Keon stood before Wellworn, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides, unsure whether to look him in the eyes or stare at his feet. One by one, Wellworn gently unclipped, unsheathed and withdrew an assortment of swords, daggers, knives and blades hidden within every orifice of his well-worn jacket. He placed them neatly, side by side on the table; his stare never leaving Keon, even for a moment. The guy had enough knives to dice two elephants! He seemed amused at how Keon’s eyes bulged with the addition of each new blade to the set. At that point, Keon decided, perhaps foolishly, that he would try and break the ice.

“So…what’s cooking?” he said, scratching the side of his thigh.

Wellworn cocked his head to one side like a dog deciding whether to pounce on a cat.

“It depends.”

Keon swallowed, glancing around for someone, anyone, to shield him from the penetrating stare of this human monolith. He felt—undone by it. The One Millionth and Fifth milled about, busying themselves with various tasks. Some reclining on the stone benches, others repairing tears in their garments. Zahara stood by the cliff edge, staring out into space.

As Wellworn traced his hand across the line of weapons, Keon’s skin tightened. He started running through scenarios in his head, wondering how long it would take for Wellworn to close the gap between them. Stupid! Some of those weapons were clearly throwing knives. He could pin him like a dart board and he wouldn’t need to move an inch.

How fast could he duck or roll out the way? Was he fast enough to get behind the table and grab a blade? He was short and nimble. He did a pretty good job outrunning those things earlier—until they grabbed him with those whips anyway.

Choosing a small, six-inch knife, ornately decorated from the hilt to the blade, Wellworn began chopping the leaves Zahara had presented.

“Come,” he gestured to a stone bowl filled with water, “First, your hands.”

Keon almost didn’t hear him. He’d been wondering whether he could blind him by tossing the water in his face. Bit by bit, he inched his way towards the table and dubiously dipped his hands into the bowl. His eyes lit up. Whatever was in the water, it was soothing to the skin, and it smelt great.

“Lavender and eucalyptus, with a dash of lemon…if you were wondering.”

Keon blinked.

“So. Where have you come from?” said Wellworn.

“Uh…Plaistow?…”

Wellworn nodded like a bobble head.

“You know it or something?” said Keon, arching an eyebrow.

“I walk her streets once in awhile.”

Keon mouthed an ‘Ok then.’ Like this guy would go unnoticed in Plaistow.

Wellworn scraped the chopped leaves to one side and took a fat, red onion from a pouch at his side. He put down the knife in exchange for something like a small machete. The bang of the blade hitting the makeshift cutting board made Keon jump.

“Bring those eggs,” he said, gesturing to the pale blue ovals. Keon grabbed them almost too quickly, “Easy now. Those aren’t like normal eggs. What you’re going to do is crack them into the bowl, but very gently.”

Keon took a deep breath to steady his hands, unsure what this guy would do if he wasted his precious eggs. He tapped the first one against the rim of the bowl. Not even a dent. Wellworn gave him a look that said to try a little bit harder! The egg cracked just enough for him to prise the shell open. Wellworn handed him the next two eggs to do the same, then passed him the bowl and a wooden fork.

“Tilt it and stir at an angle, like you’re trying to scoop it out.”

Keon began beating the eggs, picking up the pace as he eased into it. He’d at least seen Mum do this a couple of times. After about a minute, he had the technique down. Wellworn nodded with approval and returned to the pot he’d placed on a metal grate above the oven. Swapping hands, Keon wiped the sweat from his palms, suddenly feeling quite ridiculous for how much he’d panicked.

“You have questions,” said Wellworn.

“Kinda…”

“Do you wish to ask them?”

He poured a vial of golden oil into the pot, waiting for the tell-tale ripple of the heat before throwing in the onion, leaves and some of Kai’s nuts. They sizzled and hissed in the liquid.

“What is this place?”

“This is Underland,” he said without drawing his attention from the pot.

