Morning wind, clear sky, and an empty road; with a reluctant heart Mannat jogged back to the village, thoughts juggling between his want and need.

He didn’t meet Pandit on the road. Not a surprise to him anymore considering, everything that they had gone through together and alone.

The first time Pandit missed the meeting had worried Mannat to no end.

He had imagined a variety of horrors on the way back to his friend's home and it had frightened him no less than finding out about his mother’s sudden illness.

Perhaps that was the reason why he had gotten upset upon finding Pandit well and asleep on his bed. That had definitely irked him a lot, as had the next few instances when Pandit had missed or as he later understood, intentionally abandoned him to his own. It had all started the day Sharmilla left the village. She was the last thread of hope keeping him afloat after his brother’s death, and he drowned when she left.

Ah well, Mannat simply worried for the boy. He didn’t want him to give up too, shut up shop and stop coming out of the house. At least the worst hadn’t happened yet.

A hint of desire challenged him to take the next turn, leading out of the village and toward the old man Sardar’s farm. Sharmilla would be out there at the fields, helping her Baoji. But his sour mood demoted the thought to second. The girl had heightened sense, the girl’s instincts. She didn’t need mana sense to figure out his thoughts. Meeting her would have made her worry for nothing. Hence, he decided to move on and take out his irritation beating up the iron to submission in the smithy.

There was a bitter wind moving in the village and it was extremely biting on the road where there was no protection against it.

Mannat pursed his lips and fought against it, making a straight path toward his father’s shop. The smithy was still his fathers. He had failed to take over. Not that it would have done anyone any good had he taken over the village smithy at such a young age. His fundamentals were sound, but everyone knew he lacked practice.

For some reason, the road was empty, devoid of old farmers on their way to the fields, or villagers going about their business in groups.

He didn’t find it odd to see the smithy silent as an abandoned house, the door locked and the chimney sleeping. His friend wasn’t the only one slacking, though Pandit’s actions weren’t affecting other people’s lives. His father was the village blacksmith; it goes to say, every day he keeps the smithy door shut was another reason for the Sarpanch to raise his voice against him. His father’s title as the master blacksmith was starting to lose effect and the villagers had started using it sarcastically. It was a shame that even the villager's ridicule couldn’t pull his father out of his misery.

Mannat was not the village blacksmith, but it had somehow become his duty to open the Smithy and heat the furnace every single day. The job also included waking the sleeping giant and dragging him to the shop so the work could go on.

Somehow, Mannat had become a nanny of giant babies. He was tired of it, but not like he had a choice. His father was now a certified drunk, and his friend was lovesick. There was also his girlfriend breathing down his neck asking him for marriage. It was definitely only a matter of time before he gave up too.

Mannat shook his head to chase the thought away and checked the butchery on his way home to see if his friend was there. And it didn’t surprise him to see the counter empty? That was Pandit’s permanent position since he refused to be a butcher. If he wasn’t there then he was definitely at home, sleeping.

He passed a row of closed shops and didn’t meet anyone on the road until he reached the market when a crowd coming from the village center got his attention.

‘Did the Panchayat sit down again?’ Mannat thought wondering what had happened this time.

Things had slowly shifted to the dark ever since Little butcher turned into a monster. Every week there were more and more family disputes, siblings fighting over money, husbands beating their wives, kids stealing. Times were worsening.

Curious about the reason, Mannat stepped aside and took a leg to the wall of another closed shop.

The adults whispered, displaying displeasure with shaking heads and aggressive gestures. They talked about justice for… Mannat couldn’t hear. The kids talked loudly with beaming smiles and jubilant laughter around them. They had short tempers and talked about murder as if they were talking about a hunt in the forest. They were loud, babbling, and enjoying what they had seen.

“Did you see her face? The bastard didn’t hold back at all.”

“Kill if you have to kill, but did he have to go that far?”

“She looked like a ghost! Do you think the two will haunt the village now that they are dead?”

“We already have a Witch in the forest. I don’t want a ghost in the village too!”

The kids passed Mannat with loathing in their eyes. They didn’t care whether the man was dead or not, but only worried about their own wellbeing, which was not a bad thing considering they were all young saplings that hadn’t felt much wind and rain in their lives. But someone needed to correct their behavior, or sooner or later it would be them on the ground or on the run and other people talking behind their backs.

Forgetting about them, Mannat started to leave only to see Pandit coming up on the turn.

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

The boy saw him standing in the corner and raised a hand in greeting from afar. He didn’t give Mannat the time to reply as he dashed through the crowd, pushing and peeling through old and young, men and women, before grabbing one of Mannat’s arms and rushing away from the crowd.

“What are you doing?” Mannat asked in dismay. The question fell on deaf ears Mannat wanted to resist but worried Pandit would simply ignore his tantrum and drag him away like a father handling his child. Soon they arrived at one of the alleyways that were away from the villagers prying eyes. It was dark and damp and filled with a revolting stench of degrading garbage. The whole place screamed of filth, as it should since this was where the shopkeepers and the nearby houses disposed of their garbage.

“Ugh,” Mannat couldn’t breathe. The stink was up to his nose. Even standing on the tips of his toes didn’t put his head above the stench. It was truly unbearable. First, he had to survive through the raven's poop horror, and now this. It was a fine morning indeed.

