Chapter one: Sundas Service
3E 425
The Mid-year sun blazed high and proud above the city of Kvatch. Foxglove and dragon's tongue flourished in the castle gardens thanks to the previous week's heavy rain. The beech trees swayed softly softly, flushed with deep verdant hues, as a cool wind drifted over the city walls from the west and rustled through the leaves of the trees lining the cobble stone path to the market place. Nimileth sat on a shaded stone bench beneath them to catch the breeze and dab the sweat from her forehead as she watched the towns-people bustle by. It was a rather unextraordinary afternoon, busy and noisy as it always was when the villagers came to the Middas market.
The young Bosmer sat in content silence, the corners of her mouth turned up into the smallest grin. She closed her eyes. The incoherent chatter, the crunch of feet against the dirt, the jingling septims of coinpurses and exchanges made. She imagined the market place of the Imperial City sounded much the same, but somehow more luxurious of course. It was the capital afterall. Who would she be among the busy city-dwellers? A fruit vendor, a pick-pocket, or just another blurred face in the crowd of shoppers? She opened her eyes and gazed at the sea of people. The poor street-vendors without canopies over their stalls had burned pink from the sun bearing down on them. At least no one was selling any fish today.
The mistress had sent the young maid into town hours ago with a simple task: Take 50 gold and bring back vegetables for the evenings shepards pie and flowers for the vases in the castle's dining room. A simple task it may seem, Nimileth took her sweet time wandering through through the marketplace, her basket over flowing with lavender sprigs and carrots. When she wasn't distracted by the blue-winged butterflies dancing in the warm summer air and speckled mushroom caps shooting out from the cracks of stone beneath her feet, she oohed and ahed over the glittering trinkets and baubles that she would never be able to afford on a castle maid's salary.
Thankful for the refreshing breeze, Nimileth tied her wild orange hair up in a loose bun at the top of her head and rose to her feet. The mistress would be furious, no doubt, but it was these few extra hours wandering outside in the open air that made her time cooped up in the castle bearable. Although the strolling through Kvatch was far from her dreams of the white-walkways in Imperial City, it sure as oblivion beat the bare, musty servants quarters of the Castle Kvatch. She walked slowly, admiring the flowers of the morning glories creeping their way up the sides of the houses and the grass growing in patches along the street. Winter would come soon enough in a town as bland as Kvatch, and once again everything would become ash-grey, dead, and cold to match her sentiments.
Finally, she had come to the main plaza and drawbridge leading to the Castle courtyard. She looked around for No-shoe Neville, an old beggar who loitered about near the bridge on Midas to escape the bustle of the marketplace. Whenever she had left-over coin, Nimileth offered It to the poor man and in return, he would pick throught the towns-peoples gardens for pretty flowers or animal bones. She liked both equally as much. A loud snicker drew her attention to the right, where she saw No-shoe Neville sat huddled against the plaza wall with his eyes squeezed shut as a rail-thin boy with messy blonde hair stood above him laughing. Nimileth ground her teeth as the scene unplayed before her. In one hand, the boy held the handle of a metal pail and in the other, a ladle which he used repeatedly to dump water over the beggar's body. She looked around at the other men and women walking by. Why was no one stepping in to help the old man? Could no one else see the cruel torment in front of them? Did no one else care? Nimileth felt her stomach burn with more hatred than should exist in a nine-year-olds body and marched herself up to the two with a furious glare.
The young adolescent boy, not more than three years older than her with a thin fuzz of a mustache, looked her up and down and then, finding her presence quite unalarming, proceeded to dump another ladle onto the beggar. He was swimming in a blue cotton shirt that was two sizes too large for him. His skin was oily, marred by acne scars and little red bumps
"What in Oblivion is wrong with you?" NImileth shrieked and swatted the ladle out of the boy's hands. She reached around him to knock the bucket out of his grip but he held out his arm to fend her off.
"Me? This man needs a bath, look at him," the boy laughed. "I'm just trying to help him cool down.
With her brow furrowed into a heavy glare, Nimileth pulled out an ear of corn from her basket and began swatting the boy on the shoulder as forcefully as her tiny arms would allow.
They boy laughed… at first, but when it became apparent that the girl was not letting up even when beads of sweat began to form at her temples, his smile slowly faded to a series of sharp winces.
"Ow-crazy elf! I'm not touching you, stop!" He cried with a cracking voice.