“Yeah…but what is this place, and why was it under my bed?”

Wellworn glanced in his direction.

“What do you think?”

Keon flapped his arms in an ‘I-don’t-know’, almost forgetting the bowl. He caught it just in time, causing the mixture to slop against the rim.

“Uh…a parallel dimension?”

Wellworn grinned and nodded, “Underland is the world between, beside and beneath your own.”

Keon shrugged and shook his head.

“It is that part of reality that human eyes don’t normally see.”

“I see. Right. Ok…but why was it under my bed?”

“The King has summoned you,” he pinched several glistening cranberries from a bunch that Dawit had brought.

“What king?”

“The King of Underland.”

“Gotcha…and why would he summon me exactly?”

“Because he’s your King.”

Keon smirked, “Think I’d know if I lived under an inter-dimensional monarchy…”

“And yet, that is his signet you wear on your back.”

“What? But I didn’t…”

Wellworn stirred the pot, pausing to savour the potent fragrances. His scarred features creased with satisfaction.

“Please?” he gestured with a ‘gimme’ towards the bowl. Keon passed it, observing as he poured the mixture in a circular motion around the pot.

“Underland is to your world what a cube is to a square; part of the same whole but seen from a different perspective. As such, what applies to one world applies to the other.”

“Ok…”

“What you see stretched out before you are the Lowlands. The Lowlands and the Far Reaches of the North were once united as one Kingdom under one King…”

Keon blinked, trying to keep up, “The…Far Reaches of the North?”

Wellworn gestured with the spoon towards the rolling waves up above, lapping over one another as they slowly streamed across the ocean.

“Divided from the Lowlands since the days of the Second Incursion.”

“You’re saying this was all one place? The ocean was down here?”

“Once.”

He returned his gaze to Wellworn, “What happened?”

“War.”

“Since when does war do that?” said Keon, scrutinising the inverted ocean.

Wellworn gave a knowing smile, “This was not like other wars, and Underland is not like other lands.”

“So, my world and this one are part of ‘one whole’” he said, air quoting, “Therefore, this King rules over both?”

“Correct.”

“And that makes him my King?”

“Yes.”

“So, what am I then? Like, the ‘Chosen One’ or something?”

Wellworn paused, then roared with laughter, “No! Definitely not!”

“Alright, alright…”

Keon shuffled on the spot as the tips of his ears grew hot; eyes darting round to see if anyone had caught his gaffe. Of course, they all had. It wasn’t every day you made Wellworn howl with laughter.

“No. You were summoned because one of our comrades was recently captured by the enemy, and you’re going to help us save him.”

“Why me?”

Wellworn’s eyes padlocked onto his own.

“Because you are the reason he was taken in the first place.”

Keon’s eyebrows dipped like a valley.

“What? How’d you figure that out?”

Wellworn unclipped a thick chain attached to his belt and laid it flat on the cutting board, holding it down at both ends.

“Underland and your world are like the two ends of this chain. What happens in one,” he flicked one end of the chain, sending a wave rippling to the other side, “Leaves consequences in the other. Sow a seed in one world and it will reap a harvest or sprout thorns and thistles in the next. Actions—thoughts—feelings. They all have consequences here. One such consequence of your actions is that it led to the capture of one of our men.”

Keon’s cheeks flushed with heat, understanding suddenly dawning on him.

“Is this about the fight?”

Wellworn stared but didn’t answer.

“I don’t believe this…what’d I do?!” he said, head shaking, “What’s any of this got to do with anything?”

“Everything.”

“I didn’t ask for any of this!”

“But you chose it...”

“Then, I can choose to leave!”

“It’s not that simple…”

Wellworn stalked towards him like a prowling lion. Keon met his stare, chin raised and eyes like flint.

“Now that you’re here, you have another choice to make. Human beings and their choices are a powerful commodity in Underland. There are those who would seek to control your choices, and—in doing so—control you. What you decide will determine your future. Whether you leave Underland free…or remain a slave.”

