Survival in a Strange World

Chapter 5: Escape

Whispers of sound crawled through the roof and wriggled into his ears. It was familiar, and if he focused, blocking out the crackling fireplace and his own heartbeat, he could tell it was getting closer. His eyes darted to the roof of the den, fixed on the trapdoor at its centre. Golden sword in hand, he allowed himself a long breath, readying for the possibility of battle. This wasn't right. There wasn't supposed to be another convoy today.

The noise grew louder, and he could visualise its source. The pounding of hooves and rumbling of wooden wheels getting closer and closer. The horse drawn wagon filled with barrels of loot, either mined or stolen. The grey faced men that ran the operation whipping the reins as their vehicle thundered on. The Illagers were a disease in this world. Robbing from any source they could find. Driven purely by greed and madness.

Pain emanated from his tight grip on the sword. Like he was trying to squeeze something out of it. He knew he couldn't go out there. To reveal himself now would put the whole mission at risk. He glanced at the golden clock hanging on the wall. The dial slowly turning to reveal its dark blue half spotted with silver dots. Night was coming. It was almost time.

The rumbling of the wagon came to its climax as it passed overhead, and then quickly faded into the night. Once he was sure it had passed on, he felt himself relax. Placing his sword on the workbench at his side he turned to his armour stand, ready to don the shining golden mail that stood upon it. But as he turned, the armour burst alight. Fierce rays piercing the tiny room. He was blinded immediately, raising one hand to cover his eyes and stumbling backwards, tripping over his own feet in confusion. He met the ground with a smack and lay still, head spinning, eyelids drooping and the world going dark.

-

His eyes blinked open, and he let out a long painful groan. Probably from the fact he was lying on his back on a cold hard floor. But there was also an ache in his gut. Was he hungry again? He went to rub his eyes and felt something rough pull against his wrists. He inspected the weird feeling, lifting his hands in front of his face to find a knot of rope binding them together. He also tried to wiggle his legs but discovered the same thing, rope binding them together at the ankles. Well, that can't be good, he thought with a grimace and pulled himself up to a sitting position to study his surroundings, legs raising in the air slightly as balance.

He was sitting on a cobbled floor in a circular stone room. A heavy wooden door in the archway to his left, and to his right; a person was hanging from the ceiling with their hands tied in chains. His head hung limply, and his feet barely touched the floor. He was wearing a green shirt with a stain on the chest and blue trousers ripped in various places. His brown hair was ruffled and wild. Who was he? Had the grey faced men found him too?

"Hey! Are you ok?" he asked, but no reply came. Listening carefully, he could hear the rise and fall of the man's breath. So, he wasn't dead, that was good. But he couldn't hear snoring so maybe he was unconscious. He swivelled round to face the mysterious person, using his feet to walk himself round with several little steps but annoyingly rubbing his now itchy butt on the cobblestones.

"Hey, wake up!" he said louder, hoping to hear the man stir. If he could wake him, he might be able to get some information about where he was. Suddenly something banged on the opposite side of the door followed by a muffled angry voice.

"Stephen! Quiet! If it's the other guy, you shut up too! The Boss will be back soon!"

Stephen? That... hearing that name sent a strange sensation coursing through him. A feeling of clarity and happiness. That was his name. Wait of course that was his name, how had he forgotten that? Something in the back of his mind told him the man in chains wasn't going to respond. But he longed for answers.