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Zekiel was not a healer. At least, not in the traditional sense. Physicians tended predominantly to flesh and blood issues: broken bones, damaged skin, and unwelcome, infiltrating diseases inside the body. Naturally some of them had better bedside manners than others and some of them doubled as incredibly vital emotional support for their patients. But that was another matter entirely.

Zekiel, if he were any kind of doctor at all, could be considered some variety of ambassador for the soul or inner spirit. A medium between the will of the gods and their mortal subjects in times of need. He wasn’t certain it was quite so complicated as all that made it sound, but though it wasn’t his specialty, he was always willing to give religious comfort and the wards and blessings of their gods to anyone in ailing health who requested it of the church.

So it was that on this winter morning, while frost still dusted the outer edges of its windows, Zekiel was lead into the house of Itasza Fehan, a potter and expert of ceramics. She ran a local business, but as of recently, her daughter had taken ill. A faithful churchgoer, Zekiel had had opportunity to speak with her on many occasions prior when she attended sermons on their holy day, but as of yet she had not called on the hand of the faith to her home.

Last she had spoken, she’d said her daughter’s condition had improved. Zekiel wondered privately if this house call meant that situation had reversed or worsened. But, he supposed he would see soon enough. There was also, according to his escort, going to be a local healer in attendance, a woman Itasza apparently trusted and had requested specifically into her home given her daughter’s state.

New faces, at least, were a promising prospect.

Zekiel stepped inside.

Itasza looked older than she had last Zekiel had seen her. Haggard with stress and the visible weight of the world’s burdens, this time imposed on her in the form of her daughter’s illness. After being lead to the appropriate room, he stepped over the threshold to enter, and her attention lifted from the bedridden girl. In that moment of recognition, some brightness returned to her expression as she identified him—but conflict, too. As she rose from a kneel, hope and concern defined her in equal parts and when she arrived before him, catching at his hands and clasping, her grip was firm, anxious, but her eyes downcast.

“Oh, I—Zekiel…” She drew a breath, seeming to hesitate before apparently deciding against whatever she might have said and releasing his hands. “Thank you…thank you, gods bless you for coming, I…only hope they can forgive me.”

What she hoped to be forgiven for, Zekiel couldn’t have said, but he offered a smile just the same and moved for the bed. Upon it, his (or the gods’) patient, Aiara, lay prone, tucked beneath the sheets but, at least for the moment, unconscious from the looks of things.

“You are a woman of dedicated faith,” he said, speaking quietly to the mother as he unpacked the small assortment of things he had with him: several sticks of incense, twin marbled statuettes in white and black of the god and goddess respectively, a religious tome, and a set of small, shallow bowls. Most of which he set for the moment on the bedside counter, and only afterward did he speak again. “What have you done for which you feel you must seek the gods’ forgiveness?”

The woman made a soft, choked sound—which he only identified a moment later as something of an interrupted sob. “I have—I have been a woman of faith, but I—I feared and I should not have, I-”

By this time Zekiel had stood again, watching her as she averted her gaze.

“I…have never invited or allowed anyone of the Sanctum in my home, to see my daughter…” She spoke it like a grave admittance, though Zekiel did not understand immediately why or how this could be interpreted as a crime. “I was afraid…if they—if you, if anyone saw something special in her, she might be taken from me-”

And as quickly as that, Zekiel did understand.

“-but it was wrong of me, oh, and I knew it,” the woman continued, seeming to work herself up as she went along. “I shouldn’t have feared their will and they punish me for it, but on her, they punish her, and it was my fault-”

“The gods have their way,” Zekiel said gently, touching a hand to the woman’s shoulder as they began to shake, “whether or not we chafe against them. If it was or is her fate to be taken into our halls, she may be…but that is not for me to decide or you to fear. Whatever slight you feel you have committed before the gods, you right it now, by trusting your faith and inviting their blessing in her recovery.”

The door opened, and Zekiel’s attention turned there, moving from first the elder of the two new arrivals — who, he suspected, must be the physician called into attendance — and a much younger, unanticipated face. Zekiel’s expression brightened with welcome, and he stepped away from the other woman for a moment to greet them.

“And you invite the gods’ most talented to your aid,” he said. “It is wondrous to make your acquaintance, and be the gods’ blessings upon you. I am Zekiel, of Pajore’s Sanctum.” He held out a hand to the adult, but his gaze flit, warm with curiosity, to the child, and his next question was directed to her. “You must be the smallest of the gods’ healers that I have met yet. Did your mother give you a name as pretty as you?”

“It is wondrous to meet you both,” Zekiel said, dipping into a small bow at the greetings.

Then, as the healer Charmise spoke with Itasza, Zekiel kept out from underfoot, watching in particular the child she’d brought along. It occurred to him that bringing her along risked exposing her to whatever the other young girl’s condition was, but as the daughter of a physician, perhaps Charmise knew better in this instance, and Amrita was safe. She certainly looked to be a healthy young girl. Attentive, and — Zekiel thought as he watched her draw out a sketchbook — with a special eye for detail, even so young.

When she strode up to him, he blinked—and then, at the small barrage of questions, laughed, his eyes warming with good humor. “My name is Zekiel,” he repeated. “And a cleric is a servant of the gods. Clerics of our Sanctum, which is my home, serve the goddess Dafiel and the god Lurin.” Most children of Yael learned of the god and goddess very young, and it was almost sure that Amrita did also—but never entirely certain, given that there were the few scattered skeptics, and Zekiel was not going to assume. “When I was very young, I was taken to live there and learn. Some of the things I learned were what all children do, like you will if you go to school—to read and write, and of our history—but because I was taken to the Sanctum, I also learned of the history of our church, our gods, and of worship and the rituals we know to honor them.”

