The Land Beyond All Dreams (24 page)

By day, I’m a mild-mannered IT tech, and by night, a writer who spends too much time in online games.

I grew up reading classical authors such as Verne, Burroughs, Wells, Haggard, and Lovecraft, often in conjunction with large doses of
Monty Python
,
Wild Wild West
, and
Hee-Haw
. My current influences include
Doctor Who
,
Girl Genius
, and
An Idiot Abroad
.

I began writing professionally as a member of the content design team for the
MMORPG Istaria: Chronicles of the Gifted
. My first published short stories appeared in the anthologies
The Mystical Cat
and
Gears and Levers III
in 2012.

I live in Denver with my wife, Noelle, and daughter, Alissa. The three of us can often be found prowling around Istaria, Wizard City, and the wilds of Azeroth. I also make occasional side jaunts to scavenge bits of ancient technology in the radioactive ruins of the Grand Canyon Province.

* * * *

Did you enjoy The Land Beyond All Dreams? If so, please help us spread the word about Bryan Fields and MuseItUp Publishing. It's as easy as:

•Recommend the book to your family and friends

•Post a review

•Tweet and Facebook about it

Thank you

MuseItUp Publishing

by Bryan Fields

A lot of guys claim to have hot girlfriends.  David Fraser has one who actually breathes fire. 

Rose Drake is a Dragoness in Human form, come to Earth for three years to soak up the local energy and increase her chances of having happy, healthy, baby hatchlings when she goes home.  In exchange for his time and energy, David’s body and love life both undergo extreme makeovers.  It sounds like the deal of a lifetime.

Fate doesn’t let David and Rose off so easily.  A friend of theirs is murdered, their homeowner’s association starts harassing them, and they have to complete a quest for an Elven sage in order to stop a genocidal Unicorn from turning Earth into a radioactive wasteland.

After all, when you’re dating a Dragon, you’re already a hero.  It says so in the fine print.

Caution: Bind on Pick-Up

The girl walked like Superman.

I don’t mean she was strutting her muscles, or striking a heroic pose; it was her confidence. She walked through the Friday night traffic on Federal Boulevard as though the cars should fear hitting
her
. Maybe they did at that, because the traffic parted for her like the Red Sea before Moses. She reached the sidewalk without being touched and kept on in a straight line directly for me. I didn’t move or turn away; I was too busy staring.

She crossed the Masonic Temple’s parking lot and stopped right in front of me. “I am here for fantasy. Is this correct?”

I blinked, trying to decide exactly what she was asking. “This is the Metro Denver Speculative Fiction Society meeting, yes. Is this your first time here?”

“First time here, yes. First time for everything here,” she replied. “Am I acceptable?”

“Oh, yes,” I said—and she was. Black hair with metallic purple highlights, short on top and down to her waist in back, yet somehow looking nothing like a mullet. A heart-shaped face with jade-green eyes and a pixie smile. Lavender eye shadow and matching lipstick. Both eyes were outlined by an Eye of Horus, the lower arm of each sweeping down and around her cheekbones. Black leather trench coat over matching roach killers, shotgun-washed jeans, and a T-shirt proclaiming, ‘Kiss me twice, I’m Schizophrenic’.

I’d read Burton’s translation of
The Thousand and One Nights
back in high school. In most of the stories in it, women were described as graceful as gazelles, and having a countenance as pale and beautiful as the full moon. The first young man who sees them falls instantly in love—followed by calling a lawyer, writing up a contract, and giving her all his money. I always figured it was just more efficient to get that part out of the way up front.

But now, for the first time, I understood what Scheherazade had been talking about. Looking at this girl, I felt the magic of the full moon at midnight. I heard the wind rustling through the trees, the heartbeat of a stag running through the night, the roar of a river, surging and pounding, breaking even mountains with its touch. I didn’t just want to be with her; I wanted to be standing next to her on the peak of a mountain, wearing a kilt and waving a claymore while Queen rocked out the background music.

