The Opal Cavern: Book Three

By S. G. Byrd

Curl says she' d rather die than spend the rest of her life trapped under Wasso Lake.

What if her wish is coming true?

Nineteen-years-old and still longing to see new things, Curl plans an exploration trip with Lynn' s sons, Mindik and Chera. Their goal is to find Tarth' s legendary Opal Cavern.

Lacht has recurrent, heavy feelings that her Wassandra friend shouldn' t go, but nobody listens and the team leaves.

Then Wave learns something from an old Wassandra diary that can mean life or death for Curl. A rescue team rushes off but they don' t know how long it will take to find her.

They do know that if they don' t find her soon, time will run out before they can get her back.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Torchflame Books
• Release date: Feb 7, 2023
• ISBN: 9781611535174

Book preview

Dedication

For all those who have to live within physical limitations

when they would much rather not.

And in honor of my mother

Miriam Cater Glover

who was kind and loving throughout her life.

Alzheimer’s has different effects on different people.

Before she died, my mother would often forget my name,

but she always remembered me.

I love you dearly, she said

when she couldn’t move

without hurting.

Now she is with Jesus

and has no pain,

no anxiety, no fear.

Acknowledgments

Thanks to all my family and friends. I have needed and greatly appreciated the editing, love and support you gave me!

Thanks to and humble acknowledgment of Jesus, the author and finisher of my faith.

Thanks to Wally, my publisher, who has made this new ebook series possible.

One

Confrontation

The young man with dark hair and odd blue eyes—odd for Stallis, that is, whose eyes tended to be as dark as their hair—squared his shoulders when he reached the bottom of the hill. In front of him was Wasso Lake, the only body of water in Tarth that was gold instead of the usual green. He stretched to his full height and resisted the impulse to back up the slope behind him.

Backing up would have raised Chera’s head above the gold-skinned man with unusually long arms and fingers who waited silently in the shallow part of the lake, but he would look childish. Undoubtedly Curl had reached the lakeside cottage by now.

She’d be watching, and Chera didn’t want to look childish.

The Wassandra man towered a good five inches over him. Chera grimaced. He was tall himself, and he wasn’t used to tilting his head up when he talked to someone. At least the man in front of him had facial features too stolid to be counted attractive. Moreover, his light-brown hair didn’t curl as much as other Wassandra. It could almost be called wavy instead of curly.

Maybe that’s where he got his name.

You are Wave? Chera asked forcefully in a voice that had to make up for those five inches.

Yes I am Wave, the Wassandra answered courteously, though he didn’t smile.

I am Chera, a friend of Curl’s. She asked me to tell you that she plans to stay overnight,. You are not to wait for her, Chera said with matching courtesy, though he didn’t smile either.

Wave’s face did not change expression. Curl will return home tomorrow then?

She is not certain when she will return but does not want you to come for her at any time, Chera announced as he nodded stiffly and turned to go, his message given.

He climbed the grassy blue hill, keeping his back straight. If Wave had been over thirty years old, Chera could have forgiven him the five-inch advantage. However, Wave was twenty-seven while Chera was barely seventeen.

Stolid or not, the Wassandra man had too much advantage.

Twenty minutes earlier, Curl had informed Chera of Wave’s age. He would never have guessed it on his own. Stallis couldn’t tell the ages of adult Wassandra until the strange underwater people’s curls became gray. Even then the villagers merely knew their neighbors had passed ninety.

That’s ridiculous! My mother and father look older than I do, don’t they?" Curl had scoffed when he reminded her of this.

Chera had scrutinized her up and down. In response Curl had put a hand on one hip and smirked. Her light-brown curls, golden eyes, and nicely rounded body pleased him, and he had been forced to hide a smile, well aware of the fact that she knew that he knew that she knew it.

You’re right. Your parents are much more mature than you are, he had finally agreed, smacking his right fist into his left hand with enthusiasm.

The obvious insult had provoked her into chasing him out of the cottage and down the road.

R

Chera’s older brother Mindik sat at a kitchen table, crouching over the notes and maps he had brought to Burkin Village when his family arrived for their annual visit.

