The Last Summoning---Andrew and the Quest of Orion's Belt (Book Four) (46 page)

Andrew quickly glanced to his side where
several glowing, fluttery, unsaid words lingered on his shoulder,
then faded. He rolled on his side, disturbing a host of unsaid
words that fluttered around his head like butterflies. These words
whispered truth his into ears, clearing his mind so all doubt
instantly faded, and his headache vanished. Where the words came
from, and whose voices they were, he did not know. They were kind,
soft, tender words. Words of truth that reaffirmed his innermost
thoughts and cast out all doubt that had been planted in his mind
from the words he had read in the book. He had a vague unsettled
memory of what had happened the previous night. He had cut his
finger, and then accidentally rolled down the knoll and hit his
head.

Andrew groaned and tried to push himself up,
but his right arm felt paralyzed. It lay by his side, limp, unable
to move at all. He tried to move his fingers, but they felt stiff
and dead. He used his other hand and lifted his arm up inspecting
the place where he had received the paper cut on his finger. Though
it was just a scratch, dark lines ran from his finger all the way
up his arm. His hands, his fingers, and his arm were stiff and
useless like a sapless tree in winter, all the blood seemed to have
gone from it.

All this caused from a paper cut, Andrew
thought. What kind of powerful poison was in that ink?

Andrew cut a piece of his cape off and made a
sling for his dead arm, tying the cloth around his neck to support
his arm.

“Croffin,” he called, looking around him at
the mounds of snow. But the coon was nowhere. “CROFFIN!”

Only silence answered his calls. Croffin was
gone, along with the words he had heard him speak. “Oh Croffin,”
Andrew breathed. “What kind of trouble have you gotten yourself
into now?” He slowly made his way up the hill to the spot where he
had last seen Croffin. The coon had vanished.

Andrew sighed wearily and walked on ahead,
trudging through the frozen snow, feeling cold and forsaken. He
couldn’t believe that he actually missed Croffin, missed his
complaining. He missed him dreadfully, just as he missed his other
companions. What he would give just to hear Croffin complain one
more time. Just one word to break up his own lurking, weary
thoughts. He did not trust himself as before. Doubt had entered his
mind. Though subdued, he was worried that if he was left alone for
too long, the doubt would come back and weaken his resolve further.
He was not as strong as he thought he was. Darkness and light both
dwelt within him. Which one won was still something he was
deciding, one action at a time. This thought frightened him. What
actions were his to make in the future? Would he make the right
ones?

He had thought that he knew who he was, and
what was right. But when faced with darkness, everything fell into
shadow, and the things he had once thought right now came into
question.

Was he the problem? Had he caused this
darkness? No, reason and light told him. He had not caused this
darkness. Those who believed a lie and let it enter into their
hearts, had. They had caused it to grow and expand in themselves.
It was they who had given power to The Fallen. Not he. Only by
giving in to the lie, giving in into selfishness and hate did he
give power to it.

He shivered, and trudged on through the snow,
well away from the main roads and obvious places of travel that
buzzed with the never-ending activity of soldiers and men marching
back and forth. The snow got deeper as he continued forward. He
grew cold and weary with each step. He paused and leaned up against
a large rock, listening to the heavy footfalls of The Fallen’s
soldiers marching on the road below him. Somewhere within The
Fallen’s city he thought he could hear the call of shrill horns,
and the pounding of deep-throated drums. The sound brought back the
memories of the lost battle. He covered his ears trying to shut out
the images. But they would not leave. They were forever there to
torment him. Andrew’s army was gone. No one else would dare rise
against The Fallen’s power.

Only he. Yet, alone he could not cast out the
darkness inside men’s hearts. He was just a vessel. The light---the
sword he held---was just a reflection of the light inside their
souls. He could not wake the people out of their deep slumber. They
had to wake themselves. He would go and face the darkness, even if
the light he held was just his own. Even if he was the last soul
alive who still believed in freedom, in light, in truth, and
justice. No, he told himself. There was no going back. No doubt too
great, no obstacle that could stop him.

This is what he was supposed to do.

