New Favorite Book

Looking for cover led to finding adventure by accident, which led to finding a way out on purpose.

The first thing Bea did after her escape was try to find a place, a place to think, to hide, to regroup. The back door lock of the library proved no challenge, much like most locks in unguarded places wouldn’t. She slipped in, hoping her slight form led to an unnoticed exit.

In the dark building, she found a place to hide, the end of a dark, long aisle of books. Even when not trying to elude lunatics, books held no special appeal for her, but she needed the security of one now.

A big one. One she could swing with both hands. She tip tested a few of the ones around her. Found one she felt would be the advantage she needed.

She had two fights on her hands, not counting the physical one she figured was coming now or soon. A fight of negative thoughts and a fight against fatigue. Fatigue was winning, but to be fair, it had home field advantage. Bea had barely slept in the four days since she was taken.

Negative thoughts, however, was the crafty lefty set to keep their team in the game.

They’re going to get you. They’re going to catch you. And it’s going to be so much worse now that you’ve made them mad. It was just business before, just trying to get your dad to do something they wanted. 

But now, you scarred that big bozo that thinks he’s so pretty. They’re done going easy on you.

Speaking of said big bozo, his voice bounced off the nearby walls outside. What was all bravado and smooth tones before, the fake buddy act gave way to vile curses and shouts.

“Find that little tramp, or, so help me, this is going to be the best you can hope for.”

Bea imagined him pointing at his face, where her size four shoe crashed into his oh-so-perfect nose. The crack was clear, crisp, and rang like a bell in her frightened ears. And when a racer hears a bell, she’s off.

But fatigue was getting its numbers together, and despite her terror, the big book began to slip, the clomp of it hitting the floor stirred her briefly, but not for long. She snatched it up, cradled it to her chest like a favored child, and drifted off again.

It wasn’t long before another sound, however, brought her situation into clear, sudden reality. The sound of someone else picking a lock.

And they were even quicker, and soon, heavy footsteps fanned out around her.

She gripped the big book, got it into swing position, tried like never before to quiet her breathing.

A flashlight’s beam gave her position away. It was now-not-so-pretty-boy. 

“There you are, you little--”

Old school berserker rage filled Bea’s little body then, she screamed and rushed him. She got the satisfaction of a hard shot to the ribs. While it felt good, it only did enough to double him over a bit. Just enough to throw the first punch of her life, a little chipping left jab that caught his broken nose flush.

He staggered, cursed, hit the shelf next to him in a stumble. Bea used her time wisely, getting past him.

She was almost to the door before the dark room got darker.

The negative voices had one last parting shot as she went under.

Did you hear what he just said he was going to do to you? Not pleasant…

She woke up. She didn’t expect to. And she certainly didn’t expect to wake up to what she woke up to.

The book was still clutched in her hands. It looked like it went to war, even had a scar (a tear in the cover). But it was still there in her hands.

And the title surprised her, too. Legends of the Far Side of Maratia.

“What is Maratia?,” she said, a cough cutting it roughly, the first sign of how long its been since she was, well, anything resembling healthy.

“You do not know of the land you stand on? Of the land that is your home?”

She jumped to her feet, book ready to swing again. It sort of worked once.

All that faced her was a creature. One she had to blink, shake her head (a mistake she regretted quickly), and look again to see if it was true.

Nope, didn't work, the six foot tall lizard with hair and dressed in robes was still standing in front of her.

“You have been gone a long time, Beatine. There is much we have to discuss on the way to your father.”

“How about we start with what and who you are? And if I’m dreaming? And how you sorta know my name?”

“It is no dream, only the prelude to a waking nightmare. It is the least important question, but I am Rygel, a humble foot soldier in the army of the Kingdom of Maratia. And I know your name, Beatine, because you are the hope and the future of us all.”

“This must be one hell of a concussion.” As an answer to Rygel’s quizzical look, she only shrugged. “Why not? Let’s go.”

Through a land the like of which she’d only seen in fantasy movies, complete with deep, dark forests, waterfalls, and, at the end, a castle the Brothers Grimm would’ve been envious of, Bea and Rygel traveled quickly.

Too quickly. Bea already wanted to stay.

“There will be time to take in your kingdom,” Rygel answered the statement unspoken, “Now, we must make haste.”

Through hallways covered with portraits of people that looked an awful lot like her and her family, then through a giant double door, the two arrived in front of a throne.

And...her father.

“I thought so. This is all a dream. No way you’re here. No way you’re a king!”

Her father, the same man with the graying stubble, the tiny bit of a paunch tenting the front of his deep purple robe, stood up, walked to her. And wrapped her in a warm hug, bringing tears to her eyes.

A voice she didn’t know he could command boomed, “Leave us. Thank you, Rygel.”

Bea wriggled out of his grasp to watch everyone bow and hustle and get gone. Rygel gave a nod, turned smartly, and exited.

“I wish I had time to explain better,” her father said when the room was clear, “There is way too much to cover.”

They sat down on the step in front of his throne, and Bea immediately started listing.

“What is all this? You’re a king? Why do we live in an apartment then? What’s Rygel? Who...who...just what?”

She stopped, breathing heavily as her father laughed. Bea narrowed her eyes and he put up his hands.

“It’s a lot, I know. And telling you was on my list. But, as you can see, it’s a long list. Being a king here and a district attorney there, trying to balance who to trust, who to help. Who to tell what lie to, honestly. Just know this.”

He ended the statement by grabbing her hands and looking into her eyes.

“You are no princess in the ivory tower. You won’t have it. You are a warrior. The best warrior. You just...don’t know it yet. And you know you are one of the people I would never lie to. At least, I hope you know that.”

“It would explain why I’ve felt like Jackie Chan all night. I punched a guy, Dad. My first punch!”

Not too many fathers would beam with pride hearing of their child decking someone. This one did.

What looked like a hole in the sky opened up over them.

“And you know I’m telling the truth when I tell you that you have to go back for now. Prepare to fight like hell, and I’m on my way.”

“But--”

A white flash faded to black before she knew it.

Bea came to, mouth gagged, her hands tied. She was lying on a table and the book was now under her head, a very uncomfortable pillow. Still, Bea was glad it was there.

“Look who’s back. Xena, Library Warrior.”

It was not-so-pretty-boy. His nose was now cartoonishly purple and swollen.

“Glad you’re awake for this. I’m done playing games. Now, it’s time your father knows we mean business.”

It was now that something clicked. Maybe it was seeing him heading for her right hand with a pair of small bolt cutters, and feeling another presence, another set of hands reach for her, maybe it was her father’s words.

Whatever it was, it was enough.

She threw herself to the floor. When one of them grabbed her roughly by the hair, she got to her feet and launched up, the top of her head connecting with something hard. Without taking account of whatever damage that inflicted, she met Noseboy coming around the table with a hard kick to a soft area.

Just to add injury to insult, she grabbed the book and crashed it hard across his face.

Someone else burst through the door, flashing a knife. 

“I think we’re done playing, little girl.”

Bea cracked her neck, dropped the book, sneered and made the “bring it” motion with her hands.

“Who’s playing, bozo?”

He took a clumsy lunge at her, she danced around him. His balance thrown way off, he was easy prey for a kick to the backside. It helped continue his motion into the far wall, head first.

The thud sounded like heaven to her ears.

Just then, the outer door to the room her last victim came from burst in. Shouting and guns cocking preceded her father, now in a suit with a bulletproof vest over it, walking in the room.

He looked around the room. A nod of appreciation and a smile, followed by a wink was his response to the carnage.

Bea’s was, “What took you so long?”