Black Moon Draw (6 page)

The faint rattle of something in her pocket drew his attention. He dug a hand into it and withdrew the familiar coinage of Brown Sun Lake. The wooden coins were to the desert dwellers what gold was to the forest dwellers. With no trees in the kingdom, Brown Sun Lake reserved wood for royalty and coins of great value.

He studied them with a frown, uncertain when his battle-witch had the chance to interact with his enemies when she was newly arrived.

The sound of pursuers reached his sensitive boar’s ears.

Dropping the coins into her pocket, the Shadow Knight tossed her over one broad shoulder and wrapped his arm around her thighs securely. He flung his head back and belched a roar that would be heard by every one of his men for miles, a signal he had captured what he came for. Testing his balance with the woman’s additional weight, he maneuvered weapons to the side opposite the one she was on and lowered to a squat, eyeing the trees in the area.

With nothing more than pure leg strength, he launched towards the nearest tree and used it as a stepping-stone to the next.

The Shadow Knight leapt and ran from tree to tree, touching each trunk only long enough to propel onward to the next, thereby avoiding the troublesome brush that clogged the forest floor.

He reached the deer trail through the forest and leapt from tree to dirt, landing in a crouch before bounding forward with the agility of a great cat towards Blue Star Bridge, where his men would rendezvous and rejoice at having a new battle-witch to lead them in the upcoming war against Green Dawn Cave and his mortal enemy, Brown Sun Lake, the last great battle before this era ended and with it, the curse of Black Moon Draw.

A thousand years of Shadow Knights had dreamt of this day. His legacy, his curse, his fate – were all about to change, now that he had found the key to absolute victory.

Not even the gray fog of the curse that clogged his blood dampened his triumph as he made his way towards Blue Star Bridge.

Thank god it was just a dream.
I sigh as I come out of a deep, restful slumber. The sheets beneath me are rougher than usual, my pillow hard and flat. I’m not very comfortable at all for being in my bed. I’m too warm and something smells like burning bacon.

Distant alarm flutters through me.

Opening my eyes, I stare at the ceiling of a tree house.

What the hell?

I sit up and stare at the jittery boy around fourteen seated on a wooden box opposite the low bed I’m lying in. He’s wringing his hands and bouncing his legs, staring at me with a mix of uncertainty and curiosity. The moustache he’s trying to grow looks more like a smudge of dirt above his upper lip and his limbs are too long for his body in the way of nearly every boy in his early teens.

This isn’t home.

“No, no, no!” I press the meat of my hands to my eyes then wrench them away, staring at the palm of the hand I swear that beast cut off.

Flipping them over, I stare. The coral nail polish on my left fingernails is completely absent from my right hand. Not chipped or faded.

Gone.

But my hand’s there, and so is the countdown. Nine days.

“It grew back,” the boy volunteers. He stands and draws something from the knapsack across his chest. Whatever it is, it’s wrapped in cloth. He sets it on the bed near my leg.

“What is it?” I ask suspiciously.

“Your hand.” He opens the loosely draped cloth to display a hand. Blue-white skin, wrinkly, smelly, and. . .

. . .coral nail polish.

“That is so gross,” I mumble, feeling a little sick. “Why would you keep something like that?”

The boy blushes. “The Shadow Knight said you need to learn a lesson. Only a witch can regrow her body.”

Definitely the Villain.
No Hero would ever cut off the hand of
a damsel in distress.

“Put that away, squire.” The soft voice of a female draws both of our attentions to the entrance of the tree trunk.

A woman fit to be a Disney Princess stands in the doorway in a flowing, elegant gown of rich blue beneath a plush cloak of darker blue. Her eyes are large and clear, a perfect spring green, her auburn hair in perfect, loose curls around a face that resembles a doll’s.

She’s stunning. Absolutely gorgeous.

“M’lady.” The squire bows and scoops up the hand, returning to the box to sit.

“I am pleased to see you awake.” The woman speaks with an accent as rich and elegant as her clothing. She lifts her skirts to step over the threshold and enters, clasping her hands before her.

