Where Am I?
I opened my eyes. But I still couldn’t see a thing. Darkness, pure and suffocating. Did I pass out? Why is it so dark?
“Don’t lift your head, maybe it won’t notice us,” a voice whispered from beside me.
I felt something press down on my head, forcing it into the damp earth. My mouth filled with gritty, slimy dirt. I was definitely lying on the ground. Someone nearby shifted quietly, their heavy hand on the back of my neck, practically grinding my face into the soil. Where on earth was I, and what the hell was happening? I tried to raise my head, but that same strong hand shoved me deeper into the rocky dirt. God, I was going to suffocate!
“You!” a commanding male voice barked. “Show me this one! Now!”
Suddenly, rough hands grabbed me by the waist and shoulders, yanking me to my feet. I grunted, finally gulping in a sliver of air. A moment longer, and I would’ve choked for sure.
As my eyes adjusted, I realized I was in some kind of vast, towering tunnel—or maybe a cave—barely lit by dim, flickering lanterns casting an eerie red glow. In that light, I saw a massive creature looming before me, its bare, crimson snout nearly brushing my face. Its hideous muzzle resembled that of a giant mole. Long, white whiskers sprouted around its nose in thick clusters, and its eyes were so tiny they were almost invisible. But its paws—those were something else. They were enormous, with sharp claws as long as my forearm. From its jagged, tooth-filled mouth came a low, discontented snuffling, as the rider atop it jerked at the reins. I nearly screamed in terror, but my lungs were still too tight, and all that escaped was a hoarse rasp.
“Why is she looking into my eyes?” the rider screeched, his voice sharp with anger.
Once again, a broad, powerful hand struck the back of my head, forcing me to lower my gaze to the ground.
“First time she’s done this, my lord,” stammered the man beside me, still holding my head down. “All her life, she’s dreamed of seeing a Sunblaze. She’s watched for you every night, waited for you every day. But now that the moment’s here, she forgot herself… She’s just struck dumb by your divine beauty and majesty! Couldn’t tear her eyes away! Please, forgive my foolish daughter, my lord. It won’t happen again!”
I stayed silent. I didn’t understand a single thing that was happening to me. I hadn’t even gotten a proper look at the rider. I was in some strange, unfamiliar place, surrounded by odd people—and, come to think of it, odd clothing. I glanced at the footwear of the man beside me, the one calling me his daughter. Wooden shoes! I’d never seen anything like them in person, only heard of clogs or sabots made of wood. I’d read about similar things in old stories from Ukraine, called “dovbanky” or “derevyanky.” His were entirely wooden, like something out of a fairy tale illustration—maybe Gerda’s oversized clogs in “The Snow Queen.” I used to love that story as a kid, poring over the pictures for hours, marveling at how clunky and huge those shoes looked on a little girl’s feet.
I tilted my eyes slightly and caught sight of a long, tangled, dirty beard that reached nearly to the man’s waist. I couldn’t look any higher; his massive hand, as broad as a shovel, gripped the back of my neck, keeping my head bowed.
As I mulled over all this, a voice boomed above me:
“Put her on the cart. We’ll deal with her there.”
The rider on the strange beast moved off into the distance, and the man beside me hissed into my ear:
“How many times have I told you? You can’t look a Sunblaze in the eyes! You idiot! Always been like this, lost in your silly daydreams! Now Murduk will suck the life right out of you, and that’s it—done for! And me and Grudka will lose a good pair of working hands! She warned me, you know—said you’d never amount to anything, that we should’ve sent you down to the lower mines to at least bring in some coin! But I didn’t listen. Felt sorry for that pretty little face of yours… And now Murduk’s gonna eat that face right off! Should’ve married you off to Karpuk. Sure, he’s old and cross-eyed, but at least you’d still be alive! Bah!”
The man spat on the ground, and I finally lifted my head to see his piercing eyes, bulbous nose, and wrinkled face. Rotten teeth jutted from his twisted mouth. He grunted in frustration, grabbed a sack from the ground, slung it over his shoulder, and muttered:
“Farewell, Bernisa. Doubt we’ll see each other again. Your poor mother, rest her soul, must be turning over under the stones, watching your foolish fate. I couldn’t protect you. Go on, and may the Great Hammer guide you.”
And with that, he walked away.
A short man approached me next, dressed in something like a uniform—or maybe overalls, with wide straps running from the pants over his shoulders, holding them up. The straps were lined with small pockets, bulging with who-knows-what. He held a short, carved stick in his hand and jabbed me in the shoulder with it.