“I ain’t nobody’s slave.”

Wellworn smiled.

“Everyone is a slave to something...”

Keon paused, eyeing him up and down.

“I wanna go home now please,” he said without a shred of politeness.

“You know as well as I do that that door is now closed. At least until you complete the path you’re on. So, choose; you either come with us and discover why you’re here, or wander this world alone and remain in ignorance.”

“Doesn’t sound like much of a choice.”

“Even so, it is yours to make.”

Keon scoffed.

“I’ll give you until morning to decide. Until then, you’re free to join the others.”

 

* * *

 

Keon sat on one of the stones, elbows resting on his kneecaps. He stared straight ahead; eyebrows bunched together. After a few minutes, he felt someone approach from the corner of his eye. Zahara lowered herself gently onto the stone next to him. His brows unfurled and his shoulders eased.

“Hey Scrappy.”

Her slightly husky tones were melodic.

“Heyyy…”

Did that sound too sleazy?

“That sounded intense,” she said, nodding to Wellworn.

Keon scoffed but didn’t reply.

“Listen, I’m sorry about before. It’s…I really wasn’t expecting to see you here.”

“Yeah, what was that about?”

“It’s just…I’ve never met someone I knew from the other side like that before.”

Keon’s jaw hung loose, “How long have you been here?”

Zahara threaded a loose curl behind her ear, searching for the words, “It’s kind of hard to explain…Things work differently here—time wise. We can all enter Underland at different times but arrive at the same time; if you get what I mean.”

His blank stare told her he didn’t.

“It’s like this…” she hopped down from the stone and began tracing a triangle into the sandy dust, adding a circular point to each of the bottom corners, “This is you; this is me. The line between us represents time…”

She traced two fingers up along the paths until they converged.

“Up here? That’s the point we both enter Underland. Different times, but the same time. Get it?”

He slid down from his perch and kneeled beside her to get a better look.

“So, this place does exist outside our space-time…That’s mad!”

“See? I knew you’d get it.”

“You actually explained that really well.”

She shrugged a shoulder, tilting her head to one side, “It’s kind of what we do here.”

“What, talk special relativity?”

Her shoulders shook with silent laughter, “We teach each other. We share. Everybody has something someone else doesn’t. When we bring it all to the table, everyone grows.”

“That’s pretty deep.”

“And that’s just the beginning.”

“So—how long have you been coming here?”

She chewed her cheek, searching for the words.

“Like, two years? But it’s weird. It’s like, you come and go…but once you’re here, you never really leave.”

“Huh?”

“Kinda like how, once your eyes have been opened to something, you can’t unsee it. You tend to see it everywhere you go.”

“I think I get it.”

She smiled, looking back at her feet as she rocked back and forth.

“Alright, so I have a question—What’s with this guy?” he said, nodding his chin in Wellworn’s direction.

Her eyes flickered, scanning his.

“You can trust him. He’s a bit rough round the edges, but we owe him our lives.”

Keon picked up a stone and dashed it.

“Yeah, well. He basically told me one of you guys got captured ‘cause of me and if I wanna go home, I gotta help save them or something…”

Her eyes narrowed.

“Did he say who?”

“Nah, why?”

“No one’s missing from our battalion.”

“So, what, he lied to me?”

“Wellworn’s Captain of the King’s army. He leads units all over Underland. It could be anyone.”

Her chin dipped, eyes searching.

“What is it?” he asked.

“Nothing, it’s just…weird. We’ve never had to rescue someone from another battalion before…”

“I dunno what to tell you.”

“At school…you said you got into a fight. Who was it with?”

“Gabriel Reed.”

“Ugh!”

Keon snickered.

“What happened?”

He shrugged, “He was being a mug… and wouldn’t stop…so I stopped him.”

She could tell there was more to it than that, but she wouldn’t press him on it. Not yet.

