Opal pressed on, one tiny city symbol at a time, deeper into the unknown. Hoping beyond hope that the next junction would reveal something significant. Something told her that her plans for navigating these underground passages were failing miserably.
I’m not going to give up! she promised herself.
Then the kerosene lantern began to sputter.
When the lantern was finally out of fuel, Opal was in the dark. She felt her way forward by hand.
She came upon another junction. She felt for the tree symbol and used it to ascend into another hut. The structure was identical, down to the last detail. Only the scenery beyond the windows was different.
To the south, the land sloped in a steady decline. Row after row of trees, a stream, and about a half-mile beyond that, she recognized steam rising from a large barn that she knew to house several giant moonshine stills—she was staring at the Stillwell. Opal was disappointed by the landmark. She had only made it to outskirts of Griggs Landing.
She slumped onto the hut’s bench dejectedly.
If Luka were with her, she would be further along. Even though she had been impatient with him, he was strong, confident, and knew what to do in these woods. He was also handsome and had seemed only a few years older than her.
Don’t fall in love with a ghost, Opal.
She rummaged through the chest. She was happy to find a very thick wool blanket among other helpful supplies. The builders must have anticipated that those who sought refuge in their glass huts would need a few things. There was no kerosene, but there were several torches, a flint starter, and a small hunting knife.
In the bottom of a burlap bag, she found dried apples and a bundle of jerky tied off with a cotton string. Opal tore into the crinkled meat and stuffed her mouth with a few pieces of apple.
A finely-crafted clay jug sat in the chest. It had fancy script on the side of the bottle: Sultan Salvus’s Pop-Skull Cider. She popped the cork on the jug and sniffed. Moonshine fumes filled the hut. She peered inside the jug and could see a strange sparkling mist hovering above the liquid.
She took a swig. It burned its way down her throat and warmed her belly. The aftertaste was metallic but apple-sweet. It made her pucker. Her thirst and hunger were immediately gone. New energy filled her body.
Strange, she thought.
She took another sip and felt even better. It seemed to have some magical properties.
She rolled out the wool blanket and folded it over so that she was sandwiched between two layers. She lay down and looked at the abundance of stars through the beautiful roof of the builder’s refuge.
Her necklace glowed a faint brassy color under the blanket. She watched it pulse and was lulled to sleep. She dozed and occasionally woke up and to give the area around her a quick scan. For a while nothing disturbed her.
When she woke for the third time, something had changed. Someone or something was coming toward her through the forest. Opal scrambled behind the pew, positioning the bench between her and whatever was coming up the ridge from the direction of the Stillwell.
Her stone turned from apricot to pumpkin-orange. The light filled the hut. She tucked it deep under her clothing and covered herself in the wool blanket. The deep gray of the wool acted like camouflage. From a distance Opal would look like a medium-sized limestone boulder dropped in the middle of the hut. Only a tuft of her wild hair and the orange of her eyeshine gave her away.
Soon it was clear that a horse and rider were moving her way. The single rider multiplied to four. Bart Matthews rode toward her on the very mare she had stolen from Worthingtons.
The riders moved in a single line and crested the ridge. The horses seemed to be trotting straight for the hut. The lead horse broke off to the west and rode toward the edge of the canyon. The next two riders split off to the east. In a few seconds, Opal was surrounded on three sides. One rider was about two hundred yards away. The two riders to the east were about fifty yards off—close enough for Opal to hear them talk.
Bart Matthews, bringing up the rear, seemed to be heading straight for the hut. He kicked his horse into a faster trot and rode directly by the hut, only a few feet away from its entrance. He seemed to be looking directly at Opal wrapped in the blanket. He gave no indication he’d spotted her. How could he not see her? Opal’s heart was racing and the stone began to throb more noticeably.
Bart Matthews was fidgeting in his saddle, making his impatience obvious. He took off his cowboy hat and dragged his fingers through his greasy black hair, then called to the men.
“This area looks clear. Let’s see what we can see from the bluff. Maybe the girl has a fire going. She’s not smart enough to hide it.”
