"Land of the Green Blade" by Tiffany J. Dunn

CHAPTER ONE

"Hello Brit!"

"Susan! Hi! Come on in, it's cold outside." I shut the door behind my editor and ushered her into the living room. "Did we have an appointment I forgot?"

"No, no. Nothing like that. I came to congratulate you on the success of Land of the Green Blade. It's hit the bestseller list!" She smiled excitedly and sat down on the couch. I grinned back and sat down next to her.

"Thanks. To tell you the truth, I was surprised." Susan laughed and patted my knee.

"I told you it was good. Some day you'll have to listen to me."

"If I didn't listen to you, Sue, I'd have found a different editor by now," I responded. She had been my editor for almost ten years now, and a friend almost as long. "Would you like some coffee or something? I heard the temperature was nearly 10 below with wind chill." She nodded emphatically.

"At least. I can't believe you moved out here from San Diego, what were you thinking!" I didn't respond, but went into the kitchen to prepare the coffee. I opened up the bag, inhaling the sweet scent of the beans, distracted by the mention of my home city.

"Brittany?" I gasped and spun around, startled. "I'm sorry," Sue said, holding up her hands apologetically, "I didn't mean to scare you. Didn't you hear me?"

"No, I was...distracted. What was it you wanted?" I said, turning back to the now-spilled coffee bag.

"Well," I could feel her eyes boring into my head, she was good at that. "I asked why you really did leave San Diego. Whenever you talk about it, it's always in glowing words and wistful tones. If you loved it so much, why did you leave?"

"Strong or medium coffee?"

"Strong." She waited a few seconds in silence. "Well?"

I looked at her with a small smile. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

Susan laughed. "I'm an editor for fantasy books. I can be made to believe anything." She tilted her head and met my smile with a serious expression. "Please, Brit. We've been friends for a long time, yet I feel like I hardly know anything about you sometimes. If there's a problem, I'd like to help." I sighed and pushed the start button on the machine.

"I don't know, Sue. It's not a problem exactly..." But that was a lie. It was the reason I still lived alone, at 28. It was the reason I woke up in tears every so often. It was the reason I felt compelled to write. "Hypothetically speaking, let's say I tell you and you don't believe me. Will you promise not to tell anyone -- not your husband, or your kids, or a psychiatrist?" Susan blinked and looked worried. Well, good. I didn't want her to enter into this lightly.

"I swear, Brit. I won't tell a soul. Even if I believe you."

"Point taken. Go sit down in the living room and I'll bring out the coffee and some food. This may take a little while. Do you have the time?"

"I'll call my husband and tell him to make dinner without me. It'll be good for him." Sue smiled and left the kitchen. I thumped my head into the cabinet over the stove. The coffee smell still permeated my senses, but my stomach was churning. This is dumb. This is crazy. I'm crazy! She'll think I'm crazy, at least. I have to tell someone. It's been 15 years...

I shook my head furiously, feeling my ponytail swing back and forth. I cleaned up the mess quickly and put the bag away. I pulled out some potato chips and cookies and put them on a tray. I poured out two cups of coffee and set the rest of it on the tray as well. We'd probably need it.

Walking back into the living room, I found Sue speaking quietly into the phone. As I entered she finished her conversation quickly and hung up. "What a healthy meal, Brit."

"If you're going to criticize me-"

"I was just commenting." She took her cup and sipped a little. "I need to get a coffee maker like yours. You have the best instant coffee of anyone I know."

"It's not the maker, it's the beans."

We sat in silence for a bit, sipping my great coffee.

"So. Does this...incident have to do with a friend? Or a lover?" She said the latter hesitantly.

"Yes. And no." I chewed my lower lip indecisively. It was a habit he had always picked on me about. "He was...a friend, and much more. Spiritual almost."

"Like God, huh?"

I smiled in remembrance. "God. He'd like that." Now or never, Brit. You tell her or you don't. "Let me tell you what happened. Please don't interrupt me. Save your questions for later and all that." I took one last sip of coffee and set it down on the tray. "I hate to start like this, but, it all started the summer when I was 13..."

CHAPTER TWO

I had just finished seventh grade, and although I liked school, I was like any normal kid and I liked summer more. It gave me more valuable reading time. I was an only, and a lonely, child. My father was in the Navy and away a lot and my mother was "out." She was trying not to be lonely. I suppose I was too young for her to really spend much time with. And no, I'm not bitter about my family situation. It enticed me to more solitary activities; among which reading was my greatest comfort. I could get lost in a book, immersing myself with the characters, even becoming them for a short while. When they hurt, I hurt. When they succeeded, I was elated. It was a comfortable situation for me.

