Unclouded Day

Unclouded Day

  The Stones of Song Series, Book One

  A Curse-Breaker Book

  By William Woodall

  © Copyright 2012 William Woodall

  https://www.williamwoodall.org

  Cover image by Enya de la Jara.

  He shall lead them unto living fountains of waters,

  And God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes.

  -Revelation 7:17

  Prologue

  Among the native tribes of America, it has long been told that deep underground, in a cavern green as emerald at the heart of the world, that the blessed of God might find a fountain clear and cold, and that anyone who drank of that water might live far beyond his years, young and beautiful till the end, and that his dearest wish might come true.

  Now the fame and the echo of that story have gone far out into the wide world, and many heroes and great men have searched for the Fountain in vain. It is said that DeSoto himself tried to find it, and Ponce de Leon the Lion-Hearted, and perhaps many another whose name is no longer remembered. But none ever succeeded, for the way is hidden except to those who are chosen, and found worthy.

  This is the tale of a boy who found himself chosen, though no one who knew him would ever have suspected he was anything but ordinary. He was no different than any of a hundred other youngsters, except that he had a mind to dream, and faith to believe, and courage to set aside himself for the sake of those he loved.

  And although he would have laughed if anyone had suggested such a high calling for him, he learned in time not to wonder at the works of God, who may often choose to lift up the weak and humble things of this world to fulfill His purposes, when the strong stumble.

  Chapter One

  Brian found the amulet in an old cigar box in the attic. He wasn’t looking for it, or anything in particular really. He just liked rooting around up there sometimes, especially on days when Mama was in a bad mood. He’d learned long ago that it was best to disappear for a while at times like that, if he didn’t want a smack in the face. Out of sight, out of mind.

  She’d finally passed out on the couch around two a.m. last night, and Brian had known even then that she’d probably wake up with a killer hangover the next morning. That was never something you wanted to stick around for; not if you were smart, so he’d planned to get up early and take Brandon fishing for a while. At least till she had a chance to mellow out a little bit.

  But there’d been a cold gray rain falling when he opened his eyes that morning, forcing him to rethink his plans. It wouldn’t do, to take Brandon out in the weather like that; the kid was always catching colds. Bran was still two weeks shy of four years old; a bit more than ten years younger than his big brother, and Brian loved him above all things in the world.

  So instead he’d come up to the attic, to root around amongst Papaw’s old Army trunks for a while. The whole place was full of junk his grandfather had dragged back home from all over the world, and no matter how often Brian dug through it, there was always something new to see.

  Not all of it was pleasant, to be sure. Some of Daddy’s old things were up there too, here and there, and it always made Brian a little sad when he stumbled across anything like that. He hadn’t seen his father since Brandon was a baby, and sometimes that still stung. His name was Crush, and Brandon looked very much like him with his deep red hair the color of a ripe cherry. That was memory enough, without looking for more.

  But he didn’t come across things like that very often, and since fishing was a no-go, then treasure-hunting in the attic seemed like a good backup plan.

  So he’d crept out of bed, leaving Brandon still asleep, and tiptoed quietly upstairs. He switched on the dusty old floor lamp before picking a trunk at random, close enough to the door that he could see if Bran woke up and came out into the hall. He’d probably sleep for hours yet after staying up so late last night, but then again you never knew.

  In the meantime, Brian pulled up a chair, threw back the rusty iron latches, and lifted the lid of the trunk he’d picked. It smelled faintly musty inside, and as usual it was full of assorted junk; a baby cuckoo clock no bigger than an apple, a set of ivory throwing knives, postcards, a beeswax candle that still smelled like honeycomb, dozens of other trinkets and souvenirs like that. They were tossed in the trunk carelessly, with no particular order; just a random jumble of odds and ends.

  Down at the very bottom he discovered an old cigar box buried under a piece of cardboard, almost like someone had tried to hide it down there for some reason. Probably no one had, of course, but the idea tickled his sense of adventure. He pulled it out and blew dust off the lid, then tore off an ancient strip of duct tape that held it closed. Inside he found some crumpled rice paper yellowed with age, and wrapped up inside it was a silver necklace with a small medallion-type amulet attached. It was badly tarnished in spite of the wrapping, but there was no doubt about what it was.

