The Last Summoning---Andrew and the Quest of Orion's Belt (Book Four) (10 page)

Coral’s face filled with wrath. “You mock me.
But what I say is true! You disrespect me, my brother, and the lost
son of Danspire!”

The man belted out a laugh. “The Lost son of
Danspire? Who ever heard of such lies? Morack burned him alive. And
what is this talk about lightning? You sound mad!”

“You doubt me?” She stared at the man, her
eyes growing dark, as she concentrated hard. A far off roll of
thunder sounded in the distance, where clouds lingered over the
mountains, yet dared not venture forth. Still, the thunder rolled
and purred like a wild tiger.

“She speaks the truth, oh great Zeechee!” one
of the men interjected, holding a torch aloft, falling before his
master and trembling. He looked up at his leader, with big eyes,
and then stared at Coral, kissing the hem of her skirt in
reverence.

Zeechee, the leader, kicked the cowering man
away from Coral, in disgust. “What are you doing? We bow before no
one!”

The man yelped, but did not move. He gazed at
Coral with deep interest. “I know who you are. I have seen your
power. I was there when the great storm came to Danspire and you
burst from a bolt of lightning. I saw!”

“Are you mad too?” Zeechee shook his head and
pulled the man to his feet. “Get up, Rubin! No one bows before
anyone! She is nothing but flesh and blood, like her
companions.”

Rubin slowly stood, and pointed to Lancedon,
with wide eyes. “You don’t understand…I know these people.” He
quickly yanked a torch out of one of the men’s hands and walked
over to Lancedon, and Sterling. He held the torch aloft, and
studied Lancedon’s features. “Do you not see the resemblance,
Zeechee? It is he. This is Lancedon. He is not dead like they said.
He is the lost son of Danspire. No one believed me when I told them
what I saw. But now, you must believe. It is true. He is not
dead.”

Zeechee took the torch from Rubin and held it
close to Lancedon’s face, squinting. “This man is blind! He is not
a king, but a beggar!”

“Blind or seeing, he is still heir of
Danspire!”

“If that is indeed true, it would have been
better if we had never found him.” Zeechee let out loud grunt of
disgust and thrust the torch to the ground, causing bits of dry
leaves and branches to flame up around Lancedon.

“Tell us,” Zeechee barked, marching around
Lancedon as the flames licked through the forest and up a dead
tree, spreading far out into the woods. Branches cracked, sparks
popped and sputtered as heat and flame devoured the dry forest as
if hungry to wipe out its existence.

“Are you the lost son of Danspire? ARE
YOU!”

“Yes,” Lancedon answered, staring ahead, his
unseeing eyes gleaming with the reflections of fire, and heat. “I
am he.”

“How do I know?” Zeechee thundered above the
roar of the flames. “What proof can you give me?”

“It is him!” Rubin interjected. “Please, you
must believe me!”

Zeechee marched around Lancedon, ignoring the
inferno he had caused, and the danger he had put himself and his
men in. There was a greater flame burning inside him, one of rage,
and stubbornness that could not easily be quenched. “You are not
Lancedon!” Zeechee sang out. “For if you are, then we are all lost,
indeed! You cannot be him. You cannot!” In a fit of anger, he
raised his sword and came at Lancedon.

Lancedon was quick. He heard the clang of
Zeechee’s sword as it was taken from its sheath. Without a moment’s
hesitation, Lancedon pulled a sword from one of Zeechee’s men’s
scabbards, and caught the blow, sending Zeechee reeling back. “I am
Lancedon!” he cried, his voice loud, and commanding. His stature
was unyielding, proud, and full of power, though a flaming forest
of heat and smoke billowed behind him. The flames illuminated
Lancedon in an unearthly glow, making him look taller, his hair
brighter, and his countenance kingly.

A shout of fear and amazement rippled through
Zeechee’s men. “It is he. It is he!”

Zeechee’s eyes flickered with alarm. “Yes…It
is he.” He stared at the blaze he had caused. The forest behind
them was orange with smoke, and dazzling sparks. A branch above
them cracked and broke off.

“Lancedon!” Coral screamed.

“No!” Zeechee shouted, quickly grabbing
Lancedon, and pulling him to safety just as the flaming branch hit
the forest floor in a burst of sparks.

Zeechee held a firm hand on Lancedon. “Come,
all of you. The forest is burning. We must leave here.
Quickly!”

