“Why did you take her?” Dumo asked.

He was standing in the darkest place of the temple, looking at the figure seated far in the darkest corner. There was no answer to his question, but he heard a repetition of his question made by the echo of his voice. There were figures wearing long robes surrounding the thing … or person, he was speaking to. The figures had their faces fully covered by the hoods of their robes, and none of them moved as Dumo spoke to their master.

“I asked you a question, why did you take my mother?” Dumo asked again.

After Dumo waited for almost an eternity, dying with frustration, the figure finally rose to his feet, and then walked about four metres from where he was seating. “Ñu mien shreb ziprit da mulimmiäm?” the figure said, pointing at Dumo. It was speaking a language Dumo did not know or understand.

“I do not u …” Duma said, but another voice just as deep as that of the mysterious figure’s voice interrupted him.

“Where do you think the riches you have come from?” the voice asked. “That is what the elder is asking.”

“Mien shreb ziprit lúb na hukam?” the elder asked.

“Do you think they just popped out of thin air?” the voice translated again.

Dumo stood there thinking about how to continue speaking without losing his cool. He did not understand why they asked him how he had gotten his money. He had worked hard for what he had, and everyone knew that.

“I worked my butt off for what I have. You cannot just ask me where I got it,” Dumo finally responded, throwing his hands in the air with frustrations. “I asked him a question, why did he take my mother?”

“Do not raise your voice at me, boy,” the figure shouted, this time speaking in English. “You paid the price for what you asked for!”

The figure’s voice sounded deep and ancient, and Dumo became overcome with fear as the figure approached him. After a while, his knees finally gave in, leading him to take a forced kneel.

“Nothing is free,” the figure said. “You made a deal, now you have to live with it.”

Dumo thought about those words for a while. “You made a deal, now live with it,” the figure had said. He then wondered how he could possibly live with the knowledge that he was responsible for his mother’s death; how he could continue living when he knew he was responsible for the pain his family was going through.

“I told you I was willing to pay any amount for my mother’s life!” Dumo finally shouted. “You did not even let me see her first, she was my mother.” Dumo felt painful as he thought about how his mother had died, and how they had killed her. He knew she never deserved such a death.

“Do you think seeing her before she died could have prevented anything?” the master asked. “And besides, would you rather we took your two year old son?”

As the man spoke, Dumo wanted to get up and strangle him right there. He knew that no one was going to take his son away from him. No one! “I swear, if you try anything with my son, I will ki …” he said, but the man interrupted him before he could finish.

“What will you do, kill me?” the man asked, laughing while revealing his face to Dumo. “I am already dead, boy, and death only comes once.”

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