The two men to the east murmured to each other. They were ignoring him. Bart rolled his dark eyes and trotted forward.
“Damn fool black girl. If I could find her right now, I would cut her good. What the heck is so dang important about her anyway?” asked Rufus Farley.
The other man responded, “Well, idiot, for one thing, she just burned down the preacher’s house. But if you were smart, you’d figure the better reason. Two people from the opposite sides of life—the Pastor and Big Maggie Brown—are after her. One’s got to figure she’s worth something. Since we’re the law, we’re going to make that our business.”
Opal recognized the voice. It was the deep baritone of Sheriff Kerr Elkins.
“Well boss, you handle the master plan. I’ll string her up like we done the others. Before it’s all said and done, might be a little party,” said Rufus. He was an ugly hillbilly with a hound dog face and a potbelly. His black felt hat fell over his beady eyes. A tin star hung from the pocket of his tobacco-stained shirt. He was a buffoon next to Sheriff Elkins.
Elkins had a mop of golden hair and a well-defined physique, but he had a murderous look that tempered his attractive features. He seemed to radiate rage. Opal knew immediately that he was a killer.
The callous talk of lynching people shocked her. Images of the Hoods assaulted her mind, like a thousand bee-stings filling her with little doses of hatred. Her reflection in the hut’s glass windows revealed that the pupils of her eyes were beginning to glow crimson-red.
Is that me? Look at my eyes. It’s unnatural!
Opal thought about the house she had just burned. She didn’t want to do that again. She needed to get the heck out of the hut.
Opal scurried the last few feet toward the wood relief. She kept the wool blanket over her for extra camouflage. She began to reach for the tree symbol, unaware that the blanket had caught on the corner of the open chest. As she strained for the button, the blanket went taught, and the chest’s lid came down with a loud slam. It sounded like a gunshot.
Before Opal knew what was happening, Kerr Elkins was standing in the entrance staring at her.
“Well look what we have here boys, our little brown rabbit. What a surprise!”
Rufus Farley leaned in with a sloppy grin and spat tobacco juice on the floor of the hut.
“What are you doing in here, little girl? You praying to the angels? Or is it the devils? I can’t keep up with what you rummers believe,” Farley said.
Opal was still in shock. Terrified, she didn’t know what to do. As the Sheriff motioned toward her, she pulled out the small hunting knife she had found in the chest.
“Well, really now, what the heck you think you are going to do with that? I use knives like that to pick my damn teeth,” Kerr said. He stepped into the hut toward Opal.
She pushed up against the wall of the hut, wishing she were invisible. She held her knife out rigidly.
“You want a knife? I got a knife for you!” Kerr said, slowly unsheathing an oversized dagger. Hunters called such a blade a Black. It was named after the Ozarkian craftsman that made them famous. It looked like a massive spear compared to Opal’s meager weapon. Kerr’s was sharpened to perfection; moonlight sparkled off its edge.
“You’re no Sheriff,” she yelled. “You’re a liar and
a killer!”
Her frustration at being cornered reached an apex. The stone was alive. Her cotton shirt turned to ash, exposing the opal. It had changed color once again, burning like a blue coal.
“What in the heck is that?” Kerr asked, genuinely shocked. “You some kind of witch, little girl?”
“Keep her alive!” Bart yelled out from behind the men.
McGurdy crowded at the entrance alongside Farley. Kerr was transfixed by Opal’s necklace. He started to move toward her.
“Abner wants her alive, Kerr! Damn you! Don’t make any stupid moves,” Bart pleaded.
Kerr ignored Bart and kept advancing.
Opal screamed out, “GET AWAY FROM ME!”
She threw her knife at Kerr. He just ducked it and laughed. He took another step toward her. Arcane light illuminated the hut like a magical lantern. The sapphire energy began to creep out from the stone, down and over Opal’s arms and hands. Farley and McGurdy backed away in fear. Kerr pressed in. His eyes widened into a hypnotic stare. He adjusted the knife to his other hand and reached for Opal’s necklace.
