The Last Summoning---Andrew and the Quest of Orion's Belt (Book Four) (26 page)

A great uneasiness filled Andrew’s heart.
Shadows beneath the waxen walls stirred and hissed, like a flock of
bats sleeping in a cave.

The time was ripe, yet Andrew felt hesitant,
afraid.

“Who goes there, a muffled voice suddenly
cried from atop the wall above the gate.

Before the man could utter another word,
Flicker soared through the air, grabbed the man with his sharp
talons and knocked him off the wall. He hit the ground with a
sickening thud.

“Hurry!” Flicker cried, soaring above them.
“There is no time!”

Andrew’s heart filled with resolve. He stood
before the gate, with sword raised. In it he felt the heavy hearts
of every soul imprisoned here yearning for a voice, yearning for
freedom, yet they were unable to free themselves. Such woe and
sorrow, remorse, and such strength he felt. Here the truth lived,
though freedom did not. Here slaves lived, their hearts unfettered
and free, though their bodies were not. Here the truth and end of
The Fallen’s reign was known in all its horror. Here nothing was
covered, because it did not have to be. No lies could be believed
because these slaves were living the product of the lie.

Andrew closed his eyes. He could feel the
strength of those imprisoned flow through the blade into his arms.
He set his jaw. His arms grew firm, his eyes gleamed under the
light of the prison walls. Far behind him he thought he heard the
chest of unsaid words pounding louder and louder, keeping time with
his own anxious heart.

“You will be slaves no more!” Andrew cried,
bringing his sword down on the gate. Heat, oil, and water flowed
beneath his feet, as the gate gave way, and fell open with a
jarring thud.

Flicker flew out through the opening, his
long feathers almost transparent from the glow of the wax structure
behind him. “The way is clear,” Flicker called, soaring high above
them. “Many of the slaves slumber in those hovels. Quickly!
Quickly! We must awaken them!”

“Yes!” Andrew cried, jumping into the wagon
as Freddie led it forward through the open jaws of the gate. “We
shall. We will awaken them.”

Flicker flew before them, his eyes gleaming
out like torches lighting their way.

Inside, all was dismal and shrouded in
shadow. Short, miserable structures, that looked leprous and
decayed, filled much of the muddy courtyard. The structures looked
unstable and old, filled with dark windows. From the gate, a vast
expanse of land spread out before them, inclining steadily
downward, encompassing these houses, leading down to a very large
pit that glowed ominously. A small but precarious road was built
into the side of the pit, spiraling steadily downward. The
buildings hid most of the road and the pit. But the crackling
sounds of fire, and great puffs of smoke rising from it, could not
be hid, nor could the howls of trapped souls crying out in pain,
either. Such haunting sounds scraped through the air like jagged
teeth, wrenching those who heard it with such pity that it was
almost unbearable.

They stopped at the doorway of one of the
dismal structures. “Ivory,” Andrew commanded, “you stay here.
Freddie, come with me. If there is any danger, Flicker will let you
know.”

Ivory’s green eyes filled with fear. “And
then what?”

“Hide. Keep safe till we come.”

Before she could protest, Andrew had
disappeared into one of the houses with Freddie.

Oil

Andrew held his cape over his nose to stifle the
nauseating smell inside the building. The heavy smell of too many
bodies packed together in a small space, unwashed and sweaty, mixed
with that of fish oil, permeated the room.

In the darkness, the room felt extremely
cramped as if the night further compacted the room, making it feel
even more compressed, heavy, and saturated in slavery. It was
stuffy and unbearable. Andrew marveled that open windows did
nothing to stir the air in the room. It was as if they, too, had
shut out the light, cramming the poor souls inside, mocking them by
giving them no air to breathe.

Andrew raised his sword against the mantle of
darkness, feeling its heavy weight and presence on his blade, like
a heavy curtain that would not be lifted. He cried out, and cut
through the darkness, feeling the strength inside the sword buoy
his arms up.

Freddie stood by him, watching in wonder as
the sword instantly lit up the room. Such light neither Freddie nor
Andrew had seen come from the sword. Such power Andrew had never
felt in its blade. Never before had he been in the presence of so
many, so young, so youthful, whose minds were awake, but whose
bodies were trapped.

