Black Moon Draw

by Lizzy Ford

  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 vie
w 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.

  The encampment is empty. It’s midmorning. At least, it is until LF forgets what time of day she set this scene in. I’m hoping this chapter is more consistent. I hate reading books where things don’t make sense. Living it is even worse.

  “Any minute now, LF. You can send me home,” I whisper.

  “Come!” the boy cries from a trail wide enough for a wagon.

  “Okey dokey.” I marvel at the tree houses where the army lives. I always envied the Ewoks on Star Wars because they lived in the trees. When I get home, I’m going to look into how to have a tree house like the ones here built.

  As I trail him, I start to think why I might really be here. There must be a purpose to it. Maybe the Shadow Knight is too powerful and the real Hero needs help protecting good from evil. Or could it be that I have some strange magic power that can help the people of this world?

  I like my first theory better, because it seems like a much easier issue to resolve. I have to find the Hero, help him on his journey, and then I can go home. It makes the most sense, right?

  Everything in LF’s books happens for a reason. There’s purpose behind every character and subtle hints along the way that the Hero ends up figuring out in order to save the world or rescue someone or learn a valuable lesson that makes him a better person, leader, lover, something. I’m not sure who Westley is, but I wouldn’t be surprised to meet him later.

  If I look at this adventure from this angle, instead of just being totally freaked out, might I see some of the keys I need to understand why I’m here? The sooner I figure that out, the sooner I might be able to get home.

  My gaze falls to the teen boy ahead of me.

  “Hey, um, kid?” I call and quicken my step. “Who is the main enemy of the Shadow Knight?”

  “The Desert Knight of Brown Sun Lake.” The words come out a hiss.

  Ah, that’s right. The man who mortally wounds the Shadow Knight in the book LF started. “And what’s he like? Heroic?”

  “The Shadow Knight is heroic!”

  “Okay, but are they opposites? Like, the Shadow Knight has a reputation for chopping off people’s body parts and forcing everyone he conquers into submission.” I self-consciously squeeze the hand that grew back after he hacked it off.

  “He does.” There’s pride in the boy’s tone.

  “Is the Desert Knight of Brown Sun . . . uh . . .” Is it me, or are these names complicated?

  “Lake.”

  “Right. Brown Sun Lake. Is he like the Shadow Knight?”

  “Oh, no. He tortures men and rapes women. He eats the skin off his slaves and will end the world as we know it.”

  Holy hyperbole. “Wait. You’re saying the Shadow Knight doesn’t torture or rape or pillage?”

  “He only allows quick deaths, even to his enemies, and everything we pillage is returned to Black Moon Draw, where the sorcerer divides it up among everyone in the kingdom fairly.”

  “Like Robin Hood, but with a lot more killing.” I’m not getting a good sense at all of who might be the Hero. By the kid’s rationale, it’s the Shadow Knight. But whether someone is tortured in battle or killed quickly, it sounds horrible to me. Definitely not the actions of a Hero.

  There’s always the Red Knight. He had some funky shit going on. I don’t quite want to rule him out as a potential Hero, not after meeting his sisters. They seem to have turned out well for having a brother of questionable actions.

  Which leaves me, once again, trying to figure out what my part in this story is. They’re going to be disappointed when they realize I’ve got no magic.

  I can hear fighting somewhere ahead and my step slows. “Are you taking me to battle?”

  “I am taking you to the Shadow Knight. He will know best where you can make peace.”

  I roll my eyes and continue to follow, thinking hard about whether it’s better to run now or wait to see how this plays out. Are there more hints ahead that I might need?

  I hate to admit it, but I kinda want to see the Shadow Knight’s thighs again. Where else am I gonna meet someone like him again? Or a glimpse of his biceps. I’m not sure which is more appealing. Maybe his chest. If he hadn’t had his legs tucked when he somersaulted over my head, I might’ve seen something more interesting than his perfect ass.

  Not that it wasn’t nice, but if he’s really wearing nothing under that kilt, I would’ve liked -

  “I’ll hold them off, m’lady! Run!”

  Jarred out of the daydream, I stop in my tracks to see the scrawny teen brandishing a sword as a sweaty, dirty, much larger warrior with a green circle on his tunic runs towards us. />
  “Why don’t we both run?” I ask, sizing up the attacker.

  The boy hesitates then dashes back to me and takes my hand, darting from the trail and into the forest. We’re in the damned annoying woods only a few steps before we break out of the forest into a field. I trip over something, but don’t have time to look down. The kid is fast and pulling me pretty hard for someone his size.

  He’s taking me towards the sword fights, which are at once dangerous and awkward. The men don’t move quickly with the massive weapons and I wonder why this is an effective way of battle at all. It seems like it would take forever for someone to win.

  The kid winds his way through the battles, yanking at me when I get too fascinated about this archaic way of warfare and start to slow.

  “Where are we –” Something warm sprays me and I stop, horrified. It tastes like blood. A glance at my clothing is enough to tell me it is blood. “Omigod!”

  Whose blood? Twisting, I see one of the men of Black Moon Draw working on prying a sword from the head of his enemy.

  I’ve been to one funeral in my life and have never seen anyone die outside of television. Staring at the blood and brain matter splattered everywhere, I get tunnel vision, and my ears start roaring. The world grows surreal, the blue sky swirling and colliding with the trees, the sense of floating descending over me.

  I want to throw up and pass out at the same time.

  “Come!” The kid pulls me hard enough that I almost lose my footing. He catches me and pushes me back onto my feet, and I shake my head.

  This isn’t real. That man isn’t dead. It’s a story. A dream. A movie. If I pretend these people are like those in a video game, I won’t get sick or run off screaming.

  Stumbling forward, I see another Green Dawn Cave man fall under a sword and look away quickly. Bile rises in my throat.

  This isn’t real.

  I chant the words with desperation I haven’t felt since Jason broke the news to me that he found someone else. Hot tears burn my eyes as that painful memory resurfaces.

  I’m in the middle of the field and claustrophobic, surrounded by death and blood and a nightmare.

  Wrenching away from the kid, I race towards the forest, not caring where I’m going or who might chop me down before I get there. I don’t watch scary movies, let alone can stand gore of any kind. Any thought of sticking it out to find the Hero dissipates.