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“Oh.” Zekiel tipped his head, expression considerate as he eyed the other before stepping back from the food and approaching to stand instead at the cot’s edge. “Well, that is alright. Then I will wait with you, and later, if you do feel inclined to eat, we will eat together. And if not, then we will not. I think, though, that if the gods intended for you to pass into their keeping, it would not be for lack of eating when the food was before you. They…find their own ways to work their will, and I would not wish for you to be hungry…but,” He nodded, “we can wait.”

When the subject shifted, he listened again, trying to parcel apart what the man thought and fit it into his own understanding. At length, he nibbled his own lip.

“Perhaps you were under the will of different gods across the far sea. I do not know of them or their will or what fate they may have wrought upon you, only of those here…but in these lands, on this shore, our god and goddess watch and care for their children, and there is space for you here, or they would not have brought you to me. There is space here, in this room, on that bed, in this church.” Zekiel’s smile edged up at one corner, almost hesitant. “And there is time for you here. However much you are willing to spend. I do not pretend to know all the things the heavens have in store, but…I will enjoy however long you linger with us. If it would ever please you to say…” His cheeks warmed, “…I would ask of where you came from, but…perhaps if it was so unkind to you, you would rather not say, and that is also just as well.”

Immediately upon it being asked of him, Zekiel reached, taking the glass of water and moving to the bedside. The boy only had one good arm, and that had a broken finger on it at that, so he adjusted the pillow first as carefully as he could to help aid in propping the boy up before lifting the glass towards his lips.

He listened with instant, riveted interest though, when the foreigner spoke of his homeland. Akin to those described in text but somehow infinitely more real and vivid in the mind’s eye when the words were spun from the lips of someone who had witnessed the lands first hand—sprawling mountain ranges, strange colors. And snow.

He nodded at the question, eager to add that, “Yes, I know of snow.”

Never had he seen mountains. Not of the sort this boy spoke of. Rocky outcroppings and built up sandstone amidst tall jungle trees. But not the sort that he’d been told existed elsewhere. So tall that the sky swallowed their tips and their whole might could not even be seen from the base, and all piled one next to another next to another. He imagined what he could and his imagination was vivid—but it would ever have to do, for he knew it was unlikely he would ever be permitted far from the Sanctum, let alone across the dark sea to foreign shores.

So he took his excitement where he could, absorbing the details with relish and wide eyes.

“We have snow here, in the cold season as we do rain, and it piles on the Sanctum’s steps…” His eyes caught the boy’s smile—small, but the first he had seen yet, and his heart fluttered with relief and new energy at the sight. He could be happy. As quickly as it came, however, it vanished, and Zekiel reached with his spare hand on impulse, touching to the nearest portion of unbruised skin when the boy began to shake. “But you did leave,” Zekiel said, the words gentle around the edges but firm in their conviction, for the boy was here. Now. With him. “You did leave and you are far from that land and whatever bid you to flee it…I do not know that land or its people,” he admitted. “But very few foreigners come upon our shore. Whatever you left there…it is unlikely to follow here on any day near to this one.”

When the boy finished the water, Zekiel took the glass again, refilling it without being bid and waiting again at the cotside as the other spoke, spinning a tale of his beginnings—how he had come here, but in his own words. When he finished, Ze tipped his head with a curious smile.

“Perhaps,” he admitted. “Or perhaps they are not. Perhaps they only bid you here,” he said. “It seems a strange way to come to mortal ears, but who are we to know the methods of our gods? Sometimes they take us in the only route that would deliver us in the way we must be to proceed forward in the ways they intend…”

It was hard to see, naturally, how it would be necessary to cause so much pain as was caused on certain occasions, but that was often the way of things as Zekiel was told and had personally witnessed. The gods’ hands were not always kind, but in the end, persons found their way where they ought—whether that be the heavens, or set upon new paths they otherwise would not have tread. It was not difficult to believe that, without being bid as he had and finding his body carried by the current—and strange ships, and Yaelian village folk—the boy before him most certainly would not have ended up where he was entirely of his own regard.

