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“How long will you be gone?” Jabber asks. He’s been pacing around Zanka for the last hour and Zanka’s last nerve was starting to twitch.
“It’s a day journey, so maybe three days in total,” Zanka answers. He’s packing for the trip, clothes, food, water, just enough to fit inside his pack. He’ll be borrowing Mr. Yuuji’s mule to help him with the journey.
“Why do you need to bring so much… stuff,” It’s not really a question, more of a whine. Zanka was bringing gifts for his visit. Yesterday, when he saw the sign in the stars, he hadn’t been able to sleep. Now, wide-awake and eyes aching, Zanka is deciding to visit an expert on the subjects. So, with proper manners, Zanka is preparing gifts.
Jam from his garden, spell bags, stones, new journals with fresh parchment, and dried herbs and fruits, it’s been a challenge, managing to scrounge everything up in a day’s notice. Jabber isn’t taking his notice of absence very well.
“Why can’t I come?” He complains and Zanka sighs.
“Because they won’t like you very much,” he says as he loads another thing away.
Jabber throws his hands up, “I’m very likable!”
“Don’t lie, it’s unbecoming,” Zanka states and earns himself a glare. There’s a small smirk on his face as he loads the last of it, then he exhales and turns back to Jabber. He puts his hands on his hips and looks at the other witch, “I’m allowin’ you to stay here while I’m gone, is that not good enough for ya?”
Jabber pouts, “but you won’t be here!”
Zanka lets out a groan, “Jabber!”
The pink-eyed man is instantly in his face. He preens, “ye-es?”
“Ya can’t come with, stay here or leave,” Zanka says, shutting the pack and slinging it on his back. There’s a knock and he glances behind him, “That’ll be Mr. Yuuji, I gotta go pack the mule.”
“Zan-” The door is open and shut before Jabber can finish. Zanka exhales when the door shuts and then smiles at his neighbor.
“Mr. Yuuji,” he greets.
The man gives him a hesitant smile, “Apothecarist, how’ve ya been?”
“Good, my garden has been a success this Spring,” he says and hauls his cargo to attach to the mule. He places his hands on his hips, “thanks again for lettin’ me borrow her.”
“This is Clarence, and I’m just repayin’ my debt,” he dips his head. Mr. Yuuji pats Clarence, “she’ll get ya where ya need to be, just don’t push her too much now.”
“Of course,” Zanka agrees and the man leaves. Tightening the straps, Zanka readies himself for his journey. In a quick movement, Zanka ties his staff to the side of Clarence. Just in case, he thinks as he drags his fingers down her wood.
“Do ya haveta go?” Jabber’s sudden voice says and Zanka jolts.
“Damn you,” Zanka curses, clutching his heart. He sighs, “yes, Jabber, I have to go.”
“But why!” He drags out the word and Zanka throws himself over the mule and sits on her back. Clarence shuffles a bit and he steadies her.
“Because I need to make sure it’s nothing,” Zanka answers. He pierces Jabber with a stern look, “now behave while I’m gone. If my cottage is in shambles when I get back, I’ll be pissed.”
Jabber gives him a smug smirk, “The Triple Goddess says “Bear with each other and forgive one another if any of you has a grievance against someone!”,”
His quotation surprises Zanka. In reply, Zanka arches an eyebrow, ““But when you are invited, take the lowest place,” “do to others as you would have them do to you,”.”
Jabber tsks and looks away. Zanka leads Clarence a step closer, the movement causes Jabber to look up. Zanka tilts his head.
“I’ll be back, Jabber,” he nods, “wait for me.”
Then he turns Clarence and heads down the road.
--
The experts he’s visiting are a group of witches. They live variably free in a hidden utopia they’ve managed to seal from the nonmagical world. Canvas Town, they had taken to calling it. Somewhere where those who follow the Triple Goddess are able to express themselves and worship at their leisure. Zanka doesn’t believe things like that last.
Those who reside in Canvas are usually witches who either want to exist in a non-persecuting world, or witches who wish to take the next step with their magic. They work together and commune and share ideas, things that push Mother’s soul in them to the next level.
Zanka has never had the skill for much improvement.
Instead, he’s settled as a household witch, the basic follower of the Triple Goddess.
A household witch is just a glorified apothecarist, they make remedies and know a basis of medicine. They make spell bags, understand how to construct spells and memorize the ones that are already made. Mostly though, the household witch is the path for those whose devotion comes first. They use their magic to honor the Triple Goddess and only for that. Not that other witches can’t do that, Zanka’s just found that their focus tends to waver.
He’s met a few times with Job before. The witch was well-versed in the arts, his focus was complete and his devotion admirable. Zanka knows that he will understand what the stars are saying.
Canvas Town is far from Zanka’s home, a decision he chose purposefully. The farther he is from other witches, the safer he’ll be. Well, Jabber doesn’t count. Zanka can keep an eye on him, so there’s no cause for worry.
He clears his throat and pushes Clarence forward. It’s nice weather, though there are clouds brewing in the distance. Zanka hopes they don’t interfere with his travels back, Jabber would be unhappy.