  Brian was delighted; this was real treasure!

  There were seven blue gems set in a circle around a carven picture of a flowing fountain on the front of the medallion, and there was a smooth crack that ran all the way round the edge of the back side, as if it was meant to open up like a locket. There didn’t seem to be any catch or knob or button that he could push to pop it open and let him see what might be inside, but while he was looking for one he did find an inscription of some sort which he couldn’t make out through the tarnish. His curiosity was strong now, though, and he wasn’t to be put off by such difficulties. He spit on the edge of his shirt tail and rubbed hard till he could read the writing, but even then he was none the wiser. The words simply said Thumb Here.

  The letters were sloppy and blocky, like someone had scratched them there with the point of a pocket knife.

  “Thumb here?” he repeated aloud, thinking to himself what an odd thing that was for someone to put on a piece of jewelry. It was clear enough, though, so he shrugged his shoulders and stuck his thumb where it said, wishing the silver wasn’t so gummed up and nasty. It might actually be worth something if he could get the tarnish off.

  The instant he touched it, a sharp pain stabbed his hand, and he cried out wildly without thinking. It felt almost like he’d touched a burning hot coal, and he dropped the thing instinctively. He quickly inspected his thumb for injuries but saw nothing unusual, and since the pain had vanished as well, he was soon more puzzled than anything else. He wiggled his fingers to make sure they still worked, and everything seemed fine. Then he listened to see if anybody was coming to check on him after that wild cry, but the house was silent. He must not have been as loud as he thought.

  He stared down at the amulet suspiciously, and then cautiously prodded it with his big toe. Nothing happened, but he couldn’t help noticing that the gummy black tarnish was all gone. Silver gleamed brightly even in the weak light from the lamp, and he noticed for the first time that the flowing water in the fountain-picture was speckled here and there with tiny chips of what might have been diamonds, glittering and beautiful. It looked like someone had scrubbed the whole thing spotless in the blink of an eye.

  In fact, it was almost like his wish had come true.

  The thought came to him out of nowhere, and he felt a rush of excitement. Brian had always believed that there had to be something more out there than just the dull and humdrum world he was used to. So when something magical was suddenly dropped in his lap, he wasn’t at all disbelieving, as some people might have been. When reality is harsh, one learns very quickly to look beyond it.

  Eventually he got bold enough to pick up the amulet by the chain and examine it again, this time a lot more closely. A ring of tiny words was now etched sharply into the gleaming surface aroun
d the edge, but they were much too small for him to make out what they said and he soon gave up trying.

  He thought back carefully, trying to remember exactly what he’d done. His head was full of vague ideas from a hundred fairy tales and movies about how things like this were supposed to work, but he couldn’t remember doing anything special except touching his thumb to the medallion.

  Well, fair enough. He’d give it a try. It was worth a hurt finger to find out the truth, if that’s what it took.

  He looked at his shirt tail, where the spit-and-tarnish mixture from earlier was gradually turning into a smudged brown stain as it dried, and decided that would make as good an experiment as any. Therefore he took the medallion in hand, and gingerly touched his thumb to the back. He was braced for the pain this time, and was puzzled when it didn’t come. Nevertheless, he forged ahead.

  “I wish my shirt was clean,” he said distinctly, but this time he was disappointed. Nothing happened. Brian wasn’t willing to give up just yet, though. He looked down at an old pair of socks on the floor.

  “Come here,” he ordered them in a firm tone. Again nothing happened, and Brian was frustrated. What was he not doing right?

  He tried to think again what he’d been doing when the tarnish disappeared. He’d been looking at the medallion, thinking about how it would look if it was clean. He hadn’t actually said a word, come to think of it. He’d just thought it. Okay then, so maybe he had to visualize what he wanted, instead of talking out loud. He decided to try it again.

  This time he didn’t say anything, just envisioned the socks rising up off the floor and landing beside him on top of the trunk lid. Now there was no doubt about it. The socks floated obligingly off the floor and came to rest beside his elbow, exactly where he’d wanted them to go. There was still no pain though, and Brian broke into a huge smile.

