Black Moon Draw (30 page)

The seat of Black Moon Draw had been abandoned for a thousand years, waiting for the Shadow Knight capable of ending the spell that held it in its grip.

The Shadow Knight was halfway to his hold when he noticed something that made him halt in the middle of a frozen crowd of his subjects. He turned all the way around to survey his surroundings, his gut twisting and chest constricting.

A hundred thousand people, his people, would perish in two days.

The cliff top hold had never been breached by an enemy, let alone taken. It was built to withstand years of attacks, needing only a small amount of men to hold the fortress. But there was only his sword – and the dangerous magic at the core of the hold that spewed out deadly fog.

The realm would be destroyed long before he had a chance to save even one life. A thousand years of fighting ended here, with the last Shadow Knight.

If his army were present, he would not hesitate to take the fight to his enemy. It would be over quickly, for the Desert Knight did not know Black Moon Draw the way his men did.

He turned his gaze to the heavens, shrouded by fog. The sensation he had experienced earlier in the day –
hope –
was gone. He was not long for this world and never meant to see the blue skies.

A thousand years and he was so close to saving everyone.

A thousand years and he was about to lose everyone.

Raw emotion pierced him and suddenly, too late, he knew what he wanted after the war and curse ceased to exist.

He also knew it no longer mattered, that the reason he never thought beyond the end of this era was because some part of him innately knew he would never see the dawning of the next.

His focus settled on the fortress at the center of the city, the source of fog and the heart of the curse. The witch was right. There was a time for battle and a time to try aught very different than battle. Failing to defeat his mortal enemy, he still had a chance to face the curse the way the Knights before him had tried.

As he strode towards his hold, he went over what he knew of the interior, especially the chamber at the bottom of the uppermost, highest tower, from whence the fog spouted. Sword sheathed, he shoved open the wooden doors of the fortress meant to be his home and broke into a run, sprinting through the castle before its deceptive walls and hallways could rearrange themselves.

The purple haze was visible the moment he turned down the long corridor leading to the tower entrance. Still, he did not stop, too aware of time slipping away. The Shadow Knight reached the door, breathing hard.

The source of the curse, of evil, of the destruction of his realm lay behind the door. The hallway was colder than the ocean air, the fog dense enough it was difficult to breathe. A thousand years culminated in this moment. His body pulsed with raw energy, his teeth clenched hard enough for his jaw to hurt.

He placed his hands on the door and pushed.

It did not budge.

Bending, he nestled his shoulder against it and tried again.

No movement.

The fury and frustration building in his body erupted. The Shadow Knight smashed into the door over and over, first with his shoulders, fists, and feet, and then with his axe and sword

Neither weapon nor body left so much as the tiniest scrape and the door remained locked.

“What is the secret?” he roared into the air, fear at his core again. “I am not afraid to face you!”

Silence.

Shaking with emotion and exertion, he stared at the door, his sense of doom creeping over him.

He could not fight an enemy he was unable to confront.

A thousand years and it ended here, a scrap of magical wood preventing him from saving his realm.

I could really use some coffee
.

It’s mid-morning and I’m safely stowed away in the trunk of a large tree at the base of the mountains. What little I slept was filled with bizarre dreams that made no sense. I had hoped the long dead warrior queen would make an appearance.

She didn’t, which leaves the medallion and me at odds once more.

“What do these words mean?” I ask Westley.

Dressed for battle, he sits quietly on the other side of the tree, resigned to be my babysitter instead of preparing for war like the rest of his father’s army is doing.

“We do not read or write,” he replies.

“No one does?”

“Scribes do. ‘Tis not a noble pursuit.”

I wish my squire was here.
I trace my fingers over the writing. I’m not sure I should talk or trust the teen facing me, but at the moment, I’ve got no real choice. “Any idea how this really works?”

He shrugs. “’Tis a secret only the battle-witches of Black Moon Draw know. Our battle-witch had none.”

I stand and pace, thoughts once again on the Shadow Knight. “I only have two days to figure it out! How can it be that hard?” I glare at the medallion.

