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Zanka’s heart sits heavy in his chest, keeping him alive. He had felt the rapid beat of a rabbit’s heart before, beneath soft tufts of fur. He had felt the warm breath of a baby deer as it took its first steps. It had not prepared him for the weight of his own life.
“How’s the new heart?” Death asks, leaning back leisurely onto his hands. The wind climbs up the side of the cliff and pulls through his locs. Despite the view, the expanse of ocean before them, he doesn’t take his eyes off of Zanka.
Zanka places a hand to his chest and looks out over the cliffside. The ocean crashes and breaks against the rocks below. He feels the turmoil of the ocean within him too, roiling and turning over.
“I barely notice it,” he lies.
Jabber chuckles, low and warm, and Zanka’s heart races. “Your new heart betrays you, you know.”
Zanka scowls and looks away. The spray of the ocean is cool on his skin. There is a heat to him now, warm blood coursing through him.
“Hey, hey,” Jabber croons, and tucks a finger beneath Zanka’s chin to turn his attention back in Death’s direction, “Death looks good on you.”
“I’m not dead yet,” Zanka says, shaking free from Jabber’s touch.
“You could be.” Jabber grins. “And isn’t that tempting?”
It was. The thought leaves Zanka breathless. He preoccupies himself with the way the sun sinks into the horizon. With every beat of his heart, with every ragged breath, Zanka feels the slow march of death. It would find him eventually, but he didn’t want to wait.
Zanka, the great god of Life, craved Death.
When he looks back at Jabber, the god of Death has not looked away. Zanka can’t shake the feeling that he is Jabber’s sunset.
His eyes flit from Jabber’s bright eyes, down to his mouth and then back up. Jabber tilts his head, waiting.
“You can have it,” Death says.
Zanka doesn’t take a moment to wonder what it is–life, death, a kiss. He leans in and takes what he can from Jabber.
And Jabber gives as good as he gets. He places a firm hand on the back of Zanka’s neck and holds him there, parting his lips enough for Zanka to deepen the kiss.
One of the perks of dying is that Zanka gets to kiss Death. Their noses bump together as Zanka attempts to consume him. He places a hand on Jabber’s cheek to steady himself.
“What does it feel like?” Zanka asks, his mouth still pressed to Jabber’s.
“Kissing you? It’s the closest I’ve ever been to living.”
“No!” Zanka pulls away and searches Jabber for a sign of insincerity. He finds none. “Dying. What does dying feel like?”
Jabber hums as he considers this. “It’s a new beginning. It’s the moments right before the sun rises. It’s the calm before a storm. It’s the quiet before a newborn’s cry.”
Zanka narrows his eyes. “How do I know I can trust you?”
Jabber wrinkles his nose. “What do I gain by lying? You’ve already forfeited your life.”
Zanka’s heart thunders in his chest. Something primal, fear maybe. He had given Jabber everything. No longer would the birds sing for him. No longer would he usher in the spring, ripe with new life.
“I want it,” he says decisively. I want you.
A wild excitement shines in Jabber’s eyes. Zanka thinks Jabber might kiss him again, but he pulls Zanka in by the neck and presses their foreheads together. He rests his free hand over Zanka’s beating heart and lingers there for a moment.
Zanka tastes the blood before he realizes what’s happened. He chokes on a wet cough as a sharp pain shoots up his chest and through his limbs. When he dares to look down, he gets a shaky view of Jabber’s claws sunk deep in his chest.
Each breath trembles and gurgles. Zanka grabs at Death’s face. “Ja–Jabber–”
Jabber smiles and puts his weight onto the claws, still lodged in Zanka’s chest. He twists his wrist and Zanka gasps. Jabber leans forward and kisses his open mouth.
“Such a pretty sound,” Jabber croons. “And you’re so warm.”
He yanks his claws from Zanka’s chest and holds it up in between them to admire the shine of blood along the metal. Slowly, he presses one of the claws to his tongue and licks a stripe up the side.
Wide-eyed, Zanka grabs at the wound on his chest. “What have you done?”
Death lowers his claws and looks once more over his handiwork. “How does it feel?”
Zanka sways where he sits and feels the warm blood fill his tunic. He presses his hand against it as if it might stop the bleeding. He’s bleeding. He didn’t know gods could bleed. His head spins and his limbs hang heavy at his sides.
He feels the weight of his heart in a new way. He feels it fail. Jabber had been right. On the other side of the panic and the pain and the fear, there was quiet. The drumming of his heart was absent, his breathing slowed. Zanka was familiar with the noise of life, the way it sang and writhed and breathed. There was a discomfort that came with sitting in the silence. He didn’t know what came next.
“Cold,” Zanka says finally. “So cold.”
Jabber shrugs off his top layer and pulls it tightly around Zanka’s shoulders, but the cold is pervasive. It comes from an emptiness deep within him, from the holes in his heart. He shivers violently.
“What happens to me now?” Zanka pictures an eternal darkness away from Jabber. Fear digs its claws back into him. He traded godhood for this.
“You wanted me, didn’t you?” Zanka stares at him. Even in his hazy vision, Death is beautiful and enticing. Zanka does want him. “You got me.”
“I got you?” Disbelief tastes like iron in his mouth.
“You did good.” Jabber tucks a stray strand of Zanka’s hair behind his ear. “Isn’t it unlike anything you’ve ever experienced? Everything you’ve ever created has died.”
Pride fills the emptiness in Zanka’s chest. He did good.
The ocean below them roars, entirely unbothered by the death of a god. An entire symphony of sounds returns to Zanka’s senses as death settles over him. His heart no longer beats, his lungs no longer breathe, but he’s alive.
“Come along now. We have work to do.” Jabber pushes up to his feet and holds his hand out for Zanka to take. His locs fall loosely around his face and he’s haloed by a pink and orange sky. Zanka grabs his hand and lets Death pull him to his feet.
Once standing, he doesn’t drop Zanka’s hand. Zanka remains for a moment, looking out over the cliffs. The earth feels infinitely more vast than before–full of creation and the inevitable death of it. He turns his attention back to face Jabber.
“Ready?”
Death smiles at him and squeezes his hand.
Ready.