BANG!
I reappear, the Sun blinding me.
There's grass beneath my feet, reaching up to my knees. Blinking quickly to regain my vision, the shock of new surroundings quickly dissipates, having been transported once before.
An acrid, metal tang reaches my nose, a smell I would soon become very familiar with.
"What do we 'ave here?" A gruff voice says from behind me. I turn. My eyes widen in shock.
Bodies are scattered left and right across the meadow, a redness spreading beneath them. I watch in muted horror as a man cuts the throat of a richly dressed man, his sobs turning to gurgles as blood pours from his neck, turning the grass a shiny shade of crimson.
My stomach churns as I fight the urge to throw up.
I shift my gaze, eyes focusing instead on the men walking toward me. They wear leather armour, simple footwear and cloth caps.
But it's not their fashion sense I'm worried about. It's the short swords dripping blood that I'm eyeing with dread.
That fucking Goddess, she sent me straight into the middle of a slaughter!
I take a slow step back.
"Ah ah ah." The biggest man warns, pointing to an archer off to my right.
"Careful now boy, or you'll end up stuck like a pig." The man grins, as he saunters towards me.
My brain kicks into gear. My breathing becomes shallow and hurried, as if I'm about to race.
This is do or die now, a bow isn't a gun after all, I could run for it, the men are at least 5 meters away. The trees are what...20 meters? 30? Holding my breath, weighing my options.
I make my choice.
I turn and sprint, hearing a chuckle behind me. But before I can even get halfway to the tree line, I feel what could only be an arrow sink into my upper thigh. At first...nothing, then an excruciating bolt of pain forces me to let out an involuntary groan.
I get a couple more steps in before the agony forces my leg to become about as useful as a log. Trying to drag the dead weight, I force myself through the pain.
Looking behind me, the gang of men are taking their time, knowing I can't get far, watching gleefully as I stumble to my hands and knees.
I grimace, there's only one way to get away from them now. Putting my hand on the arrow shaft, I take a deep breath in preparation. I yank it out in one rough motion, screaming as the arrowhead grates on my femur. Staggering to my feet I force myself to hobble onward as fast as possible.
"Look at 'im, bless 'is 'eart!" The men are roaring in laughter behind me.
Clearly, this is nothing more than entertainment for them.
Grabbing onto a young tree sapling, I make my though the haze of pain to the forest edge, I gasp for breath. Blood pools in my shoe, squelching with every step.
A firm hand lands on my shoulder.
"That's far enough."
My heart sinks, I look round to see a grizzled veteran with more scar on his face than skin. He pushes a blade to my throat so hard I don't dare to swallow.
I stare at him defiantly, or at least with what I hope is defiance. The man stares into my eyes, into my soul, unflinching.
"Go on boss, finish the little shit stain off and we can sell the women!" One of the gang members shouts from behind us.
Slavers?
I might live yet.
The boss, strokes his stubbly chin with rough fingers, looking me up and down. Measuring me. Measuring my worth.
"I reckon he'll be good for The Pit." I blink. The Pit. Whatever that is, it doesn't sound good at all.
But being alive is better than being dead. Right?
"The Pit means more money for us. Tie the boy up and sling 'im in the cage with the rest." He tells his men, pushing me towards them.
"What if he bleeds out?"
"Bandage it, if he dies then he wouldn't survive in The Pit anyway." The boss says darkly as he turns away.
I soon find myself tossed in the back of a crudely covered, crudely constructed caged wagon with the roughest, itchiest rope I've ever felt wound round my wrists. At least they didn't make me put my hands behind my back.
They warn us that any noise we make, any attempt to get help. Someone will get beaten. Badly.
Looking around the cramped space, I see the rest of their 'cargo' is women, presumably captured from the convoy that this gang was attacking. They sport bruises and torn skirts, with blood, fluids and scratches covering the exposed skin. Their eyes are fearful, wary, lacking some essential human emotion. They stare at me, huddling together.
But I have a much more immediate problem. Blood loss. I look at the rough bandaging they put on my leg, already soaked red as my life leaks out of me.
The arrow must have nicked an artery. If it didn't, then running with the damn thing in me or maybe even pulling it out did the damage.
All I know is, if I don't do something I'll bleed out in mere minutes. Time to put some of my knowledge, and pain tolerance to the test.
I can only pray that my clothes are clean enough as I tear strips out of my own shirt. The women gasp and watch me as if I'm a man gone mad. I ignore them, after undoing the bandages they gave me, I grab the strips of cloth in my hands, glancing at the wound as blood continues bubbling out.
Thankfully the arrow was dull enough it didn't go all the way through my leg.
Deep breaths. Deep, remember, it has to be as deep as possible. I steel myself. My hands shake.
I shove the cloth into the gaping wound. A tooth cracks somewhere in my mouth as I clench my jaw, hissing in pure agony. I force it deeper. Then again, and again. Until the wound is packed.
Black spots dance in my eyes as my consciousness threatens to fade. The women watch with hands over their mouths, eyes wide with shock.
I gasp, sucking in great mouthfuls of air. I'm not done yet.
Taking the bandages so generously gifted to me, I bind the wound again. I pause, preparing myself mentally one last time. I strain my muscles, tightening it as far as it will go—
....
I jolt awake. The wagon bounces along rough, potholed roads. I breathe a sigh of relief, feeling grateful to be alive. A dull, throbbing in my leg reminding me of my predicament.
Must have passed out from the pain, I guess. I thought that was a thing that only happened in movies.
I look down to see a young woman keeping pressure on the wound with a thick, red, wet piece of cloth. I groan. Blinking away a headache, I look at her as she comes into focus.
She's cute, with a tangled mess of dark hair tumbling over her shoulders, dark caramel skin stained with flecks of blood. She looks like one of the few women who was spared abuse from the gang members.
"Thank you." I manage to croak. The woman looks at me, eyes filled with concern.
"How are you feeling?" She asks.
"Shit." I grunt. The woman smiles.
"Then you are alive at least. My name is Jasmine, what's yours?"
"Sean." I mumble as consciousness fades from me once more, and I fall into a deep sleep.