The Black Opal

by Linda Jordan

  Jacob promised to explain Essail’s absence to his wife. He refused to take any of Griffin’s gold.

  “No, this is my gift, my part in what we are all trying to do here,” he said, closing the stable door behind them.

  Essail led them through the city. They walked for about an hour, past homes, shops and parks. It was a beautiful city, even in the dark. A slight breeze drifted by, but nothing like the wind of yesterday out on the plains. Mira didn’t get her bath or even a wet cloth, she still felt as dusty as her clothes. At least she’d had a great meal.

  The streets stayed nearly empty. A fancy carriage passed them by once, the people riding in it laughing and drinking, the driver solemn. A wagon full of wooden boxes, pulled by two stout horses drove past them going the opposite way. Essail and the driver tipped their hats at each other.

  The old graveyard stood surrounded by dark, metal fencing. Edward and Essail whispered to each other. The gate to the graveyard was open. Essail stood outside it, stopping to pull out a bottle from which he drank and then passed to Edward. Edward drank from it and they laughed. Mira smelled it and declined a drink. Taking a sip of alcohol that strong on top of being exhausted, was a perfect recipe for passing out. They walked a few feet past the entrance and stopped. Essail said, “Now, we wait and see what happens.”

  After a few tense, silent minutes Edward said, “Now.”

  Essail and Edward ran quietly through the gate, dragging Mira by the hand. They darted off the path and hid behind a hedge. Edward peered back the way they came. He seemed satisfied and motioned Essail to lead them on.

  She smelled sweet-scented, night blooming flowers on the breeze and asked Edward quietly, “Do people bury their dead in this garden?”

  “No, we burn our dead in the City and scatter the ashes so the River takes them out to sea. People still have monuments made for their beloved. The catacombs are filled with bones, but that is a custom long since ended.”

  They followed Essail to the center of the garden. She whispered to Edward, “I don’t see any guard around.”

  “You cannot see them,” said Edward. “They are pooka guards. Invisible. We slipped past one at the entrance, while the guard changed. We will be coming upon one soon, though, so quiet.”

  Mira shook herself, trying to focus. Essail or Edward must have used some magic to slip them past the pooka unnoticed. All the magic swirling around had made her senses less acute, as if she were drunk on it. She would have to be more careful.

  “You are very good, sir,” whispered Essail, looking appraisingly at Edward. I don’t know what line of work you are in, but it you are ever in need of employment, let me know.”

  “I will,” said Edward. Mira couldn’t tell if he felt insulted or amused or both. They became silent as they slipped past the next two crypts. As they stopped and squeezed behind some bushes, Mira heard a quiet cough, then footsteps. Her heart seemed to pound almost as loudly as the footsteps. She felt only a slight breeze past her as the nearly silent, invisible pooka walked by.

  After a time Edward moved and they left the safety of the bushes. Essail stepped up to one of the monuments, which looked like a very formal, small house. He opened a side door. Inside was all stone and Essail used a long piece of metal to pry up one of the larger tiles in the floor.

  “You can sleep out here, although sometimes pooka check in here. I would sleep at the bottom of these stairs. There are robes in a wardrobe down there. I would wear them were I you , they are the same as those worn by the mystics who tend the Opal. It might help you mix in.”

  They said their goodbyes and she followed Edward down the stone staircase. It felt really creepy, cobwebs, dust and who knew what sort of crawly things. She heard the stone scrape across the gritty floor until it sat over the staircase opening. Her jaw tensed with fear. There was no turning back now.

  She careened into Edward and stopped. The room below was lit by a dim glow of purple. The stairs had small treads, half the size of her foot. She hung onto the metal rail after nearly slipping. They stirred up dust while descending. She struggled not to sneeze. At the foot of the stairs stood the wardrobe.

  Edward opened its doors and Mira took out a robe that smelled musty. He took two, but didn’t put them on and motioned for her to follow him. He turned left, not right as Essail told them and entered into a small room which smelled even dustier than the stairs.

  “We shall sleep here,” he said.

  Mira looked around. In the dimness from what she could see, it looked like a mostly bare room, with a few pieces of statuary in it. Edward pointed to the far corner and spread the two robes on the floor. “I need to change back to a pooka,” he said and walked across the room. She turned her back and heard him undressing and stuffing his clothes in the backpack.

  Then there was silence. Mira felt embarrassed and sat down on one of the robes he spread out, taking her time trying to cover herself with the dusty, velvet robe she’d taken. At least it felt soft.

  “Why are you changing back so soon?”

  “I am of more use in pooka form in these catacombs, than I would be as a man,” he said quietly. She could hear the fatigue in his voice.

  “Does it hurt to change?”

  “Not if I take my time, but it does drain one. Especially to change often in a short period.”

  “How long can you stay in another form?”

  “That depends on the form. Some are more difficult to maintain than others. It is different, I believe for everyone.”

  “Have you met many shape shifters?”

  “Only two.”

  “Are you really a pooka, or is your natural form different?”

  “You have too many questions tonight. I think I will answer that one another time, I am too weary.”

  “I’m sorry. I’m just afraid. Talking about something else helps me to keep from thinking about what I have to do.”

