Lost Moon

  Lost Moon

  Dana Davis

  © 2016 by Dana Davis

  ISBN-10: 1539142434

  ISBN-13: 978-1539142430

  Lost Moon

  1st edition

  All Rights Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher and/or author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. All characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously.

  Cover art by Blazing Covers

  Printed in the U.S.A.

  Other books by Dana Davis

  Desert Magick series:

  Superstitions (Bk 1)

  Dream Catcher (Bk 2)

  Day of the Dead (Bk 3)

  Phoenix Lights (Bk 4)

  Haboob (Bk 5)

  Teadai Prophecies trilogy:

  Deadly Fate (Bk 1)

  Sage Truth (Bk 2)

  City of Gods (Bk 3)

  Teen books:

  The Mask of Tamirella

  Quest for Freedom

  Breach of Worlds

  For Darryl,

  my love and my life.

  Acknowledgements

  Special thanks to these people and groups:

  Marilyn McGrath

  Tara Kirkland-Rainey

  Lori Kurtz-Larkin

  D. S. Komesu

  Sheila Finch

  Suzanne Greenberg

  Del Rey OWW

  Via Linda Writers Group

  Prologue

  The parched air whipped up a dust devil that settled almost as quickly as it began, and Honor’s dark skin grew moist with sweat. The lake that gave her people sustenance bounced the desert sun around, causing her to squint. An ache formed just behind her brow as she studied her golden-eyed kin and the gaggle of young women, who had come here from other parts of the world for this most important trial.

  Today, Honor stood off to one side, near those the orb had rejected. She had failed the very same tests in her youth, yet the longing to become the Keeper of the Faytools still burned deep within. With sour countenance, she watched as Sorinieve took the Keeper oaths.

  Serving the Faytools is in my blood. Why was I not chosen? The Moirai did not answer, of course. They never answered. What have I done to offend Them? The Moirai had made a mistake in not choosing her in her youth, and They made a mistake not choosing her today. I deserve that title. I worked and studied all my life for it.

  Sorinieve was not even a desert dweller. The light-skinned warrior knew nothing of the ancient texts and prophecies. She is a mere twenty-five years old, no more than a girl. Honor had centuries on her already. I also have warrior training. Something she’d finagled her father into allowing. The man had been stubborn when it came to tradition and had refused to let a girl of his bloodline practice war dances, but Honor had ways of persuading him, even in her youth, though she had not done much practice these past few years. Her aged father died six months ago, and the previous Keeper of the Faytools, the eighth in the written record of protectors, joined him shortly after in the Hollow of the Dead. May the river take them swiftly. As they had each time a Keeper died, the Faytools appeared in Honor’s village until the orb chose the next Keeper.

  Her father’s death still sat like bad meat in Honor’s gut. She had hoped things would change once he was gone but here she stood, once again among the unchosen. She frowned at Sorinieve, who had been given Honor’s very own grandson as protector. In Honor’s opinion, the boy was still too young, yet the Moirai had skipped right over her and chosen him. They did not even select me as the new Keeper’s protector. Her brother had died decades ago and she should have been next in line upon their father’s death. She believed this, despite the fact that the Keeper’s protector had always been a male in her family line from as far back as anyone could recall.

  It just is not fair. I can protect her as well as any man. And Sorinieve is no more than a child. Look how she hesitates to accept the Faytools. Idiot girl!

  That hesitation did not stop the crowd from cheering when the jeweled scepter accepted Sorinieve and tossed her blades aside. Once she gave herself to the powerful scepter, no Keeper could touch a sharp blade, and this girl was no exception to that ancient rule. A small satisfaction now to see Sorinieve’s expression as she learned this fact. Honor knew how to fight with her hands, as well as numerous weapons that did not require a blade.

  Why Sorinieve? Why not me? What have I done wrong? As usual, the Moirai did not answer.

