Deep in the Black

All I’ve ever known is darkness. These caverns of the deep dark are my companions. We were raised here by our fathers, and their fathers before us. Everyday we dig and drill and mine upwards hoping to understand why we’re born children of the dark. Each of us have a position, a responsibility to the pocket. Each pocket is different. Some are very violent tribes, as they grasp in the black they rip themselves to shreds for bits of food and material possessions though they cannot be seen. I had no definition of blindness, nor light, for as long as there have been people in these pockets, they have not seen anything but the dark. Our hope, for some of us at least, is that we would know from where we came, and why we have been here for so long. We have eyes not made for the dark. So why are we here?! My desperation is only slightly louder than my hunger these days. We haven’t found morsels for days now and the little ones grow weary. I dare not voice my thoughts for long ago in our tribe one man spoke of a world of light. He spoke of a world of kings and strong men who were peaceful and had all they needed. He was killed by the wise ones for this. Hope is as dangerous as the blade down here. It wasn’t till the wizard came the first time that I knew that that man was right. There is a land of light and one day, I was to live in it.

•~•

“These tunnels are darker than the runes have described.”

His thoughts seem to cast out like waves of the Great Sea, almost loud enough to be defined as screams. His oak staff shining in the black, illuminating a path. The others in the school of light warned him that it was too dangerous. They said that the tribes that dwelt inside these deep mines were violent cannibals that loathed hope and faith. Yet he knew that something else drew him. Whether it was priestly allegiance to the unknown, or simply the belief that people living in the deep dark do so out of lack of knowledge, not intentional will, he drew further and deeper into the caverns. It had been days since he’d seen any natural light and he was well prepared for months of wandering in these caverns. It was when poking in the rocky dark that he saw him, a young boy through a gap in the cavern wall. He knew by the screaming gasp and the expression on his face that this was the first light the boy had ever seen. “Do not run!” the Mage whispered to boy. “What is your name?” “Boy, they call me”, he replied, stunned by the white that shone from the man, enrobed in light. ” I am called Azarel, a Mage and high wizard from the land of Himnum. I had a vision of a people trapped in black, and have journeyed to take those who would come to my land.” “What is land?” boy replied. Azarel then realized that from centuries of dark wandering the people of the black have limited their language considerably, having only the need of describing food, water, names and warnings to survive. Boy had no knowledge of mages, wizards or fruit for that matter. “What is your food, Boy?” “We call it root”, replied Boy, his face immersed in shame. “Have you heard of bread?” “No.”

Azarel handed boy a slice of bread the dwarfs had supplied him for the journey down. Confused by generosity and by the strange odor of the bread, Boy hid and slowly reached out to grab the bread. Once within grasp, he ran into the darkness, leaving only a mist of soil and rock for Azarel. He decided to make camp there by the gap in the rock wall, staying alert at all times, for the boy may even still talk about what happened and bring violence upon the Mage.

“Where have you been, Boy?! We’ve been waiting for you, we need you to climb through the east tunnels. A man died trapped in the Krall pocket, 4 holes in.” The words that came out of his fathers mouth echoed with fear. The Krall pocket was known to be one of the most violent and gruesome pockets. The Krall tribe was usually out scouring the other pockets for who they may kill and capture as workers to dig through their walls. The other fear was that if he was to return a corpse from the Krall pocket, that it meant that it was to be eaten. Boy hated eating flesh, he could feel the memories and personality digested by his body and it left him feeling bloated and sick. However the penalty for refusing such commands in your tribe was death, and then you would be the one eaten.

“I will go but I need to consult Abrim the wise one about another matter first. I saw a man in the outer wall and he was not in the black. He had white!”

There was silence in the dark. The tribes had grown used to just talking and sensing the presence of the one they speak to, for when you live in pitch blackness, silence is everywhere. Boy didn’t know if he was abandoned in that moment, or if they were all just in shock. He listened carefully, shutting out all other senses. Joy befell him when he heard the heavy breathing of the men. Suddenly, he was taken! Grabbed by what felt like 10 hands and dragged for at least 8 holes, which they burrowed above them to measure distance, he was thrown into a large room. The re-verb of different chants and prayers, heavily whispered by the wise ones, was pounding in his ears. This was the altar room of the eaten, the dining hall of the wise ones, leaders of all the tribes that governed the food and resources as well as the actions of the people of the dark.

“Do you know why you are here, Boy?” Boy could only quiver, his lips too shaky to answer. “I’ll take your silence as a sign of respect. Very well, let me explain myself. Come closer to us.”

