Red Rider RIsing: Book 2 of the Red Rider Saga Read online

  COME ALONG FOR THE RIDE.

  PRAISE FOR The Red Rider Saga

  (from previous editions)

  “I got sucked in from the beginning. … I was up all night reading, imagining and feeling for this poor girl

  … heartbreak and twists and adventure all rolled into one. … This is a book to let a young woman read to teach about inner strength and what one young girl can do against so many odds. That one action can accomplish so much. This book gets my absolute seal of approval. I could even picture this story on the big screen!

  Angi Burns ~Rabid Readers Book Blog

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  “Get ready to see the classic tale reimagined as you’ve never seen it before. … transforming a children’s fairy tale into a supernatural action thriller with a Zorro-style vigilante.”

  A.K. Preston, author of The Gevaudan Project ( ( (

  “A thrilling paranormal Red Riding Hood. … a well-written retelling with a twist and a much stronger Red. … would recommend it to anyone who likes paranormal thrillers or reimagined fairy tales.

  C.S. Wachter, author of The Sorcerer’s Bane ( ( (

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  “Action filled novel. Journey of a teenage girl. A story of love, courage, friendship and more. The author has got it all in this book.”

  Jay Deb, author of The Assassin

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  “[Randall]’s unauthorized sequel to Little Red Riding Hood blends great characters with a compelling storyline and places it in the middle of a legendary premisè… a well-told story about seeking justice rather than revenge and finding a way to properly overcome evil. What I liked best about this tale was that this little girl was a flawed character—and she seemed to have all rights to believe the way she believed and think the way she thinks—but [Randall] is careful not to glorify the fact she wants revenge. In fact, the story is about Red learning through her quest to destroy the wolves that revenge will, in fact, destroy herself. It’s a big concept and [Randall] does it well.”

  Josh Olds, Life is Story

  ( ( (

  “There are stories with great writing styles. Those that have amazing plots. Those that sustain your attention with every word. Ones that exceed your expectations of great lines, with a satisfying ending. Mr. [Randall]

  accomplished all of these aspects. I can only hope that the right person will come across The Red Rider and turn it into a movie that is sure to be a box-office hit.”

  Kym McNabney, Story Contributor, Childhood Regained: Stories of Hope for Asian Child Workers by Jodie Renner and Steve Hooley

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  WHAT READERS ARE SAYING

  (from previous editions)

  “Full of thrilling discoveries and heart-pounding adventure! Helena “Red” is as complex, driven, and bold as Katniss Everdeen (Hunger Games). You will be cheering for her from the start!”

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  “This book was fantastic!!!!!!! Once I started reading I couldn't put it down. A fantastic twist on the original Red Riding Hood. Helena is my hero.”

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  “Fantastic, suspenseful retelling of Red Riding Hood. A story of wolves and black magic. How the beautiful, innocent child Helena, becomes the physically scarred, determined, skillful hunter of wolves. How the stuff of nightmares becomes reality for a whole community, and a young woman's strength and overwhelming desire to completely destroy the terror that haunts her dreams and waking moments. Powerful imagery, wonderful storytelling. I thoroughly recommend it.”

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  “Definitely not what I expected. There were plenty of twists and turns packed into this book. A good read for any fairytale/fantasy lover.”

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  “While the story takes place in France a long time ago, it has a contemporary feel to it, and the story moves quickly. You find yourself rooting for the main character. I'll certainly buy the next [D.A. Randall]

  novel if it's as good as this one.”

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  “The Red Rider is a well written book full of adventure, mystery, twists and turns with a fair amount of moral teachings included. This is a book that would be excellent for young teens and adults alike.”

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  “If you enjoyed Little Red Riding Hood as a child, you will love this book. It has mystery, adventure, and suspense. Once you start to read it you won't be able to stop until you finish it. This is the first time I have read anything by this author but he has found a fan of his writings. He is an amazing storyteller.”

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  “Imagine Little Red Riding Hood being scarred by her traumatic encounter with the big bad wolf, and imagine that the big bad wolf ‘isn't a wolf.’ Then let her grow into an angry teenager, give her a red cape, a reloading crossbow and a grappling hook, and gallop with her on her one-supergirl-war against a coven of big bad wolves. The Red Rider is a teen action-fantasy hero and that is how the novel reads. No spoilers here: The suspense with author [D.A. Randall] is just how dark this fantasy will turn, as he takes the white-washed premise of the Brothers Grimm and gets much, much grimmer. A great fit with the grown-up fairy-tale versions of recent years that has emerged in print and film. I recommend it with pleasure.