I looked down at her shirt long enough to read it again and asked, “Is that a command, or just a suggestion?”

She smiled and reached out to me. “An invitation.”

“Well, then, I accept.” I put my arms around her, bent my head, and went for it with a full-body, lip-to-lip press, giving her my complete attention. Her body was sleek and sculpted like a gymnast’s, and holding her, I felt complete.

She broke it off with a turn of her head and a throaty growl. Or maybe it was a purr; I couldn’t be sure. She took a deep breath. “More.” She didn’t wait for a response. I heard the comments and snickering from the other folks in the area. I just didn’t care. Priorities, you know?

When we finished, she snuggled under my arm and leaned her head on my shoulder. “You,” she said. “I choose you.” She looked up, and this time her eyes had little flecks of gold in them. “Please say you accept.”

“What am I accepting?”

“Me. My choice of you.” She ran a finger down the center of my chest. “I choose, but you have to accept. It’s only for three years, if that helps.”

Behind me, Sharon made a loud coughing noise. “David, do you even know her first name? Remember what happened the last time a beautiful woman appeared out of nowhere and said, ‘I am for you’. Pfft! Ack! Dead!” Sharon was an old friend, curvy and Irish, with bright red hair and sparkling green eyes. Her wife Manya snickered, but refrained from piling on.

I shrugged. “What was it the Captain said? ‘A rose by any other name smells just as sweet’?” I leaned in for another, much gentler kiss. “I accept.” After I said it, I felt a change move through my head. It was like an otter on the parallel bars—fast, purposeful, and strange beyond words. In its wake was a whole new kinesthetic awareness, not just of my body, but of hers as well. I could also feel her emotions, and right now she was just as blissed out as I was.

“So, what is her name?” Sharon asked. “And the quote is from Shakespeare, numb nuts.” She parked her butt on the trunk of her Chevy and draped her arms over Manya’s shoulders.

My new girlfriend pulled a top hat from—well, somewhere—and put it on. “I’m Rose.” She said. She pressed against me and smiled at Sharon. “Rose Drake.”

I kissed her fingers. “David Fraser. It’s very good to meet you.”

Sharon rolled her eyes. “Watch out! Red Shirt walking!”

“Why does she say that?” Rose asked. “Is she teasing you about something?” I could tell Rose wasn’t angry, but she was confused and feeling very protective toward me. Then I realized Rose knew about Sharon. The last thing I wanted was for Rose to jump to the wrong conclusion.

I shook my head and stroked Rose’s shoulder. My touch seemed to reassure and relax her. “Sharon and I have known each other since we were kids, and we dated very, very briefly. We had exactly one dinner date, to be precise, and that was where Sharon met Manya. The Bollywood Siren here swept Sharon off her feet and out the door, leaving me to pay for three dinners.” I glowered at Manya in feigned outrage. “Never a mongoose around when you need one.”

“Watch it there, buddy. Her patronus is a mongoose.” Sharon gave Manya a peck on the cheek. “You know we’ll always be grateful to you for introducing us, Bigwig. That and, well, everything else.”

I couldn’t help feeling a twinge. Rose felt it as well and looked up at me. “You still have feelings for her. Should I be jealous?”

“No,” said Manya. “Please do not be jealous.” She placed her hand on Sharon’s shoulder. “We want you and David to be happy together, as happy as we are. Allow David to explain, and I hope you will understand.”

I looked at my watch. The doors wouldn’t open until a quarter of seven and we still had a few minutes. I lowered my voice and leaned in close to Rose. “There is more, but it’s nothing you need to worry about. I’ll explain later.”

Manya gave Sharon a sideways look. “David, tomorrow night we were planning on having butter chicken and doing Random Geeky Movies night. Would you two like to join us?”

“What, no vindaloo?”

“I am cooking, so there will always be vindaloo. Your tastebuds are pampered and weak.” She turned to Rose and asked, “Do you enjoy spicy food?”

