Ch-23:

Mannat looked at his reflection in the polished face of the arrow. He moved his free hand through his hair, pulling them up to measure their length. Sure enough, they had grown longer while he wasn’t looking.

He rubbed his thumb on the body of the arrow, and in satisfaction, put it in the barrel with the rest of them.
“Is that the last one?” Raesh asked, looking at him from the other side of the workshop, standing tall over the anvil. He no longer forged arrows. Those he had finished two days ago.

Now, he worked on the tools that the villagers had requested over time. There were skillets, pots, axes, iron dogs, fences, handles, bars, plates to make, nails to be drawn. The two weeks he had given to the arrows had emptied the inventory. It was about time he finished the village orders before the villagers sent the jobs to someone else.

The customers don’t like to be delayed repeatedly.

Mannat boarded the top of the barrel and nailed it shut. With it, they had completed the count's order.  Raesh’s newest skill and Mannat help had seen them through the order with half a month remaining.

Mannat cleaned and dried the polishing stones and stored them back in the storage room. He didn’t touch or move the barrel. It was his father’s problem to deal with.
 
Another week had quietly passed since the day he went hunting with Pandit. He had huge gains for one week. All skills of the mental facility leveled up once. ‘Inspect’ was now level eight. ‘Analyze’ and ‘Mana sense’ had also decided to acknowledge his hard work and risen by one level to each to reach level nine. They were one step away from reaching the maximum level.

Out of the three, the first two leveled up a few days ago. Only ‘Mana sense’ was being stubborn.

There was more good news. His ‘Intelligence’ had reached 20 points. While his Wisdom was still 18 points, he was finally free to do anything he wanted. The Witch’s apprenticeship was in his hands. He could raise a hand and grab it whenever he wanted. Whether he’d bite that fruit or not was another matter altogether. With his intelligence at 20 points, he could finally have another skill, but the Witch wanted him to reserve the slot until his mana sense reaches the maximum level and unlock a higher tiered skill.

Nevertheless, he still needed to do gardening and work in the smithy to practice ‘Inspect’. The next skill level would give him a point in wisdom. He no longer needed to force himself to sit under the tree at night and practice ‘Mana sense’. The last level had higher qualitative demands that couldn’t be gotten over with quantity alone.

Mannat hung his tools and apron on the wall. He changed into normal clothes, before dusting himself and turning to leave.

“I’m leaving, father.” He said. Raesh was busy creating a replica of the lantern holder and groaned in response. Mannat shook his head. His father had been like that ever since he had received his new toy, skill, call it anything, he was like a child fascinated by it.

A day ago, he had arrived at the smithy to find his father hammering at a cup, the like of he saw two dozen already on the floor. Raesh had spent the night at the shop.

“Father,” Mannat had called, but Raesh hadn’t reacted to him and kept hammering away. He hadn’t dared poke Raesh, lest his father acted rashly and hurt him unknowingly. Mannat had simply taken the bellow away. His father had frantically searched for it near the anvil, under the furnace --as if it was a nail lost in the hay— before he saw Mannat and sobered up.

“You didn’t leave?” Raesh had asked. He was shocked to learn he had spent the night at the smithy. At first, he had grown dazed, as if remembering something from long ago, then decided to leave the smithy. Mannat thought his father was exaggerating, but Raesh strictly told him he was not.

“It is not the first time someone forgot time because of a new skill. In reality, it happens far too often. A new skill brings along new and strong stimulations; especially if you haven’t had a new skill for ages. This addiction has taken down many fine people, and it all starts just like this. No one likes to admit it, but everyone knows how lethal the lure to improve the skills can be. If you ever start behaving like me, then stop working for a few days and you’ll be fine. Don’t let it become an addiction. It might not kill you, but it’ll definitely rob life from you.”

After Mannat left, Raesh finished forging the lantern holder. He was looking at it under the skylight when suddenly Mannat returned. A chill went down Raesh’s spine. He almost dropped the tong in shock.

