The Other Land

By Tom Oakley

Sol Jenkins lived an unremarkable life, plagued by mundane problems in a nondescript office. Earning just enough to get by, his world was comfortably predictable. But everything shifted the day a dishevelled stranger with frenzied eyes seized him, warning Sol to run, only to perish moments later. Those brief, startling seconds set Sol on a trajectory that could reshape the world as we know it. It certainly reshaped his…

• Language: English
• Publisher: Austin Macauley Publishers
• Release date: Dec 8, 2023
• ISBN: 9781035833726

Tom Oakley

Tom Oakley was born in Wallasey, England, in 1978, but has lived most of his life in Leicestershire. He spends his time there with his wife and German Shepherd and is within easy reach of most of his immediate family. They tell him this is a stroke of luck. The Other Land is his first novel.

Book preview

The Other Land

Tom Oakley

Austin Macauley Publishers

The Other Land

About the Author

Dedication

Copyright Information ©

Acknowledgement

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

About the Author

Tom Oakley was born in Wallasey, England, in 1978, but has lived most of his life in Leicestershire. He spends his time there with his wife and German Shepherd and is within easy reach of most of his immediate family. They tell him this is a stroke of luck. The Other Land is his first novel.

Dedication

For my parents, who helped. And for her. For always.

Copyright Information ©

Tom Oakley 2023

The right of Tom Oakley to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by the author in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.

Any person who commits any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.

ISBN 9781035833719 (Paperback)

ISBN 9781035833726 (ePub e-book)

www.austinmacauley.com

First Published 2023

Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd®

1 Canada Square

Canary Wharf

London

E14 5AA

Acknowledgement

A thank you has to go to my old boss for furloughing me in May 2020 when I first thought about doing this and to those family members who read it in the rough, uncut form, then convinced me it was worth a shot. Thank you all, sincerely.

Knowledge itself is power. —Sir Francis Bacon, 16th Century.

Ignorance is bliss, ’tis folly to be wise. —Thomas Gray, 18th Century.

Chapter One

Sol would never forget what the man said to him that day. People’s lives are divided into a series of moments that are anointed importance—usually—subjectively. But some moments really are definitive. Some moments have a ‘before’ them and ‘after’ them as a given, births and deaths, that sort of thing. Usually. Not often ten o’clock-ish on a weekday morning, which was, depressingly, (beautifully, soothingly) almost identical to all the other weekday mornings that had passed in the last six years in his cube farm of an office. Sol Jenkins, 26 years old, was walking through the busy streets of central London after his soul crushing commute from his flat in a part of town yet to be gentrified.

His routine was to get a coffee at around ten o’clock after getting to his desk for eight. There’d be some sort of inane banter with the barista, depending which one it was. He hoped it’d be Zara. He liked Zara. If it was her, then there’d be poor quality flirting on his part to go with the inane banter. It’s the small things that keep the days interesting. If it was Jimmy however, that sour-faced fool would…the terrifying apparition of a man appeared in front of Sol, apparently from nowhere and grabbed him by the wrist with an iron grip, snarled into his face while looking past him, bald head shining in the morning sunlight, piercing blue eyes wild with fear and said with what turned out to be his dying breath:

They know. You cannot come back. Run…

He slumped to the floor leaving Sol staring slack-jawed at the old man starting to cool on the pavement in front of him. He crouched down beside him and felt his neck for a pulse. Nothing; his eyes were no longer wild, but serene, as if pleased they wouldn’t have to look at anything again. People continued about their lives, most staring at their phones. Just a junkie, don’t get involved, doesn’t concern me. One woman actually stepped over the prone man’s legs shouting at someone via video call about their incompetence and the likelihood that their parents were related. Sol had barely moved on from the slackness of jaw when he realised his wrist was itching where the man had taken a hold of him. The second this thought was processed, it was overtaken with the further realisation that his wrist was really hurting where the man had taken a hold of him…

What the f… Sol started to say, the inside of his wrist now burning like the sun as his head started swimming, his vision failed and he tumbled off his haunches down towards the newly dead man. If Sol had realised how lucky he’d been that morning, he wouldn’t have cursed the man so violently with his last thoughts before unconsciousness set in.

