Stealing the Dark Moon

Certain Masters of Persuasion

Sheen faltered mid-step as a sudden burst of blue banishing flame roiled outwards towards her. The little unicorn had already galloped halfway up the base of Mt. Galefang and knew she was much too close to avoid the shock wave. She could only brace herself as the spellfire flung her into the air, pushing her towards the forest's border with the force of a tidal wave. As she struggled against the fiery sapphire current, she sensed a second presence caught up in the banishing flame: Foxkit!

No! Not him.

The air slammed out of her chest as she crashed into a tall pine tree and fell to the ground, twisting into her human form mid-fall. The crushing bruise in her lungs was so intense that she couldn't even draw in breath to scream. How could that boy fail? She'd been so sure that Foxkit was the mortal child her father had prophesied would rob Lord Ash of all his dreams. But the boy was gone now, along with her only chance to snatch the Dark Moon. Maybe he'd never been the one, or perhaps—her traitorous fears welled up—there never really was anyone who could save them, and Father's vision was nothing but a delusion brought on by his shattered spire.

Truth or lie, Sheen's heart pressed against her like a cold hard stone as she realized how easily she'd used Foxkit, never bothering to consider the consequences to his life. She never should have asked the boy to steal the Dark Moon! Had the fragile mortal even survived the dragon's banishing flame? There was no way to apologize to him now. Sheen was alone now with the threat of the Inorog coming ever closer—she froze as a twig snapped behind her. Very carefully, she glanced over her shoulder directly into a red maw lined with fangs.

She pulled in enough air for a truly magnificent shriek this time.

***

Kit wished he could've drifted in the black forever, but a bucket of icy water hitting his face jolted him awake. The stench of moldy straw filled his nostrils as he sat up sputtering in his old pallet in the Silver Penny Orphanage. Welcome home, he thought bitterly as he wrapped his arms around his chest and shivered in the cold gray morning light filtering through the flapping shutters. It was like he'd never left.

"Rise and shine, little princey," Mrs. Fairchild said. She pulled a rickety stool beside him and sat down with a smile that oozed enough honey-slick sweetness to drown a beehive. "It's breakfast time!" She held out a piece of rye bread with a thin dab of butter spread across it.

A dull ache tugged at Kit's stomach, but the hollow pain in his chest would choke him if he tried to eat a single bite. He didn't even blink as Mr. Fairchild grabbed the slice of bread from his wife and tore into it, butter smearing the uneven edges of his half-burnt mustache.

"I told you, Kit my boy, you've gotta act quick to get anywhere in this rotten world," Mr. Fairchild said as he wagged the end of the bread under Kit's nose, scattering crumbs in his face. "Lady Luck never waits for idlers." Finishing the bread in another gulp, he pulled a chair up beside his wife and sat down with his fingers slowly tapping across the oakenstaff he laid across his knees.

"What do you want?" Kit asked the pair warily.

Mrs. Fairchild reached her hand out, but to Kit's utter shock, it wasn't to strike him. He fought not to cringe as she gently brushed the hair from his forehead.

"Only what I've ever wanted, Foxkit," she said. "My poor boy celebrates his sixteenth birthday under the dirt today. A mother's grief is a heavy burden, and I know I haven't carried it well over the years. I've treated you harsh, but . . ." She paused as her lips lifted in a trembling smile, and Kit could almost believe she was a sliver sorry for all the cruelty she'd heaped onto him and the other Silver Pennies. "I can let Dirk sleep in peace now that we have the means," Mrs. Fairchild said. "It's all thanks to you, my second son, that we can better ourselves as a—a family."