general-medicine floor. For a while I worked on the birthing unit (which was pretty cool). There were two major things I learned from my part-time-helping-to-put-myself-through-college job. Number one was I didn’t particularly like being a secretary. People were just too damn stuck up and they didn’t think secretaries knew anything, when usually a good secretary knew just about everything—or at least everything that was important. Lesson number two was that I absolutely never, ever wanted to be a nurse. Don’t get me wrong, I liked them. I respected them. I appreciated them. I just didn’t want to be them. Blood, feces, vomit, sputum, looking at people’s private parts (which were usually anything but attractive) and sticking things into bodily orifices while being surrounded by sickness and yuck—nope, it wasn’t for me.

My thoughts drifted back to what my college experience had taught me as I held the head of woman number six who, in the last few moments, had felt the compelling need to retch violently into what looked like a chamber pot straight out of Oliver Twist. Ugh.

In the ten years since I graduated from college I have changed my opinions and tastes about many things, but this is one thing that I hadn’t changed my opinion on one bit.

I am not, nor will I ever be, cut out to be a nurse. Period.

After she had finished puking, I wiped the woman’s face, surprised to notice under the layer of perspiration and sickness that she was young, probably only a teenager.

“Better?” I asked gently.

“Yes, my Lady.” Her voice was weak, but her lips fluttered up in a smile. “Your touch is so nice and cool.”

I helped her lie back, and brushed the hair from her damp forehead.

“Would you bless me, my Lady?” Her feeble-sounding question caught at my heart, as it had every time one of these people asked for my blessing.

As I had done so many times already that day that I had lost count, I bowed my head, closed my eyes and prayed, “Epona, please watch over and comfort this girl.”

Then I opened my eyes and smiled at her. “I’ll come back and check on you later,” I promised for what seemed like the zillionth time.

My feet dragged as I walked over to one of the pitchers that Carolan’s assistants kept filled with clean, hot water. I held out my hands and one of them poured water for me to wash with, and another dripped soap from a bottle into my chapped palms. As I rubbed my hands together I caught sight of Carolan making his way purposefully from one bed to another. His movements were steady and sure. He seemed inexhaustible.

After drying my hands I took a moment to stretch my back and roll my head around to try and loosen my tense neck muscles. Damn, my shoulders were killing me. I heard a weak voice call my name, and automatically I replied with an “I’ll be right there.” But I couldn’t seem to make my body move. My stomach growled and I wondered how long it had been since two of Carolan’s assistants had delivered to us a lunch of cheese, bread and cold meat. The cheese had been cut into hearts and Carolan and I had laughed aloud at Alanna’s gift to him.

Now I marveled at the fact that I had been able to laugh. Exhaustion tugged at me—and not just simple bodily exhaustion. I was overwhelmed. Here I was, trying to comfort people who were seriously ill. Me—an English teacher from Oklahoma. And they believed in me. They even wanted me to bless them.

Tell them stories, yes. Recite poetry to them, yes. Even explicate the symbolic meaning of Coleridge’s most obscure and bizarre writings, yes.

But be a goddess or a priestess, no.

I felt helpless, inept and uncharacteristically close to tears.

“Goddess,” a weak voice beckoned from the far side of the room.

“My Lady,” I heard Tarah calling from the part of the room where we had grouped the cases of medium severity.

“Lady Rhiannon,” another voice, a child’s, from the area of the most seriously ill.

I drew myself up, pushed strands of hair back into my makeshift ponytail and tried to collect myself, both mentally and physically. It was horrible. It was like being in a classroom filled with sick teenagers who were all begging for me to help them complete a page of complex algebraic equations. And I can’t do friggin algebra.

As I moved slowly toward the most ill of the voices calling me, I realized that was exactly it. They were like my students. And I needed to quit feeling sorry for myself and do what needed to be done.

So I didn’t like being a nurse.

The bottom line was I couldn’t get this horrible disease.

They were mine. I was responsible for them. In locoparentis was more than just an abstract term. It transcended worlds. And I needed to suck it up, quit whining and do my job. (Actually, one bright spot was the pay. I was pretty sure I made more in this world as a Goddess Incarnate than I did in Oklahoma as a schoolteacher. I mean, who doesn’t? I could look at it like it was kind of a promotion. And it certainly wasn’t as bad as being “promoted” to a position in administration.)

“What it is, sweetie?” I took a beaker of water that was sitting on a nearby stand and helped the child to take a sip. Her lips were cracked. Horrible pus-filled blisters covered her face, neck and arms. As she opened her mouth to try and drink, I saw red sores all over her tongue.

The water dribbled uselessly down her chin, and I wiped it up with the end of her sheet.

“Is Epona wonderful to ride?” Her young voice was raspy, as if she had been smoking for twenty years.

“Yes, honey.” I carefully dabbed her face with a damp cloth one of the assistants handed me. “Her gait is so smooth it’s like riding the wind.”

“Is it true she talks to you?” Her eyes, already bright with fever, captured mine. I recognized the fervor of a true horse lover.

“I think she does. She’s very smart, you know.”

The sick girl nodded weakly.

“What is your name, sweetheart?”

“Kristianna,” she whispered.

“I’ll make a deal with you, Kristianna.” Her eyes never left my own. “You get well, and I’ll take you to have a talk with her. Perhaps she will even tell you she’d like to take you for a ride.”

I was almost sorry I’d made the offer, because immediately she began trying to sit up.

“Hey! That means you have to rest and concentrate on getting well.”

The child settled back into the soiled linens with a sigh.

“Goddess,” she asked wistfully, “do you think she might really want to talk to me?”

Something within me whispered the words I spoke aloud. “Epona is always looking for young ones who are willing to hear her voice.”

“I want to hear her…” The child’s voice trailed off as sleep, or unconsciousness, overtook her.

I put the cloth down and looked sadly at her swollen face. “I hope you do, honey,” I whispered.

I felt the presence of heat encompass me from behind before I heard him say my name.

“Rhea?”

I turned and almost ran into ClanFintan’s muscular chest.

“Oh, hi.” I was acutely aware of how I looked. Something like the friggin redheaded stepsister of Medusa. And he looked strong and handsome and wonderful. As usual.

“We missed you at the warriors’ meeting.” His voice was like warm molasses pouring over my sore body.

“I’m sorry,” I said, trying frantically to retie my hair into some semblance of propriety. But as I glanced down I noticed the vomit stains covering most of the front of my dress, so I gave up.

“I hope you explained to them why I was, uh, detained.”

“Yes, they understood and commended your sense of responsibility to the people.” ClanFintan had taken me by the arm and was propelling me toward the door as he spoke. I saw Carolan nod at him as he wrenched open the door and we emerged into what I realized with surprise was the waning light of the late afternoon sun as it peered sluggishly through the beveled glass of the hallway.