Black Moon Draw

by Lizzy Ford

“Stay here.” He shoves the door open to the wagon and leaps out, slamming it closed behind him.

  Chapter Four

  The Shadow Knight of Black Moon Draw hunched over the map of his kingdom. The positions of his army and those of his greatest enemy were marked, and his second-in-command stood beside him, quietly observing the familiar process. The mists that had covered his kingdom for nearly a thousand years clung to his dark clothing.

  He tapped one spot and then leaned away, ready to roll the map to keep the fog from smearing the ink.

  “The battle of Brown Sun Lake will be great indeed,” he said with satisfaction.

  “You do not wish to wait for your battle-witch?”

  “My dreams told me naught last night. I cannot wait. We will move into position.”

  His loyal second said nothing, and he considered the routes of approach and egress, knowing how advanced his enemy was. It would be a battle the bards would sing about for a thousand years: the barbarian hordes of Black Moon Draw overthrowing the more massive, better equipped armies of Brown Sun Lake. His life had led up to this moment, each battle teaching him a new lesson, a new skill.

  Finally, he was prepared, and with little time to spare. Once he claimed Green Dawn Cave and Brown Sun Lake, he would negotiate a surrender with the Red Knight of White Tree Sound, who preferred not to go to battle at all.

  Only then, after the ten kingdoms of his realm were subdued, he would face his greatest battle.

  “Message, sire!” a cry rang out from behind him.

  He rose from his crouch to see who spoke. One of his most trusted messengers, a man with the head of a mule, ran from the forest nearby.

  “From whom?” his second asked, meeting the messenger.

  “Scout at Blue Star Bridge.”

  The Shadow Knight strode forward, reaching them in two long steps, and snatched the satchel the messenger held up. He opened it carefully and pulled free the messenger bird from its depths. The golden finch perched in his palm, its black eyes darting around.

  “What story do you tell, little bird?” he whispered the typical greeting of the messenger bird corps, a rare, elite breed of bird capable of transporting messages and delivering them mentally.

  At his words, the finch began to sing, conveying short, excited bursts of information.

  Witch at blue bridge.

  The message was repeated over and over.

  “Ah.” The Shadow Knight nodded in satisfaction. It was yet another sign he was meant to triumph at Brown Sun Lake, now that his battle-witch had appeared. “Wolf, fetch our horses. We return to the bridge now.”

  His second sprang away. The bird began to sing a new tune and the Shadow Knight tensed.

  Taken by white trees.

  “I knew he was planning aught!” Handing back the messenger bird, the Shadow Knight trotted to his weapons and strapped them on quickly, prepared to claim his battle-witch no matter how deep into White Tree Sound he had to venture. A war with his neighbor wasn’t in his plans, but he was known for his brutality and lack of predictability in battle.

  If he was late to the battlefield with Green Dawn Cave, so be it. He valued the key to defeating the curse over arriving for battle on time.

  Chapter Five

  I always wanted to go on an adventure. Preferably one to the Bahamas or somewhere with warm beaches.

  Nibbling on the last piece of cheese, I’ve spent the past half an hour debating whether or not being trapped in this book or dream – whatever this is – is a chance to be the person I wish I was, to make a go at starting over, and if it’s better for me to sit in the carriage and do what I’m told.

  I stare at my hand, waiting for it to give some kind of guidance. Like maybe how to get the hell out of this dream and back to my world or at least if I should stay in the carriage or risk leaving. The words scrolling across my palm stopped after the warning about the fork, leaving only the countdown.

  Suddenly, shouts come from outside the wagon. I can’t quite make them out through the wooden walls. They’re followed by a bloodcurdling scream.

  “Looks like I’m leaving.” I replace the cheese and stand, eyes on my bare feet. I’d rather have on tennis shoes if I have to make a run for it and start digging through the contents of the wagon. A hooded cloak hangs on one wall, along with boots that are far too large for my feet. There’s nothing beneath the pillows on my side, so I go to the side where the Red Knight sat and rifle through the satchels and pouches tucked along one side.

