The Black Opal

by Linda Jordan

  Why was the light a purple color, but the mist green? This was a very strange place. Where had the end of the tunnel put them? They must be underground somewhere. They had gone down for a very long time inside the tunnel, but if they were beneath the earth’s surface, where did the light and the air come from?

  After while, she picked Dylan up and carried him. He fell asleep which made him even heavier. She’d lost her sense of time. It must be the middle of the night though.

  She finally stepped out of the murky woods, stopping in a meadow lit by the dim violet light. She lay Dylan on the soft grass. He continued to sleep, cuddled up with his green dinosaur. She covered him with Amanda’s sweater.

  Sitting on a boulder, she felt exhausted all the way down to her bones. Slipping off her shoes, rubbing her sore feet and then wiggling them in the soft meadow grass helped a little. She’d been frantic most of the day worrying about Amanda and trying to work out what happened. The light glowed a little brighter here in the meadow, but still looked dark and twilighty. She lay back enjoying the soft moss growing on the boulder. Heat radiated from the stone and she relaxed into it. The sweet, earthy smell made her feel calm.

  Mira jolted back to consciousness when the rock started to move. She leapt up. It had four, stout legs, a bulbous head and a tail twice as long as its body. Now she saw the scales beneath the moss. It stared at her and hissed, then ambled slowly off towards the woods, the tail slapping back and forth like a whip, just in case.

  “I’m sorry,” she apologized, feeling stupid. It wasn’t a tortoise, even though it lived inside a turtle-like shell. Where were they?

  She groggily checked where Dylan slept under Amanda’s sweater and saw with a shock, only the sweater. How long had she slept?

  “Dylan? DYLAN!” she yelled.

  She stood in the middle of a large meadow, no trees or bushes for Dylan to hide behind. There were no tracks through the damp grass, other than the trail they’d been following. She picked up Amanda’s sweater and started running in the direction they were headed last night.

  “Dylan,” she called again.

  She still didn’t know where they were. There was no sun, although the meadow looked bright enough. Everything had a bluish, purple cast to it. Few of the plants looked familiar. She had seen a number of strange birds flitting among the shrubs. Everything dripped with moss and dampness.

  Up ahead she heard a great thrashing in the bushes. Too much noise for even Dylan to make. Mira scampered off the trail to hide behind the nearest tree. The tree turned out to be too small and her pale blue T-shirt didn’t make for good camouflage. She whispered to herself, “Please let me find Dylan before it does.”

  Men on horseback rode up the trail. Then another group burst out of the forest and entered onto the trail to join the others. She froze.

  One man rode in front, leaning outward from his horse, looking at the ground. The rest followed in two columns, the trail only wide enough for two horses side by side. When the first man got to her tracks, his eyes followed them to the tree she stood behind. He stopped his horse and looked directly into her eyes.

  She said under her breath, “Now that was stupid.” She should have chosen a better hiding place. Too late now. She couldn’t run, they were on horses after all. Where was Dylan?

  Stepping out from behind the tree, she stood hands on hips. As she waited for their reaction Mira instinctively covered herself with a shield of protection, visualizing a wall of blazing fire, the hardest stone, rushing water and roaring wind, just as Aunt Rita taught her.

  This time felt different, though. It mattered, not just practice. Somewhere, deep within, she found the energy, anger or fear, to fuel her magic. Mira felt amazed. Her magic never worked this well. A subtle, green aura surrounded her. It wouldn’t keep out a physical attack, but might repel any assaults on her spirit.

  The tracker sat up straight, continuing to eye her, with a look on his face of either surprise or amusement.

  She turned her attention to the other men. They looked like something out of a viking movie or an old heavy metal concert. Wearing leather pants and shirts with armored vests, they looked ominous. Several wore bows with quivers of arrows over their shoulders. Most of the men carried swords. Where the hell was she? There were twelve of them staring at her curiously. Some of the horses stomped restlessly. They looked like normal horses at least and smelled like normal horses, that sweet-sweaty-dusty fragrance she associated with horses.

