“- and before Kos and our lightful Kofanarch, we welcome Agnes Elizabeth Jamesin known to our Church as Agnes Goodlight, child of Alaric, Templar of the Second Order and her mother, Viva Elizabeth. May she work hard beneath an Everlasting Sun and reap sweet rewards.”

“Thank you Templar Jonesson, that was lovely. May I now return to the childmothers of the Church, they are anxiously attending- yes Jared what is it?” says he, turning to a tugging on his overcoat.

“Da, whassat in the blanket?” Jared blinked his pale brown eyes up balefully at the bearded man. His father sighed with slight impatience, and upon taking the swaddled infant from his colleague, sat down upon a wooden bench, and lifted his other child onto his knee.

“Well Jared, this is your little baby sister. Your childmother had another babe by me, and so she’s your proper sister, moreso than the other children.” With a quizzical look, Jared poked at the squishy flesh of the baby in his father’s arms. “Hmmm no I’ve a baby brother.”

At this, his stony faced father finally cracked a smile. “No, mine light, she’s a little baby sister. A little light”

“Oh. Ok then.”

“This is very important, Jared. You’re her big brother now. Will you keep her good and living well in the light, according to the ways of our Church and its teachings?”

Though not really knowing what was being asked of him, Jared nodded solemnly, and poked at the bundle again, brushing a tuft of red hair. A tiny pale hand gripped tight around his little finger.

“Hullo Agnes.”

A balmy warm day, following service sees ten or so children sitting in a field at some point in the middle of spring. The pastoral contentment bubbled; the childhood cheer pulsed in time with the beating sun. Despite her age, Agnes had outpaced her brother in the ribbon dancing footrace they had, and was now rolling in the long grass giggling about it. The long red fabric twirled from both her fingers and her hair. Even as some of the older boys teased him lightly over it, he never would’ve not let her win.

Faithkept Christopher’s voice was both grating and dull.

“- and so it came to pass among all Kofanists that after Kos resolved the civil war in the North, he faded into obscurity,

“Jared, I’m bored”

“having worked himself into tinderwood to provide light and warmth for all to come after. Now while so-called undevout Kofanists would’ve allowed him to remain in obscurity, favouring to become generalised under the Church of Lathander,”

“Jared. Jar. Redred. I’m really bored. When can we go?”

“Shhh. Mister Christopher will give you extra service hours in the church kitchen.”

“Us devotees of The Church of the Everlasting Sun know that he is what all strive to be, and is the cause for which our people dedicate themself, all to his shining example. Those who preach as Kofanists but are more than willing to cast their lot in with the indolent and slovenly”

“Jared!”

“Fine! Braid these threads into my hair and shut up. You heard the Faithkept, you don’t want to be indolent meaning you have to pay attention. Father would be most disappointed.” And with that, he carefully, quietly lifted her onto his knee, passed her some strings, and slipped a barley sweet in her mouth. She smiled a bright gummy smile at him, and he could not find it in himself to be angered.

“And of course we seek in death to be cast into flame so we may rest at one with the light, but that is a privilege only granted in infinite mercy to those who dedicate themselves to our church.”

He found her sat forlorn in the corner of her room, flame hair slightly damp, and blue pinafore dirt stained.

“‘Lo Jared.”

“Sister, whatever is the matter with you? We get out of lessons today, and our service is darning, which is so easy even you can manage it without complaint. Thought you’d be pleased, by the light of Kos.”

“It isn’t fair though.”

“What’s not fair?”

“The only reason we aren’t attending readings is because we’d have to walk through the village out to church, and the Karsen family are hosting a tiefling.”

“Yes, and?”

“Well that isn’t fair! That we are confined to the house simply because there is a stranger in someone else’s kitchen!”

“Tieflings are borne of sin. They can influence you into indolence and lead you astray. And I am to protect you from that. They are creatures of darkness, not for us, the people of light, to, to cavort with!”

“Still not fair.”

“Well. Well, don’t let father hear you say that.”

“Agnes Goodfaith, what on the light-touched EARTH were you thinking?!”

