George came up out of unconsciousness very slowly.

First, he was simply aware that he was awake, and that he had been having a dream about someone stealing something from him and his being hit by a bus. Second, he became aware that his whole body was aching with pain. He groaned. Third, he remembered that it hadn’t been a dream at all but that this was what had actually happened. It was not a pleasant memory, as you can imagine.

He opened his eyes, which brought no change as he was in complete darkness. Where was he? Had his collision with the bus killed him? He wondered if he had died and gone to Heaven. Or maybe to…the other place.

But no, wait, it wasn’t complete darkness, not yet. Far up above him he could just make out a dull grey light, and what was possibly the sky beyond.

He wasn’t in hospital then, which was his next guess. He seemed to be lying on a floor of earth. It was slightly damp. With a great effort, he sat up, which brought more pain. There was definitely a light of some kind up above him. He felt around with his hands, to discover that he was lying in a small circular area ringed by walls of soil. He appeared to be at the bottom of some sort of pit, or a well. He had no idea how he had got down here. It didn’t make any sense. What he did know was that he had to get out.

There was a movement in the light above. Voices.

“Here, Commander, there’s a catch in this one!” A crass, grubby voice.

“Bring it up.” A voice with depth. Stern, angry, commanding. Like his father’s, George thought.

A moment, and then George had to shuffle out of the way as a length of rope flew down the pit, almost hitting him in the head.

“Hey you down there!” shouted the first voice. “Tie this rope around you, now! Yank twice when you’ve done it!”

George nearly didn’t do it and was about to shout back asking why he should do what the voice said, when he thought better of it. He didn’t know what the first voice had meant by the word ‘catch’ and he didn’t like the sound of it. But his priority at the moment was getting out of this pit, so he wound the rope around himself and tied it in a tight knot, his body complaining with pain all the while.

He yanked on the rope twice and immediately he was pulled upwards. Roughly. He had to put his arms and legs out to stop himself from banging his head against the walls of the pit, which brought more complaints of pain from them. Soon he was out in the dull light and being plonked onto the ground.

That was when George got the surprise of his life: He wasn’t in Oxford any more. He wasn’t even sure if he was in England. He had been pulled up out of the pit into the middle of a wide, flat plain. Actually, it was more of a wilderness than a plain, with barely anything growing in it, just the odd patch of grass or moss on the grey-brown ground. Thick rain clouds (or was it smoke?) filled the air, blocking out most of the sunlight. It was very hot.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

Standing over him where he lay on the ground were two men. The first voice had belonged to a very tall, fat man with a big bushy beard and piercings all over his face. The second voice had belonged to an even taller, but much slimmer, man dressed entirely in black armour the colour of night, complete with spiked shoulder plates and a helmet that covered his eyes, crafted into a two horns at its top. What on earth was going on?

“His legs aren’t broken, Commander. Makes a change!” said the fat man.

“On your feet,” said the man in the armour.

“Can I ask, where am—” said George.

“Silence! You’ll speak when you’re spoken to, slave!” The fat man smacked him around the face.

More pain. George touched his cheek. He felt his lip curl.

“How dare you strike me?” said George. “My father will have something to say about this! I demand that you return me to Oxford at once.”

“I said be quiet!” The fat man struck him again.

Further pain. This time George did not have a reply.

“You thought you could get away, did you, filth?” the armoured man said now. “Thought you could escape from Shul unscathed?”

George said nothing this time, partly because he wasn’t sure if he was being invited to speak, and partly to spite the man. His heart was pounding hard inside his chest. He wouldn’t admit it to himself, but he was afraid.

“Answer!” said the fat man.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” said George. It was the truth.

“Address your superior properly! That’s ‘I have no idea what you’re talking about, Commander’!” This time George held his arms up to protect himself, but the fat man only grabbed them, pulled them out of the way, then hit him across the face again.

“How have you ended up wearing that absurd attire?” said the armoured man.

George looked down, wiping blood from his mouth. “What, this? This is my school uniform. Commander,” he added quickly.

“‘School uniform’? What is this nonsense? You are lying. Tell me where you got those ridiculous clothes. Continue your discipline, Doulos.”

Another strike which hit George’s arms so hard he fell over onto the floor. He just about managed to push himself up onto his hands and knees.

“Please, sir…I mean, Commander…I really don’t know what you’re talking about…A little while ago I was in Oxford, and then someone stole my phone, and I got hit by a bus… I have no idea how I got here…I’ve never been here before!”

“More lies. You will suffer for this insubordination.”

The fat man kicked George in the chest this time, with enough force to turn him over. He felt a wave of agony spread across his body. Against his best efforts, George fainted.

The last thing he heard before he passed out was the man in black armour saying: “Little worm must have gone delirious from the heat after falling into the trap. Never been here before, have you? Well then welcome to Mashal, filth!”