  The tracker sat quietly staring at her with his dark eyes. An older man rode his horse forward and stopped next to the tracker. They exchanged glances. The man with the gray hair and a neatly clipped goatee and mustache, got off his horse and walked forward.

  “Don’t be afraid, young woman. We won’t hurt you.”

  “Who are you?” she asked. She could feel someone’s power touching her, trying to find an opening in the shield. It didn’t come from the older man though.

  “That is not important. We are simply a hunting party. Who are you?”

  She waited a moment and said as regally as she could, “That’s not important either.”

  The older man simply looked at her and she stared back at him defiantly. There was a flash of movement coming down the trail from the meadow and she was almost knocked over by Dylan.

  “Mira, cool rock,” he said, opening up his hand. She could see a small red, rock in the palm of his hand. It suddenly sprouted a head and wings, then flew off.

  Dylan stood staring at it and said, “Wow!”

  The older man laughed. “Can we help you in any way? You must be a long way from home.”

  She breathed deeply. If these men had ridden far on the trail they probably wiped out the creature’s tracks who had her sister. “We’re hunting my sister and whatever hauled her off.”

  “Your sister?”

  “Yes, and the thing with webbed feet and three toes.”

  “A quirot?” he asked.

  “What’s a quirot?” she asked. She hated feeling ignorant.

  “Quirots are swamp people,” he shrugged. “What do you plan to do when you find them? Quirots can be very fierce,” he said, an amused look on his face. He put a hand on his hip and as he smiled, his wrinkles moved closer together.

  She wasn’t deceived. She felt patronized and really pissed off, but determined not to let him see it. He moved like a young man. Mira wished she could whip out a sword like some anime heroine or do Kung Fu and knock him flat on his back. But he was right. She had no plan. “I’ll decide that when I find them,”she said with more confidence than she actually felt.

  “Father,” said the tracker, who looked about her age, as he smoothly slid off his horse. He walked towards them, his brown horse following like a shadow. “Back at the stream the quirot parted from whatever prey it caught. We found the tracks before you rejoined us. We could return and follow them.”

  She tried to keep from staring at the man. He wore his dark hair, shoulder-length and tied back with a leather thong, threaded through metal charms. His big, brown eyes had stared at her since the men rode up. From what she could see underneath all that leather and metal his lean build looked muscular. Focus, she told herself looking back at the older man. In doing so, she realized the power flowed from the younger man.

  The older man glared at the son, “Ronan,” he said warningly, but the son gave him a challenging gaze in return. The father nodded and turned back to her. “Your sister was not there, but we could take you to the place so you can continue your search.”

  “Thank you, I’ll follow you.”

  “It would be faster if you rode,” said the son.

  She thought about it, but didn’t trust any of them that far.

  “I’ll walk,” she said.

  Dylan pulled at her sleeve. She squatted down near him. “Don’t you ever, ever run off like that again. Do you know how afraid I was?”

  “Need to pee.”

  “Oh Jeez.” She’d never baby-sat, didn’t k
now anything about little boys, or little girls for that matter. “Can you go by yourself?”

  “Uh huh.”

  “Good, there’s a tree over there, just go behind it and do your thing.”

  “Kay.” Dylan strutted off towards the tree and pulled his pants down in full view of everyone. He had a gleeful look on his face. He’d most likely never been allowed to pee in the woods before.

  She noticed a couple of the men looking at Dylan, smiling and looking away while laughing, as if they thought he looked adorable. Maybe they weren’t aliens after all.

  Mira followed along behind, hefting Dylan from one hip to the other as she tired. She sensed that Ronan masked his amazing power somehow. It felt like a towel thrown over a lamp. A faint glow occasionally leaked out as if someone lifted the corner of the towel. When that happened she could feel his power looping back and touching her, still seeking an opening. What was he searching for? Mira felt glad she didn’t need to focus on much except keeping her shield up and walking. She’d never really felt anyone’s power before, except Aunt Rita’s. It was like comparing the drip of a faucet to a roaring waterfall being held back by a dam.

