To Hell And Back

In a small domain of creation, where magic-users’ world and hell press against each other, mixing, overlapping and slowly trading ground, there is no day and night – only perpetual dusk of infernal glow radiating from ever-shifting horizon. Remains of collapsing structures brought forth from another plain and time are jotting out of rust-colored soil, like rotting carcasses on the beach, waiting for hell to rise and ebb, licking them off into oblivion. In that desolate place of immaterial, yet tangible things, a short, stocky man found himself walking along a wind-swept road. He was drifting aimlessly, and so was his mind. It took a while before he noticed someone’s shadow sliding on the ground beside him. The man stopped, somewhat startled, and glanced over his shoulder, to see a hunched, withered stranger – his unkempt beard as gray as his worn clothes. A battered old hat covered his head, with piercing, discourteously direct gaze shooting from under its brims. For reasons beyond his grasp, distracted traveler couldn’t bear that look for longer than a moment, overcome with intense discomfort. He averted his eyes. ‘You finally see me, magic-user,’ droned the stranger in a voice that somehow managed to convey no feeling whatsoever. ‘Have your senses come back to you?’ In absence of a cue in the tone, the drifter had to make his own guesses as to what the question was about. Did he offend the stranger by looking away? A familiar notion emerged from his foggy memory: he’d hate to offend. ‘S- Sorry, I didn’t notice I wasn’t alone,’ the man muttered, then rummaged through his mind a bit more, but with little to show for it. ‘And, sorry… again… but I struggle to remember if we’ve… you know… met before.’ ‘No need for apology, young soul,’ presumably assured him his new acquaintance. ‘If indeed we have, then it is I who should have remembered.’ ‘Oh, in that case, ehm… hello! I’m, umm… Matsumura…? Yes. Nice… Nice to meet you,’ the man turned to the stranger, offering a hand, though, much to his own embarrassment, his eyes weren’t so willing to follow, barely including the gray figure into the corner of his vision. ‘You remember your name at the least. That is a start,’ said the old man, placing his dry, gangly hand into the traveler’s padded mitt. ‘And put your worries to rest. Few can peer into my eyes with a light heart.’ Somewhat relieved and more so confused, the one who named himself Matsumura forced an awkward smile. ‘I’m… I’m sure they don’t mean nothing by it, eh-heh…’ ‘How much can you recall?’ inquired the stranger when their handshake concluded. ‘Have you the grasp of where you are?’ ‘Well…’ readily started the stocky man, relishing the idea of bringing something concrete into this odd exchange. ‘I’ve drifted off a bit there, but… if I’m not… mistaken…’ His speech petered out as he looked over his surroundings. Flat plains of dry, lifeless soil span in all directions, sparsely dotted with decaying landmarks and lined with thin trails. Those trails went every which way, curving and crisscrossing with seemingly no rhyme or reason, looking more like a bizarre geological feature than a sign of inhabitation. The man looked ahead, towards where he was going, and, in the distance, saw ruins of a little town, trembling in the waves of hot air. Behind him, a fresh, barely perceptible trail went off into the vast nothingness, disappearing in the haze. Altogether, discounting a contingent of small dust devils fading in and out of existence, playing tag and dancing on the plains, the two men were completely alone. ‘I… I think I’ve been here a while…’ uttered the short drifter, reaching as far back into his memory as he could. ‘I came here to… you know… Or, maybe, because I… Ehm…’ He shook his head, defeated. ‘I’m sorry, everything eludes me today…’ ‘Just as well,’ likely consoled him the stranger. ‘All will come back in time.’ Choosing to interpret the gray man’s demeanor as friendly, Matsumura found himself struck with another jolt of shame. ‘Oh, but I haven’t even asked your name!’ he sputtered, looking apologetically at the middle button of the stranger’s jacket. ‘I’m sorry…’ ‘So many apologies. You are quick to regret,’ noted the old man. ‘The road ahead may prove to be long.’ ‘W- Well…’ stuttered Matsumura, dismayed. ‘It’s not like me to be so impolite. I think…’ ‘I can see that is true,’ agreed the mysterious gray man. ‘So you are starting to remember. I suggest we keep walking. That should help you find your bearings.’ ‘Of course, of course…’ readily conceded sorcerer, looking to accommodate. ‘Where are you headed? I’m not sure where I was going myself, but, ehm… if you would like company…’ ‘Any path is as good as any other to me,’ droned the stranger – in his flatness, managing not to sound dismissive. ‘As for company… Truly, it is a luxury around here. Let us proceed then.’ ‘Oh… Okay…’ replied confused traveler, obediently resuming his supposed trek towards the ruins ahead. ‘And… your name?’ ‘Never did my name sit well on anyone’s tongue,’ evaded the question gray man, matching sorcerer’s pace. ‘Not that you have anyone to confuse me with anyway…’ ‘I… see…’ accepted it Matsumura. ‘Who are you then?’ ‘A drifter, not unlike you,’ responded his follower after a while, weighing up his words, or perhaps remembering. ‘Though, this is not entirely true… After all, your path will reach its end one day.’ ‘Golly, that sounds ominous, eh-heh,’ stocky sorcerer laughed with unease. ‘Why are you saying it like I’m-’ Matsumura halted, as if he’d hit a wall. The nervous smile faded from his face, giving way to stark graveness, yet there wasn’t shock, nor even surprise mixed in with it. Of course… Reluctantly, he turned his gaze to the blazing horizon – now making out distorted, shimmering outlines of curved towers, veiled by dancing inferno. ‘So you remember now?’ dispassionately inquired the nameless man, stopping by the sorcerer’s side. ‘I… died…’ uttered the stocky drifter. ‘We’re in hell…’ ‘Very much so,’ confirmed his grey acquaintance, ‘and yet not truly. Your sentence is over, magic-user Matsumura – for all the sins you are guilty of, you have paid.’ As if hoping to glean something he’d missed, deceased sorcerer felt an urge to look the old man in the eye, but, much like before, went no further than the tip of his beard. ‘Your memories are coming back quite readily,’ continued the stranger. ‘Devils have not had you in their custody long, it seems. A sign of a virtuous life,’ he concluded, but then considered the implications a little further. ‘Or, perhaps, a very dull one. You would know which one suits you best.’ Try as he might, Matsumura failed to pick up if there was a pin in there. ‘But… Why have I forgotten so much?’ he asked, hoping to finally gain some footing. ‘Can you tell?’ Despite the simplicity of the question, hunched old man did not hurry to respond – maybe thinking, or maybe just not interested in providing explanations. ‘I have met many transient souls, and it has always been thus,’ he finally replied, not really answering the question – but then added one of his own. ‘Though, if it comes to that, do you really want to remember your punishment?’ Matsumura shuddered, knowing deep in his heart that he would not want to even think about it in abstraction. ‘Do not fret,’ likely assured the stranger. ‘Upon arriving here, none have found the memory of their living days missing for too long. After all, save for the ground you are treading, nigh everything you can see in this realm is but a recollection made manifest. You too will leave your mark on this land in time, and walk your life’s path to the end. As long as you travel light…’ Hearing that, stocky man looked around, puzzled, then demonstrated his empty hands to his companion. ‘Umm… Gots nothing on me,’ he reported. ‘We will see how true that is in time,’ responded the nameless man and gestured ahead. ‘Shall we proceed?’ Once again, Matsumura felt the familiar pull to just go along with what he was told. He made a few unsure steps down the road, before an obvious thought caught up with him. ‘So… What’s at the end of my path?’ he asked, walking ahead. ‘A door,’ replied his follower, providing no real insight. Lost as he was, Matsumura accepted that response with no further probing. Indeed, with how little he understood right now, a simple directive seemed preferable, so he chose to just keep on strolling towards the decrepit-looking buildings ahead. Greater clarity could come to him once he reached that landmark – at least, that’s what he counted on. Still, with that much being settled for the time being, he figured it was a good moment to better puzzle out his companion. In these desolate wastes the color of clay, hunched old man in his drab attire stood out like an inkblot on a sheet of sandpaper, and yet, at the same time, didn’t seem out of place at all. He answered some questions freely – others he dodged. And, sure, Matsumura could use every bit of enlightenment right now, but, alongside that, he very much didn’t wish to intrude. A touch of subtlety was in order. Keeping his eyes on the sight of approaching buildings, the sorcerer turned his face slightly towards the stranger. ‘Umm, so… you seem to know how things work here…’ he started shyly. ‘How long have you been around?’ ‘Long enough to understand,’ elusively responded the gray man, once again refusing to elaborate. Personal queries would not bear much fruit it seemed, and instead, stocky traveler thought of other questions that could prove to be illuminating. ‘You’ve seen other people make their journeys, right?’ he recalled. ‘Does it take long?’ ‘It takes however long it has to,’ the gray man gave his answer. ‘So it’s… not really about moving a distance then…’ ‘It is not,’ confirmed the stranger. ‘Were that the case, the journey could be over in a blink on an eye. You are not bound by the rules of the material plane, after all – only by your memories of them. Even the way you perceive yourself is merely a recollection of a different time.’ Matsumura looked down at his puffy body. It was indeed the thoroughly unimpressive sight he was accustomed to. His brown boots, his wrinkled suit, the striped necktie he hated wearing – it was all as he remembered. And, even though he couldn’t see it, he felt his simple mask pressing against his face, and knew what color it was. ‘I don’t remember not having a shadow though…’ he pointed out, noticing the absence of his outline on the ground. ‘But, I guess, I shouldn’t be surprised…’ Just as the final word left Matsumura’s lips, a weird detail caught his attention. It was there from the very start, but only now reached the man’s thoughts – unlike the sorcerer himself, his gray companion did cast a shadow, and was even leaving footprints, stirring little beige clouds with every step. ‘Wait a minute…’ Matsumura questioned. ‘Then why do you have one? Are you real? I mean, are you… you know…’ ‘A lot of dust has gathered on me…’ replied gray man, though it was unclear from his flat voice whether he was explaining himself or simply making an observation. ‘Am I slowing you down? You can fly on ahead without me, if it pleases you.’ ‘No, no…’ muttered the sorcerer, ‘I’m fine with walking. Flying… I don’t think flying was ever my thing.’ ‘A creature of habit you are?’ supposed the nameless man. ‘I don’t know… Maybe?’ shrugged Matsumura with confused smile. ‘Anywho, I offered you company, so we’re stuck together for now, eh-heh.’ ‘Your consideration is appreciated,’ droned the stranger, and the subject was closed. For some time, neither of the travelers spoke, charting their course across the wastes, step after step. But, as the ruins the two walked towards came closer and closer, looming over chance companions, it was gray man’s turn to inquire. ‘Do you know what place it is that we are coming to, magic-user Matsumura?’ he asked. ‘Umm… No…? Why would I?’ replied the short man, confused by the question. ‘I’ve only gotten here. I mean… You know…’ ‘That is fair,’ reconsidered the stranger. ‘Let us put it this way then: do you know why the memory of your living days was hidden away?’ ‘Hmm, no…’ once again admitted ignorance the sorcerer, after a short deliberation. ‘I’m afraid I’ve no clue…’ ‘No need to feel ashamed,’ unemotionally assured him his companion, perhaps catching a shade of guilt in the man’s voice. ‘There is no judgement. What do you think it was for?’ Matsumura contemplated the question a little more. ‘Any answer is okay?’ he asked cautiously. ‘As long as it is truthful.’ ‘In that case… I think, I don’t care why it is this way,’ plainly confessed the sorcerer. ‘Must be a reason.’ ‘Not an inquisitive sort,’ concluded the gray man. ‘W- Well… Is it bad?’ ‘Not at all,’ shrugged the stranger. ‘Some chase adversity, others go where life takes them – everyone choses their own way to spend their allotted days.’ ‘Heh-heh…’ sheepishly laughed Matsumura, feeling somewhat validated. ‘I think that’s the way I used to see things too.’ ‘However,’ added the old man, ‘a small measure of curiosity would prove helpful to you on your journey.’ Even though the stranger’s voice remained colorless, the sorcerer couldn’t help but feel scolded. ‘Um, makes… makes sense,’ he conceded, as the two travelers crossed the border of the crumbling settlement. Setting foot on its empty streets, Matsumura looked around with a bit more intent, and now, no longer warped by distorting air, worn down husks of buildings looked vaguely recognizable to him. Something in their sight tugged at his heart – faintly, longingly. Maybe it was blazing horizon painting the buildings warm orange on one side, or maybe it was overcast skies hanging low, boxing the scenery in, but sorcerer felt an echo of fatigued resignation, tinged with mellow sadness, as if he was about to have an evening’s rest, yet wished he could stretch the day out a little longer. As the decaying structures surrounded him, the feeling got stronger. Faceless as they now were, the houses seemed familiar – their shapes and layout slotting neatly into the blurry pictures flashing in Matsumura’s mind, one after another. From every direction, vague memories of long-faded sensations and naïve, ignorant notions flown to him, sketching out a map of understanding. At first, that map was small and pale – no more than a sense of déjà vu, but the veil was lifting, and the man was eagerly reaching further, reclaiming more ground with every step, bringing color to the outlines. In just a minute, remembering no longer felt like reaching around in thick fog, but instead, a rising wave now carried him forward – he couldn’t stop if he wanted to. And he didn’t want to. Matsumura recognized these streets, and it brought a faint smile to his lips, though his eyes betrayed heaviness in his heart. ‘I used to live here,’ he shared his revelation in nostalgic, bittersweet tone. ‘As a kid, you know.’ The stranger let him talk at his own unhurried pace, without interfering with questions. He couldn’t see these desolate streets with the same eyes as his companion – now enveloped in his recollection – so he reserved himself to listening. ‘The town was on the smaller side – not a village, sure, but nowhere near a big city, heh-heh,’ continued Matsumura, absorbing these tarnished, yet heartwarming sights. ‘Life there was… slower. Very peaceful. The older folks would say it was boring all the time – that nothing of note was ever happening. But us kids? We were always in the thick of something – you can imagine. School rivalries, playground antics… Tall tales about something or other that happened just outside of town… Dares…’ Sorcerer pointed toward a building in the distance. It stood at an angle, leaning on one side, with a rusted flagpole sticking out of its roof. ‘That’s my school over there,’ the man informed – his eyes running back and forth across the peeling façade he used to see so often. ‘Only, you see, it’s not meant to be this way – it’s just that it was built on a side of a hill. There was a music room at the back, with slanted floor and seats going in those, like, ascending rows. As a kid, I held a firm belief that that was the whole reason why the building stood where it did, heh-heh. It didn’t even align that way, but… you know.’ For a little while, Matsumura went quiet, trying to draw out more from what he saw, no matter how mundane or insignificant. He didn’t notice how a shallow wrinkle formed between his eyebrows as his gaze jumped from one feature to another. It wasn’t working. Disappointed, the man sighed, wishing for these sights to be even closer to his returning memories of them, but, deep down, he understood the catch. His desire wasn’t for things he remembered – it was for ones he didn’t. He yearned to take a tour of his past and be reminded of myriads of little things, but, alas, he was the tour guide. What he saw was all he himself could offer. ‘My childhood friends – they all went there too,’ the man continued, letting go of the school’s sight as companions walked ahead. ‘Or, maybe, that’s how we became friends… Can’t even remember anymore. Either way, we were a lively crowd. Adventurous. Naturally, some more than the others, heh-heh… We weren’t wanting for thrills, even if some were made up or… plain silly. A bunch of us “ran away” from home to live by the creek one summer, and then stayed grounded for the rest of it. That was a big deal back then. I wasn’t a troublemaker myself, mind… but… Well, I’d always go along with whatever mischief others cooked up. Was always bad at saying “no”, you see.’ Dull ache of nostalgia made the man pause for a moment, adding a spread of wrinkles to the corners of his eyes. Such trivial things used to be his thrills and woes. He shook his head slightly and continued. ‘Afterwards, my punishment was always cleaning – washing dishes, removing stains and other such chores. It was because of my magic. My smoke could separate things very neatly – that’s the catch. It wasn’t very potent at first, but… Heh-heh-heh… Well, I’ve gotten quite practiced with it by the time I was out of school.’ The sorcerer looked at his pudgy hands. His magic died with his body – no grainy smoke coursed under this illusory skin. The way he saw it, it wasn’t a big loss. ‘My magic was pretty lame I thought,’ he confessed. ‘Anything I’d do with it, someone else could do with elbow grease, right? But it was helpful at least.’ Even though the excursion didn’t last long, by now, the two men seemed to be approaching the other end of this small, ruined settlement. Buildings became sparser, revealing more of the dusty plain beyond them, and Matsumura’s story was about to leave this place as well. He didn’t want to rush it – he wanted to linger on this leg of his journey, if only for one more clear point, but there simply wasn’t much more to tell. ‘When I was around fourteen, one of my father’s friends, Sato-san, moved to the big city, to work as a cook at a diner,’ the man continued, accepting the fruitlessness of his stalling. ‘They still talked on the phone from time to time, and she later told him they could use someone on the staff for cleaning as well. Mom and dad got this idea in their heads that I should go – “put down roots in richer soil”, they said. As always, I couldn’t say “no”.’ The husks of the ghost town thinned out and slowly rolled past, once again leaving the two on an open road. Rusted train tracks now ran by its side, stretching ahead, where, a fair distance away, another landmark awaited the travelers. Stocky sorcerer stopped for a minute, to have one last look at what once was the entirety of the world as he knew it. Ruined and crumbling, bathed in eternal gloomy sunset – it wasn’t how he’d want to capture his hometown. But that was all he was allowed. ‘Funny how it turned out,’ the man uttered wistfully, gazing at this fading echo of his past. ‘I think, in a couple more years, I’d be itching to go myself. Go somewhere. But at that time… It was my folks who kept saying that I shouldn’t neglect opportunities – that, if I stay, there may never be another such prospect, and…’ not liking where his line was going, Matsumura pursed his lips and sighed through his nose. ‘They meant well, of course. They always wanted what’s best for me – I know that. So… straight out of school, I packed my things and left the town.’ Having said that, sorcerer went quiet. He resumed his walk, looking foggily into the distance. Among all the pieces that were jumping to their old places in his head, a few brand new ones now appeared, and he wasn’t sure where to place them just yet. The nameless stranger let Matsumura be with his thoughts for a time, as the ruins behind their backs crawled further and further away, blurring and trembling on the horizon. Train tracks went on, occasionally losing a rail or disappearing under the sand, punctuated with weathered milestones. If not for them, it would be hard to escape the feeling of walking in place in this featureless expanse. After a good while, travelers passed a concrete platform huddling up to the tracks. The steps on its side have crumbled into a jagged ramp with a bent and rusted railing in the middle, and the safety line all but completely peeled off, leaving only specks of paint along its former border. ‘Do you regret leaving?’ finally probed the old man, when the decaying structure crawled past them. Matsumura didn’t respond right away, still listening to the motions inside him. His awakened memory obligingly rushed onward, lighting up moments and notions before his mind’s eye, out of order or context, but somehow sensible. Yes, over the years, he asked himself this very question plenty of times, and gave it ample thought. He arrived at the answer long time ago – it’s just that he never sought to dress it in words. ‘Hard to say… Maybe?’ he replied quietly. ‘Or, maybe… Well…’ The task before him was not simple. ‘Frankly, I’m not sure it’s “regretting”… You see, I remember only good things about my town, even if only in broad strokes,’ the man tried to capture the tail of his idea. ‘How uncluttered the streets were, the evening quiet, the smell of wild strawberry in the nearby woods – my care-free days. Life seemed so simple back then. I didn’t think about how many more tomorrows would there be for me, you know? There was still time for… anything… That town was, kind of, my measuring stick for the world back then, and, looking at it, I… Dunno… Felt safe…? Or ready, maybe…?’ Hearing himself, sorcerer felt like he was onto something. What he wanted to say was somewhere in there. ‘But that place could only ever offer boring, predictable life, and, back then, I knew I couldn’t settle for it forever. I knew I’d move out one day, so what’s there to regret?’ questioned the man, more to coax a response out of his own mind than to make a point. ‘It’s just…’ Matsumura took a breather. He now understood why his journey began the way it did. His memories of home were so faded, so far removed that, even without anything in the way, he couldn’t bring most of them into full focus. Looking at them broadly, he felt warmth and longing, embarrassment over his own past naivety, but also regret over its loss. There were other things, too – gentle and fragile, brazen and foolish, all coming back as flashes so brief that he’d only catch their afterimage, almost doubting if they were there at all. He wanted to gather all of it together and put into better, smarter words, while, at the same time, guarding and veiling the parts that weren’t for show. But that was beyond him. There was this nagging feeling that he’d only be belaboring the point, without actually making it – losing nuance behind the minutiae. What he felt was hardly unique, but very personal, and, perhaps, it couldn’t be expressed fully with something as rigid as words to begin with. There was no point in agonizing over it. ‘I guess, when I think of my hometown,’ the man decided on the closest summary, ‘I can only think of my childhood. It was… precious. You only get one, after all. But I wasn’t a child when I left. So, what I regretted looking back was not that I left – I regretted I didn’t do it on my own terms. Because… then I couldn’t feel like the destination was mine either, you know?’ ‘I see…’ droned out his bearded companion, leaving it unclear, if there was any sympathy in there. ‘And your destination was here, I am assuming.’ The sorcerer emerged from his thoughts and looked up. Before him sprawled large, multi-lane train station. Its rusted dome had lost all its glass facets, and the heavy metallic webbing seemed slowly coming apart, hanging perilously over the platforms – screeching quietly in the wind. Many arches and doorways lined the walls of this arrival area, and the man felt overwhelmed and disoriented in this vast space. He couldn’t tell if the feeling was immediate, or merely his memory of stepping off the train for the first time – as this too was a place he recognized. ‘So here we are…’ he breathed out with cautious anticipation, as the two went past the platforms, heading towards what seemed to be the exit into the city. ‘Somewhere out there is my first grown-up job. And my first grown-up friend…’