He tapped Opal’s great round window with his stone. The window was enveloped in indigo light.
Jakob explained, “Azurite is the gemstone of lithomancy and it reveals visions of our future.”
Light swirled over the glass like a funnel cloud. When the window was completely covered in the magic, a scene appeared. Opal stared at herself. She was on a terrace with a mysterious man. They paced each other, moving in a circle. Opal saw herself dressed in green leather armor, like Eltheon’s. Her hands were covered in blue energy. The man’s face was barely visible, hidden in the shadows of his hooded cloak. Opal moved in to attack. The vision vanished. Jakob’s staff went dark.
“What happened?! Can you make that come back? That looked like it was going to be a good fight. Seriously, why did it go out at the good part? That’s terrible. I want to know how bad the other guy got it!” she boasted.
“Lithomancy is to be used sparingly. What is revealed is usually only one piece of a greater puzzle. It can be distracting. I’m sorry to burden you with that disturbing image.”
“I’m not disturbed. It looks like I’m going to catch up with our mysterious rider after all. That’s good, right? I’m going to nab a bad guy?”
“We will see,” Jakob said weakly. “Like a prism refracts sunlight to the various colors of the rainbow, a powerstone refracts emotions and desire. For instance, if the bearer of the stone is in need of healing, that magic will appear. The opal transmutes to amethyst and releases light in its spectrum. Each color indicates a different manifestation. The stone can amplify any emotion you feel. And with that power, it will manifest a new color and a new magical spell. These processes are interwoven in a mysterious way. In time, you can learn to control all of this. And there is more,” he said.
“More?” Opal was amazed.
“Yes, there is quite a bit more. The Agama Stone holds powers beyond mine. But let us explore this in small doses.”
“Are you kidding me?” Opal said. “I’ve been waiting sixteen years to hear some of this stuff?”
“So you have. Unfortunately, I am no longer sixteen. But I would like to promise to continue our chats. Let’s do it in the light of another day, shall we? Your professor is quite an old man!”
“Yes sir,” Opal said glumly.
“Well then, until tomorrow. Opal, this has been quite a joyful reunion. Thank you for indulging me.”
“No problem, old man,” snickered Opal.
A grin cracked across Jakob’s face. Opal escorted him to her door.
“Jakob?“
“Yes?”
“I appreciate you telling me the truth about my mother and father. No one ever has. It’s been hard not knowing.”
“Yes, well, the truth is often complicated and hard to share.”
“Whatever the reason—thank you.”
“You are welcome.”
Jakob left Opal. She stretched out on the bed holding her necklace above her. She lay quietly, slowly painting images in her mind, imagining her parents walking the halls of Fallmoon Gap, living, fighting evil together, and loving each other. And although they were both gone, her spirit was reintroduced to them by the pictures in her imagination.
Opal felt, for the very first time, that they were both alive.
65
Over the next few days, Opal went from one lesson to another being introduced to her new and mind-boggling world.
During one lunch break, she sat with Eltheon, who introduced her to Tirian Salvus. Tirian was eighteen but looked much older, due to his fully developed physique. He was a mop-headed brawler. His massive biceps and thick neck barely fit his uniform. He was one of the most intimidating Warden’s in Fallmoon Gap.
“Heard you’ve been out on a secret mission,” Eltheon pressed.
“It wouldn’t be secret if you heard about it, would it?” Tirian teased back.
“Hard to keep things from a mind reader!” Eltheon bragged.
“Watch out, Opal—this sneaky clarivoyant likes to crawl around in her friends’ heads,” he said, tapping his skull with a spoon.
“I kinda already figured that out,” Opal laughed.
Tirian had ruddy cheeks and medium-length brown hair that fell over his green eyes, which were hard to see because he looked down quite a bit. He seemed quiet and brooding. But as they sat with the boy, Opal realized he was more shy than reserved, especially when Eltheon questioned him.
Wow, what a handsome Warden this guy is, thought Opal.
“He’s a sapper,” Eltheon said in response to Opal. Her face was stuffed with food. She pointed at him with a carrot. Tirian grinned and looked down into his plate.
“A what?”
“She means a tactical engineer,” he said from behind his hair.
“Okay, well, I have no idea what any of that means, but I’m sure it’s interesting,” Opal said.
“He blows stuff up!” Eltheon said, lobbing a small tomato into Tirian’s mashed potatoes. A big glob of them splattered onto his clothing.
“Dang it, Ellie! I’m going to dump this whole—”
“Gotta go!” Eltheon said, jumping to her feet. She dipped some bread in her soup bowl and popped it into her mouth. She sprinted off trailing giggles. “Tirian’s one of your instructors. You’re going to hate every minute of it! See you two later!”
“You’re one of my teachers?” Opal asked, surprised.
“Yep, afraid so! I’ll try and make it slightly less boring than I did for Ellie!” He was still laughing at her. He shoved a large piece of chicken into his mouth.
“Boring might be nice. I haven’t had boring in a very long time,” Opal said.
Tirian just smiled. “I think I can deliver on that. But there is one who can top my ability to paralyze even the most alert brain.”
“And who is that?”
Tirian snorted out a name.
