Chapter One

  Emergence

  ?

  12:08 A.M. blinked on Freya's vintage alarm clock. She looked down at the book she had just finished, A Break in the Ways by H.A. Sulivar. It was only marginally better than that incoherent love letter from a frequent customer of hers a few weeks earlier. Not even slightly worth the headache that would greet her in the morning.

  She sighed, it wasn't the end of the world. Her eyes flicked to the Domino's Pizza hat laying upside down on her floor, it wasn't as if she had a job to worry about anyway.

  The last quarter of the book replayed in Freya's head while she flopped around in bed trying to get comfortable. Rather than putting her to sleep, the exercise just made her angry. How was it that this guy had both the best selling fantasy series since A Song of Ice and Fire, and an enormously popular TV show to go with it? Ben was never going to live this down, he was so confident she would love this.

  Remembering how excited he was about sharing this series with her made her wonder if she should just lie and say she liked it.

  Freya hopped out of bed and flipped on her bedside lamp. She wasn't going to get any sleep, not with the taste of overdone tropes and underdeveloped plot in her mouth. It was time for a palette cleanser. A shiver ran up her spine as the bed's warmth faded, replaced with the ever present chill of a Wisconsin winter. Thankfully the thick carpet, along with her fuzzy pajamas kept her from immediately considering a move to Florida.

  She took a look at the floor to ceiling bookshelf beside her computer desk. The various special editions of her favorite books called to her, but she ignored them. They were wonderful for looking at, but actually reading those big hardcovers was a bit cumbersome.

  The shelf full of mostly worn-out paperbacks was where she needed to be. A small selection of old favorites sat front and center. Fingers ran over cracked spines. Freya closed her eyes, each sign of wear brought her back to nights staying up too late, engrossed in fantastical worlds, anxious to see how the stories ended. It was always hard to pick which one to come back to. The newest Dungeon Crawler Carl book tempted her, but she had just finished re-reading that one last month. She pulled The Lies of Locke Lamora, then flipped open to a random page. This one had calmed her after the disaster that had been her Junior Prom. It was a bit too heavy. She was feeling something light and happy. Something to pull her out of this slump she had been in since leaving college.

  For a moment her gaze rested on The Way of Kings. She chuckled to herself, that was the opposite of what she was looking for.

  Of course Freya knew exactly what she would be picking up tonight. The only hardcover on this shelf. She pulled it out, enjoying the familiar weight in her hands. The Hobbit, the 50th anniversary edition that her mother had read to her all throughout her childhood. She slid the old dustcover off, and ran back into bed. With those familiar opening lines the warmth of her childhood returned. She wasn't a twenty-three year old woman with no job, no college degree, and no plan anymore. She was an eight-year old girl, cuddled into her mother's arms with a handful of goldfish.

  It wasn't long before sleep found her.

  #

  ?

  Freya appeared in an enormous column of blue light. The light quickly dimmed to just a small glow at her feet. It radiated from a large metal ring full of strange markings set into the stone floor. She shook her head, feeling a little foggy.

  What was this?

  Outside of the ring, the room was simple. Small, no larger than her living room. Pristine wood slats covered the walls, they were giving off a strong smell, something like cedar, but with a kind of fruity undertone. Carefully, she stepped off the platform in the center of the room and made for the door flanked by two tall stone braziers. Something wasn't right. It was like remembering what her foot felt like after it had fallen asleep. She looked down at herself. Her clothes were foreign, yet familiar. A green tunic that went down to her thighs with off-white tights beneath it. Like what her favorite silent swordsman always wore.

  She shook off the odd sensation, walked through the oppressive heat of the braziers, and stepped out into…a bar?

  Idle chatter filled the open space. Just in front of her were two lines of long tables full of men and women dressed in clothes fit for a Renaissance Fair. They were drinking from rustic mugs of wood and horn. To her sides, the bar extended into more space filled with tables. It seemed the room she arrived in was the centerpiece of this place. This had to be a dream. But it all felt so real, she pinched herself and felt pain. That wasn't a good sign.

  Freya had been so lost in her own thoughts that she didn't realize that nobody was talking anymore. The occupants of tables in front of her were all staring. A uneasy glance to her sides revealed more people had started to peek around the corners at her.

  "Uh, hello," Freya said.

  The whole bar burst into laughter. Freya wasn't sure whether to feel embarrassed or relieved. A man with close cut black hair, a neatly trimmed beard and a round face walked up with a handful of other people.

  "I bet you are confused," The man said.

  "What gives you that impression?"

  A few of the man's followers laughed. "Ha! We've got a fun one! Socks, you owe me a drink." A short man behind him grumbled and dropped a strip of paper into his hand.

  "Where am I?"

  "The Mind's Mirror."

  "And what exactly is that?"

  "Frankly I'm still not sure. Part Fable-Walker headquarters, part fantasy convention, part hotel."

  Freya tried to wrap her mind around that without success. This guy was probably not going to be of much use. "Okay then, if you'll excuse me-"

  The man caught Freya by the arm before she could take a second step. She was about to smack him in the mouth when he spoke.

  "Wait." His jovial tone was gone, his eyes deathly serious. "Don't do anything stupid, more than a few people make the emergence and get themselves killed thinking this is a dream. It isn't. You are not Superman, you cannot fly, arrows will not bounce off you."

  Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  Freya pulled herself out of his grip, he winced as if to say sorry. This whole thing was getting stranger by the moment. Best to play along. "What do I need to know?"

  "Do you know how to fight?"

  "A bit? I almost made the Olympics for fencing."

  "Seriously?" He smiled and nodded at some of the people following him around. "Well alright, that leaves you better off than most. You'll want to find one of those fencing swords."

  "A foil."

  "Right, a foil. You don't want it to be bendy though, if you stab something you want it to go through. Unless you are looking for a fight, stay out of Hathmore, and Orodelion. And even if you are looking for one, stay far away from the Bluffs."

  Freya nodded. That was a whole bunch of names she probably wasn't going to remember. "What's so dangerous about the Bluffs?"

  "Lunatic from our side decided to take over the place."

  "Our side? As in…"

  "Earth." At Freya's slackjawed reaction he gave a condescending smile. "Don't worry. You'll learn as you go."

  Freya righted herself. But the man's words wouldn't leave her. It wouldn't hurt to be cautious, she could still enjoy this. Whatever 'this' was. "You never told me your name."

  "Oh we don't usually do names here. At least not our real ones. Keeps everyone equal, and keeps the more famous authors from getting swamped. You know how that goes."

  "What are you talking about? Authors?"

  A middle aged woman with shoulder length brown hair and a set of oval glasses pushed through the group. "I know you enjoy confusing the new arrivals Rep, but you're done. I'll take it from here." She had a kindly voice.

  Rep held up his hands and returned to his corner of the tavern.

  Freya tried to run her fingers through her hair, but found her usually loose hair had been bound into a single braid.

  "Sorry about all this, no matter how many times I try to move The Crossing it never seems to take. It wants to be central to the Inn. Come with me for a moment, we can speak somewhere quieter."

  It didn't seem that she had many options here. Besides, it would be nice to get away from all the prying eyes. Freya followed the woman into a small room tucked into the back corner of the inn. The room had a vaguely twin sized bed, a large bookshelf, and a desk piled with even more books. The woman leaned up against the bookshelf rather than taking a seat.

  "So, what are you? Author, editor, agent?" The woman asked.

  "None of the above?"

  "Scriptwriter then? That's fun, we don't get many of those." Freya shook her head again. The woman raised an eyebrow. "Then what?"

  "You said the other guy was confusing, you aren't doing much better."

  "Fair. Let me explain. A person ends up in the MythHarbor through a deep connection with a written work. Typically the only way to do that is to spend months and years obsessing over a singular piece. So, what is it you've connected to? A book you are writing, poem, or…"

  MythHarbor, that's the name for this planet or realm or whatever. That would be important to remember. The last thing Freya remembered was smiling while Bilbo Baggins begged the dwarves of Thorin's Company not to break his dinnerware. In just a handful of pages she had forgotten all about the mess she had made of her life.

  "The Hobbit."

  "Pardon?"

  "I love The Hobbit. It's kept me sane since I was a little girl, I've probably read it a few hundred times."

  The woman stood a bit straighter, she broke into a wide smile that made Freya relax a little. "That is amazing. We haven't had a reader in ages!"

  That was the opposite of the reaction Freya had been expecting. Who would be excited to meet a reader when actual writers were the common fare. The thought made Freya lose the color in her face. "You mean, all of those people out there have written books?"

  "Many have."

  "And these are real, actual people from Earth? So they would have written books I could have read?

  "Not all of them are published, but yes, at least a few."

  "And you? Are you someone I would know?"

  "Considering you emerged into the Fantasy Harbor, and not the Romance Harbor, I would say so."

  A best selling Fantasy author right in front of her? Who could she be? What was it that Rep had said? People don't use their real names? A few deep breaths calmed Freya's nerves. She didn't need to go and make a fool of herself.

  The woman did look awfully familiar.

  "You are trying to figure out who I am," The woman said with the hint of a smile.

  "Can you blame me?"

  "Not at all, but you won't figure it out. People can adjust how they look here. By appearance I'm forty years younger than I am in the Source Realm. So rather than offer my true name, you can call me what everyone else here does. The Gardener."

  Freya couldn't help but smile. If this world was based on Fantasy fiction, there was so much to be done. Imagined scenarios flooded her mind. She could have real adventures with the authors of the very books she had been holding just a few minutes earlier. Delving into alien sponsored dungeons with Matt Diniman, researching new magic with Brandon Sanderson, planning a heist with Scott Lynch.

  And then there was this woman was in front of her. The Gardener. Freya was one on one with her being instructed in the ways of this new world, and by her own admission she was a famous author. Who was she?

  More than geeking out over her favorite books with these people, Freya wanted them to respect her, which is really all that she craved back in the real world too. That meant following the rules of this place. So the mysterious woman would remain The Gardener. Even if Freya would still privately try to figure out who she was.

  "Thank you."

  The Gardener gave a mock bow. "It's my pleasure. Now, I won't bore you with endless details on how things work. Head out and explore, you'll pick up what you need to. Just keep in mind what you were told about the Bluffs. Should you ever need something I will be here. Think of The Mind's Mirror as kind of a home base."

  Freya nodded her thanks. There were so many unanswered questions, but the Gardener was right, she would much rather get out and explore. She opened the door and stepped out into a world of possibilities.