Lacht entered her kitchen and poured herself a cup of tea, putting the kettle down as noisily as she could. Mindik didn’t move.

She cleared her throat and tapped one foot on the floor. He turned a page.

Anything new? she finally asked, but she had to repeat the question twice before he glanced up with a withdrawn expression.

Did you say something? he asked.

Lacht sighed. She and Ploddin had gladly agreed to let Mindik and Chera stay at their cottage during this year’s visit, but that was before Mindik spread his research materials all over their kitchen and sitting room. Obviously the young explorer took for granted that everyone was as fascinated in his upcoming expedition as he was.

The resulting clutter was hard to live with, but the effect Chera had on Curl was even harder, in Lacht’s opinion. Although he was two years younger, the attractive young man brought out Curl’s most flirtatious, silly side. Lacht had fought a losing battle with that side of her friend ever since they had met ten years ago.

The muscles on Lacht’s face tightened. I don’t think Curl should go on your exploration trip. She’s not old enough, she blurted out.

Mindik blinked.

Curl is nineteen, a year older than me. Loraf was nineteen when he got married a year ago, he reminded Lacht, but his face was lowering again even as he spoke, and he picked up a map in each hand.

I wasn’t talking about physical age, she responded, staring confusedly into the air as she tried to figure out what she WAS talking about—’’and there’s no way that I could forget Loraf s marriage. Curl mourned it for weeks."

Why? asked Mindik, glancing up with more interest this time.

Uh oh. Lacht picked her way carefully through her explanation. I don’t think she likes any of her friends to get married. She feels that she’s lost them somehow when they marry.

She knew Curl wouldn’t want her to tell Mindik the whole truth. Years ago the girl had made up her mind to marry one of Lynn and Chell’s three sons. She had settled, logically enough, on the oldest one. When Loraf had married someone else, she’d cried for two weeks before transferring her affections to Mindik, the next in line.

To Lacht’s secret dismay, Mindik had accepted the beautiful Wassandra’s attentions and included her in his exploration plans. Lacht had frowned at the new development, but she’d known better than to say anything.

Suddenly the kitchen door banged open and the object of their conversation burst into the cottage, golden highlights dancing on bouncing curls. The tea in Lacht’s cup splashed over the rim as her hand jerked. She rubbed the hot place on her arm resignedly. Curl often burst into a room. This wasn’t the first time the energetic girl had made her spill tea.

Chera didn’t follow Curl, which was unusual, but Lacht assumed he had run away from his friend to tease her—or vice versa..

Now he’ll get it, Curl told them and rushed to the window that overlooked Wasso Lake.

Who’ll get it? asked Lacht, facial muscles tightening once more until she was sure the overall tension would give her a headache. She peered over Curl’s shoulder at a view that she normally loved.

Nine years ago she and Ploddin had built their cottage in the blue meadow that sloped down from Burkin Village to Wasso Lake. They had chosen a traditional gray for the outside but had insisted on painting the shutters gold. No other cottage in the entire Stalli Mountain range had gold shutters, but nobody had complained.

What could you expect from Wet Ones after all! The newly married couple could breathe underneath the golden waters of the lake as easily as the Wassandra who lived there. Burkin Village’s initial horror at the idea of Wet Ones in their midst had developed over time into smirking pride.

This afternoon Lacht didn’t enjoy the view out her window, even though mists had begun lifting from the surface of the water. By nightfall, there would be big swirls of gold traveling several feet up the sloping meadow—but they hadn’t gotten there yet. The tall man standing in the middle of the low-drifting wisps was easy to spot. Chera had just reached him.

The two women watched until the young Stalli strode back up the slope. Lacht shifted uneasily, but Curl smiled in satisfaction.

What was that about? Lacht asked.

Her friend didn’t stop staring out the window. One long arm waved gracefully behind her as she waited. There he goes, she crowed when Wave finally walked down into the lake.

She spun around then, and Lacht saw brown flecks hopping sideways in the golden eyes in front of her. That meant mischief, pure and simple.

Curl, what’s going on?