“Argh! Do not yell at me brother, I knew full well what I was doing and I stand by it.”

“You climbed up upon a bench and yelled at the Faithkept some dirty foreigner’s prayer!”

““Lathander to light,

Selûne to guide,

Kelemvor to judge, And passage provide” Is a very well known prayer, Jared. Just because that dusty moth bitten old man has never been outside the village-”

“You’ve never been outside the village-”

“- doesn’t mean us young girls can’t be well read.”

“‘Well read’ has gotten you no meal for all today, was that worth it?! You must learn to control your temper!”

“Two and a half days, and yes, it was worth it, and yes, I know I do!”

A breath passed between them.

“Oh. Want a bread roll?”

“Yes please.”

He sat down next to her. The sun set. And rose again

Litha Day. known also as the day of Kos to those belonging to Jared’s church, was the most lightful day in the solar cycle.

Additionally, it was one of the few days in the calendar that asked of Jared nothing but that he ‘thoughtfully contemplate’ his devotion to Kos and the Kofanarch. This made it in kind his most favourite day. Not even his name-day, this upcoming Friday, was close to being as enjoyable.

In truth, his name-day was decidedly unenjoyable, uncelebrated as it was. But that was the way of things; it is selfish to be idle for a day simply because it marks a year older for yourself. That never stopped Jared privately treating Litha Day as his day in the privacy of his own mind (when, of course, his father was not present, as whether he truly could or not, Alaric seemed to know exactly what you were thinking. No privacy of mind before the templar. No indulgent thoughts under the light of Kos) alone in his bedroom.

Or else, in the pottery barn. It was cold out there, especially alone, which was horrid during the darker months, but on the dawn of Litha Day, before the morning bells had rung out, when the sun’s light just began to creep in, the chill was blissful.

And the Litha Day festivities this year across the day were glad, bright, and full of fun: ribbons braided around every tree, bread dipped in honey, tree climbing competitions, creek jumping with the village kids - for this was one of few days that the children of the church were permitted to play with their peers from beyond the church's iron fence - across the wayside brook, and a bonfire in the evening. It was maybe 5 chimes past midday, and Jared had indulged himself in all but the bonfire which was not yet lit. He sipped on Old Man Peter's yardberry cordial and let the warm air idle through his hair as he turned his face to a sun in no danger of setting.

There was only one small part of the day causing grievance. Small. Really very insignificant. Should not in any way interrupt his fun.

Agnes had cried.

That his sister had cried was not his fault. Truly speaking it was no one's fault. Nothing had even happened. She wasn't even crying anymore. Probably. He hadn't actually seen her in some three chimes.

Every Litha Day there was the Fær Leot Ceremony where promotions within the order would occur. On occasion there would be respect paid to the new Viva who had contributed to the church significantly, or thrice in his memory, one of the elders being promoted, but mostly it was a ceremony to welcome the younger in the order as fully fledged members - deacons. Now, usually, this would occur once a faithful was around sixteen or so, but as the pious children of the Templar, both he and Agnes were on an accelerated course of devotion. Jared had been accepted in as a Deacon at eleven, but Agnes, for all that she on occasion flouted the order, had taken until twelve to achieve maturity.

The ceremony had been lovely and serene with lit candles, best clothes, and the passing of the cords. The cords, perhaps, were a little odd. Each new Deacon would sit on a hard wicker chair for some fifteen minutes or so, while two older members - Deacons or Viva - would braid a cord onto your neck, tight enough that it could not be removed without a blade, but soft enough to not chafe. It symbolised your commitment, devotion, and belonging to the church and your people. The other children would line up behind you waiting all in a row; that had been a sight for certain. Eight tall members of the order, all older than him, five who he'd never met before who'd journeyed here to meet his father, and then, right at the end of the line, had stood Agnes, with the most perplexing expression upon her face, as though she was looking off at something no other could see. The others all bore the braiding dutifully, with pleasant expressions, conversing softly but joyfully with those creating the cord about their aspirations within the order, becoming a templar or taking a more active role or that. Once the cord was braided, they would accept the small wooden weighted bead that sat just above the collarbone reverently, before walking off to enjoy the rest of the festivities.

