The Black Mage

Pain. Blinding, throbbing pain. My head... it’s like something’s splitting it in two. I try to move, but my arms won’t obey. Where... where am I?

“Is this the new kid?”

Huh? Who is it? What! Why can’t I speak?

“Surprised, are you, kiddo? Boss said that slaves don’t need a tongue, so I ripped it out. No need to thank me.”

I try to scream, but... nothing. My tongue... why can’t I feel my tongue? Panic rises in my chest and my mind races. No. No, no, no... It’s gone. They took it. I can’t... I’ll never speak again

“Ah, what a great expression.”

“John, you are here again. How many times should I say that we should not hurt our goods?”

“Stop it, Ral. It’s just one; we have many left, and I don’t think that we will get a good sum for him.”

“John, WE. SHOULD. NOT. HURT. OUR. GOODS.”

“Tch… okay, fine, I’ll go. It’s your lucky day, kid.”

“Guards, clean up this place and feed that kid something.”

Did they leave? I can hear the creaking sound of the door, their heavy footsteps, and the sound of something flowing, followed by the guards murmuring. I don’t know what to think anymore. This feeling in my mouth… it seems I really can’t speak now. Sigh. I have no strength left; my arms hang limp at my sides, refusing to move. My mind however still fights-desperate to make sense of it all. My throat burned, raw from the silent screams. How do you survive in a world where you can’t make a sound? How do you fight back when your voice is gone?

“Are ya alive, kid?”

Who is it? I can tell from his voice that it is different from those two; it sounds like a person in his twenties. He opened the door and came in. His first foot landed in some sort of liquid. I can hear the sound of a splash as he moves. He stopped right in front of me and opened my mouth.

“Argh! Damn that rascal; he pulled off your tongue!”

I could feel his hands touching my face; they were rough and full of scars. My eyes were shut tight, so I couldn’t see him, but I could tell that he was trying to wipe off the blood.

“Geez, so much blood has been spilled in a day. That man… he is a monster.”

He wiped off the blood on my body and tried to mend my wound.

“Ya conscious, kid? Move something so that I may know.”

In hell, I would do something like that. I don’t have any strength left, and he asks me to move.

“Ya don’t wanna move? Well, all right, here is a question; after listening to this, I am sure you will move.”

As if I will. Bring it on.

“Who are ya, kid?”

Who am I? It’s the simplest question, but it slams into me like a boulder. I should know this—I have to know this! But no matter how hard I dig, it’s like there’s a wall in my mind. A wall I can’t break through. Who was I? The question rattled inside my head, louder with every second. I should know. My mind scrambled for a clue—a face, a name—but there was nothing. Just emptiness.

“Ha-ha, see yourself moving? Got curious, didn’t ya?”

Argh… why can’t I remember who I am? Why, WHY!!!

“Calm down, calm down. Let me tell ya why you can’t remember a thing.”

Just speak, damn it! That sound of being teased is working like salt

on my wounds.

“Hey, hey, listen. We are in the blood fields; here, the criminals from the upper world—or should I say, trash from the upper world—are thrown, and my kid, ya are one of them.”

And what does that have to do with my memory loss? Damn you!

“Ah! For a kid your age, you sure are a feisty one. You don’t seem to be older than 10.”

You!!! Tell me why I lost my memory.

“Stop, stop, man. Curiosity could surely bring the dead back to life. Okay, okay, I get it. Listen, we are fed a medicine to forget what we did in the upper world so that we may focus on atonement. It is some sort of ritual done by priests.”

So, to sum it up, I am a criminal up there; therefore, they fed me medicine and threw me into this hell.

“Ah! Look at the time,” he said suddenly breaking the silence “I should leave, kid. Take care.” He added with a casual wave as if I wasn’t bleeding in front of him.

He got up and moved out. The slow creaking noise of the door made me realize that I was all alone—crime, blood fields, memory loss—what in the hell did I do to deserve this? The rest of the day was quiet; somehow, I fell asleep. I was surprised at my behavior, but I couldn’t help it; I needed rest.

