Opal Summerfield and The Battle of Fallmoon Gap

by Mark Caldwell Jones

  113

  The Veil had reclaimed its magic. And as the rift in the Veil mended, there was a backwash of power, and it blew around Amina’s remains. One piece of the witch’s cloak flew up in a twist, and from it fell the small knucklebone. It dropped and hit the rock ledge.

  Like someone was shooting dice, the bone bounced once, then twice, right past Opal, over the ledge, and out into the dark expanse. Opal dove for it, reaching with her good hand, and by God’s grace, she caught it!

  When she unfolded her fingers, the bone was moving, changing, and glowing faintly. She laid it out on the ledge beside her and watched as it slowly transformed.

  The body of William Windfar reappeared next to her. She fell into him, shaking him, trying to wake him. She called upon the Agama Stone and purple light spread over his body, illuminating the cave. Slowly, the Ranger stirred. He opened one eye, then two, and Opal felt some of the greatest joy she had ever felt. She was staring into the eyes of her weary—but very alive—father.

  “Opal, you are alive!” he shouted.

  She smiled through her tears. “We both are! Amina is gone. We’re both safe now.”

  114

  “No creature is safe here, save my children,” said a fearsome voice somewhere above them in the dark.

  Opal looked to see that the Feratu had recaptured their old home. They owned every bit of real estate along the walls of the cave. They hissed and hung around its edges like gargoyles. She could hear their claws scratching at the slick rock. She could smell the sulphur of their sizzling venom as it sputtered and dripped. They snaked their way closer.

  Massive wings pushed a huge current of air down from the heights of the cave. It was the giant hellspawn, Nos. He was flying straight toward them.

  “The witch has worked her spell and failed, as I knew she would! Let it be a reminder to you—your kind know nothing of this world and its ancient magic!”

  “We have no quarrel with you, beast,” the Ranger yelled.

  “Just by being here—by being human—you have a quarrel with me! I would be wise to do away with you—and you, lithomancer. But I believe we will meet again. Perhaps, before it’s all over, I will feed on you as well.”

  He laughed and his fangs snapped happily.

  “Certainly, my children and I are always ready for a feast,” he said. He waved his clawed hand skyward and the swarm of Feratu crawled closer.

  The horde clacked their fangs in eager agreement, as if they were clapping for their master.

  Opal noticed he was holding Knarray, Jakob Prismore’s staff, in his other monstrous hand.

  “You infernal humans thought you could take what we Feratu watched grow over eons and an age. But the Helixflow has been restored to the Feratu! So today I release you, Stone Wielder.”

  With a great blast of wind, Nos took flight and flew up into the storm cloud of his children.

  “Leave now, or I will make sure this cave vomits your bones out of her belly,” he screeched. “Leave now or never leave at all!”

  The warning echoed through the cave like the devil himself had spoke. Opal didn’t need to hear another word. She activated the Agama Stone one last time and apported her father and herself from the cave to the safety of her bedroom, where they hugged each other and rocked back and forth in a long embrace, trying to heal the wounds of their long separation.

  Opal looked through her shattered window out at the Crystal Tree. Every limb, every leaf, and all of the bark were now solid silver. Only the crystal blooms remained as they were before the battle.

  In that moment, she believed that anything, even if it seems broken beyond repair, could be knit back together.

  EPILOGUE

  The Agama Stone may be one of the most dangerous magical weapons in all of the Veil. Oh, how I wish there was more than one!

  It is enchanted by human emotion, and because of that, completely unstable. I doubt that anyone other than myself can handle its power expertly. Certainly, those who profess to have love in their hearts should be kept at a safe distance.

  Love has the ability to incarnate the best and worst of human desires. More often than not, it causes terrible atrocities. I, for one, am glad my heart is completely devoid of it. It would be wise for any future lithomancer to heed my warning and eradicate any source of such emotions. Otherwise, the consequences could be completely disastrous.

  — Elder Wattman Wormhold, “The Great Compendium of Veilian Magic & Other Curiosities”

  The long days that followed were busy, because recovering from the battle of Fallmoon Gap was hard. But Ozarkers live hard and work hard—and they hold on to hope hard. Therefore, they rose the morning after and set about making things right.

  Opal did not even attempt to sleep in or grumble about getting up early. She rose with everyone else and mended what she had the power to mend. And in doing that, she found there was always a bit of joy in the righting of things.

  This work continued for many days, and those days stretched into months.

  Opal made sure there were some changes to the courtyard. For one, many new communion crystals were added. Monuments were made for Mae and Rhodes Dooley and for Bree and Hud Summerfield. And right next to Bree, a very special one for Sugar Trotter. Most importantly, a new communion crystal was created for her mother, Sanura Windfar. This one worked properly.