“If you were seeking purpose,” Ze said, “perhaps you will find it here. After rest, and taking the time to gain your strength again. Does the bedding suit you? I might bring more, if you find yourself chilled. You also do not need to call me ‘sir’ unless it especially pleases you to…my name is only Zekiel. And I would still delight to know yours, if you should ever be happy to share it, if you have one.”

“I could not say,” Zekiel said, and he meant it. To him, there were many wondrous things about his homeland, as there surely were of any land, but which of those things might have inspired gods from across the dark sea to deliver one of their children this far from home? He had no means of knowing. “It is very strange, though, yes,” he agreed. “And wondrous, I think. It must have been important, to bring you so far.”

He glanced up, studying the boy with interest after he refused—again—to give his name. After a moment, Zekiel smiled, expression warming with new conviction.

“I will call you Ottolo, then. The traveler, who long wandered the great salt sea…if it does not displease you. I must be out, to speak with Sister Mortrem and study under Brother Alez. I will return soon, however, and perhaps when I do, we can eat. Until then, I do hope you rest pleasantly…”

When the foreigner shut his eyes, Zekiel took comfort in the fact that he did indeed look ready to rest, and slipped out as promised. Though he did return again several times that evening sporadically between his work and lessons, Ottolo was asleep on each occasion, and Zekiel did not disturb him. By the end of the day, his own stomach was giving him small, growling complaints, reminding him that the time for sustenance had long since passed, but after brief debate, he let that lie. It could be tended to in the morning, when he came again to visit his charge.

Indeed, come morning Zekiel’s stomach was among the first things to beg his attention. But under the circumstances, he temporarily ignored it again, and went instead through his rituals: morning prayer before dawn, daily cleaning tasks, a check in with Sister Mortrem to report the prior day’s occurrences and then, because the thought occurred to him on the way down the long halls toward the medicinal quarter—a visit to the greenhouse.

After speaking briefly with Miss Keai who did happen to be there in order to get permission for his request, she happily provided him with a narrow vase, clippers, and careful instructions as to which blooms could be taken and how best to manage it. By the time he was through, Zekiel had a bright, healthy selection of the seasonal blooms which could afford to offer their flowers, all arranged neatly, looped together with soft ribbon string, and fed into the vase of water.

He brought that and a small bowl of scented herbs which she suggested for airing out and freshening the scent of the room, since the keeping rooms for the sick were unfortunately often stuffy. His hands were full as he slipped in the door, but his expression warm, bright and curious as he looked to see if Ottolo had awoken yet.

“I am back!” Zekiel said, voice chipper despite the words that followed Ottolo’s initial statement. “But I also did return twice yesterday, between my work. You were sleeping. I did not think to disturb you.” Zekiel scooted in as he spoke, pleased that the lanterns in the room had been re-lit but still finding that the room was — especially now that Ottolo mentioned it — dark as compared to other portions of the Sanctum, and strikingly so as compared to the outdoors and welcoming sun. “But, in the future if it would please you for me to wake you when I come, I will do so as gently as I may.”

Setting his vase of flowers down, and then the herb bowl, he dusted his fingers through the contents of the latter, stirring up some of their scent. It was refreshing as compared to the rest of the room. He slid it an inch nearer to Ottolo and waved his palm lightly over it to encourage the smell out further.

After, he poured from the pitcher of water—he would need to fetch more. As the liquid trickled into and filled Ottolo’s cup, though, Ze’s eyes were on the empty space of the table where food, previously untouched, had been removed by whoever had come through the room. His stomach rumbled at the thought, but he tucked it from his mind. Smiling and sitting instead as he held out the glass.

