Excerpt: Laugh, Kookaburra, Laugh

It could be said that Charlotte sat on Breen’s bed, but that wouldn’t be entirely accurate, as she was there against her will, and pinned to it by Breen himself, who was trying to bandage the peck wounds on her head while she tried to fight him off.

“Charlotte, if you do not hold still, I swear I’ll tie you to the bed,” Liam threatened from his place in front of the door, blocking any attempt at escape.

From the look on Breen’s face, Charlotte was pretty sure that he’d allow it, so she stopped fighting, at least. The glares, however, were there to stay. As was the constant complaining. “Stupid bird. I’m going to pluck out all your feathers and roast you,” Charlotte glowered, her eyes narrowed at the kookaburra, who now perched on the headboard, preening his feathers as if he were very proud of himself indeed.

“And you two. Did it ever occur to you that I might be a little more cooperative if you tell me what’s going on?” she seethed. “What’s the deal with this prophecy, anyway? And what happened to the other girls? And who are the Anger - whatever?” Charlotte crossed her good arm over her chest and tried to look imposing, but every time Breen applied salve to her cuts, she winced, so the effect was sort of lost.

No one said anything for a moment, until Breen finally sighed. “Just tell her, Liam.” His voice was clipped, harsh almost, as if he were hiding something himself.

“Three hundred years ago, our kingdom was taken over by a group of renegades, the Angra Mainyu,” Liam said pointedly, correcting her, which only made Charlotte’s scowl deepen. “They killed the king, and all of his family, and laid the country to waste. A few years later, a prophecy was made. A woman from your world would be brought here, and she would bring about the downfall of the Angra Mainyu. And so we searched for her. Every fifty years or so, we find one that fit’s the requirements, and she is brought here by one of the king’s birds,” he said, gesturing to the kookaburra.

Charlotte reached up and flicked at the bird, making him flutter across the room. “Traitor. And to think I liked you.” Then she looked at Liam. “What sort of requirements? I’m not trained for this kind of thing. I’m a secretary, not a hero.”

“Perseverance of will, the ability to keep your head about you when you need to defend yourself, a rather lacklustre life that you wish would change into something fantastic...” Breen rattled off unable, apparently, to keep his mouth shut for more than thirty seconds at a time. “And then there’s the birth mark, but Liam might know more about that than I do,” he said, his voice holding a hint of a grumble.

Charlotte paled. “Birth mark? What sort of birth mark?” she asked, her shoulders curling in on herself, protecting the rather odd spot where she figured they were talking about. “If you...” she muttered, pointing a finger at Liam. She’d kill him with her bare hands.

He laughed, and it was the first time that Charlotte had ever heard him do such an impulsive thing. “Moana checked, not I,” he assured her. “But yes, that birth mark. This mark,” he said, taking a step toward her and pushing the hilt of his sword forward. On the counter weight at the top was the same mark that Charlotte had over her left breast. A splotch, really, very indistinct, but all who had ever seen it had said the same thing. It looked like a dragon in flight.

“So...because I have this bloody thing on my chest, I’m meant to save this place?” Charlotte looked like she was deciding between screaming and crying. She settled for letting her voice spike an octave or two and her lower lip trembled. “I’m not cut out for this! I don’t know what to do! I can’t lead an army or fight or do magic or whatever needs to happen! I’m just...just...” Fighting the tears was a lost cause now, and they poured down her helpless face with an alarming speed. “I’m just Charlotte.”

Breen abandoned his tending of her wounds and wrapped his arms around her, holding her face to his chest. “No one said you had to do it alone,” he said softly, running his hand up and down her back. “No one said that you wouldn’t be taught everything you need to know. And most importantly, no one said you had to do anything,” he said, his voice harsh, and Charlotte looked up in time to see him shoot a glare at Liam.

“No,” the Ranger agreed, sounding like he didn’t enjoy having to do so. “You don’t have to do anything. You can just go about--”

His voice was cut off by the sound of screams, and everyone in the room jumped. Before Charlotte could even think, Liam and Breen were up, swords drawn, and running out the door. “Stay here!” Breen ordered as the door slammed behind them.

Hyperventilating, Charlotte went to the little window in the side of the wagon and peered out. The once vibrant, happy place that was the gypsy market was alight with flames. Women and children ran across the common area, screaming, trying to dodge the most awful creatures that Charlotte had ever seen.

Standing at about four feet high with a frill and beak like a triceratops, the green creatures ran around upright, using their arms and legs as a man would as they lit fire to everything they could reach. Others carried swords, cruel, curved things with jagged edges and no shine. Nothing like the beautiful pieces that Charlotte had spent so much time ogling earlier. They were made for painful, slow deaths, and they were doing their job well.

Charlotte’s stomach turned and she clapped her hand over her mouth to suppress a scream of her own as she saw the bodies strewn around like discarded dolls. Men, women, children, they were all dead, no mercy or quarter given. As much as it horrified her, it also made Charlotte irate.

A quick look around Breen’s clean but cluttered wagon found what she was after, and Charlotte ripped the sling off of her arm, knowing she’d need both hands. She had no training, no idea what she was up against, but none of that mattered in the moment.

Pushing her way through the door, the hilt of the short sword sang in her hand as Charlotte ran into the fray. The moment she was spotted, she knew what the murderous creatures had come for. All other quarries and objects of destruction were forgotten, and she became the target.

If it meant she had to die, at least no one else would. And she’d bring down as many of them as she could.

The clash of her sword hitting one belonging to one of the dinosaur men rang in her ears, but she ignored the pounding in her head and the pain in her shoulder, twisting out of the way of another blow. He went down easily, his head sliced clean off, rocking back and forth on the ground, unable to roll due to the oddly shaped skull.

Blood, black as pitch, spattered Charlotte from head to toe, but, maddened, she merely kicked the twitching body aside and went for her next target. Somewhere, she could hear the furious and worried cries of Breen and Liam as they spotted her, but the sounds faded into a distant background hum as people used the monsters’ distraction to put out the fires.

A foreign, animal sound ripped from her throat as Charlotte swung the sword with both hands at the next monster that came toward her, slicing deep into his arm as his own blade grazed her thigh. But the pain was nothing compared to the adrenaline that was coursing through her veins, and Charlotte drove her sword straight through the breast of the offending creature, bringing him down as well.

Another three died by her hand soon after, and the bulk of the invading monsters were cut down far more efficiently by Liam, Breen and the others that had joined the fight, emboldened by Charlotte’s sacrifice.

For sacrifice it was, as with the sixth monster she encountered, her furious rush gave out, and she was thrown to the ground, the death blow hanging over her like a guillotine, before she passed out, hearing the flapping of wings.