Opal Summerfield and The Battle of Fallmoon Gap

by Mark Caldwell Jones

  “Not being able to return to your mother was the tragedy that capped all this terrible luck. He has never gotten over losing her.

  “The worst part about all of this is that he never knew about you. I reckon Jakob hid you in Grigg’s Landing to keep your father from finding you. I guess it was a misguided attempt to protect you.”

  Jack moved in closer to Opal and put his hands on her shoulders.

  “But at this point, none of that really matters. What matters is that you find your father, and that he finds you.”

  “That’s why I’m here,” Opal said. “We’ve got a plan. I wanna find him as fast as possible. He’s the only family I have left, and he has the Agama Stone.”

  “I’ll do everything in my power to help you!”

  “There’s something else. Remember this guy?” Opal asked, unfolding a piece of paper. It was a page ripped from one of her books. It showed Jack’s painting of the Jeffercanus stegacertasaur.

  “Of course, I do,” he laughed.

  “Well Jack, we’re going to need him too.”

  107

  The wereboars gathered around the Ranger. He was tied to what looked like a horrific cross: the wereboars had used human remains to create it. His hands were secured to a bundle of leg bones. His feet tied off to a bouquet of human skulls.

  The Ranger didn’t look that much better than the skeletons he was tied too. His skin was torn in long scratches, his face beaten and bloody. One eye was swollen and his shirt was crusted with dark red stains. A strange scar cut across the left side of his chest, from his sternum to the pit of his arm. It was healed, but the white zigzags stood out on his tanned skin.

  Another giant man, who had once been Morgan Frey, but who was now the wereboar Opal called Foxkiller, stood in front of the Ranger.

  “William, we were the best Wardens in the Veil until that witch cursed us. We were your loyal soldiers, and we would’ve followed you to the ends of the magical world. But what did you do? You turned on us! You’ve slaughtered almost all of us,” Frey screamed. “But we’ll have our revenge!”

  The Ranger raised his weary head. “You were killing innocent people and you wouldn’t stop! You gave me no choice.”

  Finn McCoal, now the wereboar called Brokentusk, slapped the Ranger across the face. “We were surviving; we didn’t ask for this affliction. You know that better than anybody. That witch you sent us after cursed us. We were trying to make our great commander proud—we all wanted that—but look how we’ve been repaid!”

  “We’ve done had this conversation. The curse can be suppressed. There is a path out of this madness,” said the Ranger.

  “I know of your pathetic cure and how it would strip us of our power. You are just delaying the inevitable. We want nothing of it,” growled Foxkiller.

  “Kill me then. You know I won’t let you turn me, Morgan.”

  Dean Cullen, Redboar, circled around the prisoner laughing manically. “This time I don’t think you can stop it, boss. The witch wants you as her secret weapon. She has a special meal for you—a little black girl. I’ve been aching to sink my tusks into her myself, ever since she took my eye!”

  “YOU WON’T TOUCH HER, OR ANYONE ELSE!” shouted Tirian Salvus from the ridge.

  The Ranger turned toward the voice. Like a heavenly army had descended, the whole hill ignited in glorious fire. There in the front of the cavalry, leading like two kings, was Luka Turner and Tirian Salvus, each on a majestic firehorse.

  Behind him, a flanking of other firehorses and riders materialized. One by one more appeared, until the whole ridge was covered, their crystal harnesses sparkling, the bridles glowing with magic.

  One more surprise from the heavens revealed itself. It was Opal upon the snawfus, with Jack in tow. She rode the giant creature down into the fray.

  Seeing these new enemies, the wereboars transformed with great angry howls. Their tusks burst from their hideous snouts. Several broke out and raced toward the firehorse army.

  Foxkiller yelled, “We’re outnumbered, brothers, but by our curse, we are stronger!”

  He turned back to the Ranger.

  “And you’ll fight with us, William! You ain’t gonna hunt us from the shadows or sit in judgment anymore. Tonight you give in to your true nature.”

  Foxkiller partially-transformed. His long tusks sprouted from his distorting face, while the rest of him remained human. He slashed one tusk at the Ranger’s chest, reopening the strange jagged scar. He tore into the bloody wound with his hand. The Ranger screamed in agony.