Agnes’ behaviour though had been most strange. She stood with her hair shining, having been flattened by their mother between two heated flat metal rods the night before, in order to make it possible to braid her hair into delicate circles around the crown of her head. If it were not her Fær Leot then Jared along with many others would have delighted her weaving flowers into the plaits. But not today. She had not touched her hair at all, as she was often inclined to do, but stood more still than Jared had ever seen her in; more solemn than he knew she could be.

And at the moment that his sister had sat on that wicker chair, and the Viva started on the cord, her face had hardened like stone. It was maybe five minutes in that the crying had started. Yet if he had not be looking right at her he would not have known. She made no noise. She did not as much as blink. She stared ahead, unmoving. The tears simply welled up in her eyes and spilled slowly over her cheeks, catching golden in the sunlight as though she had rivers of the precious metal tracking down her face. Jared thought it quite silly really, that she was crying and staring ahead silently with such insulting firey defiance as though she were having her hair shaved before the gallows rather than having a new piece of jewellery created for her. Probably upset about the colour of her dress (pale blue) or something that girls cared about.

Still his stomach turned uncomfortably to think on it now. Not just because he missed her now, headed to the bonfire, or because his father had given her a harsh scolding before dragging her off to do Kos knows what, and returning to tell everyone she was confined to her room for a week. No it was because, right as the weight fell around her neck, she had finally moved, to turn to him. And, oh, when she had met his eyes, he could've sworn he was looking at the eyes of a dead girl.

The bonfire had burned itself out, leaving ash in his hair, and the smoke clinging to his clothes. It was in this rather sorry state he found himself approaching his father in his office. One hand clutched a wrapped cheese sandwich, and with the other, he knocked on the door.

“Enter,” came his father's soft voice, and he shuffled in, taking in the luminous imagery all across the walls - the only decoration or personalisation anywhere in the room. The man did not raise his head to look at him.

“Templar. I am aware my sister became rather overwhelmed by the emotion of her ceremony, and as such, was unable to join in with lunch. I should like to take a small amount of food -”

“No.”

“I mean she had no breakfast as we rose with the dawn and she ran straight to the village-”

“No.”

“She can hardly contemplate her misconduct if she passes out from-”

“No.”

“But Father!”

“Address me correctly.”

“Templar -”

“No. My answer remains. Go now, and leave the food with me.” Jared’s stomach seemed to make the same writhing motion that it had been making more and more often. Clenching one hand tightly behind his back, he set the roll politely on the desk, inclined his head, and walked out sharply.

From the office, he walked along the corridor, up the narrow wooden stairs, and along the next hallway to his room. 15, 16, 17…

17. Agnes’ room. His, 21, was down the corridor. He paused outside her door. Considered knocking. Didn't. Considered walking on. Didn't. Considered calling out. Didn't. He pressed his ear to the door while jiggling the handle a little. Locked, as expected. What was unexpected was the noise coming through the door. The Fær Leot aside, his sister was not a frequent crier. Teary, maybe, to the degree of wet eyes and a tremble in her voice if an argument or a punishment went on too long, or if someone was cruel to animals, or if she were overangered. She wasn't unemotional. But this that he heard was new.

Heaving, shuddering, hacking, violent, wailing sobs.

It was reckless. It was stupid. It invited only more punishment and she knew this. She was always very careful not to be in a position where their father could catch her letting herself go. She was showing no signs of stopping. Feeling as though a hand of iron had seized his heart, Jared walked quickly away and shut himself in his room. He tried not to think of what it meant that he heard footsteps ascending the stairs he just had. Tried not to think of how they sounded on the floorboards like his father's gait. Tried not to listen to the rattle of a lock; the creak of hinges; a cessation of cries.

Wednesday passed the same as every other day. Agnes' absence was filled by slight adjustment to the work chart for the day, and no one mentioned her. Jared knew better than to bring her up with the templar. But he was going to do something. Between the cold metal grasping in his chest, the guilty twisting in his stomach, and the odd prickles down his back, his body was clearly rebelling his inaction, like a traitor to the order.