  He was eager to try some more, but then he hesitated. Mama was somewhere downstairs, and he didn’t dare let her catch him doing magic, of all things. The first thing she’d do would be to take the amulet away from him, and if that happened. . .

  Brian felt a cold chill at the very idea. Mama was nasty enough already, without giving her magical powers to make things even worse. There was no way he could let that happen. What he really needed was a place where he could be sure she wouldn’t walk in and catch him, but that was impossible as long as they were both under the same roof.

  He glanced outside. The rain had stopped for now, and there was nothing to keep him from leaving the house for a while if he wanted to. Fishing was forgotten for the day, but the creek was still the best hide-out he knew of, far from Mama’s prying eyes. He was sorely tempted to go snatch Brandon out of bed and slip away while they still had the chance.

  Then a problem came to mind, and he hesitated. Brandon had a really hard time keeping secrets, and it wouldn’t do much good to go hide in the woods to do his experiments if the kid came right back home and blabbed everything, now would it?

  He thought about slipping away by himself and leaving Brandon at home with Mama for a little while, even though he didn’t like the idea very much. He was pretty sure Bran would sleep for hours yet after staying up so late last night, but then again he might not. If he did wake up early, it was a pretty good bet that Mama would end up screaming at him for spilling cereal on the floor, or making too much noise, or some stupid thing like that. Not to mention she’d probably tear Brian to pieces for not watching him, as soon as he got back home.

  Not a good outcome, either way.

  Nevertheless, he was almost dying with curiosity to find out more about the amulet, and he was blessed if he could think of any other solution.

  He decided to risk it, just this once.

  He slipped the amulet in his pocket and crept stealthily down the painted wooden stairs, stepping lightly and near the edges to avoid creaks. A thin film of dusty grime had sifted out of the wallboards since the last time he swept, and tiny particles of dirt clung unpleasantly to the bottom of his bare feet every time he took a step. He made a face and wished for the millionth time that it wasn’t so hard to keep the old place clean.

  He didn’t stop on the second floor, not wanting to wake up either Brandon or his mother. He wasn’t sure if she’d ever roused herself enough to stagger her way to bed last night or not, but he didn’t want to find out the hard way by disturbing her.

  The kitchen was deserted when he got to the bottom of the stairs, and he surveyed the wreckage from last night glumly. Glasses half full of unfinished milk from supper stood huddled together on the dull green Formica countertop, and dirty plates were piled high in the sink. An empty Absolut vodka bottle lay at a drunken angle against the base of the refrigerator where Mama had thrown it, and a fleet of cigarette butts floated grotesquely in a pool of spilled beer on the floor. A slightly dried-out meatball lay in solitary splendor under Brandon’s chair on a thin veneer of splattered spaghetti sauce.

  There was more, but Brian had seen enough. The cleanup job would be bad enough without having to think about it ahead of time. He crept a little nearer to the archway that separated the kitchen from the living room, to see if Mama was still asleep on the sofa. She wasn’t, but someone had turned on the TV, and presently he noticed muffled sounds of movement coming from the bathroom. It sounded like Mama was brushing her teeth, and before long he heard something clatter on the floor and the sound of cursing. It sounded like she was in an especially nasty mood, and he felt a strong urge to disappear again.

  He suffered a fresh twinge of worry about leaving Brandon alone with her, and he glanced upstairs one last time with furrowed brow, half tempted to put off his expedition for another day.

  But Brian was fourteen, and the thought of waiting for anything was hard to endure, let alone something as amazing as this. Therefore he tiptoed quietly across the faded yellow linoleum to the back door, reminding himself once again that Brandon was still asleep, and that the quicker he left, the quicker he could get back.

  He shut the screen door slowly behind him, careful not to let the rusty hinges squeak too loud. It didn’t seem to matter how often he oiled them, that high-pitched squeal always came back in a few days. He listened to make sure Mama hadn’t noticed, and then he set off purposefully across the pasture.

  He quickly covered the open ground and slipped through the rusty barbed wire fence on the far side, careful not to let his jeans or his shirt get snagged. Ripped up clothes were too hard to replace.