“Did I do it again?” Raesh hurriedly asked, and then frowned. He clearly remembered working on the piece when Mannat was leaving – and it was the same piece. He remembered the spiral he had created at the top. It was something he did for fun. He couldn’t have spent the night again in the shop! A look around gave him confidence. He wasn’t surrounded by a sea of lantern holders either. So why was the boy back so early? 

“No, father,” Mannat replied with a smile on his face. “There is someone out front looking for you.”
Raesh let out the pent-up frustration in a loud rumbling sigh. “You scared me there for a second.”

“ You should hurry up, the man looks like a messenger,”
“A messenger?”
Mannat nodded. “He’s wearing the count's colors,”
 
Raesh stood in attention at the count's mention. He removed his gloves and put them on the anvil. The same he did with his apron. Someone from the town he could deal with any way he liked, but he needed to have basic courtesy toward the count's messenger. He wiped his face with his rag and passed by Mannat.
“I’ll wait,” The boy said. Raesh left him in the smithy with a nod.

There was only one reason Mannat would stay there -- he was curious. He worked the fire while his father talked with their guest. It would be a shame if he let the fire burn out. He simply wanted something to do. Guess, work addiction had not left him untouched either.

It didn’t take long before Mannat heard footsteps and saw his father coming back, carrying a yellow invitation in one hand. He was… confused. Mannat stopped whatever he was doing and asked, “What happened?”
Raesh looked at him with a complicated gaze. He raised the invitation and said, “The count summoned us.”
“Us?” Mannat was appalled by the idea of having to waste another day or two to meet the count, but the invitation was already in his hands.
 
“Yes,” Raesh said with twitching lips. “You are coming with me to meet the count.”

Mannat went straight to the butchery after leaving the smithy. He was hoping to find Pandit to help get him ready to meet the count, but the boy had already gone hunting. Left with no choice he alone went to the barber. His mother used to cut his hair before his father took the job. This time his father advised him to go to a barber for the occasion.

Walking down the road leading to the center of the village, Mannat had an ominous premonition. People looked at him cross-eyed. They gave him the way and pulled away from him as much as possible. The bystanders openly cursed him. One kid even threw a stone at him. She missed his body but struck right on a painful heartstring. The wave of emotions that rose in his chest was not easy to subdue. He had seen and heard all of it in the last two weeks, but he still hadn’t gotten used to the hostility he received from the villagers.

The barbershop was near the residential area. The vegetable market was also there. He saw Pather on the road carrying a net, but the wiry boy didn’t seem to recognize him.

The more people there were, the more attention he drew. Some ignored him, but the whispers were definitely louder and fingers pointed at him were uncountable. Mannat felt like a cow blocking the road. The people didn’t care what he thought. They simply wanted him gone.

He found the barbershop tucked between a house and a bakery. There was a large scissor hanging outside the shop, indicative of its location. The doorbell rang when he pushed the wooden door and entered, getting the owner's attention. He was a thin, tall man with a mole under his right eye. Clean-shaven, he kept his hair short and drawn to the left side. This was a handsome man.

He was attending to a customer, a bald man, and massaging his head. A group of three boys was sitting on the old beaten bench right behind, waiting for their turn. They were all older than Mannat by a couple of years.

“Welcome, take a seat,” the owner said without glancing at him, but saw his reflection in the mirror when he was about to take a seat and yelled out, “Stop! You are not welcome. Leave.”

CH-23.2

Mannat hadn’t even taken a seat before he stood up straight, eyes glaring at the owner. “…Why?” He said in a cold tone of voice. “I have money.” He explained.

“Keep your cursed money to yourself.” The owner spat in anger. He had stopped massaging the bald man’s head, who stared at them with a frown.

“What’s the matter?” The bald man wasn’t a local and didn’t understand the situation. He tried to help Mannat. As a civilized adult, he felt he should help the boy or at least clear the situation, but the shop owner didn’t spare him either.

“You don’t know him, sir. He is the Witch boy. Believe me. I don’t want anything to do with him and neither do you.”

The customer cringed back into the seat upon hearing the word ‘Witch boy’. He didn’t know what a Witch boy was. He didn’t know who the witch was. However, it was enough to convince him the boy wasn’t good news and he should keep to himself. 

