32 – Witches

On the second day, after camping in the wilderness for a brief period, the tangled roadways led us to a roadside inn. It was unremarkable, at a glance, but there were an assortment of horses and cassowarys housed in the stables, so clearly the place saw some use.

I would have ignored it entirely but a strong meaty scent was wafting from the chimney, and the scent of it was enough to really catch my attention.

Just because I never got hungry didn’t mean I wasn’t occasionally tempted. And so, motioning for Smoke to follow, I led the way inside.

A few men looked up from their meals as we entered. Road weary travellers in robes and straw hats. The sight of the hell cat got some measure of unease from them, but the fact that Smoke was docile was enough for them to calm.

The man behind the counter was nearly as broad as I was, his face shrouded by a thick beard and brows to bushy they seemed to swallow his eyes. He watched me with a cold gaze as we pressed for the bar, and even the presence of a hellcat didn’t seem to bother him too much.

On the way over I saw what the locals were eating. To my shock, it wasn’t the rice and fish I saw the people of Tiode usually eat. It was a brown broth of noodles, within which rested a half an egg and slices of… pork?

I swallowed, the taste filtering up into my nostrils.

“What’s… what are these people eating?” I asked, stealing a glance to the burly owner.

“Ramen,” he said, his voice blunter than a hammer.

“Ra-men…” I repeated the word. Strange, but… it sounded pleasant. “Two bowls,” I said, tossing a few gin across the bar.

It was a bit of a wait before the grunting man returned from the kitchen, the wooden bowls steaming in his grasp. “We don’t get many foreigners out this way,” he said.

I peered up at him, my hand briefly gripping the sides of my bowl. Smoke was already up on the counter, munching and slurping on his ramen like a hungry dog. Though my hood was up, that didn’t do enough to disguise me up close.

“Not a problem, is it?” I asked.

“So long as you and that creature of yours don’t cause trouble.” He slid something across the table to me: A pair of those slender wooden sticks the locals liked to use when it came to food.

I gripped mine awkwardly, clutching the two together in one fist, while I watched the locals handle theirs with practised ease. I sighed and reached into my travelling cloak, pretending to be searching for something. In reality I was thinking ‘small’ thoughts, power coalescing in my hidden palm, creating a tiny ember of magic.

I had made tridents before, so all I had to do now was try to do the same thing… on a much smaller scale. When I withdrew my hand I was clasping a fork of glossy black steel. I was willing t learn some new things, but others… others were a bridge too far.

I got to eating, scooping up a batch of noodles on my fork and slurping them down. Damnation, but it did taste as good as it smelled…

There were many names for what they were. The southlanders used terms like madwives, devil brides, and mchawi. The westerners universally liked to use the term ‘witch.’ And in Tsukio and Cathaya they were called majo.

But if Sakura were to try and find a term that referred exclusively to her mentor, Lady Daji, she would be inclined to simply call her a mad cunt as opposed to anything witch-related.

The heady scent of burning herbs filled the hut, growing stronger as Lady Daji poured more and more ingredients into the cauldron. Sakura sat on a stool to watch her all the while, making notes on a small scroll she’d been given.

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“What are you even brewing, Lady Da-”

Her mistress raised a slim finger to silence her, a wicked smile on her face. Sakura sighed and fell silent, a flat look on her face. Daji liked to be coy, it was her attempt at ‘humour’ at times. One would not think to look at her, because she looked to only be in her thirties, or from how she acted, that she was over 200 years old. Around her wrists were an assortment of bangles and charms, clinking together as she picked through her mason jars.