Everything she does is unnaturally graceful. Slender, tall and with a posture that tells me she doesn’t spend eight hours a day at a desk, and a slightly upturned nose I’m instantly jealous of, she’s a character worthy of her own fairy tale.

“Thank you,” I say finally in the awkward silence.

“I have never met a battle-witch.” There’s excitement on her features and she glances nervously over her shoulder. “A princess does not normally concern herself with war.”

Ugh!
I’ve always had a love-hate relationship with Disney princesses and real live princesses from other countries. Until now, I never really thought myself too unworthy of being one, because it’s what’s on the inside that counts. Right?

Nope. This woman is every bit what a princess should be. I’m smaller than her in stature, without her Grace Kelly jawline and baby doll eyes. I have stretch marks on my hips from where I grew too fast between the ages of eleven and thirteen, acne scars on my back, and an aversion to dresses.

How did I ever think I could be a princess? I can almost feel my self-esteem drop several pegs. If I have to be stuck in a book, why don’t I get to be the prettiest girl?

“’
Tis an honor.” She curtseys. “Is there aught I can help you with?”

To make matters worse, she’s
nice.

I need to get out of here.

“I was going to find the Shadow Knight,” I reply. “Where is he?”

“At battle with Green Dawn Cave. They attacked us last night out of nowhere, perhaps when they heard the news about you,” she says, concern on her perfect princess features. “Are you well enough to venture onto the battlefield?”

“Apparently I’m invincible.” I stare at my new hand, a little squeamish at the idea it grew back overnight.

“You missed a most wonderful battle! I have recorded it here.” The squire starts and fumbles with a satchel, drawing out scrolls. “We defeated the advance party of Green Dawn Cave last –”

With no clue or interest about his story, I stand. I’m refreshed – but at a loss as to why I’m still here. “So if he’s at battle, there’s no one to chase me down, right?”

The boy gives a half-hearted nod. “Do you wish your robes?”

“Sure.” I’m in what appears to be a nightgown. It’s opaque and heavy, the material scratchy. Wool maybe?

He retrieves a gown of deep purple from a satchel with such reverence, I almost laugh. Setting it on the bed, he promptly turns his back so I can change.

“Allow me to assist you,” the princess says. She takes the clothing and sets it down, shaking out a gown. Even her hands are delicate, her nails filed to perfect ovals.

“You don’t have to,” I say uncomfortably, already feeling self-conscious without her seeing my chubbier body.

“’
Tis an honor to meet you, more so to assist you.” Her expression is genuine, her eyes the most amazing shade of green.

I’m so jealous, I can’t speak and just nod.

The material of the dress is softer than my sheets and nightgown. She drapes it over my head and tugs it into place, tying a thick piece of fabric around my waist at the back. She picks up some sort of bodice acting as a really complicated bra and upper body shaper. It seems stiff but really isn’t too uncomfortable when she gets it in place. I’m still wearing my own bra and underwear.

I don’t normally wear dresses and the ankle-length layers are kind of annoying. I’m not sure how I’m supposed to move fast in this thing without tripping.

“Can I ask who you are?” I venture.

“Daughter of the former Red Knight and sister to the current Red Knight,” she replies. “I am betrothed to the Shadow Knight. I ride with his armies, even if I am not permitted into battle.”

How did I not see that coming? The Red Knight, the most incredible, intense, amazing looking man ever and his equally beautiful sister?

The symmetry of their perfection is enough to make me want to throw up.

She’s looking at me like I should congratulate her or respond.

“I met your brother,” I murmur. “He’s an . . . interesting man.” It’s the only way I can think to describe an admitted gigolo with an imprisoned teen in the bench seat of his carriage and the desire to leave this book to find its author.

She smiles. “He is a fair man, one who hopes my bonding with the Shadow Knight will help end the wars.”

Because what man wouldn’t want to be with this woman all day instead of at battle?

I nod. “You can turn around,” I tell the boy. “Do you happen to have any shoes? Boots? Whatever you call them here?”

He opens the box he was sitting on and pulls out suede boots. They appear new and match my dress. I’m not certain how comfortable they’ll be until I sit and pull them on.

They fit like they were made just for me, as if someone measured my feet while I slept and molded boots around them.