“You don’t think it’s him, do you?” asked Keon.

“I don’t know.”

“Think I’d rather take my chances with whatever’s out there,” he said, gesturing with his chin to the Lowlands spread out before them.

Her eyes held his, foreboding.

“You wouldn’t. Trust me.”

 

* * *

 

“Noooo fam! Don’t ever get them mixed up.”

“But habesha are from Ethiopia and Eritrea, aren’t they?”

“Not the real ones…” chuckled Dawit, sputtering water as he returned the canteen he was holding to his lips. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, “I’m kidding. Habesha’s an inclusive term, but no; I’m Eritrean.”

Keon snickered.

The group were sat in a semi-circle around the campfire, basking in its gentle glow. Wellworn was somewhere unseen making final preparations. Not that Keon cared. This was a welcome distraction from the brutality of their earlier discussion.

“We’ve been together for years. How’ve we never played this game?” said Kai.

“We didn’t ‘ave Keon ‘ere to suggest it,” said Shem with a smile.

Keon grinned, sheepish.

“Your turn,” said Dawit as he tossed the canteen to Shem, “Tell us your secrets.”

Shem gave a silent, cocky shrug then took a swig.

“Shem is short for Shemuel, which is the Jewish equivalent of Samuel...”

“Shem! You’re Jewish, bro?!” said Kai.

He shrugged again and tossed the canteen to Kai.

“What, that it?”

“That’s all you need to know, mate. Your turn.”

Kai exhaled, leaning back on a rock.

“Uhhh…my family name is Qin…”

“Like the Olympic diver!” said Keon, shooting out a finger.

“Yeaaah…I never bothered with that ‘western’ name stuff, since ‘Cai’ is kinda common—at least in Wales anyway—But folk here still insist on pronouncing my name like it’s only spelt with the first letter.”

“Sorry man,” said Keon.

“Yeah, well. Errrr…I didn’t ask to be here, but now that I am, I can’t seem to leave. Cheers!”

Kai took a sip and passed it to Jonas.

Jonas passed it to Zahara and began signing.

“He doesn’t like to talk about himself, but not ‘cause he’s mute,” she said.

Keon blinked in disbelief.

“Deaf sister,” she said with a smile.

“No kidding, you have a sister?” said Kai.

“Ew, she’s too young for you—Avana?” Zahara gently held out the canteen.

Avana took it with reluctance, big eyes shooting gentle daggers at Zahara.

“I was born in Kerala. My parents were missionaries in Bangladesh. When things didn’t go well, we moved to the U.K. The end.”

She popped the cork and drank.

Keon looked around the fire, awed. Whoever this King was, he’d managed to draw all these people together around one cause. Not only that, their diversity seemed to be reflected in the unique touches to each of their uniforms. Culture and heritage were important to these ‘Torchbearers’, woven into the intricate designs of their garments; from the blue and white tassels on Shem’s shawl to the golden embroidery on Avana’s.

“And you Keon?” said Shem, tossing his canteen of water. “Mum? Dad? Pet poodle?”

Zahara stifled a snicker that almost sent water shooting from her nose. Avana rolled her eyes. Shuffling in his seat, Keon looked down between his swinging legs. His shoulders rose and sank in the minutest of shrugs.

“Uhh…yeah, my Mum’s an oncology nurse. Her parents, my grandparents, were originally from Jamaica. My arch nemesis is my eight-year-old sister,” chuckles reverberated through the group. “I met Zahara this afternoon in the school library; before getting stuck under my bed obviously. And my dad…he…he isn’t really around…anymore…”

The air froze. Eyes darted, looking desperately for something, anything to change the subject. Not Avana’s though. Nothing seemed to phase her. She just stared straight at him like a midnight owl. Keon decided he would break the tension himself.

“So… ‘Torchbearing’ huh? What’s that about?”

“It would be easier if we showed you.”

Turning, they saw Wellworn looming over the stone stools.

“It’s ready.”