Don't Slay the Dragon (The Chronicles of Elizabeth Marshall Book 1) (3 page)

Chapter Five

The first few weeks of Junior High were just miserable if you were a seventh grader.  Add to that being shy, feeling terribly awkward and immature, and having few friends, and you have a recipe for disaster. 

I came from a family of five.  My parents
weren’t bad for being parents.  Dad worked at the local military base as a civilian.  He didn’t talk much about what he did for a living, only seemed content to have a reliable job where he could be home with his family by a certain time each day.  My mother was a stay at home mom.  A little old fashioned these days but always there when she was needed and great at chasing us all wherever we needed to go. 

I had
an older sister, Meghan, but she was in high school now and didn’t want to have anything to do with her quiet younger sister.  We had never been very close.  I think she had always been angry to see another child come into the family and take the attention away from her.  Zach was my younger brother.  He was still in elementary school and was more likely to stir up trouble than anything else. I was the middle child. Great. 

To make matters worse, we had moved during the summer.  It wasn’t far, just to a neighboring town.
  Our house was bigger, the neighborhood was nicer.  The problem was that all the girls my age had already formed their cliques.  No one wanted to hang out with the “new girl”. 

If that wasn’t bad enough
we now lived in the busing zone for the junior high and high schools.  That meant getting up an hour earlier when it was still dark outside, standing in line at the bus stop with all the other girls that wouldn’t speak to me, then getting to school forty-five minutes early with nothing to do but sit on the hard floor in the hallway and try to get caught up on any missed homework.

That’s where I found myself that cool, fall morning, wandering down a near-empty hallway at the school and hoping that the bell would just ring thirty minutes early
.  I just wanted to go hide in the back of my Utah history class and disappear.  I was good at that.

I was staring down at the stack of books in my arms.  They were there more to hide behind than because there wasn’t room for them in the backpack slung over my right shoulder. 

This particular hallway was where the school media center was located.  Sometimes Mrs. Olsen, the head of the media center, would open it early and I would go in a
nd look for any new books.  This morning it was closed and still dark inside.  Sitting on the floor next to the door was a thin girl.  She sat crossed-legged, shaggy red-orange hair partly covering her eyes.  She had on a flowing, brightly colored pink top.  It was terribly out of fashion and should have clashed horribly with her hair, but somehow she made it work.  She had black leggings and black sandals. 

At first she didn’t seem to
notice me.  Her attention was entirely focused on a two-inch long glittering crystal dangling from a thin golden chain.  She held just the chain, touching nothing more.  She sat so still and quiet, totally concentrating on the different facets and the rainbow of colors they gave off. 

I was just about to walk past and find somewhere else to hide out until the bell rang when she spoke.

“You can move it without touching it.”  Her voice was low and hushed.  If we weren’t the only ones in the hall I would have thought the voice had come from someone else.  “You know, with your mind.  I can.”

I looked
around, wanting to make sure there wasn’t anyone else here she could be talking to. 

“
Wh-what?”  I wasn’t usually a stutterer, but I couldn’t imagine why she would be talking to me.

“It’s called telekinesis.
Moving things with your mind.  It’s not that hard to do if you try.  You start out with something small, like this crystal.  Put all your mental energy into making it move.” 

With hardly a conscious thought,
I soon found myself sitting on the floor next to her, arms wrapped around my books and staring just as intently at the crystal.  I wasn’t sure what I was supposed to do.  Just sit and stare at it?  Was I supposed to say or think something specific?

“Crystals have special powers and mystical properties.” She continued in the low, careful voice.  “Some believe they have a healing energy.  Some believe they have a deep connection with the earth and nature. 
Look!  It’s starting to swing.  We’re making it move.”

Sure enough, the crystal was showing slight movement, swinging back and forth between the two of us.  It was hard to tell if we had really made it move with our minds or if she was just making it move slightly from the chain she held in her hands.  One way or another it was an interesting concept. 