Opal slammed her hand into the tree symbol. The floor jerked and dropped down. Her hands filled with magical power. Kerr, in mid-step, stumbled forward as the floor of the hut descended. The rest of the men fell backward, out of the frame of the door, and watched as Kerr barreled into the tunnel, falling right on top of Opal.
Pain exploded through Opal’s body. A quickly expanding puddle of blood pooled under their bodies as they disappeared into the tunnel.
After a few whirls of the hidden gears, they were closed off from the rest of the hunting party. The men pounded on the floor of the hut frantically. Their screams were muted echoes reverberating in the tunnel.
Opal was pinned in place. Kerr pushed himself off her, and when he leaned back, she could see a tremendous amount of blood covering them both. She panicked as Kerr threatened to finish her off.
Kerr growled out his disgust. “You little black—”
A crystal tipped arrow pierced Kerr Elkin’s throat before he could finish his sentence. Blood squirted from his wound in a hiss and the man fell over on his side, freeing Opal. His massive knife was buried deep in his belly. He had stabbed himself and was very dead.
Opal searched her own body for wounds, but there were none.
In front of her was the most beautiful girl, her bow still steady, another arrow already nocked. Opal got to her feet looking back and forth, first at the sheriff, and then to the angelic archer who had just saved her. Neither girl said a word. Opal’s terror receded and the stone went dark.
“Thank you,” Opal stuttered. “Thank you very much!”
Opal’s olive-skinned hero was petite but muscular in a lean way. She had lovely facial features and almond-shaped eyes, which were dark, like her long straight hair. She was dressed in leather studded with emerald-plates. It was Luka-like armor.
The archer put her arrow back in its quiver and the length of her bow collapsed into its polished handle. She hooked what remained to her belt. She reached into one of her larger pockets and produced a small globe of raspberry quartz. It looked like a plum. It began to hiss. Steam spurted from some unknown part of the sphere. It floated out of the woman’s hand and hovered within a few feet of the ceiling. It produced enough light to illuminate the entire tunnel.
“My name is Eltheon,” she said. “Let’s get out of here!”
57
The Ranger watched as the men tied their dead companion’s purplish corpse across a horse. Soon they rode off toward Grigg’s Landing.
The small wooden chapel was a way station for travelers and an entrance to a magical web of tunnels. Its true purpose was unknown to most who lived on this side of Devil’s Alley, but the Ranger knew all about it. Like roots of a tree, this system of pathways spread out under the limestone base of the Ozark Mountains. It was a network of passages leading to strange locations. Specifically, to the one place he swore he would never return.
As he approached the structure, he could see trails of blood leading to the entrance. Inside was more blood and evidence of the child. He swore under his breath.
Why does everything lead back to that god-forsaken place?
He activated the tunnel entrance. He rode the floor down and stepped into the passage. He was about to break his fifteen-year-old promise.
The Ranger ran through the cold of the subterranean air. He needed no light; hate was his compass.
58
“If you want to travel swiftly to a certain location, you have to use the right combination. I was trained to know them all. Few people’s knowledge is that complete, though,” she said to Opal.
Eltheon pressed on the third consecutive symbol. It was different from all the others she had chosen before. She turned to see Opal studying the way she navigated the tunnels.
“I was just using the city symbol,” Opal said. She moved through the opening. The quartz plum followed, lighting the way.
“That was a reasonable way to start out, but these rift tunnels defy simple logic,” Eltheon replied.
Opal’s mind drifted. She wondered about all the other choices she had made. If she was wrong about how to navigate the tunnels, she was probably wrong about other things too: the confrontation with Abner Worthington, the burning of his house, stopping at the hut to sleep. None of these choices had gone well. She felt stupid thinking about how she’d given herself away in the hut. That dumb mistake had nearly gotten her killed.
Her mind spun the other way.
I’ve burned the Worthington’s house and killed the Sheriff. I have to be the worst criminal in the history of Grigg’s Landing. I can never go back!
