4

It wasn't until the next day that I was really able to think through my new situation.

I didn't wake suddenly, starting with confusion. One would expect that, given my predicament. No – it didn't happen like that. As my shoulder rocked back and forth beneath Malora's fingers, I instead came to with a slow, lucid realization. Events formed and coalesced in my foggy mind. Images drifted across one another and built into a single, solid epiphany.

Wet grass tickled the backs of my hands. As I opened my eyes, beads of dew caught the wan light and shone like burning quicksilver. Slender, unfamiliar tree limbs cast shadows across my eyes.

I felt as if I were rising from a deep pool of crystalline water. My mind seemed to gasp, to sputter, and then to cry out in triumph:

This is Hyrule!

My heartbeat quickened. Every sense snapped into clarity as sharp as a razor's edge. No wavering; no bargaining; no stubborn sense of denial. It was simple: This was Hyrule. I had just woken up in Hyrule. Honest-to-God, in the flesh, solid and unyielding. Moist, cool, and still. Smelling of old smoke and damp leaves.

I slid a hand across one boney cheek and felt the insistent prickle of two days' stubble. Above me, Malora rose to her feet and smiled warmly. "Sleep well?" she asked.

A sure, strange giddiness took hold of me. A flood of emotions, some clashing violently against others: Excitement, tingling my limbs and brightening some inscrutable spot behind my innards. Fear and dread, twisting my small intestine and summoning a light sweat to my forehead. Inexplicable arousal (or perhaps not so inexplicable, given the lines of Malora's body as they appeared and disappeared through her dress), quickening my loins and forcing me to shift position for fear of being noticed. Certainty – that I was very much awake and very sane. Doubt, glowering like a misshapen gargoyle in the back of my mind.

That last feeling seemed to lunge forward and take hold of me then. It threatened to wipe away the beautiful, solid exultation of that first personal admission. All of this is impossible, I thought. There is no way that any of this can possibly be happening. Face it, Linus – none of this makes any sense. I am inside a video game. A video game. Absurd. Absolutely fucking absurd.

"Well? Don't be a lazy-bones, Linus. If you want to break your fast before we leave, you need to get up." Malora put her hands on her hips and gave me a playfully disapproving look.

Malon: A video game character. A new sensation flooded in with the others, roaring through my head like a maelstrom – vertigo. A kind of intellectual dizziness that threatened to pummel me down and leave me senseless, gasping for air, unable to move. How many times had I watched a polygon version of this girl stroll across a television screen – smiling, waiting, and rocking back and forth just as she was now? Had the outer dreams of my youth really been made flesh?

That sweet, secret spot that floated beyond the pit of my stomach fluttered with terror and elation.

I couldn't let all that sudden, buzzing energy go to waste. I launched upward with a growing grin, eager to take hold of my excitement and outrun my doubts. Carpe diem, motherfucker. I'll worry about my sanity later.

As I stretched my shoulders, exulting in the pop of compressed joints, Malora smiled and swayed expectantly. "So, I take it that you did sleep well," she said. I let loose an untamed, warbling yawn and nodded. "Good," she said. "We have a long way to go today. All the way to Oloro."

I nodded again and tried to mask the oily unease that slithered over me. No – no time for that now. "I should probably change clothes," I announced. With hands clasped together, I arched my back and managed to stretch even further and more fully. Stiff muscles and tight ligaments seemed to release every bit of their tension. Glorious.

Wait.

This was a daily ritual, usually performed in the temple of my bathroom. Often half-asleep and always a quarter-aware, I slipped through the motions with the sureness of any ingrained habit. For more than half a week, the morning ritual had ended in exactly the same way: A blast of ragged pain that doubled me over and ripped me decisively from any lingering slumber. Cracked ribs, singing their jagged song as I languidly stretched backward. Four mornings with the same four outcomes – me bunched up on the toilet seat, sweating, wide-eyed, with moaned curses contorting my lips.

Today, there was no pain.

I slipped a furtive hand under my shirt and probed up the side of my ribcage. Something dull and hateful ached when I pressed hard, like a fading old bruise. Otherwise, the sharp molten agony of the broken ribs was gone.

"Well?" Malora said. Her voice stole to me as if from a great distance.

I tried to compose myself. "Mah - um," I muttered. "Malora. Do I still have a black eye?"

She looked at me oddly – ever oddly – but not with the obvious confusion she had worn the day before. "You mean the mark you bore after yesterday's battle?"

"Yes."