  “Don’t do it, Frey! You will kill us both,” pleaded the Ranger.

  The wereboar didn’t stop. He ripped a small object from William’s wound and held it aloft as if it were some kind of sick prize. It was a medallion of pure silver drenched in the Ranger’s blood. Foxkiller cast it away into the shadows.

  “Now nothing will stop us,” he roared. “You are again one of the horde—the pride of the wereboars! Rise, brother, rise!”

  Opal dismounted and ran toward the Ranger. She fired her slingshot at Foxkiller as she ran. The magical shot exploded all around the monster forcing him away from her father.

  Behind her, she heard Jack calling frantically.

  “No, opal. Get back!” he screamed.

  It was too late. The Ranger began to change. His tortured howl was such a terrible sound that every man, firehorse, and creature stopped and turned toward him.

  The Ranger transformed into a monster. His skin changed to hide. Hooves stretched forth and great silver bristles erupted over his body. He became the largest and most fearsome of all the wereboars—Silverback!

  He broke his bonds and lunged to attack Foxkiller. They locked tusks and began to battle, and with a great heave, Foxkiller was sent flying into a nearby tree. The beast quickly righted itself, turned, and ran away into the night. He bellowed out to the other wereboars, calling them to follow.

  The Ranger, who was now a wereboar, started to run after them.

  “William! Hold!” Jack bellowed.

  The monster turned toward the old man and roared. His boar-eyes seemed confused.

  Jack immediately shot him with an arrow that sunk deep into his hide. Silverback roared in pain, turned around, and barreled toward Jack.

  The snawfus stepped into his path and reared at the monster.

  Silverback skidded to a stop, bared its teeth and raked its tusk. It lunged to attack, but instead, as if paralyzed, its rump slumped to the ground. Next, its front legs buckled. It rolled over on its side and began wheezing, as if dying.

  He didn’t die, however. Silverback began changing once more. After an agonizing few moments, William Windfar re-emerged. He curled up in the dirt, the arrow was still buried in his backside.

  Opal looked up at Jack. She was in total shock. Her eyes pleaded for an explanation.

  “Don’t worry, Opal. This ain’t my first rodeo. I’ve had to shoot your paps many times over the years. It’s a heck of a thing, but it stops him cold. Pure silver broadheads, the exact dose, right in the rump, works every time.”

  Opal screamed, “MY FATHER IS A WEREBOAR?!”

  Jack turned to her nervously. “Well, yeah, about that. I never did get to that part of the story during our little chat. I’m sorry.”

  “You never—oh my Lord! JACK! WHAT WERE YOU THINKING?”

  “Girl, we don’t have time to debate these particulars.”

  Jack walked over to the Ranger and kicked him in the ribs. He had his bow drawn on him, another silver-tipped arrow ready, just in case.

  The Ranger rolled over. “About damn time, old man. I thought you’d never get on with it. How did you find me?”

  Jack threw some clothes over the Ranger. “A very extraordinary Warden helped me. A tough one—and she’s got us beat in both looks and smarts.”

  “Who?”

  “Your daughter!”

  The little crowd parted and Opal stepped toward the Ranger.

  The word daughter had se
t off an emotional explosion in both their minds. They stared at each other in shock. All the clues, all the hints, all the rumblings of their collective intuition washed over them in a great sweep of realization.

  “Ashiah!”

  Opal’s eyes filled with tears. She buried herself in her father’s arms and the world seemed to vanish. Their separation was broken and now all that was left was the joy of its dissolution.

  After a long, long embrace, Tirian reluctantly spoke up.

  “Warden Windfar, I’m extremely happy to finally find you. Reckon I’ve been looking everywhere for you! But now I have to ruin this overdue reunion. We have a serious problem brewing back at Fallmoon Gap.”

  “Do you still have the Agama Stone?” asked Opal.

  “Amina got it in the ambush,” the Ranger said.

  “Let’s hope our plan will still work,” Luka said.

  “Look kids, this witch isn’t some backwoods wart-taker,” William said. “She’s got real power—more than I’ve ever seen in one conjurer. You and your men need to watch yourselves.”