As day turns over and the hinting of pink sits in the clouds, Zanka can hear the jubilee of Canvas Town. He’s on the edge of Mono Forest, a dangerous place for non-witches.
But… for witches it’s a haven.
Mother’s magic is thick in the trees and plentiful in the streams. The animals are many and they bound through the forest without fear. While it’s become a garden for witches and magical creatures, the Kingsmen fear it. Several efforts to burn Mono Forest to ash have been made, but the leaves of the branches refuse to catch fire. All flames stop right on the edge of the forest.
Zanka pushes Clarence forward, the mule enters with ease.
It grows darker as he walks the path under the shade of the leaves. Noises clatter through the bushes and the branches above sway precariously. Zanka pays them no mind, the staff tied at his side makes his mind at ease.
Then, a louder noise.
“—shut up! There’s nothing out there! Gris said so!”
Zanka tightens his hold on the reins and narrows his eyes. There’s a fork up ahead, where he’ll need to turn right, but there seems to be another travel party on the other connecting path.
“—gonna getcha real good! Watch out, Rudo!”
“Stop it!”
And they were being extremely loud.
Zanka sighs, pausing Clarence before continuing. They must be witches, seeing as how deep they were in Mono Forest.
His earrings bounce a bit as he aims to reach the path before intersecting with the-
“Hey, there’s someone else here.”
“I’m not falling for your shitty lies this-”
“No, for real, look.”
Zanka turns his head. There’s two people, they look to be around his age. One has shaggy whitish hair that ends with a darker gray, he’s wearing baggy, unfitting clothes. The other one, a girl, with bright red hair and sharp green eyes. Ah, Zanka appraises, she’s good with magic.
“Who’re you?” She calls out. She’s the calmer of the two, the other one looks like an angry, nervous wreck. Zanka keeps his eyes stationed on the boy.
“A traveler, headin’ for Canvas Town,” he calls back. Then nods his head, “and you?”
“Also, travelers,” she answers back, there’s an air of smugness to her. Zanka exhales and then turns Clarence onto the path. The two wait a bit and Zanka hears more of their group filter in behind them as they catch up. With a glance, Zanka turns his head just briefly to catch the whole group. There’s three more men, two larger and one smaller boy.
“Gris, there’s another guy up there,” The skittish boy points. One of the older men answers back.
“It’s rude to talk so loud, Rudo,” he chastises, “and it’s the main path to Canvas Town, of course there’ll be other travelers.”
They continue to whisper amongst themselves, Zanka’s nerve twitching a bit from irritation. He rolls his eyes as the boy and girl try to get closer to Clarence, but whenever he looks behind him, they skitter back to the group. Ridiculous.
“So, what brings you to Canvas Town?”
Zanka does not jump. But, he is rather startled. His head snaps to the side. It’s one of the older men, with bleached hair and tattoos tracing up his neck. Zanka finds his voice, “seeking consultation.”
It’s close enough, he doesn’t owe strangers anything. The man hums, “I’m Enjin.”
“I didn’t ask,” Zanka responds. Rude, he snaps at himself, Mother would disapprove.
Instead of getting irritated, he chuckles, “Damn, alright. But you know, it’s dangerous to travel alone in Mono.”
“I’m aware,” Zanka answers, “I can defend myself fine.”
It’s a pointed response, one that is glared at Enjin. Enjin shrugs, “That’s good. You on your way to see Job?”
Zanka pauses, then eyes the other man, “…yes.”
“Us to,” Enjin nods. He’s pleasant, polite. Zanka clicks his teeth a bit, it might be beneficial to converse for information.
“What brings y’all to Job?” Zanka asks. Enjin flashes him a grin.
“I think I’m owed a name for an answer.”
That’s fair, Zanka supposes. He clears his throat, “Zanka.”
“Well, Zanka, no one in my party can read the stars, and they’ve been pretty alarming as of late,” Enjin states. Zanka’s breath almost leaves him with relief, so I’m not the only one who sees it.
“Yes, they have,” Zanka agrees, “my abilities aren’t that grand, I thought I’d be safe and ask an expert.”
Enjin hums. Then he glances up, “hey, there it is.”
He was right. Canvas Town, laughter and chatter fell from the gates. The doors were open, allowing light to fill the forest. Walls, high and battered by nature, rose through the wooded area and Zanka let out an exhalation. It’s been a year or two since he’s been here.
“Enter Her gates with thanksgiving and Her courts with praise; give thanks to Her and praise Mother’s name,” He mutters under his breath. Enjin glances at him and Zanka wonders if he heard his mumblings. He leads Clarence through the gate.
It’s loud instead and people bustle- no, not people. Witches bustle here and there, their magic swirling in the air and mingling around friendly faces. There was an ache deep in Zanka’s soul, a longing to be around people that welcome and accept him. However, he pushes those feelings aside, he no longer allows himself to long for such things.
