Survival in a Strange World

Chapter 4: Imprisoned

The green covers of his bed were soft and comfortable, so he curled up into a tight ball enjoying the warmth of the room; happy to be safe again. He opened his eyes and looked around the den. Flames were dancing in the fireplace, keeping the den alight and casting shadows across the wooden floor and stone walls. An empty bowl was resting on the table beside the bed. It had previously contained some delicious mushroom soup. He licked his lips savouring its taste, not noticing he had spilt some and stained his green shirt.

Next to his chest in the corner, a stand donned his shining golden armour. When it was time for his mission, he would be ready. Sighing, he rolled onto his back spreading out his arms and legs, stretching his tired limbs. His attention was drawn to the single wooden panel in the roof with a ladder hanging down from it. That trapdoor was the only way in or out of the den. His paranoid mind didn't allow him to not be looking at it or listening out for movement above. He laid on the bed for a while, thinking over the events of the past few days. Finding an abandoned village, defeating zombies in the cave, fighting for his life in the dark forest and then returning home.

He sat bolt upright at that last thought, scanning the room for his new sword. He couldn't see it. Slipping out of bed he sluggishly made his way over to his chest, his body suddenly aching all over. He flipped open the lid and sighed, content with his find. He reached in and pulled out his sword, its golden blade glowing as bright as the sun. He paused, staring at the weapon. This was his sword. No his sword was iron, wasn't it.

Suddenly his wrists began to burn and he gritted his teeth so hard he thought they would shatter. Then simultaneously every object in the room started glowing. Giving off a bright light and slowly engulfing his vision. He squeezed his eyes shut blocking out the light and clasped his head tightly with his shaking hands, his sword hitting the ground with a clang.

Focus eluded him. A storm of contradictions in his mind. His sword was iron, no it was gold. He had left the forest and gotten home. He could see a grey face looking down at him. It was talking to him, mouthing out words that were lost to the storm in his mind. His head was spinning with questions. Where had he seen that light before? Had he lost his enchanted sword? When had he even learned how to use it? He was breathing fast and sweating profusely, almost like he was having a panic attack. Then in an instant everything went quiet and dark, like the world around him had vanished.

-

He steadily opened his eyes. He felt groggy and cold and his body ached all over. He coughed a few times, almost retching in the process. His wrists were stinging and he wanted to know why. He was upright, his arms stretched over his head and bound together at the wrists. Well that explained the pain. He also realised his feet weren't touching the floor.

Stretching his toes down he felt he was maybe an inch or two above the ground, and he was able to get just enough traction to steady himself. He groaned, assessing his surroundings. He was chained to the ceiling of a circular stone room with a cobbled floor and mossy walls. It wasn't a large room, its diameter maybe a few meters. A heavy oak door was set into an archway opposite him and a bucket lay on its side, discarded against the wall. It was obvious what this was. A prison cell.

He shook his head and tried to focus; piecing together the last things he remembered. He had fought his way through the dark forest, been found and tied up by two strange looking people and then... nothing. Had they imprisoned him? Why? What had he done to deserve that?

His ears pricked up as he heard footsteps from the other side of the door. He listened closely and could tell they were getting louder, closer. Two pairs of boots marching across cobblestones. And he guessed whatever was coming wouldn't be friendly. He attempted to pull his hands free of the chains but to no avail. The chains clinked at his useless escape attempt, his feet swiping at the floor for grip. The footsteps stopped outside his cell, pulling his attention back to the door.