“Move it! Over there—the cart! Hurry up!”
He pointed to the right, where something resembling a wagon stood. But its wheels were small, not four like any wagon I’d ever seen, but six, set almost flush against each other. Harnessed to this odd contraption were more of those mole-like creatures, though much smaller than the one the rider had been on.
I trudged toward the cart, overwhelmed by a strange mix of calm and numbness. A nervous kind of daze. I hadn’t fully grasped what was happening. Part of me still thought I’d wake up any second, and all of this would vanish. I’d hear my grandma snoring, the cat meowing… This couldn’t be real! It had to be a dream!
“Faster! You’re crawling like a busted mine cart!” the man behind me shouted, shoving me in the back with his stick.
The jab sent a jolt through me—whether it was electricity or some other force, I couldn’t tell. My entire body erupted in excruciating pain. My arms and legs trembled, and I was thrown forward, skidding three meters toward the cart. I hit the ground face-first, scraping my cheek on sharp pebbles. A cry escaped my lips, followed by a groan. Could a dream hurt this much? And why hadn’t I woken up yet?
A pair of sturdy boots appeared near my face. The man kicked me in the shoulder and barked:
“Get up, or you’ll get another zap! No time to mess around with you! Murduk won’t wait! He’s hungry! We’ve got to get everything sorted! Move!”
I slowly got to my feet, clutching my cheek. Blood trickled between my fingers from the scrapes. I stumbled to the cart and sat down beside three or four other people already there. I couldn’t see anything clearly; tears of pain and humiliation blurred my vision.
Dear God, this didn’t feel like a dream. Not even a nightmare! This was real. I’d somehow landed in a bizarre world where people tormented each other, wielded terrifying power through carved sticks, and rode monstrous creatures that looked like giant moles. Mom, where am I? My quiet whimpers blended with the creak of the wooden wheels as the cart rolled forward through the wide, stony tunnel.
A Few Hours Earlier
I tossed and turned in bed, trying to get comfortable, when suddenly, in my half-sleep, I felt something brush against my hand.
“Ahh!” I screamed at the top of my lungs, bolting upright. The old, sagging mattress groaned and swayed beneath me. “A mouse! A mouse!”
“No way!” came Grandma’s sleepy voice from the other corner of the room. “Sausage caught and ate every last mouse ages ago. Go back to sleep! You’re dreaming.”
Grandma let out a hearty yawn, rolled over, and started snoring again. And boy, does she snore! The windows practically rattle. How was I supposed to sleep now?
In the dim light of the house, I couldn’t tell if there was anything on my bed or not. I pulled the blanket tighter around me, tucked my toes in so they wouldn’t peek out from under the covers—just in case—and stared into the darkness near my pillow. That’s where my hand had been when I felt the touch. I’d shouted “Mouse!” but the sensation had been cold and slimy. I could still feel it!
Carefully, I slid my feet to the floor, slipped them into my slippers, and, still wrapped in the blanket, stepped outside.
It was the dead of night. Not even the stars were out. Just darkness. I’ve always been struck by how dark it gets in the village. In Kyiv, there’s always some light on the streets—shop signs glowing, streetlamps, or lamps shining from windows. But here, the darkness was absolute. Maybe it got a little clearer once your eyes adjusted… but still.
“Meow,” said Sausage, Grandma’s cat, rubbing against my legs.
Once again, he startled me, nearly making me yelp in surprise.
“You little whiskered menace, why aren’t you catching mice? I’m sure there was something there!” I whispered to the cat.
He purred softly in response to my voice, knowing full well I adored him and always snuck him bits of sausage behind Grandma’s back. That’s how he got his name, after all.
Suddenly, I heard a hissing sound behind me. Like air escaping a bicycle tire. Then everything went black—and I was gone…
I Hate Fantasy
There were four other people on the cart, all young women. The driver, a short, elderly man, sat with his back to us, occasionally shouting at his strange draft animals. “Kartapo! Kartapo!” he’d drawl, and the giant moles would pretend to pick up the pace before slowing back down to a plod.
A few mounted guards rode ahead and behind the cart on similar moles, exchanging brief words now and then. Among them was the man who’d struck me with that magical stick. I no longer doubted it was magic. I was starting to piece together what had happened to me. The guards grumbled about a party at some Barnabus’s place, complained about the price of food, and yelled at the driver for being late.