  “We are safer here than you have been since you went to Aste’s. The Queen is unlikely to hunt for you in a storage room in the catacombs.”

  After a time he lay down beside her and said, “Come put your head on my shoulder, I will warm you.”

  Mira hadn’t realized her teeth were chattering. She had felt that way all night long, even in front of Jacob’s fire. Exhaustion did that to her and her head roared with an unrelenting headache. Her warm bedroll lay tied on the saddle at the stables. She felt strange cuddling up to Edward, but could think of no logical reason not to.

  She also felt uncomfortable in a room of carved monsters. Even after nights of sleeping in caves and forest floors, this unseen space filled with cobwebs and whatever else did not feel like a safe place to sleep. Still, she needed rest to meet whatever the day would bring.

  She curled up with Edward and buried her face in his chest. Mira didn’t think sleep would come, but her next coherent thought came waking from a dream and blushing at its contents. She lay alone on the robes.

  The towering form of Edward stood in the doorway with his back to her.

  Her head still throbbed. Touching a hand to her forehead, she felt a big knot there. She sat up quickly, filled with panic. Had Edward heard something? How long had she slept? Did they still have time to find the soul, Dylan and Amanda?

  Chapter 23 - Edward/Ronan

  He realized Mira was watching him, and whispered, “It is midday. Time to eat and make our way into the catacombs.” He returned to the door and listened again to the voices that occasionally echoed from the cavern and the noise of people moving about.

  He heard Mira pull out the bread and cheese.

  “How long have you been awake,” she asked, quietly.

  He turned and spoke softly, “Since morning broke. Pooka do not normally sleep as long as humans, but I felt tired from the changing.”

  “You must be really worn out.”

  “More than I can say,” he said. He noticed her forehead.

  The bump on it had expanded overnight and became a protrusion. Yesterday, it had
been red and angry looking. Today it looked a pearly cream color. Was it what he suspected?

  She put on the velvety, black robe, drawing the hood up to cover her fiery hair. He pulled his pack on. She followed him out into the hallway and he wrapped his shield around both of them, so their magical energy would not leak and betray them. In the hallway he slowly become invisible.

  The tunnel smelled of dry, musty earth. No life grew here in this graveyard. Edward stopped once before they finished descending. “Now we are in the passageway to the castle. This is where trouble will begin if there is to be any. I know you have many powerful magic, but you must save yours for finding Dylan and your sister’s soul. I am more familiar with the castle’s magic and, as a pooka, may be more powerful than you.”

  She nodded. He felt relieved there would be no argument.

  The tunnel widened until it was as large as a small sized room. The facade here was carved of square tiles from the Black Silk Canyon. They gleamed in the dim light which filtered down the tunnels from the main cavern of the Black Opal.

  He stopped once at a relief room so they could empty themselves. Mira looked more relaxed afterward. He felt bad for not thinking of her needs earlier. He usually traveled alone, without being responsible for anyone else.

  The magic felt stronger the closer they came to the Opal. It also felt subtle, more devious. What had caused the change?

  They came around a corner to find a black iron screen with a door in it. He had never used this corridor as a guard and was unfamiliar with it. The door was locked. He made several physical, then magical attempts before finally opening it. “Let us hope there is no alarm on this door that tells someone we are here,” he said. They went through. He put a good sized stone block to keep it open, but as they walked away, the door slammed shut. Clanging echoed throughout the tunnel.

  “A door that wants to be shut,” she said.

  “And announce our presence.” Someone must have heard the door. He hoped they’d simply think a pooka used it and let it clang shut.

  As they continued down the corridor, he bowed at the row upon row of skulls set into mortar between stones. A waist-high row was made of arm and leg bones. Near the floor were foot bones set in the mortar. The further down the hallway they walked, the more elaborate the mosaics became, including glossy tiles and cut stones. Edward never tired of looking at the art his ancestors made, however grisly it might be. It puzzled him, though. Did they worship death or create this to be the ultimate affirmation of life?

  “All these stones and skulls are attached to the actual cave walls. For centuries our predecessors worked the caves down here, digging new rooms and adding the stonework,” he whispered.

  “Pooka did this?”

  “And humans.”

  As they snuck along he watched her touch the walls, admiring the work. The elaborate mosaic made from pieces of old bones, gems and other stones represented parts of his world. On this section of the wall was a scene of the open ocean, with seabirds circling above and strange creatures swimming beneath the waves. On the other wall, mountains were lit by the Opal while glowing orange and red dragons artfully whirled above.

  The hallway emptied into an enormous cavern with several other corridors radiating out from it. In the center of the cavern stood pillars and arches which met high in the center. One was composed of skulls, another of ribs and the third of backbones.

  Mira whispered, “This is amazing. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything so creative in my life.”

  “There is a profound beauty to these caverns,” he said quietly.

  “It’s all about the shortness of life, isn’t it? The need to appreciate life while we have it.” She stood staring up at the ceiling and whispered, “It takes my breath away.”

  As Mira started to step out into the cavern, Edward stopped her and gently turned her face down to look at the center of the cavern.

