Opal Summerfield and The Battle of Fallmoon Gap

by Mark Caldwell Jones

  Tirian and Remm sloshed through the water and rode after it. The metal dove took flight again when they approached. The magical machine was tracking his friend and drawing Tirian deeper into a mystery.

  Who is hunting whom? That is the real question!

  34

  Opal felt the rapids raging. Crushing. Churning. Driftwood cracking. Water drowning. Rocks meet the soft patch of her hair, scalp, and skull. Warm blood. Black water. Black night. Nothing. Long dark spaces of nothing. Black wilts into gray shadows. Starlight. Beauty. The moonbeams that filtered through the forest canopy bounced from one polished wood beam to the next. It seemed someone had woven tree limbs together the way old Ms. Pym Wilson wove baskets from wet strips of white oak. Each piece of wood was in the exact right place, so that it created a beautiful and strong lattice that bore the weight of the structure’s roof and glass skylights.

  Opal rolled, stiff and aching, onto her side. River water, sand, and mud covered her entirely. Every part of her body hurt. Blood oozed down into her eyes. She tried to stand but could only stay on her feet for a minute. It was too much. She collapsed in the center of what seemed to be a wooden gazebo nestled in some unknown part of the Ozark forest.

  Eyes open, eyes closed. Stay awake. Stay alive! Gears begin whirling. The floor moves. Body descends. A rush of cold air envelops her. Skin prickles at the chill. Darkness again. Torchlight. A man. A woman. A tunnel. Wet limestone. She is carried, she moves fast. Finally rest. New, soft, just right warm light. Opal stirred in a bed. Her vision slowly came into focus. Doc Trimble—Mr. and Mrs. Oliver. She knew them all well.

  “Child, we thought we would never see those bright blue eyes again!” Nan Oliver said.

  “Thank the Lord! She is alive,” Thomas Oliver said.

  “Move aside.” Doc Trimble shuffled down the edge of the bed. “Good morning sunshine!”

  He examined Opal’s head, her eyes, and her wounds.

  Doc Trimble was the only trained physician in the town. Thomas and Nan owned Oliver’s General Store in the heart of Grigg’s Landing. These adults had been part of Opal’s world as long as she could remember.

  Doc Trimble was a constant presence. Over the years, he had been to the Summerfield farm many times. Nan and Thomas Oliver had a special place in Opal’s heart. She bought so much licorice from the Oliver’s store that they made special orders just for her. They called Opal by her proper name, something most adults in town would never do, especially when it was a white-belly addressing a rummer child.

  The Olivers were different. Mr. Oliver believed that anyone with money was a potential customer—black or white. He didn’t care one way or the other.

  He was famous for saying, “If a person’s money is green and their blood red, and their heart decently good, then they’re welcome in our store.”

  Because of his sensible and generous spirit, Oliver’s General Store was a comfortable haven for the black folk in town, and because it was the only general store it was a daily necessity for the white folks as well. It was a true melting pot, an experiment in community.

  Anyone who took Mr. Oliver’s kindness for weakness, however, would find himself or herself at the wrong end of his shotgun very quick. You didn’t walk into that store hostile; you left your prejudices in outside, or you would find yourself escorted—and possibly even banned—from the store.

  Tolerance was the real commodity the Olivers sold to the townspeople of Grigg’s Landing. Tolerance nurtured and planted in the soil of kindness.

  In this moment, Opal was the happy recipient of what had grown in that crop. She sat up in one of the Olivers’ bedrooms, Jenny Oliver’s bedroom to be more precise, decorated for a girl in lace curtains and pastel bed sheets. A row of porcelain dolls lined one wall. They had gathered a bit of dust; Jenny was an adult and married. She had taken the hand of Jon Bursten, a local barn builder with a thriving business.

  “Opal, let me look at you.” Mrs. Oliver leaned in and pushed Doc Trimble out of the way.

  She was gifted in healing and had been a midwife before she caught the eye of Thomas Oliver during an autumn square dance over thirty-five years ago. The most gorgeous woman in all of the Ozarks, Thomas had declared. A consummate salesman, he considered his marriage to Nan the best deal of his life. Their partnership was certainly one of the strongest alliances the town of Grigg’s Landing had ever known.