She grew a tiny, pleased smirk. A cat, playing contentedly with a mouse between its paws. "Nay, Linus. Nay. It wasn't terrible yesterday. In fact, if I were to guess, you got that prize some time ago. This morning, no sign of it remains." She slipped past me and giggled. "I wonder why that is?"

It only took a moment. "The red potion," I marveled.

Those coy blue eyes seemed to dance, mirthful. "See? Hyrule ain't so hard to understand. Best get to changin', like you said. Father wants to go as soon as possible."

I watched her round the wagon and heard her begin to converse quietly with Tash.

You really are an outerlander, aren't you?

Nonplussed, I scooped up my bag. I exulted in the new freedom from pain in every movement, and headed into the groves of trees that lined the nearby brook.

Tiny, blue and gray birds hopped between the branches overhead. The stream tumbled down into a lowland, where fog swam about the surface of the water.

Okay. All right, I thought. Let's just slow it down a bit. Need to think. Need to sort things out. Get a handle on all this. I haven't been able to process anything since yesterday. It all just . . . built up. And then it spilled over me and smothered my thoughts. I had probably been in minor physical shock as well, given my injuries and the sudden emotional strain that accompanied them. That hadn't helped any.

So. So so so. Now what? Now fucking what? I glanced over my shoulder, back to the campsite. I could see Ingo, tall and dark as a shadow thrown by last night's fire, as he set about feeding and re-hitching the oxen. Now what? Now I adapt, that's fucking what. Now I figure out how it all works. Now I figure out how I got here, what "here" is, and eventually, how to get home.

Yes. I'd done it before, hadn't I? Christ, it felt like an epoch had passed between the time I had hauled the Master Sword from its pedestal and this bright, airy morning. But still . . . there was something there. This had happened to me before. Now? Now I just needed to figure out how it all connected together.

And so, as I dressed in the early morning shade, I took inventory. My total physical possessions – all I had in this wide strange world – were thus:

– One (1) Nike-brand vinyl duffle bag (black).
– One (1) pair of denim jeans (grass-stained).
– One (1) pair of socks (also likely grass-stained; very probably well on their way to smelling like a forgotten gym locker).
– One (1) pair of Reebok tennis shoes.
– Three (3) tee-shirts (one green, soiled; one burgundy, clean; one white, depicting a caricature of "Waldo" urinating from a fishing boat, also clean).

(It did not take long to decide on which shirt to change into. I slipped on the plain, dark red shirt and packed its brother deep in the bowels of the duffel bag.)

– One (1) pair of polyester running shorts (blue).
– Six (6) pairs of boxer shorts (one currently worn; five in various checkered colors, unsoiled).

(At least, I thought ruefully, I have plenty of clean underwear.)

– One (1) plastic lighter (green).
– One (1) elastic hair band (white).

No wallet. My mission to the EXPRESS PAWN had filled me with a purposeful kind of paranoia. I had wanted no one to know who I was, no matter what.

No watch. I had left it at home. Why? Unimportant.

No phone. No money – not even pocket change. No maps or compass. No guns, knives, grenades, flamethrowers, or body armor. No strategy guide. No hastily-printed list of cheat codes and 'sploits.

However, there was also:

– One (1) Master Sword.

As I pulled on what new clothes I could, I stared at the weapon nestled at my feet. The faded blue of its hilt and pommel seemed to shimmer in the morning twilight. Its blade rippled like mercury as it caught the shadows cast by leaves overhead.

For the first time, its presence didn't fill me with any kind of unease. It was the one constant between this place and my own, however distant that might be. Rather than an intruder and a usurper of worlds, it seemed like an old and reliable friend. Don't worry, it seemed to say. Everything will work out. It will all be fine.

I found that, in a strange way, I finally trusted it.

A sudden frown twisted my lips. Trust a sword? What the fuck was I thinking? The slip-sliding sense of doubt in my own sanity squirmed back into my head like an eel. For a moment, I felt my extremities go numb with fear and anxiety.

Oh Jesus. Trust a sword. Trust a sword. Malon, Talon, Ingo, Hyrule. I've gone fucking bonkers!

The moment passed quickly. As before, a mix of excitement and cool pragmatism washed away the doubt and fear. No matter what happened, this was no time to hesitate. No time to be paralyzed by self-defeating thoughts or worry. If I gave in to my personal darkness now, I really would go insane – or worse. All that mattered was to follow along and try to figure out just what had deposited me here. Here: A dreamscape, modeled after a world I had imagined since childhood.

There it was again: Giddy, surreal elation. I had spent the better part of my life obsessed with these games. And now I was part of one!

Don't be a fool.