The next morning, or so I suppose, I woke up. My eyes were magnificent, and I regret that fact .The stench hit me first, thick and metallic. My hands were sticky, wet. I forced my eyes open, and there it was—blood. A sea of it, spreading across the floor. How much had been spilled?. Surely it should have been blood; what made me think that it could be water? Around ten minutes after I woke up, a guard entered the room with some food. No, that couldn’t be called food; it was trash. I wanted to refuse at first, but fearing the consequences, I ate it without a sound. The guard cleaned up the dishes and was about to leave when I made a noise. The guard turned and looked into my eyes. He was wearing a mask, and his body was fully covered in blue, even his hands, I could feel the warm and unsavory smell coming from his mouth, disgusted as I was I had no choice but to ask him. I gestured with my hands, asking about the guard who helped me yesterday.

“Oh, that one!” he said as he stood up. “He should be dead by now.”

What? Him dead?

“Ah! Look at that expression. I believe that man was thrown out by the leader, or so I’ve heard. Take care, kid, if you don’t want to die like him.”

He left the room laughing. It seems he was content with my expression. And why wouldn’t he be? Everyone here is a sadist. Yet, A hollow feeling spread through my chest when I heard the news, he didn’t deserve to die like that. Why did he have to die… at someone else’s hands? While I was mulling over that fact, I heard someone’s voice. I looked at the door, but no one came in. I stared for some time, but there was no reaction. That voice came again:

“Hey, you!”

It was the voice of a child, very mild in tone. With time, it steadily increased,

“Hey… Hey… HEY!”

It was getting scary. I looked around to find the source but couldn’t find it. Whose voice was that?

“It’s me.”

I got goosebumps on my skin; it felt as if someone touched me. But even if they did, I couldn’t see them. Who was that?

“I am me that’s all you need to know.”

Huh? What kind of reply is that?

The voice echoed in my mind again. “You can hear me, can’t you?” It was soft, almost curious. “I’ve been trying to speak for so long. You’re the first to hear me.” My heart raced. Who—or what—was talking to me?

“You, why are you making noise, kid?” said he as he entered my room. It was the one from before; I believe his name was Ral, or so the other one addressed him. “Was it not enough for your tongue to be ripped out?”

I could see his anger; maybe I did too much, but it was not my fault.

“I am pretty sure it is.”

You shut up!

“Hey, you! Are you tired of living, or something? Did you forget your tongue was ripped?”

I do remember; that wound is fresh and still hurts. I shook my head down and waited.

“Humph” Ral grumbled “I am leaving. You better stay quiet.” He warned glaring at me before turning on his heel.

He left the room, and now there were only two inside: me and this… whoever it was.

“It’s not whoever; it’s me.”

I know it is you; I get it.

“Not you; it’s me.”

What’s the difference? Anyway, how can you speak to me?

“That is what I want to ask. I tried speaking to everyone here, but there was no result.”

Hmm… let’s try it differently. Can you come in front of me?

“Okay.”

What I saw back then is something I will never forget: A figure appeared. Small, dark, walking on two legs. I blinked, half-convinced I was imagining it. A bear—no, a teddy bear—stood before me, missing one eye, like something out of a nightmare. And yet... he didn’t feel like a threat.

“So, how do I look?”

Can’t decide if it is scary or cute.

“Is that so?” He moved toward me and reached out his small, cute hands. Unlike the other blood-soaked parts, his hands were clean. It was a pity I couldn’t touch him; my hands were tied after all.

Hey, you don’t have a name, do you?

“I told you I am me.”

Yeah, but that is not a name.

“Oh! Is that so?”

Yes. So, do you want a name?

“Why are you offering this to me?”

There is no particular reason; I just thought it was a pity for you not to have a name.

“Okay, then sure.”

I studied the small creature. He didn’t have a name. I felt a strange pang of pity. ‘How about Kuma?’ I said—or thought. It was the least I could offer in this place, where everything else had been stripped away.

“Okay, my name is Kuma. What is your name?”

I don’t have one.

“Mind if I give you a name?”

Sure.

“Okay… your name is… Karl.”

Karl, that is a good name.

“Yeah, is it, I am happy”

Those words left his mouth and he began dancing, hopping around everywhere, I am sure he is nothing normal, yet I don’t feel any resentment, somehow I like him quite a bit.