Smoke stirred Niamh’s nose until her other senses caught up. Groggy light—the rising sun through the crowded window’s glass fluttered her eyelids. The crawling of murmured voices danced in her ears. She slowly sat up on her pillows and saw her sisters of the Grey clustering about the windows once more.
For a disconcerting moment, she thought it was the day the raiders had first come to Saanazar all over again. Continue reading Niamh 9
Niamh awoke as she had for weeks—to the vague smell of smoke and the grim reminder of what lay beyond the windows at the end of the dormitory. She rubbed her eyes sleepily and pushed herself and her meagre pillow up against the headboard, before noticing that a small bowl of water sat atop her trunk at the foot of the mattress. Continue reading Niamh 8
For many days, Niamh and her friends wrestled with the contents of Roithe’s box. The Green Eye could be watching them still—Niamh felt its unsettling gaze whenever she went out from the Temple grounds into the streets of the city. Niamh spent her mornings in prayer or choir, her afternoons spreading Atmos’ will, and her evenings enjoying the company of either Myla or her Temple friends. Tib couldn’t believe the things they told her, while Gellek came around more quickly. All involved were sworn to secrecy for the time being—time that continued to drag by slowly, day after day.
Then the pirate fleets arrived. Continue reading Niamh 7
Niamh grew more comfortable with their occasional visits to the harbour neighborhoods of Saanazar, but she never got used to wearing common clothes instead of her grey. It felt too much like deceit. She only attended Anthin’s investigations because he continued asking if Miril and Niamh would help him. She liked being helpful, but she didn’t like lying to the locals, even if they weren’t the good locals to whom she was accustomed. Continue reading Niamh 6
As the sun reached its zenith, the sermon at the Temple was concluded and the priests gathered to sing another hymn to the congregation. Niamh enjoyed the singing, and figured she was rather good at it, too. She also loved mornings like this one, seeing the faithful citizens of the city come to the Temple to learn and worship. Her work for the Reformer’s Creed often took her to those in need and those whose faith had been shaken—it was refreshing to see those who had found their way. Continue reading Niamh 5
It was a cloudy day over Saanazar, but the rain never came. Glad to relax with her friends—off her feet—Niamh sat on the Temple green and finished a generous slice of rye bread. It had been a couple of weeks since the robbery of the carved lockbox—a long, emotional, and fruitless couple of weeks. To everyone’s horror, two bodies had turned up in the basement of the house on Calinar Road. Long dead, they had been assumed to be the actual relatives of Archpriest Roithe. Continue reading Niamh 4
After praying for the poor families in the neighborhood of Veln Borough, Niamh and her kin followed the road out and climbed Red Maraz Hill. A group of children, familiar with the comings and goings of the Atmos Septi, started kicking their lamb stomach around the group, whooping and cheering whenever one of the priests or priestesses kicked it back. Niamh put the sadness she had experienced conversing with that widow behind her—as well as the mystery of the strange box carried by their senior priest, Tolleo—and smiled as she returned the ball to the children, while hiking up her grey skirts to run about the street with them. For a few moments, she and Miril played keep-away with them—and fairly successfully—before they left the vicinity the group called home, and the children branched off to play their game without the well-meaning clergy. Continue reading Niamh 3
When her responsibilities next permitted her to take a day to herself, Niamh once more set out across the city toward Myla’s chapel. Sometimes she spent all day helping her motherly friend in the garden—but today she took a detour. That strange note had been weighing on her. Continue reading Niamh 2
The Archpriest’s voice echoed through the long sanctuary, full of strength and certainty. Head bowed to regard the dark, red and orange pillow beneath her knees, Niamh committed each word to her prayer. “Hallowed be his heavens, holy be his people,” intoned their young, dark-haired leader, and Niamh repeated the benediction aloud. Her voice was joined by two hundred others—a chorus praising their celestial guide, their Atmos. The familiarity of this practice stirred Niamh as much as her sense of their heavenly deity. Continue reading Niamh 1