Rose smiled and nodded.

I said, “I think that’s a yes. Can we bring anything?”

Manya said, “No” just as Sharon said, “Chocolate.”

“Chocolate it is,” I replied.

Rose stepped forward and touched her fingers to Manya’s cheek. “Chocolate. I did not know skin came in chocolate. It is a lovely color.”

Manya’s jaw dropped for a moment. She shook her head. “Ah, thank you. You have never seen anyone with dark skin?”

Sharon patted Manya’s shoulder. “Honey, I didn’t meet anyone who wasn’t Caucasian until I came to Denver. We don’t get to choose the places we grow up.”

Manya sighed. “You’re right. I never meet a fookin’ green-eye ginger Eye-ritch Cat-lick lassie when I was growing up, either.” Manya speaks English with only a trace of an accent, but her attempt at an Irish brogue sounds more like a Brooklyn Mafia moll. She added, “My parents owe their wealth to looking forward. They accept my ginger girl because our relationship is a symbol of the new India they are driving toward.”

Rose asked, “What do your parents do?”

“They are venture capitalists. I work for a branch of one of their companies, managing oil and gas investments.” Manya grimaced. “It is strange, but many Americans are more accepting of my being Hindu and lesbian than they are of my being a VC.”

I felt a sudden rush of excitement flowing through Rose. “You manage finances… I love discussing investment strategies. What is your average rate of return for your clients?”

To be honest, that wasn’t what Rose said. I have no idea what she actually did say, because she stopped speaking English and went off in a torrent of high finance gibberish only Manya understood. It was like, “Wah wah wah wah dollars, wah wah wah wah profit”. Sharon and I simply stood there and stared.

Thankfully, a loud clatter interrupted us and got everybody moving. Chains rattled against steel and hinges creaked as the Masonic Temple’s custodian opened the side door to let us in.

The club rented one of the rooms in the basement. The temple itself was off-limits to non-members, but the bathrooms were clean, the parking lot was well-lit, and the rent was reasonable.

I took Rose by the hand and we walked inside together.

The Exotic Girlfriend Check

Rose and I sat with my usual group of friends, the mostly single twenty-somethings with jobs, cars, and places of their own. I made introductions and left Rose alone while I hit the vending machine for some bottled water. I got back in time to catch Sharon trying to convince Rose to join in a mass trip to the ladies room.

“It’s just planning ahead,” Sharon told her. “You don’t want to wind up needing to go in the middle of the meeting and have to miss something, do you?”

Rose frowned at her. “I said my bladder is empty.”

Sharon tapped out and Miriam jumped in to replace her. “Rose, I’m going to assume you’re not from Earth and that this is your first encounter with human social norms. When a group of other women invite you to the ladies room, peeing is secondary. The main point of it is to talk about the guys without them hearing us.”

I took Rose’s water bottle back from her. “You should probably go,” I told her. “Resistance is futile.”

“Darn right,” Sharon said. The pack scooped Rose up and fast-marched her out the door. I put Rose’s water on her chair to mark her place.

Roger tapped me on the shoulder. “Hey, if your new girlfriend plays, give her the house rules and see if you can talk her into rolling a sawbones. You guys have shit for healing.” Roger ran a tabletop steampunk/fantasy RPG campaign every other Sunday. I’d say he was obsessed with it, except that he and his girlfriend, Claire, spent all the rest of their free time online, doing raids with their guild. Clearly, our campaign was just a passing diversion.

I gave him a nod. “Sure. First chance I get.”

The ladies returned just as Phil called the meeting to order. Most of the meeting was pretty standard stuff—discussions of new books, upcoming movie premiers, viewing parties for different television shows—but Rose wanted to do it all. She hadn’t been kidding when she said she was here for fantasy. She was interested enough in science fiction, but any fantasy related topic left her enraptured. She even agreed to give Roger’s game a try without knowing what ‘steampunk’ meant.