“Awake!” Andrew cried, lifting the sword high
above him like a torch. In the sword’s light he was met with a
sight that he would never forget. Slaves, everywhere, row upon
row--lining nearly every inch of the straw-strewn floor, their
bodies nearly piled on one another trying to sleep.

The sleeping mass stirred at his words.
Moaning and speechless, they stared at him---their attention glued
on him. Andrew surveyed the mass of slaves with compassion. Their
bodies were covered in tar-like oil. Some were burned, their hair
singed, their faces scarred by the bubbling oil they had been
forced to work over. Their eyes were wide, their bodies frail,
their ribs vivid against their starved frames. Yet, despite all
this, Andrew knew something many did not---their hearts were
strong, and their minds were still awake.

“If you desire your freedom,” Andrew cried.
“Awake, all of you and fight for what is yours. Fight for your
freedom, for your brothers in bondage! I have weapons enough for
you all. Come, and be free. Your hearts are strong. I will fight by
your side!”

A cry went up, both of fear and jubilation.
Slaves swarmed in around him. He and Freddie were taken by the
strong current and out into the courtyard. It was as if he had
awakened a mighty river that had long been pining underground. Now
it burst forth, spilling out in all directions. Swords, weapons,
spears, and axes, were handed to the outstretched hands of the
slaves.

They moved through the buildings, waking more
slaves and arming all who would fight. Rallied, and ready, they
pushed through the prison, an indestructible force that none could
stand before. They went further down the narrow road, closer and
closer to the pit of smoke that belched up from the ground like a
great dragon buried in the heart of the earth. Lining this narrow
road that led to the pit were endless rows of boys, girls and
children---both old and young who were pulling carts full of oil,
and wax. The slaves tugging carts were shiny with wax. Their hair
was oily, and their skin was scarred and hardened by heat and oil.
Manning the endless rows of slaves were other men, if you could
call them that, for they did not look like men. Their eyes had
grown dark and unseeing. Their skin was scaly and splotched with
the shadows they had ingested.

The rows of slaves were chained to their
heavy carts so that if the carts tipped or rolled, or happened to
get too close to the vats of oil, they would be dragged down with
the carts. The poor souls looked miserable and full of suffering.
Screams and cries went up from those who tripped and were dragged
down into the pit. Some slaves pushed carts full of candles, others
wax, others huge pieces of whale blubber. The faces of the guards
were hard as tombstones, unbending, full of judgment and anger,
unforgiving and unfeeling. They stood over the slaves, watching
them like poisonous snakes ready to strike if one wavered.

These hardened slave masters were shirtless,
their biceps bulging and shining from the light and heat the pit
emitted. In their hands were clubs and whips. In their eyes was a
gross lack of compassion. Their skin was pasty gray. It seemed to
Andrew that they looked more like shadows than humans. The spark
that made them human was vacant, as if it had long since blown out.
Instead of that human spark, a coal-like ember smoldered and
hissed, giving off more smoke than light.

A sickening vapor of burned oil that smelled
of fish tallow burbled up from the pit. It caused Andrew’s stomach
to lurch from the overpowering smell. The eerie sight of the slaves
working so close to the burning oil, cast long, wretched
shadows.

Andrew watched a boy that looked only a few
years younger than himself push a cart, full of a large vat of oil.
The boy tripped, causing the cart to roll dangerously close to the
edge of the pit, dragging the boy along with it. It stopped just
before it dragged him down, causing oil to spill out onto the
ground. One of the shirtless men lashed out at the boy with a club.
The boy cowered before the man, crying out for mercy.

Like the pit filled with oil and heat,
Andrew’s anger smoldered. Behind him his army of slaves marched,
those ahead unaware of what was about to happen. Everywhere he
looked, injustice was taking place. The clanking of chains, the
agonized cries, heaviness, despair, misery, stench, death, and woe
surrounded him. It was as if they had secretly passed through the
gates of hell, and now he was a bystander staring out over its very
pit.

A burning in his chest consumed him with only
one desire. To free those chained and fettered. It burned in his
soul, made his heart ache, made his mind dizzy with righteous
anger, made every cell in his body want to go in every direction.
It flooded over him like he had been baptized in fire. He turned to
the freed slaves behind him and drew his sword, his eyes glowing.
“I don’t care how you do it. Free them! FREE THEM ALL!” His voice
was thick with anger. “FREE THEM!”

