Chapter Five

  ?The Return

  Freya pulled back into her parent's driveway late. Her car crunched over the thin layer of snow that fell while she was at Ben's. Once they got past the Sulivar talk, she actually had a really nice time. It was nice not to feel pressured about what her plans were. They simply chatted together about their favorite books and games, then they dished a little on the latest work gossip. Excluding the stuff about her of course.

  The garage light her parents left on for her was the only thing illuminating the moonless night. She ran from the car to the side door, armful of books in tow, and slid quietly inside. The time on her Mickey Mouse themed Apple Watch read 10:43. Her parents were likely in bed by now. She flipped off the garage light and entered the house through the kitchen. Another light was left on for her. A pang of guilt hit Freya over being frustrated by her parents. They were only trying to help.

  On the kitchen island was a copy of Esquire magazine. On its cover was the unfortunately familiar face of H.A. Sulivar. He sat in an office that screamed 'old world money' looking at the camera with soft green eyes. Freya picked it up out of morbid curiosity. It was the newest edition, February 2027. The tagline read "From the Gulags, to the Red Carpet." Freya felt a headache coming on, why was this guy everywhere?

  Freya tossed the magazine back on the counter, mentally noting to give her father a talking to on his choice of reading material. Once she was to her bedroom she pulled down the shoulder of her sweatshirt, the tattoo was still there. All day she had been checking to ensure it was still there. The fear of having imagined all this was still gnawing at her. She jumped into bed, eager to return to the Mind's Mirror.

  As she flipped onto her side, her copy of The Hobbit caught her eye. A few more chapters couldn't hurt.

  #

  ?

  The Mind's Mirror was just as Freya had left it, she rose from bed and inspected the lantern she had left there the previous night. She reached toward the body of it, letting her hand take in the heat it radiated. How was it still going strong? A stupid question, magic, of course.

  Magic. She considered the word for a few moments. This was real, she bit her tongue just as she had in her parent's bathroom. The pain was no different. Oh the things she could do.

  Perhaps this was the key to getting her life back. She could become a grand adventurer in this world and live a happy, normal, life in the Source. She just needed more words to fund her adventures. Should she start writing just to get something to start with? It probably wouldn't be that simple. She would need to connect with whatever she was writing to make it manifest here. That would be a problem. As much as she loved reading, she had absolutely no interest in writing.

  The urge to throw open the door and run out into the world was palpable. First, she needed to take stock of what was in this room. This was her home base as The Gardener had put it. It would probably pay to get a lay of the land. Now that she knew this was all real, she needed to be far more careful than she had been yesterday. It would be just her luck to stumble upon a whole fantasy world just to run and get herself killed immediately.

  All the furniture from the night before was here. Bed, desk, shelf, and a chest. The chest was locked by a large iron mechanism built into the latch. A copper key stuck out of the lock. Freya turned the key, the latch popped open with surprising force. Inside was a large bundle with a note on top.

  For our Bookworm,

  Inside will be a few things to get you started. I've left a little more than usual, readers are the source of our power. It is only fair that I share a little of that with you. Use it sparingly, you will not be able to replenish your stores as easily as the rest of us.

  Be careful,

  The Gardener.

  Freya heaved the bundle out of the chest, it was quite a bit heavier than she expected. She waddled over to her desk and dropped the bundle. The thick rope binding it came apart easily. The supplies were separated into three sections, thin planks of wood were the borders. The first section was mostly clothing, with another note on top.

  Take a bath. You'd be surprised how many people forget.

  -Rep

  With a quick test of her breath, Freya confirmed she seriously needed some toothpaste. That was a bit of a drag. Now she had to brush her teeth four times a day? She tossed aside the note and had a look at the clothes, It was all tunics, underclothes, and trousers in the same style as she was wearing now with a few accessories. She laid an outfit on the table, dark green tunic, cream undershirt and trousers. At the bottom of this section was an assortment of belts. She grabbed one at random and dropped it on the tunic.

  Looking at everything laid out Freya got a fuzzy feeling in her chest. She looked down at what she was wearing now. It would be nice if she could actually look at herself in a mirror. Green tunic, white undershirt and trousers. A belt across her waist, and boots that were about six inches short of reaching her knee. The tunic was unusually long, reaching down to her mid-thigh.

  Well shit. Freya thought. She wasn't just dressed up like Link. She was specifically Link from The Legend of Zelda: Ocarina of Time. Why did she enter MythHarbor In this style? Sure, she liked Zelda as much as any sane person should. But it wasn't something she gave much thought to outside of enjoying the games.

  She hadn't even played Ocarina of Time since…well since she had gotten that horrible virus in Middle School. Her mother stayed home with her, and she broke out an old Nintendo 64 from her college years. They passed the strange three-handled controller between each other for most of the day. That was in between bouts of vomiting and chicken noodle soup. Eventually Freya passed out in her mother's lap. Her thoughts just before she fell asleep the night before did drift to that day. Could that have something to do with it?

  But that wasn't a book, the only real writing to speak of was reading character dialog and whatever was written for the story. How these connections worked was still far beyond her comprehension.

  Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  Regardless, she would need to change, there were worse wardrobes to be saddled with. At the bottom of the clothing section were a few odds and ends she would need. Tooth brush, hair brush, soaps. After retrieving what she needed for a bath, she stuffed the clothes she wouldn't be using back in and moved on to the next section.

  The first thing to catch Freya's eye was the long, thin blade lying on top. She pulled it free. An epee, a fencing sword with a triangular blade thicker and heavier than the foil she typically used. It was much heavier than even an epee should be. If she was using this it wouldn't be for sparring. It would be for defending herself. She tested the blade's edge on a sheet of paper at her desk. The blade sliced through effortlessly. Razor sharp. Deadly.

  That fact chilled Freya. Thoughts of adventure had consumed her, replicating the exploits of all her favorite heroes. Fitz, Vin, Harry Dresden, al'Lan Mandragoran, all heroes. All killers. Could she really cross that line if it came down to it?

  Freya set the sword to the side, she would cross that bridge when she came to it. The rest of the section was filled with a handful of tools. Knives, a hatchet, flint and steel, Everything she should need to handle a little while in the wilderness. When she returned to the…what did they call the real world? The Source? When she returned there, she would need to look up an obscene amount of videos on bushcraft survival.

  The last section was the smallest, it held only a stack of rough paper. One last note was laying atop it.

  The extra. Something I never got the chance to finish.

  -The Gardener

  Freya picked up the top sheet. It was the front page of a manuscript. A whole novel, or most of one. Freya picked up the pages, about two hundred in all. After thumbing through the pages she closed her eyes. A gateway into another world. How many times had she done this same exercise? Late at night after yet another frenzied read through of The Hobbit, A Wizard of Earthsea, or Dungeon Crawler Carl. Flashes of fantastical landscapes skipped across the back of her eyelids. After a moment she stopped thinking of the paper in her hand, and started on how these books she loved brought her to The Mind's Mirror, how they gave her a whole second life to live. Especially now, at the moment she was the lowest. This place gave her something to look forward to.

  The air felt stiff, as if a massive amount of static electricity had built up. Freya tasted metal. The pages flew from her hands, then crashed into her chest with enough force to shove her back against her bed. Inside she felt jittery, ready to explode at a moment's notice. Like she had drank too much coffee. The feeling passed with a few deep breaths, she swallowed hard. Then looked at her hands. It was a strange sensation. She could feel the pages within her. All of them like little ponds of strength, yet they were all connected, ready to be used together.

  Freya pooled the whole of her power together. Fly.

  The words within her churned. They were knitting themselves together in a new pattern to accomplish her goal. The process took an obnoxiously long time. When it seemed the power had settled into one massive pool with the sole purpose of flight, Freya imagined floating to the ceiling. Slowly, her feet rose from the floor. Her heart was beating out of her chest. This was it! Magic in her very hands. It didn't feel quite like weightlessness. Something was still pulling on her. Strangely though, she stopped rising after about a foot. She commanded herself to rise to no avail. Though she could float around at this height, albeit slowly. The well of strength was exhausted. She could almost see the pool as bone dry in her head.

  With a sigh she let the power go, dropping to the floor. The pages' strength immediately returned to their now single large pond. That was a pretty pitiful showing, what about something else? Freya remembered the man lighting a smoke with a snap. She had thought he was just cosplaying as Colonel Mustang. But those gloves actually made sparks when he snapped. Why would he do that? Those gloves had to be expensive. Wouldn't it be much simpler to just command the pipe to light? It looked cooler, and for some that would be reason enough. But having to rearrange the pages within to accomplish that sounded like a complete pain. He probably kept that configuration at all times.

  "Maybe…"

  The Windrunners in The Stormlight Archive, they flew through manipulating gravity, or something like that. Lashings they called it. Freya imagined that, the ability to change the direction of gravity for herself. Not quite how it worked in the books, but she wasn't looking to get too complex yet. The pages inside her broke apart again, this time, they took an even longer time to re arrange. By the time they had settled it had probably been about twenty minutes.

  About three quarters of her pages reformed into a single large pool, the rest seemed to meander about. She looked up, and put her hands toward the ceiling. Then Freya changed the source of gravity to the ceiling. Holding out her arms had been a decent enough protective measure, but she still crashed into the ceiling anyway. Freya rose carefully from the pile she had artfully hurled herself into. The change in perspective was jarring, and for a beat it felt as if she might vomit. She took a few steps, trying to right herself. The wooden boards in the ceiling creaked far more than the floorboards did. Though that made sense, they weren't meant to handle the weight, especially not from this direction.

  After a few moments gaining her bearings, Freya decided to really test this concept. She positioned herself, above, or rather below her bed. Then jumped. The ceiling groaned in protest as her full weight slammed into the boards. This was incredible. She took a seat on the ceiling to keep herself from hopping around while she collected her thoughts.

  There was a kind of logic to the magic. Just flying without any regard for the laws of physics was possible, but it took a ton of energy. Manipulating an existing force though…or at least having some kind of reason for why it should work…she would need to experiment more with this. Was it less costly because she was manipulating gravity? Or was it simply because that made sense to her? Freya would get it figured out, but daylight was burning. It was time to see more of what this new world had to offer.

  First order of business, she needed to find where the hell she could get a bath.