  The Ranger seemed to be free of the kapranthropy curse, but he took to wearing a medallion of silver around his neck just in case.

  Opal got help from Professor Hans Fromm, and she wrote a detailed letter to the Council Prime defending her father’s actions. They were moved by Opal’s argument of justifiable defense, and a decree was issued clearing him of all criminal charges. William Windfar decided his days in the Protectorate were over, however. One person in the family was already serving, and that seemed enough.

  The problems in Liberty Creek continued. Their pocket of the Veil continued to collapse, and nothing seemed to stop it. So the elders who remained decided to resettle in a new section of the realm.

  It was a sad development, but the Settlement League of Fallmoon Gap helped with the transition. Everyone was sent a basket that magically transported them to their new homes.

  In Grigg’s Landing, a transformation was underway. Opal realized she had rights to the Summerfield farm, and she made sure the property didn’t go to waste. With some guidance from the spirit of Rendell Pembrook, she commissioned a new schoolhouse. It was built right on the Summerfield farm and filled with every luxury a student could want.

  Her favorite teacher, Trudy Freeg, was placed in charge of it, and Opal made sure a whole wagon full of new books from Ms. Trudy’s collection was donated to the school.

  In exchange for the wagon of books, Opal donated a new volume to Ms. Trudy’s restricted shelf. It was titled: Luka of Liberty Creek, the Boy Who Betrayed the Blue-Eyed Beauty. This seemed the proper way to handle Luka Turner, and it ensured that his life story served as a cautionary tale for those who might be tempted to repeat his misguided decisions.

  Opal was promoted to Deputy Warden of Arcania. This allowed for frequent visits to Grigg’s Landing. On one special visit, Opal found Thomas Oliver hammering out the frame of his new store. He was expanding.

  “Thought we’d go a little bigger this time,” he said. “It was getting a bit cramped anyway. By the way, Opal, have you met my new associate here? He’s a real industrious fellow, a newcomer from down the river. Come over here, Gibson.”

  The man put down his hammer, took off his blue apron, and scooted through the framing to shake Opal’s hand.

  “Opal Summerfield, meet Gibson Walltown. Mr. Walltown, this is Opal Summerfield,” said Tom.

  “Nice to meet you, ma’am. Heard you done a lot of good for this town. I hope to do my part as well.”

  “If your working for Mr. Oliver, I’m sure you will,” said Opal. “Just make sure you keep my candy stocked and everything should be fine!”

  Opal walked a little f
urther down the street. The Mattie Riggs Dinner Theater was getting its last coat of paint. Mattie waved at Opal. She was on the boardwalk handing out playbills.

  “Hey, girl! Come see me soon, okay!” Mattie yelled.

  “I will, I promise,” Opal replied.

  Mattie’s little dinner theater ran performances almost every night. The performances consisted of Mattie reciting all the parts of different plays, while the good folk, who had paid perhaps a too steep an admission rate, ate Ethel Johnson’s pie. Most folks thought it a bargain—not because of the entertainment, but because of the pie.

  Down at the Sheriff’s office, Jupiter Johnson was listening to a complaint about George Wilkerson. He had allegedly stolen a cow from Fredrick Mullins’ pasture. He waved when she walked up, his sheriff’s star was polished brilliantly and hung prominently on his chest.

  Her uncles, who had taken over the Stillwell, met her there with the barbeque she had ordered. “There she is—the real law around these parts,” Franklin said.

  “Yeah, you two watch it. You don’t want her to haul you in,” Jupiter teased.

  “No sir, not going to cross a Warden of Fallmoon Gap, no siree!” joked Roe.

  After getting her picnic basket of barbeque, Opal ran down to Cotter’s bridge. Tirian was already there. He had two cane poles rigged, and the corks were bobbing in the clear water. Opal sat down beside him all smiles. Tirian peeked into the basket.

  “Don’t worry, boy. That basket is full of food,” she teased.

  The two talked and fished, and talked, and fished. Occasionally they heard the music of a dulcimer clear and bright, and then it would fade just as quickly as it had appeared.

  “I’ve been hearing that a lot lately,” Opal said.

  “Yeah me, too.”

  “Do you think she’s okay?” asked Opal.

  “Of course! She’s in a much better place. Better than we are even now. And this is a pretty darn good place,” he said, admiring the beauty of the White River.

  “That was exactly the right thing to say,” Opal said.

  She turned to Tirian, her toes dipping in the water. The sun shining on his strong face. She said, “You know, I promised you something, and I feel bad that I haven’t settled up.”

  “Whatever it is, it can wait. This is a perfect day,” he said.

  “Well, maybe this will make it even better.”

