CHAPTER 9

Half Past Stars Marks the Hour

The Marapore village square was cloaked in night, the buildings a canvas of alternating shadows and shades of blue. The air was beginning to cool. And a yellow Pegasus with a gray-and-black mane sat waiting patiently. She had never been more ready.

Daring stared down at her hooves and practiced the pattern of Horse code from the paper. Once she’d perfected that, she looked up at the stars and passed the time by listening to the symphonic scratch of crickets. If it weren’t for the fact that the cottage windows had all been hastily boarded up with firewood, the soft snores of the ponies in their beds would have added some percussion to the score. Daring shifted her body weight to make more room for her wings. She had chosen to wait in the school doorway because it had the perfect view of the village square.

Daring recited the rhyme in her head again. Half past stars marks the hour, masked by darkness of the night. “Half past stars,” Daring mumbled to herself, considering that maybe she’d missed something in the message. “Easy. Has to be a half hour past sundown.” The “darkness of the night” thing was obvious, too. Foal once noble now turned sour. More open to interpretation than the others, but if that kid knew what he was talking about, the phrase did imply the possibility of a local hero gone bad being the culprit. And the only pony who fit that bill was Mojo, also known as the Stalwart Stallion of Neighples. The reason why he’d turned sour was an entirely separate issue.

Daring Do still couldn’t believe how much Tater Tot had known about the prophecy, the Flankara Relics, and their infinite powers. His insatiable thirst for knowledge reminded Daring a little bit of herself at that age: curious to the point of recklessness. Anything for an adventure. It was endearing, really. But following a hero turned evil thief in the middle of the night was not something that little tyke should be doing.

Tater Tot had begged to come along, but she told him to scram. Too many younger ponies thought they had the chops to do what Daring did on a daily basis, and too many got caught in the cross fire. They always needed rescuing in the end. It was exactly why she preferred to work alone.

Daring exhaled deeply. Of all the parts of her job, stakeouts were the worst. If nopony showed up soon, she was just going to have to go out and take some action herself. Finding the cave door and kicking some stallion flank both seemed like appealing options. She crept out from her hiding place, keeping her knees bent low to the ground in her signature crawl. The village square wasn’t wide, so with only a few paces she was in front of the statue.

In the moonlight, the stone sculpture took on a new life. During the day, it had looked proud and valiant. Now it seemed ominous. The eyes of the stallion were wet with night dew, creepily glistening like real eyes. One could have mistaken them for actual salty tears. Daring reached her hoof up to touch the moisture, just to be sure. It was never a good sign when things made of stone cried. Daring knew that one from experience.

The sight of rain running down the eyes of the statue on the Hidden Tomb of the Cipactli Queen was forever burned into her memory. She imagined it was tears dripping into the crevices and the sounds of screams that had given away the band of Caballeron’s henchponies watching from the shadows.

“What happened to you, Mojo?” Daring circled the statue. The front right hoof was frozen in a permanent raised position. Secured firmly inside the statue’s grip was the mighty Arrow of Marapore. The arrow itself was made of complex, interlocking pieces of gold and silver. The relic sparkled, almost as if it were glowing from within. Daring could feel the excitement rising in her. The powers of this object were vast. A tiny part of her wanted to snatch the object for herself and fly off into the night. It was like a beautiful siren calling out to her, trying to lead her astray.

If it looked this incredible now, what had the brilliant artifact looked like before its brothers had been taken from Lusitano and Ponypeii? The three were tied to one another by some powerful, ancient spell. And the villagers had attested to the fact that the arrow had dimmed, much like their spirits, ever since Mojo had paid the other towns a visit. But why, out of the three, had the arrow remained untouched until now? There were so many questions to be answered and only one way to find out. Daring was going to watch over this monument until something happened.

The thud of hooves on the dirt path broke the silence. Daring darted back to her hiding spot, her heart beating wildly in her chest. She covered her mouth with her cloak to muffle her breathing. Everything was unfolding just as she’d hoped.

A huge stallion entered the square, his form dark and menacing against the star-filled sky. The shaggy base of each of his hooves was as big as all four of Daring Do’s put together, and with each stomp, the ground rattled beneath him. As he drew closer, details of his countenance came into sharp focus. Daring craned to see his cutie mark, but he kept moving back and forth—presumably to check for spies such as herself—just before she could get a glimpse of it. His hide was a shiny silver hue, and the hair of his tail was deepest black, except at the root. There, it was a putrid, glowing green.

“The Stalwart Stallion of Neighples! What a joke I must be now,” the stallion bellowed as he arrived at the foot of the statue. “I never deserved a monument. It’s so much more fitting that I am the great and powerful Mojo now—a pony who sees what he wants and takes it for himself!” The greedy monster looked up and unleashed a hearty cackle. “May this statue be a good warning to those who ever think of crossing me again!”

Another of Tater Tot’s predictions had come true. The thief was none other than the venerated hero of the Tricorner Villages—the Stalwart Stallion of Neighples! The one who’d brought the Flankara Relics to the region in the first place, to protect its ponies from the lava of Mount Vehoovius. But what had made him turn evil? All this pony used to care about was protecting the villages, and now he was the one tearing them apart. It just didn’t add up. Daring immediately thought of the inscription in the book, which predicted a “foal once noble now turned sour.” Sour was an understatement. But something must have happened to scar his soul so deeply.

Then the Unicorn turned so his flank was visible, and Daring cringed, finally understanding what he was after.

His cutie mark had been mutilated. A slash down the middle had left it brutally deformed. It was difficult to tell what the symbol had been before, but it looked like it was green. The flesh in the middle was a raw, shiny red. Daring was appalled. Who would do such a thing, and how? A cutie mark was a pony’s essence, a physical embodiment of their spirit. It must have been some very dark magic.

She felt an ounce of compassion for the stallion, but promptly brushed it aside. It didn’t matter what he had been through; there was no way he was taking everypony down with him. The Tricorner Villages needed the Flankara Relics more than he did.

A low, booming noise resounded. It seemed like it was coming from the direction of the jungle. At first, Daring believed it to be an army barreling toward them, but the smell of sulfur and the smoke rising in the distance told her otherwise. Mount Vehoovius was going to erupt tonight!

Mojo pulled back the hood of his cloak to reveal a wild mane and yellow eyes that seemed to burn with a hunger for vengeance. He stared up at his prize with longing, but hesitated. He was savoring the moment. “I’m taking back what is rightfully mine, and nopony can stop me.”

The Flankara Relics, the villages of Marapore, Lusitano, and Ponypeii, and all the ponies living there were about to become ancient history. Or they would have if Daring Do hadn’t been lurking in the shadows.…