The wise man speaking had a lantern that drove away the black instantly when it was turned on. This shocked Boy, as he had always believed and been told that there was no white in the tunnels. All along, they possessed the white. Why had they not distributed it to all so that they could see each other? Most have never seen their own fathers and would not recognize each other if they were together in the white. Anger, sadness, injustice, they were all upon him. He looked at this own hands, white, cracked and swollen. He had never seen skin before, especially his own. He looked at the wise man. His face dark but not with dirt, no he had never seen work or struggle before.

“You see, Boy, that in all the white, mysteries drown you. You are puzzled beyond your own vocabulary. You have not the language to ask the correct questions. I will answer them for you since your time with us has, in a moment been cut drastically short. If all the white, we wise men possess, were to be passed along to all the tribes, it would run out fairly quickly. So we preserve it and use it sparingly. My skin is dark because I have seen the God of white. When you have seen him, he creates something called time. When He arises, time begins and as he departs we return to the black and time ends. This process darkens the skin and provides us with a number for how long we have been here. I have 40. By the look of you, I would say you have 19. A short time, indeed.

I have heard a disturbance in my travels through the pockets. I sensed the presence of one who was not from the black. He, also possesses white but it is not from the God of white, but happens by his own will. If he is able to find any of us, our whole world will be conquered and we will be the slaves of his people.” Boy’s silence broken, he yelled, “SPARE ME, I CAN TAKE YOU TO HIM, I, I, SAW HIM!!”

“Hahaha, I know you have, Boy. But I regret you cannot be spared. The rest of your time would be spent thinking and remembering that there are other places to be. That is a dangerous knowledge. Men have fought and died based on such longings. I’m sorry but you must be given to the hungry ones.” “NO NO NO”

Boy yelled desperately and in that moment had an idea. He heard from the man long ago, who had been given to the hungry ones, that a wizard’s name is like a spell, full of power and might, when proclaimed can shake earth loose. If the name the Mage gave him was real, then it may save him. It was his only choice in this moment, although if he did say the wizard name it would quite possibly bury most of the tribes under the weight of the rock walls, as well as Boy, himself. “AZAREL!!!”

 

How long had it been? Days, weeks? Boy arose to find himself trapped in a small hole, deep in the black. He hardly remembered what had happened other than he knew that he was within minutes of his last words. Suddenly it came upon him. The memories. He said the wizard’s name! He didn’t know the gravity of the situation he caused. Was his family destroyed, buried in rubble and soil? He could hear clawing on the wall next to him, was someone trying to save him?

“Hello? Hello?” The clawing and scratching momentarily subsided, which added a sense of mischief to the moment. What was going on? There wasn’t enough oxygen to find out. Without the breathing systems that the old tunnels had provided he maybe had a day of air in his buried hole he was trapped in. Boy began the think the worst and sensed great peril approaching his life. Mortality again within death’s cold grasp, he began to panic, scratching desperately at the roof of the hole that seemed to be comprised of a dirt ceiling. Within moments he discovered that the dirt was easily removed and a metal lid was his ceiling.

“Hello? Hello?” Boy felt the whole space he was trapped in shake and vibrate like it was pressed against the buzzing of a great big engine. As the metal cover started to slide, white poured in until he was bathed in light! Was he in the land of light? Had Azarel rescued him from the altar of the eaten?

There he was peering into the encasement Boy was in. “Hello Boy!” “Azarel! I thought I was dead!” “Yes, you and I both. I knew it was for good reason that I gave my name to you. We wizards, are given new names when we become mages. Our names our the essence of our gift and when proclaimed in desperation will re-enact our natural creative gift. Luckily for you, mine was a Safety gift. As you said my name you were instantly encased in this spirit shell. In it you can not escape except by a Mage’s words of release and no harm may befall you either. Since you have no grasp of time, I will not bother you with how long you’ve been encased in this spirit shell. Just know that you are now safe.” “But what happened to everyone else in the black?” “Nothing.” “So they are still there….and I am not. What of my family and my tribe? We must return for them!! I cannot stay here while they wander in the black, unable to feel the warmth of white!!” “This can be done, Boy. But not now. You are very weak and as wonderful as the white as you call it feels, it is killing you. You have been so malnourished and void of light, that you must build up your balance. We have been opening and closing your spirit shell by small measures each day. This will take time. When you are strong then your teaching will begin, for before you can become a man of rescue you must unlearn all the things that have kept you in the black. If not, when you return, you will be instantly enslaved by its familiarity.”

And so, Boy was given a new life. With it came a new name and a new call, to be a man of rescue, free of familiarity and a Mage of light. His education began for the first time and at the age of 28, he set out to rearrange his inner workings that he may be himself, a free spirit. Mentored by Azarel, he would know no fear and cowardice was a dark stranger, empty at his bedside.