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  RED RIDER RISING

  by

  D.A. Randall

  Copyright © 2020 by Randall Allen Dunn

  Based on 1st Edition of The Red Rider, Copyright © 2013 by Randall Allen Dunn

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination

  or

  are

  used

  fictitiously.

  The

  author

  acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  D.A. Randall is the fantasy and paranormal thriller pen name of author Randall Allen Dunn.

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  D.A. Randall writes fantasy and paranormal thrillers that read like blockbuster movies!

  D.A. Randall is the fantasy and paranormal thriller pen name of author Randall Allen Dunn.

  You can follow him on Facebook, Twitter, YouTube, and Instagram. You can also read his Character Entertainment blog –

  Building Character Through Fiction – at

  www.RandallAllenDunn.com

  For the latest releases, you can subscribe to the Packing Action Newsletter Datafile at:

  https://app.convertkit.com/landing_pages/106768/

  D.A.RANDALL

  Fantasy and Paranormal Thrillers

  The Red Rider

  Red Rider Rising

  Non-Fiction

  Wizards, Wardrobes & Halflings (Faith in Fiction

  Devotional)

  7

  RANDALL ALLEN DUNN

  Suspense and Action Thrillers

  Den

  High Adventure: The Solomon Ring of

  Kilimanjaro

  2 Tales: Devil in the Details

  2 Tales: Suspicious

  2 Tales: Christmas Spirits

  Kids’ Fantasy and Action Adventure br />
  The Island of Myste

  Terror on the Island of Myste

  Escape from the Island of Myste

  Non-Fiction

  Making Fiction Funny! How to Create Story

  Humor

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  RED RIDER

  R I S I N G

  by

  D.A. RANDALL

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  Table of Contents

  MY SCARS

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  MY RISE

  11

  12

  13

  14

  15

  16

  17

  18

  MY DISCOVERY

  19

  10

  20

  21

  22

  23

  24

  25

  26

  27

  28

  MY WAR

  29

  30

  31

  32

  33

  34

  35

  NOTE FROM AUTHOR D.A. RANDALL

  D.A. RANDALL NEWSLETTER

  RANDALL ALLEN DUNN ACTION THRILLERS

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  MY SCARS

  12

  13

  1.

  I never meant to become this.

  The lazy breeze made my red hooded cloak waft about my shoulders as I sat atop my horse, my cheeks warmed by the consuming blaze. The same gentle wind lifted the roaring flames higher and higher, racing through every inch of the building. I could do nothing to silence the screams of the men inside as they shouted my name. The name they had given me.

  “Rider! Rider!”

  Nothing to change what I had become.

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  It was not entirely my choice. I had not started this war, nor had I planned to become a sixteen-year old warrior. I started out as a little girl, innocent as any other. Enjoying life, enjoying my family, anticipating a happy future.

  Until they had disrupted my entire world, nearly a decade ago …

  “Hit her again, harder!”

  Egged on by his friends, Jacque Denue had smiled and rammed his fist into my gut. The jarring pain had shaken my prone body, making me want to vomit. I held back the bile, since the other four boys had me pinned and I didn’t want to swallow it back down my throat. At least the early morning rain had muddied the ground enough for me to sink into it, while it ruined my little dress and burlap cloak. When would Papa come back with the wagon?

  I was too hoarse to scream any more. I could only raise an arm or a leg as much as they let me, curling into a weak ball to protect myself. The village boys laughed as they took turns punching at my stomach, chest, arms, groin and face. My horrible, scarred face that helped them justify their attack.

  “You sick, ugly witch!” Jacque spat. “You stay out of La Rue Sauvage, you hear? Stay out of our village!”

  His palm weaved around my arms and slapped me. Tiny lights swirled about my face as 15

  the sting settled into my cheek. I wanted to sleep.

  To sleep forever and make them go away.

  “Monster!” one boy yelled.

  “Disgusting hag!” shouted another.

  I stopped trying to rise from beneath them.

  I shut my eyes, accepting blow after blow, my arms and legs burning with bruises. I no longer saw them. I saw myself and the image they so hated. The seven-year old girl with blonde hair and blue eyes and three thick scars slashed across her face. They ran at a slant, like torn pink ribbons.

  The top one started above my left eye and ended below my right. The second ran below my left eye and scraped across my distorted nose. The last tore across my left cheek and my mouth, ending beneath the enlarged right portion of my lower lip.

  No wonder they called me a monster.

