The Last Summoning---Andrew and the Quest of Orion's Belt (Book Four) (4 page)

Lancedon’s eyes filled with tears. He covered
his face with his hands and began to weep. This was the first time
he had really cried. Even after all that had happened, he had held
it in. But now this was too much. “But why?” he asked, his
shoulders shaking with sobs. “I am a broken man.”

Coral wiped his tears. “Only a broken man can
be made whole by someone he loves, and someone who loves him. If
you have me, you are no longer broken. Together, we are whole. I
will be your eyes.”

He groped for Coral’s hands. He held them
tightly. “If you are my eyes, then what do you see?”

Coral smiled, her eyes filling with a distant
glimmer as she stared at Lancedon. “I see a strong, courageous man
who still believes in freedom. Someone who will not give in or give
up. Someone who sees what this country could be, someone who will
do everything in his power to let his voice be heard, and his
message be spread.”

“Do you really see all that?” Lancedon
asked.

“Yes,” Coral answered, “And I see ever so
much more.”

Waking the Desert

The time had come. Today was it. Morack had
prepared his people. A month had passed, and all had gone better
than expected.

With help from The Fallen’s vast resources of
slaves and soldiers, he had amassed huge stores of food, water, and
other necessities that were sure to soon be in short supply.

All was in order.

The time had come. What he was about to
unleash, and the effects it would have on the world, he could only
imagine.

He could feel his ego itch, and his lust for
power swell and tighten in his chest at the thought of the great
power that was sure to be his once The Drought had done his work.
Every weapon would be taken. Every means of resistance stopped.

Once it was done, it could never be
undone.

No one could stop what was coming. Only
welcome it, obey it, appease it.

His stores of food and water were not just
mere provisions. They were power.

The Drought was waiting.

The morning was quiet, and almost peaceful.
The sun shone down on the city, almost as if it was trying to
uncover the truth and penetrate the smog of lies that lingered over
the city.

Morack had a great scowl on his leathery face
as he exited his castle. Just the thought of releasing The Drought
made him thirsty. He licked his lips, and quietly made his way to
his horse that was waiting in the courtyard. A servant helped him
onto his powerful horse, and held the reins while Morack spoke to
the few men who where waiting to go with him.

“Men,” Morack’s powerful voice cried, “today
you will help bring about a great change, not only in Danspire, but
in the whole world. You are to come with me. Speak to no one of
what you see or hear. Your oath of silence is the reason why I have
chosen you few to help me. However, may I remind you that if you
break this oath, I will not hesitate to silence you very quickly.
Do you understand?”

His men all nodded, and shouted, “yes.”

Morack smiled. “Good. Now let us be off!”

The gates of the city were opened, and Morack
and his men took off through the fields of Danspire, and over the
plains into the sweltering desert of Drycrust, where the seasons
never changed, and the land was always hot and dusty. They traveled
several days over the towering sand dunes, through waterless
stretches of land, until they found themselves on the pinnacle of
one of the largest dunes. It towered above the rest like an ominous
wave waiting to drown out all the other dunes with its thick sheets
of sand.

“We are here,” Morack said, licking his dry
lips and steering his horse to the bottom of the great dune, where
a solitary well stood. The well looked out of place, and strange,
like something that had been put there by accident. It was a place
that looked like it might have been an oasis. But to look at it
now, seemed a mockery, something opposite of an oasis. The well,
standing there in the dry, sandy-brown, hot desert, made the land
seem thirstier and hungrier for water, than ever.

The men with Morack leapt off their horses
and ran to the well. “Water!” they all cried, pushing and shoving
as they dipped a bucket down. But when they brought it back up, the
bucket was full of sand.

“Not a single drop of water,” Morack’s men
complained. “What kind of well is this?”

Morack stood over the well, letting the sand
sift between his fingers. He smiled. “It’s a dry well---The Well of
Drought.”

“Well of Drought?” the men questioned

“Yes. If one grain of its sand, just one,
touches your lips, you will be thirsty for all of eternity.”

Morack’s men shrank away from the well,
frightened by such ominous words. “If this is true, why are we
lingering here, Morack?” one of the men asked.

“It’s frightening, isn’t it?” Morack
murmured, more to himself than to his men. “To be thirsty. Thirst
can cause men of the noblest blood to cower, to become beggars. We
all need water. The best and worst of us. It is a commodity that
many thirsty men would give their life for.” He laughed, half
heartedly, and dropped the bucket of sand back into the well.
“Arise!” he commanded, letting a single drop of water from his
canteen fall into the dry well.

As the water hit the bottom of the well, the
ground rumbled. A great gust of wind seemed to catch the entire
sand dune behind them, tossing it into the air.

Morack and his men fell to the ground and
covered their faces with their capes as the wind and sand whipped
over them, howling, and angry. The sand and wind beat into their
skin, grinding away at them, unforgiving, and vengeful.

Then as suddenly as it had begun, the wind
stopped. A dry, gritty sound of someone laughing echoed from deep
within the well. A large puff of sand and steam shot up from the
well. With each laugh rivulets of heat, and sand swirled around
them.

“Drought?” Morack asked, dusting sand out of
his hair. He rubbed his tongue over his sand covered teeth, and
took a step towards the well, only to stop. The ground shook as
another succession of throaty coughs echoed from within the well.
There was a loud grating sound, and a thump, thump, thump. With
each thump, dust was catapulted into the air from the bottom of the
well, accompanied by a throaty moan. When the dust settled, Morack
narrowed his eyes, and peered into the dark hole, only to jump back
as a huge, dry hand reached out and grasped the side of the well,
nearly yanking him in. Morack yelped, and cowered before the dry,
crumbly-looking creature emerging from the well. The dry being
coughed, and sneezed, sending a cloud of dust and sand swirling
into the air.

