“STAY DOWN!” she yelled, and this time he obeyed.
The conjurer leapt into the air and lunged at Opal. Opal fell backward underneath Amina. Eltheon ran to help Opal, but Foxkiller pounced on her. He ripped into Eltheon’s shoulder with his butter colored fangs. Blood splashed across a nearby wall. Eltheon cried out and spun to the floor.
“ELLIE!” Opal wailed.
“Dead!” Amina snarled back.
She stood over Opal and began speaking a strange spell that enveloped Opal in a purple web. Dozens of skeletal hands erupted from the floor underneath Opal. The boney hands bent around her like macabre flowers, grabbing and clawing wildly. They grabbed her hair, arms, ankles, and clothing, and held her down like metal traps.
Opal screamed and strained at the hands, but she couldn’t move. She was pinned like she had been hundreds of times in her training. This time, none of the moves she had learned—even the best ones—would free her. She was helpless and filled with panic. Amina stood over her, twirling her staff over Opal’s chest. The bone-hands squeezed tighter.
“You are running out of family and friends to kill, Opal. How else can I convince you to join me? It would be a shame to kill you when there is so much we can do together.
Maybe you’re infected with your mother’s weakness? Is that it? My sister always was a coward. She didn’t have the strength to be who she really was—a master of dark magic, a conquering conjurer.”
Sanura and Amina, sisters? Ellie dead? Lies. None of this could be true. The pain was too much. Everything went dark and Opal seemed to be leaving her body.
She was suddenly lost in a void of thoughtlessness. Seconds seemed to stretch into hours. Then she heard the whisper of a vaguely familiar voice.
Get up! Get up!
Self-preservation rose up in Opal like a flow of lava, and the stone erupted in a storm of wine-colored lightning. The bones exploded and Amina flew back into the corner, smashing her own table. Her staff was still in hand, and the witch pushed herself up on one arm and aimed it at Opal.
Opal jumped up just as Amina incanted a new blast of dark magic. Magical red plasma shot out of Opal’s fingertips and met Amina’s blast in midair, burning the spell away. Amina screeched as hundreds of tiny fire-spiders rained down onto her staff and melted their way toward her.
Opal raced toward Eltheon, who was laying still covered in her own blood. She swatted Foxkiller out of the way with her resurgent power. She dove for Eltheon, and when she collided with her friend, the two girls fell through an apportation portal that opened in the floor.
The portal snapped shut behind them and Opal and Eltheon tumbled into the unknown of the Veil. As they spun away, Opal began yelling in an anguished voice:
“God in his heaven, devil down below, let the power come up, let three roses grow…”
87
For years, the memories of his wife were like ominous vultures roosting in his mind. If they ever descended, he was sure his sanity would snap. His spirit seemed so brittle, like a sun-bleached bone just waiting to crack.
To build up some inner scar tissue, he punished himself with dark thoughts. He told himself his marriage had been doomed from the beginning, that it had been built on a naïve dream. He blamed himself for their problems. He blamed Sanura for trusting him.
He had been consumed with his duties as a High Warden, training the best young men he could find for the most elite missions. He had left her alone to take on one of Jakob’s special tasks, and now he despised himself for making that choice. Because, in the end, the realm didn’t repay his service. It abandoned Sanura and blamed him for her death. They assumed he had joined the witch willingly.
For all these reasons and more, he hated his memories.
But he activated the memory stone anyway.
In a burst of light, his wife was there—beautiful, dancing, gleeful. She whispered to him the ways lovers do. She blew kisses.
She revealed her profile. She was pregnant. She was sending this memory stone by scout. No one else knew. If they did, they wouldn’t let her remain at her post. It was their conspiracy.
They would be parents. When the war was over, they would be together again—this time a family. She knew the sex. It was a girl. She knew it in her bones.
She had named their daughter. Her name meant hope.
It was a beautiful name.
He was hypnotized by her image, lost in her presence. He didn’t know he was smiling.
“I love you, William Windfar,” she said softly.