  A man stood, positioned between the three pillars, looking upward, his arms raised in ritual. He recognized the Sorcerer. The man wore black velvet robes and stood bathed in a radiant dark, purplish light flowing down from the Black Opal

  The Sorcerer seemed unaware of their presence. He continued to absorb potency from the Opal.

  Fury churned in his stomach. The man had no right to do such a thing. The Opal’s power was only for her chosen rulers. Others would be incensed at his actions if they knew.

  The Sorcerer put his arms down, bowed and began to slowly walk out of the cavern towards the first passage. At the last moment, just as Edward was about to breathe in relief, the Sorcerer spun towards them.

  A bolt of energy shot through the air towards Edward. He turned it around and bounced the energy back to the Sorcerer, adding some of his own.

  The Sorcerer recoiled as the blow punched him. Then he attacked again, quickly before Edward could ready himself.

  Edward felt his body crumple and become visible. He was not strong enough to remain a pooka, shield himself along with Mira, be invisible and fight.

  “Run,” he gasped at Mira, “I will find you.” Edward tried to add a sense of urgency, pass it through to her mind, hoping she understood.

  Mira ran for the corridor that would take her into the palace. He shielded her from attack. Assaulting the Sorcerer again with an undulating, cold current, he hoped Mira would not look back. He shifted out of the burden of maintaining Edward.

  In the transition, he heard the Sorcerer say, “Do not run away little one. Do you not want to see your friend die?” The Sorcerer was distracted enough to give him a little more time.

  Edward was caught in flux. Pain burned through his bones, muscles, nerves and skin. The metamorphosis was taking too long, but there was no choice. It happened just as the Sorcerer’s next attack came, a hard, hot blast to his stomach. The agony became unbearable. Ronan/Edward countered with another attack, but knew it was weak. He needed more time to regain his energy. The Sorcerer was simply too fast, aided by the power he stole from the Black Opal. The Sorcerer sent the final blow to his head and Ronan passed out of consciousness.

  Upon gaining consciousness, he surprisingly found himself back in pooka form. Edward was being carried on a wide board by four pooka and escorted by two others. He suspected they moved towards the dungeons. He was not certain if the change had been incomplete or if he changed back to a pooka for protection. Pooka healed faster. It would be troublesome for Ronan to be caught sneaking into the palace and treasonous to attack the Queen’s Sorcerer. It could not be much better for a pooka to be caught doing it, but at least it would not bring unwanted attention to his father. He felt the numbness in his arms and hands leaving. He had not known he could shape change while unconscious.

  “Ahh,” said one of the pooka at his feet. “It seems our friend Edward is awake.”

  The other pooka laughed. Edward shifted his weight, feeling the lumpiness of the pack beneath his back.

  One of them who walked near his head said, “Do not struggle, my son. Simply pretend you are still knocked out. We will remove you from this predicament.” Edward recognized the voice but could not fully place it.

  He went limp and stayed that way, struggling to clear his mind. He trusted the pooka. They felt no love for the Sorcerer and would be appalled at what the man was doing. Perhaps they knew. How did the Sorcerer steal potency from the Opal? She carried the strongest magic in their world. The Opal must be allowing the Sorcerer access to her, but why?

  As he was carried deeper into the catacombs, he worried about Mira. Did she get away in time?

  “Mira,” he whispered, “did she escape him?”

  “Shhh,” one of the pooka warned.

  Edward’s back, arms and hands itched terribly. It felt unbearable to avoid scratching his burning skin. Unbathed or not, he had never felt like this before and didn’t know if it was part of the attack from the Sorcerer, or something else.

  One of his carriers greeted a jailer and they were led around a corner and down some steps. Ke
ys jangled and the darkness deepened. The pooka set his board down on straw which was most likely infested with vile, biting insects.

  One of the pooka said, “We will question him and call you when we are finished.”

  The jailer grunted and left, shuffling away.

  He sat up slowly, feeling very stiff. His head still hurt a great deal. A dark mood surrounded the other pooka. “What is wrong?” he asked.

  “Dragons circle the castle. They mean to make war on us unless the Queen releases the boy,” said one.

  “What is her response?” he asked, rubbing his head and trying to clear it. He felt dizzy.

  “The Queen laughs. She is mad.”

  “Has Mira been caught?”

  “The woman has escaped so far,” said one of the pooka,” but I think she is lost in the catacombs. After we leave you, we shall try to find her and help her into the palace. We assume that is her destination.”

  “Yes,” said Edward, slowly getting to his feet. He leaned against the stone wall of the cell and breathed heavily.

  “She is the one we wait for?” asked one of the pooka, young enough to still have streaks of black in his fur.

  “Possibly. If she is, Mira could use all the help any of us can give her.”

  “That she will have,” they agreed.

  “Where does she need to go in the palace,” asked another pooka. Edward recognized him now that his head had cleared. Arron. He had spent many evenings with him, guarding the catacombs. Arron remained one of the pooka vehement in the belief the Queen should step down.

  “She seeks her sister’s soul and the child whom the Queen stole.”

  “The Queen had stolen a soul?” asked the youngest one.

  “Yes, and the kidnapped child is joined with a master dragon.” He winced while trying to walk. His right leg ached.