No Place for the Innocents

At night, he would come back to the very moment of how it happened. He hoped to change it, the ending of his past that took his life away. But by morning he roused, still mourning the tragedy of how even the tiny hint of justice was stolen from him.

It was a bright afternoon and the horseshoes' clicks and clacks fainted slowly as the road changed from tiled to plain dirt. The Lord of Rutherridge was inside the coach, probably drinking much of his mead since the sennight-long conference had come to an end. Meanwhile, the footman behind the carriage looked beyond the road, his lips quirking into a smile as he looked forward to meeting his family once again.

Both he and his wife were servants of the Rutherridge Estate. Alice was a laundress while he's a footman. Their daughter Maja, who was only ten, would either be helping her mother or be one of those who would welcome him first since she had always liked assisting the stableman in tending the horses.

Spirit and Sunny, as she called them. Although, she was not allowed to say it out loud because they were already named by the masters of the house.

He was grateful for the Lord and Mistress Hayward. Despite being servants, they were granted with quite a good life inside the estate. Being a footman wasn't a position as high as the butler's but it provided them on their needs- and that's enough. For now, at least.

But as high as his mind was in the clouds, misfortune made itself known when they encountered a bump. A fallen tree blocked their way despite the days showing no signs of storms nor strong winds. Was it the work of bandits? But the road was too familiar and not very well-hidden for bandits to come and plan an ambush.

The footmen behind the coach looked at each other and nodded, knowing what to do. The coachman halted the horses, a signal for Mitchel and the other to jump off and push what was blocking their way.

It took them quite a while that even Lord Hayward, with his wobbling stomach, got off the coach to get himself some fresh air.

"Well, I cannot blame you both for taking too long. A tree's weight is no joke, after all," said the rich man, while searching for a boulder to lay himself.

The rays of the sun caught up to them when they finally set the trunk and its wholeness aside, ready to go. But before they could ride the coach once again, a deafening explosion erupted from nowhere.

The ground rumbled and the horses pranced their hooves, neighing loudly in great fear and sheer panic.

The other footman let out an audible gasp, his eyes wide, as he pointed to the sky. In the middle of the disappearance of the setting sun was a massive flared-up smoke. It was closer to them than they thought, but not close enough to cause them harm. In fact, it was at the direction of-

Rutherridge! No!

Mitchel gaped, his mind taking in what was happening, before marching towards the horses that were far from calm. He grappled for the reins of the other and untied it from the coach, trembling as he lifted himself to ride its back.

"Mitchel!" the lord roared. "Get away from the horse! We need to return to town!"

No.

He tried to still the steed, looking ahead.

"We cannot save them anymore! Clearly, someone must have thought that I was home. They thought they could kill me. We need to get out of here, servant! Return the horse!"

The footman opened his mouth to answer but was cut by a loud cackle above.

"Oh poor lord, how does it feel having your people burn to their deaths?" said a woman, her voice shrill and giddy. There were three of them, their feet above the ground, riding what seemed to look like brooms. Except instead of twigs at the edge of the wooden handles, they were dark-coloured feathers.

Witches.

"Ease your teasing, Olga!" said the other with an ugly giggle. " How would Lord Hayward know the pain of his people when he cannot wait to escape them." Her gaze met Mitchel and she smirked. "You heard your master, you need to return to town. The safest place in Tavedra, is it not?"

"How frightening," the third mocked a gasp. "Does he even care for those who were left in his estate? Or is he again thinking of saving just himself? Typical."

The lord reached inside his coach, bringing out a crossbow. "Witches! I am not afraid of you! You are only putting yourselves in danger more!"

"You have ruined our covens! You speak of peace while you made us watch our peers screech for their lives, burning them!" their eyes showed contempt. "You have no right to be unafraid. Because of you, your people are suffering!"

Rage twisted inside the footman's stomach, his heart torn between his duty to his master and the love for his wife and daughter. They must have been waiting for him to arrive.

Mitchel threw one last look to the Lord of Rutherridge before spurring the horse forward with his heel, the steed galloping in the direction of the estate.

They were waiting for him, he repeated to himself, praying that nothing dangerous had happened to them. That they were safe. Alice and Maja would run to him once he arrived, crying perhaps… but breathing. Alive. And then they would live somewhere far away, where the witches cannot reach them. He would do everything for them to live even without the Haywards, and they would lead a happy future.

But he was too late.

He arrived far too late.

The pungent smell of smoke welcomed him along with the dirty, acidic fog. He found that only a few servants survived, and none of them was his wife nor his daughter. They were gone. Their bodies disappeared along with the ashes of the fallen mansion.

And his heart died with them.

-*-

"... So perhaps, that's just how the world works," said Mitchel. "Between the wars of the privileged, there is no place for the innocents, except to die a terrible death."

"But," the lady witch started, her hand clutching her chest and her eyes red. He didn't know how he just spilled his story to her when they were supposedly waiting for the other lady. The one harsh enough to return to him the pain of yesterday. She sniffed before continuing, "is there any chance that they may still be alive?"

He got tired, he guessed. It had been quite a while since he requested the presence of the other lady and they were still not there, so he settled with the redhead in front of him. The one he threatened to kill.

How odd.

Well, it was already odd that the kind he swore to hate were the ones tending to him now.

Mitchel shook his head. "I have looked for them."

"Look for who?" asked a fierce voice from the doorway. The man glanced up to see the lady leaning on the door, her blouse and trousers unkempt. Beside her was the witch who he wrestled with. She was looking back at him, an eyebrow raised. "You called for me, human? Why?"

Human?

"Are you a witch, too?" It would make sense why she was with them.

"What did you do to Leila?" the male witch countered in an accusing tone.

'Leila' waved her hand. "No, no. I'm alright, West. Evelina, he requested for you because…" she trailed, not knowing what to say, before turning towards him. "Why did you ask for her again?"

Mitchel sighed. "My pain is not nothing."

"And? Do I have something to do with that?"

"No. But the absence of pain had been too long, I couldn't remember how I should be feeling. Until," he paused, remembering how Evelina said it that morning. "the moment you said that it was me who got myself into this mess. I want to tell you that maybe… maybe it is. And I have been blaming myself for the past three years, but that does not deny that there are others who are responsible for my pain."

His eyes met Leila's and he nodded to himself. "I wanted you to hear my story, too. I understand now that I was wrong… for generalizing, at least, but I want to thank you, too. For waking me up."

Mitchel shifted sheepishly on his seat. He didn't actually know what it was for. He just went with the words that came out of his mouth. But most of it was true, and getting it out of the way helped him breathe. He wanted a judge of character. He wasn't bothered with whoever's a witch and whoever isn't before.

That was a long time ago.

The story of a footman who looked at the world with brightness.

Quietness followed his words, until Evelina asked him. "You mentioned that you were a criminal from the palace."

"Not a criminal, no."

"Then what was it that you said about running from palace soldiers?"

Eyes were waiting for him to answer. Mitchel released a bitter laugh. "Because I realized that pleading the Emperor to help me seek my justice was considered a sin."

Three years, he hoped for his family to live. But of all the places he had searched, he found himself in Eldham. He became aware that if there was someone who could help him, it was the emperor. No man would resist his orders. So he came even with his disheveled look, murmuring and begging the emperor of Merotus to help him. If they cannot find his wife and child, then they could at least seek justice to their deaths.

But no help came. Instead, he was thrown out of the palace.

A beggar inside its walls was considered an insult, was what they said.

"There is no room for a peasant's life here," Mitchel told the witches, eyes once again becoming reflections of revenge.