The Second Mango (The Mangoverse Book 1)

by Shira Glassman

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of either the author or the publisher.

  The Second Mango

  Torquere Press Publishers

  PRIZM Books

  PO Box 2545

  Round Rock, TX 78680

  Copyright 2013 by Shira Glassman

  Cover illustration by BSClay

  Published with permission

  ISBN: 978-1-61040-519-5

  www.torquerepress.com

  Psalms 23:1-2, as translated by Dr. Alana M. Vincent, Lecturer in Jewish Studies, Department of Theology & Religious Studies, University of Chester, UK, Esther 7:3 as translated by Dr. Alana M. Vincent, Lecturer in Jewish Studies, Department of Theology & Religious Studies, University of Chester, UK

  All quoted literature sourced from the public domain.

  All rights reserved, which includes the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever except as provided by the U.S. Copyright Law. For information address Torquere Press. Inc., PO Box 2545, Round Rock, TX 78680.

  First Torquere Press Printing: August 2013

  Printed in the USA

  Dedication

  Dedicated to my good friend Anastasia “Ducky” Bower, and in memory of my father.

  Chapter 1: The Northerner

  Once upon a time, in a lush tropical land of agricultural riches and shining white buildings, there was a young queen who spent the night tied up in a tent, panicking.

  Apparently, a visit to a bawdy house got you kidnapped.

  That wasn’t entirely accurate. Queen Shulamit was sure that plenty of men went in and out of such places every night without so much as losing a hair on their heads. But a skinny woman of barely twenty -- even one who had been queen of Perach for two whole months -- well, that was a different story. Especially if that young queen had ditched her bodyguards and snuck out by herself.

  It didn’t feel real. Shulamit had the same numb feeling she had gotten two months earlier, when they’d first told her that her father was going to die. But can’t I go back to yesterday? She visualized herself turning a page backward in a book, undoing her part in the events of the previous evening.

  She wondered if her bodyguards were close to finding her. She knew they were looking -- the queen’s safety was their entire career. They were probably very frustrated with her right now, and she couldn’t blame them. That is, if they even knew where she was. The only sign they had of where she’d gone was her frantic scream -- “I’m the queen! Tell the palace! Get help!” -- to two of the so-called “willing women” as she was carried away wrapped in a bolt of cloth.

  Eventually, she knew from eavesdropping, someone from the court would have to ransom her if she wasn’t rescued. How long would that take? She’d been tied up in the tent like this for hours, long enough that fear and shame had been joined by boredom and hunger. Her stomach gnawed at itself, but she was worried that even if her kidnappers gave her something to eat, she’d throw up or -- or worse.

  One comfort was that she was still wearing all of her clothes, and, blissfully, the men guarding her were ignoring her at the moment. She felt thankful for her average looks. If the men had gone anywhere near her like that --

  She was roused from her self-absorbed stupor by noises outside the brigands’ tent. Maybe they were fighting over whether or not to rape her after all, instead of just worrying about money. Please, Aba, no, no. Please send someone to rescue me. Or maybe there was a mutiny in the ranks! That sounded much better.

  Or maybe the commotion was caused by the big blond warrior wearing a cloth mask over the bottom half of his face who now burst into the tent, scattering sleepy guards with a fist and a gigantic sword.

  “I hope you’re on my side,” Shulamit found herself saying, frightened anew by his foreignness. Like all of her people, her skin was medium brown, but this man’s was much lighter, and his body was taller and bulkier than even most of her guards. Where had he come from?

  “Malka? Queen?”

  “No, I’m the head kidnapper,” Shulamit snapped. “How do you like my Queen Shulamit costume? I’m practicing for my singing debut.” Was this stranger out for his own ends, stealing from thieves and kidnapping from kidnappers? That would make it even harder for her bodyguards to track her down.

  “Very funny. No, I’m not one of the bad guys. I’m your hired help.” The warrior was already untying her bonds, tugging at ropes and slicing them with a dagger in places where the brigands had gotten virtuosic with their knots. “Are you unharmed?”