‘Let’s go someplace else,’ Mannat wanted to say when Pandit grabbed his shoulders and stared at him with madness in his eyes or so it looked. Mannat however, believed his friend had simply inhaled the stench and that was the reason behind the reddening of his eyes.

“The boy did it again, Mannat! We shouldn’t have left him alive!” Pandit said between coughs. He tapped his feet, anxious like he couldn’t standstill.

“Which boy are we talking about?” It was not really a genuine question, Mannat simply wanted to get the hell out of there. The faster he could the better.

“I am talking about The boy, Mannat!” Pandit’s grips grew tighter and so did Mannat’s jaw.

It was painful, but Mannat endured it so Pandit could finish up.

“The one, who… you know,” Pandit’s eyes shifted, moved away for Mannat’s face as if he was ashamed or didn’t want to bring something up.

“--beat me up and left me for the animals?” Mannat said, staring.

“Yeah…” Pandit said tensing up. At least he released Mannat’s shoulders and pulled his hands back.

“Whom did he beat up now?”

“His family;” Pandit said with a grain of anger in his voice that Mannat didn’t miss. “He killed his mother and sister.”

“What?” Mannat exclaimed, surprised, confused. He wasn’t expecting to hear that.

He remembered the boy named Flea very well, and he remembered the pain too. A year had passed since, and he still felt ashamed to talk about that incident where a kid his age had beaten him up to a pulp. He remembered everything viscerally but didn’t hold a grudge against Flea because he knew the boy was similar to him. Both bound by circumstances.

Mannat didn’t believe the boy did it.

“Is Sarpanch involved?” It was the most logical conclusion that Mannat could realize without any facts. He knew Sarpanch had taken the boy under his wings after that incident. Perhaps the man had gotten fed up with the boy and done the deed to teach him a sadistic lesson?

“No, his neighbors saw him killing them. He even locked the door.” Pandit’s answer made no sense to Mannat. Just how could a son kill his mother! “He’s on the run! Do you think he might come for us?”

“Does it matter?” Mannat said. “He would get his legs broken if he met you and get his stomach turned over and shit himself to death if he met me.”

“That reminds me,” Pandit started. “Sarpanch is going to send people after him… to bring him to justice,”

Mannat was not a visually expressive character, but the thought of Sarpanch doing justice made his face cringe in repulsion. “What a farce,”

“You really don’t believe he did it, do you?” It just baffled Pandit to see Mannat so sure the boy hadn’t murdered anyone. He knew he would not have any compassion for the boy if he was in Mannat’s place, yet there they were.

“He didn’t kill them,” Mannat responded sure. “Until he looks me in the eyes and tells me that he did it I will refuse to believe it. He is not a murderer and I believe it because he didn’t kill me. For all, we know Sarpanch killed his family and sent him on the run. You of all people should know what kind of a creature that man is.”

A stare-off between them brought the end of the discussion.

Pandit remembered finding his friend battered and bruised, standing beside two unconscious men, the fear he had felt. Mannat instead remembered the sullen, big-eyed boy sitting beside him as he lost consciousness. Mannat hadn’t forgotten his last words to him, ‘If not you then me,’ that’s what the boy had told him. Circumstances had brought them together. The boy wasn’t a bad guy. However, he wasn’t a spineless wimp either.

“So now what?”

Mannat shook his head, looking out the other end of the alley where a crowd of simple-minded villagers was passing by, selling their brand of justice based on hearsay and rumors.

“Now you go out and try finding a girl who might like you. Don’t forget you are already fourteen years old. You only have a year of freedom left before your parents start bothering you for marriage.”

The change of topic was a welcomed one. Pandit saw it as a chance to lighten the mood and grinned. Mannat was right after all. The boy had nothing to do with them.

“Plenty of girls like me! Do you see these,” Pandit flexed his arms and two well-proportioned biceps protruded up like two oblong bunkers in the plains. The size of them was enough to put him in ranks with the adult.

“Girls have a difficult time keeping their skirts on when they see these two bad boys. They can’t keep their breaths when they look at me.”

“Then you should bath more often.” Mannat passed a smirk.

Control! That was what Pandit told himself, but the smirk remained fucking irksome nonetheless.

“I don’t need to be bothered by this.” Pandit pushed Mannat back and retreated. He was leaving until he stopped and looked back with a stern face, conveying fake anger with his eyes. He had just remembered to ask Mannat something.

His thoughts weren’t hidden from Mannat. Mana had all the answers, but he decided to keep playing anyway – nothing wrong with accompanying your friend to a stakeout.

“Has the Witch given you another task yet?”

“She hasn’t, but I can feel a disturbance in nature when I’m in the forest. Be ready.”

Pandit nodded to keep up appearances though he was disappointed internally.

“Do you want to leave this place with me?”

“Do you need an answer?” Mannat passed him by and made his way toward the street when Pandit suddenly screamed out behind him.

“Ah, shit!”

Mannat hurriedly turned to find his friend slouched over weakly and dragging his left foot on the ground.

“What?” Mannat asked.

Pandit clicked his tongue and looked at his friend with sullen eyes and solemnly said, “Shit… I stepped on shit.”

Mannat noticed a big cake of wet dung near Pandit with a broken corner.

“Bad luck,” Mannat said leaving. It wasn’t even that funny, but Mannat ended up chuckling anyways, and the more Pandit sulked the louder his laughter grew.

Pandit was cursing behind his back when Mannat left the alley, feeling just a little bit better about himself than he had been a few seconds ago.