Opal Summerfield and The Battle of Fallmoon Gap

by Mark Caldwell Jones

  After she made the switch, she heard voices. She shoved the real necklace in her pocket. Through one of the windows she could see Jupiter helping to reign in Abner’s horse. The two men were talking. Jupiter was going through a long list of problems he was having with the other horses.

  He’s back! It’s way too soon!

  Adrenaline rushed through her body but the magic of the necklace poured over her, calming her and giving her courage.

  Opal peeked out the window again. She couldn’t see Abner but she could still hear Jupiter. He was doing his best to stall his boss. She only had a few minutes to get back to her appointed station in the kitchen. She pushed the pine box back into its hiding place in the footlocker.

  Then she saw something else, something horrible.

  It was a Bald Knobber hood. It was placed deep at the bottom of the footlocker under some wool cloth. The mask looked like it had been hot pressed and folded with meticulous attention. The eyeholes were aligned perfectly, the mouthpiece tight and straight, the horns laid back carefully.

  What kind of person would treat this thing with so much respect?

  The locker contained another treasure. The hood covered a wooden case decorated with stamped tinwork—a beautifully detailed rose entangled in thorns. She opened the case and found inside it a chain with a sizable pendant. It was striking. A rectangle of silver, and in relief, a majestic eagle with a single rose clutched in its spiky talons.

  The symbol unlocked a scene in her mind. She could see the flames burning her house. She could hear Hud fighting for his life. She saw Bree being shot and falling dead. Opal remembered how the hooded gunman turned and came after her. He wore a similar eagle pendant on the chest of his grotesque costume.

  She had remembered it as a silver cross, but the sight of the pendant burned away that false impression. It was not a cross but this—a silver eagle, head and wings spread in the sign of a crucifix, the rose clutched like a fish snatched from the river.

  At every turn, Opal had wanted to love Abner Worthington. Abigail had worshipped him. Opal wanted to as well. She would have enjoyed having a man of his apparent greatness as an ally, as a friend. As a father figure. But the list of his offenses were ever expanding, and this deeper secret was the most bitter revelation. He was no man of God. He was a devil, and Opal had the proof: a mask with horns whittled from cedar and a necklace that had hung around the neck of Bree’s killer.

  He murdered Bree. He lynched Hud. And I’m going to make sure he pays for it—even if I have to kill him myself.

  Opal threw the eagle necklace back in the locker and slammed the locker back into its hiding place. She turned to leave and made it down the stairs when someone else began to move in the house.

  She rushed down the hall, turned the corner into the living room, and ran straight into the chest of Abner. The humidity of the night still clung to his clothing. Opal could not hide the obvious fact that she was not where she should be.

  Abner was surprised and immediately suspicious. “Ms. Summerfield, you are working very late!”

  “Yes, sir,” she said. She kept her head down and avoided his gaze.

  “Good, good. I need something from the kitchen. Get me some tea. It’s been a long day,” he said. The man gave no hint of anger.

  Opal had no choice but to obey. She went to the alcove, put away the silver polish, and poured out a cup of tea.

  I wish I had some hemlock, she thought.

  She went back as quickly as possible. She found the liar sitting in the living room near a window, in the moonlight.

  “Sit down, Opal. I have waited too long to talk with you,” he said.

  She would not sit. She did not speak. But Abner Worthington went on anyway.

  “There are things I want to discuss,” he said in a very serious tone.

  “Good,” she said, hissing the answer through her teeth. She was boiling with rage. “I also have something important to discuss!”

  Opal pulled out her necklace, dangling it so that it was clearly in Abner’s line of sight. After a few seconds she put it around her neck. The stone immediately went hot and flooded the room with a flare of red light. Abner’s eyes went wide with shock. Magical red energy erupted from the stone and crackled down both of her arms, reaching out for the murderer.

  “I’ll go first!” she said.

  53

  The servant girl had the stolen necklace again!

  Impossible. It was hidden in my study, Worthington thought. Truly, she is a thief.

