Chapter Nine

  ?

  Exhaustion

  Freya's vision blurred. The wound on her leg proved to be mostly superficial, but the one in her stomach was anything but. Blood dripped down her stomach and leg, drenching her clothes. It was a strange thing, Freya had expected to lose her nerve upon being wounded so seriously. She was strong, but everyone had their breaking point. Or at least normal people did. She had gotten hurt in the Source plenty and she always bounced back quickly. It was a point of pride for her parents. Their Freya was tough as nails. Their Freya never complained. Their Freya hadn't shed a tear since she was a toddler.

  That probably should have concerned them.

  Even as the blood loss threatened her consciousness, she was more concerned with the stains on her new adventuring clothes than her potential demise. Freya pulled away her makeshift bandage, the bleeding had slowed, that was a good sign. She pulled another rag she had torn from the clothes of her victims and pressed it hard against her stomach. The pressure shot spears of hot ice up her chest. She gritted her teeth.

  There was still no bridge in sight. Freya walked along the base of the sandy slope leading up to the road, just far enough off the beach to avoid detection by any more patrols following the direction she had fled in. They almost certainly were after her now. Eight of their soldiers were dead on her behalf. They weren't likely to let that go.

  The dead flooded her thoughts. Try as she might, this was too much for her to just shove aside. Eight dead. The people who were born in this realm weren't mindless NPCs. As far as she could tell, they lived, loved, and lost just like anyone. She scraped at drying blood on the stone soldiers hanging at her chest. How many families had she just destroyed? She shook the thought away. Not now.

  A figure shrouded in moonlight stood directly in her path. It wore a black cloak over a diminutive frame like Freya's. The breeze stilled. This wasn't one of the soldiers. They all wore red.

  "I need to pass."

  The figure back the way she came.

  "I can't go back."

  The figure remained unnaturally still. Freya traced the path it was pointing. Something was behind her maybe? She chanced a look back. Nothing was there. What if it was just a trick? Trying to get Freya to take her eyes off of whoever that was? Her fingers curled around her sword. When she turned back toward the figure, it was gone. Not even its footprints remained in the sand.

  Pressure built in her chest, she needed to get the hell out of here.

  Freya's foot caught a buried root in the sand, she fell forward, catching a mouthful of sand and dirt. She groaned, sliding herself into a sitting position. If that figure wanted her dead, it would have a pretty easy job of it right now.

  Everything hurt. Outside of the one wound she was concerned about, she was covered in dozens of other smaller cuts and bruises. The fighting had ended so quickly, how could she have taken this kind of damage?

  A terrifying desire to fall asleep right here was ready to overpowered her. Her head drooped, her shoulders lost their tension. It would be so easy. Freya slammed her fist into her stomach, the dulling pain returned in force. Her eyes snapped open. It couldn't end yet. Who would remember her? She would not die laying in the dirt.

  A hand of stone and sand rose from the ground, it wrapped around Freya's chest like a child picking up a doll and put her on her feet. She kept it in place for a few seconds more than necessary. The hand blew away with her next breath. It was going to be important to remember her magic. She had used it well against the first two soldiers, but the fight in the woods she had neglected it. Her myriad wounds were proof of the consequences.

  She looked across the river. The blue of the moon reflected off the water. Freya tilted her head. Blue? Given that she didn't make a habit of looking at the sun, she didn't notice a difference between that and the sun in the Source. This was a different world, naturally that would extend to the stars. Were there other planets out there too?

  Screams split the night open. It was close, from the other side of the road. Freya looked down the beach. It was hard to tell in the dark, but she thought she could make out something over the river. The figure was still nowhere in sight.

  "Get away from me!" The voice was male, completely panicked.

  It probably wasn't much further to the bridge. She could meet up with Roman and Zora and be done with this. A struggle broke out above. The voice she had heard started making choked cries.

  Son of a bitch.

  Another earthen hand launched her up the hill, she landed awkwardly among the sparse trees. Another group of soldiers were surrounding a young man just beyond the last of the trees. He curled in on himself as the stabbed at him. Freya's blood burned. Horrible things happened in war, she wasn't naive enough to think otherwise. But to witness it was something different. This was just pointless murder. The young man looked barely high school age. There was no threat there.

  Freya ran straight for them, ignoring her wounds protesting the effort. Her power felt all the rocks buried in the soft earth, she ripped them free and launched them at the soldiers. They turned away from the boy, and shielded their heads. The stones redirected, aiming for the now unprotected torsos of the soldiers. Several of them fell. The boy was shaking on the ground. He still lived, she could work with that. All she had to do was crack some skulls first.

  Freya didn't allow them to recover. The earth swallowed up arms and legs, her pages strained, the well of energy within had nearly gone dry. Just two soldiers stood ready to face her, the other three were frantically digging themselves out. She rolled her shoulders, time to make some more corpses.

  These last two were a lot more hesitant to attack than the others she had faced. Was it because she had showed off her power? The last group seemed terrified of facing a capable Fable Walker. They turned and ran as soon she she made her magic known.

  No matter, Freya was happy to play the aggressor. She threw her knife, it sailed clear over their heads and plunged into the field behind them. Freya's jaw clicked, she was not John Wick, noted.

  The soldiers gave each other a smile, then advanced. Slow, but mechanical. Freya was honestly a little insulted, one weak knife throw and suddenly they thought she was easy pickings? It probably would have been smart to play into that. But she wanted them afraid before they died.