When the dust cleared, Morack gasped, and
drew his sword. Perched on the side of the well was The Drought
himself. He looked at Morack with dry eyes that caused Morack’s
skin to itch and peel.

“Don’t look at me!” Morack commanded. “It
makes me thirsty.”

“And so it should,” the gruff voice of The
Drought replied. “Your body is made up of mostly water…and drying
up liquid is what I do best.”

Morack shook an angry finger at the dry
creature. “Look at me like that again, and I will send you back to
where you came from.”

The Drought laughed and licked his dry lips with a
sandy, brown tongue. “You couldn’t send me back, even if you wanted
to. I am free to do as I wish.”

Morack narrowed his eyes. “Not totally free.
You are bound to fulfill all my commands, since I was the one who
released you. In order for you to not be thrust back into that
well, The Fallen gave me the power to release you, and if you do
not do as I ask, he can put you back just as easily as I called you
out.”

The Drought frowned and stared at Morack with
thirsty eyes. “Very well then, what task do you require at my
hand?”

The Drought stepped nearer.

Morack’s face filled with alarm. He held up
his hands to keep The Drought from coming any closer. “That’s close
enough.”

The Drought stopped, and laughed, sending a
spray of dust into Morack’s face.

Morack covered his face with his cape, and
coughed. “That’s…quite enough. You are to free to roam anywhere you
wish. Only Danspire, you must leave untouched. Do you
understand?”

The Drought nodded, his crusty lips turning
into a wide grin. “I will do this. You can be sure of my work. No
one, not even The Fallen can question my thoroughness.”

“Yes. You will do an excellent job at making
everything ugly,” Morack agreed. “But you must remember to leave
Danspire out of this.”

“I will do my best, but I cannot be
responsible for what happens once I get started. Once I start, my
work consumes me, my thirst for more takes over…”

“You must be responsible!” Morack shouted,
averting his eyes from the sweltering being.

The Drought stared at Morack with eyes full
of pride and power. “I will be responsible for nothing! You are the
one who has released me.”

Morack scowled and stepped away from the dry
creature, wiping sweat from his brow. “You will obey me, you
crusty, water sponge!”

“I obey no one!”

“You will leave Danspire alone!”

The Drought laughed, and turned away from
Morack. “We shall see.”

Morack clenched his fists. “Good. Go. Get out
of here. You really make me thirsty.”

The Drought smiled so big that it caused part
of its dry skin to wrinkle and fall off his face. “Now, if you
really want me to make you thirsty I can.”

“No, I don’t want you to make me anything.
Goodbye. And I hope that we will never meet again.”

“Oh, but I’m sure we will.”

“We had better not.” Morack turned away from
The Drought and mounted his horse. “Farewell,” he said, casting The
Drought one last apprehensive glance, wondering at the powerful
monster he’d released into the world.

Root and Shadow

Andrew gripped his sword, watching the
shadows, and the greasy, black bodies of the dark thoughts as they
formed out of the black ground of The Shade’s Trees. They stared
out at Andrew with burning eyes, watching, and waiting.

Yes, Andrew concluded, these were indeed the
darkest thoughts of men, given shape and form. How disgusting and
repulsive they looked. Hungry and angry, devilish and selfish. They
looked at him with such hate, as if they knew he had destroyed the
three trees that had given them life. He and Freddie called these
nameless blobs of dirt, and filth, parasites. For that is what they
appeared to be. Slimy, like slugs. Slippery, large, and
black---things that had grown, nurtured and spawned underground by
the three evil trees, and by men’s vile thoughts.

Andrew stared back into the faces of his
foes, foreboding filling his mind. He and Freddie had to leave this
place. Had to find a way out. He and Freddie had already spent too
much time resting in the white circle of sand, basking in the three
white tree’s light, partaking of the fruit, and gaining their
strength as they prepared for the journey ahead. However, the
longer they stayed, the more restless Andrew became. The nights
seemed long and drawn out. The trees that offered them protection
called to Andrew as he slept, whispering to him of dark things to
come, urging him to go.

The trees’ voices were insistent, pleading,
yet kind. Andrew turned and made his way over to one of the
glistening white trees. The three trees’ silvery bark shimmered in
the darkness, casting light onto his face, like water reflecting
the light of the moon. How he would miss this place of peace. This
haven. He plucked a large glistening leaf. It was shaped like a
star, and felt comforting in his fingers. It smelled fresh, light,
like a well-used pillow that gives one comfort at the end of a long
day.

“I will miss you,” he whispered, staring up
at the trees.

In answer, a great wind came out of nowhere,
and rustled through their branches. “Leaf, leave, leaf, leave,” the
hushed, voices of the trees whispered.

Andrew placed the leaf he had picked into his
pack, and nodded. “Yes. It is time.” The grim prospect of what was
ahead gave Andrew no comfort.

“Time for what?” Freddie asked, appearing
behind him. His eyes were shining. He looked well rested, and
almost content.

Andrew pointed to the trees. “They say it’s
time to leave.”

Freddie nodded. “Yes. I know. I’ve packed our
bags. I’ve got us enough fruit from these trees to last us for
awhile.”

Andrew stared at Freddie, analyzing his
friend with careful eyes. “You can hear them too?” He pointed to
the trees.

Freddie shrugged. “I don’t have to. I saw it
on your face this morning when I awoke.”

Andrew placed his hood over his head and
turned his gaze to the edge of the white clearing where the shadows
and gooey bodies of the parasites---the darkest thoughts of men
prowled around the circle of light, waiting for their chance. The
contrast between the pure ground, and the shadows that surrounded
it, was chilling.