  Opening a leather pouch, I gasp. A living bird is shoved into the small space. “You poor thing!” I carefully push a hand into the bag and come up under the small creature. There’s not enough room for my hand to fit between it and the sides of the bag. The satchel is small and the bird the size of a softball.

  Digging him out, I set him on the tray with food and watch him skeptically as he starts pecking at the bread. “You’ve got to be the fattest bird I’ve ever seen.” I don’t think it can fly, but maybe it can run away before the Red Knight returns.

  I go through another bag and find food rations. The third satchel is filled with knives and throwing stars.

  The bird chirps at me.

  “I know, right? So much for being at peace,” I mutter and toss that bag to the other side of the wagon. I’m not sure what I’m looking for or even what to do if I find something interesting.

  The third and fourth bags are deep and filled with what look like wooden casino chips, a form of currency maybe, given the markings on them. They’re kind of cool with intricate carvings so fine, I don’t know how they were done by hand. I decide to keep several in case I need money for something here then close the satchel.

  The bird is happily holding a conversation with itself. It’s waddling around the tray and singing cheerfully. It stops to tug at a piece of cloth poking out from beneath the bench I sat on.

  I lean and lift up the top of the seat to reveal storage room underneath it.

  Something moves in the depths, and I gasp, dropping the lid. The bird and I exchange a look. After a quick internal debate, I toss pillows onto the other bench and lift the lid once more to peek inside.

  There’s a man, bound and gagged, inside the bench. His eye is swollen and black, his dark hair mussed. He can’t be more than sixteen or seventeen, judging by the knobby arms and legs and the gorgeous tan eyes that go wide with fear when he lifts his head.

  I’m really not certain what to think of my host now. Why does he have some poor teenager tied up in his carriage? “You uh . . . need a hand?” I ask.

  There’s a hesitant nod.

  “You aren’t a serial killer or someone who hurts women, are you?”

  He shakes his head.

  Kneeling on the floor, I reach in and untie the ropes at his feet first and then his hands.

  He moves slowly, as if he’s been tied for a very long time. I pity him, starting to think I shouldn’t trust the Red Knight any more than I might the Shadow Knight. There are darkened circles beneath his eyes. He’s pale, his body shaking out of weakness.

  “You’re in rough shape,” I observe. “Can I ask what you’re doing in there?”

  Shouting grows louder outside. He casts a fearful look towards the door.

  “T. . . taken for ransom,” he answers in a strained whisper. “We must escape.”

  “Agreed.”

  He stands, wobbles, and then clutches at the side of the carriage. I take his arms and steady him.

  “Can you run?” I ask.

  “I will . . . manage. I would rather die fighting than starve in a carriage.”

  “Better yet – let’s not talk about dying at all,” I reply.

  I’m not sure if he hears me. His eyes are on the tray. He gropes for the bread and stuffs half a loaf in his mouth.

  Normally, I’d sit by meekly and wait for the Red Knight to return. I’m usually afraid of upsetting people. Maybe it’s the sense of being out of place, the shouts and screams outside, or finding the teen
stuffed in a box, but I sense I need to leave quickly. I lean over to pull on the boots by one of the doors. The medallion around my neck smacks my hands and I sit back to study it briefly.

  The strange, light metal is worn around the edges and the leather necklace frayed in two places. Either it’s an heirloom, which makes little sense since it was given to a stranger, or it’s a cheap souvenir. I’m not sure why I have it or what I’m supposed to do with it – or why for a split second, I thought it was glowing purple.

  “Come,” the teen urges me.

  Tucking the medallion back into my dress, I push my feet into the soft leather boots and stand. It’ll take some work to keep from tripping over my feet. I drop the wooden coins into a deep pocket of the dark purple cloak and pull it off its post to swing around me. It falls to my ankles and has three buttons down the front that run from my neck to just below my breasts.

  “Ohhhhh!” The inside is lined with thick, soft fur I want to melt into. I run my fingers through it, fascinated by the length of the silky fur. I’m not sure I’ve felt anything this luxurious.