…uck! Sol said as he jerked his head up. Someone must’ve moved him to the park (Why?); he was face down on grassy mud near some trees, in his own drool. Vision not returned properly yet, things still a blur. Sol rolled onto his side and gave himself the standard pocket pat down (phone, keys, wallet; check, walk on) revealing he hadn’t been robbed, so hey; chalks that one up in the positives column. There was a sensation of time having passed—based mainly on the vague hunger pangs—but how long? His phone said 12:01. No signal, no Wi-Fi, no ‘G’…So, two hours, or thereabouts? Or had his phone just reset? His vision was clearing a little now, so Sol Jenkins, 26 years old, risked sitting up. The panic started to rise in his belly, replacing the hunger. Where was he? Not the park opposite the office, as he’d assumed. No, there weren’t enough trees, they were huge mature things dozens of feet in diameter. Assumed…What was the saying about that? Make an ass of you and me? Something like that…Even the birdsong sounded odd, familiar, but different at the same time. Had he been drugged? That junkie hobo with the wild eyes! He’d wiped some drug or something on his arm and he’d passed out! That must be it. Still doesn’t explain the location though. After a few minutes, bewildered staggering, hand wiping the face, head grabbing with both hands in increasing desperation, another familiar noise rose up, and was getting louder all the time. Familiar, but difficult to place. Sounding ominous, Hooves? That was it, the truly frightening yet exciting noise of many horses getting nearer, thundering over the ground at full gallop. The dust cloud in the near distance seemed like a worrying confirmation. Is it fox hunting season? Is that even a thing? Do you have a season for killing foxes? Sol couldn’t see or hear any dogs. Actually, isn’t that banned these days?

The panic was nagging now, the fear that this was some sort of joke at Sol’s expense was slowly getting replaced with a hope that was what it was. How do you flag down a hunt? The sort of gentry that kill things for fun carry whips, guns and prejudice. And immunity, usually…Sol got to his feet and managed to stagger and stumble to the edge of the wide rutted pathway onto the slightly longer grass by the tree line. The riders were close now, he could almost make out their voices. Sol did the ‘crouch with slightly raised hand, walking slowly backwards’ done by those throughout history who want to be both noticed yet also secretly hope to be ignored. The group thundered past without a glance in his direction, Sol’s presence and meek voice lost in the dust and the din. He watched them until the cloud moved towards the other horizon.

Well… erm… Sol put his hands on his hips as he watched them disappear, then wiped his face with his hand again.

Not really knowing what to do for the moment, Sol watched the hunt disappear. [Something was wrong.] The wind picked up. He turned the collar of his coat up and sighed. There’d be some jogger or hill walker along in a bit, probably…[Something’s really wrong.] The view of wherever he was looked amazing, he had to admit. The trees on either side of the ‘road’ were massive, but were very widely spaced so the view to the horizon could be uninterrupted if he stood in the right place. [Wrong… wrong…] View, to the horizon…[There it is!] Buildings! There are no buildings! Anywhere! What the hell is this? Sol was gasping now, the rising panic becoming all-encompassing as the silence of the place caught up with him too. No traffic noise, no…dogs barking, no noise at all save for the wind and the birds…Jesus. Hallucinations! The drugs must be hallucinogenic! Damn Hobo. Sol vowed to find him and…Do…Something, to him…Forgetting for the moment that the man had died in front of him. What to do right now, though? Wait for it to wear off? No phone signal, so no Google to save him out here. Hicks! Damn Hill-Billy types! How do they cope with the lack of Wi-Fi? Sol Jenkins, 26 years old, sat on the floor, hugged his knees and wept, gently to himself for a few minutes. It didn’t help. A heavy rustling of the foliage close by stopped the tears.

Hello!

Can you help me, I’m…Not well? Do you have any signal? I think I need to call an ambulance. Sol was aware he was starting to babble, but didn’t care. Which, for him, was a big deal. Other people’s opinions figure highly in the value system of insecure people, so babbling, but not caring was, technically, progress for Sol. Difficult to take heart with this insight into his psyche right at that moment though. Fear makes you ignore the smaller things.

Look, this isn’t funny, I’m asking for your help here! Sol felt a little ridiculous addressing the bushes with only the strange birdsong as a backdrop. He took several steps closer to the dense thick leaved foliage thinking someone was hiding there and was secretly laughing at his fear. The man exploded out of the bushes metres from where Sol was actually looking, he span around raising his hands to his head in defence as the sickening blow to his stomach hit home. As Sol hit the floor, he felt the point of a blade on his neck as he shut his eyes.

"I’ve got…Money! (A lie) And a…a phone! (True…doesn’t work now though, does it…?) Please, take them and leave me! I haven’t seen your face; I couldn’t tell the police who you are." (True, thank God, that is true) the pressure of the blade slackened, slightly.

Who are you? Are you Helvet? Sol realised the man was, in fact, a woman as the blade was withdrawn.

Ummm…Yes? Is…is that right? I’m… Ah…Sorry. I’ve never really been attacked like this before; I don’t know how it…how it goes? Sorry. Babbling going into overdrive now, still on his back on the floor.