But after years and years of reading, especially fantasy novels, I realized that summer that I wanted something more. I didn't want to just read about these adventures any longer, I wanted to actually be in them. I wanted to be the fairytale princess or the heroic female adventurer, anything but Brittany, the kid. It’s tough to play-act by yourself. When you have to be the villian, the princess, the rescuer, AND his horse, it gets tiresome.

I had a diary at the time, it gave me someone who I could always talk to. And I ended up writing my first story in that diary. Mom had been gone all day, whisked away by some guy she’d met from the personals, and I had spent the day pretending I was Robin Hood and his band of merry thieves. The afternoon had been a disaster, all I managed to do was rip my bathrobe in a quick wardrobe change from Friar Tuck to Little John. As I sat hunched over the robe, sewing away, I saw a book about Robin Hood lying nearby on the floor. That got me to thinking. Why not write my adventures? Cuts down on wear and tear, and is much easier to have a cast of thousands.

So, pencil in hand and eraser heartily chewed, I set out to write the story of the Amazing Brittany and her Band of Merry Do-Gooders. Or something. It was a terrible story, really. Punctuation was wrong, grammar was poor, even the idea was goofy. But it meant something to me. Something really important. I poured myself out into that story, getting carried away in the grip of the adventures my alter-ego was having. Imagine my joy! Here, here was my chance. Not only could I live the stories I loved so much, but I could control the outcomes.

For a month, I wrote diligently. Stories of heart-rending romance, comic adventure, and spine-stealing terror. The best part was that I always won. And why not? I was in charge. But more than that, I was involved. And then I got too involved.

Sometime during the beginning of July, I remember because it was a little after Independence Day, I wrote a good story. A really good story. It was about an elf, in the most generic sense of the word, named Halishan. In my story, he was lost and alone like I was, and searching for someone with whom he could connect. It chronicled his journey to find this person, the troubles he went through and the people he met and the ways he changed. That’s where I got the idea for Green Blade from, from that story. Regardless, I started to dream about him. I had poured so much of my own wants into that story that it became a kind of alternate reality for me. Of course I couldn’t analyze it like this at the time. It was the place I kept returning day after day, where I could write about this poor soul who was searching and enduring for another that he didn’t even know yet. And at night, I was the person he found. Oh, it wasn’t sexual, I wasn’t interested in that beyond simple kisses. It was so much deeper than that. So much more vivid and real.

Two weeks later…he was standing at my door.

CHAPTER THREE

Susan lowered the cup of coffee from her lips and back to the saucer she held tightly in her hand. "At your door? In the flesh?" The doubt almost made me stop telling her. I knew this was dumb.

"Yes. At my door. Didn’t I tell you to save your questions? I told you it was unbelievable. But this is the most authentic, clear memory I have. That first day, when I saw him standing at my door."

"Sorry. I have to know some things, though. How did you know that it was him?"

"I just knew. The way he looked was exactly how he had appeared in my dreams. And there was the strangest connection between us. It was as if…" my writer’s mind supplied an appropriate simile. "As if when we looked at each other the music of my dreams that had been playing in the back of my mind those past weeks had suddenly swelled into a symphony of attachment. He had found what he had quested so hard for, and I had my hero." I half-smiled and looked down at the tray on the table. Scooping a handful of potato chips out of the bag, I ate them, crunching loudly in the silence.

"Brit, but…how?"

That was a fair enough question. I finished off the chips in my hand and wiped my hands along my pant leg. Settling back into the armchair, I continued for my editor and friend.

CHAPTER FOUR

How is a good question. Later, I would be told that a talisman of great power that he had found, the Claw of Kygreth, had magical properties that allowed the bearer to travel between worlds. Of course I knew that, because I had made the damn thing up. I knew its history and what it did. And its drawbacks. It lasted only so long as the bearer’s health. While it was powerful, it had to feed off of Halishan’s own life force. Everything in this new world was too alien for the talisman to power itself and it would slowly weaken Halishan until such time that he could no longer resist the pull back to his own world, and he would have to go. You know all this, because this, too, was in the Green Blade.

But how did a character from a book materialize into the ‘Real’ world? We’ll get there in a bit.

I opened the door, expecting to see my mother, although she hardly ever was home that early unless the date was really bad, and was confronted by the literal elf of my dreams. He was perfect, just what I had imagined. Just shy of five and a half feet, long limbs, lean, muscular frame. He had a wild mane of golden blonde hair, of course, and entrancing greenish gold eyes. Beautiful. I had spent hours deciding on his eyes, describing them to myself in careful words. And it showed in the figure who stood before me. He had the typical elven ears, slender and with delicate pointed tips. You know what’s funny, though, is that I don’t remember what he was wearing. I can see everything with pinpoint accuracy except that, and my mind fills it in for me. One day it’s a pair of commoner’s breeches and a tunic. On some days I see him in fancy adventuring garb, wearing a vest but no shirt.