My life up to that point had been very normal, closer to boring actually.  I was really good at blending into the background of everyone else’s daily life.  Quiet and bookish, a straight A student, I could disappear into a crowd or a classroom with little effort.  My hair was a nice blond color, curly and long, mostly so I could hide behind it. My eyes wide and blue and I thought a bit big for the rest of my face. That color combination wasn’t bad, but it was run of the mill in the Utah area. 

Now across from me was this bright, colorful girl, full of whimsy and imagination.
Her green eyes were full of light and curiosity, her smile full of laughter and mischief. 

“My name’s Lisbeth by the way.  It’s short for Elizabeth, but don’t ever call me that.  Only my mother calls me Elizabeth and I hate it when she
calls me that.” 

Chapter Six

That began my journey into the world of imagination and fantasy.  Every morning and even at lunch would find us outside the media center or inside in a back corner next to the outdated encyclopedias.  Often we were joined by others, other outcasts that didn’t quite fit into the mold of junior high school.   We would sit around and talk about fascinating topics. Dragons and unicorns, medieval sword fighting and jousting, mythical creatures and magical powers.  Sometimes we would discuss books like “The Lord of the Rings” or “The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe”.  Other times we would talk about the mystical energy around us all and the amazing power of the human mind.

Lisbeth’s only family was her mom and she worked for this “New Age” book store downtown called “Divine Light”.  Lisbeth was a constant source
of information about all things enlightened.  She would be just as likely to be talking about telekinesis and teleportation as she would elves, trolls and angels.  The topics gave us all an escape, gave us all a window into other worlds where acne, being unpopular, being ignored and bullying didn’t exist.  Through it all, Lisbeth was the center of our strange little group.  Normally an outcast herself, I think she reveled in the sudden attention.

For me it was a place where I could bloom.  I
felt comfortable talking with the other people in this small crowd.  I could express ideas, sit and draw and sketch, or stare at dangling crystals like everyone else and actually fit in.  I learned a love of writing and we would often compose fanciful poems and read them aloud to each other.  I discovered too that I was a fairly decent artist.  My imagination was more colorful than I had ever known and my lagging confidence grew as my efforts were complimented by those around me.

The members of our clan would change from time to time, but the two constants were Lisbeth and me.
We were inseparable.  Although a year older than me, we seemed to be kindred souls.  There was never a disagreement between us, never a cross word.  It felt so good to have a friend that accepted me exactly on my own terms and who knew I felt the same way about her.

My parents weren’t quite sure about my friendship with Lisbeth.  While we lived in a nice new subdivision up on the hill, she lived about two miles away, across a busy main street and in a small trailer park tucked partly under an overpass.  Most nights and weekends found me riding my ten-speed the two miles across the way.  I would dutifully stop at the busy main intersection and walk my bike across the street as my mother demanded, then dart on towards Lisbeth’s small single wide trailer.

It was always easier going over there.  There were no grouchy big sisters or annoying little brothers in the way.  Their small home was cluttered and aged with every possible surface being utilized, but it was also unusual and colorful.  There might be bright beads dangling from strings in a doorway, a sheaved jeweled dagger mounted on the wall, or an oriental dragon stitched on a dark red silk pillow. 

Barbara, Lis
beth’s mom, seemed to be a throwback to the sixties, with free love and free thinking flowing through her.  Her red hair had more brown in it than her daughter’s, but she liked to keep it long or tied back with colorful scarves. Once thin, she had now thickened as the years had gone by and her blouses and skirts became more loose-fitting and flowing. 

Barbara was a fair artist herself and while Lisbeth favored fairies
, elves and wood sprites, Barbara favored dragons.  There were several framed pictures on the walls that she had done in oils and pastels.  They were always fierce-looking creatures with jagged scales, sharp talons and dripping fangs.

They had a complicated relationship. 
Barbara seemed very controlling with Lisbeth.  Her daughter was her entire life.  She seemed to waver daily between being the authoritative parent figure and trying desperately to be Lisbeth’s best friend.  At times they seemed to have a loving, caring mother-daughter bond.  But that was usually rare.  Lisbeth had enough of her mother’s free spirit that she didn’t want to be controlled. Most of the time they both seemed to thrive on the contention between them.  They each knew what buttons to push with the other and knew just when to push them. 