  He tried to stand to his feet.

  “Opal Summerfield, how dare you! Hand that—”

  A burst of blood-red light blinded his night-adjusted eyes.

  He watched in stunned silence as Opal transformed herself. Hellfire burst from her limbs, and the pupils of her eyes turned from sky blue to crimson. She was in a rage.

  He felt off balance.

  She moved closer, pointing and yelling at him, but it was if she was standing at the far end of a great hall. Her words reverberated and echoed. She seemed to spin out and away from him. He heard a garbled mishmash of accusations.

  His head was spinning. He dropped the teacup. It shattered across the living room floor. He saw Opal’s flaming hand swinging toward him. Tiny fiery spiders jumped from her hand and suspended themselves in the air. He could see their hundred coal-hot eyes and flaming fangs. They seemed to be laughing. He fell to his knees but he was not praying—he was passing out.

  Opal and her terrifying magic moved closer just as the world went completely black.

  54

  Jupiter Johnson swung open the back door. He carried soot-covered Beatrice Worthington out of the burning house. He stumbled off the porch and finally dropped the groggy woman next to the unconscious body of Abner Worthington.

  “How much of that valerian tea did you give him?” Jupiter asked.

  “All that was left,” Opal snarled.

  Devilhead ran in circles clucking furiously. Opal strapped a bag containing her meager belongings across her chest and mounted one of the horses.

  “Well, it doesn’t matter now. You have to go, and go quick!” he bellowed. “Ride as far as you can tonight. And whatever you do, don’t stop for anyone or anything!”

  Jupiter could barely breathe. He dropped to his knees in exhaustion. He had done everything he could to stop it, but the house was lost. It was an inferno. Sugar Trotter tried her best to help the old man up.

  “Ride girl, ride!” yelled Sugar.

  Opal kicked the old mare and galloped away from the barn, past the burning house, and headed out the mighty gate toward town.

  She reined her horse and skidded to a stop. Two small men were running toward the house. They stopped, paralyzed by the site of the blaze. It was Percy and Pitt Elkins.

  Percy could see the guilt all over Opal’s face. He knew immediately that she had started the fire.

  “Oh man, that is a beautiful mess. They will string you up for sure!” Percy yelled.

  “Wait till I we tell daddy what you gone and done,” Pitt screamed.

  Percy was so pleased he that he began clapping and dancing like he’d found a mountain of presents on Christmas morning. He started running back down the road toward Main Street.

  Opal galloped after him.

  “Fire! Fire!” Percy screamed as Opal passed him.

  She crossed over the Main Street Bridge and headed into the heart of town. As she sped by, a stream of townspeople filled the streets like yellow jackets being smoked from their hive. They swarmed toward the Worthington estate in a panic.

  You burned my house—now I’ve burned yours.

  She thought she should be glad. Instead, Opal felt sick with shame and regret. Thick black-grey columns of smoke rose behind her, spiraling up to heaven like an Old Testament sacrificial offering.

  Eye for an eye.

  Opal rode the horse into an alley and galloped toward the Oliver’s store. It was clear to her that she had crossed a line and woul
d never be forgiven for it. Worthington, the Hoods, and Elkins would hunt her down. They’d kill her.

  She had wanted to leave on her own terms, but now she would never be able to come back to Grigg’s Landing.

  Opal was now a fugitive.

  The back alley entrance to the Olivers’ general store was open when Opal arrived. No one seemed to be around. She tied the reigns of the horse to a drain spout and ducked into the store.

  She sped through the storeroom, down the back stairs, into the cellar. At first glance, what she hoped to find did not seem to be there. The cellar was full of wine bottles, clay jugs filled with moonshine, sacks of sugar and flour, and jars of preserved vegetables. This was the tidiest room in the whole store. That fact stood out to Opal. All the contents were neatly stored on shelving along one wall, tightly packed from floor to ceiling. The room was oddly shaped as well. It seemed to have six distinct sides and an intricately decorated floor.