  His bare feet crunched wetly on dead vines and pine straw as he followed the little path into the woods beyond the fence, and once or twice he had to wade through a flooded spot. That was all right, though; he knew the way. By and by the trail curved away northward, following the little valley up into the mountains, and before long he came to higher and drier ground again.

  At one place, an outcrop of stone jutted out over the creek, with a beautiful view of almost the whole valley to the south and a deep swimming hole underneath where you could cannonball off the rock if you were brave enough, and beyond it there was the wooded mountainside where no one ever went. That’s where Brian was headed.

  He and Brandon had always called that place Black Rock, though Brian couldn’t remember why. It didn’t really look black, except when it was wet. It was Brandon’s favorite spot when the weather was nice, because there were lots of lizards and bugs to catch while they basked in the sun, and there was a sandy beach beside the creek that was perfect for castle building. Brian liked to go there and read or throw rocks even when Brandon wasn’t with him, because it was a good place to be alone with his thoughts, and in the fall he sometimes hunted on the mountainside.

  Not always in the fall, actually, although he didn’t like to talk about that very much. Hunting deer out of season was always risky, but there’d been several times when it was either that or go hungry. Not much of a choice, when you thought about it.

  But for now, the mo
st important thing of all about Black Rock was that Mama absolutely hated the place and never went there. Brian had no idea why she felt that way, but he was glad she did.

  A low growl of thunder rolled through the dense pine woods, and he looked up at the sky anxiously. The clouds were still dark and heavy with rain, and he wondered for a second if maybe his expedition hadn’t been such a good idea after all.

  He hesitated again, not wanting to get soaked, but eventually curiosity pulled him onward. He could always stand under a tree for a while if he had to. It wasn’t quite ten minutes later when he finally emerged from the woods and stood on top of the big stone outcrop. All around the Rock was a little meadow maybe a hundred feet across, full of wildflowers when the season was right, although at the moment it held nothing but thistles and sedge grass, most of it dead from the summer heat.

  The castle he and Brandon had built last week on the sand bar had melted into a shapeless blob coated with pockmarks from the rain, and there were several fresh deer tracks coming down to the water to drink. Little bits of embedded mica twinkled on the surface of the Rock, which was still dark and wet in most places.

  Brian pulled the amulet out of his pocket and toyed with it. The jeweled silver glittered like broken glass, even on such a dreary day. It was a beautiful piece of work, whoever made it. Strangely enough, there was no clasp or catch on it as you would have expected to find on a necklace. The chain was made all in one continuous piece. The only way to put it on was to slip it over your head.

  Brian wasn’t sure he liked that idea much. He wasn’t on good terms with pain in any form, and he still remembered what had happened to his thumb earlier. It had only been just that once, sure, but what if the same thing happened to his neck or chest? He wasn’t keen to find out the hard way. But a necklace is meant to be worn, and with a deep breath he whisked the chain over his head before he could change his mind.

  It hung lightly around his neck, the silver disk lying flat against his heart. He grasped it in his hand and held it as far away from his body as he could before he tried anything else with it, though. Might as well be as careful as possible.

  His legs were coated with mud and dirt up to the knees from the flooded path, and he could feel scattered smudges of thick red clay slowly pulling hair as they dried on bare skin. His face was slick with oily sweat, curling down in streamers from his forehead. He felt grubby, and this gave him an idea for his first experiment.

  “I wish I was clean,” he said, imagining himself just that way. Again he felt nothing at all, but when he looked down every particle of dirt had vanished from his body. His clothes were cool and fresh, and even his teeth felt newly brushed. Brian smiled with pleasure, more confident now. His eye fell on a nearby rock.

  “Come here,” he commanded it, holding out his right hand. The rock trembled and then gracefully floated into his outstretched palm. Brian laughed with delight, throwing the rock into the creek and casting his eyes about for more things to work his magic on. Nothing could have knocked a chip off his satisfaction at that moment.

  He played with the amulet fondly, dreaming such dreams as would have seemed unbelievable just yesterday. But now! Now all things were possible.

  The summer sun had scorched the tall grass around Black Rock into a wide field of standing hay, which not even the recent rains had been able to bring back to life. The dirt was pale and rocky, full of little white stones that looked like the bleaching skulls of field mice, and Brian eyed all these things thoughtfully.