“We’re heading in the same direction, might as well walk together,” Enjin smiles up at Zanka, and the boy gives a small dip in acceptance. Enjin’s group pushes around Clarence as they enter the busy town. It feels a bit like a shield and Zanka watches carefully as the boy and girl from before end up right next to him.
“Riyo, and that’s Rudo,” the girl offers without question. Zanka stares for a bit and then drops-
“Zanka,” before he turns his gaze back forward. The scruffy boy, Rudo, is staring directly at the side of Zanka’s face. His eyes twitches and he clears his throat. Rudo’s gaze did not move, and Zanka snaps, “What could ya possibly be starin’ at?”
Rudo’s eyes blink and he flinches as he’s called out directly. Soon enough though, the startled look turns into something aggressive.
Zanka knew it, he’s seen this boy’s type before. All defense, walls that tower so high that others couldn’t even hope to pull them down. Rudo has a troubled past and Zanka can see it in his eyes, they share the same look after all. But who is Zanka to care? It’s not his responsibility to show patience and soft-spoken words to a hurt little brat.
“What? Can’t I just look? What’s wrong with that?” Rudo snaps and Zanka arches his eyebrows.
“Weren’t you taught any manners? Starin’ is rude, specifically if you don’t even know the other person,” Zanka pushes for Clarence to speed up. Rudo calls out behind, irritated to be left in the dust, his hand outstretches and snags hold on the end of-
Zanka’s hand slaps out instantly, smacking Rudo’s hand away from the staff tied tightly onto the back of his saddle. His eyes flash with a blue as he glares down at the boy.
“Don’t touch that,” it’s hissed out and Rudo glares back up at him. The boy’s gaze doesn’t waver.
“Don’t ignore me.”
“Okay!” Enjin interjects himself in between the two, “exciting stuff over here, hm? What do we say we back up a little and cool off?”
Zanka whips his head forward, “I think I’ll wait a bit before meeting with Job. Witches should stay out of other witches’ business.”
He turns Clarence and leads her towards a stable. Other horses and mules are tied up, including a few magical creatures as well. Their eyes pinpoint onto him, and Zanka clears his throat as he ties Clarence to a post and readies her water and hay.
Then he sighs and brushes any residue off of him as he searches the streets for an inn. He doesn’t like it, Canvas Town. It’s loud and there’s too many people; he finds his eyes anxiously tracing the crowds looking for their faces. Suddenly, Zanka is hit with a sudden ache. He misses Jabber.
Oh yeah, once he realizes that that is what’s bothering him, the ache intensifies. How? How can Zanka miss someone? He hasn’t wanted another person’s company in ages, so why now?
Jabber’s bright pink eyes that are always razor focused and always energized. Then there was his hair, pretty and rough, adorned with gold to make it glow in the sun. Mn, Zanka imagines running his hands through his locs, his fingers catching in all the right places. He traces Jabber’s head until he reaches the jawline and tips his chin up, up, up, until he looks Zanka right in the eye. Then there’d be a huff of a breath, and that stupid smirk of his, and his tongue would peek out, swiping at Zanka’s thumb-
Oh my Goddess, stop.
Zanka’s hands instantly press into his eyes, pushing so hard until he sees stars. What is he thinking? Why did he- No, he shouldn’t think about it anymore. He needs to get his head on straight and find a fucking inn to stay the night in.
In a huff, Zanka marches down the street.
--
Wind rattled the branches of the trees outside. The door creaked from the lightest pressure. A fire crackles just barely in the pit. A stomach rumbled in hunger.
Jabber is lying on the floor.
He is sprawled, more accurately stated, with his arms out wide above him and his legs out wide below him. A large inhale works its way through his lungs and then out his mouth. He sighs.
“I’m so freakin’ bored!” He shouts. Zanka’s voice doesn’t reply. No one’s voice replies because he is in an empty house all by his lonesome.
It’s not like he’s waiting for Zanka or anything, he could go do something else. It’s just… Zanka is the only thing he wants right now, no one else quite knows how to itch that scratch for Jabber.
He’s so quick-witted, with a razor-sharp tongue that bites whenever Jabber nibbles. It’s addicting, the way he snaps back, the way he teases, the way he smiles, Jabber’s never had another drug quite like him.
Time moves a bit quicker now that he has Zanka on the mind. Then, his bubble is burst.
The front door pushes open. Jabber twists his head around instantly, eyes sharpening on whoever is entering Zanka’s home. No one should be coming in here, no one except Zanka and himself, so who-
“Come on out now, I know you’re in here,” it’s that damn old man’s voice. The one that gave Zanka the donkey, the one that reported him. Jabber’s eyes narrow at the intruder, his body dropping low instinctively and creeping just out of the old man’s sight.
Zanka and Jabber had had a talk back when he had returned with him. When Zanka had finally sighed and accepted that Jabber wasn’t going to leave anytime soon, the house witch had sat him down and had a few words to share with him. “Mr. Yuuji knows you, Jabber. You mustn’t show your face to him, he’ll report ya again and the last thing I want is the Hell Guard comin’ to my house. Ya understand?”
