Ephemeral and Fleeting

“What are their symptoms?”

“Just coughs and low fevers for some, and nausea, for others.”

“Can’t someone just . . . you know—heal them?”

Lucy chuckled. “I suppose it’s possible, Adele, but there are so many of them, and frankly, we need the energies of the Oathtakers elsewhere just now.” She paused, cocking her head. “Also, I’ve found that people who’re allowed some sickness when they are young seem better able to resist illnesses as they grow older. And considering that a healer is not always present, I prefer to err on the side of letting nature take its course.”

“That’s interesting.”

“Yes. In any case, I’ve told Erin not to watch Nina or Velia’s children until she’s well again. I’d hate to see them catch something—not to mention the twins. Imagine having gone through all we have, only to end up with the two of them sick—or worse—and at a time like this when we’ve need of them performing at their peak. Still, taking the children along meant that Vida would join us.”

She stopped suddenly, her lips pursed, thinking. Then, “Adele,” she said, “why don’t you make up a large batch of catswort tea? Perhaps we can nip this illness in the bud.”

She turned and walked to a window overlooking the back yard, motioning with a wave of her hand for Adele to follow.

“I saw some old sage plants and rosemary bushes just . . . there,” she said, pointing. “Fortunately, the temperature hasn’t dropped low enough here to freeze them out just yet. So we should prepare some for smudging in each of the rooms.” She glanced back at Adele. “Do you know how to do that?”

“Sure. I’ll just tie up together, sprigs of them, put a bundle in a bowl in each room, and then light them all.”

“Perfect.”