  “That’s why I’m following your daughter into this battle. I suggest you do the same,” Luka said.

  “I intend to,” said the Ranger, smiling at Opal. “I can tell you have your mother’s heart, and she saved the whole realm last time. I figure it must be your turn. I’ll be right by your side.”

  Opal stared at the men gathered around her. The whole idea of her leading a war was absurd, and yet that was exactly the position she found herself in.

  108

  Opal watched carefully from her hiding place near the Crystal Tree. She was nervously eating a handful of Blackband’s Legless Lizards when Tirian’s witch detector went crazy, causing a boom of magical church bells to echo throughout the cathedral.

  Amina materialized into view amidst the rows of communion crystals. Opal felt her body fill with fear and hatred.

  Amina twirled with a defiant sneer, ready to fend off an attack, but she found no one there, which seemed to amuse her.

  She is always laughing, thought Opal. This is a sick game to her, nothing more!

  “Ashiah, Ashiah, come out!” the witch called. Time to die!”

  She raised her staff and struck the ground with it. Purple fire exploded and radiated out like a lightning strike. The magic roasted nearby shrubs and blackened paving stones. Opal’s window shattered. Plants in the courtyard began to burn. Ash began to fall from the sky, covering the communion crystals like a coat of frost.

  The Agama Stone. Where is it?

  Opal felt it before seeing it. It called to her; it yearned for her—it was her, and she wanted that piece of herself back.

  The stone hung still and dark on the witch’s neck, as if poisoned by her very touch.

  Opal took a deep breath and stepped out to face Amina.

  109

  The Wardens of Fallmoon Gap massed near the mouth of Blanchard Creek Cave, some on foot and others mounted on firehorses. They checked and rechecked their magical weapons. Their faces looked forward into the darkness, some stoic, some nervous. The only sound seemed to be their war banners flapping in the night breeze.

  Tirian held out his hand. “It’s an honor to have you here helping us, sir.”

  High Warden Zawnders waved him off. “Son, it ain’t been determined whether anything I’m doing is helping—but we’re about to find out. Here they come!”

  Suddenly, the smell of death drifted up out of the bowels of the cave. The howl of the Feratu followed and spread out over the nervous Wardens. Officers began yelling.

  The Feratu exploded out of the hole like black lava erupting from a volcano. The flying creatures were a terrifying mass of wings and teeth. Fueled by blood lust, they were coming faster than the Wardens expected.

  They steeled themselves against the terror. Commands were called and commands were obeyed. Then, on cue, the first line of Wardens released a volley of nets, and the whole mass of Feratu fell under them like birds caught in a fowler’s trap.

  Tirian waved a signal flag to another line of Wardens, and that line advanced over the nets.

  “Quickly now,” Tirian yelled to them. “Attach the collars. Wing. Neck. Arm. Anything will do. Watch those fangs! Hold ‘em! That’s it. Get them on and get out!”

  The Wardens went to work strapping black onyx collars onto the monsters. The Feratu hated it and went into a rage. They flayed about, screeching and chattering in horrific wails. Their tongues snaked through their terrible fangs and flung venom at their assailants.

  A circle of Wardens with high caliber shard rifles put down some Feratu slipping out of the nets. Zawnders called out targets to the men, all the while inflicting damage with his own extraordinary marksmanship.

  Tirian looked to the sky. Here came Jack Thomason on the snawfus. It flew like Pegasus to the rescue. The snawfus crashed into several stray Feratu who had avoided the nets. It swooped down and landed near Tirian.

  Jack tossed Tirian his bundle of black collars.

  “It worked! You’ve reversed the magic for sure. As soon as we flew over his sinkhole, he came after us. That big boy is a bit upset and coming fast!” yelled Jack.

  Tirian didn’t waste any time. He yelled to the officers.

  “FALL BACK, FALL BACK!”

  Every officer who heard the command gladly obeyed and ran from the field of nets.

  “LET THEM LOOSE! RELEASE THE NETS!” shouted Tirian.

  The nets were pulled away. The Feratu flew skyward. They tore at their collars to no avail.