“The difference between white and grey is of perception.” The customer shook his head and no longer paid attention to the ruse.

Meanwhile, Mannat calmly stood in his place, not moving a single inch or changing his expressions. He thought he had gotten used to the mocking, name-calling, and berating of others in his childhood when the boys called him a freak and girls kept their distance from him. However, the reality was tough.

He had learned to ignore others at an early age. That was the reason why his ‘Focus’ had reached a maximum level so fast. Their gestures and words no longer hurt him. He didn’t stare at the shop owner in anger. He was simply disappointed.

He didn’t stay there for long. He left through the front door since he wasn’t invited. The shop belonged to the man and he could deny his services to anyone he dared. There was no need for a confrontation.
Unfortunately, the three teenagers didn’t think so. They followed him outside.

“Oye, Freak!” One called him, but Mannat didn’t stop. He kept walking. Perhaps, if he could get far away from them, he could have peace of mind. Never mind, the people ahead also looked at him with the same, disdainful eyes. How far was he going to run away? He couldn’t just up and leave the village! That would give everyone another reason to laugh and talk behind his back. He didn’t want that.

“Keep going!” The high-pitched scream came again. “You go back to your ugly Witch and climb into her womb, miserable idiot!” The boys laughed scornfully.
“Devil spawn!”
“Monster boy!”
“Outsider! I hope the bitch that gave birth to you burns!”

Mannat stopped walking.
He turned around.

The boys were older than him. They were probably stronger and faster, but they had crossed the limit.

However, a raven descended onto the boys like divine retribution before he could do anything. She didn’t care how little, or how much the boys got hurt. She pecked their heads and attacked the arms they had put up to cover their faces, leaving bloody scratches on them. The boys screamed. The onlookers tried to help, but the raven was the most courageous of everyone present.

Mannat looked dumbfounded, not knowing what to do when someone, a girl wearing a round red hat held his arm and pulled him away from the commotion. He couldn’t see her face, but she smelled of jasmine and lilies -- two of his favorite scents. Mannat tried to get away from her, but he couldn’t get his arms out of her grip. She wasn’t stronger than him, but had swift hands and would always catch him before he could slip away.

She took him straight into the tailor's shop and closed the door behind him. Inside, the master tailor stood with a woman, taking her numbers. He looked at them through his spectacles and asked, “Who is this?”

“Customer, sir, here to buy clothes,” The girl answered without stopping and took Mannat into an adjacent room where plenty of plain and glamorous clothes hung in racks. She closed the curtain behind them and plopped down onto the wooden bench. Her red-painted lips exhaled audible moans as her voluptuous chest rose and fell with her breaths. She sat with her head raised and hands on the bench, revealing a deep ravine between two soft and white bulges, which her pink long neck top was not fashioned to hide.

“Was that your raven?” Soman said. She was Pathar’s sister.
“She belongs to the Witch,” Mannat said looking around at the clothes. The variety of them was of types and shades he had never seen before.
“You work here?” He followed.

“Didn’t Pandit tell you?” Soman said and Mannat couldn’t help looking back at her. He did remember her looking at his friend in interest a few weeks ago when they were returning from the fields after fighting the beast. He also remembered him being unusually happy that evening.

His eyebrows rose in surprise. “You two are together?”

Perhaps, Mannat shouldn’t have said it, because Soman puffed her cheeks like a bellow full of air. Mannat wondered if a burst of air was coming to fan the fire he had unknowingly lit. It did.

“What is he afraid of? If he can’t even tell his best friend about me then how will he tell his mother? That woman will not let him go unless he stands for himself!”

Mannat’s surprise was not because of anything else but her age. She was two years Pandit’s senior. In a year, she would be of the marriage age. Why did she choose him? However, Mannat had to say; only someone with a spark in her voice like her could be a match for his friend.

Soman raised her legs parallel to the ground and swung up to her feet. “Anyways, you have to buy something or the owner will eat my ears later.” She said and Mannat’s fell in contemplation.
She snorted when she saw him so serious. “I was joking, stupid.”