Opal rounded a corner and found that Eltheon had stopped ahead of her at another junction.
When she caught up, Eltheon said, “Opal, I can hear the turmoil in your mind. Reviewing your intentions is always good, if it’s done fairly. Doubting yourself only leads to confusion, and eventually to despair. You must teach yourself to have faith in the only person who can really guide you.”
“Who is that?” Opal asked cynically.
“You know who,” smiled Eltheon, pointing her finger straight at Opal’s chest.
Opal felt a shiver of adrenaline run through her. Something about those words felt true. Eltheon turned and pressed the last symbol in her mysterious combination: the city.
“What I’m saying is—trust the young woman who knew exactly where to go! Do that and even if you get a little lost, you will always have the key to find your way back home.”
The tunnel opened in front of them. No more thin passageways. No more strange elevators. The trail ended here.
Opal stepped forward. She heard Eltheon’s voice in her head.
Welcome to Fallmoon Gap!
59
Abner Worthington stood over the blood-soaked body of Kerr Elkins and said a few final words. Pitt Elkins kneeled beside his dead father crying uncontrollably. The Hoods stood like shadowy sentinels. Some held their gruesome masks and others wore them.
Percy Elkins stood at a distance. He had taken his father’s gun belt and was trying to fit it properly on his skinny waist. He pulled one pistol and spun it on his finger while the other men prayed. When he had his fill of Pitt’s sobbing, he walked up and kicked his brother in the rear and told him to shut up.
Abner Worthington finished the impromptu service and took the brass sheriff’s star from the corpse. He walked over to Percy, took the boy by the shoulder, and without saying anything, pinned the star to his chest.
“You’ll have to step up now, young man. Who better than you to take his place?” Abner said solemnly.
Percy grinned wide and polished the blood off the star with the cuff of his shirt.
“Have you flipped your lid, pastor?” Pitt asked, flabbergasted. He was sucking gobs of snot back into his head.
Percy raised the barrel of his father’s gun and pointed it at Pitt’s head.
“Aw, come on now b
rother. Don’t you think it suits me?” Percy chuckled. He mouthed the word bang at his brother and holstered the pistol.
“It’s the Lord’s will, and we will honor it!” Abner said, scanning his brotherhood for opposition. He began to preach dramatically. “Look at the lifeless body of our fallen brother! Kerr let his greed sway him, and he was struck down! That necklace is full of witchcraft. Don’t underestimate its power. Bring it and the girl here unharmed. They both have a special purpose, which I will handle personally.”
Abner began walking away. “Put his body in my barn until this is over,” he called back coolly.
Pitt turned to his dead father. Percy turned to his new job.
He was now the sheriff of Grigg’s Landing.
60
Acity of incredible magnificence stood before Opal. Hundreds of structures, similar but more beautiful than any builder’s hut, peppered the landscape. The city’s genius lie in the way the Ozarks intertwined and became part of the city itself.
The base of the city was cut into a limestone shelf, part of an ancient bluff that overlooked the valley below. Rocky walls of this shelf encircled the city, fortifying and hiding it from the rest of the wilderness. Waterfalls flowed from both the east and west walls, they ran down the rock, like twin spouts carved into the stone. They mirrored each other perfectly.
Spiraling wood constructions twisted toward the sky. Polished glass and crystals of all shapes and colors decorated the beams. Natural springs coming down the mountainside fed pools of water and towering fountains. Manmade channels of quartz crystal sent the water in every direction. Spires of carved sandstone grew up alongside a forest of old evergreens that lined, in clustered columns, the main road to the center of the city.
At the end of this main road stood a cathedral. It sparkled like a star that had fallen to earth and become woven into the woody heart of the wilderness. Arches upon arches decorated its exterior. Beams of sturdy pine, dyed to match the dusty gray limestone, created ribbed vaults of various dimensions. Large arches formed the trusses and arches of a smaller radius created bays for windows.
Opal Summerfield and The Battle of Fallmoon Gap Page 14
