Chapter 3: A New World

I’m not sure what I had expected when I woke up, but being surrounded by dirt probably wasn’t it. Not just surrounded, mind you, but buried.

BURIED ALIVE!!

Granted, the ‘alive’ part was a welcome relief and the crushing feeling in my chest was gratifying proof of my renewed existence, but the pain quickly became alarming, and I struggled to clear the dirt from around my face.

But my hands were also buried and it took an immense amount of effort just to move them through the dirt. Luckily it seemed like the soil was soft and loose, but while panicked, it seemed like an eternity before I could inch my hands to my face to create a little cave large enough to take a delicious breath.

I immediately coughed and spluttered a mouthful of dirt into my hands and had to push it away from my mouth to breathe again. That itself was a weak breath as my chest was being compacted by the earth above. I pushed my hands up to try to claw myself out of the ground, but every movement just rained earth above my nose and mouth, and I was struggling to breathe without inhaling dark, moist dirt.

Suddenly, there were voices muffled from above and sounds of dirt being scraped away. I created another small cave above my mouth, took as big a breath as I could manage and started clawing at the earth above my face.

I wasn’t making any progress at all. The dirt was just too heavy, and I couldn’t make enough movement to get any purchase. But as I began to run out of hope and oxygen, a hand pulled a clump of dirt away from my face and a woman’s voice called out, shooting through my failing consciousness.

“I found them! It’s a boy. He’s alive!”

Such words were never sweeter than in that moment. He’s ALIVE.

I smiled weakly at the woman, who I couldn’t really see with dirt still gunking my eyes shut. But I imagined I looked grateful before I gave in to the hypoxia and blacked out again.

A flickering campfire was the first thing I saw when I opened my eyes. The heat and light of the fire were obvious to me before I even awoke. As I slowly regained consciousness, I could see the embers glowing and tongues of flame licking around a large log. I slowly rubbed my eyes and saw that I was lying in a cot near the fire and several figures sat on logs or rocks in a circle around the single point of light and heat. One of them, a woman, stood and quickly moved over to me and held me up by the shoulders to stop me from falling over again. As I slowly clawed at the real world that was coming back to me, I realised she had brought a bowl up to my lips and she pressed it to my mouth.

“Drink. Slowly.”

It was a warm, hearty broth, one which was seasoned strongly with salt and herbs but otherwise tasted of root vegetables and barley. It had been blended or mashed so that it was thick and easy to eat, something that could have been normal or just done on this occasion, as a sick person could find it hard to eat solids.

As a whole, it wasn’t unpleasant - just a little bitter, but I’d endured worse cooking to be sure. As I looked around I found that we were, indeed, in a forest and the food was certainly good compared to trail rations I could be subjected to.

“How do you feel?” The woman asked, kindly.

“Like I’ve been hit by a truck.” I moaned.

There was a stiffening in the posture of the woman.

“What’s a truck?” came a gruff voice from somewhere beyond the fire.

I grimaced at what the question implied, but the woman interrupted my train of thought. “I understand your meaning, you have a headache, yes?”

“Yeah, could I trouble you for some water?”

A figure rose from the other side of the campfire and tossed a water skin to the woman, who caught it deftly and pressed it into my hands. My vision was beginning to clear and I saw her face in focus now. She was blonde, and in her early twenties, with strong features and high, almost Nordic cheekbones. But, whilst she smiled kindly and looked benevolent, there was no timidity or submission behind those eyes. I could instantly tell that this was a woman who had lived a hard life, and her compassion was her lifeline against succumbing to the things she had seen.

I had always been able to read people. Not their specific life experiences, but people’s personalities had always been an open book to me, and this woman was particularly easy to read. I’d seen that sadness before, and I began to piece some clues together.

I looked at their attire; the woman was dressed in a thick padded dress that was sewn with heavy thread in a diamond pattern all across. It was buckled together with leather belts at the side and I quickly realised that it must be some sort of gambeson; cloth padded armour often worn under plate or chain. The others were similarly attired, one even had a sword hanging at his belt. Another man was dressed in a linen shirt laced with a thin linen cord. Boots were all made of leather and fur and I saw a spear leaning against an animal hide tent, further driving home the theme.