The Summoning had passed like a vapor of
smoke, quickly disappearing so that no one knew that it had even
existed. All those who had fought beside him were gone, their
voices silenced. But they were not gone to him. Their faces, their
strength and power they had, he felt vividly. He could still hear
their stirring acclamations of freedom. Their voices were strong
and filled his soul with a desire to continue onward. They spoke to
him. They summoned him to action. Yes, this was the last summoning.
He had to summon himself. He, alone, would stand. All his friends
had fallen. He could not let his silence add to the unsaid words,
the undone actions, the unfinished mission. His journey was not yet
finished.

Andrew set his eyes on The Fallen’s castle,
and continued forward. His legs and feet felt stiff from the short
pause he had taken. But he moved with purpose and determination. He
paid the coldness no mind. He did not let it slow him, though snow
and ice and wind pounded on him, trying to grind him down. He moved
his stiff legs up and down, over and over. Though his body screamed
for him to stop, he did not listen to it. He pushed onward, hour
after hour. The sun rose, and then quickly moved over the land as
if it wanted nothing more than to get away from this dreary land.
Then, as quickly as it came up, it made its way down as if it was
all too eager to leave this realm where its light was not
appreciated.

Andrew watched as the world held its breath
one short second as the sun dipped below the horizon like a swimmer
plunging into the water, immersing the smoke-filled sky in a hushed
red night. Now that the sun was gone, everything seemed colder than
before.

Andrew finally stopped to rest, hiding behind
a large mound of coal where a dead tree stood. The tree looked like
a black skeleton that had been burnt with hungry flames. It was as
if the dead tree was reaching out to him in desperate silence.
Andrew touched the tree. It felt cold and smooth as glass. There
was something inside it, something dark and shadowy. He quickly
withdrew his fingers, and peered around the mound of coal. He could
see The Fallen’s castle looming out over the land like a nasty
splinter sticking out of the fractured earth. The light from the
castle did not appear as grand as it had looked from the top of the
knoll. Here, the light it cast was distorted, as dazzling as it was
confusing. Its subdued brilliance bathed the land in fathomless
shadows and strange flickering lights.

Andrew squinted, trying to see through the
shadows, but the shifting shadows, and uncertain lights made the
path ahead feel as murky as the dark earth he now traversed. He
leaned back against the mound of coal, feeling very weary and
drained of all energy.

The temperature continued to drop. The land
grew very cold and quiet. His breath seemed to sit in the air,
lingering and shivering as if it too was cold. Andrew drew out the
last apple Freddie had packed for him, and ate it slowly. The fruit
tasted crisp and sweet, but the flesh was very cold, and nearly as
frozen as he felt. His feet were wet, and his clothes were soggy
from trudging through the huge drifts of snow. His clothes were
frosted, and his lips were cracked and bleeding. He hugged his dead
arm to his chest, worried that if it did not get feeling back in it
soon, it might just freeze off.

A crunch of snow sounded behind the mound of
coal. Then a hushed whisper. Then silence.

They started again: crunch, crunch hiss,
crunch, crunch. Sounds of hushed whispers came nearer, like two
shadows speaking to one another, their voices silken, velvety and
dangerous.

Andrew pressed his back against the mound of
coal. He held his breath, then peered carefully around the mound.
He could see a thin shadow of some large creature, and another dark
being holding an ice dagger to the creature’s throat.

“I told you to find the boy!” a thin, hollow
voice whispered. “But you failed.”

There was a loud gurgled cry. In an instant,
the thin, tall, creature fell forward, dead. The dark being drew
the icy dagger from its victim. It dripped with blue blood.

The being laughed as he dropped the dagger,
moving away from its victim. The being’s features were hidden under
a silvery cloak, but its nose poked far out from its hood like a
long, hooked spike. The being suddenly stopped and whirled around.
It sniffed the air and let out a low hooting howl, like an angry
owl. It hoo, hooted howled, taking a step in Andrew’s
direction.

A burst of cold wind mixed with sleet swirled
around the creature. The breeze shifted, drawing Andrew’s scent
away from the creature. The being stopped, then let out a loud
pig-like grunt. Then it paused, listening. It sniffed then whirled
around and disappeared into the shadows.