“Fromm!”
66
“What precludes one from becoming an officially sanctioned Warden of the Ozark Bailiwick?” Professor Hans Fromm asked. “Anyone? Please speak up.”
Professor Fromm looked like a grumpy billygoat who’d slept in curling irons and been struck by lightning on his way to class. His hair and beard needed to be sheared something awful. His meager overalls were barely held in place by a single, frayed strap. His undershirt was stained with dirt artistically, like a sepia ink drawing. He wasn’t even wearing shoes. He was the quintessential hillbilly—ragged and unkempt. The only thing absent was a corncob pipe.
Fromm’s wild eyes peered at his classroom from over his thick spectacles. On this day he had a total of exactly one student.
Opal looked over her shoulder to make sure someone new hadn’t slipped into the room when she wasn’t looking.
No one was there but her. She stared up at her teacher in bewilderment. Fromm swept the classroom with his squinty glance, never making eye contact with Opal.
“Let’s wake up out there!” he bristled. The professor started clapping his hands, trying to stir a response.
Opal raised her hand a bit higher, hoping he would glimpse it in his obviously impaired peripheral vision.
“Okay, if I must. You again. Summerfield is it? Yes, please tell the class what the answer is?” Fromm waved his hand as if to give Opal the floor.
“Well, I think if you are born outside this magical world, that Veilians are the only ones allowed to take on these roles,” Opal said hesitantly. She had been reading up on the history of the Veil, but it was incredibly confusing.
“Please, let’s not complicate the questions Ms. Summerfield. You are getting ahead of our particular focus. I’m asking for the most obvious answer. Let’s not get embroiled in the religious entanglements of our system. Let me restate it for everyone. What would stop any of you from becoming a fully-sworn Warden?” He seemed a bit annoyed.
No one raised a hand.
“Slow, are we? Not enough sleep last night? Class! Class! Class! Please try and stay engaged!” He tapped his poin
ter on the podium. It sounded like a crazed woodpecker. “Okay, let me break this concept down for you.”
Fromm turned to what appeared to be a chalkboard. He produced a thin disc of quartz crystal with mysterious markings on its surface. He held it flat in his hand for a few seconds, murmured something under his breath, and pulled his hand back. The disc of crystal hovered in place four feet from the floor, and it began to spin with incredible speed.
Opal watched as the symbols disappeared in the haze of rotating lights. A bubble of energy emerged above the disc. It spun counter to the spinning of the disc, and rotated slowly, like a globe dangling on an invisible string. Symbols, letters, and numbers shimmered holographically. Fromm stared at the information intently.
“Hmmm. Yes. Okay, here we go!” He tapped a symbol and it removed itself from the globe and darted across to the blackboard, filling the space with an outline of text, pictures included.
Fromm’s class of one was now very interested. Opal had never seen anything like this in her life. It was beautiful and amazing, and it unfortunately became very boring very fast.
“Yes, yes. This is what we need to cover. The detailed breakdown of our non-corporeal, trans-dimensional, magical energy nexus and its system of peace management and boundary security.” He continued in a lengthy drone and faded off as he lost the breath to continue.
“A Warden is an officer of the Protectorate sworn to manage the use of magic and protect the inhabitants of an area of lesser concern, such as a small town. For the purposes of this discussion, let’s say that this is the first level of authority within the realm of the Veil.”
“A Castellan is a Warden sworn to protect a particular important structure housing the leadership of a realm or a large group of its citizenry. This could be something like a castle, or a fort, or a sacred building like our cathedral.”
“A Deputy Warden is a Warden sworn to protect an entire realm. A deputy Warden is the high Warden’s second in command, and this officer manages other Wardens assigned to that particular region.”
“A High Warden is an officer that manages a greater territory. This position is a great honor and is filled by a vote of the Council Prime. The Council Prime is a session of lead elders who gather once per year to consider such matters.”
“Ah, here is the origin of my question. I had hoped—class please listen up now! I had hoped that each of you had read this part of the Warden’s Code in earnest. It is of the utmost importance to any apprentice.” Professor Fromm touched a particular section on the globe and flicked his wrist sharply.
A long section of tedious looking writing broken up by indentations and numbers leapt to the front of the classroom, large and magnified. It filled the space in front of Opal’s desk.
“Article five, section one, expressly states that ‘No one person who denies the existence of the Veil or its inhabitants, or in the course of his duties loses faith in his office, or the implements of his office, or the source of its power, or his own ability to carry out the duties of his particular sworn function, shall be allowed to serve or function as a representative of this most sacred of offices.’”
Opal’s eyelids sagged to half-mast as Fromm droned on.
“Now class, please be sure to draw your attention to what I just read. Can any one of you sum up, for the class, the essence of this very important rule?”
No one responded. The class was perplexed.
“Students, please! This is very important to your development. As potential Wardens, you must have this in mind as you continue your training.” The professor was beyond irritated.
Opal felt obliged to save the class from detention.
“Sir!” Opal waved her hand vigorously.
Professor Fromm, unable to hide his annoyance with Opal, relented to her eager request, “Okay Ms. Summerfield, you may answer. But please try to remember that monopolizing my time gets in the way of others’ participation.”