  As Nan Oliver looked over Opal’s wounds, she was back in the role of healer. From a basket at her feet, she rifled through an assortment of glass jars. From one vial, she applied a clear liquid to the cut on Opal’s legs and head. When the sting came on, she gently blew on the wound. Her breath was of honey and chamomile.

  Opal felt her anxiety wane. She was in one of the most comfortable beds she had ever been in, being tended to by three lovely people. There was a store full of food and candy under her, one floor down. Opal had no idea how she got there or why she was where she was. She had lost all track of time, but she didn’t care.

  The witch. Fighting the horrible razorbacks. The magic of her necklace. Luka dead? Were any of these things real? The cut on her legs said yes. There was no doubt something had happened. For now, she was safe from those monsters and from the dangerous river.

  Nan finished applying a light green paste over the cuts. It smelled of mint and soothed the burning pain in no time. Thomas Oliver stepped in to wrap up Opal’s wounds in a linen bandage.

  “I should hire you two out—you make good assistants,” Doc Trimble said.

  “You can’t afford me,” Thomas snickered.

  Everyone laughed. Doc Trimble bandaged the bad gash on the left side of Opal’s head. In no time, she was wrapped up like an Egyptian mummy. The medicinal mixtures oozed and worked against her skin. The Olivers put away their supplies. Opal leaned back and sunk into the fluffy down pillows.

  “Do you remember what happened?” Thomas Oliver asked in the gentlest tone he could.

  “There will be time for that talk later,” Nan said.

  “I remember some of it,” Opal replied.

  Opal could see her clothes and the scabbard of the lost dagger laying in a neat bundle in a wicker chair next to the bed. She reached up for her necklace; it was still around her neck.

  “That is a beautiful piece of jewelry you have there, Opal,” Nan said. “I’ve never seen it on you before.”

  “It was my birthday present,” Opal said slowly. “Only had it a few days now.”

  Her words trailed off. Flashes of the party, one of the happiest moments of her life, clashed with images of her family’s massacre. All on the same day, she had experienced the best and the absolute worst times of her life. How would she ever get over something so horrible?

  “Well, what a mystery we have here,” smiled Thomas.

  “Indeed, one we should all discuss as soon as possible,” Doc Trimble said, nodding at Thomas knowingly.

  Nan Oliver shot them both an angry look.

  “Yes, soon enough. But as you can see, my boss is making the rules right now. Why don’t we go prepare some food, and you sleep some more. You took a nasty knock to that lovely head of yours. The more you rest the faster you’ll heal,” Thomas said.

  “I appreciate what y’all are doing for me. It’s really fine. But being on my own now, I just want you to know: I’m going to have to make up my own rules. So if I want to talk about it, or if I don’t, I’ll let you know,” Opal said a bit roughly.

  “Girl, that is the darn truth. But you’ve always made your own rules. From the time you were knee-high until now. We all know that! We don’t expect that to change just because you got a bad bump to the head,” Nan said.

  Opal grinned a bit. “Well, I appreciate that Mrs. Oliver. Why don’t you tell me how I got here. Last I knew I was floating down a river.”

  “In time, young lady. In time,” Nan said. “So, because my rules ain’t working, how about a bribe, hmmm?” Nan presented Opal with a new bundle of Blackband’s Legless Lizard Licorice.


  “That’ll do!” Opal said eagerly.

  She tried to shift herself in the bed to reach for the candy. She was shocked at how sore and damaged her whole body felt.

  “Always prepared, eh Nan?” Doc Trimble teased. The two men laughed.

  Opal started to laugh, but she was so sore she could hardly move. When she leaned forward, she felt things rip and tear. The pain radiated from her head down through her limbs. She felt done in by the agony of it.

  Nan brought the candy over to Opal. She took her bribe in one hand and placed her left hand firmly over the stone dangling at the end of her necklace. She hoped it would give out some warm glow and distract her from the pain. She gave Nan a weak smile and closed her eyes.

  Heal. That is what I need to do. Heal. Let the pain end.