Coupled with the earlier question about what a truck was and I began to understand my situation; Bambinae had sent me to her world, the clothes and weapons on display were pre-industrial but late medieval by the looks of things. I was suddenly extremely grateful for my studies in medieval history. Whilst the names and dates wouldn’t be of any use, my focus had always been on the skills that medieval societies prized. Regardless, this was going to be a huge adjustment. I knew how much I relied on technology.

I drank from the provided skin and pulled on the blanket around me. It was only then I realised that I was dressed similarly in linen clothes like the others. As I felt the fabric in wonder, a harsh voice called an explanation across the fire.

“You were buried naked. Raphael was the closest fit. We lost him in the fight with the necromancer. You can have his clothes, bedroll and wash kit.”

Necromancer? I thought of all the different fantasy settings I had read through and all came back with the same: a wizard who specialises in the undead. And with me being found buried in a shallow grave, Bambinae had inserted me into this world with the perfect cover story.

The woman seemed slightly agitated as if the comments about the practicalities could wait until after I was feeling better, she was obviously the carer in the group. But focusing on practicalities was exactly what I needed and this man knew it. I was already taking stock and assessing my resources. I nodded gratefully in his direction and tossed back the water skin. He caught it and returned the nod in kind.

“What is your name?”

I decided that it was time to act. I couldn’t let on that I was from another world, that would definitely lead to conflict. So, my mind raced… it was time to play the amnesia defence. I feigned confusion and acted like I was thinking. I allowed a panicked look to come over my face.

“I... I think it’s Mathew.”

“You think?” came an unfriendly snort from a man on my right.

“I can’t remember...”

The woman looked worriedly into my eyes. “Your accent sounds like you come from the Shadowspine Plains. Does that sound familiar?”

I shook my head honestly. “No... I have no idea where I’m from or what I sound like. I can’t remember anything from before the... the pit.” I shuddered a little, and not by choice, for as much as I knew what had happened and how, waking up buried alive had still been a terrifying experience.

“Trauma-related amnesia.” an unfamiliar voice said, the owner was shrouded by the bright light of the fire. “I’ve seen it in survivors before. The mind can’t deal with the extent of the carnage and loss and just files it all away to protect itself. Might come good later. Might be stuck with it.”

I decided that the less I said there, the easier it would be to keep my lie. If I was going to start a new life here, then it might as well be a completely new one. Better to pretend my previous one didn’t exist and not risk being exposed.

Another man walked over and pulled a chair in front of me. He alone out of all of them was wearing a breastplate and armour, despite the late hour. It was dull and scoured from years of use and had the emblem of a kite shield painted in black in the centre. He had some sort of rank on his pauldron and, with the absence of such markings on the others, I took him to be the leader as the eyes of all the other people, six as far as I could count through the dark, followed his gaze as he moved. The woman stood from where she had sat on her haunches and gave him space.

“I am Knight Captain Rathan Deriostos of the Iron Shield, commander of Revenant Company. Does that make any sense to you?”

I nodded slowly and spoke softly. “You’re in command of this unit and camp. I don’t know what the Iron Shield is, but I assume it’s a knightly order into which you and perhaps the others have been knighted. I assume a knight captain ranks higher than many others, so regardless of my gratitude for saving me, I should show you respect for the position you hold, Sir.”

The older man in front of me smirked. “You at least remember your manners.” He stroked his chin where a thin stubble grew. “Shadowspine accent or I’m a hagspawn. It means you’ll have some knowledge of a sword. Living in that overrun wasteland, you must be good in a fight.”

Now, I had no idea what he was talking about but I had taken martial arts lessons of all kinds and, in my university days, Historical European Martial Arts had taught me some sword and shield work. And my kendo lessons had taught me a little work with the Japanese bokken and jo staff. Maybe it would be enough to keep my cover, but I was hoping I wouldn’t have to show it anytime soon.

“The Iron Shield is an Order of mage hunters. We regulate the arcane casters of Dromin and ensure that those with arcane potential are registered with the Wizards’ Collective. We hunt down those who practice forbidden magic, like necromancy or blood magic, and our mandate includes protecting the innocent from regular magic used by those breaking the law. Questions?”

“Dromin. A country I assume?”

The man pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration. “Dromin is the WORLD, son. You really have forgotten everything. You’re on the continent of Krakoth, in the nation of Grixoninia, and we’re currently in the Athnian Highlands specifically, the Copperwise Forest. The Iron Shield is an international order. We have chapters all over the world.”