Jabber had nodded solemnly. Zanka hadn’t needed to tell Jabber that, there’s no way in hell that Jabber would let the Hell Guard take another person from him. He grits his teeth, unfortunately, Zanka had kept talking.
“And no, we can’t kill him. Mr. Yuuji is just a paranoid old man, and if ya remember correctly, he brought ya in from his fields and saved your ass. Ya ain’t touchin’ him, and if I catch wind of you doin’ something to him, you’re out on your ass.”
Jabber is not getting kicked out. But he’s also not gonna let this man do whatever he likes. It doesn’t take much, to tap into Jabber’s magic, as much as he’s rejected the Triple Goddess, he’s still kept his magic cultivated and well worked.
There’s a chill in the air instantly, Jabber recognizes it as his own magic. Mr. Yuuji’s footsteps freeze and Jabber lets a smile cross his face, good, at least he’s competent enough to be aware.
“Now,” the word comes out cracked and the old man clears his throat, “Now I know you’re in here, the Apothecarist didn’t throw ya out like he should’ve.”
Jabber keeps his eyes centered on the old man. He had tucked himself against the wall in the back cabinet. The magic in the air was there to make Mr. Yuuji overlook Jabber. He wouldn’t be able to see him, not unless he moved or spoke. It was a simple spell, something he learned after Mama died.
“The Apothecarist is a nice man: polite, helpful, well-mannered, you’ll bring him nothin’ but trouble, ya hear?” Mr. Yuuji calls out, his feet stumbling a step or two back. Jabber smirks at his unbalanced nature, Zanka would call him an ass for that.
Another glance around the room, those old eyes glaze right over Jabber.
The blades in Jabber’s pockets feel heavy, and the rings on his fingers feel tighter than usual. He aches to just kill the man right here, of course though, that’ll stain Zanka’s kitchen. The man coughs, “If you care about him, you should leave. He doesn’t need someone like you ruinin’ his life.”
Jabber’s lip curls back into a snarl, how dare he? How dare he come in here and demand that Jabber leave? He’s mad- beyond mad, he’s pissed. It’s true though, a voice hisses from the back of his mind, you killed your mother and now you’ll kill Zanka too.
I won’t, Jabber promises himself, I won’t let that happen again.
The feeling, though, doesn’t leave.
Mr. Yuuji leaves the cottage, and the house drops once again into silence. Jabber sits for a second or two, pondering on the thoughts and memories that cross his mind. Then, an instruction from Zanka crosses his mind.
“It’ll only be few days, but don’t you dare let my garden die.”
That’s right, Zanka left Jabber with chores. He stands, and heads into the kitchen and then out the back door. The garden is lush and full, greenery and florals hanging over the edges of his baskets and boxes. Jabber doesn’t believe that the Triple Goddess is giving, but damn, does She like Zanka.
He whistles to himself as he walks through the garden rows. Zanka has divided the growth so well, he has herbs, flowers, and vegetables, all separate and organized. The instructions had been written out for him, and Jabber follows them to the letter.
For vegetables, he was to pick anything ripe and water. For herbs, to pick enough for a cloth bag, trim, and then water. For flowers, pick a few of the ones most in bloom and hang them to dry. Then at the bottom, crossed out, then rewritten and crossed out again, it says pray for blessing. Jabber huffs to himself, Zanka really has a pattern to follow. He tuts around, but follows the instructions, all except that last crossed out line. It’s calming, and the man can see why Zanka likes it so much. After he’s done it’s a bit into the afternoon and Jabber wonders if Zanka has arrived at his destination.
Canvas Town, yeah, Jabber’s heard of it. He’s never been. The thought of being surrounded so heavily by the Triple Goddess’ influence is quite unappealing to him. Though, Jabber does wonder why Zanka didn’t settle there. All the population is witches and all worship the Triple Goddess, sounds like eternal happiness for a stickler like Zanka.
Humming to himself, Jabber wanders back inside. There’s bread and jam that Zanka had left for him, he prepares himself a few slices and then heads to the bench by the window. It faces the living room, but Jabber drapes himself over the edge so that he can stare outside the window and down the dirt path.
He stays that way, eyes drifting aimlessly out towards the road, till his eyelids weigh heavy and his mind dips into sleep. All the way until he was dead to the world, Jabber wanted his eyes to catch just a glimpse of Zanka coming back.
--
It was hot. So hot in fact, that sweat brims itself on Jabber’s forehead. There was a weight on his lower torso, something framing him in. Then, wet on top of the heat. It was… odd. Something warm and damp trailing up his stomach. Wait, where’s my shirt? Scrunching his eyes open, Jabber was face-to-face with blue, vivid eyes.
Zanka was sat on top of him, thighs caging around Jabber’s body. Both of their tunics were missing, and Jabber came to realize that he had never seen Zanka without clothes. Alabaster skin, milky and smooth fits itself on lean muscle and bone. He’s perfect, Jabber thinks, he’s absolutely perfect.