Which is a really, really creepy thought.

The princess is watching, her features radiant. Even on my best day, my skin hasn’t been that clear.

“What do you do for, um . . . bathrooms?” I ask, embarrassed.

The squire points.

Turning around, I see an outhouse in the corner where nothing was before. “That’s really . . .” Whatever. It’s a book. If outhouses magically appear, I’ll be thankful I’m not peeing on the ground.

I walk in, do my business, and leave. When I look over my shoulder, the outhouse is gone again.

Not going to say anything.
I grit my teeth. I’m making a list of things to tell LF when this adventure is over.

“Sister!” the call comes from outside the tree. A second woman enters, this one the exact opposite of the beautiful woman. She’s short and squat with medium length, stiff dark hair and skin a tad too pale for her hair, and darker green eyes. Her eyes are close together, her nose large, and her bangs blocking the upper half of her face.

Sister?
I look between them. One makes me feel as pretty and special as a weed while the other makes me feel like the most beautiful orchid in the world.

“You are not supposed to be here!” says the ugly duckling.

“I do as I please, as well you know.”

Ugly Duckling is angry. Her thin lips are pressed together, her cheeks flushed.

“Excuse my sister. She has a much more disciplined view of our roles here,” the Disney Princess tells me, her smile warm and words gentle.

“’
Tis not our roles that bothers me. You were warned!” the other responds. “You must return to the rear!”

Disney Princess smiles elegantly and sweeps out of the tree, a trail of flower-scented perfume trailing.

The squire sighs dreamily as she goes, his eyes on her form. I can’t blame him. I’d give anything to be her size.

So the Shadow Knight does have a love story.
I’m not certain what to think of that. I guess I thought . . . well . . . hoped . . .

Whatever. This isn’t my world. I shake my head, dismissing the Beauty and the Beast couple. With any luck, I’ll never see them again and can leave this place.

“Hey. Wake up and tell me where I’m supposed to go,” I say, snapping my fingers in front of the squire’s face.

“Aye. We will go.” He pulls out a round shield of stiff leather with straps, followed by a sheathed sword much smaller than the barbaric Shadow Knight’s. Offering them to me, he starts to smile.

“No, thanks,” I say.

“You’ll fight them without weapons? With only your magic?” There’s awe in his voice.

“Uh, no. That’s not really the plan.”

He appears confused by this. I feel bad for him, but am more concerned about finding my way home than whatever it is he’s talking about.

“You should wear this,” he advises me, holding up the shield. “In case someone attacks you, the way they did the last great warrior queen of Black Moon Draw.”

I start to decline then review my experience in this place so far. “I think that’s a great idea,” I tell him.

He motions for me to sit and moves behind me the best he can. “Arms up,” he says cheerfully.

I raise them. He drapes straps over me that make an X at my solar plexus. He adjusts the light shield and then pulls the straps tight to hold it in place at my back.

“Like a Ninja Turtle,” I say, stretching back to tap it. It feels like it’s got a wooden core, covered by leather.

The boy gives another half-hearted nod, a sign he has no idea what I’m talking about. “Are you ready for battle?” he asks hopefully.

“About this battle thing. I don’t really do war,” I tell him. “I’m more of a peace-witch.”

“Peace?”

“You know, the opposite of war. What happens when there’s no war, when people decide they’re done fighting.”

“Ah. Submission. Our enemies do this.”

I’m not sure how to respond. In what kind of place do peace and submission mean the same thing?

“You make men submit,” he says, starting to smile again. “This is very good, too.”

“We’re not really talking on the same level, are we?”

“Come. I will show you men who need
peace
.”

I didn’t have a headache when I woke, but I’m about to get one now. Nonetheless, I follow him out of the tree house.

At first glance, I don’t notice the thousands of hiding spots, until someone emerges from the trunk of a tree. With a second look around, I see them.

There are hundreds, maybe thousands, of trunks acting as miniature homes, each marked by a chalky
X
above the opening acting as an entrance. Lanterns and small fires glow from inside the wide trunks, some of which also contain saddles, blankets, clothing, and wooden boxes.