He tipped his head, eyeing the girl and debating how much to say before continuing. “Now that I have grown, I use the rituals I have learned to help people.” He nodded his head towards the bed. “Like Aiara, who has fallen sick and her mother, who wishes to ask the help of the gods in her struggle to recover. But.” He smiled. “Though many priests and priestesses do this, it is not what I usually do. I am here because Itasza knew of me and requested that I undertake it as a friend. Usually, I work with Pajore’s schools and orphanage, and sometimes the younglings of the church…I speak to them, to teach sometimes, so that they may learn of the gods’ will and love early.”

As to the rest of it, he chuckled softly. “I do eat, and sleep, and pray. I actually quite like spiced tintural soup…and jellied rolls. The god and goddess do not speak to me as you and I do…” His gaze trailed to the bed. “I think, though, that they speak to me in other ways. As they speak to all of us, if we are willing to listen.” His eyes returned to her, bright with amusement at the last request. “And you may draw me if it please you, I think that would be wondrous. To have a drawing of everyone does sound very impressive…” He looked to her sketchbook. “Are they very secret, or may I see? I had a very good friend once who enjoyed to draw also…he would fill many sketchbooks.”

“I thought it was very wondrous,” Zekiel said, “though I did not think I would be chosen, it was a great blessing that I was. My mother had already passed to the gods, and I thought it an opportunity to atone and thank them with my service for looking after her spirit.”

Zekiel tipped his head, considerate before saying, “Some rituals are meant only for certain people to do, but gathering what’s needed for medicine is a very honorable task, and I’m sure you’re very good at it. That helps many people, you know. But, there are many things I’ve learned that you could, too. Your mother must be very intelligent, to teach you herself. Has she taught you your letters? To read? Or of medicine?”

When she darted off to collect her sketchbook, Zekiel watched with warm curiosity. She really was a curious child, and attentive, he thought as she looked him over and began to sketch, talking all the while.

“Your memory is very impressive,” he said, “though you are right, it is especially wondrous to have the person there with you. And I am glad that you think so,” he added at the mention of his appearance. “I have never seen curls with color that changes like the skyline.”

Zekiel felt an embarrassed flush climb unbidden into his cheeks at the latter questions, though, and glanced downward before smiling. “I was close to him, yes, when he was here,” he said. “He was a good friend and I loved him very much. His name was Ottolo…like the adventurer, and he had come ashore from a foreign land. He had skin brighter and fairer than mine and curls but yellow-gold, and eyes white and blue like an open sky. He was quite good, I think…I enjoyed to see his work, when he showed me.”

As Amrita handed her own over, Zekiel handled it with care, taking his time as he studied her work thus far. She was a child yet, but clearly had an eye for it—and a great interest. “Oh, there are so many,” he said. “I have never seen their like. You must put much heart into it.”

A passionate little girl, Zekiel decided, with great but more focused energy than many children her age. He smiled. “I do,” he said. Like the pictures, that was. “They are wondrous, and I hope that you continue to fill many notebooks.”

He blinked, though, when her stomach gave a hungry rumble. He had eaten after morning prayer in the breakfast hall before departing, and he would have expected similar from the healer and her child. But perhaps they had not gotten the chance. Or, like many children, perhaps her appetite was simply especially vigorous and quick to return.

Thus, after watching their exchange, when Amrita returned with a small spot of coin and a hopeful expression, Ze’s eyes were warm. “I think that I would, yes,” he said. “But first, I will begin here…” His gaze flit briefly from Itasza to the bed, “…and give the gods humble request for attention to their faithful.”

So, Zekiel did just that, arranging what was left for him to give a ritualized prayer. After the physician finished her work, he would return to speak with the mother, and perhaps even the girl if she were conscious again. But for now, with his initial service performed, it would likely be easier for Charmise to do her work without him under foot. When he stood, finished for the moment, he offered a hand to Amrita.

“Come,” he said. “What sorts of foods do you especially like? Are you permitted sweet pastries? I know I quite like sweet things…”

Zekiel allowed himself to be pulled along, privately amused but equally encouraged by her enthusiasm, and pleased to see it. “It is,” he agreed. “Fruits are the gods’ sweets, and made with good energy for the body.”

It wasn’t a lesson taught by the church, whose interests focused on the divine, but one he had picked up just the same from others of those he spent his time with. Marleya, the older woman who had looked after him occasionally in his youth and whom he now visited from time to time when opportunity presented itself, was not the healthiest herself—but a strong proponent for a balanced diet of whatever the earth offered. The gods did ‘good work’ when they designed plants, she would say, crafting perfect meals contained within themselves if you only knew what to look for and how to access.

He realized, though, that his mind was wandering, and he tuned it back to the moment. He, like Amrita, did love just to observe, and the market was never void of activity. “Since we are about because you were hungry,” he said, “I think it best we handle that. Did you miss breakfast?”

It occurred to him, as he lead the way along, that perhaps offering a small child sweet things wouldn’t be exactly in line with parental wishes, particularly if she was so unaccustomed to them—had she been forbidden? Or simply not had the opportunity? But either way, he supposed it was too late to withdraw the offer now, and as they neared in his goal location, the thought was soon long vanished. Vatai’s Sweet Shop was at the center of the market district, wedged between a cobbler and another building whose purpose Zekiel wasn’t positive of—but Vatai’s did well: small, but lit up from the inside such that even from the street as they approached, display could be seen inside, shelves upon shelves running back of variously stored sweets, from small toffees to strings of wound licorice, sugared nuts, fudges, and dyed wrapped candies of more flavors than he could list in any case.

Perhaps after, he reasoned with himself, he could get her something of more substance. For now, however, it wouldn’t hurt her to get to see and try a little. Stepping up, he opened the door for her. “Come,” he said, “there is someone here too who I know would think it wondrous to meet you.”