  A vibration slowly radiated across her chest and she heard the stone humming in her head. A cold surge flashed out, as if the stone was beginning to freeze. A dull violet light wiggled its way out from between Opal’s fingers. The cold jewel throbbed like the aching wound on Opal’s scalp. Violet gave way to a deep purple. The icy stone seemed to speak to Opal.

  Heal. Restore. Make new.

  The room filled with lavender light. Doc Trimble and the Olivers were stunned as they witnessed the magic. The cold spread to Opal’s wounds. It was as if Nan Oliver was pouring a new medicine into the cuts. The room began to smell like elderberries. Goose pimples spread like mad over her body. The icy energy intensified until it burned. Then the burning doubled. Her leg was on fire. She yelped as little daggers of energy assaulted her.

  Nan moved in to help, but Thomas held her back. Finally, Opal dropped the stone from her hand. She kicked the covers off her legs and ripped open the bandages. The green salve was unchanged. She scraped it away as if it were the source of her pain. Doc Trimble moved fast to help. Maybe it was not the right medicine and her body was rejecting it. Nan and Thomas descended on the bed to help her. All four furiously wiped away the cream and tossed the bandages.

  The adults stood up by the bed in absolute shock. They were all completely speechless.

  35

  It was dark along the Devil’s Alley wall, but Remm’s mane was still aflame and cast some light on the ground. Tirian Salvus inspected the arrows he had found. The metal tracking dove flicked its wings, slick-slack, as it perched on the wall above them.

  The arrows were normal power crystal broadheads, except for one small detail. The cock feather was noticeably larger than the rest of the fletching, and the sinew that held the feathers in place was tied with six distinct knots—more than necessary and a thing most arrow makers would avoid.

  He only knew of one notorious person that would over-tie in such a way. Seeing the infamous Warden’s obsessive handiwork was like a revelation. It meant that whoever possessed the rest of these arrows either knew the man, had been trained by him, or had stolen his quiver. And there was another, more obvious explanation: this dangerous criminal was alive!

  The arrow showed no age. It was fresh, except for a smudge from a magic power flare. The archer could not be far away.

  Tirian chanted the tracking dove back to life. He pulled his firehorse through the forest by the reigns, watching to make sure he could see where Fig’s little machine landed next. He held the arrow with some reverence, studying it again as he passed through the rift and waked deeper into the wilderness.

  Then, not too far from the wall, he found something else—a crystal cartridge from a shard rifle and evidence of a confrontation.

  His heart raced as he thought about what it could mean. Is this the reason Prismore had sent him?

  Luka, are you still alive?

  36

  “Impossible!” Doc Trimble said, slapping his hand to his forehead. He turned to the Olivers. “Absolutely impossible!”

  Opal was in shock as well.

  She stuffed the end of a strawberry snake into her mouth. The adults stared at each other in amazement. She twisted and turned to examine her body. There was no sign of battle damage, no scar—nothing but perfect, honey-brown skin. All the hurt had subsided. She was like new. Opal looked to the shocked adults hovering over her. Her smile was as wide as the room.

  Like Eve in Eden, Opal suddenly realized she was naked. Her brown cheeks burned pink and she scrambled for cover. She grabbed the sheets from the floor and covered up, but the adults were still staring at the necklace, dumbfounded.

  Thomas took the bandage from Opal’s head. He turned back to Nan and Doc Trimble. “Healed!” he said.

  Doc Trimble leaned in. “Not just healed, completely healed. No scar or trace of damage!”

  “I’ve never seen any of my medicines work that well in all my life. Dear Lord, I don’t believe it!” Nan said.

  “And I’ve never seen your medicines give off that kind of light!” Thomas laughed.

  “The stone—was it the stone, child?” Nan asked. “Did the necklace do this?”

  Opal stared back at her three observers for a long time. She didn’t know what to say. She gulped down the last bit of a legless-lizard. All the crazy events of the last few days were a storm of bewilderment, but the truth was really quite simple.

  “Yes,” She said. “It was the necklace!”