“Jabber,” Zanka moans out. It’s airy and sweet, and the god-like man drapes himself over Jabber’s lying body. Zanka’s face tilts to one side and then to the next, “Jabber, come on, I wanted a bit more participation than this.”
That’s all Zanka has to say. Jabber surges up, ringed hands clasping on the sides of Zanka’s hips and chest. Lips instantly found Zanka’s nipple, they were pale as well, such a light pink that they almost blended into the rest of his skin.
Perfect, Jabber sucks and bites and nibbles and Zanka lets out grunts and groans through it all. Hands run up and down flawless and unmarred skin, feeling every bump and surface until Jabber’s mapped it all out.
It’s worship, not something filthy- no, Jabber wouldn’t do that to Zanka, he deserves better. Suddenly, Jabber is pulled to the stories his mama used to tell him. About how the Triple Goddess created the world and admired it’s every detail. Jabber feels eerily like that now.
As Zanka writhes and moves under Jabber’s wandering and expansive hands, it’s close to how the Triple Goddess shaped the world. She molded everything with precision and grace. Zanka moves like an otherworldly entity, and Jabber worships him as such. With adoration pouring from his being as he praises and loves and devotes himself to the ethereal thing in front of him.
“Jabber,” Zanka whispers out and Jabber mouths at his jaw.
“What?”
A hand shoves him back down onto the couch, and Zanka’s hand creeps under Jabber’s pants. Pink eyes lock on the fingers slipping under cloth, he snaps his gaze up, eager to read what was reflecting off Zanka’s face.
Narrow and slitted blue eyes smile down at him.
“So good for me,” Zanka purrs out and Jabber keens a bit. His body is hot and he pants up at his God.
“Please,” Jabber begs, “Please, please Zanka. Help me- make me- please!”
“Oh hush,” Zanka shushes and Jabber’s teeth dig deep into his lip to silence his please. Anything, anything for him. Zanka’s head tilts and he graces him with a heavenly smile, “Good boy.”
Jabber-
Jabber’s eyes snap open and he sits up in his bed with an enormously deep breath. It’s empty all around him on the couch. Zanka is nowhere to be seen. Jabber is alone in Zanka’s cottage. Everything was a dream and he’s still alone.
The inside of Jabber’s pants was damp.
--
“Job isn’t seeing anyone today.”
Zanka doesn’t hear the words fully at first.
Currently, he is outside Job’s tent. Job, being a Celestial Witch, has garnered the attention of well over a hundred people. These witches, Zanka included, congregate outside of Job’s tent eager for a consultation about the stars. There are witches from all over the kingdom, including Enjin and his group just a few feet away.
“I’m sorry, but he isn’t able to see anyone. Please leave.”
Zanka lets out a breath as angry mumbling starts to start up among the crowd. What does he do? He came here to see Job, but if he won’t see anyone… does he just go back home? I can’t do that, I know this is something big.
He let out a huff and whips around. Zanka will find Job on his own, then confront him on what is happening. Odd readings in the night sky and now the most renowned Celestial Witch won’t see anyone? It’s suspicious, enough so that Zanka is determined to find out what’s behind it all.
He heads back to the inn that he found. Tossing his things around the room he digs into one of his bags. Now, Zanka is not an expert by any means, but- He can read tea leaves to some degree.
Fishing out his tea bags, he sets them on the table. While Zanka doesn’t have a stove or fireplace, he wouldn’t be able to call himself a witch without a few magical fixes. He pulls out his small kettle, enough water can be held inside for two cups. Then he pulls out his teacup. Placing it on the table, he pulls out his container of black tea leaves. It’s a neat little box, something he bought from a travelling merchant once upon on a time.
Zanke picks up his water flask and pops open the lid. He pours an amount into the kettle and then puts down the water. Instead, he picks up the kettle into his hands, his palms cupping the bottom.
Nibbling a bit on his lip, Zanka focuses. She gives strength to the weary and increases the power of the weak.
His hands warm, Mother’s gift running through his veins. The metal of the kettle begins to heat. It’s a simple prayer, one Zanka has spoken to himself countless times. A reassurance of Mother’s love and devotion to Her children.
Though, Zanka’s magic usage takes intimate focus and deep concentration for him to be able to pull off-
Knock, knock.
There are two knocks on his door and the heat fades instantly from his hands. Zanka throws a nasty glare at the door before almost slamming his kettle down in order to stand. Stomping over to the door would be petty, so instead, Zanka walks with patience in his step. Then, he cracks the door open an inch.
“Ah, there you are,” it’s Enjin, the man he met before. Those gold eyes are staring at him through the door, a smile wide on his face. He points inside to Zanka’s room, “We were thinking a little chat might do us good, seeing how we didn’t get to see Job an’ all.”
Zanka’s eyes narrow a bit, his glace trying to see behind Enjin, “We?”
“Me and my crew,” Enjin steps aside, there are Riyo, Rudo, and then two others. Zanka looks at them hesitantly. Instead, he answers.