I remember with perfect clarity the first thing he did after I opened the door, though. He reached out one perfect, slender hand, and took my own in it. He was warm and very real. And then he bowed low over my shaking hand and kissed it gently. I think that was about when I fainted.

The next thing I recall is seeing those gorgeous eyes up close and personal, concerned and worried for me. Halishan had carried me into the room, shutting the door behind him, and laid me down on the couch. He straightened up when I opened my eyes, and stood stock still, not touching anything. I think he was afraid he might upset the spirits of this house because he had entered without permission, a grave crime on his world.

"Halishan?" I croaked out, even though I knew it had to be him.

He looked down at me and smiled like the rising sun. "Itashe! Halishan! Miscate roya celcem faror mis. Rentase cuo quesni tirio litake?" I shook my head as he spit out the words. His voice was wondrously strong, a tenor, just like I had dreamed. And if everything on paper came out in reality, then he could sing to rival Mario Lanza.

"Rentase cuo quesni tirio litake?"

"I don’t understand," I said. I gestured helplessly and sat up. "You aren’t speaking English." I regretted those words as they came out. Of course he couldn’t speak English, you retard.

He frowned at me, gloriously, and then smiled again. A dusty pack lay against the couch and he kneeled down next to it. Untying the rope that held it shut, he rifled around, intently searching for something that I hoped would be useful. He pulled out a small box, made of a material that looked like wood, and opened it slowly. Inside, cushioned on a tiny pillow, lay a ring. It was dull and black, with no apparent carvings or gems or any decorations on it. However, he removed it almost reverently, and took my right hand with a cautious glance. I nodded and watched as he silently placed the ring on my index finger, noticing as he did so that he had its twin on his own right index finger. He closed my hand into a fist, and held it tightly gripped between his own for a few seconds. The blood was pulsing in his hand and I could feel it from the close contact. He smelled of the earthy aroma of a pine forest. I closed my eyes to concentrate on the sensations.

"Do you understand me?"

His melodius voice tickled my ears, prodding my eyes open. Open-mouthed, I couldn’t find the words to answer, so I simply nodded.

"Ah. That is excellent!" Another fabulous smile. "I was concerned that after all this time, a simple obstacle such as language would keep us apart. I have traveled very far to find you."

"You have?" I couldn’t believe how ridiculous I was sounding. In retrospect, I can’t really blame myself though. It’s not everyday that a character from a story shows up on your doorstep with a smile and a magical ring.

"Yes. It is a great tale, I could tell you if you like?" He looked so hopeful that I almost agreed. But then I thought, I already know this story. I need to know new things. How did you get here, for starters. Why are you standing in my living room? Do I need to feed you?

"Perhaps later. Halishan…" there were so many urgent questions. "Are you hungry?"

He laughed, and I thought my heart would stop. There was something so alien and magnificent about him that it shattered all of my preconceived notions of beauty, something my mind was trying to catch up with. "I am full, but thank you. Are you feeling well? You fainted back at the door, but you seem fine now."

"Yes. I’m fine. Are you thirsty?" Defensive mechanisms a la Brittany : when faced with an imaginary being come to life, offer him sustenance until he accepts.

"I am quite taken care of…" he trailed off, thinking. "I don’t know your name!" he cried, standing again. "I am Halishan Kivencor of the House of Kivencor, rulers of the land of Lisista, which lies on the world of Taliktie." He formally bowed before my stunned form. "May I have the pleasure of knowing your name?"

"Brittany. My name is Brittany Sampson. Of..of the house of Leon and Mary Sampson. This is America. On the world Earth."

He looked very seriously at me. "Brit-ta-ny. Samp-son. Brittany Sampson. That is foreign to my tongue, but I will practice it to make sure I am saying it correctly. Brittany Sampson."

"You can call me just ‘Brittany,’ if you want."

Halishan bowed again before me. "Brittany. That is a fine name." His praise swelled my thoughts with pride, even though I really had had no choice in naming myself. "I shall call you Brittany. Please, call me Halishan as well."

Nodding, I folded my hands into my lap, and leaned against the couch back. Halishan was looking around, but standing very still otherwise. "Halishan," I liked saying that name. "Please sit down. You’re welcome in my house." The thought crossed my mind that that would be disputed by my mother, but ignored it for the time being. "Are you sure you don’t need anything?"