“Two days? Nay, witch, it’ll take but one,” Westley replies.

“For what? Are we talking about the same thing?”

“The fall of Black Moon Draw.”

I drop the medallion and face him fully, startled. “What’re you talking about?”

Westley glances up from the piece of wood he’s patiently carving. “My father’s armies lie between the Shadow Knight and his armies. We will take his hold by morning. If he refuses to surrender, my father will slay him, as was done a thousand years ago.”

My whole world stops.

He lowers his whittling project. “You speak of aught different. What is it?”

It takes me a minute to find my voice and begin breathing once more. I sit down heavily, once again torn by what I should or shouldn’t say to him. “The curse. It ends in two days, and if the requirements for lifting it aren’t fulfilled, this whole world ends.”

“You jest.”

“No.”

“Then you are wrong.” He shakes his head decisively. “The curse can be stopped by the death of the Shadow Knight. My father says so. To prevent the fog from consuming the world, we need only to kill him.”

“Westley, listen to me. Black Moon Draw must reclaim its power and rule over all the kingdoms in the realm before the start of the next era, or this world and everyone in it ceases to exist. It’s what drives every Shadow Knight to conquer.”

He studies me, distrusting. The muscles of his jaw are ticking.

“The great warrior queen of Black Moon Draw said there were side effects of her spell that she didn’t know when she placed the curse upon everyone.”

“You spoke to her?”

“In a way, yes. She spoke to me in my dreams,” I reply. “I don’t like the way the Shadow Knight does things any more than anyone else does. But I understand that he’s trying to accomplish something truly great. He’s trying to save the world.”

Westley stands, shaking his head once more. “I cannot believe this!”

“It’s true!”

“I know, witch, that you are a prisoner, one who will use manipulation to be free. I do not fault you for this. ‘Tis your right to -”

“Westley, I’m not –”

He holds up his hand and I shut up.

“’
Tis your right to use deception and lies to escape. But what you speak is nonsense. No battle-witch has ever spoken to the dead, and nowhere is it said that the kingdoms will disappear if the Shadow Knight does not win.”

“I’m not wrong!”

“You are tired and confused.”

I’m getting nowhere with him and fight the urge to climb a tree rather than hide inside one. He’s more upset about what I’m saying than he was being imprisoned by the Red Knight. Maybe I’m wrong about him being reasonable or approachable, but I really thought I had a shot with this kid.

His dismissive choice of words reminds me too much of Jason, who had a way of brushing off everything I felt or said. It strikes me how much I hate feeling that way, how much frustration this kid provokes and how deep the emotion runs.

He’s not Jason, and I’m no longer the mushroom who let Jason talk to her like this.
I force my hunched shoulders down and decide that the time for backing down is gone.

“Will you think about it?” I ask softly. “I
am
a battle-witch from another world. I might not understand much about here, but this is one of the few things I’m sure about. I know you’re afraid of your father, but you need to grow a backbone and focus on what’s right instead of what he tells you to do.”

He looks like he wants to say something and then shakes his head, storming out.

For once, I’m confident. Unaccustomed to pressing an issue instead of dropping it, I’m surprised by how natural it feels to stand up for myself. I usually let people like Jason tell me I’m wrong, ugly, stupid, fat – and I usually take it.

Not anymore.

“Where better to start being someone else than in a place that doesn’t exist?” With a newfound bloom of warmth inside me, I lift the medallion. “You’re next.”

I trust you.
The Shadow Knight’s steady declaration was part of the reason I didn’t sleep well last night. He did what Jason, Tracey, and others have never done in my life – believed in me – and instead of being grateful, I did what I always do: freaked out, assumed I’d fail, and ended up letting him down anyway.

I feel like I owe him to try.

I also feel like I owe
me
to try. I’ve never been particularly secure about who I am, always down on my looks, low paying job, lack of a life, thunder thighs, general apathy about my future, you name it. I feel safest when I’m lost in a book because there’s no one to judge or reject me. Last night, huddled in his arms, I decided to do what was right instead of being swept away. The sense I need to take control of my life, to start living it on my own terms, is gaining ground. I set limits with the sexiest man alive; I can make this damn thing work.

