Opal Summerfield and The Battle of Fallmoon Gap

by Mark Caldwell Jones

  Hearing that the monsters could be put down gave Opal a little comfort, but it sure wasn’t much. If Professor Jack steered clear of them, what chance did she have?

  “Now, how about a little dinner?”

  “Do you plan on eating me, old-timer?” Opal sniped.

  “Oh, of course. But first, didn’t you say you were sent here for something particular?”

  “Jakob Prismore? Fallmoon Gap? I’m here to be trained as a Warden! Does that ring a bell? Or do I have the wrong crazy-man?”

  “Hmmm, Prismore you say? That man is a superior irritation and has no respect for the rigors of true science. I can’t stand to be in the same room with that old wizard. Maybe I will eat you after all,” he snickered.

  “Look, Professor Thomason. Please, I don’t feel so good. If class is canceled, I will get the heck out of here.”

  “No my dear, you are here, and you seem somewhat interested in my work. We shall have your class. First, let’s have your name,” he demanded.

  “Opal. Opal Summerfield.”

  The old man perked up.

  “You don’t say? Well, if that doesn’t beat all. Miss Summerfield, it’s almost a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance. I think we may have quite a bit to discuss. Please consider our class—now in session!”

  71

  Amina led Nos to the deepest part of the Blanchard Creek cave system. Her ball of wax and its hideous eye materialized and bobbed in the air before her. Amina waved her hand and whispered her spell. The eye blinked its acknowledgement and turned toward the cave wall. It seemed to be staring through the rock, into some hidden place only it could discern.

  It spun furiously, like a funnel cloud, and created a burst of purple light. A new rift in the Veil dilated open. Nos’s fangs clicked with delight when the Helixflow came into view. “This gateway will lead you right back to your precious cave and the Helixflow formation,” she said. “But for now it is a locked door with no key.”

  Nos hissed in frustration. Amina witched up an illusion of Jakob Prismore’s walking cane. She grabbed it from the air as it formed. Then she taunted the bat-beast with Knarray.

  “Help me finish what I’ve started and the key is yours!”

  72

  “Dang, why didn’t you guys tell me about this place before?” Opal asked.

  She sat with Tirian, Eltheon, and Luka in what Tirian had named Sultan Salvus’s Secret Lair & Lounge. It was hidden in the bowels of the cathedral. They squeezed around an old half-barrel table playing dominoes. Several rose-quartz beacons hovered in the air, filling the small room with a nice warm glow. There was a bear-hide rug, and Tirian had rigged a small cast-iron stove as a fireplace.

  The tiny crew passed around a clay jug of Popskull Cider.

  “Well, this place doesn’t really exist. It’s in a dimensional pocket. It’s something I discovered when I had to survey the cathedral’s foundation,” Tirian said.

  “I could have used it after my day with old Professor Skunkworks. I smelled so bad that no one wanted to be near me,” Opal joked.

  “Oh, so you finally made it out there?” Tirian asked, shuffling dominoes around the table.

  Eltheon swallowed the last drop of her drink and let out a long thundering belch. She smiled proudly. “Opal barely escaped with her life!”

  “Quite the oddball, no doubt about it,” Luka replied.

  Tirian was defensive. “Come on, y’all. That man is an incredible scientist. He’s a bit eccentric, but he is a master of cryptozoology. Without his knowledge, we would have no way of controlling the magical creature population that has mushroomed over the past few years.”

  “Zoo, you say? That about sums up what I thought about his little classroom, or shack, or whatever the heck it was,” Opal laughed.

  “The man’s a genius!” retorted Tirian, putting a cork back in the jug.

  “You mean he’s his own genus!” snickered Eltheon.

  “Good one!” Luka said. He raised his tankard of Popskull to Eltheon. “Cheers!”

  “What’s in this stuff?” Opal asked. “I’ve had it before, when I was lost in the rift tunnels.”

  “Well, it’s the magic of fermentation, the sorcery of the still,” Tirian said with a devilish grin. He pointed to a compact copper still bubbling in the far corner. “Drink up!”

