Black Moon Draw (19 page)

She did not care what fate befell her. No part of her was willing to live without him. Instead of fleeing, she mustered the worst curse the realm had ever known.

Her eyes began to glow unnaturally and the magic coursed through her.

“By the blood and magic of Black Moon Draw, sealed by the Heart, you will know no peace until the heir of the Shadow Knight sheds the blood of all who wronged him and reclaims what is rightfully his! The last great battle-witch of my world will come to him in a thousand years with magic far greater than any you have ever witnessed,” she hissed at him. “You and every other man of this world will kneel before her and beg for mercy, and she will grant none!”

The Desert Knight appeared taken aback but then sneered at the words of the battle-witch, raised his sword once more, and took her life. He claimed the medallion as his own and hid it away, for if the battle-witch destined to return was unable to access the magic, she was not a threat to his heirs.

And with the final curse and death of the battle-witch of Black Moon Draw - the great warrior queen Naia who ruled for but seconds – thus ended the golden era of peace and began the era of fog, darkness, and war to last a thousand years.

The vision fades, and I open my eyes. It continues to play through my mind like a movie. I’m breathing hard and sweating, and my legs are wooden, heavy, and sore, as if I was the one running.

Thank god, I have no hangover. Judging by the sky visible outside the windows, it’s almost dawn. I stretch, mind racing. What part of that was really a dream and what part was something else?

I’ve never had a dream so vivid or real. It was short yet chock full of information that makes my head spin.

My hand goes to the medallion at my chest, and I take it off. It’s definitely the same one from the strange dream, though worn by time, faded, and . . . sad. Or maybe, I’m sad after experiencing the despair of the woman in my dream.

“Heirloom,” I murmur, figuring out finally what the medallion is. She also called it a Heart and said there was magic in it.

It seems pretty un-magical to me. The Shadow Knight thinks it’s important and I don’t quite get why. Is it simply the symbol of a bygone, golden era?

One that ended in a tragic tale of the love of a Shadow Knight for his battle-witch. The depth of her emotion makes my eyes mist over. I’ve never felt that for anyone, not my first love, not Jason. The love fashioned into this medallion isn’t possible in the real world. It’s the great romance, soul-deep true love, which only exists in books.

I’m not going to cry. The love this woman felt makes my pain over Jason seem petty. Brushing my thumb over symbols too faded to be read, I wonder for the first time what is written on the medallion. A poem from a man to the woman he loved?

Her final, horrific curse that condemned an entire world to war for a thousand years?

“Hell hath no fury,” I recite. I kind of envy her, the depth of her emotion, the love of a man that powerful, the fact she was his equal. It’s perfect.

It’s also not remotely real, and that makes me so much sadder for her and me.

The last great battle-witch of my world
. . . I can’t get those words out of my head. Replacing the medallion, I chew on my lower lip, thinking hard. The woman, the warrior queen Naia, was from another world. Mine?

If my dream was . . . well, inspired or maybe even written by LF, does that mean everything in it was true? Did this happen a thousand years ago and was she talking about
me
coming here? I’ve been called the last great battle-witch by the Red Knight and the Shadow Knight.

“Sorry, but you’d be way disappointed, sister,” I murmur, upset that I can’t even live up to a dead woman’s expectations. If there’s magic in the medallion, I can’t feel it, and I’m not about to start killing people out of vengeance for an event that never really happened.

Yet it’s really hard to dismiss the dream and the emotions that went through me when I was living it.

With a sigh, I rub my face. If I’m supposed to make things right, I’m failing miserably. Another thought makes me blush hot.

. . . the most sacred act between a man and woman in a world where a name gave someone else great power . . .

Is that why the Shadow Knight reacted strangely when I told him I had a name instead of calling me
witch
? Did he think I was hitting on him or more embarrassing –
proposing
? I didn’t mean to act like I was coming between him and his woman.

He later asked me what my name was, but he seemed very grave about it. What about the Red Knight? He seems like the kind who would ask to blackmail me later for political reasons.

Both hid the full truth that a woman and man exchanging names was a helluva lot more meaningful here than it is in my world.