You are one of the Helvet tribe, aren’t you? The attacker threw off her hood. Sol realised the woman was in fact, little more than a girl, seventeen at most. Oh, the shame.

He pushed himself up onto his elbows. The Helvet…tribe? Um, I live in a small town a few miles south of here? It’s…Sorry…it’s ok, no one knows it, they closed the zoo when the chicken died! Ha-ha!

Sorry.

The girl moved her head from side to side, like a dog looking at something it doesn’t understand. You are lucky, Tribesman. If the Pride had noticed you, you’d probably be dragged from one of their horses right now. I was hiding from them, I heard them coming, then watched you walking here and there as they came closer!

For the second time that day, Sol’s jaw slackened. Pride? Tribesman? What the hell! Sol had had just about enough of this, and decided to say so. He jumped up, in a stumbling, clumsy unfit manner and his assailant stepped back, narrowing her eyes and extending the blade in a worryingly practiced manner.

Look! I’ve had just about enough of this! The shrillness of his voice surprising both him and the girl.

What! Is! Going! On? Sol lowered his wildly gesticulating, flapping arms.

I had heard the Helvet were soft, softest in all Kaldoon! The girl scoffed at Sol’s frown of misunderstanding, as she threw her arms wide apparently indicating that Kaldoon meant everywhere then tucked the knife away safely. I hadn’t realised how much though! Ah, what could be the harm? My name’s Camille. We’re not supposed to give out our story, but you, you are not a threat. I can tell. She jabbed a pointed finger in his direction as she said that. Sol felt strangely offended at this. Then realised, it was absolutely true. Which was weirdly offensive too. Well, what else could he do? Hallucination or not, he decided to be polite.

Hello, Camille. He sighed. I’m Sol. This didn’t sound enough. Sol Jenkins. Neither did that.

The effect on the girl was incredible.

"You are a Sol?! She stared slack jawed at him. It was getting to be quite the day for jaw slackery. A Sol from the Helvet, eh? We didn’t think they had any, dumb as they are rumoured to be! Decisions made by a coin-toss is the talk!" A pause while she considered this new apparently important information.

You must come with me. You have to know you’ve claimed to be a Sol and I don’t believe you, actually. Camille marched off in the direction the Hunt/Pride had come from. She turned as Sol was just standing there. The birds are loud today… She said apparently to herself. Well, come on… Sol followed. Be one to tell the grandkids in a few years anyway. Tell us again about the time the hobo drugged you, and you hallucinated? Ha-ha! Then you followed the pretend girl until you fell in the river and the paramedics pulled you out! Good ol’ Gramps! Better get a wife first then, before telling the imaginary grandkids a tale. Actually, start with a girlfriend. One step at a time, eh? Sol grumpily kicked out at a tuft of grass that looked like the top of Krusty the Clown’s head coming up through the earth, like it was its fault he was single.

Where are we going? It’s just, I’m pretty sure I need to be checked out by a doctor… Talking to a hallucination politely to pass the time. Christ.

What’s a dotter? You do not need to see a dotter; you need to announce yourself to the Kenlot. Which will be fun! They’ll know for sure via the Test if you’re lying about being a Sol! Which, by the way, I still think you are. Obviously lying, I mean.

Sol managed to resist the urge to scream with hysterical laughter. His hallucination doesn’t believe he’s real! Typical, unlucky with the ladies, even when hallucinating.

It’s my name. Sol said, sounding miserable. It means sun. My parents must’ve thought they were being funny, naming their son sun. It’s not their fault, they were middle class.

Camille turned on him, looking incredulous. No, fool! Sol means king! Well, leader, anyway. King if you’re being precise. She looked at him appraisingly, her head again on one side, straight, neck length brown hair blowing across her face. "The stories are true, aren’t they?! Helvet are as stupid they come! Impersonating a Sol carries a heavy sentence from the Kenlot too! You can’t just pretend to be a king you know! I can’t wait to see how they’ll punish you! I don’t think they’ve ever had to investigate someone dumb enough to be caught imitating a Sol before…Not in my time, anyway."

Sol had to ask. Punish me? For what?! What will ‘they’ do?

Test you, of course! They test you, if the history taught us in lessons is true. If you fail…Well, at least you’ll know that that the last few moments of your life will be…Busy.

Well, given that none of this is real, I look forward to the busyness of the test! Bring on the test! Test away! Sol was now babbling like a brook in springtime, gesticulating like a marionette being controlled by someone having a seizure.