“Impressive!” I stated, and I meant it. For a medieval organisation to stretch across continents was certainly impressive.

“Thankyou.” He chuckled graciously. “Now, we've just slaughtered a particularly nasty necromancer and buried one of our knights in the process. But there isn’t much time to grieve because tomorrow we head for the Copperwise village to be there by noon. We’ve received a tip that there might be a wild mage hiding there and if that plays true, then we’ll need to head back to the capital with her to take her for training.”

I must have looked confused when the woman cut in. “Untrained mages are a danger to themselves and others. Wild magic is unpredictable at best. The wild mage might not even know they’re doing magic—it just bursts out when they’re scared, angry, or hurt. But despite the risks many families won’t send their children for testing for fear that they will be taken from them. I’ve seen whole villages destroyed by a teenage boy who just could not control his power and he exploded and killed everyone...”

I nodded my head. “So you choose the lesser of two evils: take the child for training where they can learn to control their abilities until they are safe to return. How much does that cost?”

“It’s free...” replied the voice across the fire who had tossed me a water skin and then, when I looked like I was going to ask what the problem was, he added “...but it’s a minimum ten-year degree. And that’s why many families try to hide their kin who demonstrate arcane potential.”

I understood. In medieval times, every single member of a household was important, vital to the survival of the family. To lose a teenager was to lose a valuable asset, and many families took years to recover from such a loss.

Sir Deriostos cleared his throat. “So that all brings me to this; we’re not a charity, we’re a public service. And that means that we don’t just bring you along out of the kindness of our hearts, we expect you to pull your weight. Now despite my suspicions that you’re a Plainsman and probably have training with the sword, I’m not going to give you a weapon...”

Oh thank goodness.

“... until we’ve had a chance to spar a little after the village tomorrow.”

Well... fuck.

He shrugged his shoulders. “So until then, you can squire on with one of the unit.” The captain looked around at his men. “Anyone want a gopher to train?”

The men looked awkwardly silent. The last thing a soldier wanted was the added responsibility of training up a fresh recruit in the field. Even if I was just a ‘gopher’ to be sent here and there for different things, I’d eventually just get in the way.

The woman spoke up, at last, and shrugged her shoulders. “I’ll take him. I need to keep an eye on him anyway in case there are any lingering effects of his entombment.”

There was some chuckling amongst the men of the unit, which by now I’d counted to be nine strong. Counting the deceased man Raphael, that would make a unit of ten in total. I looked gratefully towards the young woman who was scowling at the guffawing men as she threw a wooden mug at them to shut them up.

“Thanks... uh...”

“Lauraphine. Call me Laura. Come on, I’ll get your kit set up so you can sleep, we all need a good night’s rest for tomorrow.”

The captain barked a command at the men who were turning my ears red with their catcalls and lewd jokes. They fell silent immediately and I must admit I wish I had that kind of control over my classes when I was a teacher.

“That's good advice for you all. Leave the fire going. Take your waters and then into your sacks. No talking. Gregory, Tamson: first watch. Lauraphine and Danst: second watch. Bernard and Gerny: after midnight. I'll fill in for Raphael and take the dead man’s shift with Zithinael. Pheros, it’s your turn to sleep through.”

The men quietly went about their orders and within ten minutes the camp was silent. Laura set out my kit and I took the opportunity to get some more information.

“Your unit seems really well organised and disciplined. Have you been together long?” I whispered, not wanting to annoy the Captain.

She finished rolling out her sack a few feet from mine and lay down on the hide. “I joined them at Sterya, the capital, a fortnight ago. They needed a medic to cover for theirs who had caught Filian Fever and was confined to barracks. I volunteered to be assigned to Revenant Company.”

I was about to ask about the necromancer mission, but Laura held up her hand to silence me. “I know you have questions, but the Captain has already been lenient by allowing us a little longer to get set up. Sleep now. Good night.”

I nodded as she lay down in her cot and I did the same, realising that this was a military unit and any further questions risked her getting a reprimand. I lay back, staring up at the stars and then, with the enormity of everything that had happened bearing down upon me, I broke into a silent sob that continued into the night and deep into my eventual sleep.