For the next month Jani waited, patiently at first, bearing the occasional jibe from Laksmi with saint-like grace. As the days wore on, however, Jani began to fear the time when she would unearth the thing behind her shed. On several occasions she would come outside to stare at the moon and wonder at the silence of the night. She heard neither the hooting of owls nor the chirping of crickets. The air itself seemed thicker and charged with the kind of energy she could never bring to bear. The energy of dark magic.

Worst of all, the night before the new moon she was kept awake all night by a soft, high-pitched whine from outside. Jani tried to block it out, but it could not be dampened by shutting the bedroom window, pressing her pillow to her ears or the sound of her own crying. When she finally fell asleep she dreamed of horrible things; demon horses trampling her underfoot while an unseen voice mocked her for thinking she had the strength of her mother and condemned her for adding to the balance of evil in the world.

She woke up late the next morning and spent most of the day meditating, trying to drive the fear from her mind. When she was finished, it was close to evening. She sat down to a dish of stew and a glass of wine. When she was done she gathered her tools and stepped out into the night. The patch of ground behind the shed was moist and still smelled strongly of urine. The earth was loosely packed and she quickly reached the bottom of the grave she had dug. In place of Almer’s corpse lay a squirming foot-long root. It had thick tendrils in place of limbs, but was manlike nevertheless, and it pierced the night with its loud curses.

Jani wore gloves, having been instructed by her mother’s spell book that the root would be poisonous. Indeed, the grass touched by the dripping root wilted immediately, and the earth around the grave was smoking. The smoke burned Jani’s eyes, and tears rolled down her wrinkled cheeks as she gripped the struggling root. Finally she had the hatred necessary to end Laksmi’s torment. She ran into her house and straight to the kitchen, forced the writhing root into a large basket and lashed the basket shut. Then she ran into her bedroom, hurled herself into bed and drifted off into a dreamless sleep to the soft crooning of the root.

She woke the next morning with the bright, hopeful sun in her smiling face. Today would be a good day, she thought to herself. She’d finally be free of Laksmi. The root was humming to itself in its basket. Jani built a fire, put a pot of water on for tea and sharpened her cleaver as she waited for the water to boil. When the teapot whistled, she fixed herself a cup, took a few relaxing sips, donned her gloves and stuffed cotton in her ears, thanked the gods there were no prying neighbors and untied the basket.

The root screamed pitifully; flailed its tendril-arms and kicked its tendril-legs. Its eyes focused on the gleaming edge of the cleaver as Jani pressed the root to the table and severed the head with one swift blow. Silence ruled her home for the first time in twelve hours. She rolled the head onto a nearby cloth and began preparing the rest of the root for her recipe.

She decided that a pie would be the best method of delivery. As she severed the limb-like tendrils and sliced the body of the root into thin pieces, she gave some thought to exactly how she was going to get Laksmi to eat it. Would she invite the woman over, or perhaps bring it to her as a peace offering? Perhaps she could pay someone to take the pie to her; if she managed to keep the entire affair a secret she could avoid the scrutiny of the townspeople. Yes, that would be the best way. She could disguise herself and give a boy a couple small coins to run her errand.