This was not a video game. It was real. Very real. Not some construct or graphical illusion. These were not pixels, polygons, or shaders. The trees smelled of sap and new growth. The stream burbled over rocks and under rotting logs. Distantly, I could just pick out the rank, greasy stink of ox dung. From the other direction came the spicy-sharp, earthy scent of wet grass, borne along on a barely-perceptible breeze. And if I needed anything more concrete, the subtly itching wound on my face was all the evidence necessary. I traced its bottom edge with one finger and felt tiny, hot pinpricks race away at my touch.

I narrowed my eyes, crossed my arms, and stared out over the plains. The hills were an undulating gray-green in the light of early morning.

I'm a stranger here, I realized. No matter how many times I've visited Hyrule through a video game console, I'll still be at a disadvantage until I learn more. It's obvious that there are parallels, yes, and many of them. But – I needed to get the lay of the land before I put any of my previous experience to good use.

Just as I had taken inventory of my physical possessions, I needed to take stock of what I knew and how I could use it. Yes. This was imperative.

I scowled. But what did I really have? Just words. Individual words, like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle strewn across a kitchen floor. Words like moblin, Great Bay, Eldin, outerlander, Daphnes, Malon, palebelly, Hero of Time . . . and Ganon. It was that last word that intrigued and unnerved me the most. I had felt the chill of it when Karrik said the name the day before, and I felt that same cold finger trace down my spine as I stood in the quiet grove off the travelers' rest.

Ganon. The name brought back unbidden memories in a tangle of association. Grinning, dead-eyed pictures of a pig-faced villain with a trident in one stunted hand. Controllers slick with sweat. Thin, screeching howls and booming dark laughter. Arrows of silver and gold. Crossed swords; razor-sharp tusks; purple shades that disappeared and reappeared like nightmares. Even the strange, paint-by-numbers Ganon of The Book of Archemon returned to me then, borne as if from someone else's lifetime.

My brother is Elkan Fir-Bulbin, captain of Lord Ganon's southern raiders. Do you understand yet?

I swallowed. My throat felt dry. A feverish feeling spread across my forehead.

Did I understand? I wanted to think that I was starting to . . . but that was bullshit. I was a long fucking way from understanding. My mental inventory only yielded fantasies – television screen fancies of days past (and to be honest, not very long past at all). What I thought was "understanding" – the knowledge of The Legend of Zelda and all it entailed – was likely only a drop in the bucket.

"Oy! Quit daydreamin'! Ingo wants to get to Oloro before the gates close!"

The rough, rolling voice broke against my reverie like waves against a cliff side. I snapped to attention and spun about, eyes wide. Ingo stood at the periphery of the grove, his arms crossed and his face inscrutable.

"Well?" he growled.

A tiny, frigid wire of fear worked its way into the base of my brain. "S-sorry," I mumbled. "Just – I was just taking in the view."

Ingo grunted, "Aye, and a fine view it is. All the same, Ingo and the others are ready to break fast and take to the road." He gave me an obvious, appraising look. "No words on this one?" he asked after a short time.

"What?"

"No letters on yonder shirt," Ingo said. "Your last one had 'em. Words of a queer sort."

"Oh." Even though I had been half-asleep, I remembered the conversation I had overheard the night before. "Yeah," I stammered, "no letters on this one."

Ingo lifted his chin in awkward acknowledgment. "Aye, then. Hurry it up." With one last glance, full of exposed suspicion, he walked back toward the fire pit at the center of the campsite.

I watched his back as he went, fear giving way to slow annoyance and anger. The muscles between my shoulder blades knotted with tension. I'm going to keep my eye on you, Ingo. Oh yes. I'd better, if I know what's good for me. Once upon a time, a man very similar to you – even identical, truth be told – ended up betraying some folks I had become very fond of. Folks that are feeling very familiar right now. He even had the same name. Funny, huh?

It took only a moment to gather my things, steel myself, and head back into camp.

We ate a breakfast of leftover bread, twillberries, and a mild white cheese cut straight from the wheel. Tash, all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed despite the hour, seemed enthused by my more energetic manner.

"Sleep," he opined, "is indeed the greatest cleanser."

Mouth full of cheese, I merely nodded half-hearted agreement.

As we had slept under the stars, there was blessedly little to pack back into the wagon. By the time we had finished with breakfast, our little group was only a few brief preparations away from being ready to depart. Soon enough, I hauled myself back up into the bucket seat, the strap of my duffel bag tight around my shoulder. The sun had crept furtively into the eastern sky by the time we left the campground, throwing tentative waves of pale light across the sweeping prairie.