“Just one, I don’t like inviting strangers into my space,” It’s… not quite a lie, Jabber wasn’t a stranger anymore. Enjin dips his head and pulls the door open so he can step inside. The door shuts behind the man and he lumbers over to Zanka’s table. Letting himself collapse into a chair, Enjin tilts his head at Zanka.
“Doing some tasseography?” He asks. Zanka nods neatly, then sits down on the chair across from Enjin.
He pulls the kettle back into his hands, “yes, though my concentration was broke.”
“Ah, then it’s only fair I heat the water in return,” Enjin ushers for the kettle and Zanka hands it over to him carefully. Enjin looks at Zanka a moment and then to his surprise, prays, “She gives strength to the weary and increases the power of the weak.”
Zanka’s eyes widen a bit at the words he had just uttered in his head. Then, the metal of the kettle began to heat, and steam began to leak from the top. Enjin was powerful, his quick manifestation of magic and instant heat was much more than Zanka’s own.
“So, the sky,” Enjin starts and Zanka locks back in.
“Right, I couldn’t get a read on it, so I’d figure I’d try a version of divination that I do have experience in.”
“Mn, I don’t have much, but tasseography is something every good witch ought to know the basics of,” Enjin rolls his head on his neck as his palms continue to heat the water. Zanka sees the tattoos that run from under his jacket to his wrists to his hands, he wonders if they carry anything special.
Sighing, Zanka runs his hands through his hair, “Job won’t meet anyone.”
“Job is dead.”
The statement causes Zanka to freeze. He locks eyes with the man across from him, the grin from before replaced with something extremely serious. Zanka digests the words and then turns his head to mutter, “though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for She is with me; Her rod and Her staff they comfort me. Mother preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies: She anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over.”
“He died just a few days ago,” Enjin says, then he places the kettle on the hot pad that Zanka had laid out beforehand. The other man leans forward, his gaze intense, “Job died and that pattern appeared in the sky.”
Zanka doesn’t respond. Then after a second of thinking, begins preparing the tea, “how did he die?”
“Hellguard.”
Again, the simple statement makes Zanka pause. Hellguard, breathing in, he asks, “And where was this?”
“Just outside of the Mono, apparently they’ve been staking out witches,” Enjin comments and then leans back in his chair, “It’ll be difficult for witches who’ve travelled to leave safely.”
“It’s black tea,” Zanka asks off to the side, as he pours the boiling water into the prepared cup, “so don’t drink it if ya aren’t a fan.”
“Don’t like the Hellguard much, huh?” Enjin asks with a tlit of his head. Zanka is careful not to make eye contact.
He speaks plainly and with an air of boredom, “Haven’t met a witch that does.”
A chuckle.
“Why are they keeping Job’s death a secret?”
“To not cause a panic,” Enjin says and then slides the tea over to himself after Zanka finishes pouring the water. Then he frowns at the cup, “there’s only one cup.”
“I only brought one,” Zanka dips his head, “drink, then I’ll pour my own cup and drink.”
Enjin nods and takes a sip. Steam curls into the air and Zanka waits patiently for the rest of his answer. Then Enjin places the teacup down and blinks, “If the best celestial witch died with ease, how quick will that send witches into a panic? Everyone’ll think the Apostles will be sent out again.”
Zanka hums, his eyes tracing patterns in the wood of the table.
The Apostles, such a long time since he’s heard that name. When witches were first banned, back when Zanka was still crawling on all fours, the Apostles were select members of the king’s guard sent out to cull any who practice witchcraft and worship the Triple Goddess. They were awful. Famous for their burnings and hangings, gruesome events made to humiliate magical-users and to place fear in the hearts of the people.
“How long have you known Job’s death?” Zanka asks, looking back up. Enjin appraises him, then smiles.
“A couple days ago.”
“Then why are you here?” Zanka stares at him. Enjin bounces his head back and forth and then answers after taking another sip of tea.
“Job had a kid, I’m here to get them before someone else does,” Enjin grins, almost dangerously, “That kid is real special, got Job’s talent for magic. It’d be bad if someone stomped that out.”
“Ya friends with Job?”
“Oh yeah, we went way back,” Enjin nods. Zanka ponders, then, distantly, he picks up the remnants of Enjin’s teacup and spins it around once before setting it down. He stands, getting a good look at what the remaining leaves look like inside, Enjin also glances from where he’s sitting.
“A tree,” Zanka reads aloud, eyes tracing the billowing shape of the branches and the sturdy trunk.
“Good company and friends are needed,” Enjin translates and Zanka eyes him. A toothy grin, one not as handsome as Jabber’s, is sent his way.
Zanka whips out the leaves and then repeats the process of preparing the tea for himself. Enjin chatters about something while he waits for it to steep slightly. Then, in two big gulps, Zanka finishes his cup. He spins it around once and then places it on the counter.
“Ah, that doesn’t spell good things,” Enjin winces and Zanka stares at it.
A cross, often followed quickly by bad things and death. Yes, doesn’t spell good things indeed.
“Where do you live?” Enjin asks. Zanka sends him a look, and the man instantly backs off, “Yeah, I knew it was a longshot.”