  “For the most part.” Shulamit studied the warrior. “Who are you?” His brown leather tunic was sleeveless, leaving plenty of room for the powerful muscles of his upper arms. Hair exploded in a messy tangle of several yellows from the base of his helmet down past his shoulders. His thick, sleek eyebrows were darker than his hair, and his speech was accented -- although the northern folk used the same alphabet, their language was different.

  “I’m Riv.” There was a respectful pause, and a bow from the neck. “Mercenary and bounty hunter. I travel, I fight -- I do what needs doing. Your bodyguards are out looking for you, but since they wanted you back before anyone else knew you’d been taken, they also hired me. Lucky for them!”

  “Lucky for me,” added Shulamit. “You’re... from the north?”

  “You can tell?” Riv smirked. “I think I got all the knots. Let’s go!”

  Shulamit barely had time to brace herself nervously for such intimate contact with the body of a strange man before Riv scooped her up into his mighty arms and flung her over his shoulder. He carried her out of the tent, pausing here and there to launch powerful kicks at the surprised brigands, but mostly running all the way. The next thing Shulamit knew, she had been plunked down roughly onto the back of an enormous horse, bigger than any she’d ever seen, and Riv had leapt up behind her. The horse immediately broke into a run.

  But the men who had kidnapped her had horses too. “They’re gaining on us,” Shulamit pointed out.

  “No, they’re not.”

  The horse reared on its back legs, sending Shulamit backward into Riv’s torso. Then they were suddenly rising away from the ground, and the horse had turned green. A robust and powerful wave of muscle on each side pushed them farther into the air. Shulamit hadn’t expected the horse to fly, and she certainly hadn’t expected green wings either --

  “But this was a horse!”

  “And now she’s a dragon. And you’re a freed prisoner. Congratulations.” Riv looked self-satisfied and patted the dragon’s side. As a dragon, the beast was even larger; certainly big enough to carry the two of them, and maybe even a third person. Her scales were a deep, dark green, and textured, like a jeweled avocado rind, and they covered most of her, except the short, stubby horns on her head, which were a dull gold, like dirty jewelry. Two enormous wings, angular and with pointed tips like a bat’s, stuck out from her sides and propelled them through the air. Beyond Riv at the back of the dragon, the queen caught glimpses of a powerfully muscled tail.

  Shulamit was entranced -- she’d never seen a dragon this close before. In fact, she hadn’t seen a dragon since her father’s fiftieth birthday celebration several years ago, when lots of exotic and exciting things were brought to the palace for the general amusement of its residents. She had liked it then and had wanted a closer look, but her father was concerned for her safety and wouldn’t permit her to observe it from anywhere except the dais from which they watch
ed the aerial performance. How ironic, considering the great man had never thought elephants unsafe as long as you weren’t underfoot. Shulamit hadn’t had any reason to disagree until the day her father fell off the one he was riding during his return from a diplomatic visit. She had a horror of elephants now. But she still loved dragons, and this one was first-rate.

  She peered around the countryside, where the first rays of sun glittered over the palm trees. “Wow, they really took me a long way outside the city.”

  “Did your captors give you any food?” Riv asked.

  “I haven’t eaten all night.”

  “There’s a pita in my bag.”

  “Thanks, but I can’t,” said the queen sadly.

  “Can’t?”

  Shulamit didn’t answer. If her own servants didn’t believe her about her food problems, what hope had she with a stranger? After her ordeal, she certainly didn’t have the energy to argue.

  The beast swerved upward slightly, shifting against the wind, and Shulamit once again slid backward against Riv’s chest. What she thought she felt the first time she’d crashed into Riv upon liftoff was definitely there, confirming her suspicions. “Your dragon’s not the only one of you who’s hiding things.”

  There was only silence behind her as Riv waited for her to continue -- apparently, too seasoned to finish Shulamit’s thoughts for her, in case the little queen was bluffing.