  Moving rocks and cleaning off mud was all very well, but surely there was something more dramatic and interesting he could do. The dead grass and gloomy skies didn’t seem to offer very many possibilities at the moment, though.

  It would have been a much different place in the springtime, full of wild flowers and swallowtail butterflies and sometimes a few deer grazing at the edge of the woods. That was Brian’s favorite time of year, and for a fleeting second he wished it was March instead of September.

  A wild thought entered his mind, and he began to smile at the very audacity of it. He walked slowly to the center of the little meadow, and his left hand reached up to clasp the amulet curiously. Could he do it?

  “Give me spring,” he whispered, conjuring up the vivid image in his mind. Before the last word fell from his lips, the meadow began to change before his eyes. The dry grass broke up into wispy fragments quickly swept away by the wind. Dormant seeds burst into new life in a spreading pool of green around his feet, sending up pale tendrils already heavy with the buds of flowers. Lavender stars peppered the ground with a sprinkle of blooms, and chains of golden daffodils appeared across the far side of the meadow.

  For a second he was awed by his power, and stood staring at the changes he’d made. He thought about gathering up armfuls of the daffodils and carrying them back home to brighten up the drab old house just a little. Mama liked flowers. She might even. . . well, what would she do, actually?

  When he stopped to seriously think about it, he realized he was dreaming with his head in the sand. Mama wasn’t a fool. She knew it wasn’t the right time of year for daffodils, and at the very least she’d ask him where they came from. And then what would he say?

  It wasn’t just the daffodils, of course. Anything strange that happened around the house might cause problems. Mama was suspicious, and he knew from experience that it didn’t take much to set her off. The least careless remark, the most minor incident; anything could cause an explosion.

  It came to mind again that Brandon would probably be the worst problem he had when it came to keeping the secret. He was seldom out of Brian’s company, and he was way too curious about things. He just didn’t understand the need to keep his mouth shut sometimes.

  The cool wind had dried a sweaty trail of hair against the curve of his cheek, and Brian absentmindedly brushed it away. He turned his back on Spring, the thought of his mother having temporarily soured his taste for any more playing around. He unraveled a sprig of honeysuckle which had grown around his ankle and headed back for the downward path, feeling deflated. What good was magic if you couldn’t use it?

  He walked quietly into the leaf-scented shade of the hickory trees, paying no attention to anything above the tips of his toes. He was lost too deep in thought. Maybe if he was super careful and only did things Mama wouldn’t notice, then he might get away with it. That was an unsatisfying compromise, but it was the best thing he could think of at the moment.

  He sighed, and decided it was probably about time he headed home; he needed to be back before Brandon woke up, just in case.

  While he thought thus, he felt a single fat raindrop land on his arm, and again he glanced up at the sky uneasily. This time dark thunderheads were piled up like play-doh in the west, and the wind was starting to pick up again. From where he stood, he could see rain falling in dark gray sheets maybe half a mile away, and it was moving his direction.

  He made a run for it, gambling on the chance that he could make it to the house before the rain did. Brian was a fast runner, and if he’d been wearing his shoes he might possibly have made it in time.

  But he was barefoot, and that slowed him down just a bit. He was crawling through the fence when the rain caught him, causing him to rip a long hole in the back of his t-shirt from trying to slip through the barbed wire too quickly. He cussed under his breath and ran across the pasture to the back door, angry at the fence, and the rain, and himself most of all. He didn’t have so many shirts that he could afford to tear them up like that.

  He quickly got a grip on himself as he reached the house, though. There were worse things in the world than holey shirts, and the slightest display of bad temper was as sure a way to provoke Mama to anger as he knew of.

  He scuffed his feet and made sure to let the screen door slam (but not too loudly, of course) when he walked into the kitchen. If he made a little noise he could let
Mama know he was there without actually having to speak to her. She was out of the bathroom now; he noticed the back of her head where she sat on the couch watching one of her soaps. On the screen, an actress was passionately kissing a character Brian had never seen before, and Mama seemed rapt. She either didn’t notice him or didn’t bother to say anything. Brian didn’t really care which, as long as she left him alone.