"I will show you mercy this time," she said, tucking what was left of the corn back into the basket of vegetables and flower as though sheathing a blade. "but I swear to the Nine, touch that man again and I'll kill you."
"Hmph," he grunted.
Nimileth looked around for Neville, but the beggar must have scurried off during the corn-beating. She curled her lip at the boy and turned to leave but paused when he called out after her.
"You woudn't do it. You're one of those chapel-going girls with ribbons in their hair and scared of dirt."
She lunged forward on one foot. The boy instinctively brought his pail up to his chest to shield himself, spilling the water onto the dirt below.
"Scared?" she mocked and raised a carrot threateningly into the air.
"Well, I bet you've never even killed a chicken before," the boy replied crossing his arms over his chest.
Nimileth rolled her eyes
"I have too killed a chicken. Killed one two days ago for lunch even. And why are you following me to chapel?"
"Ma and Pa make me go with them on Sundas. You're always there praying and giving alms like all the other brain-washed fools. The poors gotta help themselves. You're not doing them any good with a handout."
What a load of rubbish, she thought to herself. The beggars knew her well for her kindness. It may not be the most legal way of helping, stealing food from the castle larders after feasts to bring to them and fencing off a diamond ring or two, but if she didn't, who would? This boy, with his father's comfy cotton shirt and tight coin purse never had to live on the street. Sometimes a bit of bread and coin for a strong drink was the difference between making it through the night and giving up.
"Every little bit helps," she replied.
"How are you going to help them beggars when you can't even help yourself? Are you going to be a maid for the rest of your life and give all your leftovers to the poor?"
"Better than you who sits there picking your nose."
"Better than you who has no friends."
Nimileth scowled.
"You don't have any friends."
The boy kicked a rock into the small puddle that had formed at his feet. He brushed the sandy-blonde hair out of his eyes and squinted at the small Bosmer.
"Maybe, but at least I have parents."
Nimileth eyes grew wide and she stared blankely at the boy with her nostrils flaring. After ten seconds, she placed the carrot back into her basket and shrugged her shoulders.
"I'm wasting my breath talking to you. You're too stupid to understand."
Just as she turned, the boy reached out a leg and stepped on the edge of her dress, causing Nim to fall forward to her knees. The flowers in her basket tumbled out onto the dirt. She scooped them up as quickly as she could, but already the market-goers that had arrived, drawn by the commotion and shrieks, were stomping their muddy boots and pressing them flat against the ground. With a loud grunt Nim whipped around and lunged at the boy, gripping him boy the throat and pressing all her weight against him so forcefully that he fell over backward into the puddle of mud. She held him there with her knee pressed into his chest, watching in a mix of awe and violent satisfaction as he squirmed beneath her. The sleeves of her once cream-colored blouse were completely brown as he thrashed her about sending mud flying all around them. The boy managed to pry one of her hands off of his throat, and after the initial shock of being knocked down had warn off, he tried to sit up. This further enraged the young elf, and taking her now free hand, she slammed her palm in to the boys face, once more sending him down into the mud.
"Ah, to be young and in love," came the croaked voice of an old woman watching nearby.
Nimileth looked up in horror to find a crowd had formed around the mud puddle. Fast as she could, she picked up her basket and ran for the nearest alleyway to escape the surrounding horde, leaving behind the mud-cloaked boy and shattered bottles of ground spices.
In the castle's servant quarters, an investigation was well underway. It was the fifth time in three months that the Countess complained of a run-away locket. Prior searches of the maids rooms had yielded fruitless results. Whoever made off with the jewelry had either hidden their stash outside their quarters or didn't work as part of the help or so it was believed for many weeks until an anonymous source had provided a new bit of detail which re-opened the investigation.
See, the guards had been tipped off that a small orange-haired bosmer had been dropping gold rings and 20-piece septims into the tins of old beggars on the outskirts of town. The informant claimed she saw the young girl drop a few sparkling rings into the hands of a shady man in exchange for coinpurse before strolling toward the castle drawbridge, stopping only to give a few coins to that No-Shoe beggar. No guard had seen such an event transpire, and the captain shrugged off the warning until this morning when the Count's youngest son had reported his decorative cuffs and rings mysteriously went missing in the night. Hearsay wasn't enough to warrant an arrest, not that anyone would question it. Few cared if orphaned servant-girls went missing, and the castle had no shortage of help.
