“I can’t even imagine the amount of hate he’s hiding inside, but I felt the miasma leaking from his body from the smithy.” Mannat looked up and found the others staring at him in vigilance and concern.

Raesh was horrified because Mannat had never shown such fear toward his mother. Both of them had almost lost Noor to miasma poisoning, but Mannat was sure he could save her. What was different this time around? What made him so vulnerable?

“I’m sure you are mistaken,” Gande said frantically. Mannat had never seen her so fragile before. “He’s angry because they couldn’t catch any rabbits for him. He loves them so much.” She was like a ceramic vase in free fall, moments away from touching the ground and break into a million pieces.

Mannat’s brows rose up. He knew a rabbit was the reason behind Little Butcher's hardship.

Perhaps, it wasn’t Little butcher’s love for rabbits that ultimately pushed him off the edge, but his absolute hate for them. The hate had accumulated inside him for over half a decade, and that was why it was so strong.

Mannat looked at Khargosh and the man shook his head. “We haven’t seen a rabbit in the woods for days,” Khargosh commented and brought the silence back before Mannat broke it.

“We should take him to the Witch,” Mannat suggested.

There were various reactions. His father grew confused, Pandit was outright hostile, Khargosh seemed vigilant, but Gande slammed her hands on the table and stood up in ecstasy.

“Of course,” She shouted. “The witch fixed him once and she can fix him again.”

Mannat saw a glint pass through Khargosh’s eyes, but the man dropped his head and Mannat couldn’t see what he was thinking.

Behind them, the screeching and screaming continued. Khargosh stood up and walked away. He didn’t look convinced, but Gande was on his heel, screaming for him to open his ears and listen to her. “The boy is right! The Witch is our only option.”

“I don’t want to hear it.”

“Please! You listened to me once. For the sake of our son, listen to me again,”

Pandit closed his eyes as his parents fought over the decision. He was distressed and Mannat could sense it without focusing on him.

“Pandit,” Mannat called, but the boy laid his head on the counter and covered his ears shut with his hands. Mannat realized perhaps it was not the first time the two parents were fighting. Pandit had been there for all of their fights.

“You should have told me something,” Mannat whispered. He hated miasma. First, his mother and then Little butcher, who knew how many people miasma had changed, the number of families it had destroyed. He wished there was a way to stop it, to wash its presence from the world. In his heart, he knew it was impossible. Because unlike mana, which he believed was produced by a continental tree, miasma was a growth of one’s emotions. Hate was its source. People were its vessel.

“Do you see,” Raesh said quietly, drawing Mannat’s attention? “This is what happens to the people who believe the Witch. She draws you in with her sweet promises, then her promises backfire and the people who believed in her ends up worse than before.”

Mannat was tired of hearing him say the same thing repeatedly. “Do you think you would have been better without me?” He blurted out and clenched his jaw at the end in understanding, but the words were already spoken and couldn’t be taken back.

Raesh stood speechless beside him. “No, you are the best thing that happened to us.” was all he could say before dropping the topic.

“I understand what you are saying.” Mannat picked the conversation where his father left off. He didn’t want to end their conversation on a sad note. There was already enough sadness to go around. “This is why I don’t think the Witch is evil. She is many things. She’s is cruel and sarcastic and always leaves me alone, but she’s not evil, at least not like everyone assumes.”

Silence fell at the table once again. Only the sound of incessant screaming and pleading rang in the butchery until the latter stopped and frantic footsteps thundered in the corridor. Gande rushed at them from the darkness yelling at them to get up.

“Let’s go to the Witch,” She said hurriedly as if a moment’s delay would have unimaginable consequences. She pushed Mannat and pulled Pandit to his feet.

The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

“To the Witch -- let’s go!” She said again and Pandit just couldn’t take it anymore. He stomped away into the corridor.

Mannat’s eyes followed him in worry and he saw him going straight to the workshop. He glanced at his father and they both rushed after Pandit, along with Gande.

The workshop door was wide open, and creaking at the hinges when they reached it.