  The floor!

  Opal got on her knees to examine it. The wood seemed polished—too clean for a cellar. It was so well constructed that it seemed whoever laid it down had the ability to bend and twist wood as if it were paper.

  I’ve seen this design before, she thought.

  The opal around her neck was anchored in a silver molding. The molding was secured to the silver chain with fasteners. The setting and the fasteners had markings that matched the floor’s design. Just like the baskets made by Ms. Pym, or the hand-blown glass by Jim Gamble, the cellar and the necklace revealed a common pattern. Every artist has a style.

  This was a promising clue, but it didn’t solve her riddle. Opal was looking for something more. It has to be here. She scanned the walls and the floor more carefully. Only one thing seemed out of place. An old deer hide hung in one corner of the room, under the staircase. Opal inspected it, but nothing seemed out of the ordinary. But then she lifted the skin and found something very interesting.

  The artist’s work again.

  She stared at an intricate wood relief inlayed with some unusual details. In the center was a great tree. And from that, spokes, like on a wheel, radiated out. At the end of the spokes she saw figures of people. Some spokes ended in scenes of nature, such as a waterfall. Other spokes pointed to what seemed to be a city. Animals, clouds, the sun, stars, littered the relief. Opal was fascinated by the artwork. She traced her finger along the drawing. As she did, the stone crackled to life. Orange streaks of light swirled and glowed.

  Opal pulled her hand away from the design. The stone stopped glowing. She put it back and the stone lit up again. She repeated this routine, hoping something would happen.

  Come on! I don’t get it!

  Opal was so frustrated that she slammed her fist down on the tree in the center of the relief. The tree moved in, like a tiny wooden plunger. The whole room seemed to drop out from under Opal. She toppled over. She heard mechanical levers and wheels creaking to life. The gears seemed to be hidden away in the walls of the room. The floor of the cellar began to spin clockwise, slowly. At the same time, it descended.

  Above her, the shelving that held all the canned goods stayed in place. The deerskin had flapped back to cover the drawing of the tree. In only a few seconds, Opal had descended about fifteen feet into the ground beneath the cellar room.

  In front of her a long narrow underground tunnel snaked into the darkness. The air was cold and had a mineral smell. A handful of well-made torches sat in a metal rack to her left. Two kerosene lanterns hung on the wall to her right.

  Her memory of the journey from the river to the Olivers’ was a cloudy haze, except for a vague recollection of an underground passage.

  This was it!

  Opal filled with pride—but mostly, she felt relief. Her instincts had guided her to the perfect escape route.

  PART THREE

  A couple—an old man and an old woman—brown as dried tobacco, stepped down from a wobbly wagon pointing with cane poles. They hunted for a spot to fish or picnic, or both. They talked in whispers. The old woman sat in the shade of a great oak. The old man lay on the river rock in the sun and sighed while staring into the sky. Then he closed his eyes. I watched them for a while, then walked further down the creek.

  The clouds were whispers and the light was fine.

  Four chirps of a jay and two calls of a mockingbird.

  These hills—this still-fresh creation—has more magic than everything that came after it, for those additions walk in it and exist because of it. They are simply reminiscent of its glory, and the comfort of this speaks to the hardest parts of my heart.

  The evil stirred up by our lost brothers, the Dark Malfeasants, is misguided. They are a few evil creatures that stand against the force of something they do not understand, something they did not make—something that has made them, and has the power to remake each of their foul hearts at any time.

  Nothing can overcome these mountains.

  — Cornelius Rambrey, “A Journal of Travels into the Veilian Nexus called Arcania”

  Chased By The Howler

  55

  A crowd of concerned townspeople broke into groups around the still-burning house. A small cluster of women held hands and prayed.

  Other groups formed bucket chains from the Bent Fork Stream that flowed east of the estate. They sloshed buckets of icy water up the chain to douse the remaining hot spots of the fire. It was slow going, but the steady work began to pay off. The fire withered to an acrid smolder.