So, the guards set out for the servants quarters in the afternoon, turning over rugs and paintings, chests and drawers. Beneath one of the beds, the found a burlap sack containg several leather-bound books. The ornate letterings along the cover and spine and gold clasps easily gave away that these were expensive books, not ones that could be afforded by any of the kitchen maids. In fact, the gurads discovered that they belonged to the Count's library. Of course, no one realized that a few books had gone missing and had they found only stolen books in the young girls quarters, the Count may have even overlooked the crime for the sake of childhood mischief and curiosity. But in the pillow case, the guards had recovered a two diamond rings and a ruby necklace from the Countess's jewelry box. The cuffs were no where to be seen.
The sun had settled over the Abecean sea, leaving the clear a vibrant orange dusk. The busy streets had settled for the evening, and Nimileth had finally returned her basket of slightly muddied vegetables and flowers to the kitchen. Thankfully, the Mistress was not around to see the sad state of the produce it had taken all day to purchase. Hoping to unwind with the next volume of Mystery of Talara before she needed to begin preparing dunner, Nimileth had just entered the servants quarters from the kitchen when she heard the sound of the castle guards armor clinking down the hall. By the sound of their chattering voices, she identified at least four. Guards very infrequently passed through the servants quarters unless it was to pay visit to one of the chamber maidens late in the night after a good bit of drinking, and the sudden presence of so many at once alerted her that something was wrong. Perhaps it was the lingering adrenaline coursing through her body that left her slightly paranoid, but Nimileth decided against conintuing down the hall. She pressed herself against the wall, hoping to overhear their discussion when she felt her heart drop into the pit of her stomach. They were talking about her.
"A short Bosmer with red hair. Scour the Castle. Savlian take the South Wing, Nerus the North. Jesan, alert the guards at the main entrance and then check the basement. I'm going to speak with the mistress to find out this little thief's schedule."
The footsteps split up, most travelling away from her but a very clear thud thud thud echoed off the walls coming toward the door she had just entered from. Her eyes darted around the room for a place to hide or an escape. The door was in clear view of the hallway, rendering the kitchen exit impossible. She spotted a small cupboard that held bottles of cheap wine, a barrel of potatoes, and a window. Without second guessing herself, she slid a chair up to the window, pulled her self onto the sill and lept out to the ground below.
Nimileth stood in the entrance of the Chapel of Akatosh clutching her left arm while blood trickled down her cheek and dripped to the clean white floor below. Although she came to service every week, the chapel had never seemed so large and intimidating to her as it had in that moment. The pews were all empty save one man silently reading in the front row. The stained-glass faces of the Nine looked down from the windows above her glaring, disappointed. Nimileth lowered her gaze.
A brown-haired imperial in blue robes looked over his shoulder at the small girl who had entered the chapel alone. From across the room, he could see that she was trembling and clutching her arm as though in pain. He quickly shut his book and approached. She shifted in her stance as he came closer, pulling her shoulders in to a defeated cower. She was beaten, with muddied, torn clothes and a bleeding face. The priest clenched his fist. Who could do something to such a young child?
"Hello there," He said, his voice soft and quiet as though speaking any louder might cause her to shatter.
"Hello." She squeaked, not yet looking up at him.
"Are you alright? Your arm looks to be causing you pain."
"I-I've fallen down."
"That's quite a tumble you've taken. May I?"
Nimileth looked up and nodded. The priest had the kindest blue eyes she had ever seen, but she couldn't control the nervous tremors as he knelt down and took hold of her hand. He gently inspected her arm, attempting to roll up the sleeve of her blood-stained blouse, but she winced sharply, and he set it down.
"Do your parents know you're here?" The priest asked. He had seen her before, whether around town or in the chapel, he couldn't quite pin the memory down. The girl shook her head. He glanced up at the window above the doorway. The sun had disappeared completely, and the orange light was now fading to purple. He couldn't send her out alone at such a late hour. "It's good that you've come, but I'm sure they're very worried. They will want you see a healer straight away, I'm sure. I can look for them if you want to stay here and rest. It shouldn't take long."
"Is it broken?" the girl asked, ignoring the priest's previous question.