  “You are a battle-witch.” The young man is staring at me, eyes wide. “The one foretold an era ago.”

  “I’m not sure about that,” I reply. “I’m a lost traveler who thought she was getting a ride somewhere safe. I think we need to –”

  Something smashes into the wagon and it rocks to one side before slamming back onto all four wheels. I catch myself against the wall, startled, and glance over my shoulder at the bird and boy.

  Both have been flung to the floor. The kid is getting up while the bird’s feet are kicking in the air.

  “Aw, you poor thing.” I stoop to pick it up. My pockets are bigger than the bag I found it in, so I carefully place the bird into one of them and button my newfound cloak. “Now let’s get out of here.”

  “I will never forget this favor, m’lady.” The shaky teen offers a stiff bow.

  “Save it, kid,” I advise. “We’ve got to escape first.”

  The bird starts chirping again, its grumpy complaints reminding me of how my cats often grumbled at me when I pushed them off the couch so I could sit, too. I miss them already, along with my computer and the cave my apartment has become.

  Instead I’m . . . here. Or stuck in a dream about here. I can’t think about it without my head pounding harder. The food helped, but my headache remains.

  The shouts are coming from the side of the wagon where the Red Knight exited. I make my way to the door on the opposite side and press my ear to it. I don’t hear anything close on that side and open the door cautiously, the teenager at my back.

  The forest on this side of the wagon is more than shaded – it’s gone dark. I woke up in the morning mist and am now walking out into what appears to be late afternoon. Either every kingdom is on its own timetable or time passes faster than I’m accustomed to. I have no idea what LF is doing. One of the reasons I love her books is because they’re unpredictable. It never seemed like a problem before now.

  “Or maybe she forgot to edit this part. If you can hear me, you better get me out of here soon!” I tell the elusive author who somehow trapped me in her book.

  No one answers and no writing scrolls across my hand.

  “Guess I’m on my own for now.” I hop out of the wagon. The shouting and strange sounds of metal shrieking against metal is louder. I can’t see anything on the other side of the wagon and decide I’m better off in the forest.

  After spending my life in the shadows, I greet the idea of having my own adventure with a combination of dread and exhilaration. No one here knows me; I don’t have to live under anyone’s thumb. Looking at the foreboding forest, I can’t help thinking maybe it’s safer to be a mushroom than to take a chance in the sun.

  “Is this a spell? To whom do you speak, witch?” The teen is confused.

  “No one,” I mumble.

  “I have never seen trees before.” His fearful gaze is on the canopy overhead. “’Tis true that they are possessed by spirits?”

  “Um . . . I don’t think so.” Anything is possible in fiction. Not that he’d understand that. “We have to get out of here either way, right?”

  He offers an uncertain nod. I can’t get over how pretty his eyes are, a shade between khaki and tan, one that matches his skin.

  His first few steps are disastrous and he lands on his knees with a grunt of pain. I help him up quickly.

  There’s an animal path nearby. I wade through the thigh high bushes hugging the base of tall trees until I reach the trail then begin walking down it. The forest smells fresh and alive, of long-needled pines and earth. It’s a peaceful place, or would be, if not for whatever is going on behind us. We go far enough that I have a chance to run if this gets too real for me.

  Turning, I peer around a tree to see exactly what’s happening.

  Men are fighting. That much I expected. I’ve never seen anything like it in real life, except maybe at the Renaissance festival where two knights pretend to be fighting one another.

  This isn’t acting, though. There are no pauses for comic relief or faked grunting where two knights pretend to fight one another and the swords are definitely not wooden. There are horses with unnaturally glowing blue eyes milling, men fighting, and the wagon obscuring my view. It takes me a moment to figure out whom the White Tree people are fighting.

  Panther-man gives away the identity of the attackers.

  I suck in a breath, my heart quickening. I read enough about the savage Shadow Knight to presume his men being here does not bode well for me.

  “This isn’t real,” I tell myself once more. “Some horrible, realistic . . .”