88
When High Warden Robert Thorian stepped forward in front of the assembled Protectorate officers, everyone went quiet.
His solemnity was unnerving.
“We gather among your ranks today to pay honor to one of our own,” he began.
“On the path of life, there are events that mark our journey, they alter our lives forever. In the life of a Warden, a victory, or even a defeat, during the course of one’s service, can be such a moment. This is true because in such times the genuine warrior has the opportunity to display bravery, and that has always been the hallmark of any Warden’s heart. Whether the warrior triumphs in battle is secondary to whether he or she shows courage. For that is the true victory, and by it, the Warden honors himself, his fellow officers, and the sacred vows he has taken to protect all the life within the Veil.”
“Today we celebrate a remarkable display of such courage, and we do it by the induction of Opal Summerfield into the ranks of the Protectorate.
Over the past months it has been noted and recorded for our history that Opal Summerfield has shown great dedication to the challenge of bringing peace to her assigned realm within the great matrix of the Veil. This day, I can report that Arcania is better for it.
In her most recent mission, she contributed to the defeat of a contingent of criminals seeking to disrupt the peace of Arcania. In addition, she saved the life of her fellow higher-ranking Warden and collected important intelligence that we continue to investigate as I speak.
Because of this exceptional display of valor, and because of her dedicated service, and with respect to the high marks from her training officers, we induct Opal Summerfield into our order and bestow upon her the rank of Warden of Arcania.”
Tremendous applause erupted within the chamber.
All eyes were on Opal as she rose and crossed the stage. She felt completely embarrassed, until she caught the eye of Eltheon. Eltheon sat in the front row, arm bandaged and in a sling, pale and weak looking, tearful and emotional, but beaming with genuine pride. Opal relaxed into the adoration and let it filter to her heart. She walked up the steps to the platform next to High Warden Thorian.
The large barrel-chested man had silver hair pulled back in a long ponytail, and the ivory zags of an old scar cut across his right cheek. He grabbed Opal’s hand in such a firm, painful handshake that Opal winced. But she held the man’s gaze, staring into his formidable green eyes, as he handed her a beautifully scripted certificate of commission.
When her hand was released (no bones crushed), the High Warden tried to pin on Opal’s new rank, but his fat, muscular fingers just couldn’t do it. After only a few seconds of fumbling, he eyed one of the attending Wardens standing at attention behind him. She immediately rushed forward and completed the pinning for the grizzled old warrior. Both of them exchanged salutes with the new Warden.
The High Warden turned to the gathered crowd.
“Officers of the Protectorate! I give you Warden Opal Summerfield,” he pronounced.
The entire contingent of officers rose in strict timing and saluted. Opal stood at attention and saluted back. The entire gathering of men and women erupted into applause, hoots, and catcall whistles. When it was done, the High Warden slapped Opal on the back with such force she almost went tumbling off the stage.
“Good to meet you Summerfield! I’ve read up on you. You’ve got a way to go, but make no mistake, we’re glad to have you on board. Here is my advice:
don’t screw up; do what you are told; and do it well, and with honor. Above all, remember that no matter what is happening, everything is going to be okay in the end.”
“Yes sir! Thank you,” Opal said.
“You just may have a good future with us.” He gave her a wink. “Now, let’s get the heck out here and get us some of that Sultan Salvus’s Popskull Cider I’ve been hearing about.”
A more feminine hand grabbed Opal from behind. “Warden Summerfield, please step forward to receive your hugs.”
Opal spun around to see Eltheon, Tirian, and Luka, They were all smiles.
“Wow, what an honor. The High Warden pinned you. Well, tried to at least!” Tirian said.
“Yeah, I’ve never seen him in person, but he is a legend. That was an incredible honor. You are very lucky, Opal,” Luka said. He gave Opal a lingering kiss on the cheek. “Way to go,” he whispered into her ear.
Opal wished the kiss would continue. She was getting used to these little affections. Luka winked, and she blushed.
