80825.2300
The morning after The Return
-=Sanctuary and Orphans'Home, Altaan Province, Bajor=-
Five o’clock in the morning, and Camen was wide-awake. Timal had ordered him to help with the morning meal, and he intended to do much more than that.
He had always known that the way to impress Timal was through hard work. You earned the food you ate, the resources you consumed, in some way. If that was preparing the food, or teaching the children, or cleaning the floors, or painting artwork for the gallery, it did not matter. Everyone at the orphanage contributed something, somehow, to the overall well being of the community.
Work on morning meal usually did not begin until seven in the morning, with the children expected to be at the table at eight. At this early hour children and staff alike were usually still sound asleep. He would have an extra two full hours to prepare a surprise for the children this morning.
He clipped his new earring into place, and dressed in a deep wine colored red shirt with loose fitting dark gray pants and his large buckle low-slung belt around his waist. He knew all too well how hot the kitchen could get and wearing cool, loose fitting clothing was an essential if one intended to make it through the morning. In the past he had been the most comfortable wearing his orange Vedek robes, until the incident when the burning smell he could not explain turned out to be the end of the robe he had slammed shut in the wood-burning oven. After that, sensible and sanitary street attire was the order of the day in the kitchen.
He creaked open the door to his room slowly, and tiptoed down the hall to the kitchen. Timal was a light sleeper and never missed a trick, so stealth was required if he was going to make it to the kitchen unnoticed.
As he passed the children’s quarters, he could not help but notice how many of the beds were filled. It hadn’t been this occupied the last time he was here. Nothing compared, of course, to the days of the occupation, but still quite a lot of children. Jariel could only assume the Takesian Plains disaster had once again pressed the orphanages of Bajor into service. Another fresh batch of children with no one left in their life to care for them except those who reached out to help when everyone else turned their backs.
Jariel entered the kitchen, and reviewed the menu for the day. Today was the third day of the week, and that meant the children were to receive a bowl of oatmeal, slice of fruit, and glass of juice. That was a simple enough meal for Timal and his apprentices to prepare.
He began looking around the kitchen and pantry for the ingredients he needed. Sugar, yeast, butter, flour, water, milk, eggs, and stilsa spice. Stilsa spice was refined from the bark of the plant of the same name. The taste was similar to the Earth spice known as cinnamon, or at least that was what his memory told him. He began working the ingredients together in a large bowl until the mixture formed into dough. He removed the dough, set it on a floured pan, and kneaded it until it was almost elastic in consistency. He then returned the dough to the bowl, coated it with oil and covered it to allow it time to rise.
As the dough rises, Camen mixed together the butter, sugar and Stilsa spice in a sauce pan, preparing the mixture that would be worked in with the dough. With the mixture prepared, he took a moment to rest as he waited for the rising dough to catch up with him. He drew a glass of water and nursed it until he felt the dough was ready.
Once again he rolled it out onto a pan, this time cutting it into strips and coating the Stilsa spice mixture onto the dough as he coiled the dough into the proper shape of the breakfast roll.
Again Jariel needed to allow the dough time to rise. He lit the oven, and again sat down to rest. He sat quietly in the kitchen, and checked the time. It was still a half hour until Timal would wake up, and an hour and a half until the children were due at the table. Exactly as much time as he needed to let the dough rise and then bake the rolls.
Camen felt a bead of sweat roll down his cheek as the temperature in the room began to rise. He looked down at his shirt, which was already stained with the various ingredients he had been working with. Indeed he appeared to be earning his keep.
The kitchen door slowly creaking open broke the silence of the morning. Instinctively he held his breath, not wanting to make any noise until he knew who or what he was dealing with. A young girl’s face appeared in the doorway. She did not see Jariel, who, from her perspective, was behind the door.
Camen noted that, while she was young, she seemed too old to be just passing through. The youngest children were adopted the quickest, by families looking for a child with a “clean slate” to raise. Older children were sometimes seen as “too far gone,” to be adopted. These children were often taken in by the more loving families that wanted to care for them without feeling the need to raise a child from infancy. Still others chose to stay and study with Timal until they were ready to go off on their own into adulthood.
Then there was the group who simply did not care for any choice. They were too jaded to want a new family or accept Timal’s religious guidance. These were usually the most difficult children to reach, and required the most patience. Jariel could tell simply by this young lady’s surreptitious behavior that she probably fit into the last group. Judging by her height and weight he had the girl pegged as approximately the same age as Lair Arie.
She stepped quietly across the floor, her sandaled feet not making so much as a squeak or creak. Jariel watched as she opened the pantry door, and took out a box of crackers. She opened the box, reached inside and grabbed a handful of food. She held the cracker sin one hand, and with the other folded the box shut and stored it back in the pantry. Leaning against the door, she began to eat, still unaware she was not alone.
“May I help you, child?”
The girl spun around, but did not scream. Her hands closed around the food she held, and she clutched it close to her body, as if afraid it would be taken away.
“Who are you?” She whispered.
“Jariel Camen, an old friend of Vedek Timal’s. Why are we whispering?”
“Shh. You’ll wake him!” The girl protested.
[[I could teach you a way to speak that will never wake the Vedek.]] Jariel signed. The girl shook her head, confused.
“You did not tell me your name.” Jariel whispered, content to lower his voice to calm the girl down.
“Milea.” She said.
Jariel smiled. "That's a very pretty name. Is it your family name or given name?"
"It is my name." She snapped back at him. Camen had clearly hit a sore spot.
"Do you know what it means?" Camen asked.
Milea blushed, as she could tell by the tone of Jariel's voice that he probably knew.
"Do you?" She replied.