  He didn’t see Brandon with her, so he slipped upstairs as quietly as possible. A quick touch of his amulet wiped out the creak in the seventh step just as his foot touched it, and a second one swept the dust all clean. Those were things nobody would notice, or if they did then Brian could always say he’d fixed them by hand. Caution, caution was the thing to remember.

  He didn’t start to worry until he got to the bedroom and found no Brandon there either, and when a quick look in the upstairs bathroom and out the back window also failed to turn him up, Brian reluctantly decided he had no choice but to ask Mama, although he dreaded it.

  He almost skipped the seventh step on his way down before remembering that he didn’t have to anymore, and then he deliberately set his whole weight on it just to listen to the silence. He was starting to feel a little better about things. He might have to be careful, but his power was far from useless! He fixed two of the worst cracks in the wallpaper and removed a scratch on the banister without missing a beat, and then slipped through the kitchen as quiet as a whisper to stand hesitating at the entrance to the living room. Then he waited carefully for a commercial break before clearing his throat.

  Mama didn’t look back at him.

  “What?” she asked irritably.

  “Um, I just wondered if you knew where Brandon might be, Mama,” he asked, in the humblest and most respectful voice he possessed. Mama hated disrespect above all other crimes.

  “I don’t know where he went. Go find him yourself if you want him,” she said, in a tone that meant the subject was closed. Brian mumbled something that might have sounded like a thank-you, and then quickly retreated.

  He searched rapidly through the house, checking all the places he could think of that were big enough for Brandon to be hiding in. He went back upstairs, looking in the hall closet and even venturing into Mama’s room. No Brandon anywhere.

  Then he thought of the attic. It seemed unlikely; Bran didn’t usually go up there by himself, but there was always a first time for everything.

  Brian quickly climbed up the narrow steps and poked his head through the door. It was too dark to see much, so he grabbed a rafter in one hand and felt his way forward, groping for the lamp stand. He couldn’t remember switching it off earlier, but he guessed he must have.

  When his eyes had adjusted to the darkness a bit, he immediately saw the lamp knocked over on the floor and the bulb smashed into a thousand pieces. He doubted Mama had been up there, so it must have been Brandon who’d done it.

  “Great,” he muttered.

  He explored the boxes and piles of junk one at a time, being careful not to step on broken glass, and finally he found Brandon curled up in a ball in one corner, almost hidden behind a stack of old newspapers. Brian could barely see him at all except when he moved, and he seemed to be making no effort to come out. Then he realized the kid probably couldn’t tell who he was in the dark.

  “It’s me, Beebo. Come out and tell me what’s wrong,” he said.

  That got results. Brian staggered and barely kept from falling backwards into a mountain of rusty gas pipes heaped up behind him, almost bowled over by what felt like a human cannonball. Brandon wouldn’t do anything but cry for a long time, and Brian soon gave up trying to ask him anything. It could wait.

  Instead, he sat down and held him till he stopped crying before trying to talk to him again. Brandon still wasn’t having any of that just yet, though, and the tears threatened to start all over again.

  Eventually he calmed down to the point that Brian was able to pick him up and carry him out of the attic, and that was progress at least. It wasn’t until they came out into the hall that he saw Brandon’s left eye was almost swollen shut.

  Brian went cold inside. Black eyes don’t come from falling; only fists can do that.

  Still, he said nothing, and took Brandon to their room. When he got there, he shut the door and sat down in his old rocking chair by the window. He knew, in a way, that this was just as much his fault as it was Mama’s, because he was the one who’d wanted to go off and leave Brandon alone with her. He knew better. He couldn’t pretend he didn’t.

  “Let me look at your eye, Beebo,” he whispered. Brandon turned his head, looking up at him with one bright blue eye the exact same color as Brian’s own. He couldn’t see out of the other one, which gave him a strange, lopsided look.

  Brian didn’t care about being secret anymore. He closed his eyes, and imagined Brandon’s eye the way it was supposed to be, and then kissed it. And when he looked again, there was no trace of the black eye left. Brandon looked at him soberly and laid his head on his brother’s shoulder, and then it was Brian’s turn to cry.