  Doc Trimble was busy attending to Jupiter Johnson and Beatrice Worthington. Both had sucked in too much smoke. The Olivers offered their assistance as well.

  Abner Worthington pushed through a cluster of praying women without so much as an acknowledgement. He headed for Bart Matthews who stood among a group of men talking in a hush. As the pastor approached, the men scattered and tried to look busy. Some tipped their hats to Abner in a sign of consolation.

  “I need you to get word to Kerr,” Abner said.

  “What’s the word I need to give him?” Bart asked.

  “The Hoods need to hunt down the Summerfield girl. I want her found immediately. Leave the masks at home. Make it look like you’re working for Elkins. I don’t care how you capture that girl; just get her back to my barn alive. Do you understand?”

  “I don’t think the brothers are going to be up for chasing down that kid Abner. What’s she to any of us?” he said. “Heck, we nearly all got killed raiding her farm. It’s best to just let her run. She’ll be long gone before morning.

  Abner grabbed Bart by the collar and pulled him in close.

  “Do not—” Abner pushed the man backward into a thicket of trees, and when the two of them were hidden from the crowd, used his fist to pound Bart’s silver eagle pin painfully into his chest. “—lose your faith now, brother! The Lord is on the prowl. He has plans for us all. Do you wish to defy God, Mr. Matthews?”

  Bart Matthews knew what Abner meant. After joining up and taking the vows of loyalty, only two men had ever tried to break the Silver Eagle oath. Both of them disappeared. Bart had handled every detail.

  “No brother. I will make sure I leave right now. We’ll find her for you!”

  Abner calmed down. He straightened Bart’s suit. He fixed the pin so that it was level.

  “Your faithfulness will be rewarded. Just make sure Elkins doesn’t kill her. I need her for a very special purpose. Now ride my brother. The Lord be with you!” Abner Worthington turned toward his smoking home.

  The flames were dying down in the old wood structure, but they still raged inside his heart. Opal Summerfield, captured and sacrificed to the strange wraith, was the only thing that would calm his fury.

  56

  Opal grabbed one of the kerosene lanterns, found a box of matches in a bag of supplies hanging on the wall, and lit the wick. Soon the tunnel was bright as day. She scanned her surroundings. Next to the iron lattice was an identical wood relief. She pressed hard on the tree in the center of the design. The ce
llar floor began to vibrate. Opal jumped off the platform and into the tunnel. She watched as the wooden structure spun back up. It closed tight, like the last piece of a wooden puzzle fitted into place.

  Opal walked into the tunnel confidently. She felt liberated. It was exciting to resume the adventure she’d started with Luka.

  Several hours into her journey, that enthusiasm took its first big hit. She realized she was lost. It was almost impossible to discern which way she was traveling. The tunnels seemed to have no real distinguishing features, except at the end of a passage. There she found the same wood relief with the tree, the spokes, and the symbols.

  This must be a map of some sort, she reasoned.

  She played with the buttons. Different angled passages opened depending on the symbol she chose. To avoid confusion, she decided to use only one symbol at each intersection. She chose the mountain city.

  Maybe this is where Luka was taking me?

  At the next passage she pressed in on the city, and she repeated this at each of the next intersections. After walking for what seemed to be miles, she decided to change it up.

  The tree this time!

  She pressed the tree and the floor under her shifted and began to rotate up. As it did, part of the ceiling receded back into the tunnel wall. Opal found herself inside a familiar structure: a very beautiful hut in the middle of the wilderness.

  It was about twenty feet in diameter, with a domed roof made from intricate wooden beams woven together like a basket. Glass panels sealed out the forest, yet it was hard to tell where the hut began and the forest ended. Inside she found a wooden chest and a bench that looked very similar to a church pew.

  She returned to the section of the hut that lowered into the tunnel and pressed the tree symbol hanging on the wall. The floor twisted downward and she was back in the tunnel. She had figured out that the tree symbol lifted her into a hut, and the city symbol opened doors in the passage.