Black Moon Draw (7 page)

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.

“I got her!” The shout is accompanied by someone smashing into my side and driving me to the ground.

The air is knocked out of me and I lay, mouth gaping open, struggling to breathe. The man with a green circle has his hands raised in triumph and he’s signaling to someone else.

As much as I despise him, his blow knocked me out of panic mode and I roll onto my stomach and start to cough as air reaches my lungs. My ribs ache from his tackle and I focus on the strand of vibrant grass before my eyes. I pluck it up, mesmerized by the moist, ribbony texture.

It’s real, and so is everything around me. If I don’t get my shit together, I’m going to end up in a box before I can make it home.

“I survived being bullied in high school and college, before I dropped out. I can survive this.” With a deep breath, I push away from the earth and climb to my feet.

The man who tagged me stands nearby. The moment I stand, he whips out a club big enough to smash my skull in, and raises it to slam into me.

I stumble away and drop to my knees, praying my Ninja Turtle shield won’t crack. Heat flares at my core, beneath the medallion touching my chest.

His blow lands, but I barely feel it. I’m more surprised by the arc of purple sparks that fly off the shield at impact and light up a small dome around me. His club glances off, and the pale purple-pink shield around me fizzles and disappears.

I may be new here, but I’m no fool. I’m not about to wait for him to find a spot not protected by the magic shield. I dart off at a sprint, this time aware of where I’m headed.

Puffing hard, I’m breathless before I reach the tree line, my thighs burning like crazy. I weave through the fighting warriors to the first tree I spot with branches low enough for me to reach.

Just like when I ran from the bullies in school.
I was that nerdy kid who had glasses when she was six, braces all through high school, and sat in front of the class because I actually enjoyed school. My world revolved around my books and I made up excuses to skip gym class because I have no athletic bone in my body. Being humiliated as the person no one wanted on their team left a mark, one that got worse when my parents divorced.

I felt like everyone hated me, even my dad when he left.

To escape my life, I used to climb the tree in my front yard and sit with a book until it was too dark to read. I could pretend my world was better, different, happier, when I was in my tree.

I really need that safe, secure escape from reality now.

I throw myself into the task of climbing the tree with relish, anxious to get away from my pursuer and the gruesome battlefield.

He snags one leg. I smash my other heel into his face and he lets go. Maybe I should feel bad, but I’m envisioning him being Tracey Smith, the leader of the girls who used to torment me until I graduated high school.

Or maybe, I’m envisioning Jason, who I wanted so badly to punch, except he broke up with me over the phone, so I couldn’t.

I really hate my life.
Not only did I get stuck in a book, I didn’t even get to change who I am. My hips aren’t thinner and my bad luck is fully intact.

I blink back the angry, hurt tears blurring my vision and focus on climbing and reaching the safety of my tree.

I climb until the trunk starts to slim down too much to support me, a sign I’m as far up as I can go.

Hugging the tree, I find a somewhat comfortable perch to hold me and rest my forehead against the bark.

“Please let me go home, LF. This isn’t cool.”

Nothing happens.

“If this is because I made fun of your typos, I’m sorry.”

I steady my breathing and wipe my face. A glance at the battle below is enough to tell me it’s almost over. A ring of Black Moon Draw men five deep are around the tree, looking up in what I’m guessing is confusion. I huddle next to the trunk, not caring that the ants living in the bark are crawling all over my arms.

I’m emotionally exhausted. After meeting Disney Princess, I feel a little rawer, reminded once again why I never stacked up to what Jason thought I should be. She is perfect in every way. Me?

Not so much. Even in fiction, I can’t get a reprieve. If I were average in real life, I’m below average here.

While I’m safe up here, I’m also reminded of all the other times I climbed a tree to escape my feelings and hurt. It’s so fitting that I’m in a tree after Jason dumped me and I was dropped into a magical world. It’s also so telling, I’m embarrassed.

My life really hasn’t changed much. I hid as a kid. I hide as an adult, afraid of rejection and putting myself out there for fear of being hurt.

Maybe that’s what being an adult is: quiet misery. Maybe I should stay in my tree forever, or at least until LF lets me return to my disappointing life.

“Witch!” The Shadow Knight bellows from the base of the tree. “Come down!”

“No!” I shout back. “I’m staying here!”

“You are a
battle-
witch, not a
tree-
witch!”

Does he really think I know what a tree-witch is, let alone think I
am
one? “I’m not a witch at all!”

“You did not learn your lesson.” He sounds disgruntled.

“The one where you cut off my hand? Who
does
that?” I look at my newly grown hand, a little weirded out by it.

“You need another lesson.”

“I don’t – what’re you doing?”

He pushes the trunk of the tree, testing it, and then strips off his weapons, depositing them into a heap beside him. His massive boar’s head looks up at me for a split second before he does something I don’t expect.

He takes the animal head off to reveal a normal human head.

I stare, stunned. Never did it cross my mind that they wore the heads of animals like most men wear hats. Here I thought they were half-man, half-beast creatures.

“Nice, LF. I did not see that coming,” I murmur. I raise my voice to address the destroyer of kingdoms. “Leave me alone!”

He ignores me and begins climbing the tree with inhuman ability. Any idea I have of him being normal is dispelled by the way he moves, with agility that shouldn’t be possible for a man his size, and strength that far exceeds any human I’ve seen in superhero movies with all the special effects.

I watch him in alarmed fascination, my gaze falling again to the exposed, muscular upper body. I’ve forgotten the most intriguing part of him until he’s almost close enough to touch me.

God, I love brownies.
I breathe in his scent, momentarily transfixed by the scent of sweet, dark chocolate.

“Come down, witch,” he orders me. His pace slows and he grows more cautious as the thinner trunk of the treetop starts to bend beneath our combined weight.

“Leave me alone and find a new witch,” I say firmly. “I’m going home.” I scoot over to keep from touching his body, his scent and strength something I’m not prepared to handle, even on our second meeting.