“I loved the speech. But seeing you up there getting your commission does a training officer’s heart good.” Eltheon gave Opal a long, careful-not-to-bang-her-arm hug. She whispered in her ear, “And you thought you would never do it! Hmmph! Never doubt yourself again.”
“I’m just glad you are okay,” Opal said. “What did the healing ward say?”
“That the wound is infected, but that I should heal. I have to keep checking back. I guess they don’t have a lot of experience with wereboar bites. No one’s really ever survived that kind of attack,” Eltheon said.
“But you’ll be okay, right?” pressed Opal.
“Oh geez, she’s fine. Let’s go get some cider in us before we start getting mushy,” Luka said.
Opal punched him in the arm while Tirian and Eltheon laughed.
Opal looked around her—really looked. She felt blessed. Now she had a brother, a sister, a home, a calling, and with Luka, maybe even a boyfriend.
The terrible tides of her life seemed to be turning in a new direction. She had fought off her enemy and proved her mettle. She didn’t fear Amina anymore.
Perhaps her true graduation was learning the lessons of loss. All things come and go, even grief. To be truly happy, she knew she had to let go of what was not and live in the joy of what was—especially with all these gifts before her, here, in the now, shining like her necklace all aglow.
89
The entire city celebrated Opal Summerfield, and in the midst of that happy distraction, the deadliest malfeasant in all of Arcania used her dark magic to apport right into the center of the Courtyard of the Honored—the vulnerable heart of Fallmoon Gap.
She didn’t bother hiding among the shadows of the long corridors. She walked boldly, furiously, through the halls, right into the one part of the cathedral that should have been the most protected: Jakob Prismore’s residence.
The Elder-Prime seemed to be waiting on her. She found him standing on a raised platform within the whirl of a magical map. Globes and disks orbited the room as in a great armillary sphere. Jakob was the sun and the spheres circled him in wide arcs. The conjurer entered the room, and like a dark planet, she circled beyond his light.
“You should not have come here,” he said.
“You are a fool to think I care about your threats,” snarled Amina.
“You see what’s before you, Amina? The whole of the known magical universe—every node in the great matrix—spins before you. It is beyond our comprehension. It is deathless. You and I are but a speck within its vastness. Yet your twisted heart schemes even now. You believe you can conquer it all.”
“What do you know of me and my ambitions, old man? What I see are the toys of a frail, frightened leader clinging to his power, crippled by his own self-righteous delusions. A simple man who can have his heart plucked from his chest as easily as taking fruit from a tree.”
“Killing me will do nothing to advance your plot.”
“You think I care about killing you? I’m hungry for so much more,” Amina sneered. “The Veil is the only thing that will feed me now.”
“You could stop the bloodshed before it even begins. You’d have the glory you seek, just in a different way. A way that serves us all, instead of just your ego.”
“You talk like you can turn me. Are all old men dreamers? It makes you weak, you know,” Amina laughed at Jakob.
She swung her staff and spun the globes toward Jakob in a magical whirlwind. The old man barely moved. With a simple gesture, Jakob raised his own cane, and a great swath of sapphire-energy turned the globes back. They spun back toward Amina with tremendous force, but she was already gone. The spheres shattered against the wall.
In a snap, she reappeared on the platform right behind Jakob. She had the starstone dagger pressed to his neck. Her strong arms held him firm against her body, as if the two were long lost lovers. Blood began to run down Jakob’s chest.
“Amina!” the Ranger yelled from the shadows.
The witch was genuinely startled. The Ranger stepped into the moonlight with his bow drawn.
“William, is that really you?” chided Amina. “Such a pleasant surprise. Now I can kill you both.”
“I was thinking the exact same thing! Forgive me if I don’t trust you to do it right, witch.” The Ranger let the arrow fly. It zoomed straight toward Prismore’s chest. With luck it would impale Jakob and Amina.
Amina gestured at the glowing missile.
“Poxy Sorrox!” she chanted.