  “It’s the best stuff I’ve ever had,” she said.

  “Go easy on it, Opal. When I was first initiated to this little boys club, I ended up with a nasty headache that lasted for days,” Eltheon giggled.

  The group laughed as Eltheon and Tirian slammed tankards, toasting to the memory.

  “Fun times!” Tirian said. “So, what’s the word Luka? Have your scouts come up with any new intelligence about the suspected attack?”

  “No, it’s been quiet. Hopefully one of the team will come back with some new information soon,” he said.

  “I’ve heard this conjurer, Amina, is very powerful now,” Eltheon said.

  “She would have to be beyond powerful to get through our newest defenses. It’s impossible for anyone to infiltrate Fallmoon Gap at this point. The magic barriers are impenetrable,” Tirian boasted.

  “That’s good to hear, because apparently she’s coming for me first, if she comes at all,” Opal said.

  “Don’t you worry, Opal—we are all here to protect you. You’re part of a team now,” reassured Eltheon. She poured Opal a little more cider and patted her on the shoulder.

  “But we must not become complacent. One should always be prepared for the worst, when it comes to these kinds of criminals,” said Luka. “A vicious killer like her would not prepare an attack unless she had a plan to win.”

  “She wants my necklace!”

  “We won’t let her near you!” Tirian declared.

  “Have you considered putting it away? For instance, giving it to Jakob to store for safekeeping? Perhaps that would deter her?” Luka asked.

  “I don’t know, maybe. But it seems the Council Prime wants me to learn how to use it. Hiding it would get in the way of that.” Opal didn’t like the idea of being without her necklace, but she didn’t want to start an argument. She tried her best to be diplomatic. “I don’t know, y’all know more about it than I do.”

  “It’s just so powerful. It might be best to put it in safer hands?” said Luka.

  He’s pushing it, thought Opal. She took a swig of cider, clinched her teeth, and smiled at Luka without saying anything.

  “Enough about that,” Eltheon said. “Let’s discuss more serious matters. What about the dance? Are you boys going?”

  Everyone seemed a bit uncomfortable with the new topic, but Opal was glad to be moving on.

  “Not me. I’m sure I’m going to be busy,” Tirian lied. “You know, cleaning equipment or something.”

  “Right,” Opal sneered.

  “What about you, Luka?” Eltheon probed. She nudged Opal under the table.

  “The dance? Who has time for that? We might be on the brink of war. I hate dancing anyway.”

  “Luka, you can come help me clean equipment,” Tirian joked.

  “Right you are. Whatever a fellow Warden needs.” The two boys smiled at each other and sealed their conspiracy by polishing off the rest of their Popskull.

  Opal, even though she had never been to a dance, or had a date, was disappointed by Luka’s disdain.

  Why do I even care? she wondered.

  Eltheon looked over at her and gave her a knowing wink. “These boys—can you believe them Opal? They don’t know what they’re going to miss!”

  Opal followed her lead. “You got that right,” she said, peacocking.

  “I know, y’all—if Opal and I win the next game, you two have to escort us to the dance. If we lose, we’ll get some other monkeys to do it. What do you say?”

  “I don’t know—that’s a steep buy in,” Luka said.

  “Hmm, sounds like someone’s all hen and no rooster,” taunted Opal.

  The girl
s giggled and slammed their tankards, mocking the boys. Luka began flipping the dominoes back onto the table.

  “Stir the boneyard, Tirian. There is no way these girls can beat us. We won’t go down without a fight!”

  In no time at all, however, the boys did go down, and they went down hard. Eltheon and Opal screamed and stamped their feet in victory.

  “Remember, pride goeth before the fall!” laughed Eltheon.

  “Are you two cheating?” Tirian was stunned. He looked at the girls suspiciously and started examining the dominos for an enchantment.

  Luka was deflated. “Dancing. Oh boy.”

  “Get them some more cider, Ellie,” Opal snickered. She was pleased that the normally confident, stoic Luka seemed so uncomfortable.