She looked around the room again. It remained vacant. “Yes sir. I’m very sorry about that,” she said in a defeated tone.
“Yes, yes. No dilly-dallying. Please give us your summation!”
“Well, I think what this rule is saying, is that you cannot be a Warden if you do not believe in the mission. Am I getting that right?”
“You are very close, my dear, but that is not it. Perhaps it’s best to temper your enthusiasm and make sure you have grasped these concepts before you dive in.
“What the authors of this particular section are implying is this: faith is an essential piece of a Warden’s skill set. Without belief in the magic of the Veil, there is no power with which to carry out your duties.”
Fromm turned to the class and allowed a few beats to pass, building to a rather undramatic finish. He peered over his rimmed reading classes and stared straight at Opal.
“Ms. Summerfield, the point is—if you do not believe, your mission will fail before it even begins!”
Opal was caught off guard by Fromm’s sudden focus on his one and only pupil. She didn’t want to squander this rare bit of attention so she focused and tried her best to understand his explanation.
“Yes sir. If you have faith, you will not fail,” she said.
“Absolutely not!” the professor said. “Try again.”
“If you do not have faith, you will fail?” Opal asked.
“Excellent! I think there is hope for you, Ms. Summerfield,” he said. “Those with faith fail all the time. But without it, you will certainly find yourself perpetually defeated!”
Professor Fromm held Opal’s gaze until she nodded her understanding.
“Now let us continue with a closer look at the specific duties of a Castellan. As you may know…”
Professor Fromm’s hypnotic monotone continued. Opal lost focus and drifted among her own thoughts. She wanted to understand what the professor was saying, but she wasn’t sure his idea had any real weight. It sounded similar to Sugar’s late night talks, but Fromm’s focus on faith as a skill complicated everything she thought she’d learned from Sugar.
Sugar had talked about trusting yourself. The professor was promoting trust in something larger, something much more unfamiliar and mysterious.
What kind of faith should one really have? She wondered.
Faith in myself? She wasn’t very impressed with what she had to offer.
Faith in friends? So many things had gone wrong. So many people had turned out to be bad. So many had betrayed her. She struggled to think of one person who was truly trustworthy. Maybe Eltheon, but she really didn’t know her that well. Who was really on her side?
Faith in family? They were all dead. There was no family, not anymore.
Faith in God? Abner Worthington proved that people are capable of using God to justify just about anything, including murder! If there was a God, she really had no idea what he was truly like, or what he really wanted.
Faith in the magic of the Veil? Opal wasn’t even sure about Ms. Trudy’s explanation of the Veil. How could there be a separate world from Grigg’s Landing? If you are in one world, how do you know there is really another one. You can’t live in two at the same time. Honestly, what proof was there? It just didn’t add up.
Opal wondered if she really had the capacity for faith at all?
Maybe it was true, the thing she had always believed but never wanted to accept:
I’m the real problem!
None of these terrible things would have happened without her. She was the common element in all her personal tragedies. She felt incredibly desperate after having that thought. Was she a magnet for bad things? Shouldn’t only bad people attract bad things?
Perhaps her negative thinking was drawing all these horrible events into her life. Maybe she was a bad seed, doomed to reap a long string of disappointments.
If you don’t believe in anything, how can you make yourself have faith? How do you make yourself better if your core has been messed up from the beginning?
She had hear
d Abner Worthington preach about the sheep and the goats. Some are chosen; some are not.
He had preached, “At the end of all things, the great Lord will separate the good people from the bad, and the bad people will be punished. And all of these things have already been determined by God in advance.”
If all of that was true, what was the point of trying to rebuild your life. What was the point of trying to change anything? If you knew deep down you were a bundle of defects, and everyone around you thought the same, it seemed foolish to believe anything different.
Lying to yourself. Now that idea had merit! But Opal had never been able to lie to herself. The story about her flaws was well known, often repeated, and she found no use in protesting it. Acceptance of that truth, no matter how miserable it was, made the most sense.
That brought Opal to the most important question. Am I really up to the task? Can I really start over and have a new life? Do I have the heart, the power, or even the magic that it will take?
Fromm was still going along.
“—and what is so ironic is that a seneschal doesn’t really have final authority, at least in any judicial sense of the word. That lies with the Council Prime. So the seneschal may impose a judgment, but that judgment can be appealed to the Council Prime. Because most citizens of the Veil do not understand this particular loophole, the seneschal’s decisions are often accepted as final. I hope that shines a little light on that fascinating bit of our system!” Fromm said all of this with an almost imperceptible variation in tone that constituted his dismal version of excitement.
Text scrolled across a section of Fromm’s blackboard. The word seneschal was highlighted and lifted out of the rest of the writing; it was floating a foot from the board, pulsing in green. A scene of people standing before a judge in a strange courtroom played on the other half of the board. The judge stood pointing his finger at a sorry looking man who bowed his head in apparent shame. Opal read that the prisoner was the notorious lithomancer named Wattman Wormhold. There was no sound, but the words of the judge scrolled across the bottom of his image.
Opal Summerfield and The Battle of Fallmoon Gap Page 17