Jariel stood up and checked on the rise of his rolls as he turned his back to Milea and began to speak.
"Milea Fendalia is the scientific name, from the ancient Bajoran tongue, of the plant known affectionately to botanists on this world as the strangulation vine."
Camen slid the rolls into the oven and continued. "It wraps itself around an unsuspecting host plant and invades the internal workings of the host plant, stealing its water supply, in effect killing the host. Once the host dies the vine simply spreads to an adjacent plant and starts all over again."
"Wow. Am I supposed to be impressed?"
"I have some experience in gardening, I'm quite familiar with Milea. Did you pick that name out for yourself?"
She shrugged, "I guess. It seemed appropriate. All I do is suck the life out of people."
"The children will be up soon. Would you like to give me a hand with the rest of first meal?"
"No." Milea said honestly, as she stuffed a few crackers into her mouth.
"All right." Camen said with a smile. He was not going to let the girl bait him into anger, since that was what she wanted, or at least felt like she deserved. He merely retrieved several melons from the cooler, and began to wash them in the sink, ignoring her.
"What are you baking? Smells good." She asked finally, as the combination of the smell of hot food and frustration of being ignored got to her.
"Nothing you'd be interested in. Looks like you have no trouble taking what food you want."
"Good morning!" Jariel and Milea both turned to see the smiling older face of one Vedek Timal standing in the doorway. "I see some enterprising individuals have gotten an early start on things."
Milea stuffed the last of the crackers in her mouth and chewed them quickly.
"What have I told you about stealing food child? We make sure you all are fed three meals a day and if you are hungry at night to just ask myself or one of the other adults." Timal spoke in a very soothing tone.
Milea crossed her arms, looked away and shrugged. "I wanted to eat something before I go for a walk."
"What about the building? I was hoping you'd help us with construction today." Timal said.
"Whatever." Milea spun on her heel and stormed out of the kitchen and out of the orphanage all together.
Jariel watched out the window and she passed through the gardens and out of site.
"You're getting soft Vedek Timal." Jariel observed, thinking when he was a child, he never would have dared walk out on Timal in such a fashion. Timal raised his hand to reassure Camen.
"I know, I know. She's still relatively new here so I'm giving her a wide berth."
Timal took up the blade Jariel had washed to cut the fruit and began slicing sections of melons for the children. Camen held each steady as Timal made the cuts. "What happened to her parents? Victims of the Takesian Plains?" Camen asked.
Timal shook his head and was quiet for a moment. "If only she were that lucky." He said softly. "That's why I can not push her hard right now. She'll learn to be part of a family in her own time, but if I rush the process she'll only withdraw further."
Camen left the conversation there, and removed the rolls from the oven.
"Blessed be the Prophets!" Timal exclaimed, his mood brightening. "You always knew how to whip up a meal but nothing this complicated. Where did you learn to bake like that?"
Jariel froze in place for a moment, looking down at the food. He stuttered as he tried to speak. "I... I don't know. It was just there. I've never made these before."
Truth be told he knew exactly how he had learned, from the French baker he had once called his wife. Truth be told, as it sank it what he had just done, he was scared to death. "I guess these are part of the reason why I needed to come here to sort out everything, Timal. I can't even define my own identity, let alone anyone else's.
Timal paused in mid slice. "You need to sort everything out... because of the rolls?"
The kitchen began to fill with prylars and monks to assist Timal with preparing breakfast.
"We'll talk soon my friend." Camen said.
The children filed in as the meal was finished, and Camen watched the try of rolls it had taken nearly three hours to make vanish in a matter of moments. There were a few bits of spice left stuck to the bottom of the pan, which he scraped off with his finger to eat. *Not bad.* He thought.
After the meal, the children assisted with cleaning and washing. Timal then organized them into workgroups for the new school building they would be putting up today. The adults and older children would be responsible for heavy lifting, and the bulk of the construction work. The young children would serve as runners looking for materials, getting refreshments and relaying messages between workers.
The sun was unrelenting as Camen worked, and he thanked each child that brought him water profusely. The manual labor and building from scratch was a far cry from his life on the Sera. There, when you needed something done, you simply called Rada, Salvek or Kellyn, and it was done. They worked their magic with replicators and computers and most tasks could be completed without breaking a sweat.
Today, Camen's shirt was soaked through with sweat, and clung to his chest. His muscles ached and his eyes hurt from squinting against the bright sun. Still it felt wonderful to immerse himself in this and let his mind wander free. He looked forward to tomorrow as well, when his engineering extension course began. The chance to expand his horizons excited him, and he wondered if someday when Rada, Salvek or Kellyn needed something done, if they might ask him to work the magic.
As day turned into dusk, Timal called an end to the work. The floors, walls, roof, and internal rooms had already taken form. With the shell in place, the next day's work would cover the internals.
"So you can build, too?" Timal said, clapping a hand on Jariel's shoulder.
"I believe, Timal, anyone can accomplish anything with the right instruction."
Timal tossed Camen a clean shirt, to replace the sweat soaked one long enough for Jariel to enjoy his supper before showering. He untucked his shirt from inside his belt, and pulled it off over his head. He used the last remaining dry spot to wipe his brow and chest one more time, and pulled the new shirt on. As the two walked back to the main building, they heard a rustling from the bushes.
Milea appeared, covered in grass stains and sporting a few red spots that were either pricks from a thorn or insect bites.
"I'm starving." She said.
"The children are just sitting down to evening meal. They worked hard today for their food. Perhaps tomorrow you can help us with the inside of the building?" Timal said.
"We'll see." Milea said, as she marched past Jariel and Timal and into the orphanage.
Jariel Camen
On Bajor