  “I think they’re going to need a few more rounds.”

  73

  A week after her happy victory in Sultan Salvus’s Secret Lair & Lounge, Opal’s luck was holding. She found out that her Magical Armaments class was to begin, and as an added bonus, her assigned instructor was Luka Turner. Opal was over the moon with excitement.

  A whole hour with Luka each day, she thought. That’s going to be the best class ever!

  When the class finally started, Opal was disappointed to find that Luka took the role of teacher a bit too seriously. He was a complete taskmaster. Opal was doubly frustrated, because around this time she was realizing that she had absolutely no skill whatsoever with the bow and arrow.

  “This is, above all others, is the central weapon a Warden uses. You must learn it to be initiated into the Protectorate,” Luka said. “You have to get it!”

  “The bow? You mean I have to master the bow and arrow to become a Warden?” She didn’t want to hear that. It just added more pressure. Opal’s head was already spinning with all things they had covered throughout the morning training. All the direction just made things worse.

  “Opal, look, you need to set aside your expectations. You have to cultivate a clear mind. Purify it and allow it to be in the moment. Remove all distraction. That will allow you to master any weapon,” Luka said reassuringly.

  “How in the heck is that going to happen? I’m always distracted,” she said.

  “It’s never too soon to learn. Just focus on the task at hand. We can advance to the other concepts later,” he said. “Aim again!”

  Opal raised the bow she had been using all morning. The bow had an odd shape. The top limb was longer than the bottom, making the nocking point a third of the way from the bottom of the string. Luka explained that it forced her to hold the grip in the most powerful way. The muscles in her forearm burned from the exercise. It took hours just to learn how to keep the arrow level.

  She nocked a new arrow, pulled back the bowstring, and aimed for the target. She was shooting practice arrows with weighted metal tips; they were definitely not the crystal tipped kind Eltheon had used in the tunnel. That was a good thing, because arrows littered the training room. Some were actually pinned into the edge of the target, but way off center. Others were stuck in the posts holding up the roof, and others had sailed out over the railing of the shooting platform, down into the waterfall below.

  Luka recited the four points of his lesson.

  “Position! Make sure your body is aligned with the target.”

  Opal shuffled slightly to the right.

  “Back straight!”

  Opal stiffened her spine.

  “Breathe in!”

  Opal sucked in, expanding her lungs as fully as possible.

  “Aim! See the arrow in the target.”

  She visualized the arrow sticking out of the bull’s-eye.

  “Breath out, and let the arrow fly.”

  Opal released the arrow. It sailed through the air, eight feet to the left of the target, and hit a copper water jug with a thunk. It ricocheted back, flopping to the floor.

  The hopeful archer was completely deflated. She even sensed Luka’s discouragement. It made her want to give up on the lesson.

  “Remind yourself of this one thing when you feel like giving up.”

  Luka came over and took the bow from Opal. His hand touched hers. His warmth lingered, and Opal savored every second of it. He knelt next to her, aiming at the target.

  “When the time came for you to face danger—and there have been several times already—you did not fail to act!” He did a forward roll, bow and arrow still in hand, and came up shooting, hitting the bull’s-eye dead on.

  “Opal, few grown men have the courage you have. You must rise above your self-doubt,” he said.

  Luka rolled again and another arrow found the center of the target. Opal was shocked at his prowess.

  “These weapons are just tools. One cannot teach authentic courage or the desire to overcome your enemy.” Luka leapt, tucked his body, flipped in mid-air, landed gracefully, and the third arrow found its home beside the others.

  “You have the power to defeat the most dangerous foes. It’s already inside you. I cannot teach you that. Focus on trusting yourself.”

  Luka fired one more arrow. It split the previous one down the middle.

  “I’ll teach you how to use this bow,” he said.

  “Why in the heck do you use a rifle, when you are so good with the bow?” Opal asked.

  Luka looked at Opal with a wide grin. “I’m better with the rifle!”

  Opal felt a surge of attraction wash over her. No man had ever been so encouraging.

