Fever in the Hills

The famine had been going on for almost two years now, and Ballina, like most other Irish cities, had been hit hard. "Even those who might have once been considered rich were going to bed hungry some nights," Breena thought to herself. Her mind travelled back to this morning, watching her mother count out shillings and pennies that had been found in ditches by the side of the road.

People were starving in the streets, children younger than Breena's eight-year-old sister begging for table scraps. Breena wondered what had angered the faeries enough to make them suffer like this.

"Poor things," Breena thought, "Neither the crown nor the faeries will do anything to help us." People were dying, and the big English cities simply couldn't be bothered to care. Breena felt a tug on her sleeve, and looked down to see her sister. "What is it?" She asked.

"They look hungry," Farran said, looking at the starving people nervously. She was right. Even the best-fed among those who wandered the streets had a ravenous look in their eyes. Breena chewed her lip and averted her eyes. Her arm involuntarily tightened around the groceries that their mother had sent them to get.

"We should head home," Breena said, "we need to make it to the hill by dusk." It was far from dusk, both Breena and Farran knew it, but it would be dangerous to stay longer. During hard times like this, even the faeries were kinder than most people. Breena led her sister out of town and onto the rough path, stepping over the spot where the cobblestones gave way to dirt. Their horse was a skinny, pitiful thing by now, and their mother hadn't wanted to deplete its energy by riding into town, so they had walked. The real wolves had been gone for a long time, but from time to time you could still hear a sort of howling in the fairy woods only. Not the normal forests, just the fairy woods. Breena heard them now, screaming like babies. She reached for Farran's hand and gave it a squeeze. Farran looked up at her, her eyes unafraid.

"I'm not scared." Farran said.

"Of course not," Breena said, her voice an octave higher than it usually was. As they walked past the fairy woods, Breena was very careful not to step off the path. The air smelled wet. "It'll rain soon."

"Who cares?" Farran said.

"Maybe something will grow,"

"It won't. You know it won't."

The sun was beginning its daily descent when Breena saw Soup and Tag, her father's watchdogs. They were surveying the barren fields, as they usually did around this time, and she knew that they had made it back in time. Farran rushed ahead and stormed into the house. Breena entered soon after to see Farran arguing with their mother, stomping her small feet in frustration. She didn't even manage to attract the attention of Soup, who remained dozing by her mother's feet. Almost as soon as Breena came into the house, Farran fled, her brown pigtails bouncing off her shoulders as she walked. Their mother rolled her eyes. "What's she so worked up over?" Breena asked.

"She's just at a disagreeable age," her mother said, "you were like that too, you know. Can you take one of those to the fairy hill for me? Do what we talked about?" She asked, pointing to the coop of chickens that Tag was guarding. Breena looked out the window. It would be some time before dark, so she nodded and went to the coop. It took her almost seven minutes to catch one of the chickens, but finally she emerged, her clothes dusted with discarded down feathers, with a clucking white hen. Breena fetched an iron knife from the kitchen and began up the path, walking towards the fairy woods. She heard the soft chime of the bells on Tag's collar, higher in pitch than those on Soup's, and knew he was following her. She turned around and found him only a few meters behind her. Tag looked down his long nose at her.