  The seer gave her a long, intrusive gaze and she fought the urge to turn away like a chastised child. He had forced her to travel the world in search of those from his visions. No one dared defy a true seer. Even if Honor could prove he was wrong, she would not shame herself and her family by refusing to obey. As a result, she had delivered the very person she herself longed to be, and that burned in her gut like a rancid oil torch.

  Her mind turned to the Trine. Someday, according to prophecy, three women would wield the Faytools and save the world from destruction. The true Nobles. Honor’s magical visions were still vague and did not reveal details, except one. The prophesied Trine would emerge in her lifetime. A thought that occasionally sparked in her mind popped to the surface again. Maybe the Moirai have bigger plans for me. I still have a few centuries before I am in my dotage, so perhaps I am to become a Trine sister. I could not be one of the Trine if I were chosen Keeper or her protector. She had turned that thought over in her head until her brain hurt. The other elders believed the Trine would be young, but perhaps that was not so. Sorinieve had believed otherwise when she was young, but now that she was an elder herself, she knew the truth—Elders made mistakes like everyone else. We are just people. We make errors. I still feel young inside. She refused to rub at her sore knee, the one that ached when rain grew near.

  Old or young, the Trine had one essential task, to bring the lost moon back to Selenea’s sky, the missing triplet prophesied to restore full magic to the world and save it from destruction. Only those who lived very long lives, like Honor, knew that Selenea’s magic would be exhausted in a few short centuries. Once that happened, this world would grow as cold as the tallest mountaintop in winter and everyone would die.

  Honor fought a sigh as she gazed to the east and saw the first moon rising. How many more years before the Trine emerged? What would it be like to have all three moons in the sky, to have strong magic again? The last person to remember seeing three moons in Selenea’s skies died millennia ago.

  When the Magical War threatened to tear Selenea apart, the Moirai created an aurora so potent it concealed the largest moon, now known as the lost moon. It concealed most of Selenea’s magic with it, leaving only a fraction of that power accessible to a few like Honor. Royals saw those who wielded magic as a threat and enslaved any they thought possessed it. Of course, they rarely enslaved a true magically gifted person, so they periodically made examples of innocent villagers or strangers. The Trine would change that despicable behavior, because royals would bow to them. According to prophecy, the Trine also would make certain another magical war never happened again.

  Honor studied the single rising moon, crowned by several stars, as evening grew. I need to be stronger, able to do much more. I need to become a Trine. The Moirai know I am a perfect candidate.

  She eyed the seer again. Does he know something I do not? Has he seen the day I am to be chosen for the Trine? Is that why he insisted I be the one to find Sorinieve? She grew more excited at that thought. Yes, I think that must be it. Th
e Seer knows my future will be a great one and he wants me to be ready, wants me to have access to the Faytools when the time comes. Why did I not realize this before, instead of moping around like an idiotic child? Once I help restore the lost moon, restore magic, I will use it to reverse this blasted aging, make my body young again, vibrant and malleable, the way it used to be. Then I can do so much more for Selenea.

  Sorinieve’s voice brought Honor back to the ritual and she pushed those thoughts away to focus on the here and now. She still thought this girl was too inexperienced for the role of Keeper and Jakon too young for the protector role. The Moirai are testing me. I will not let my grandson and this rough girl blunder this, not when our continued existence relies on the coming Trine. Excitement welled again. Which Faytool will I wield? Who will my sisters be?

  The ceremony ended with vigorous applause, forcing Honor to focus on the present once again. Sorinieve made her way over, the jeweled scepter in her grasp, the silver talisman around her neck, and the silver ring encircling the middle finger of her right hand. Each Faytool displayed a blue stone resembling the tiny blue star that appeared in the sky after the fateful and historic aurora concealed the third moon. Legends stated that the Moirai put that star in the sky as a reminder of what Selenea lost, a reminder of the Magical War that nearly destroyed the world. Since that day, it crept across the sky with all the other pinpricks of light, in an endless loop of rising and setting.