He glanced at Ivory and Freddie, then forged
ahead, forgetting himself entirely.

“Wait!” Freddie cried out. “It’s too
dangerous!”

But Andrew had gone, vanishing through the
smoke and heat. Andrew pushed ahead, ignoring Freddie’s and Ivory’s
calls. All he cared about were those poor souls chained to their
carts. His friends could never understand what he felt. Holding the
blade was like holding the hearts of those imprisoned. He could
feel their pain, hear their cries. He could not leave one soul
behind.

Behind him Andrew could hear the freed slaves
crying out as they drew their weapons and waged war on their slave
masters.

He glanced behind him, a slight grin crossing
his face. Who were the masters now? These slaves had more of a
cause to fight for than anyone else. They had felt the whip, the
sting of oil. They had been bound by heavy chains and would not go
back unless death overtook them.

He moved forward, breathing hard. He could
feel the blistering heat on his face as he neared the pit. He could
smell the heavy odor of tallow and fish oil, and human sweat.

Flicker soared above him, dipping up and
down, grabbing soldiers, and dropping them off the pit into a vat
of boiling oil.

Screams and cries of exaltation filled the
air. Andrew pushed through the oncoming soldiers, swinging his
sword with exactness.

Smoke, sweat, and steam filled Andrew’s eyes.
He could not think. Only move, and breath, and fight, and push
onward again.

Andrew had fought in other battles, but this
time it was different. He couldn’t explain why. Now, he was
fighting for so much more than himself. He glanced behind him to
make sure Ivory was alright. She stood atop the wagon full of
weapons, tossing them out to newly-free slaves, enabling them to
fight.

Smoke burst and bubbled around him in
sickening spurts, clouding his view. He coughed, passing by a dead
soldier, only to be thrown back as the same soldier bolted up,
lashing a whip around Andrew, pulling him to the ground. Andrew
cried out and quickly stood up. The oily whip had burned a hole
through his sleeve. Yet he felt nothing, only anger. He faced the
man through the shroud of smoke, and raised his sword, catching the
whip with his sword, just as the man brought it down. He wrapped
the whip around the blade like a strand of yarn and pulled back,
throwing the man off balance and into the pit.

Andrew gripped the sword, feeling its
strength pulse through him. Here, the foe was nothing compared to
the friends that surrounded him.

“Help!” a voice cried from beneath a cart
that had tipped over and lay broken across his path. Andrew peered
underneath it, seeing a girl, no older than ten, trapped beneath
the shattered wheel. The girl’s face was pleading, full of pain.
Andrew reached and clasped the girl’s shaking hand. “I’ll get you
out. I promise.”

The girl’s eyes lit up at his words,
absorbing them like dry earth licking up water. “Please, hurry. I
can’t feel my leg.”

Andrew pushed against the cart, heaving with
all his might. The cart lay stuck where it was, unmoving. He wedged
his sword under the wheel, and tried prying it up. Yet the sword’s
strength did not help. Angry, Andrew cried out, heaving with all
his might.

The cart unexpectedly lifted.

Confused, he turned and smiled. Freddie had
come to his rescue again, and was lifting the cart with him.

“Freddie?” Andrew cried.

“Yeah,” Freddie grunted. “Believe it or not,
I am still stronger than you in some respects, Andrew. Now get the
girl. I’ve got it.”

Andrew quickly pulled the girl to safety,
just as Freddie let the cart fall. She cried out in pain, and
whimpered. Her leg which was still chained to the wagon, looked
broken. Andrew carefully brought his sword down on the chain,
snapping it.

Andrew pulled the girl to him, and cradled
her in his arms. “Are you okay?”

The girl’s lower lip trembled, and her eyes
filled with tears. “I can’t feel my leg.”

Andrew brushed the girl’s wax-covered hair
away from her face, and squeezed her hand. “You are brave. Now, you
must go with my friend Freddie. He will make sure you are safe.”
Andrew gently picked up the girl and carefully handed her to
Freddie. “Take her to Ivory,” Andrew cried. “She’ll know what to
do.”