Black Moon Draw(77)

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.





Chapter Nineteen





I could really use some coffee.

It’s midmorning 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.”