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.
“Miril!” she screeched, waking her friend in a start. “They brought wash-water!”
What had been a mundanity for most of Niamh’s life had now become a luxury. It was already lukewarm—the priestesses of Cardinal Creed must have come through a while earlier—but Niamh eagerly wrung a rag in it and rubbed furiously wherever sweat had collected these last several days. Miril was matching her movements with only a second’s groggy delay.
“They must have brought some in yesterday, when the guards went out,” Miril murmured, before draping her washcloth over her entire face.
Niamh checked that the water from her wash bowl hadn’t dripped through the lid of her trunk. Her latest letter from Myla was safe, thankfully. Brought by the guards who had risked scouting the streets beyond the Temple grounds, the letter contained bittersweet news from Niamh’s maternal priestess. Myla’s chapel had been looted by the enemy, but Myla had survived with a couple broken ribs and a minor gash. She was resting a lot now, but the chapel was safer than it had been before. Nothing of value to the invaders remained.
The morning surprise went a long way to improving their spirits, which had been sunken deep ever since the second pirate fleet had arrived in their city’s sacked harbour. The guards had first raised a cheer that it was—at long last—their saviours. Morale had been dashed when the new fleet had merged with the remnant of the first group of invaders. Raiders pillaged the streets and terrorized the townsfolk daily now, but the city was vast, and many neighborhoods were protected by their own barricades—or had absconded already.
Washed and fed with a small ration, Niamh and Miril milled about the crowded courtyard as they had the days before, save for their mood. Today they were eager to help. The Temple green was now home to a hundred tents and the beginnings of small wooden structures. Permanence and rain shelter were a priority. On the coast of Radregar, tropical rain soaked the forests daily.
The Creeds that were not traditionally suited for physical tasks were allowed to help with such things in shifts. The last few days had seen Niamh and her Reformer’s Creed friends praying with their refugee guests or singing hymns in the Temple sanctuaries. Today, though, they were helping with the work.
Despite the wash, Niamh was relieved when a bell rang across the Temple grounds—the kitchens were serving lunch now. Rations were smaller than the meals they had eaten before the attack on the city had begun, but they were not so small Niamh struggled to fill her stomach. Today was no different—she waited for her meal in a line composed of grey robes and mismatched tunics.
According to the Archpriest Tobud’s last address, the Militant Creed suspected that the pirate fleet did not contain nearly enough adversaries and resources to properly lay siege to the city. Hunters and smugglers still snuck provisions through the unattended gates.
For the celebration of the New Year, the kitchen staff had prepared a number of small but delicious treats—another moment of high morale among the ranks of priests.
Niamh got her food on a small wooden plate—a salted bun, a slice of ham, and a small mash of vegetables—and hurried out of the noisy, cramped great hall. Her friends and she had found a spot along the north length of the outer wall where they could have some peace and quiet to socialize and eat.
By the time Niamh reached her friends, it seemed they had somehow launched into a secretive debate. “I’m just saying,” Gellek was emphatically explaining, “that if there’s someone among the Brethren who wants to help the invaders, the Speaker needs to know! They could do a lot of damage.”
Tib—the other that had been brought in on the secret, instead of learning it firsthand with Niamh—joined Gellek’s plight. “They could even just open the gates and let the raiders in!”
Miril, who had been just ahead of Niamh, hadn’t touched her food yet. “But nothing we found in the box implies that an insider even exists!”
“Who do you trust to tell?” Niamh asked, glancing at Tib as she sat down. Then she looked down at her plate, uncomfortably.
“We’re all crammed in here like fish in a net, right now,” Gellek said. “We don’t have to go up the chain of command when we see them walking past all the time. Let’s go right to the Archpriests. Or to the Speaker himself!”
Miril shook her head. “Other Archpriests could be wrapped up in this, too,” she reminded them. “We don’t know how high it goes. Maybe this is just…just how the Atmos Septi operate.”
Niamh wanted to refute such an offensive suggestion, but realized she couldn’t.
“Well, it shouldn’t be,” Tib muttered, sullenly.
“What if the Archpriests don’t trust us?” Niamh asked. “We’ve been ‘sneaking’ around with this, and we’ve held onto these secrets for weeks.”
Even Gellek sighed at that. For a moment, no one had anything to say. Niamh nibbled the edge of her small bun, while Miril pulled a piece of her ham off with her fingers and popped it between her lips.
“Have you discussed this with Anthin?” Niamh asked, glancing at Gellek.
Gellek shifted his head to the side. “No, I just brought it up now,” he replied. “I just…there could be a traitor within these walls. But you’re right—if it’s another Archpriest, they will have no trouble making us look worse.” He scowled and took a sip from his canteen.
“We should talk to him about this. We can’t make decisions without each other—we’re in this together.” Niamh smiled to Miril.
Miril returned it, before pushing herself to her feet, plate and all. “Let’s get him then.”
The group of friends dispersed to find Anthin, agreeing to meet back at their usual place in a quarter hour. When they finally rejoined, most were done eating. Anthin sat down on the stone retaining wall that ran between the sloping edge of the Green and the tall ramparts that protected it. “What’s this about?” he asked.
Niamh looked to Gellek to answer, and he did: “I think we need to come forward with the box,” he said, quietly, “but we don’t all agree. It’s just too dangerous to not know the allegiances of those with influence over these grounds.”
For another few moments, the group was silent. Anthin mulled the options quietly, then shook his head sternly. “Even if someone inside these walls was on the side of the bandit armies beyond, they wouldn’t dare open those gates. If bloodthirsty raiders get through, there’s no way the traitor is any safer than the rest of us.”
Quietly, Niamh breathed, “I have a bad feeling about telling people about the box.”
“In what way?” Miril asked. “That something bad will happen to us?”
“Yes—if we give it to the wrong person, it’s going to put us even more at danger. Danger inside the Temple, danger outside the Temple—I just won’t feel safe,” Niamh explained. “Or is fear clouding my judgement?”
Fear, according to Atmos, did not lead to healing, but to harm.
“I don’t know,” Tib said, her face showing a similar conflict. “I don’t feel safe now.”
Niamh nodded.
Anthin reasserted his point. “Will you feel safe if we tell everyone in these walls that we have uncovered a secret about the Archpriests?”
Tib looked down, shaking her head.
Niamh sighed. “Maybe all of us can spend time watching an Archpriest of our choice? I don’t like the idea of spying but…maybe, in a couple weeks, we’ll have an idea of who we can trust and who we can’t?” she suggested.
“It’s not a bad idea,” Anthin said, nodding. “Even if we decide it’s too dangerous to try pursuing this during the attack on our city, we should have at least an idea of who could be involved in this and do something about it when peace is restored.”
Gellek pursed his lips, then bowed his head. “I can get on board with that. If someone does try opening the gate, maybe we’ll spot them and can stop them.”
Niamh took a deep breath, pleased she could help them come to an accord. She took a sip of her water ration. Her life seemed unrecognizable from the life she had lived around the last New Year celebration—but the people she trusted the most had remained more or less the same.
They began discussing who would watch which Archpriest, before the bell rang signalling lunch hour was over.