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After the Eye of the Sun fired, the inhabitants of the coast thought it would be the most interesting sight of the day. Bit by bit, the lull of the afternoon came back to set every piece to its routine — the farmer to his field, the Priest to his temple, and the fisherman to his boat.
Right on the cusp of evening, one of these boats pulled up on the shore. The men onboard strode on waist-deep water, waving their arms for help, even if he sea was calm and the day — blessed be Ansàrra — sunny.
“We have something to report to the Priests of Flame,” they said, in a hushed murmur. They looked worn out, tired and expended, as if they had spent hours arguing, out there in the open sea. One of them held his right hand clenched in a fist, like in a rictus.
By the time they had secured the boat, a small crowd of curious bystanders had followed them at the Temple. One of the Priests, a woman, welcomed the two fishermen with a hand held up high.
“You won’t be able to enter the Temple right now. The inner chamber needs to cool down after using the Eye of the Sun. Please come back by morning.”
“It’s not about that,” cried out the mariner to the right. “Show her.”
And nobody could see behind the veil covering the priestess’ face, but they all heard the crease in her voice.
“One of the Knights we escorted on the ship,” said the other, holding out his clenched hand. “Did you see her hair?”
“Hair? No, wait — there was one wearing a hood.”
“She was wearing a hood because her hair was silver!” The mariner shouted, and a great shiver ran through the crowd, as they started to share hushed murmurs like a great cloud of roused bees. “And she was not old— she was as young as my daughter, and her hair was the colour of the Adversary!”
“And yet the noble told me she was considered blessed…” the Priest held a finger to the fabric covering her lips. “These are just hollow accusations. Do you have anything to base them on, besides the ravings of two heads cooked by the sun and sea?”
And the two shared a look, a nod — and the one with the clenched hand finally opened it, revealing — shiny like a glistening strand of spidersilk — a long hair as bright as the purest silver.
[cont.]
uh oh. 