“Don’t you recognize me, brother?” Mannat heard at the open door and cursed under his breath. The three found Pandit standing over Little’s chest, shaking his shoulders and screaming at him. And for some unknown reason, the once feral boy had gone quiet as a stiff corpse. Little butcher wasn’t dead. He was breathing; his chest was rising and falling. He simply stared at the ceiling without blinking his eyes like his mind had wandered off, while Pandit kept trying to wake him up.

“Scream at me, brother! I won’t hit you, I promise!” Pandit yelled, but to no avail. Little butcher remained unshaken, dreaming while awake, sleeping with his eyes open.

At that point, Raesh had enough. He pried Pandit off his brother and pulled him away.

“Let me go!” Pandit screamed repeatedly. He kicked his legs and punched his fists until he exhausted himself. He slammed his back onto Raesh’s chest to free himself, but that only earned him a warning in return.

“Behave, boy. Nothing good’s going to come out of this,” Raesh said.

Pandit’s anger deflated into sniffles. He dropped his head and closed his eyes shut. He didn’t want them to see the tears that had filled his eyes and blurred his sight, but the tears managed to find a crack and flowed down his cheeks. They left a wet trail of sadness behind them, arrived at his chin, and jumped to their death.

Gande also couldn’t get a reaction out of Little butcher. Her disappointment was immeasurable.

Soon everyone gathered back in the workshop.

Khargosh had arrived some time ago and brought an inch thick rope.

“So how are we going to do this?” He said looking at his son without a hint of emotion.

Mannat couldn’t figure out how the man could be so cold toward his own flesh and blood. He never took Khargosh as someone who believed in rumors, but it was also true that for some unimaginable reason, he didn’t want to take his son to the Witch. Mannat could see his disposition having roots in the past.

“Let me tie his mouth first, so he can’t bite anyone.” Raesh picked the rag from under the table and tore it in two. He shoved the larger piece into the boy's open mouth, wrapped the other piece around, and tied his mouth shut. Then it was Khargosh’s turn.

“Be gentle,” Gande said. Khargosh seemed to be on a mission and ignored her.

While Raesh and Mannat did pin the boy to the bench to prevent any schemes he might have cooked, the boy didn’t move a muscle while his father tied his arms and legs together like a dead animal. Khargosh then picked up the boy and Gande covered him with a dirty, old, and bloody blanket she found in the storeroom.

They got into the cart that Raesh brought from the smithy and drove away leaving a crowd of onlookers with rumors and a variety of tales to spread in the village. Some asked them where they were going, others watched and whispered into their neighbor’s ears and laughed at their misery. Only a few people asked if everything was fine.

The three butchers sat quietly in the cart along with Little butcher, while Raesh sat on the driver seat and Mannat accompanied him.

Mannat felt nostalgic. To think he would be driving off to the Witch once again to save someone’s life. However, the dread he had toward Little butcher was not gone. He didn’t tell anyone, but even the rabbit didn’t have such a dense amount of miasma bubbling around them. He kept his senses taut and nerves vigilant on the way, but kept his thoughts to himself. He didn’t want to scare everyone with his bogus senses and pretend knowledge. The Witch would tell them the truth.

The day was young; the sun was high in the sky. They had good three or four hours before night and that was important. Because he knew, monsters come at night. He could sense little butcher's miasma condensing. He had a strong hunch that Little Butcher wouldn’t stay silent for long. He urged his father to go faster. He hoped they weren’t already too late. The Witch had told him once… there was no turning back once the miasma solidifies.

What they didn’t know was news of their sudden departure spread in the village like a wildfire. It also reached Sarpanch’s ears and his sunken face grew jovial in an instant. The man laughed aloud upon hearing about the apparent fight and the injured person they carried out of the butchery, covered in a bloody blanket.

“Is it a sacrifice?” Sarpanch asked.

His assistant perked his lips and shook his head. “It shouldn’t be. If you remember, the Witch saved the butcher’s older boy a few years ago. Perhaps, it’s the same thing?”

The Sarpanch didn’t like that. “Well, keep your eyes peeled on them, and keep me informed.” He said growing maniacal in his manners. “Find me something that can destroy them. What Master Blacksmith and village butcher -- this village doesn’t need people who don’t know how to bow their heads.”