Barbara seemed to genuinely enjoy my company.  At times I
think she viewed me as another daughter, one more respectful and biddable than Lisbeth.  I feared she would compare the two of us and in her own mind find her own daughter lacking.  At least they usually got along while I was there.  I seemed to be a buffer, sometimes the referee.  It must have been hard for two fiery, opinionated, red-headed females to live in such close quarters for so long.

My time with Lisbeth
was spent exploring magical worlds limited only by our imaginations.  Sometimes, on weekends, mother and daughter would travel to Salt Lake and attend gaming tournaments where they would be involved in intricate fantasy board games for hours on end, or go to a medieval festival where they dressed for the time period and watched sword fighting and jousting.   I always wanted to go, but my parent’s forbid me. It was a world as foreign to them as another planet. They really didn’t want me getting any more involved in this strange, magical world than I already was.

Those first few years of our friendship, I always saw Lisbeth as this vividly colorful, fun changeable creature.  Like the one multi-hued butterfly out in the field of wild flowers, unique, bright, proud to be standing out from the rest.
  She was an enigma, creative and fanciful one moment, bitter towards her dead-beat dad the next.  Frustrated with her controlling mother, but also yearning for her approval and wanting to bond with her. Sometimes, she was so deeply entrenched in her own world that I wondered if she forgot I was even there. 

I knew she could have a terrible temper, but I usually only saw it aimed towards her mother.   It was common for me to show up at her trailer and hear arguing coming from inside.  She would see me coming, slam out the front door
and we would take off for the river that ran behind her trailer park and under the overpass.  We would pass the time walking along the river bank, talking about what great artists and writers we would be when we grew up, giving both her and her mother time to cool off.

Going into my ninth grade year I was worried.  Lisbeth, being a year older, was going into high school a year ahead of me.  We would be in different schools with different friends.  Would she still want to hang out with me?  I would still be in junior high after all.

My fears were well founded, but I hardly had time to notice.  Homework really picked up my ninth grade year.  My mother talked me into getting involved in the local theater and I spent a lot of time designing and painting sets for Peter Pan and Annie.  Add to that having several neighbors that decided I would be a great babysitter, and I had my hands full.

I didn’t see much of Lizbeth until the first week of tenth grade. 
We passed each other in the hall between classes, spotted each other then stepped out of the way of traffic to take a few minutes to get caught up on each other’s life.

She looked thicker and more muscular somehow.  She told me that her and her mom had really gotten involved in martial arts and they were both working towards getting their black belts in Karate.  She was going to be taking her PSAT test soon, the preparatory test for the college SATs.  She was hoping
to get a high enough score to be considered by some of the Ivy League universities for scholarships.  Gone was the whimsical, free spirit I had known before.  In her place was this conservative, sharp dressed, young woman with very short hair, fast-paced walk and style, and brimming with energy.  She was serious, sober, and completely goal oriented.  It was hard to believe she was the same person.

She seemed more high-strung and jumpy, more alert somehow. 
She kept glancing behind and around her, like she needed to keep an eye out for something unexpected to happen.  If I didn’t know better, I would think there was a more haunted look to her eyes too. 

We agreed to get together that weekend over at her place.  I was going to bring some of my new art supplies and we were going to sit outside in the warm fall sun, escape into the world of art, and forget some of the stresses in our life for a while.  Just like old times.

“So, be over to your home at ten Saturday morning, right Lisbeth?”  I asked as we parted.

“Sounds great, but don’t call me Lisbeth, I don’t like that anymore.  I like Beth Ann better.”

I watched her as she walked away down the hall.  That was odd.  Beth Ann?  I guess it kind of suited her new image.  I was long since past the point of having anything she did or said surprise me.  Still, there was something unsettling about it.