"What’s not real? Camille said, looking non-pulsed at both what he said and at his gesturing. We’ve a fair distance to travel to get home to the Kenlot before night. We need to up the pace." Camille marched off; Sol had to practically jog to keep up.

That odd, sinking feeling you get when you wake up and it’s all a dream? Sol was starting to realise it’s much, much worse when it dawns on you that the dream you’re in looks like it’s real after all; the sinking feeling goes down fathoms. Sol was sinking. Who was that hobo? The panic was rising once more, Sinking feelings and rising panic. How high could it rise? How far can you sink?

Sol stopped abruptly. "Look, if this is actually happening, and….And we are here…"

Of course, we’re here, Helvet! Camille giggled over her shoulder while still striding along.

Sol shouted after her. ….I need to know what happened to my wrist and… And who that man was that grabbed it and told me to run, before I woke up on the floor back there. (Stay calm, breathe… it’ll work out, calm.)

Camille stopped, turned and marched back to be within a few inches of his face. What did the man do? Grabbed your arm and you Moved? What did he say, exactly?

Er, he said, ‘They know, you cannot come back, run’. Sol was pleased he’d remembered that, his memory was usually terrible. What? You look scared? Have I said something wrong? Camille was backing away, looking genuinely worried.

An Elder, possibly—no, probably—a Sol, has Moved you in space. They use it themselves to travel great distances in next to no time. The power needed to do it safely makes sure they only use it sparingly. You’re not supposed to be able to transfer it to another, according to lessons and rumour even if you are experienced at it. She frowned, her face briefly becoming a mixture of worry and confusion. What happened to this man that grabbed you?

Errrr…He died. Just keeled over. Umm. There was nothing anyone could have done. He was dead before he hit the floor.

Camille rubbed her forehead like she was trying to deal with a sudden headache behind the eyes. The wind picked up and she moved her hair out of her face irritably. Brilliant, a dead Elder, maybe even a dead Sol. What Tribe was he? Did he say?

No! I’ve told you what he said!

Will your sharp and keen Helvet memory allow you to recall his appearance maybe? Camille said, sarcastically.

He was heavy set, bit taller than me…That enough information for you? Sol took the view that sarcasm is best and most useful when doubled.

Camille’s face was suddenly inches from his own again, her wild blue eyes staring daggers into Sol. You better be truthful here, Helvet. Tread with care. If this is some sort of…Trick, or… Camille let the sentence drift into silence.

What trick could I play? I’m still only 80% sure I’m not drugged or haven’t gone mad! Sol looked around at the chunks of Klown Grass and the furzey actual grass surrounding it in a furtive twitching manner as if hopeful that it would give off some sort of clue that it was all a simulation.

Camille slapped him, hard across his face and he staggered sideways falling into a patch of Klown Grass. Which was sharper than it looked, he realised apropos nothing at all. Would that have hurt if this wasn’t real? Would you have felt the bade on your neck? The punch in your gut? Camille said standing over him in a dominant pose.

85-90% then, Camille raised her hand again Ok! Ok. But…This morning, I was thinking about flirting with Zara and now I’m somewhere else! I’ve been Moved, no less. So significant a thing, you pronounce the capital letter! But I don’t know where I’ve Moved to! Or how I was Moved! Or why! Sol was wailing, almost, still in his prone position, face still stinging from the fall.

Camille helped him up. "If the Elder believed you are a Sol…and I don’t believe that…that may be the reason. Looking after their own…I’m guessing the Elder saw the need to protect you. It is rumoured some of them travel a long way when they move…I understand why he saw the need to protect you. If you’d been alone here for much longer without me, you’d be…struggling. The Pride would have rode over the top of you and not even noticed."

"…Thank you, you could have left me. I probably would have left me… People generally don’t stop to help people they don’t know…Thank you." Sol said. He meant it, too.

Chapter Two

They’d been walking through the light forest land as the light was failing for what seemed like hours when Camille announced they would need to stop and set up a camp for the night because Sol was too slow and ‘Waddle some’ to make good enough time to get to her home before nightfall fell properly. Sol was set to work collecting firewood, which was easy enough, then building and setting a fire which, for a city boy, wasn’t. With Camille’s help, the fire was going nicely and they had some sort of cold broth that Camille had produced from her pack which tested a bit like cold chicken soup. They both sat opposite each other, backs against the bases of a pair of massive trees staring at the fire.

What’s your history then, Helvet? Tell me your story, the real one. No tricks. Camille said as she sat back, sliding further down looking more relaxed than at any time up to this point to Sol.

Sol drained his broth and set his mug down with more care than was necessary. "Not much to tell, really. I was born in our local hospital 26 and a bit years ago, went to school, and got a job doing