Mannat wasn’t worried about getting out of the situation. He needed new clothes, after all.
“No, I’ll buy.”
“Really?” Soman grabbed Mannat’s hands in glee, eyes twinkling. Her arms squeezed her breast, bringing them dangerously close to spill out of her thin top.
 
The sight would have brought great stimulation to any lesser man, but it had no effect on Mannat. He simply answered her with a nod.

“Great.” She said releasing his hands and rushing toward the cloth racks.
“There are so many dresses that will suit your face and physique. However, I don’t think men like you would buy clothes to impress a girl. So tell me. What’s the occasion?”

“To meet the count,” Mannat answered.

Soman stared back in shock. She covered her deliciously wet open mouth with her small-delicate hands. Her surprise didn’t last long, however. Her eyes changed shape when she saw the crow nest growing on Mannat’s head.

“You will need a haircut with that.” Mannat tried to refuse, thinking he would get one in the town, but she saw through his hesitation again. “Don’t worry. I have experience. Who do you think cut Pathar’s hair?”
Mannat reluctantly agreed.

By the time Mannat left for the clearing that evening, the news of counts' invitation to him had reached the ears of Chahhat, Sharmilla’s elder sister. She didn’t waste time to get back home and inform her stupid-love-struck younger sister that the prince she was waiting for was leaving the village. She told Sharmilla in explicit detail about the invitation.

“Who told you that?” Sharmilla asked, glaring at her sister through bright red eyes. The tears were on the edge but didn’t dare spill fearing her wraith.

“Do you know Soman?” Chahhat asked, holding the girl's hands. “She recently got together with Pandit.” The news got a strange reaction from Sharmilla. She tilted her head in confusion. “Are you pulling my leg?”

Even Chahhat shared her thoughts. “Don’t believe it, right? While we were looking at the present, that sly fox saw the future and grabbed a horse. If only he was a few years older--” Chahhat took a gulp as her neck turned bright red.

Sharmilla was horrified. “Sister!” she exclaimed, grabbing her hands. “You are already engaged! What are you thinking?” She looked around in a hurry to see if there was anyone around. There were really too many people at her home. What would they do if someone heard her? Really, this beautiful sister of hers was way too clumsy.

“Ah, you are so young and clueless.”
“You are the clueless one!” Sharmilla snorted. “Now tell me. What were you saying about Pandit,”
“He told that hateful fox—“
“SISTER!”
“Alright, alright stop pulling my hair!” Chahhat pursed her lips and solemnly told the rest of the story she had heard. “She told the other girls,”
“Does everyone know?”

Chahhat flicked her sister’s forehead. “Of course,” She said matter-of-factly as Sharmilla tried to rub the sting out of her forehead. “Why are you surprised?” The older sister continued. “Anyways, she told Ruby, who told charlotte, who told me, a certain handsome boy bought a lot of new clothes, got a haircut, and he’s meeting the count tomorrow.”

“So what? It’s not like he’s leaving the village.”

Chahhat rubbed her sister’s cheeks and screamed into her ears. “Didn’t you hear me at all? The count called not only Mannat’s father, the blacksmith but personally invited him to meet! They packed a whole barrel onto the cart. Why do you need a big barrel for?”

Blood drained from Sharmilla’s face.

“He’s really leaving the village!” Sharmilla shouted. “I need to meet him!” She stood up on the bed. She almost jumped down and ran away before her sister caught her arm and pulled her back to the bed.
 
“You are going to meet him looking like this?” Chahhat asked and her eyes turning into two crescents.
Sharmilla looked down at her attire and her face instantly burned bright red.
She wore a thin, see-through nightgown that barely touched her knees, and nothing else. Lantern light easily passed through it and traced her petite figure. It could hide neither her curves nor the buds blossoming over her chest.

Chahhat looked her up and down and raised her eyebrows. “On second thought, I think it’s not a bad dress, actually – especially, if you are meeting a young boy at night under the full moon,” Chahhat smirked and got a pillow planted on her face. Then the sisters quarreled.

However, they didn’t know, the boy in question would leave the village before sunrise and they wouldn’t get a chance to get a hold of him.