When Andrew was sure that the creature had
gone, he let out a sigh of relief and crept over to the dead
creature with the hooked-nosed that the being had killed. He leaned
over it, and shivered. Its weird eyes had turned hazy but they
still gleamed with a freakish light. It was one of the Codes that
had surrounded him in the coal pits.

Its body was covered in thin black, metal
armor, etched with symbols that were hard-edged and laced with
glowing images of fire.

Without warning, the Code grabbed Andrew’s
leg and sat up, breathing in gurgled gusts of air, blue blood
dripping from its mouth.

“It’s you, isn’t it? The Boy!” The Code
wheezed, causing the wound in its chest to bubble with air.

Andrew jerked back, and jabbed his sword into
the Code’s chest. The Code gasped, then released its grip on
Andrew, falling back, motionless. The light from its linear eyes
faded to an utterly discolored gray sheen.

Andrew backed away from the dead creature, in
disgust and revulsion. He cast the dead creature one last glance,
before moving on. He could have asked it where they had taken his
friends. He shouldn’t have acted so hastily. Now he would never
know.

Angry with himself, he walked on through the
darkness, wary of every shadow, hardly daring to linger at any one
spot for any amount of time. The closer he grew to the castle, the
more heavy and sad his heart became. The image of the Code gasping
its last breath haunted him. His own rashness convicted him. Had he
hesitated one moment, he might now know if his friends still lived.
With each step he derided himself even more. It was as if a heavy
smog was emanating off of The Fallen’s castle, zapping those
nearest it of energy, causing shortness of breath and heaviness of
step, weariness of thought. The Fallen’s abode was one of intricate
design and vastness, full of illusions, reflections, and fractured
light. Roads, fields, ditches and winding paths strewed the land
with the confusion of a never-ending maze.

Open pits and fissures with fires belting
from the earth’s core would suddenly spew up at random throughout
the ground as if the earth, too, was angry and trying to hinder his
way.

Andrew stood by one of these pits, trying to
warm his freezing hands and feet, only to be blasted back as a
discharge of fire suddenly shot up through a fissure in a deafening
whoosh, only to vanish as if it had never been.

Andrew rubbed ash off his face, and wiped
black soot out of his eyes. His hair and eyebrows were crunchy and
singed. His face was red, and burned. He grimaced, and rubbed snow
over his burns, then continued onward.

The land was hot and cold at the same time.
Several times he found himself making his way through snow drifts,
only to find himself walking on hot ground that smoldered with
fires that mysteriously went out as quickly as they had been
ignited.

Strange canals filled with oil and coal,
thick as shadow, and twice as dirty and sticky as a lingering
nightmare, ran through the land like a patterned web, all leading
to the castle.

Soldiers prowled the land like wolves,
prodding weary lines of slaves toting fuel for the steaming chasms
of fire, looking like mere shadows in comparison to the fires they
fed.

Spotting several soldiers coming his way,
Andrew quickly lay in the snow, trying to hide his body in the
drift. Two of the soldiers marched a stones’ throw away from him.
As they passed, they kicked up snow and mud into Andrew’s face.
Andrew stifled a cough.

Suddenly, one of the soldiers paused and
stared right at the mound of snow Andrew had buried himself in. The
soldier took a step towards him and raised a dark, double-bladed
sword. “Show yourself!” the soldier barked, raising his blade above
the mound of snow.

Andrew quickly popped up out of the snow and
ran.

“After him!” the soldier cried. “Hurry!”

Soldiers came at Andrew from every direction,
tromping through the snow, hollering out to one another. Andrew’s
legs were stiff and sore, his right arm useless. Using his sword
left-handed, matched against so many, would be useless. He ran
faster, plowing through the snow, gasping in cold air that caught
in his lungs like frozen bits of ice. He glanced behind him, fear
filling his eyes. Having no other choice, he jumped into a canal of
oil and coal. The pungent odor of petroleum hit him in the face,
and sloshed in around him.