Opal Summerfield and The Battle of Fallmoon Gap

by Mark Caldwell Jones

  “So much trouble you have caused me,” he whispered harshly. “My name is Luka Turner. I’ve been sent by the Protectorate to help you. Don’t move!”

  Opal struggled but didn’t scream. Somehow she knew this Turner boy was not dangerous, but it didn’t matter. The real danger was coming through the forest. It was running straight for them, and Luka looked very worried.

  21

  Hookrum was the name the white folks of Grigg’s Landing gave to the black side of town, which stretched out east, past Rambrey Park, over the Main Street Bridge, and across the Buffalo River. If you set foot in Grigg’s Landing and you were black, you would eventually find yourself being called a rummer. It didn’t matter if you had just travelled from some exotic locale; it was just assumed that anyone with a skin tone in the range of cinnamon to molasses had roots in Hookrum.

  In turn, the black folks called the white neighborhood that clustered around the river port: Possum Belly. They used the similar term possum bellies to describe their annoying neighbors who burned easily in the sun. They never revealed these nicknames in public, because doing so would undoubtedly provoke a dangerous reaction.

  However, the rules were different for the white folk. They didn’t hesitate to use rummer in common conversation, because they had the privilege, by numbers, to do that.

  Of course, this prejudice was silly, since Grigg’s Landing was such a small town, and these two neighborhoods were three horse gallops away from each other.

  In addition, this intolerance was dangerous. It created unnecessary separations. It grew deep, like a root, underneath the town’s consciousness. It festered there, slowly poisoning its surroundings and creating a tolerable climate for evil—a place where the worst of the worst could thrive.

  However, this is not how Big Maggie Brown would have described her rise in prominence or the success of her carefully laid plans. What she was fond of saying was much more succinct.

  “Mags has got to find that necklace!”

  Big Maggie said this to Kerr Elkins, the town sheriff. She sat fanning herself in one corner of the lawman’s office, one foot up on an old apple crate. Her skirt was hiked up indecently. She had a thin, store bought cigar hanging from her mouth, and smoke slowly escaped her nostrils. She looked like a plump baby dragon cooling down after a blast of its furnace.

  “Why you bothering me Mags. You know I don’t know anything about it,” Kerr complained.

  “Well, you know I’m insistent on settling our accounts, darling. What I’m after is some help, some agreement. You know your deputies been roughing up my place and my customers. We just can’t have that. You know what it does to Maggie’s business, now don’t you?” She asked.

  “Oh, those ole boys are just trying to have a bit of fun, Maggie. They don’t mean no harm, no harm at all.” Kerr smiled devilishly.

  “The harm would be the lack of pay that comes my way when they show up and scare people trying to have a good time at the Stillwell. To top it off, they are stealing. Whoo-wee, can you believe that? Good honest lawmen, committing a crime during the execution of their most sacred office.”

  “No ma’am, I don’t believe that in the least. Would you have any proof to offer?” the sheriff inquired with a wide grin.

  “How about the half-case of my good moonshine stored up in your little shed out back?”

  “You mean our evidence? Oh heck Maggie, we can get that back to you for a small delivery fee, no problem at all.”

  “Delivery fee? Don’t talk crazy to me.”

  “You know, beautiful, you make me crazy. Every time you come around, I lose my head!” Kerr leaned in.

  “Why you boys want to come nosing around my place after dark anyway? You know, a white boy can get hurt doing that. Hookrum is dangerous, sure is. That’s what I hear anyway. Bunch of heathens all nested up in there,” Maggie chuckled, staring straight into Kerr’s dark eyes.

  “No, we wouldn’t want to stir up trouble—trouble that I would have to end. You and me both know where a rummer ends up if he so much as touches one my boys.” The Sheriff was not teasing.

  “So you ready to get violent, Kerr?”

  “Well it does get things done, don’t it?” Kerr smirked.

  “I’ve been looking for that necklace a long time. It’s real important. You know that, right?”

  “Yeah, I know it. Don’t know why you’re wasting your time though. But that’s your business.”

  “Well, I’ve got something that needs fixing, perfect for you and your crew.”