Wounded

“EEEYAHHH!” Freddie cried, slapping the reins
against the horses, driving the wagon further into the wilderness.
He turned a sharp corner, causing some of the weapons to fall
out.

Andrew glanced back at the soldiers pursuing
them on horses. He could hear the twang of arrows as they were shot
into the air.

“Duck, Freddie!” Andrew shouted, holding onto
the side of the wagon, trying to keep himself from falling out as
the wagon went over another large bump. He felt a sharp pain in his
side, and quickly looked down. The tip of an arrow had grazed him
and embedded itself into the wagon’s wood. “Gosh,” Andrew breathed,
pulling the arrow out of the wood and flinging it away. “That was
close.”

“You could say that,” Croffin growled, poking
his head up from the buckboards. “An inch closer and you would
have…”

“What do we do?” Freddie cried. “They’re
gaining on us.”

“Try to keep the horses steady,” Andrew said.
He quickly made his way to the back of the wagon, and picked up a
bow and several arrows. Without hesitating, he stood steadying
himself on the bumpy wagon. Then, drawing back an arrow, and taking
careful aim, Andrew let the arrow fly, just as the wagon hit a
bump. He fell back.

Angry, that he had fallen, he peered behind
him.

Surprisingly, the arrow had hit its mark, a
man screamed and a horse became riderless. Andrew’s gut churned at
the sound. He hated violence. Yet here he was a leader in
violence---someone who had been chosen to challenge a power that
had gone unchallenged until now. How he had been chosen, he did not
know. He, who raised flowers and planted gardens had now exchanged
his shovel for a sword.

He drew another arrow back, took aim, and let
the arrow fly. Another scream was heard, and a second rider fell.
His stomach throbbed with the sound. His throat grew tight and his
mouth felt like he had swallowed a mouthful of cotton. He set his
jaw, and tried to ignore the feeling.

Of one thing he was sure. He would not let
his friends die. He drew a third arrow back, trying to steady his
now shaking hands. The wagon went over a large bump, causing him to
lose his balance. In that one second the riders behind him
unleashed a flurry of their own arrows. The arrows whizzed through
the air falling down around him like a cloud of locusts ready to
consume.

Freddie let out a pain-filled cry, and the
wagon suddenly veered off the road, down a steep incline.

“Freddie!” Andrew cried, stumbling to the
front of the wagon where Freddie was hunched over with an arrow
protruding out of his shoulder. His face had drained of color, and
his eyes were filled with pain. “Andrew, don’t look like that. I’m
not very hurt.” He groaned, as he went limp in Andrew’s hands, and
his eyes rolled back in his head.

“Freddie!” Andrew cried. “Freddie!”

He looked up, his eyes filling with horror as
the wagon veered over a boulder, and over the edge of a steep
precipice.

For one moment the wagon was suspended in
space, as everything slowed down to a slow throb.

Then, as if grabbed by the hand of a giant
monster, the wagon was pulled down. Everything spilled out around
him. Freddie was wrenched from his arms, and the terrible sensation
of falling enveloped him.

Falling, falling, falling.

Splash! He smacked into the water so hard it
felt like his skin was ripped from his body. Water swirled around
him, sucked him under, as axes, and swords, and spears fell into
the water.

The water was hot and salty and stuck to his
skin, burning it like citrus squeezed into a wound. He swam to the
surface. To one side he could see the bits and pieces of the wagon
floating on the water. The horses were nowhere to be seen. Neither
were Freddie and Croffin.

“Freddie!” Andrew called. “Freddie!”

He dove underneath the water searching for
Freddie. His hand wrapped around something warm and wet. He tugged
at it drawing it up with him to the surface.

“Let go of my tail!” Croffin sputtered,
splashing desperately against the water.

Andrew released Croffin’s tail, and dipped
back into the water, searching. Andrew was beginning to feel
desperate. Where was Freddie? The water was too dark. He couldn’t
see. He stayed beneath the water longer this time, pushing his
limits until his head pounded, and his lungs throbbed. He needed
air. Finally, finding nothing, he swam back up, gasping in large
gulps of air.

“Freddie!” he cried, scanning the surface of
the water “FREDDIE!”

“He’s over here!” Croffin shouted, pointing
to a floating plank where Freddie’s body lay, the arrow wound in
his shoulder pooling blood into the water.

Andrew quickly swam to him, then pulled him
to shore. “Freddie!” Andrew cried, laying his limp body on the
ground. His face was blue. His eyes were closed. He pressed
Freddie’s chest, trying to expel the water he’d ingested.
“Freddie!”