  “Your turn,” Tirian said. He smiled at Fig. Fig gave a wave. Row after row of officers pulled back long pieces of canvas. Fig blew into his thin copper whistle. An army of steam-powered fireflies launched themselves into the air and swarmed toward the stunned Feratu.

  The fireflies buzzed after them. When a firefly hit a Feratu, both steamwork and vampire disappeared in an explosion of crystal magic and copper shrapnel.

  The creatures scattered back into their cave.

  The valley floor began to rumble and vibrate. Tirian waved his signal flag again.

  “TAKE COVER, IT’S COMING BOYS!” He yelled.

  From behind them, the great gowrow roared. It broke through the tree line, loped its massive lizard body over the nets, and raced after the Feratu. It banged and roared its way toward the cave hole, swatting stragglers from the sky with its mace-like tail as it went.

  The dragon made snacks of the Feratu as they fell in its path. Energized by the treats, it drove on, and crawled down into the belly of the cave. After that, the Wardens could hear Feratu screeching, fireflies exploding, and the dragon roaring. Slowly, the sounds faded as the battle continued deeper into the cave system. Finally, the gowrow roars were nothing but distant echoes.

  When things settled down, the Wardens slowly broke cover and gathered in the field. A great cheer went up. They had turned the assault on its head. The Feratu were routed. Everyone was amazed it had worked.

  “FOR THE VEIL!” Tirian yelled.

  “FOR THE VEIL!” cheered the Wardens in unison.

  Tirian crossed his fingers, looked up to the fall moon, and said a prayer for his friend.

  “I hope you have the same good luck, Opal.”

  The Final Battle

  110

  “There she stands, the little brave heroine, come to take back what’s hers!”

  Amina walked right up to the Crystal Tree. She drew out the long black starstone dagger. She admired it in the waning moonlight and incanted something unintelligible.

  A large raven made of black smoke materialized on Amina’s shoulder. It immediately took flight, and when it reached its apex in the night sky, it burst into a fiery flare. Howls from the wereboars rose in the distance.

  Opal whispered to herself, “Now Luka, now!”

  Right on time, down at the end of the path, a firehorse with Luka in the saddle burst from the Veil. He blazed toward Amina in a storm of fire and hooves.

  Amina was
genuinely startled and raised her staff to strike, but Luka fired a shard shotgun and blew Amina back onto the ground and the starstone blade fell away.

  The firehorse fearlessly continued toward the witch. As they blazed past, Luka grabbed Amina’s staff, and in the fusion of horse bridle magic, he apported away from the courtyard, leaving the witch disarmed.

  Amina cried out like a wounded animal. The wereboars appeared and circled around the cathedral roof, peering down into the courtyard.

  Opal pulled out her new slingshot. She stretched the sling back and fired. Her first shot exploded under Brokentusk. He was blown from his perch and fell into the courtyard below.

  She aimed again and her next shot hit the one-eyed Redboar in the snout as he leapt toward her. The beast fell with a thud, his hide sizzling like bacon in a pan. Two razorbacks down—Opal felt unstoppable.

  Amina started to recover. She was almost to her feet when the Ranger attacked. He ran full sprint toward the witch, and before she saw him, he transformed into the fearsome Silverback. He pounced and hit Amina with all his monstrous weight, flattening her to the ground, knocking her head into one of the pavestones.

  Then Luka was back. He sprinted toward Opal carrying a rifle and smiling

  reassuringly.

  “Go! I’ll cover you!”

  Foxkiller raced toward them both, but Luka took the beast down with a well-placed shot. Opal ran to Amina.

  Amina was helpless under Silverback. He strafed her with his great tusks and his saliva dripped like goo into the witch’s face. If a wereboar could laugh, it would have. Instead, it snapped its yellowed teeth and roared at the witch.

  Opal leapt over one last row of monuments and landed near Amina’s head.

  “You have something of mine, witch!” she said venomously.

  She reached down and unclasped the Agama Stone, and with great satisfaction placed it upon her own neck. The stone fell to her chest and was immediately awhirl with a rainbow of color.

  Opal’s eyes turned emerald and vines began growing from the ground. They fattened thick as fenceposts and began to twirl around Amina. Silverback backed away, pawing the ground, pleased to see the witch suffer, even though he truly wanted to eat her.