“I am sorry that the dark distressed you. If you would prefer it, I will let them know that you would like to have your lanterns left lit, so that the darkness is not so thick…I brought you flowers! Though, I do not know if flowers please you.” He looked briefly sheepish, but his smile remained. “And I did not think to ask on our last occasion which you preferred most, but—which is your favorite? If we have it, I would bring some of those next to your room. Because I did not know, I brought all that we had newly blooming and in season at our greenhouse. It is quite lovely…and since it is so dark and small here, perhaps when you are the smallest bit better, I might show you to it, if we could have a wheeling chair brought.”

Zekiel’s words rolled with his thoughts, one into the next with the fluidity of water tripping down over stones, and with just as little pause in between. By that end point, however, he did remind himself of past advice—Sometimes, Zekiel, you must leave space between your sentences so that others can participate in the conversation…—and with the thought, he closed his lips, cheeks warming again a touch with abashment that he’d forgotten that long.

“I…am sorry for so many words. Are you any better this day? Might I fetch you anything?”

“It isn’t a burden,” Ze said, and meant it. “It would be just as easy to wake you as to not wake you, and I do not mind at all if it would please you for me to. I will do whichever would please you more. Though the sleep would be healthy for you with your body in the state it is I think…I will tell Miss Tressa that you prefer the light at night.”

He moved his fingers over the flowers he’d brought, absently arranging and rearranging with passive interest as he listened to Ottolo speak of the flowers of his homeland—great and tall and sunward bound. Yael had nothing of the sort, but it sounded lovely.

“It must have been wondrous to see,” he said in the pause after the other’s words. “I do not think we have flowers so large here, though we do have great vines which climb the tall rocks…I will bring you other flowers over time as more different sorts wake to the changing season. And as soon as you are well enough to be moved I will see about a wheeling chair so that you can breathe the open sky.”

Zekiel blinked, though, when Ottolo gave pause as his smile fell. He tipped his head, and then shook it.

“I said I would eat with you,” Ze said, rubbing his wrist lightly—had he made a mistake?—but after, he gave a small smile. “I do not mind the wait until you are hungry…I thought we might at least have your first meal on this shore together, and after if you found it pleasing. But if you would prefer something other than soup or bread…I could fetch fish from the market? Or other meat—or fruits…”

“Then I will not wake you,” Zekiel said, smiling. “It seems best that way. And I could not say if the sky here is the same as yours, as I have never seen yours. Ours changes colors. In the night it is black and blue as the great sea with freckles of white like bright rice hung amidst the heavens. If the clouds do not cover them, the stars are lovely, though they disappear when the sky warms with morning as Lurin’s sun approaches the edge of the world where the sea meets it, and there will be lighter shades of blue and gray until the sun begins to paint the edge with light like flowers, pink, and orange, and purple. It is bright and warm on some days, like your eyes, and others gray with high mist that carries rain and thunder.”

Zekiel took pause, confusion edging into his expression when Ottolo’s more relaxed expression morphed into a scowl. He opened his mouth—to explain or to apologize or otherwise—but before the words came, Ottolo’s tone seemed to shift on its own, and Zekiel blinked instead.

A moment later, he gave a small, relieved smile, expression warming again.

“Of course. I do love to eat, and it will be all the more wondrous to do so with you…” He tipped his head, though, at the other’s last comment, his smile perplexed. “I do live as a vessel for my gods’ will, and as that is what I am, they will take my life when they see that it is the right time to do so. I trust that is when I will die, no sooner and no later, and I do not fear it, whenever that might be, nor will I flee from it.” He hesitated, and then folded his hands before himself, smile brightening. “But I do think it is not that time now and I do hope to enjoy many more days if they will bless me with that. I will fetch us food.”

With that, Zekiel slipped out, doing as he said and returning some time later with a fresh platter topped with two simple soups, a biscuit for each, and a small bowl of crushed soft fruit. After taking one bowl and biscuit off to the side for himself, he set the platter by Ottolo, for ease of access, and eyed him.

“If you need assistance to eat any of it, I can help.”