Jake thought he was going to drown.

He continued to kick out against the weeds that entangled him but this only wrapped him up in them even more. He struggled and squirmed and writhed around with all his might, but it was no use.

After some time his body went limp from exhaustion and he lay there suspended in the dark, murky water, bound by the weeds, holding on to the very last of his breath. He was going to die down here, he thought.

He felt sad that he hadn’t lived a very long life. He hadn’t really had a chance to do anything much yet. He thought about his Mum, who would be the only one to cry over him. He thought about his Dad, whom he missed terribly. He wondered if there was something he was supposed to do now that he was about to die, like praying or something like that.

All of a sudden an object lanced into the water next to him. He was only dimly aware of it in the darkness, but there was a flash of some kind of metal and he felt the weeds loosen their grip on him. Someone had cut them! Jake kicked upwards with all the small strength that was left in him, willing himself back towards the surface, back towards life, and felt a hand reach out to grab his shirt, pulling him upwards too.

He surfaced above the water and took a big, gasping gulp of air:

“Huhhhhhhh!”

He had made it out alive.

There was light all around him, replacing the murk of the river water. For a few moments he was unable to see anything as his eyes adjusted to it, so he stayed where he was, treading water, drinking in more big, greedy gulps of air. He heard a splash as someone got out of the water nearby. As his vision returned, an outstretched hand came slowly into focus in front of him.

“Here, let me help you out.”

Jake took the hand.

He clambered up onto the bank with the help of the kind stranger who had rescued him. To his surprise, the hand actually belonged to a boy not much older than Jake was. At first he thought that he might be one of his classmates, but he did not recognise him. The boy had brown hair and a round, mischievous face currently set in a wide, cheeky smile. He was also wearing a tatty kind of tunic, riddled with holes, like something that might be worn by a peasant out of a historical re-enactment. Jake thought it made him look like a complete prat.

You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

“That was a close one!” said the boy. “I thought you were a goner there for a moment!”

“Yeah, thanks for helping me out and everything...” said Jake.

Now that he was alright again, he felt more than a little embarrassed. He had fallen over by accident and nearly drowned himself in front of his entire class. Mrs Fink was going to be furious, and so was his Mum when she found out later. Aaron would probably find it hilarious.

Jake looked round, expecting to see all of these people. Instead, he nearly fell back into the river from shock. Mrs Fink had vanished. Aaron had vanished. His whole class had vanished. The botanical gardens had vanished. All of Oxford had vanished.

In its place, which was what shocked him, was a totally different city: Instead of the botanical gardens, hundreds of small stone buildings; instead of just the river Isis, a series of numerous crisscrossing rivers and waterways; instead of just the little boats being pushed along using poles, all kinds of boats, rafts and skiffs of all different shapes and sizes, being rowed, sailed and pushed along; and instead of his class, Aaron, Mrs Fink and the rest of the Oxford tourists and population, there were more people dressed in these strange mediaeval-looking clothes, running and bustling about their business.

“Where am I?” said Jake, only just loud enough to hear.

“’Where are you’? Don’t you know?” said his rescuer, looking at him with a puzzled expression. “Why, you’re in Ubal, the finest city this side of the Aythian mountains!”

“What country am I in?”

“In Dahma, you dimwit! Did you hit your head down there? How did you end up getting all caught up in those river weeds, anyway?”

“Um, I tripped and fell in, I think...” said Jake. He was shaking slightly. How on Earth had he got to this place? What was going on? It didn’t make any sense. ‘Dahma’. He wracked his brains trying to think if he had ever been taught about a country called Dahma in Geography. He had never really paid much attention in Geography, and he couldn’t remember. But even if there was such a country called Dahma, inhabited by these backward people who were still stuck in the Middle Ages, it didn’t make sense. He hadn’t had time to drift all the way to a different country under the water. It was like something out of Dr Who…

A new thought came to him.

“What planet am I on?” said Jake.

“‘Planet’? I don’t know what you mean. You’re in Mashal, if that’s what you’re getting at?”

“Where’s ‘Mashal’?”

“You’ve never been here before? Maybe you did hit your head under the water! Well, welcome to Mashal, then!”