Shifting to get comfortable, I continue to gaze at the medallion. The scene of the battle-witch cursing the realm replays in my thoughts. She had been so strong and sure of herself, the opposite of me. The man she loved had just been struck down and she was running on pure adrenaline. There is more about her than her depth of emotion that makes me envious.

Self-assurance. She didn’t doubt her ability to command the medallion; she owned that shit. She had a man as powerful as the Shadow Knight at her feet, devoted enough to give her all the magic in the world. A woman like that doesn’t hide in trees like I always have.

A woman like that gets what she wants, even the sexy Knight of a non-existent world.

I close my eyes to concentrate. There are patterns when the medallion sparked to life: when I’m in mortal danger, when the Shadow Knight is, and when we both are. Danger is the common thread, but it’s not clear why it operates sometimes and not at all other times.

Danger and . . . what? There’s got to be another factor. With the arrogance of a man who rules a kingdom, the Shadow Knight seemed to think provoking me was the right way to force the magic to work.

I think there’s something different at work here. A shield to protect me, a shock to prevent him from losing his head, flattening an army, a lift for both of us out of the falling tower.

“What’s the common factor, LF?” I demand of the author that stranded me in this world. There’s no writing on my hand to help me out. “Something I said? Something I did?” I think back to those scary situations. They’re somewhat fuzzy, given the amount of emotions and adrenaline that were in my blood at the time.

“Extreme emotion. Instinct,” I murmur to the black Heart in my hands. Fear? Anger? Were those the keys? It seems like a horrible way to devise a weapon, like linking a nuclear bomb to a cranky three-year-old and hoping it doesn’t go off. The image of the battle queen lingers in my mind. “I didn’t have a chance to second guess myself.”

The Shadow Knight’s declaration from the tower returns to me, his claim that I needed to abandon my self-pity and appreciate who I am. Could he have been hinting at what the key is without knowing it?

That sounds so stupid
. I can almost hear Jason say the words.

But he’s not here, and this is my story, not his.

“I didn’t beg it to work. I commanded it,” I say with an uncharacteristic dramatic flourish. My face grows warm and I glance around to make sure no one heard. “Why the hell not?” I respond aloud. “Why am I never good enough? They built an entire legend around me here!” There’s nothing wrong with my thoughts or feelings or looks. It’s a lot to swallow after a lifetime of hiding myself away, but this is my second chance.

Heroes are normal people who do extraordinary things
, the battle queen had said.
Not always because they choose to, and rarely because they want to. But you know what? When it matters, they take a step they never thought they’d take.

Is this my step? Can it be as corny as learning to believe in myself? In not being afraid to take a chance, seize control of my life, and live?

I opened the door to my soul last night with the Shadow Knight. Even if I didn’t let him enter, the entrance remains open, my emotions raw, and my newfound determination to try to live on my terms hovering in the doorway.

The writing on the medallion flares to life.

I almost drop it. “That’s it, isn’t it?”

A tingle of electricity tickles my fingertips.

“Maybe I should show Westley to be sure I’m not going crazy.”

The light goes out and the tingle vanishes.

With a startled laugh, I turn the medallion over in my hands. “You only work because . . . what? I believed in myself for a fraction of a second?”

A flutter of warmth runs up my arm.

The magic of a kingdom, collected over a thousand years, in the palm of my hand. The key to the Shadow Knight winning his battle and saving his world. And all I have to do is turn off those negative thoughts that make me feel bad about myself and
believe.

“If you’re that strong, then do something amazing. Bring me a cup of coffee.” I wait. Nothing appears before me and my brittle hope starts to wane. Self-doubt returns. “No! I believe in me!” With a quick look around, I thrust out my arms the way televangelists do on the television, squeezing my eyes closed. I’d do anything for a cup of coffee, even suspend my self-consciousness and turn off my thoughts.