  “You’re a woman.”

  “What if I am?”

  “You’re a woman dressed as a man.” Shulamit’s mind was racing, and she whirled her head around to face her rescuer. “Does that mean you seek women for love... like I do?” The words tumbled out impulsively, the child of a night without affection and a morning without breakfast. From beneath her thick, dark brows she gazed into Riv’s undeniably foreign gray-blue eyes and tried to look as alluring as an underslept hungry person could possibly manage.

  Riv laughed, her face relaxing, probably relieved that she wasn't having her reputation or skill challenged. “No, it does not,” said Riv. “Except as friends, of course, and I think maybe we’re already friends.”

  “Oh.” Shulamit was still too tired and her stomach too empty -- or possibly, she was too much a monarch -- to be anything but blunt. “I mean, yes -- yes, we can be friends.”

  “Careful -- your sadness is bringing down the dragon,” said Riv. It took Shulamit a moment to realize Riv was only teasing. “By the way, I’m really Rivka. But don’t let anyone else hear that, Your Majesty.”

  “You’re a very good fighter,” said Shulamit, still feeling rather awkward as she turned back around to face forward, her neck hurting from craning around for so long. She was riding pressed very close to the chest of this person and confused over whether or not it was okay to enjoy herself, now that she knew definitely that Rivka was not interested.

  “Thank you! I know, as a paid mercenary, it’s probably none of my business, but as a new friend... that wonderful retinue of bodyguards you keep -- how did you manage to get stolen from under their noses?”

  Shulamit sighed. “I wasn’t under their noses. I snuck out.” If only her bodyguards would stop acting like baby-sitters and had agreed to go with her. How aggravating it was that they hadn’t allowed her to go -- especially since it would have meant an excuse to venture inside themselves under the pretext of chaste employment. Any man would welcome that! Well, most men, anyway.

  Shulamit reasoned that if there were women like her who sought other women -- and she’d had a sweetheart once, so she knew she wasn’t the only one, even if Rivka wasn’t one of them -- there must be men who sought other men. Once she was out of her current predicament, she wondered if she shouldn’t fire all her bodyguards and find some of that sort. Surely, they would understand and not go around constantly trying to protect her from herself.

  Rivka’s jaw dropped. “All this trouble--”

  “I know, I know! And I’m sorry.” Shulamit sighed, apologizing silently once again to her dead father. This was not how she was supposed to be ruling from his throne. “I just -- I wanted--” She paused for a moment, knowing she probably shouldn’t be talking about her indiscretions. On the other hand, Rivka was the first real ally she’d had since Aviva’s disappearance, and besides, she held Rivka’s secret herself, so it was likely Rivka wouldn’t talk. “I went to a bawdy house. I don’t have a sweetheart--”

  “You know what you do have? You have a hole in the head,” said Rivka, trying to sound cross but with a strong feeling of indulgent pity coming through anyway. “Pardon my directness, Your Majesty, but why not just ask for a woman to be brought in -- if a young queen really has to pay for love to begin with?”

  “My bodyguards are still loyal to my father, may he rest, and not to me. They wouldn’t bring a woman in, or escort me there themselves, either. I loved my father, but I don’t agree with all of his rules.”

  Rivka took so long to respond that for a moment, Shulamit was nervous that she'd said something wrong. Then, finally, Rivka snorted, almost to herself, “To get between a young lady and her first kiss.”

  “I have had that,” Shulamit pointed out. “That, and more.” She tensed up, half in defiance, half in fear, waiting for Rivka to disapprove.

  “I don’t condemn you, Your Majesty,” said Rivka. “I’ve never even kissed a man, but I’ve lived it all in my heart.”

  “If you’ve never -- I -- how do you know you like men at all?” Shulamit asked, hope creeping back into her face.

  “He’s dead.”

  “Oh. I’m sorry.” Shulamit looked down. “Mine ran away. I mean -- the woman I loved.”