The Shadow Knight didn’t reveal his name. I don’t know why that bums me out, unless it’s because of my self-esteem issue. Not that I want to be married to a mass-murdering knight from a fantasy book . . . but . . .

Ugh.
I’m a mess. He’s taken.

I wish I could confirm what I saw in the dream.

Then again, if I did, wouldn’t that make It harder for me to pretend this place isn’t real?

“You cannot go anywhere, witch!” The squire is adorable, groggily alarmed. He lifts his head from his nest of blankets and pillows next to the fire.

“Do I look like I’m going anywhere?” I grumble.

“The Shadow Knight says you –”

“Where is he?”

My companion climbs to his feet, his dark hair ruffled charmingly. “On the roof.”

“Roof?”

“’
Tis where the Square Table is,” he says with a look that tells me I’m supposed to know this.

“Who puts a table on the roof?”

“’
Tis not a
real
table.” He shakes his head.

There are times when the nonsense of this world makes me want to throw things. “Take me to the roof and this imaginary table.”

The squire appears ready to lecture me the way his master might, but I stomp my foot and point towards the door. With a mumble I can’t hear, he pulls on his boots and picks up his massive sword and straps it to his back.

I’m fully dressed after passing out. I recall talking to the Red Prince without knowing for sure what we talked about.

He passes me more of the minty water. I drink greedily, my stomach empty, and hand it back.

We leave the chamber and walk through two hallways before reaching stairs that appear to be suspended in midair, leading to the roof.

“Wow.” I circle the odd scene. “These are magic stairs?”

“Is that not what they look like?” He walks up them without really caring about how cool it is to see floating stone blocks.

I trail the grumpy teen. The chill before dawn reaches me halfway up, tickling my neck, and I shiver. I’m not certain what to expect when I reach the top, but it’s not for the Square Table to be a wrestling ring where a dozen men are gathered around watching two others in an MMA style fight.

Maybe I should expect such a sight in an embattled world. It’s not my scene, though, and my attention goes from the fighters to those watching them. The boar head gives the Shadow Knight away, his eyes glowing an unnatural blue like two lanterns in the night. Next to him is Wolfie with his silver eyes, and the Red Knight stands to the Shadow Knight’s other side.

My attention drifts back to the Shadow Knight. Deep in my gut, I suspect I’m here to help him get revenge. But how ignoble of a Hero does that make him to want revenge for something that occurred a thousand years ago, the result of a curse placed by an angry woman who just saw her husband slain?

I feel for her, but if I’m the person she counted on hacking off the heads of every enemy the Shadow Knight has, she’s wrong. I’m barely a battle-witch let alone the one capable of bringing every Knight here to his knees.

I hate the feeling sinking through me, the one of regret and insecurity, the sting of failure, even if it’s not my fault I’m not magical enough. I don’t like the idea of disappointing anyone. The Shadow Knight is better off trying to win his battles without me then running off into the sunset to live a perfect life with Disney Princess.

“They are battling over who speaks first,” the squire whispers to me.

Blinking out of my thoughts, I look again at the two fighting. “Who speaks first?”

“Aye. Because of the blood feuds between everyone” – he waves his hand at the Knights – “they hold a match to determine who is the first to speak.”

Like a deadly match of drawing straws. “What do they speak about? The Shadow Knight killing everyone?”

“Aye. He has defeated seven of the Knights here in battle. Brown Sun Lake has risen again to challenge him. Their feud goes on for a thousand years.”

“Since . . .”

“Since the great warrior queen Naia of Black Moon Draw cursed their lands and all within them.”

“I thought you weren’t supposed to talk about that,” I say, uneasy to realize how accurate my dream was.

The squire glances at me, and I see a glimmer of something I hadn’t noticed before in his gaze: intelligence, thoughtfulness. The kid I’ve barely given the time of day is as alive as I am. I’m touched by the thought I haven’t tried to have a real conversation with him, and he’s tried his hardest to help me.

“I can tell you,” he says quietly. “The Shadow Knight said so.”

“But he can’t.”

