Healer of Sakkara

Chapter 10 - Zenír

Iksthanis strode down the long hallways and out across the open courtyard, intent upon his mission. Zenír had eaten almost nothing in the past twenty-four hours and hadn't eaten properly for who-knows-how-long before that. Before he told any more of his undoubtedly sad tale, Iksthanis meant to be sure he had some food in him.

In the dining hall, the evening meal was already well under way, and Iksthanis joined the back of the quickly dwindling line. When he reached the front, he grabbed two bowls from the stack and prepared to defend himself, for there was a strict rule that each person was allowed only one. It seemed that word traveled fast in the Haven, however, and the man on serving duty greeted him only with a smile.

"Greetings, honored one," the man said, using the formal terms for addressing guests. "How is our dear Zenír this evening? He is ever so sweet-tempered, and yet I fear he is frightfully hard on himself. He carries a heavy pain, I think."

Iksthanis frowned. Who did this fellow think he was, to speak of Zenír in such a way? Or to claim him with such a casual 'our?' Zenír belonged to no one; and if anyone could claim him, then that one was he.

"Is everything all right?"

Iksthanis realized he was scowling and that he had not responded to the man, who now watched him uncertainly.

"Zenír is well," he said. "He just needs to eat something."

"Ah, well, it is good he has such a friend as you, then, to take such good care of him." The man smiled and added an extra scoop of berry salad to Iksthanis' tray.

With an effort, Iksthanis managed to thank the man for the food without growling at him, and retraced his steps towards Zenír's room. He understood his friend's frustration with being treated differently, and that he was guilty of treating him so himself. What had Zenír said? That he was being too high handed — doing things without being asked. And what was he doing now but exactly that?

He paused in the hallway outside Zenír's door, laden tray in hand, and shook his head at himself. He would do better from now on, he decided.

And yet when he entered the room and found that Zenír was not where he had left him, he was surprised. He shook his head again at his own presumption, which had been that the other man would have waited for him in exactly the place he had seen him last, as if he were an obedient child, or an object one could trust to remain where it had been placed.

He set the tray aside and called out.

"Zenír? Are you bathing? I've brought food."

When he got no answer, he moved toward the bathing room, but found it likewise empty.

"Zenír? Where—"

A pair of large, window-like doors opened onto a wide balcony overlooking the courtyard below, and it was there Iksthanis spotted his friend. Zenír stood with his hands rested upon the rail, the wind playing with his tousled brown curls, and something in the set of his shoulders made Iksthanis' gut clench. It was something only one who had known true despair would recognize, and as Zenír shifted his weight and leaned forward, the terrible idea that he meant to throw himself from the ledge flashed through Iksthanis' mind.

Dashing to the door, he threw it open and rushed out, catching Zenír around the waist and hauling him back with a cry.

Zenír uttered a cry as well, though his was one of surprise as, together, the pair fell back in a tumbled heap.

-✵-

After Iksthanis had left, Zenír had sat without moving for some time, but at last he got up and went into the washroom, where he splashed some water on his face.