  “Yeah what would that be?” he asked.

  “The old woman Willis. She’s been getting in my business. Meddling real bad. I need you to handle her for me.”

  “What? That old bag? She’s blind as blind can be. Sits up on that hill, ain’t doing nothing but making a few bucks with her little fortune telling con. Ain’t nothing illegal about it.” Kerr was surprised.

  “Don’t underestimate that woman, dear. That ain’t no game she’s running. She’s got the power, no doubt about it,” Big Maggie said.

  “Well why don’t you take care of her yourself. Sounds like you know just what to do.”

  “Can’t! She’s got some very powerful magic protecting her. Dangerous spell, for sure. Set up like a trap, just for yours truly. I don’t want any part of it. But I need her out of the way.”

  Kerr broke out in a laugh. “Your serious, ain’t you? This is a first. Don’t much spook Big Maggie Brown.”

  “Just take care of it Kerr, and do it quick. I’ll make it worth your time.” Big Maggie let her skirt slide a bit further up her chubby thighs.

  “You are one slick business woman, Ms. Brown. Could use more like you around here. How can a man in my position say no?”

  “You can’t—not if you want to keep the wheels turning.”

  “Turning wheels, yep. Them wheels of progress.”

  “Dang straight!”

  “No one really seems to care which way the wheels spin, do they? Just as long as they keep spinning,” Kerr said.

  “Just play your part Kerr, if you know what’s good for you and yours. Play your part and things will settle out real nice,” she said.

  Big Maggie Brown took her last drag, stood up and smudged the butt of the cigarette under the sole of her boot, and then sauntered out the back door of the sheriff’s office.

  22

  Luka put his finger to his mouth, signaling Opal’s silence. In a spinning motion, he rolled through the forest floor and came up on one knee, rifle in hand, aiming it toward the approaching noise. The young man fired. His target was too quick. It disappeared. Then it was upon him again. It leapt forward like a mountain lion pouncing on its prey. Opal rolled back into the shadows. Luka was immediately disarmed, staring down the barrel of his own gun.

  “Where is the girl?” the Ranger asked as he cocked the gun.

  Luka tried to break free and the Ranger kicked him to the ground.

  “A shard rifle? You just shot a shard rifle at me? Damn, son. You got the gizzard and guts, dontcha? Who are you?”

  Luka spit out a trickle of blood and wheezed out an answer.

  “I do what I’m commanded to do. Don’t you know how that works? I’m here to protect her from the likes of you.”

  “Well that’s not going very well, is it? First, you’re just a kid playing soldier. Second, you just fired a very loud magical weapon, in the dead of night, in some very bad territory. Every hungry supernatural creature within miles is on its way here. That was just plain stupid! Now, while we’re all still alive, I’ll ask you one more time. Where is the girl?”

  “Who’s the real bad guy here? You’re hunting a kid!” Luka said with indignation. “There’s no honor in that, you gutless coward. Tell me why you want her?”

  Luka unsheathed a dagger from a leather scabbard anchored to his back. He slashed at the Ranger’s leg. By this time, Opal had crawled closer to the struggle. With another rock in her hand, she was ready for another round. When th
e Ranger stepped away from Luka’s attack, she slammed the rock down on his head. The Ranger fell to the ground unconscious.

  “Good move girl. I’m glad to see you have the courage to fight. But if your ears are working, you just heard this scum tell me that you are still in danger,” Luka said. He raised the blade over the Ranger’s chest.

  “Nooooo!” Opal screamed. “No more killing. If you are here to save me, then do it. Let’s get out of here!”

  Luka sheathed his blade and grabbed his rifle.

  “Opal Summerfield, there is no doubt you have your mother’s courage! Let’s go!”

  Luka reached out for her hand. Opal reluctantly took it and the new companions turned and ran deeper into the danger of the wilderness.

  23

  Within seconds of leaving Sheriff Elkins, Big Maggie Brown was somehow home, many miles from the center of town. She stepped out of a cloud of dark swirling energy that washed away in the star-filled sky.