He shouldn’t come every day to walk me home. I never asked him to. By the way, can I spend the night?

Lacht looked out the window again and said slowly, "Yes, of course, but you should have spoken to Wave yourself.

I didn’t want to encourage him. He needs to realize I have other male friends, Curl told her.

Wave is one of the finest young men I know, Lacht countered, but she wanted to shrug as she said it. Curl would never agree.

Promptly Curl proved her right. Wave was never young. I’m sure he had a deep bass voice as a baby and said, ‘Hello, my mother and father,’ right after he was born.

Come see this, Mindik called from the table, holding his finger to a place on one of his maps.

Curl hurried over to him, but Lacht lingered, staring out her window and imagining a solemn-faced man starting the long walk home across the bottom of Wasso Lake. The cup of tea was still in her hand, but she didn’t feel like drinking it anymore.

Mindik was announcing, We’ll go to Rosehip Mountain and live between the snowline and the top of the ridge.

Why Rosehip Mountain? asked Curl, staring at a small triangle that represented a big mountain on the map.

Because the Opal Cavern’s there. We’ll have to prepare for a long stay. I’m told Rosehip has caves everywhere, the young explorer said, rubbing his hands together in anticipation.

Most of Stalli’s larger mountains have caves everywhere. Why go to that particular one? Lacht asked, wandering away from the window and settling in one of her kitchen chairs, though she first had to move two books on mineralogy and a pamphlet entitled How to Use Snowshoes.

I just figured it out, he answered, his face glowing. Lacht knew the signs. She prepared herself for a lecture.

"The archives in Parsleyville, contain the most extensive collection of letters and diaries in Stalli, and those manuscripts are abounding in references to the Opal Cavern. The older the dialect, the harder it is to understand, but I worked hard on making sense of them.

"At the same time, I listened to all the stories I could find that have been passed down from one generation to another. When I compared my notes, I realized that both the written and oral descriptions of the cave are in agreement on two things, though there are problems with both.

"First, the Opal Cavern is described as very colorful, but Dad works the largest rock quarry in the Stalli Mountain range, and the only opals he has found or heard of anyone else finding here have been gray ones with white swirls. A gray cavern is not colorful. On the other hand, Muntas, who value rare stones more than Stallis do, assure me opals can be green, blue, yellow, pink, orange, or red—a full array of colors. That makes a colorful cavern possible, especially if someone found the more colorful opals somewhere else and brought them to Stalli.

Second, the cavern is said to sparkle. The problem is that though all rocks reflect light, not all of them sparkle when light shines on them. Since opals are in the nonsparkling group, how could a cavern full of them sparkle? Something else in the cave must respond to light with that kind of brilliancy, but not one of the stories bothered to explain the phenomenon.

Mindik shook his head at such a widespread inattention to detail.

Lacht opened her mouth, but the lecturer wasn’t finished.

The stories might have agreed on those two points, but they contradicted each other on everything else. Some said the cavern’s huge; some said it’s tiny. It sits at the top of a mountain or down at the base. It’s full of polished rocks or semi-rough ones, and either Keshua created the cave that way or some craftsman put it together. Sunlight pours into it or you have to take a lantern to—

Mindik would have happily continued on and on with his favorite topic but Lacht interrupted him. I know. I’ve heard the stories too.

Yes, her guest responded, staring vaguely at her as if she were a bug that had flown in through the window.

Lacht corrected herself. No. He would be more interested in a bug.

At least she’d succeeded in stopping the unending flow of words.

Mindik summed up, Storytellers agree with the old written accounts on two points. The Opal Cavern is full of color, and light makes it sparkle. I have got to find it!

Yes, but what did you find in the archives that would direct you to Rosehip Mountain? a voice from behind Lacht asked, repeating her initial question.

Lacht started, spilling her tea on the floor this time. She hadn’t noticed Ploddin entering the cottage, though her husband was leaning against the counter as if he had been there several minutes.

And why haven’t you told us about Rosehip before now? another voice scolded reproachfully from the other side of the room.

This time when Lacht jumped, she didn’t have anything left to spill.

When did Chera come back?