  This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

  Freya surged forward, parrying one thrust and taking a glancing blow on her cheek from another. The blood ran warm and sticky down her jaw. She grabbed the haft of the spear and jerked it forward, taking the attached soldier with it. He let out a breath when he slid on her pre-positioned sword. The blade didn't want to come out of his chest, so she pulled the spear from his hands as he died.

  The other soldier turned and ran. Leaving all his companions still scrambling to free themselves from the ground. One got her hand free just in time to eat a spear tip. The rest fell in similar fashion. Freya looked on the carnage. That voice in the back of her head was back, screaming at her. This was wrong. Another four dead just like that? At least when the first two soldiers fell at her hand she had immediately felt some kind of guilt. But now she was almost enjoying it. They deserved it sure, but was she really so keen to be the executioner?

  Yes I am. Freya thought. She shoved that voice back down. They were ganging up on this kid, she wasn't about to let that happen.

  The boy was still shaking, she gently touched his arm.

  "It's okay. They can't hurt you anymore."

  He peeked through his fingers, his eyes widened. "Please, I don't know what I did. Please stop."

  "I'm not going to hurt you."

  The boy pulled away. "I just want it to be over. Please just let it be over."

  He was bleeding from a dozen different places. Freya gave him a quick once over. He was wearing the same deep cut brown tunic that Inigo Montoya did in The Princess Bride. This kid was a Fable-Walker, just like her. He had probably gone from playing his Playstation with a bunch of his friends to getting mobbed and stabbed near to death. Leia's little brother was probably about his age. Freya looked in the direction the last soldier had ran. She shouldn't have let him get away. Any lingering guilt for the bodies at her feet vanished.

  Thankfully none of the boy's wounds looked fatal. Freya squeezed his shoulder.

  "Come on, let's get you somewhere safe."

  The boy looked up at her, his eyes had gone glassy. His mouth opened as if he was going to scream, but all that came out was static, like a radio turned to a dead station. Freya scrambled back, ready for some crazy body horror bullshit.

  He arched his back, then fell still and silent. Freya looked around, ready for some white owl with beady black eyes to stare daggers at her from a tree

  The boy sat up straight and met Freya's eyes, he said nothing.

  "Are you alright?" Freya asked.

  The boy stood, showing no sign of his wounds bothering him. "I'm Nairabrab, third level Ancestral Guardian. All will tremble to behold my wrath."

  "That's…nice?"

  His name and level appeared over his head as glowing letters and numbers. They glowed enough to be easily visible, but not so much to provide a meaningful source of light. Another set of glowing letters appeared below them.

  HP: 5/14

  So many questions. As she considered which to start with the boy took off in a sprint for the direction the last soldier had ran in.

  "Wait!"

  But he didn't stop, and Freya didn't have the strength to give chase at that speed. Something happened to that poor kid, maybe some kind of magic to shield himself from the trauma? Either way, she prayed he didn't catch up with that soldier. Maybe he could win, but he only had five hit points left.

  Whatever that actually meant.

  Despite the situation Freya couldn't help but smile. Hit points, levels, classes, when she had some time she would like to sit down and figure out how all that worked. It probably didn't take many pages to get something functional.

  Freya gave one last look toward where the boy had ran. Guilt crept up her throat. But she couldn't keep going. What if he ran into another patrol? How many fights could she get in before she made a mistake that cost her everything? No. It was time to find her friends.

  Freya made for the river, the bridge wouldn't be too much further.

  #

  ?

  Cett's Crossing was an oversized stone bridge. Zora and a now bandaged Roman were waiting at the center of the bridge for Freya. They both gave her a look, not dissimilar from the one her parents often gave her these days. It was a challenge to ignore it. Roman looked alright considering how bad that gash on his arm seemed. For that she was thankful.

  "You've got…" Zora pointed at her face.

  "Holy shit Freya," Roman said.

  A quick wipe had Freya's hand covered in drying blood. She was probably quite the sight. "How is he?"

  Roman stood up straight. "He is fine, but we shouldn't linger. They will be coming this way soon."

  They all took his suggestion and started walking again. Roman and Zora both moved to help her upon seeing her limp, but she waved them off. If she could kill twelve people, she could damn well walk on her own. It was ungodly late, Freya felt a slight tugging at her mind.

  "Just what the hell was all that?"

  "The Tsar, he's launching a full scale invasion of the Bygone League's northeastern flank. He's been preparing for a while, but the notice in The Mind's Mirror said an attack wasn't expected for another month," Zora said.

  "The Bygone League…is that where we are traveling through?"

  "No. Further south. Fable-Walkers aren't usually allowed in the League anyway."

  "Then where are we now?"

  "Depends who you ask. The Bygone League insists this is their land, so do the Valorians. They've been fighting over the Plains of Mourning for centuries, and they both consider this region part of that. About five people from The Gate thinks this whole river belongs to them. But most map-makers outside of those nations mark this land as unclaimed. I know this is a bad first impression, but it's usually quite peaceful."

  "But why attack us if they were just passing through?"

  "It's something the Tsar's soldiers are known for."

  Pieces started to come together. Tsar was an interesting title for someone born in MythHarbor. But it made sense for someone from the Source. Rep said a lunatic from their world had taken over the Bluffs. What kind of person living in the twenty-first century would discover this world, and then try to rule as some dictator?

  Roman spat. "Fucking Sulivar, couldn't be happy with his own little fiefdom."

  "Wait, Sulivar?"

  Just as that revelation shook her, Freya dropped like a sack of potatoes.