  Opal leaned in and gave Tirian the biggest kiss she could. It was warm and tender, and it radiated magic through both of them that overpowered anything either had ever experienced.

  Below Fallmoon Gap, what was left of the Feratu hovered around the base of the Helixflow. Nos flew down to investigate the commotion. The vampires acknowledged their fearsome master. He walked through them like Moses parting the Red Sea.

  The body that lay underneath the purple cloak was rigid as a stone. But after several long seconds, Nos saw an almost indiscernible quiver. The monster doubled over in laughter. Venom flew from his fangs and sprayed the cloth. It burned through the fabric exposing hints of black skin.

  “My dear conjurer, perhaps this was your plan all along!” he roared.

  In a flash, the giant bat took flight, and his children followed him as his laugher echoed through the cave.

  A pair of gray mourning doves pecked and pranced through the ample clover under the ancient tree. The birds strutted peacefully, until Devilhead fluttered near and claimed their ground.

  Dusk painted the sides of the cathedral in violet and pink. A gentle breeze gathered the moisture of the White River and carried it up and over the cragged bluff into the sacred center of the cathedral—the Courtyard of The Honored.

  Opal leaned into the chest of William Windfar, who sat under the now-silver Crystal Tree. The tortured soul of the Ranger was no more—only a contented father remained. One strong hand wrapped around his daughter, the other stroked her hair. Opal’s eyes swirled with color. Her necklace, the Agama Stone, did the same. Slowly, she closed her eyes to take in the perfection of the moment. She was grateful to be in the shelter of her father’s arms.

  Tirian sat nearby. An unbroken melody from a dulcimer filled the space. Tirian found that he had a knack for Eltheon’s instrument, and he beamed with excitement. He was actually playing a song. It was what Ozarkers call the Sad Song, but it was not sad. His excitement lifted each note into the darkening sky.

  William knew the tune and began to sing, which was a shock to everyone. Tirian tried not to break his concentration. Opal laughed and the doves took flight.

  As the sun extinguished itself, the crystal blooms filled with light, making the silver limbs of the tree shimmer in their glow. The Agama Stone suddenly flared with a new burst of magic, and one of the new communion crystals came to life. Opal, Tirian, and the Ranger turned to look. Two radiant spirits, holding hands, stepped out of the Veil and into their presence.

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  First and foremost, I want to dedicate this book to Diane and Larry Jones and thank them for their love and support. How does a son repay two parents who have done so much? Let me start with a simple—thank you. I’m eternally grateful to both of you and I won’t forget the way you’ve stood by me though the ups and downs of this adventure. I’m especially thankful for your company during my recent sabbatical, our weekend talks, the greatest steaks in the known world, the martinis, the jazz music, and sharing Bandit. Also for mom’s ability to read an entire manuscript in six hours and her maybe-you’re-not-crazy-after-all blessing that gave me enough motivation to press on to the end.

  Much gratitude to my editor, Kent Corbin, who polished this manuscript with wisdom and respect and taught me about writing along the way. Also, here is a huge thank you to Kitikhun Vongsayan. Your great art brought Opal and her world to life. Thank you for putting up with the nervous art director and for letting me be a part of your creative process.

  I want to acknowledge my debt to the many works of Vance Randolph whose extensive and humourous documentation of Ozark life and culture is invaluable. And the intriguing and very important work of Peter Higgins collected in his book A Stranger and A Sojourner.

  To my first readers, Lisa Lajimodiere and Piper Foster, who both patiently trudged through the first draft, and then gave me fantastic notes, and copious amounts of encouragement. Thank goodness you are both endurance athletes.

  To my friends who knew about this project: Richmond Ross, Bruce Harris, Joel Gladden, Drue Patton, Darren Stoelzing, Holly and Marty Gilbert, and Rebecca and Rodney Farmer. Your enduring friendship, encouragement, and never-ending supply of laughter refueled my spirit when things were difficult.

  To my sister and brother-in-law, Laura Kate and Jonathan Brandstein, thank you so much for the lifeline of your friendship, the Scotch, Korean barbeque, and the fun doses of Hollywood glitz and glamour. I especially value being Murray’s first choice in petsitters. I’m extremely grateful for your love, support, and advice. I couldn’t have done it without you.

  To my children Hannah, Juliette, and Maverick, you are my truest inspirations and the three biggest reasons for writing this particular story. I love each of you with all my heart.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Mark Caldwell Jones grew up in Arkansas and spent his summers fishing for rainbow trout in the Ozark Mountains with his family and friends. He is a writer living in Los Angeles and divides his time between Hollywood, Denver, and Northwest Arkansas. Keep up with Mark’s writing projects and Opal’s new adventures at OpalOfTheOzarks.com.

 

 

 
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