  Her large house sat at the edge of a thick grove of walnut trees. It was a two-story dogtrot made of half-hewn logs square notched in the old style. It had a porch one room wide and two rooms long, which served as the saloon on Friday and Saturday nights, except in the winter.

  She had a smokehouse the size of a small barn, and a barn that housed one giant still that ran all year long, pumping out the best corn liquor known to that part of the Ozarks. Timerus McGraw ran shipments of the moonshine up and down the White River. Big Maggie didn’t care where money came from, as long as she got a steady flow of it.

  Her place was called The Stillwell. It had been owned by one of the oldest pioneer families of Grigg’s Landing. Scipio and Kaybell Stillwell, two very hard working people and the first black Ozarkers to make a homestead in Grigg’s Landing. In days past, this side of town was called the Stillwell farm, because that’s about all that existed. Now it was the center of Hookrum and the base from which Big Maggie planned her revenge.

  Big Maggie’s past was as hidden as the mojo hand stuffed in her undergarments. No one had a clue about the magic that had brought her to this area of the Ozark wilderness.

  When she was still new in town, people would only see her infrequently, like a visiting relative who made an occasional trip. Overtime that changed, until she seemed to be hiding around every bush, making trades, doing deals, buying up land, and trading information.

  Her purposes revolved around her obsession with a rare opal that hung on a lost necklace. She hunted for it constantly. There was a bounty for it and Big Maggie moved people like chess pieces, all for that singular purpose.

  Nevertheless, she had not revealed her greatest secret.

  Big Maggie Brown was not Big Maggie Brown.

  24

  Tirian Salvus wandered back into the gates of the city. On the lower level of the great cathedral, just past the herb garden, was his workshop, which he shared with an older man named Fig Macallan.

  Fig was a squat man who spun from one workbench to another like a child’s top wound too tight and pulled too hard. He stood about four feet high and a thick black beard reached down to his knees. He had a curious pair of eyeglasses with a set of magnifying monocles that fanned out in all directions. The eyeglasses sat on his beak-like nose. He wore a leather apron with many pockets, which were filled with tools of all shapes and sizes. This made him look like a black bear cub who had been attacked by screwdrivers.

  The workshop was packed with a multitude of half-built contraptions spread over the acreage of pine workbenches stained with dark oils and char. Clockwork dragonflies swarmed the workshop in a frenzy of clicking ticks, whizzing gears, and the clean slick fluttering of their metal wings.

  Tirian found Fig adjusting his latest invention: steam-powered fireflies. They looked like copper birds the size of robins, but instead of tail-feathers, a hand-blown glass bulb dangled at their ends. The bulb had been blown sharp at one end, giving the firefly a glass stinger. Butter-colored light flared from inside.

  Fig stood on top of one of his largest workbenches amidst a half-dozen such machines, which hovered and bobbed around him. He tapped one dimly lit firefly and it sputtered and hissed copious amounts of steam from a faulty gasket.

  Tirian knocked on the doorjamb of his shop. Fig tapped on the firefly. Tirian knocked again. Fig tapped again harder.

  “Old man! New work approaches! Put away the toys,” Tirian called.

  Fig would not turn from his work. “Heh? Hold it, please…almost got this.” He tapped more rapidly and the firefly light swelled to its brightest.

  “Okay, that’s it…keep it up little one. Ah…there she goes! Beautiful!” he said.

  Fig let out a long sigh of relief and turned to his guest. “Well look who’s here. It’s Master Tirian. Good day to you, young sir!”

  Just as Fig turned to Tirian, the firefly exploded, sending shards of glass and tiny copper parts flying through the air like shrapnel. The mini detonation took out two of its firefly companions as well. Fig toppled forward off the bench. Tirian caught the man, beard and all, before he crashed to the ground.

  “Easy does it,” Tirian said, doing his best to set the small man square.

  “Dang steamworks. I’m a better gear man than a plumber,” said Fig, righting himself and inspecting the other firefly victims.

  “Well, we might find a use for those in our arsenal, if you can’t get it sorted,” chuckled Tirian.