  Dylan remained still, looking around and taking everything in as she carried him. Only once did he speak, “Be okay Mira,” he said, confidently. The men rode silently, following Ronan who led the way.

  She felt a huge difference in the way her magic worked here. It seemed clearer, stronger and easier. Did magic feel or act different here than in Seattle or on Whidbey Island, or could she simply see it better here? She didn’t know where here was anyway and couldn’t bring herself to ask. She didn’t want to be at any more of a disadvantage.

  Once they got to the stream, she couldn’t see anything except mud. Ronan drifted close to her as the others dismounted, letting their horses drink downstream of the tracks. He leaned over the side of his horse, pointing out what happened. A person’s footprints came towards where Amanda had been dropped. The creature’s tracks led upstream and alone. It looked like the person and Amanda walked off together, although Ronan said the person half-carried her sister.

  The footprints looked about the same size, but Amanda’s feet were bare and the other person wore soft shoes. Their footsteps walked away from the stream in the damp soil.

  “The Witch,” one of the men said, then spat on the ground. They all looked uneasy, except the son.

  “I could take them to her and then rejoin you,” he said to his father.

  The older man looked thoughtful for a minute and said, “She dare not harm you. Agreed. We will leave signs for you to follow.” He and the other men mounted. “We must go before we lose the trail.” The older man nodded at her and they rode back the way they came, leaving behind a cloud of dust.

  “Why are they afraid of a Witch?” she asked Ronan. They walked now, his horse following along.

  “She has a reputation for being whimsical. Turned one of my father’s men into a dog,” he said, wryly.

  “Is he still a dog?” she asked.

  “He died defending my father from a bear.”

  “Sorry.” She felt stupid. His power touched her strongly now. He didn’t mask it. She felt him looking at her. His eyes felt like velvet caressing her shoulders. She wondered if this could be real or some sort of glamour, a charm. As they walked up the hill she blurted out, “What do you mean,‘your father’s men’? Is he a king or something?” His attention made her uncomfortable. It felt too intimate. Too intense. Too fast.

  “Look, there is the Witch’s home,” he said, completely avoiding her question but she let it drop.

  She felt something new. A sense of being searched touched her entire body. She refocused her drifting energy back towards her shield and the feeling vanished. It would seem they were expected.

  They walked towards a massive evergreen tree. As they got closer she saw a wood and rope spiral staircase wind around the huge tree trunk.

  Ronan said, “When danger comes or she wants to be alone, she can draw the staircase up so no one can enter.”

  Smoke curled out from beneath the evergreen’s branches.

  He said, “I must leave so I can catch up with the others. The Witch will help you find your sister.” He got on his horse and rode off in the direction of the meadow.

  She watched as he rode into the trees and the purple twilight. His power lingered awhile, then withdrew abruptly. “Wait, I didn’t even get to thank you,” Mira called after him. She felt suddenly alone.

  He merely waved as if he hadn’t heard her.

  “Men, they’re such idiots sometimes. Well, not you Dylan. You’re going to grow up to be a smart cookie. Amanda and I will see to that.” Looking down, she saw Dylan was asleep.

  Sighing, she began to climb the stairs. She would have to meet the Witch alone.

  Chapter 3 - Ronan

  Ronan rode in the direction his father and the other men had taken, following their trail. His bay, Pinecone, ran through the meadow towards the stream, stretching out and picking up his pace. He knew the horse felt happy to be running. Pinecone was made for speed and Ronan could sense the wind blowing through his nostrils and mane and the power of his hooves as they pounded the earth. He felt the horse’s spirit soar as the stallion sailed over the stream and roared through the woods on the other side. Branches slapped at Ronan’s face before he could rein the horse in.

  “Slow down there,” he said. “We will catch up to them.”

  Pinecone shook his head in annoyance. He wanted to run.

  Ronan said, “On the way back we will go on the main road and you can run until you drop.”

  Pinecone snorted as if to say, “Now.”

  “I can do no better for the time being. We have work to do,” said Ronan.