Freddie did not respond.

He pounded his chest harder this time. “Come
on!”

Still there was no sign of life.

A terrifying fear gripped Andrew. He felt as
though he was the one that was not breathing. He had never thought
of Freddie as someone who could die. To Andrew, Freddie was like
the brother he never had, someone who was always there when Andrew
had needed him---someone who was always the first person to help
shoulder a load that was much too heavy for him on his own.

He had thought of Freddie as someone who was
indestructible. But to look at his blue face, his motionless
countenance, the blood oozing out of his shoulder, he looked quite
mortal. So mortal in fact that he looked dead.

Andrew’s whole body felt paralyzed, frozen by
fear. “FREDDIE!” He cried, thumping Freddie’s chest once more.

Freddie’s chest suddenly heaved. He coughed
and sputtered, expelling water, and gasping for air.

“Freddie!” Andrew exclaimed, hugging his
friend. “I thought you’d never wake up. I thought…”

“Yeah,” Croffin agreed, peering over Freddie.
“I wondered for a moment what the world would be like without you,
but luckily you woke up before I had to answer that question.”

“Lucky for us,” Andrew said, “we won’t have
to.”

Freddie smiled, then groaned. His hand went
to the wound in his shoulder. He grimaced, and rolled to his side.
“Andrew, I need to get this arrow out of me.”

Andrew knelt down and inspected the back of
Freddie’s shoulder where the arrow protruded. “You’re going do need
something to bite down on.”

“Yeah,” Freddie nodded, and grimaced again as
Andrew felt along the edge of the arrow. “What about Croffin’s
tail? That would be nice.” He grinned, trying to make light of a
serious situation.

“Oh no,” Croffin growled, tucking his tail
underneath his body. “No one sinks their teeth in this tail. Not
unless you want to be sprayed with skunk juice.”

Andrew tore a piece of his cape off and
handed it to Freddie. He, in turn, wadded it up, and bit down on
it. “Okay,” he said, with muffled voice. “I’m ready. Just yank it
out.”

Andrew rolled up his sleeves, and nodded.
“Are you sure? First I’m going to have to break the end.”

“Yes!” came the muffled reply.

Andrew grabbed the end of the arrow with both
hands, and broke it. The tip of the arrow came off in his
hands.

Freddie’s body went ridged. He cried out, his
voice loud, and ridden with anguish.

Andrew then grabbed the other end of the
arrow protruding from Freddie’s shoulder, and pulled. The long
stick came out in his hands, covered in blood, and jagged where he
had broken its tip.

Freddie cried out louder this time, filling
the air with his agonized cries. Andrew flinched at the sound,
feeling his stomach churn and his body tense in sympathy.

“It’s done,” Andrew said, his voice soft.

“Good,” Freddie whimpered, spitting out the
cloth, and closing his eyes.

Andrew quickly tore another piece of cloth
off his own clothes, and handed it to Croffin. “Hurry, Croffin, get
it wet.”

Croffin did as Andrew asked, and dipped the
cloth into the lake, and handed the cloth back.

Andrew pressed it to Freddie’s wound.

Freddie nearly bolted upright, in pain. He
cried out in gut-wrenching screams. “It burns, oh, it burns!”

Andrew quickly tossed the cloth away, feeling
helpless against this new foe. “Oh, the water is too salty. I’m
sorry Freddie. I didn’t realize…”

He tore another piece of cloth and pressed it
against the wound, without getting it wet. He had dealt with pain.
But he had always been the one to feel it. It was far worse feeling
pain for someone else, far more frightening.

“I’m so thirsty, Andrew,” Freddie moaned. His
lips were cracked and bleeding, and his sunburned face was peeling.
The salty lake had dried out their skin, making it burn and itch
incessantly. “Here, take this.” Andrew handed him one of the
glowing fruits from his pack. “It’s not water, but it will quench
your thirst.”

Freddie slowly bit into the fruit, and closed
his eyes, as his dry mouth, lips and body received nourishment.

Andrew took a fruit as well, and split it
between him and Croffin. He chewed it slowly, letting its cool
juices linger in his mouth as long as he could. It tasted sweet and
wonderful. Like something clear and clean and pure, like light
itself. It cooled his burning throat, made his tired muscles relax,
and revived his mind and soul. It was as if the fruit from the tree
was peace, packaged in the rare fruit.