  Fig smiled. “Indeed!” he said. “Well Master Tirian, I suppose you’ve come to check on my progress, eh?”

  “Progress, that’s what I’m looking for.”

  “And this is the place! Always a new idea in the rubble of the old. Come on to the back.” Fig waved Tirian on, weaving through the workbenches to a secret corner hidden in the back room of the shop.

  “Here we have it, in its unrealized glory,” Fig said.

  Tirian picked up a gilded horse bridle. It had arcane markings on its leathers, and the bit was not the normal steel. It was made of crystal.

  “It’s not perfect yet, but it’s ready for a test run! The bit is a shard from a rare powerstone. Because of its cut, it seems to have limited power, but it will open a gateway. In other words, it will get you almost anywhere you want to go, instantly,” Fig said.

  “How’s it work?”

  “Quite simple really. In the form of a bridle, it will generate a field of energy around the animal that wears it.”

  “Any animal?”

  “No. It’s calibrated only to a firehorse. It seems the magic of that particular breed is what allows the bridle to actually work. Not sure about the details really. Anyway, you’re a strong, fearless lad. No need to get bogged down in the details right?” Fig said with a wide grin and slap on Tirian’s back.

  “Right, little man. You are very right about that!” Tirian said.

  “You have to gallop straight at a breach. When the firehorse sparks, it will create a portal that lingers long enough for you and an entire band of men to ride through. That is, if y’all are riding at top speed.”

  “Not a problem,” said Tirian. “It’s just me this first time out.”

  “Maybe you should take one of your friends? Ellie or Luka?”

  “They’re busy with other things,” he said.

  The truth was that none of his friends knew about his secret plans, and if they did, he would be in serious trouble.

  “Right. But there are some things you need to know. Rifts are always changing and closing down, and there’s no telling when that will happen. And you’ve seen yourself how the firehorses are sick. Something is seriously out of sorts. You might find yourself trapped, unable to get back,” Fig said with concern.

  “I have to figure this stuff out, Fig! I think I’m one of the few with the training and knowledge to help us stop what is happening. You know how I respect the Elder-Prime but he’s not listening to my concerns right now.”

  “I understand you admire Prismore. He has meant a lot to all of us. I haven’t forgotten that
. Just remember, sometimes our heroes disappoint us. They change, and sometimes that change can be very, very bad!”

  25

  “You mentioned my mother. I don’t think you were talking about Bree Summerfield, were you?”

  Opal sat with Luka in a small cave, a crack at the base of a limestone shelf. Luka had been true to his word. He had expertly guided them deeper into the wilderness, and to shelter. He collected pine needles for a bed and branches for cover. He said that at first light they would make their way out of this vale and back to higher territory.

  “I know of your real mother. She’s respected in Fallmoon Gap. That’s where I’m from. I’m part of a group of people who protect these mountains,” he said. He arranged a small bundle of dried maple branches for a fire.

  Opal said nothing, letting the new reality sink in.

  My real mother! I have a real mother? Her mind was alive with the questions this idea provoked.

  “Your mother was part of my group as well. We call ourselves Wardens. She is considered a hero in our city. She died saving many people’s lives,” Luka said in a solemn voice.

  Died. She was dead. That detail pierced Opal straight through the heart.

  For the most part, Opal had assumed that her real mother was dead. Bree had encouraged her to accept that fact as well. But some small part of her had hoped she was alive. She often imagined hearing a knock at the door, then opening it to find a beautiful but frantic woman searching for her missing daughter. In that moment, she imagined being lifted skyward in celebration by both her mother and her father. She dreamed about them weeping happy tears and how they’d celebrate their reunion.

  She could sense it in Luka’s manner: he was not lying. Her mother was truly gone. The reunion would never happen.

  “The evil that’s hunting you now is the same that killed your mother,” Luka said. “I’m truly sorry for your loss.”

  “And my father?” Opal asked.

  “He’s gone as well.”

  Luka was much more emphatic about that. In fact, his tone seemed almost angry. Opal felt her own wave of emotion building, like a quake builds in the depths of the earth. The ancient plates that protected her core bulged and strained against the grief.