Welcome to Gaia! ::

No.

Zekiel paused, assessing with private surprise how suddenly and insistently the answer pushed itself upon him. No, he wasn’t couldn’t be like Jevan. But was that an ungrateful or unfair thought? He glanced down the long line of pews, to the pulpit, and the eyes of the gods.

“I suppose,” he said at length, with a small smile, “he must be something like me, as the gods chose him to make me…” He debated a moment before continuing. “He has dark hair, on his head and all about his face and arms, and weathered skin like an old sail on a great ship, large hands, and a voice that sounds like a ship’s hull, groaning when the ocean makes it rock…he smells like salt and fish and the ale they sell at the small pubs by the seaside where the high storms sometimes bring surges close enough to wet their floors. Anger haunts him, and I think that he wars his spirit with the gods…or that he fears them, and his fear makes him angry…”

He blinked, and glanced to his company, looking for a moment a bit sheepish, as though he had babbled too long about a hobby, or a wandering thought. “I have been trying to visit him now, often as I can. He was so angry with their giving me to him and so relieved to have me taken again by the church that I thought the gods meant for me to stay away…I think now perhaps they meant for me to learn to help him find his way to peace, before age takes him.”

At the rest though, he shook his head. “There is nothing for you to be sorry for.” Or, certainly not with regard to Jevan. “Have you lived without your parents for long?” She had spoken of her ‘employer’ so far as Zekiel could tell, though the exact nature of their relationship was elusive—and sometimes troubling in a way that Malta’s apologetic and evasive nature made difficult to pin down. But evidently, she had some independence, as she had come here of her own volition.

It was evident, even if she didn’t say as much, that he hadn’t given quite the answer she hoped for, and though normally this might have inspired him elaborate, Zekiel found he didn’t want to or think it appropriate. It wasn’t Malta’s fault, after all, that she didn’t understand Jevan simply wasn’t important right now. He had had nothing to do with Zekiel’s life after he had joined the Sanctum until very recently, and though he had private business with the man, it wasn’t what he wanted to share between himself and this girl here, now, under so much more pleasant circumstances.

It was equally evident that Malta seemed to have a similar issue. He might not have known but for the fact that it was a familiar look and awkwardness—having grown up himself with children who had all also been taken from their parents at young ages, he had seen the full range of reactions. And after, as he had progressed in the church, he had taken to working with the orphanage itself on some occasions.

Thus it was fairly obvious that relations, apparently, were not a good topic for them.

“You needn’t craft stories in the house of the gods,” he said gently. “If it does not please you to speak of them, we will not. Sometimes those who sire us are only one part of our lives, and that part passes in time…I am glad simply that time has brought you here into mine, too.”

There was nothing not wondrous about what was immediately about them, at least, and he preferred to appreciate that while it lasted. All moments were fleeting, after all.

“When I was much smaller,” he said, “there would be days where one of us or two were to come here very early, to wipe down all of the pews and the statuettes, and when the space is empty so that the faintest light makes the air show its stillness, I would think that could hold my breath and feel the gods in the room with me sharing the air.”

Zekiel watched the color on Malta’s cheeks bloom with curiosity. It wasn’t hot, so he did not suspect a heat flush, nor was it bitter cold enough to inspire such a reaction, as they were inside, which left mood as the likely culprit, but in what form? Had he embarrassed her? Combined with the downward tip of her head and the length for which her eyes remained stubbornly glued to the floor, he thought that this was likely it, though he couldn’t be sure what portion of what he’d said was embarrassing.

Fortunately when she did venture to look upward again, though her cheeks certainly retained a full flush of color, she did not look distressed, and some sliver of concern in him ebbed, replaced by an encouraging smile.

“I have!” he said. “When I walk alone, I often come into the church and stop just inside to close my eyes and hold a breath, so that I might think for a moment of nothing but where I am and the powers that keep it standing. Shall I show you the gardens?”

“Of course,” Zekiel responded immediately. “The gardens are open upon invitation for visitation as with the rest of the outer sanctum, and they will be more wondrous for your company.”

As he lead her that way, he introduced each relevant section of the church that they passed along the way, as well as anyone who he recognized in passing, making the process perhaps longer than it might have been otherwise but filled at least in the interim. She was here to see, after all, and one could only see so fast — better to take the time to appreciate as each detail came than to concern themselves overly much with the timing of it all. The same concept applied upon arrival and, as he had made a habit of asking of most people as he came to know them, he would point out the favorite flowers of each person he knew when they came upon them as well as those he knew the identities of with no friend yet associated with it, and their various medicinal uses if any.

Many, if not most, of the garden’s selection had its uses beyond appearance. The gods were not wasteful, after all, and neither should their children be. It was a special pleasure though to make the rounds of it with someone who also had some familiarity with the local flora. Though he never expected to be so versed in it as Fallon, he thought it a valuable learning experience both to share what he knew and to absorb whatever new information might come from varied company.

By the time they parted ways, he sent her off with a flower and a ready invitation to come visit again at the earliest instant she pleased, promising that he would anticipate her return whenever it might be. It had been, he thought, an especially good day.