"No, I don't think so, but it looks very badly bruised and some of these cuts are quite deep." The priest waited for the girl to respond to his previous comments. No doubt she was scared. Maybe she thought she would get in trouble, and he doubted that the wounds he saw were due to a simple fall. Met with silence and soft sniffles, he decided to ask again. "Where are your parents?"
"In Aetherius," she finally replied.
"Oh, I see." The priest said nervously. Although the girl was dressed in muddy, torn clothes, she didn't look like a typical street urchin. She was well-fed with healthy, tanned-skin, not sickly and skeletal like most of the orphans the chapel would pull off the street. The most likely conclusion that he could think of was that she was a servant girl at one of the wealthier estates or even Castle Kvatch, but that idea brought with it more troubling thoughts. She obviously had not acquired such grave injuries from a mere tumble. The priest opened his mouth to speak, wanting to question the girl further on just how she happened to fall down, but he could see from her trembling and low gaze that she was terrified. Someone else was responsible for the young girl's pain and that monster should be reported to the guards as such. The priest, frowned. He knew she would not willingly give up the necessary information for a report.
Come with me," the priest said and led her to the front of the chapel. Nimileth trailed behind, eyeing the stained glass images of the Gods above and lowering her head in shame.
"What's your name, miss?" The priest asked.
"Nim-" she began before stopping herself, wondering if the guards would later ask this priest if he had met her.
"Nirn?"
Nimileth nodded her head. He had misheard her but she was not eager to correct his mistake. The priest stood beside the altar and motioned for the girl to approach.
"Place your hand on the well and let us say a prayer together."
"Why?" She asked quickly and clutched her arm with her free hand.
"As servants of the faith, let us ask the Divines for mercy and your good health."
"Oh no, I can't. The Nine- I've never asked for their help before."
"They serve their followers as much as they serve the Nine. The relationships we form with the Gods are one of mutual love. They would not want to see you here standing in their house wincing in pain."
Nim looked up at him with glassy eyes. She reached up with her good hand wiped a budding tear away.
"No, I'm sorry, I can't. I shouldn't have come."
She took a few steps away from the priest, nearly toppling herself backwards onto a pew. He reached out to stop her.
"What if they won't help me?"
"Don't go, please. I-I have seen you here before, haven't I. You come to our service every Sundas."
Nim gave a small nod.
"Then why do you look so frightened now? You must know that the Gods are happy to help such a pious servant."
The nervous expression had returned, and the girl looked up at the stained window. She rubbed her arm and began to cry softly.
"They know," she said and hung her head in shame. Tears slid down her cheek and mixed with the streak of dry blood. She sniffled loudly and wiped the blody stream across her face.
"Know what?"
"That I'm not worth being helped."
"And why would they think you are not worthy?"
"I-I hurt myself. Only I am responsible for the ill that has befallen me. Why would the Gods help such a stupid child?"
"We all make mistakes. You walk in the path of the Nine, do you not?"
The girl paused before nodding.
"Imperfectly, but I try."
"And how often do you pray?"
"Every night,' she said quietly. "Every night, I pray and ask them to forgive me,"
This priest raised his eyebrows at her response.
"Forgive you? What could you have done that you must ask for forgiveness?"
"I'm not a good person, that's why the Gods have cursed me with his wretched life."
The priest frowned.
"The Gods do not curse children."
"Then what would they have me do with the hand I am given? Spend the rest of my life cleaning and cooking for those who mock the poor and hungry while gorging themselves every night? Watch as they turn up their noses to the beggars outside their home but call themselves gods-fearing men of the faith? Zenithar says to work hard and be rewarded, but I will never have the gold like them to help those in need without being forced to work until I die. I have betrayed him. There is no escape from this life. I want to thank the Gods for giving me all I have but sometimes I get so angry. I get so angry and wish for the pain of others. I-I know it's not my place to judge them, so why do the Gods let them carry on in such a way? I don't know why they have given some people everything and made them sick with greed while giving other people nothing, not even enough to survive. There's no escape."
The priest listened in silence and then motioned for the girl to sit on the pew behind her. He took a seat beside her and pointed up at the huge windows above them. The Divines smiled down with open hands. By now the sky behind the glass was completely purple and the first few stars had began to peak out. Nimileth felt guilty for the anger bubbling in the pit of her stomach. Even in the chapel she could not suppress it.
"Julianos smiles upon your curiosity. You are wise to question the fairness of the life you see unfold around you, but I disagree. No one is bound to the hand they hold in the moment."