Zanka’s eyes run over the tea leaves once more the feeling of dread in his gut increasing.
“We have a celestial witch, pretty good one too,” Enjin adds on. Zanka looks at him.
“Here?”
“No, back at our home, but you’re welcome to come and hear her reading,” he gestures to his group outside the door, “none of us have received it yet.”
“Where do you live?” Zanka asks the question back. Enjin grins.
“The capital.”
“The capital?” Zanka deadpans, “where witchcraft is illegal and where it’s crawling with Hell Guard?”
“Yeah, there’s actually two big covens in Sphere,” Enjin offers. Zanka blinks a bit shocked. He distantly wonders if Kyouka knows. Then, his mind switches to something else. It feels odd, almost like he didn’t place the thought there, almost like someone else did.
I promised Jabber two days.
“I can’t,” Zanka states before he even realizes what he’s said. Enjin squints at his answer and Zanka clarifies, “I have someone waiting for me at home.”
Enjin’s eyes widen a bit and then a smirk drifts across his face, “Oh, yes, can’t keep them waiting.”
Wait, Zanka’s mind blanks, that’s not what I meant. He opens his mouth, “Ah, no, he’s-”
“Bring ‘em along then,” Enjin nods, a shit-eating grin plastered on his face, “more the merrier.”
He adds on again before Zanka can say anything.
“Hell, we’ll even walk with you to go get ‘em!”
“What? No, don’t do that,” Zanka rushes. Then he blinks, “He can really come with?”
“Yes,” Enjin dips his head, “Witches have been rather scarce lately, Hell Guard’s been rounding up more than you can count,” his eyes glaze and he sobers up, “I’ve seen more pyres this year than in my whole lifetime.”
Zanka averts his gaze to the table. Most witches don’t see burning pyres. Usually when a witch is caught, the others flee the area as soon as possible. Zanka, though, he’s watched too many to count.
Screams, ash, and foul smells, Zanka hates pyres. The very thought that he might see one again upon entering the capital makes Zanka pause.
“I’m undecided,” then he adds, “about joining you.”
“Well, how about this,” Enjin offers. He sets his hand on the table and Zanka’s eyes meet his, “You head back home, confer with your… partner,” Zanka grimaces at the word, “and we’ll give you three days to meet up with us at Kremmos, then with or without you, we’ll head to the capital.”
This is acceptable to Zanka. He nods his approval to the man. Enjin gives him a neat smile and Zanka doesn’t return it, too busy with his teeth nibbling nervously on his lip. What to do? The omen in the stars doesn’t spell good things for the witches of this world. If Zanka wants to remain safe, then he needs to find out what the stars read. However, if Zanka enters the capital, it’s only a matter of time before someone recognizes him. Then safety will be null and void.
“Answer me when I call to you, my righteous Goddess. Give me relief from my distress; have mercy on me and hear my prayer. Tremble and do not fear; when you are on your beds, search your hearts and be silent,” Zanka mutters the prayer. It’s barely audible in the room, the candles back by his bed and on the table flicking. The remains of the tea sit around the two men, silent and knowing.
Enjin beats Zanka to the next verse, “Many, Mother, are asking, ‘Who will bring us prosperity?’ Let the light of Your face shine on us. Fill my heart with joy when their grain and new wine abound.”
Zanka looks up and meets Enjin’s steady gaze. It’s not often he engages in prayer with other people. It’s a very intimate and personal affair, one Zanka usually prefers to do by himself. It’s his conversation with Mother after all, why should someone else get to listen in? But once in a while, Zanka enjoys to speaks prayers with others as well. The community and the voices together make his praise and adoration feel stronger, as if him and the other witch as one. So, with strength, he finishes, “In peace I will lie down and sleep, for You alone, Mother, make me dwell in safety.”
There’s a knock on the door. Both Zanka and Enjin snap from their focus. Enjin answers first, “ah, come in.”
The door creaks open, it’s the other older male that was with the group. Zanka racks his brain to remember his-
“Gris, you can come in, we’re finishing up,” Enjin nods and the name clicks in Zanka’s mind. The scarred man enters and shuts the door behind him.
“Remlin’s been found, they’re with Rudo and Riyo outside now,” Gris speaks. Enjin exhales and then swings his head to Zanka.
“Alright, we need to get going then,” he stands, smiles, and extends a hand out to Zanka, “we’ll wait, at Kremmos. You have three days to join us, we hope to see you there.”
Zanka waits a beat and then takes his hand, a shake and Enjin is already halfway across the room. He pauses right before he slips out the door and turns back to Zanka.
“Oh yeah and, that was good. It’s been a while since I’ve prayer to Her, never been big into that. You should be proud, not many people take it that seriously anymore,” then he slips out of the room leaving Zanka alone with the candles and the tea.
His cheeks redden a little, he’s never received a compliment that meant quite that much to him before. And on top of that, Enjin was a powerful witch, to have someone of his stature notice something about Zanka, well, it’s easier to say that Zanka’s ego will be quite large for a few days.