She flicked her hand as if to dismiss it. The Ranger’s arrow curved away and careened past Jakob and Amina. It struck a wall and rattled the room with a tremendous explosion.
Seconds later, a small squad of Wardens ran in.
“Stand down!” yelled one. “Both of you!”
“No one approach, or I will carve the old man’s brain out of his head. Then we can see what little secrets the Elder-Prime carries. Hmmm?”
Amina pushed the blade deeper and a slow trickle of Jakob’s blood soaked her dagger.
“Last chance, Amina,” yelled the Ranger. He fired another arrow, which hit the platform. It exploded and the platform began to teeter.
Amina held tight and ignored him. She raised the bloody dagger high and spoke a dark enchantment in a tongue foreign to the ears of everyone present.
“Death comes for us all, my brother-in-law,” she screeched.
The moonlight that had illuminated the room vanished in a cloud of complete darkness. A horde of Feratu broke through the expanse of the windows and crashed down into the room. They had the heads and wings of bats but strange human-like bodies. They flew around the room with incredible speed, attacking the Wardens. Panic ensued and the officers were overwhelmed. The creatures were supernaturally strong. They tore at the officers with their poisonous fangs and lethal claws, and blood sprayed the walls.
The master Feratu, Nos, descended like a perverted angel.
“I’m here, witch,” he slithered.
His great wings beat, holding him aloft. His clawed hand reached out to Amina.
He took her blade, cut into his own snake-like tongue with the edge, and licked away Jakob’s blood. With each lick, his face grew more blissful.
William turned from Amina. He began shooting Feratu as fast as he could. Three of the vampires pounced on a female officer who screamed in horror as they sunk their needle-like fangs into every exposed vein. Several vanished in an explosion of ash as the Ranger’s arrows struck them. Nos screeched at the sight of his children being killed, and he turned to attack the Ranger.
“Leave him. Take flight! We must be away with the powerstone,” Amina said.
Nos howled a murderous sound and clicked out orders in his ancient dialect. His minions took flight.
Amina tore Jakob’s cane away from him. She pushed the old man from the platform, and he fell with a sickening thump into the clutter of broken spheres.
Amina reached toward Nos and he took the
witch in his arms. William let arrow after arrow fly at Nos, but they only ricocheted off his leathery wings and fell clattering to the floor like twigs. Nos swooped into flight, and the wash of air from his wings knocked the Ranger from his feet.
In the corner, Jakob groaned. He was half buried by broken glass and wood. He was blood soaked and weak, but he reached out to the Ranger, muttering something incoherently.
The Ranger couldn’t make out what he said—except the name of the child, the one he had never known, the only person that may still matter in all this terrible madness.
Jakob said the name Ashiah.
90
Ashiah, best known as Opal Summerfield, was running through the halls of the cathedral behind her friends. Tirian split off to join his sappers. Luka followed a contingent of Castellans out into the city. Despite still being wounded, Eltheon seemed to move at supernatural speeds. There was word that Jakob Prismore was in trouble.
When Opal rounded the corner of Jakob’s room, she saw gruesome bat-like creatures escaping into the night sky. Dead Wardens were scattered throughout the room. In one corner, a cloaked figure stood over the fallen body of the Elder-Prime.
Opal felt sick. She had to stop and take a knee. She felt magical energy being siphoned from her body and from the Agama Stone. She didn’t know why it was happening, but she knew what was causing it.
“Jakob’s powerstone has been stolen,” she yelled to Eltheon.
The Ranger ran toward the back of the room. Eltheon went after him. Opal forced herself up and ran to help.
“What have you done to Jakob?” Eltheon yelled out. “By the authority of the Protectorate, you will surrender or suffer the consequences.”
Eltheon advanced on the man as Opal circled around to his flank.
“Leave me. I don’t have time for children and their games,” he bellowed. His face was hidden in his woodland cloak. He looked like a wraith in the moonlight, and his voice seemed disembodied.
Opal Summerfield and The Battle of Fallmoon Gap Page 26