  37

  The Ranger stood at the edge of the White River, crumbling sandy shore underfoot, watching the water break over a spill of mossy boulders and flood away to the east. Where the water pooled was like the face of a crystal. Night was beginning to fall into the crevices of a persimmon sky. The flicker of starlight slowly replaced the ruby sun, which was dancing off its stage. He felt the coolness of the river air swirl around his legs as it rushed through the trees to the north. He could see that he was many miles west of where the North Fork River intersected the White.

  It was the end of the girl’s trail. Below him, dried blood and clumps of coarse hair were matted together in a wedge of mess, like someone had spilled tar in the sand. Massive boar tracks, easily distinguishable from other animals, were scattered here and there. These were not the common wild hogs that roamed these hills. He wished he could find evidence that they were ordinary, but he knew better.

  Grigg’s Landing and the territory encircling it was becoming a battlefield. A door—one he had hoped was closed—was now swinging back open. He did not want to accept it, but the signs were obvious now.

  He believed you could track evil like you tracked animals moving in the woods. Evil had chased the girl to this spot. It was clear she had fought back. There had been several skirmishes. The child made a final stand by the water. Then the river took her away. He hoped the river had been her means of escape and not her death.

  He now knew the name of the girl to be Opal, daughter of Bree and Hud Summerfield.

  Behind him, a man moved through the woods.

  “Are you going to stand there all night staring at the dang river?”

  Jefferson “Jack” Thomason pushed his way through the overgrown tangle of honeysuckle vines and stepped up behind the Ranger.

  “Not with your stinking carcass near me, I’m not. We’d attract every scavenger within a hundred miles,” he teased.

  “Why you want to hurt old Jack like that? What in the heck would you do without me, great demon of the Ozarks? Wait, don’t answer that. I know, you’d get torn up by them monsters you hunt and die beside some mossy creek,” laughed Jack.

  “You mean you’d let me go out that way? Just when I thought you were starting to like playing at being a surgeon and stitching up my wounds.”

  “The day I like it is the day I quit. I stitch you up so you don’t bleed all over my fine home. Also, it makes you a lot easier to be around. Remember the time you led Crail and Black back to my cabin?” Jack said.

  “You don’t let me forget it,” sneered the Ranger.

  “For sure, I don’t. Without me, those boys would have shot you quicker than chain lightning,” boasted Jack.

  “I’m not dead yet.”

 
“Maybe not on the outside,” Jack said. “But I’ve got some serious concerns about your insides.”

  “If it’s your cooking you’re talking about, you’re right. How many of your nasty meals have I had to stomach? It’s like drinking bad moonshine. Screws up my judgment,” the Ranger said.

  “Well, we both know how great your judgment is, don’t we?” Jack picked up a clump of the sand and rolled it between his fingers like putty.

  The Ranger watched him quietly.

  “Wereboar blood. That’s not a good sign.” Jack circled the area. “Did you find the kid?”

  “No.”

  Jack traced more of the tracks. “I’ve studied all the evidence. I know the difference between a mutation caused by the rifts and a mutation caused by conjuring. This is sorcery for sure. A malfeasant has done it.”

  “The conjurer?”

  “Maybe, yes. Could be our old friends too. And here we hoped they were dead. Damn shame they’re not, poor bastards!”

  “It has to be her, I feel her evil all over it.”

  Jack stepped up beside the Ranger, both men looked back over the river as it rolled on. The river never stopped moving forward. It was an inspiration to the Ranger, who often felt out of heart.

  “You know, getting rid of these things—” Jack held up a clump of wereboar hair. “—that would be a real service, but also a very dangerous business. Maybe too much for even you to handle.”

  “I won’t give up until they’re cured, or dead. If she is back, that means she’s got them on her leash again,” the Ranger said.

  “You know you don’t have to go charging in picking another fight with her. As far as she knows, your dead,” Jack said.

  “This time I end her absolutely!” the Ranger said furiously.

  “This is evil business—it’s never going to end. There will always be another battle to fight. You can either be slayed by the sword, or you can hang it up on your wall for decoration, take up new doings, drink moonshine, and burn rabbit stew. Make it part of your past, if you ever want to be free.”