The two men entering the cottage didn’t startle Mindik. Once he had focused his mind on the Opal Cavern, very little else mattered.

This morning, I was studying my notes from an old explorer’s journal. He said, ‘On the pink tooth’s gum it was, all glittering colors. There ain’t nothing to compare it to. Nothing at all.’ He paused, overwhelmed by his desire to see the beautiful place.

What does he mean by ‘the pink tooth’s gum’? asked Curl, who had listened in unusual quiet to the lecture. She wrinkled her nose with distaste.

Mindik explained, One person called the mountain Rosehip because its peak was more round than other peaks and reminded him of the hip of a rose. Rosehips are round, aren’t they? he asked to verify his facts.

Yes, Lacht and Curl answered at the same time, though Curl spoke louder and with a marked air of authority.

Mindik grinned. He knew Lacht had taught Curl how to garden over the past few years. He also knew the Wassandra girl considered herself an expert on the subject.

Curl batted her lashes at him and copied his lecture style. A hip is the fruit of a rose, forming under the bloom and containing the flower’s seeds. It is edible. That means it can be eaten, she elaborated with an insulting glance at Chera.

Mindik grinned again, but Chera just shrugged in an elegant who cares statement.

Most of the time the hip of a rose is quite round. However, it isn’t pink, and it doesn’t look anything like a mountain peak, Curl added critically but Mindik had a ready answer for her.

I suspect that whoever gave the mountain its name saw the peak at sunset when everything became a rosy pink. It needn’t have been perfectly round to have reminded him of a rosehip. However, another person may have looked at the same thing and seen a different picture,

A tooth rising out of a gum, Ploddin said, getting his point. Gums are sort of pink so—

Ugh! Curl commented loudly.

Mindik told her, You don’t have to like the old explorer’s description. All that matters is that he’s directed us where to go. We should leave right away. Rosehip is one of the highest of the Stalli Mountains, with permanent snow on the rosehip— or the tooth. We should take advantage of summer’s easier conditions.

Curl squealed with excitement, and even Chera nodded enthusiastically. We need to contact the Stalli Mountain horses. They’ll take us to the snowline on Rosehip, but we’ll have to walk from there.

I’ve made a list of the equipment we’ll need. We have to prepare not only for walking in the snow but living in it, his older brother announced, delving into the pile of papers on the table.

Curl ran up on one side of him, while Chera went to the other.

Ploddin and Lacht stayed back. Lacht was slowly wiping up her spilled tea. Chuckling at the excited threesome, Ploddin turned to include his wife in his smile and noticed her tense expression.

What’s the matter? he asked in a low voice.

I don’t feel good about Curl’s going. She ought not to go, she whispered.

Ploddin put an arm around her shoulders. Ten years ago, you rescued a nine-year-old girl trapped in a panotka cave. Now you find it hard to let her grow up, but think how restless she’s been lately. This trip might settle her down. It’s no wade through the shallows to navigate a high Stall! Mountain, even in the summer.

Lacht’s lips twitched briefly and she leaned against him. Maybe you’re right. Where’s Winkin?

With his grandparents. Frenne and Winnel said they appreciated our letting Mindik and Chera stay here, but they want everyone to come to their place for supper. They say the maps in this cottage don’t leave room for food.

They’re right. Let’s get these people moving, Lacht said.

Wrenching attention away from maps was difficult, but finally they herded Mindik, Chera, and Curl out the door and down the street. Lacht hung back to walk with her husband. Ploddin didn’t limp noticeably anymore, but he couldn’t walk fast.

Catch up with the others, if you want,. I don’t mind, he told her cheerfully.

I’d rather stay with you. They’re too noisy, she answered with careful casualness.

He studied her. You’re still worried.

Will you quit peering into my mind? A nice quiet walk is what I need, she said, trying not to snap with limited success.

Ploddin quit talking, but he could see the lines on her forehead.

Worry lines, he thought but didn’t say anything.

Two

They’re Off

Two big pots covered the top of Frenne’s stove. Chicken smothered with gravy bubbled in one of them, while green beans crusted over with toasted walnuts and onions stayed