  My mind pictured something else as they kept hammering my stomach. I saw the wolf, large and leering and unstoppable, its jaws opening wide to swallow me. The wolf that stood on its hind legs and loomed over me. The living nightmare that spoke to me through its grinning fangs: Where are you going, little girl?

  I found my voice and screamed.

  “Helena!”

  “Run!” the boys shouted. The pain stopped

  – or at least, stopped mounting - replaced by a scuttling and sloshing of feet through mud puddles and fallen leaves.

  “Helena! What have you boys done? Come back here, you!”

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  I kept my eyes shut and lay still, sobbing but relieved. Papa would stop them. He would chase them, punish them, his blue eyes blazing with rage above his thick black moustache. He would catch every last one of them and make them sorry for hitting me.

  Strong arms surrounded me. They snatched me up, then slowed to cradle me.

  “Helena.” Papa’s voice broke. “Helena.”

  “Papa,” I rasped, too weak to hug him. I winced out tears as he held me, keeping my eyes closed, until I could breathe regularly again. “Did you get them?”

  His chest sighed. “They ran away.”

  “All of them? You didn’t catch any?” My voice croaked like a frog’s.

  “Helena, I’m taking you to Doctor

  Renoire.” He rushed me to the next street where we had left our wagon. I had wandered off to smell some flowers outside another shop, when the boys started hurling insults and chased me through the alley.

  “I want to see Francois,” I said.

  Papa cradled me closer as he sloshed across the muddy path. My burlap cloak scraped against my bare shoulders where my dress had been torn.

  “I’m taking you to the doctor,” he said.

  “Am I dying?”

  “No, Helena. You’re not dying.”

  “After we’re done – I want to see him.”

  “I’ll think on it. Lie still.”

  He laid me down on the hay in the bed of our wagon, pushing aside the pumpkins and squash 17

  he had purchased to make room. I heard Papa’s horse, Royale, snort his readiness from the front.

  Soon we were rolling and jostling along the dusty road, so much smoother than the hills outside our distant cottage. So smooth …

  And I was so scarred.

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  2.

  I still felt pain, stinging my stomach and face and between my legs, as I lay on the cot in the visiting room. But Doctor Renoire had cleaned me with soft cloths and lotion that took away most of the soreness. Soonafter, I had been able to sit up and eat some of the crackers he kept in his house.

  He and Papa had left me alone to rest. I laid there as I had been told. Until I heard them talking out in the parlor.

  I slid down from the cot, wincing at new aches knifing into my thighs and lower back. My 19

  ripped, muddy dress had been thrown away. I now wore a pair of boy’s trousers and a shirt, which Doctor Renoire had borrowed from his son’s wardrobe.

  Only one item had been rescued, and lay on the table beside the cot. My burlap cloak. At least the dark bloodstain in the center gave it some color. I pulled it about my shoulders and hobbled to the door, the wooden floor chilling my bare feet.

  I peered through the crack and listened.

  Papa leaned forward in a chair, burying his face in his hands.

  Doctor Renoire kept a hand on his

  shoulder. “Relax, Henri,” he said. “Helena’s going to be all right.”

  Papa sat up and wiped away tears. “This is why. This is why we don’t come out any more.

  Why we can’t.”

  “Because of her face?”

  “No. Not exactly. I just don’t want her suffering any more harm.”

  My cloak scraped my bruised forearm as I draped it tighter about myself. Doctor Renoire stared at the floorboards. “When Father Vestille brought her in last spring – I had nev
er seen anything like it. At least, not anyone who survived.

  And certainly no child.”

  My breath grew quick and shallow. My skin bristled at the memories that still filled my nightmares. The wolf that spoke to me in the forest, that killed Grand’Mere Marie and tried to kill me. The wolf that was anything but a wolf.

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  Doctor Renoire knelt before my father.

  “Perhaps it’s distasteful to say, but you really should be so grateful, Henri. Just grateful to have her.”

  “I know. We are. That’s why we can’t let her go out. Not until we can know this won’t happen again.”

  My foot shuffled against the floor. They both turned. I opened the door slowly as if I had just arrived.

  Papa quickly wiped his face. “Helena. How do you feel?”

  “A little better.”

  “Come here, Helena,” Doctor Renoire

  beckoned, still kneeling. I limped toward him, feeling some of my strength returning. “That’s it.

  Good girl. You’re walking fine. You just need to rest up for a few days. Your father agreed to let you skip some chores the next few weeks while you recover. But you should be up and around in no time. Nothing seems to be broken and you’re already moving around much better.”