  Sorinieve squinted up. “I am pleased Jakon passed his test, Honor.” Sweat beaded on her sun-touched face and her nose was still peeling from a recent sunburn. “He is a fine warrior. In addition, your bloodline is strong with the Faytools. I am certain he will bring luck to me. And to the Trine, once they are chosen.”

  At least this rough girl had finally learned some manners. Honor had stolen her during a battle, no easy task, and one that nearly got them both killed. The young warrior had no choice but to leave with her, even though she had spouted many reasons to stay. Honor understood the warrior call but she also understood duty. Even the lowest peasant knew it was treacherous to anger the Moirai, who controlled life and death itself, and no one with half a brain would refuse a summons to an orb trial.

  Honor held her head erect. “Yes, well, just make certain the two of you get right to your training.”

  Sorinieve pressed her thin lips together but it was a brief gesture. “Of course, Honor. But I am a warrior, and now I cannot take up my sword.” One hand drifted to the empty scabbard at her belt. “Do you know a way I can outwit the scepter?”

  The nerve of the little chit! Honor stilled the flame in her mind to keep her temper from exploding. Her voice came out just above a whisper. “No Keeper wields a blade, Sorinieve. Not ever. The scepter is your weapon now.”

  The girl’s eyes hardened. “I know the tales, somewhat anyway. But why was I chosen? I am a bloody warrior for Moirai’s sake, not a magician.”

  Honor’s blood began to rise again. “You dare dishonor the Moirai?” Sorinieve’s eyes narrowed. The movement was slight but Honor caught the reaction. Honor held upper status with her people and would not let this ruffian sour her rank or the future Trine’s reputation. Especially when I become one of them. “Idiot girl. You were selected to help save our world. To protect the Faytools until the Trine is chosen.” However wrong that seems. “Even a ruffian like you should know that much. Were your parents so remiss in your education?”

  Sorinieve’s face reddened, despite her sunburn, and her voice grew dangerous. “I am not dishonoring the Moirai. I am merely asking a bloody question. I am a warrior. I began training as such before I even had my woman’s blood. So, why me?” She lifted the jewel-encrusted scepter. “Why this?”

  Again, Honor stilled the flame in her mind. Despite everything, she had to admit she liked the fire in this one. “The Moirai chose you and that is all you need to know.” She crossed her arms, colorful beads hanging from her sleeves tapping together, and stared down at the shorter woman. The two locked eyes and Honor considered slapping Sorinieve for her impudence.

  Jakon came running up. “Honorable Grandmother.” He gave a respectful tilt of his head. “I am grateful the Moirai chose me as the Keeper’s protector to follow in Grandsire’s steps.” Like Sorinieve, he was barely out of adolescence, too young for the task as Keeper’s protector. His golden eyes mirrored the rest of his people’s and his brown skin was slightly darker than Honor’s. He now wore his hair in a single braid down his back, a warrior’s status symbol among their people, and the black strands glistened with agavseed oil. “Would you be kind enough to tutor us, Grandmother?”

  Others knew common stories about the Trine legend, but the elders’ circle kept the most protected secrets hidden from the masses. And I belong to that circle. At least Jakon knew how to show proper respect, unlike Sorinieve, who kept a hard gaze locked on Honor. That fire will most likely get the idiot girl into serious trouble.

  She ignored Sorinieve and gave Jakon a smile. “Of course I will teach you, Grandson.” What better way to keep them under my eyes and ears? “But first you and the new Keeper must go on your vigil.”

  “Yes, of course. Come, Noble.” He took Sorinieve by the arm and led her toward Mystical Caverns. At least the girl did not resist. In the caverns, they would wait for the scepter to give Sorinieve her first vision.

  Once the new Keeper and her protector walked away, the rest meandered toward whatever destiny the Moirai intended for them, some looking dejected, others grateful.