  One of the Black Moon Draw men with an elephant head whips around to face my direction, his massive ears flaring out like mini-radars on either side of his head. I duck behind the tree and yank the teenager with me.

  “Dream. It’s a dream,” I whisper to myself, starting to panic once more.

  The bird cheeps at me. I’m not sure if he’s agreeing or arguing. He’s bouncing around in my pocket, as if trying to escape. Even a bird knows it’s better to get lost in the forest than face Black Moon Draw barbarians.

  “We need to separate,” the teen says. “I fear being caught with the witch of another kingdom. The penalty is death.”

  “Seriously?”

  He nods.

  “I wish you luck then.”

  “Do you not wish to ask a favor of me?” he asks. “My father is very powerful. He will grant you anything for helping me.”

  “Not really. I mean, I’m going home soon, so I won’t be around to collect,” I reply.

  He gives me an odd look. “Very well. But if you should need his help or mine, simply tell him Westley sent you.”

  “Westley?” I start to smile. It’s the name of the Hero in The Princess Bride. I’m guessing LF is a fan of the movie. It’s one of my top three for sure.

  “Fare thee well, witch.”

  “You, too.”

  Sturdier on his feet, he nonetheless trips over his feet when he starts away. Standing, he waves and hurries into the brush. I’m praying I never need to track him down to ask for a favor because I’ll be home soon.

  The bird is throwing a hissy fit in my pocket.

  “Hush, bird.” I peek around the tree once more.

  Elephant-ears is gone. Not about to wait for danger to come to me, I lift the cloak to step over a bush then hit the trail at a run and dart deeper into the forest of a world I don’t know anything about.

  This isn’t real. It can’t be, because it’s impossible.

  I chant the words as I run, focusing on my breathing and not tripping over my feet as I race into the forest. I’ve never been much for running – I’m a self-proclaimed geek who reads for a living – and sooner than I like, I slow down. The sounds of the battle are gone and I can’t see anything between the trunks of trees.

  Somewhat assured I escaped, I pause to catch my breath. The forest has gotten e
ven darker and seems to be coming to life. Owls hoot and night animals crunch through branches and brush.

  The bird is quiet. I pull him out of my pocket to make sure he survived my clumsy run. The fat little thing is fine.

  “You’re free, bird,” I proclaim and bend to place it on a tree stump on the side of the trail. “Fly away. Or waddle. Whatever.”

  It hunches down on the stump, quiet, and watches me intently.

  “What, bird?” I ask, uncertain if I should leave it or not. It doesn’t seem like it can flee any nocturnal predators. “You got something to say?”

  The bird chirps happily.

  Attack at shadow moon.

  The words come from nowhere, like a whisper from behind me. I whip around and see no one.

  The bird’s tune changes.

  Capture the Heart.

  I whirl once more. The bird goes quiet and is watching me. I stare at it.

  “Did you . . . No. That’s ridiculous.” I start to wonder if LF made the animals of this world magical. Even if she did, I’m not about to ask a bird if it talked to me. I’m allowed to talk to animals because it makes sense when I do it. But them talking back? “Good luck, bird. If you can talk, don’t tell anyone which way I went.”

  I mean it as a joke, but the idea that this world – down to the birds – is nothing like mine makes me more anxious to be home. I don’t like surprises, especially not in the form of half-men, half-beast creatures chasing me through a forest at night.

  Starting away, I glance up at the sky, visible through the canopy of trees. It’s almost sunset, while the shadows of the forest are already long and growing thicker.

  Shivering at the chill of the forest, I pull up the hood to keep the evening breeze off my neck.

  I’m a good ten yards from the bird when I hear it start chirping again. I glance back to make sure no owl has it cornered. There’s nothing around it, no reason for it to start to talk again, and I return my focus to the trail.

  “Get me out of here before it’s dark, LF,” I order quietly. “I’m not a Girl Scout. I never learned to start a fire, and I definitely don’t know how to hunt or eat bears or whatever it is you put in this godawful forest.”