"I don't see how I can make a difference. I open my heart to Stendarr – protect the weak and give what I can to those in need but nothing changes. I've been laughed at, called a fool for trying to make better a part of life that seems inescapable. There will always be those with too much and those with too little. I have such evil thoughts in the night, ones that the Divines must frown on me for. So I pray and come to service every Sundas in hopes that they will take these thoughts away. Maybe my hate blinds me to the good that can be done."
The priest reached into his pocket and pulled out a handkerchief to offer the young girl.
"Thank you," she whimpered softly and cried into the wrinkled fabric.
"Child, you must listen to your own words. Fewer have such a pure heart. Dibella smiles down upon you on. You have opened your heart to the Nine, and she has gifted you with more love than you know what to do with. This is all you need to begin the life you wish to live. I wasn't born a priest, you know. My father was a humble farmer, but yet here I am, a Priest of Akatosh. I have dedicated my life to serving the Nine, and I chose every day to let them spread love and light to their followers through me. Let me show you."
Nim watched in awe as blue light radiated from the Priest's hands. He placed them over her arm and she tensed as it grew warm and tingly. Slowly she peeled back the torn sleeve of her blouse to find that pink new skin had grown over the deep gashes that once existed beneath them.
"How did you do that?" She had never seen anyone perform magic before. She had read about it in books, of course, dreamed about what it might appear like many times, but never had she met anyone capable of casting a spell, let alone on her.
"The Divines work through me to help those who walk the path of light."
"Are all priests healers like you?" she asked running her finger over the fresh skin, her eyes wide and round like shiny pearls. She took the Priest's hand in hers and brought her face close to inspect every crease in his palm. "I don't want to clean and cook for the rest of my life. How do I become a priest? How do I learn magic to heal people?"
The priest chuckled.
"It's not as difficult as you might think. Keeping faith in the Divines is probably the most difficult part for many. I can teach you if you are willing and dedicated."
"Do you think I could do it?"
"Of course, we are all connected to Aetherius and it's magical reserves. Stendarr gave to all mortals on Nirn the ability to wield magic if they so choose. All you need is the time and patience to practice."
"But I mean, do you think I could be a good person. Help people one day like you? I have nothing to give even to myself. How can I offer anyone help?"
The girl sucked in deeply and wiped her eyes with the back of her palm. Her wide-eyes followed after the priest as he stood to his feet and offered the girl a smile.
"I think this problem can be easily remedied. Come in on Sundas before our sermon and I will show you how we can work with the Nine to aid others in need."
The girl nodded and met him with a toothy grin short of one incisor.
"Are you hungry," he asked. "There is food in the chapel hall."
"I am quite alright, thank you. I will say a prayer now to thank the Gods for meeting you."
The Priest turned toward the stairs leading to the undercroft and chapel hall with an ineffable warmth brewing in his chest. He left to give her privacy and also to retrieve a cup of tea for the young girl. As he sat there waiting for his kettle to whistle, he couldn't stop thinking about what the girl had said. What tragedy must she have faced to think of herself in such a negative light? The Gods worked in funny ways like that, and even while he carried his tea up to the small bosmer, he felt them working through her to reach him. He was thankful, whatever she had been through, that she turned to the Nine for solace. Too often had he seen lost youth join gangs of thieves or bandits, even turn to daedra worship, in a desperate last attempt to seek the validation and comfort missing from their lives. The priest knew all to well of the allure those alternative life-styles had to offer. The Divines had mercy on him.
Steeping the pouch of tea, he reflected on his position in the chapel. Never before had he felt so invigorated by his duties as simple mortal servant. There was power in words, in healing, in teaching and he thanked Akatosh silently for granting him the opportunity to wield it.
The priest proceeded slowly up the steps, but when he returned to the altar, he found himself staring into an empty chapel. He called out the girl's name and received only echo. Perhaps she had enough for one day, he didn't blame her. Sipping the tea slowly, he realized he hadn't ever told her his own name, and on Sundas, the priest waited by the door for the girl, Nirn, to appear. She didn't show. The next week, he waited outside, scanning the sea of people who bustled by with their baskets and jingling pockets of coin. With each villager that entered, the priest felt his heart sink. She had presented such promise, such devotion to the Nine. Had he said something to turn her away?
The girl never came to the Sundas service again.