  Curiosity about her own future rose again. Unlike most on Honor’s world, her people lived very long lives and, despite being a grandmother, she was youngest of the elders. How long must I wait to be chosen for the Trine? She could hold out another few centuries before death stalked her. This is a test. It must me.

  The seer eyed her again and she forced an unperplexed gaze on him. He bid her farewell, then strode toward his waiting wagon. The Moirai only knew what he saw when he looked at her and she, for one, was glad to see him leave. Perhaps she would learn his secrets one day, but she would not dishonor her family name by questioning him. One did not question the seer without invitation.

  She gazed in the direction of the cave where Jakon and Sorinieve had gone. A test. And I will pass. A member of the Trine had to learn immense patience. Something that has always been difficult for me. And if it is not a test, Honor? If the Moirai have chosen another for your task, what then? Her gut soured at that thought and she shoved it away as she started toward the lake, away from the others. She smacked a hand against her forearm then flicked away the corpse of a tiny, bloodsucking insect.

  I will be chosen.

  Chapter 1

  The glacial air bit through to Kepriah’s skin as she buried her partner’s body. The ground beneath the snow was so hard she could not dig into it. She had tried using her belt knife, then her sword, but the ground was too hard, even for steel blades. She could barely see through the scarf that wrapped her face, and her breath filtered through in steamy spurts. She had lost many friends over her lifetime, but this death left her as numb inside as she felt outside. Disconnected. Like part of her had been cut away. Manry had been a trusted friend and lover these many seasons and she hoped her warrior skills could match his someday, the only way she knew to honor him.

  Two fur-lined cloaks and two pairs of gloves did not seem like much protection in these bloody mountains. She stamped her feet to shake them free of numbness and placed rocks she had managed to scavenge over the snowy mound as quickly as possible. “Go with the wind, Manry,” she uttered through quivering lips, her voice hoarse and unrecognizable to her ears.

  With stiff gestures, she made the sign of protection over the stones. Her eyes moved up to study the aurora that waved above this part of the world. Had this been another time, another place, another reason for coming to Forbidding Mountains, she would have thought the sight beautiful. Her gaze fell on the pile of rocks again and she bit back a mournful cry. No time for tears or
remorse. She had to keep moving, find shelter before she froze to death.

  The dead mount, a large jabber, lay in the snow. Even with its thick hide, it could not withstand these freezing temperatures any longer. She had sliced the beast’s body up the middle and its heat had kept her alive while she buried her partner next to it, but steam no longer billowed up from the jabber. It will be completely frozen soon.

  She had already taken Manry’s cloak, gloves and hat, a promise she had made as he died in her arms, and the extra clothing hindered her movements almost as much as the cold. As quickly as she could manage, she carved into the beast and shoved the raw meat into her open pack, now stiff with ice. She had to hurry. The jabber’s carcass would attract predators soon, if it had not already. Though Kepriah was good with a blade, she was no match for a screech cat or den wolf, especially in this bloody weather. Anything that survived in these mountains would be especially hungry this time of year. And night was not far off. It would only grow colder once the sun dipped below the horizon.

  Rope secured the fur-lined cloaks, heavy and stiff with ice, around Kepriah’s shivering body as she flung the large pack over her shoulder. One hand latched onto the lantern that still hung from the jabber’s saddle and she pried it off with fingers that felt as numb as her toes. The glass had broken but there was enough fat and wick to give her a night or two of light once it thawed.

  She adjusted the two hats tied upon her head, the fur providing little comfort to her throbbing ears. Her sword became a shovel as she used it to create a path in the snow, something no warrior would do with such a weapon, but desperation held her in its grasp. She would cleanse the blade later, if she survived. This bitter weather had surprised her and Manry both. Stories about Forbidden Mountains were rampant in the taverns and Kepriah had thought them a good place to hide, but the stories never prepared them for these glacial temperatures. Even Manry’s skills had not prepared him for this place, and his age had defeated him as much as the cold. He died helping Kepriah and she would never forget his selflessness. Or his friendship, which at times had been that of a lover.