That day during one of his tasks, he slipped into his pocket some long thin metal wire, used to mend one of the farm machines possibly? Its original purpose was irrelevant. Because Jared was going to, for the first time, be defiant. That was a dramatic manner of phrasing perhaps but it was true. For, a short while after he had been shut in his own room for lights out, he sprung from his bed, fiddled the metal in his lock until it opemed, and hastened silently out the door. From there, he padded ever so silently down the corridor, and with his heart not heavy but racing, opened Agnes’ door the same way.

He grabbed her in the dark as soon as he was through and slapped a hand over her mouth. Squinting through the gloom, he stared into her eyes until he was sure she understood, then nodded. She simply blinked at him. Or winked. It was hard to tell with one of her eyes entirely shadowed by purple bruises.

Throat swelling closed from a mix of emotions impossible to place, he just took her hand and squeezed. He held his breath.

She squeezed in return.

Speaking low as he could, he asked in her ear

“What Kos-damned things did you say to him? Agnes?” He felt her shrug against his shoulder. Her response came low but surprisingly strong, murmured into his collarbone.

“The truth.”

He opened his mouth to elaborate but a creak in the corridor had him freezing. Raising one eyebrow, she shook her head and pulled her hair over her eye.

“Well,” started Jared uncertainly, “I should probably be going. Needed to check you were… wanted to make sure you were… I just thought… well… that - that I should. See you. That I should see you well that is. Are you… well?” he trailed off lamely and stroked one hand through her hair softly to try and communicate his intention. She looked him dead in the eyes and made to speak a few times before closing her mouth with a click, swallowing a few times, and opening it again.

“Do you ever have doubts? About him? The order? Your faith? I won't tell if you do. But. Do you?”

Jared jumped back slightly as though stung. Avoiding her eyes, he reached into his pocket, and silently pulled out a small bundle of food for her, placed it quietly on the bed, and got up to leave. Her hand closed around his wrist.

He felt his pulse in his throat, in his head, in his stomach, in his mouth, in his eyes, and in his Kos-damned chest like a marching drum. Sweat gathered where she had him held. He yanked his arm away, grabbed his lockpick, and made for the door. Her disappointment in him was tangible as he turned the handle. It gave him pause. His tongue was heavy. His breath came short.

One foot left the room. He did not turn back to look at her. His voice was foreign in his mouth and the words forced themselves out like vomit and tasted like blood.

“I do.”

And then as fast as a whip returned to his own room without looking back. He pulled the covers tight over himself like they could conceal the words he just said. It felt as though the walls were watching him. As though his father was about to crawl out from under the bed. He did not sleep well.

His mouth still tasted like blood the next day.

“What under Kos are you doing?!”

The words came out as a low hiss as his arm shot out to click her door closed behind him in a panic. Yesterday she had been quiet, solemn, and entirely unlike herself - a fox licking its wounds: coat ashy in the moonlight, having crawled under the hedgerows to die. This, today, was the fox in flight, red fur aflutter, twitchy, and set ready to run.

Soon to be literally as Jared dove to pull his sister out of the gap of the open window, only to get a pale bony little elbow in his mouth for his trouble. His hands scrabbled over her back, gripping onto the shoulder strap of what was, on closer inspection, his denim work dungarees. The two of them tumbled head over foot onto the floor before freezing for fear they had disturbed the house.

After pausing long enough that they could both be certain no one was coming, Jared tackled his sister as gently as possible onto the bed, using the scratchy blue blanket to smother her protests as he caught sight of a bunch of papers crumpled in her right hand and started scratching at her fingers trying to prise them open. It only took a few moments for her to let go on reflex, and it was at that moment he swung his other leg onto the bed and, to stop her fighting back, proceeded to sit on Agnes.

Ignoring her arms flailing under the blanket, he began to tear through the letters. The oldest among them dated to some two months ago but the familiarity found in the words written made it obvious that this was no new venture. Fingerprints in smudgy soot gave him some idea what may have happened to the previous letters. As he read on, his vision started to blur with tears.