He tentatively sat down on the couch, tensed for something, a lightning bolt from the gods maybe, I don’t know. When none came, he relaxed more, but he had excellent posture.

"Brittany," he turned towards me, and held my gaze with those wonderful eyes. "As I said, I have come from very far away, through many dangerous trials to find you. I am an excellent swordsman, I have a sharp wit, and I am the most charming being on Taliktie, however," he modestly raised a hand, "even with all of my superior qualities, I had much trouble. The rings we both wear now, this," he gestured at the Claw of Kygreth hanging from a strap made of animal hide around his neck, "and other items did I have to secure before finding you. I sought out the wisest of sorcerers, the strongest of warriors, and the most holy of men for aid, yet in the end it was my own self that conquered the barriers between us." I didn’t remember writing such a large ego into the elf, but decided that if I had, it would be fixed at the first opportunity.

"And so," he continued, oblivious to my internal editing, "it is now that I sit before you. Tired, hardened from travel, but fulfilled in your presence, as surely you must be in mine." Nodding, I chewed thoughtfully on my lower lip. He frowned and quietly said, "You should not do that. It’s not…proper."

I stopped in mid-chew, and looked around and then said, "What?"

"That," he pointed at my mouth with a perfect finger. I half expected it to have nail polish at this point. "You should not chew on your lip like that." He dropped his hand, and shook his head, smiling. "Listen to me. How rude. We have been together for so short a time, and yet I criticize you. Forgive me, Brittany." This was better. I nodded and returned the smile. "There is so much I wish to ask you. And tell you. I don’t know how much time I have on your world, Milock only said that it would be limited. Sorcerers tend to be very secretive on our world, is it the same on yours?"

"No. Well, we don’t really have sorcerers. Not like you. Our worlds are quite different. Milock, he has pale blue hair, doesn’t he?" I remembered old Milock from my story. He had been the one to give Halishan the Claw. I wondered briefly if someone had stolen my diary and concocted a huge joke on me, but no one could look like Halishan, not even with the best special effects team on the planet.

"Yes, he does. Do you know him? How did you know my name, when I was unaware of yours? Brittany, did you have visions much as I did?"

This was the tricky part. What could I tell him? ‘No, I don’t have visions, I think what my problem is is that I suffer from intense delusions.’ So I did what I thought best. I lied.

"Yes, in a way. I didn’t know they were visions at first, but ideas came to me, and I wrote them do-"

"You write! Excellent! You must have a mind worthy for me to speak with then."

"Ah. Yes, well," I shifted, bringing one knee up onto the couch and resting my head along the top edge. My mom had just vacuumed the couch that morning, and I could smell the lingering traces of upholstry cleaner. "Yes, I write. I wrote my visions down. I believe they are visions of your journey. I could show them to you, if you like?"

"Most definitely! Did you write them in the common tongue or Royal Gileth?" I could tell from his tone which answer was the right one. I wondered what ‘English’ would be considered. Probably common.

"Let me show you. We have different languages on this world, as you know. You might not be able to read what I put down. Wait here for a second."

"A second? Is that what you wrote the visions down in?" I groaned inwardly. Of course he wouldn’t recognize some of our distinctly human doings. Troublesome worries began to pile up in the back of my mind.

"It’s part of how we tell time. Just wait here." A confused look on his face, he shrugged and clasped his hands together in front of him, waiting. I ran down the hallway, bursting into my room. My diary was laying just where I had left it the night before, open to that evening’s journal entry. Curious, I read what I had written, wondering if it would help me understand what was happening.

"Dear Diary,

Today was not very good. Mom left early in the morning before I got up,

and got back after I was supposed to have been in bed. She has been out

a lot more lately. I worry about what will happen when Dad gets back

from this tour. I think he said it would be October or November. Too far

away for me. Maybe if they divorce I can live with Dad, but the courts

probably wouldn’t let me. I’m used to being by myself now.

On a positive note, I completed more of Halishan’s story. He just defeated

a very powerful creature, but I knew he could. He is getting close to his

goal. I think that the last thing he has to do is connect to her. She has to

call out to him, just before he gives up. And at the moment, he can take the

Claw, and be with her. I am happy to almost have the story done. I

would try and get it published, but I’m afraid someone I know would read

it and make fun of me.

I wish we had a pet at least.

I wish Halishan were here. He would make things better. I know exactly

what I would say if I was the girl he was looking for.

Halishan! I need you!

It’s too bad I’m not. Well, I am getting sleepy Diary. I will talk to you again

soon. Love you!

I focused on the three words, I need you. Had it really happened? The frightening reality of it struck me at that moment, and I shoved the book off of the table, watching as it tumbled to the floor.