  Ronan felt unnerved. He could still see the redhead, Mira, ineffectually hiding behind the tree. Dressed in strange clothes, all blue. Her long hair curling down her back, she had looked so weary, he wanted to comfort her. She showed great bravado. And the child who had appeared out of nowhere, did the child belong to her? Was she joined with someone? She must be. His heart sank at that thought which kept returning. Where was her man though? Why didn’t he come with her into this world. Ronan’s intuition told him she was unattached, but logic said otherwise.

  His father, Roderick, had done most of the talking, although he allowed Ronan to take her to Aste’s home. Ronan felt like a fool, unable to speak. He should be back helping his brother, Ewan, keep his father and his men off the scent.

  Ronan and Ewan had invited themselves to join Roderick’s hunting party as trackers with the secret goal of leading their father away from the black unicorns. They had already misled the group three times.

  Ronan asked himself why he chose to leave the hunting party, taking Mira to the witch?

  He caught the scent of rotting flesh and hear snarling. Probably a woodland lion defending its kill possibly, or a couple of desperate wolves. The horse sidestepped nervously and Ronan squeezed his legs, signaling the stallion to move out of the predator’s territory.

  He continued worrying about his dilemmas. Many people thought the unicorn population so nearly vanished that killing the rest made no difference. Others, like his father, saw only a challenge. The unicorns held complicated magic and hunting them lay beyond most people’s skills. Others simply saw profit. Ronan had a choice about his actions, but mostly he made the unpopular ones.

  His decision about this woman felt different. He couldn’t let her walk away, just as he could not willingly cease breathing. It felt as if she put a spell on him. Women often accused him of doing that to them, oddly enough. Even now as he closed his eyes, he saw her. The courage in her voice and actions, overshadowing her fear. Yet, somehow she was lost. If he didn’t get to know her he would regret it his entire life.

  Ronan shook his head to clear it. What could he be thinking? She was an outlander. Clothes like hers didn’t exist in his world. The most glaring difference came from her magic. It felt ex
otic, like the green, asania flowers from the outer islands with their velvety petals that could perfume an entire room. Which world had she came from?

  He sighed in frustration and Pinecone snorted in response. He had too much to think about and do. Mainly, he needed to keep his father from carrying out stupid acts.

  Each day the Queen’s reign crumbled further and a revolution sat at their feet, begging to be taken up. His father needed to be in position to accept the crown. Roderick wouldn’t be able to do that if he was caught hunting and illegally selling unicorn horn. The Queen would love to have an excuse to spear him, even if he was her younger brother. There was no love lost between them. Ronan seriously wondered if Roderick would make a better ruler than the Queen. His father needed to grow up. Did he have enough empathy and sensitivity to rule well? Would the Black Opal accept him?

  He reined the stallion in and looked down at the ground, following the trail of his father and the men. A broken pine branch softly brushed across his face, releasing the resinous smell in his nostrils. He pushed it aside to see the earth below and catch where half the men took another trail. Ewan would only be able to distract half the group now. Ronan felt frustrated, he should have been there.He reined his horse toward the smaller group, hoping he took the right trail.

  He still felt awkward about not answering Mira’s questions. He didn’t want to be connected with the hunting party. For the same reason his father hadn’t told her his name. Ronan felt ashamed to have anyone think of him as hunting unicorns. His father, however, was completely guilty of selling the crystalline horns to artisans instead of giving them to the Queen.

  Ronan often wondered if their entire family wasn’t corrupt in some way. Queen Nakia’s reign consisted of bloodshed and cruelty, as her father’s before her. Roderick murdered unicorns. His brother Ewan leapt between noble’s homes, and the women’s beds. He gathered information for Roderick and had become a windswept seed with no place to take root.

  Ronan had grown into a loner. He spent long turns on the road like the nomads his people were, not long ago. With few real friends he felt lonely and incomplete; searching for some woman to complete him. An impossibility, but he dreamed. Ronan wondered how their lives would be different if their mother had lived, he’d never forgive Nakia for her part in that. He rubbed his dust-filled eyes. Better not follow that path further. She was dead, no going back. Still, one day, Nakia would pay.