“Ah,” the vocal slips out before he can catch it. Zanka glances at his unpacked things. He should get going if he wants to make it back home to Jabber. He promised two days after all, and Zanka’s already on his second.
He pushes himself out from the table and begins to clean up the tea.
Soon he’ll see the warm light of fire seeping through the windows and cracks of his home, and son he’ll see Jabber’s smiling eyes and toothy grins again.
It’s odd, a part of him is excited.
--
It’s the middle of the night when Zanka finally gets home. He sighs as he begins to unload Clarence and drop his packed bags to the dusty ground. Exhaustion runs through Zanka’s veins as he pushes himself just a little more to unpack everything correctly and thoroughly. Zanka has even pushed himself into a headache as he’s run over Enjin’s words and invitations over and over on the ride back home.
As he ties up Clarence to his post, where she’ll rest until he returns her in the morning, Zanka sighs one more time and then pushes the door to the cottage open. It’s warm inside, and for some reason while the exhaustion stays, the weight of it leaves.
“…Zanka?” Comes a creaky voice. Zanka turns his head, Jabber isn’t in his cot like he thought he’d be. Instead, the witch is on Zanka’s couch, body angled towards the window. No, Zanka thinks, he couldn’t have been… the whole time?
“Hey, how’d it go?” Zanka asks, shaking off his thoughts. Jabber flings himself faster than Zanka’s tired mind can process. Arms wrap tightly around the other witch, squeezing him until Zanka’s bones popped. He gasps a bit, “whoa, whoa!”
There’s a breathy whisper in his ear, “I missed you.”
Zanka softens and his arms hug back around Jabber. It feels nice, to rest his weight in someone else’s arms. He exhales, dark creeping just fainty around his vision, then, another whisper came.
“Also, all your flowers died.”
Zanka’s eyes snap back open.
--
Settling in doesn’t take much, and soon, Zanka doesn’t ever want to leave home again. He nurses his flowers back to health, somehow, they had managed to wither to brown in just two days, a feat that only Jabber himself could manage. He’s also returned Clarence and remade the bread and jam that Jabber had gobbled to sustain himself in his absence.
He didn’t want to leave again.
“I need to leave again,” Zanka says and Jabber nearly kills himself. He jolts forward out in the garden as Zanka brings the conversation to light. The witch slips in the dirt, falling forward nearly onto his post he was digging into the ground. The man came very close to nearly impaling himself. Zanka blinks, “are you oka-”
“No!” Jabber shouts and he whips around on Zanka, “No! You can’t leave again!”
Zanka blinks, again.
“It was so boring without you here! You can’t leave! What about your flowers, you just got them back!” Jabber rebuttals with instant precision. Zanka’s mouth gapes a little and then he answers.
“Well, firstly, you’d be coming with me this time,” Zanka calmly states and Jabber’s eyes don’t stop piercing into him, “and secondly, I didn’t get an answer for the stars, which I still need.”
“How far would we go?” Jabber asks and Zanka answers.
“The capital.”
“No.”
It’s quick, final, and so abrupt that Zanka blinks a final time. With a tilt of his head, he asks, “why not?”
“It’s not safe,” Jabber turns back to his post and keeps digging. In fact, he’s so enraptured by his post that he won’t look Zanka in the eye. Oh boy, Zanka thinks, he’s in a mood now.
“I know it’s not safe, but neither is riding blind with a bad omen,” Zanka adds. Jabber scoffs.
“Yeah, well, I know that the capital is dangerous and wants to kill you, and I know the fate that awaits stupid witches who cross into it’s borders,” he digs into the ground rougher, as if he’s battling beasts and not digging a hole for a post. He huffs out, “Some stupid stars don’t know your fate, common sense does,” he throws a look over his shoulder, “Why don’t you use that?”
Zanka breathes out a chuckle, a little unsure on how to handle this version of Jabber. He’s never been so… sound of mind before. So, he concedes. Exhaling, he nods, “alright, we won’t go.”
Jabber stops and looks at him, “really? Just like that?”
“It seems important to you,” Zanka rips out a weed from his garden, “Besides, I was on the fence anyway.”
“Okay,” Jabber thinks for a bit, eyeing Zanka, “good. Glad I could help.”
Zanka stares at him for a bit, their eyes meeting. Something… weird stirs in Zanka’s stomach and he clears his throat. Tapping his hand on his leg distractedly, Zanka says, “I’m not gonna leave ya Jabber,”
Jabber stares at him, face, mouth, and body unmoving. With a need to explain himself, Zanka stammers the rest out.
“I just mean- I don’t think it’s good for ya, or whatever, to be here by yourself for too long,” Zanka coughs into his hand a bit and turns around. His cheeks are burning with heat and he knows the tips of his ears are red, “And besides, I missed ya. When I was gone.”
It takes a beat, but Zanka hears Jabber start to work again after digesting Zanka’s blurted message and emotions. Zanka’s teeth dig into his lip, and his cheeks are beet red the remaining time they work.
But work they do.
And Zanka’s never felt more at home.