The squire solemnly shakes his head. “’Tis forbidden, once a man becomes a full-grown warrior. To speak of the past before battle, after battle, or during battle is to invite it to reoccur. No warrior may speak of it.”

I’m pretty sure he wasn’t put with me because of his ability to wield the sword at his back. I didn’t bother asking myself why I’m stuck with this kid. That he knew things I’ve been beating my head against a wall to uncover didn’t occur to me until now.

“You can tell me what happened a thousand years ago,” I say, turning to look at him.

“What is known, aye.”

“Why didn’t you say something?” I slap his arm.

He backs away, bewildered.

The men erupt into cheers. I face them once more. The Shadow Knight’s arms are crossed, and his boar’s head is snarling. Assuming he lost the match, I start forward.

“Come on, squire,” I say over my shoulder.

At once, every Knight and other man on the roof stops and turns. Their unfriendly looks range from resentment to suspicion to anger.

I stop at the wall of bristling men, not certain what’s going on. Am I not allowed on the roof? Is LF going to write me a how-to manual of otherworldly protocol anytime soon?

One draws his sword, followed by three more.

“A reminder that you are all guests in my home,” the Red Knight says calmly, stepping out in front of them.

“You were supposed to end this before dawn!” one snarls back.

“’
Tis not dawn yet, is it?”

“How much did we pay you?” another growls.

Uh, oh. Looks like I walked into something I shouldn’t have.

“Witch,” the Shadow Knight’s growl is one I’m not really thrilled to be on the receiving end of.

My squire is struggling to pull his sword free from his back without toppling over. Rolling my eyes, I take his shoulder to steady him. He won’t be more than a speed bump if the men here try to attack us.

“Calm, brothers,” the Red Knight is saying. “We have an understanding.”

The Knights aren’t convinced. “Let me have that thing,” I whisper to the squire.

“No. ‘Tis my duty –”

“You can barely hold it!”

Dismay crosses his features, followed by determination. “I will die defending the last great battle-witch. I cannot fail you again.”

It’s clear he’s not going to give me the damn sword, and I have the magical prowess of a Smurf.

The Shadow Knight joins the Red Knight.

“As prophesized, I have claimed the last great battle-witch,” he booms. “You called me here in a dishonorable attempt to kill her and bring an era of darkness upon the lands that are rightfully mine.” Whipping off his cloak, he slowly draws his axe and a short sword the size the squire should be carrying.

“A thousand years ago your family ruled these lands, but they no longer do.” It’s the Desert Knight who speaks. I recognize the color of his tunic from my dream. “My ancestors defeated the Knight of Black Moon Draw, and I will do it again now.”

The squire inches closer to me.
I should’ve stayed downstairs.
It doesn’t take someone from this place to realize the two men are ready to come to blows.

“You would take on all nine of us, Shadow?” another Knight asks.

“I would take on any man who threatens what is mine,” he replies firmly. “You all have done that.” He’s moved between the others and me, with Wolfie at his side.

I glance at my hand. To my surprise, there’s writing, but it’s a little too dim to read. I tilt it to catch some light from the torches around the Square Table and squint.

This is a trial.

“That’s it? Some obscure Magic Eight ball fortune?” I mutter. “I really am a shitty battle-witch.”

“What say you, witch?” the Shadow Knight calls to me.

“Don’t drag me into a thousand-year old curse,” I reply.

He eyes me over his shoulder. “How badly do I trounce these fools?”

“Well . . .” Everyone is waiting for my judgment. With a glance at my hand, I decide it’s probably a good time to lie. “Very badly.”

One of the men sheathes his sword, as if he’s uninterested in being turned into Swiss cheese tonight. Another one lowers his without putting it away. Pretty much all of them have eyes on the Desert Knight.

“You heard the Red Knight earlier, brothers,” the Desert Knight shouts. “She has no magic! Whoever this imposter is, she is not the last great battle-witch.”

My jaw drops and I glare at the Red Knight. Standing beside him, the Shadow Knight does the same.

The Red Knight wisely moves away from the boar-headed knight. “I said her magic has not manifested itself fully.”