Unspeakable, Part 1

When Miles broke his back, everyone thought he’d been killed. Later, it seemed to him that he had been. The person he was had vanished forever, one second to the next.

One second, he was thick in the rush of the arena. The howls of the spectators and the roars of his opponent, the scrabbling of feet and the meaty thuds of flesh on flesh. The smell of blood.

He was trying to use his opponent’s great strength against them. But he couldn’t get out of the way. Half in the air, his opponent had come down. His legs had twisted underneath him. There was an enormous crash. And then, silence.

They stood around the edges and looked. When Miles, the most ferocious and tenacious warrior they knew, didn’t get up, didn’t even try, his opponent whispered he’s dead.

Without speaking they lifted him and bore him away. Down into the tunnels, into the dripping dank. The secret of the arena must be kept. No one could know what had happened.

With a great, reluctant scrape the lowest dungeon was unsealed and they bore him down into utter darkness, until they passed under an arch into flickering torchlight.

From a bare, circular room opened many doors. They picked one at random and carried Miles in. There was a bare stone slab. They lay him on it, then left as quietly as they’d come.

When silence reigned over the dungeon again, there was a stirring at one of the other doorways. A hulking figure, bending its head to fit through the door, stepped softly into the room.

The figure bent over Miles’ broken body, and put a massive hand to his nose. Feeling a faint stirring of breath, the figure straightened Miles’ sprawled limbs into a comfortable position.

This stranger brought a bucket, cleaned his face, and dripped liquid between his lips at regular intervals. He slid a rolled up rag beneath Miles’ head, and laid another over his chest to ward off the chill from the wet walls.

Miles could hear the stranger, and feel the touch of the enormous hands, long before he could open his eyes. He didn’t know how much time had passed. He couldn’t move.

He seemed to lie for eternity, unable to stir his body, on fire with pain. He came to cherish the coming of the massive stranger, whose presence relieved at least his solitude.

The stranger’s touch was gentle, but he remained silent, and did not linger. To keep from going mad, Miles made lists of questions to ask him. He grew impatient to see his nurse’s face.

But when he finally could open his eyes, the stranger was not there. The slightest movement brought more pain, so Miles stared motionless at the ceiling. The silence choked his voice.

Time dragged on and Miles began to fear that the stranger, seeing no response, had decided prolonging Miles’ life was futile and had abandoned the task. He had never felt more helpless.

When the stranger entered the room, his enormous shadow falling across Miles’ face, Miles nearly wept. He turned his head a fraction, to let him know he was awake.

Can you hear me, the stranger asked, bending over him. He spoke softly and his voice was young. His face remained in shadow.

Yes, Miles whispered. His throat was dry and his voice came to him with difficulty. He feared the stranger hadn’t heard him. I’m here, he whispered.

Are you in pain? Even the soft words echoed around the cracked ceiling.

A tear rolled down Miles’ cheek. Yes, he answered.

Where? The stranger asked, and Miles felt a hand on his chest. Here?

A barb of pain sprang up above the rest. Yes, Miles answered.

Here? A barb of pain arose in his arm. Yes, he answered.

Does it help if I brace up your back, like this? Miles was suddenly frightened. He couldn’t feel the hands anymore. Your hand is under my back now? Miles asked hoarsely. Yes.

I can’t feel it, Miles answered. Barbs of ice were digging into his chest, cold sweeping over him. I can’t feel it, he repeated.

What about now? The other asked. Miles felt nothing. Where are you? He asked, terror rising into his throat.

The large hand again rested on his chest, and the stranger spoke soothingly. I am here, he said. It is all right.

Miles tried to steady his breathing as his head was starting to pound. He closed his eyes and a tear slipped out.

Why can't I feel it? He whispered. I don't know, the stranger answered. Rest now. Rest.

Left alone once more in the flickering darkness, Miles stared upward and willed his legs to feel, to move. But there was nothing.