  Rivka patted her gently on the head. “Begging your pardon for my familiarity, of course, Your Majesty.”

  “I’d really like to find a new love,” said Shulamit. “But I don’t know how to find someone else who’s different like I am. That first time was a happy accident. So I brought gold to a bawdy house to buy a woman’s favors. The only favor I got was about five seconds of looking at her bare bosom. Then I was carried off.”

  Rivka exhaled loudly through her nose.

  “Do you think there are many women like me?”

  “I have no idea,” said Rivka. “This is the first time I ever really sat down and talked with someone like you.”

  Shulamit was silent for a long while, knitting up an idea in her mind. Several moments were punctuated only with the sound of the dragon’s flapping wings.

  Then, the queen broke the silence. “Do you want to be a warrior forever?”

  Rivka answered right away. “Combat is my passion. Doing good is my mission. And feeding my face and keeping the horse in grain, of course.”

  Shulamit’s voice changed. Suddenly, she was Malka Shulamit bat Noach, Queen of Perach. “In that case, I have a mission for you -- if you accept. I’ll find a way to make you Captain of my Guard if you’ll find me a woman to cherish, and who’d cherish me in return.”

  Chapter 2: The Agreement

  The sun had crept high and was melting its way back down the brilliant blue sky when Rivka crossed the palace green to the queen’s private garden. She was still in her male disguise, despite the way the cloth made her sweat in these tropical climates far from home.

  The queen was seated on velvet cushions beside the spiky-leaved pandanus trees that hung over the river. Several of her ladies-in-waiting lounged around her, but not too close, gossiping quietly. Shulamit herself was not speaking to anyone, but instead stared intently at a book in her lap as she picked at a bowl of fruit resting beside her in the grass.

  The ladies-in-waiting all stared at Rivka and whispered to each other as she stalked up between them. “Your Majesty,” said Rivka, bowing deeply. “One of your guards said you sent for me.”

  “Friends,” Shulamit announced in her royal voice. “This is the man who rescued me last night. I’m grateful for his skill.”

  Rivka knew that despite Shulamit’s obvious lack of discretion with these ladies about her own activit
ies, the queen had kept her secret. “I’m glad to see you looking well, Your Majesty.”

  “Have my bodyguards rewarded you -- generously?”

  “They’ve been more than generous,” said Rivka, whose heart was as light as her purse was now full.

  “Good,” said Shulamit. “Come closer. We have plans to make.”

  Rivka approached her. “What are you reading?”

  She was expecting to hear the name of some traditional love story, or perhaps one of the more exciting, newer tales, and was taken aback when the queen answered, “Canon of Counterfeits.”

  “What?”

  “It’s about how to tell the difference between counterfeits and real art -- gold or something adulterated with another metal -- or if someone’s forged an artifact of antiquity. Oh, you can sit down.”

  Rivka plopped down onto the grass. She had no cushion and didn’t need one.

  Shulamit’s voice dropped so that only Rivka could hear her. “Have you thought about my proposal?”

  “I have, Majesty. It would be an honor and a thrill to win that position. I’ll give your quest my all, if you hold to your promise.”

  “I will, absolutely. I swear it. Besides, I like you.” An eager expression, half-sheepish, half-seductive, slipped across her face for a moment.

  “As I told you, little Queenling, Malkeleh, nothing happens to me when we’re close. I don’t feel that way about women, and I’m not the one you seek.”

  “We seek,” Shulamit corrected. She held out her hand, and Rivka, still acting the male, kissed it ceremoniously and without emotion. “You win. I’ll be good.”

  “Are none of your ladies-in-waiting interested in other women?” Rivka asked, wondering if they’d had to fight off the queen’s advances too.

  “Oh, no,” said Shulamit, shaking her head slowly. “I don’t even think they all understand it, entirely. I know a couple of them think that if they could just find me a prince beautiful enough, I’d stop being so strange.”