Black Moon Draw(8)

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.