The girls on the cart were as frightened and filthy as I was. They wore shapeless, drab dresses and wooden shoes like the ones my so-called father—and I—had on. Their heads were wrapped in gray, grimy scarves, tied in a way that reminded me of how Grandma’s neighbor, old Mrs. Prokop, wore hers back in the village. She was eighty-five, and her scarf always covered her forehead, framed her cheeks somberly, with the ends crossed over her neck and tied at the back. As Grandma used to say, “Keeps the wind out of your ears.” It might’ve been funny if I didn’t suspect these girls were doing it to avoid being taken by this mysterious Murduk, who was apparently supposed to eat me. They were probably just as terrified of him as I was.
I tried speaking to the girl next to me, but she only shot me a scared glance, dropped her eyes to the floor, and stayed that way for the rest of the ride. Everyone here seemed so frightened, so downtrodden and miserable.
Alright, Elona, pull yourself together. Think rationally. You’re in an unknown place, most likely underground or in some mountain cave or labyrinth. Look at how long this strange corridor stretches on, the one our cart is rolling through. And there are so many side passages branching off that running into one would be a death sentence—I’d get lost and die of thirst or hunger in some dead-end tunnel.
Escape had crossed my mind the moment I sat on this creaky cart. But where would I go? If I knew the lay of the land, maybe I’d risk it. For now, I had to figure things out.
Life had taught me one thing: no one’s going to help you with anything. You’ve got to do it all yourself—dig in, work hard, and keep pushing. That’s the only way I survived as a junior manager at a firm in Kyiv. And I had to fend off rivals, competitors, backstabbers, and jealous coworkers—especially the jealous ones. The senior manager was a handsome, single guy, and half the office was after him. For some reason, everyone assumed I was too. Maybe because I wasn’t?
I was all about work, and he wasn’t used to being ignored. So he talked to me more than the other women. I thought it was just because I was sort of his assistant. But my coworker Svetlana—a real piece of work—opened my eyes. “You won’t last long here. Vitaliy is mine!” she declared, starting a war with me. I learned a lot from that battle. But that’s not the point right now. What matters is my stubbornness and drive to reach my goals, no matter the obstacles.
I’ll figure out what’s going on here first—where I am, what kind of place this is—and then I’ll escape once I know where to run. That’s what I told myself as I swayed on the cart.
I was also curious about how I looked. There was no mirror to check, but by feeling my face with my hands—dirty from the dust I’d been lying in—I concluded I had the ordinary face of a young woman. At least, I didn’t feel any scars, blemishes, or noticeable asymmetry. There was a scratch on my cheek from the fall, still bleeding a little. I wiped it with spit-dampened fingers and the inside of my dress since I had nothing else handy. Unlike the other girls, I didn’t have a scarf on my head. My hair was tied back in a long ponytail, a dull, mousy gray—whether from dirt or nature, I couldn’t tell.
My nose was straight, my eyebrows and eyes were in place, and my ears seemed normal. For a wild moment, I’d worried I might have long, pointy elven ears like the ones I’d seen on the covers of fantasy novels about people transported to other worlds.
And the fact that I was now one of those “transported” people both terrified, baffled, and—oddly—amused me. I’d never liked stories with plots like this. I preferred books that were more philosophical, more thought-provoking. As a friend once put it, I liked reading offbeat stuff.
What do these transported characters always do in those books? A friend once pushed a few of those stories on me, and I slogged through them in a couple of days, completely unimpressed by the contrived adventures and cookie-cutter heroes. But I remembered the basic pattern of behavior in a parallel world.
So, first, they figure out where they are, get their bearings, find some friends to help them overcome obstacles, then fall in love with a prince or king—or at the very least, a knight or duke—and bam, it all ends with a wedding and kisses. It made me nauseous just thinking about it. I hate fantasy! What nonsense! Oh, and there’s usually some villain who tries to stop the lovers from uniting, only to be killed by the hero in a bloody showdown. Think I’ve got it all.
But in those romance novels, the heroine usually has some extraordinary power or magic to make her worthy of her chosen one. Hmm. And me? Do I have any power?
Seems like all I’ve got is a desperate urge to escape and an overwhelming need to scream in frustration. I want to go back! I don’t want to be here in this terrifying underground world!
But that wouldn’t help anything. So I started studying the walls of the underground corridor we were traveling through. It went on for ages. Lulled by the rhythmic creak of the wheels and the driver’s shouts, I didn’t even notice when I drifted off to sleep.
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*Sabot - wooden shoes, a traditional element of national dress in Europe. In Ukraine, wooden footwear was known by names such as kolodky, derevyanky, derevnyaky, derevyantsi, dovbanky, dovbantsi, kolodyantsi, shkarbany, trepaky, trapaky.