  “You’ll find your weapon, the one that fits you the best. It is only a matter of time,” he said.

  “You think?”

  “Yes, of course!”

  She fired another arrow at the target. This one zipped forward, curved up, and buried itself right into the ceiling. She was embarrassed for even trying again.

  Luka grinned at Opal.

  “I didn’t say how long it would take,” he laughed.

  Opal blushed. “Ain’t that the truth?!”

  From that day forward, Opal wished every day contained a lesson with Luka. She could hardly think about anything else. That was especially true when she was stuck in Professor Fromm’s snoozatorium.

  “The Protectorate exists to defend against Arcaneus Reus—any magical act that causes social harm,” blustered Fromm. “It’s important to realize that living in the Veil doesn’t change a person as much as we would suppose. There is no special magic to make people good. We will always struggle with our internal inclinations, no matter our external condition. Of course, if it were not so, there would be no reason for the Protectorate to exist.”

  Opal had her head down and a small pool of drool was beginning to form on her desk. From her slanted position she was counting the muddy blades of grass wedged between Fromm’s nasty toes.

  “In Protectorate-speak, we call those that use magic in good ways a steward. Those that misuse magic are called malfeasants.

  Unfortunately, a former Council elder named Wormhold turned on the Protectorate and organized a league of malfeasants that opposed the Wardens for many years. The Battle of Fallmoon Gap was part their scheme to takeover. Luckily, they were defeated and their ranks decimated. The conjurer that led the attack is presumed dead, and the league has disbanded.

  However, let’s use one of their typical crimes as an example. Say that you are a duly sworn Warden investigating the killing of a steward by a malfeasant. This terrible crime is called a magicide. Does anyone know the burden of proof one must have to convict this hypothetical malfeasant?”

  Opal didn’t even open her eyes. She raised her hand mechanically. Professor Fromm ignored it.

  “Where are your minds, people?” he snapped.

  “I know one thing Professor,” Opal moaned.

  “Okay, yes Ms. Summerfield. Please get it out of your system. Tell your fellow students what you know.”

  “You must prove the accused had a plan to do it, right?”

  “Correct, somewhat. You need to show that the malfeasant had a motive, but also the mean
s and the opportunity to commit the murder in question. It is also necessary to prove that they committed this act willfully, deliberately, and with premeditation. You have to show culpability. Now here is a very interesting twist.”

  Opal cracked an eye.

  “If magicide is a crime, why would the Protectorate be allowed to take a life in defense of the Veil? Why would a Warden not be held to the same standard?”

  Opal came to life. This was something she wanted to hear.

  “Ms. Summerfield, any ideas here? You seem to be full to the brim with them. Anything?”

  “No sir, I’m not sure about this one?”

  “And I’m not sure you are awake,” he snarked.

  Opal wanted to throw something at the old coot.

  “Our laws allow for justifiable defense. So, for instance, if a Warden of the Protectorate took the life of a person during an act of self-defense, or in the defense of others, or even the defense of certain property, it would be considered non-criminal and non-punishable.

  “However, it is important to note that an officer is never permitted to use deadly magical force to repel a non-life-threatening attack, especially when a non-deadly magical response will suffice.”

  Someone poked her in the shoulder. Opal turned to see Eltheon’s broad smile. She was sitting in the desk behind Opal.

  “Shhhh!” She whispered, holding her finger up to her mouth. “Take this. Later, girl.”

  Eltheon handed Opal a folded piece of paper, smiled her big smile, and cartwheeled out the door just as Fromm turned to face the classroom.

  The professor continued to ramble on. “This is why our academy trains its future officers so thoroughly. When one is given the power to enforce laws of magic, one should have a high level of self-mastery, good judgment, and a thorough understanding of our system.”

  Now class, for your homework, please access your history crystals and read up on modern acts of magical terrorism. That includes the most current supplement added by yours truly, my treatise on The Battle of Fallmoon Gap. It is thrilling reading. Savor it. Most importantly, learn it. It is very important that you be well versed in this particular conflict,” he commanded.