The Last Summoning---Andrew and the Quest of Orion's Belt (Book Four) (61 page)

“Freddie,” Andrew breathed, “Are you sure you
don’t know where Ivory is?”

Freddie shook his head. “I’m sure.”

“Oh,” Andrew groaned. “I hope she’s alright.
Safe. I hope the others are alright. You know I tried, Freddie, I
really tried…” his voice was riddled with sadness. “But I
couldn’t….I couldn’t…”

“Stop,” Freddie murmured. “You did what you
could. We all did. Don’t blame yourself. If anyone is to blame, it
is the weakness in men’s hearts, not yours, Andrew.” After he spoke
there was a long silence as each turned to their own thoughts in
the darkness. The only sound that could be heard was their own
breathing, and the throbbing gong of the bell.

“Will you listen to that,” Freddie said,
turning his ear to the sound. “What a stirring, unusual sound.
That’s the sound that brought me to you, Andrew---showed me the way
when I thought you were dead. When the sun grew dark, I just knew
that it was the end. But then, after the dark and the crying and
the howls, there came that beautiful sound, bold as you please,
waking the dead as it were, lighting a world filled with darkness.
Hope lit on me. A shaft of light, like small bird, filled me with
hope, causing my skin to light up. In that instant I knew that you
were still alive. I knew that there was still a chance. Call it
crazy, but I knew. And so far, everything that hope has led me to
has not been wrong. We must trust that voice, Andrew. That voice of
truth. You, me, we have all followed that voice. It has led us
here. And where it leads cannot be wrong. That same power has cut
through the darkness where no flame could, and has the power to
rekindle the stars and light our way. This hope that has been
ignited in our hearts has the same power to ignite the failing
hearts of men, to make them remember. I am convinced, that nothing,
not even the thickest, most powerful darkness, can extinguish the
hope that can exist in the human heart, once it starts
burning.”

Andrew looked up at Freddie with hopeful
eyes. “You really believe that, don’t you? Even after I have
already fallen?”

“You have fallen more than once, Andrew. Both
of us have. But does that matter? Both of us are still here. We
have faced death, countless times. Yet we are still here. It is
dark, but hope is still here, living in this very room.”

Freddie bent down and picked up Andrew’s
fallen sword. “You must take it up again, Andrew.”

Andrew gazed at the sword with uncertain
eyes. The blade was dark, tainted with his own blood. The memory of
it made him cringe. He wanted to leave it where it had fallen.
“No!” he shouted. “I cannot.”

“Take it!” Freddie urged him.

“I will not! You cannot make me!”

“Please, Andrew, you must.”

Andrew stared at it for a long time, unsure
if he dared take it back. It seemed to him a traitor, something
unreliable, something that had tried to kill him when it was
supposed to protect him.

Freddie noticed the blood staining the edge
of the blade and quickly wiped it off. “There, now take it.”

Without fully realizing what he was doing,
Andrew slowly took the sword, staring at his own flickering
reflection in its blade. It felt strange in his hands, like a
foreign object that felt only distantly familiar. He quickly handed
it back to Freddie, unable to bear the sight of it. “Take it back,”
Andrew shouted. “I’m not ready.”

“But…”

“Do not press me!”

“Fine,” Freddie took the sword, and gently
placed it on the floor, watching Andrew’s pained expression, with
compassion and sadness.

Andrew leaned his head against the wall, and
peered up, out the window. The world was drenched in a murky black
curtain. An icy wind howled, blowing bits of frost through the
opening. Above, the sky was strangely empty. No stars shone. No
moon gleamed. No sun lifted its head to break the darkness. It was
like staring into a blank cavity that would suck you in if you
looked at it too long. The sky overhead was so dark and heavy that
it seemed like the sky would fall and crush the people of the
earth. Yet, for all the blackness, far below the castle, down in
the valley, Andrew thought he could see random lights flickering to
life through the haze and blackness.

“You see that? Do you see those lights?”
Andrew asked

“Yes!” Freddie exclaimed. “Though it seems
the world has been turned upside down, and the sky is black, here
on earth a few stars begin to gleam. It seems that hope’s voice
calls stronger in the darkness, because it is all we have left.
This hope will summon the world, where we have failed. It has
to.”

Andrew watched, silently listening as the
tolling bell cut through the darkened land, lighting up those it
touched, like lamps that had been pining to be lit. It tolled on
through the night, gracing the hopeless with a spark that would not
easily go out. It turned those eyes cast on the ground to the
heavens, though they were black. It gave those in darkest despair a
hint of some unexplainable something that turned just a small
portion of their sad countenances to a higher power than even The
Fallen.

Hope.

It glimmered through the dark world, cracking
bits of darkness away, seeping through those cracks like rays of
sunshine. In the places where this awakening hope struck at the
hearts of those who let it ring inside them, the mists of darkness
lessened.

Andrew could see, as it were, groups of
brightly-lit people, like stars on the ground hidden under a thick
fog, moving together.

Was this really the end?

Or was this the awakening? An awakening after
a long slumber of endless night.

Maybe the sun would never rise again.

But hope was on the horizon. Rising with it,
were those whom it illuminated by its power.

Black Snow

Andrew and Freddie had stayed in The Fallen’s
forsaken room, safe from prying eyes, not daring to venture forth.
They hid in the heart of the Shadelock castle for what seemed like
many days. They did not know how long they had been there. The
passing of time had ceased with the disappearance of the sun.

On this day, if you could call it a day,
Freddie had ventured forth out of the room, looking for food and
supplies, leaving Andrew alone.

The hours went by very slowly during
Freddie’s absences. Andrew held his chest with his good hand, and
slowly pushed himself up, groaning. His right hand was still
useless and limp. He wasn’t sure if it would ever regain feeling.
He wasn’t sure about anything. He wasn’t sure how long he could
survive in The Fallen’s cold room. He wasn’t sure who he was
anymore or what his purpose was. Nor was he sure of the hour, nor
of how long Freddie had been gone. Every minute in the darkened
room felt like an eternity. It was if The Fallen had sucked all the
life out of it. The room reeked with emptiness. A crypt for
shadows.

Darkness was Andrew’s ever-present companion.
His only solace was the continued sound of the tolling bell. It
spoke volumes, though no one ever heard a word. It rang out over
the land, unhindered, though there were many who wished to silence
it.

Andrew’s body tensed. He heard the echoing
click clack of feet hitting against the tile, coming steadily
closer. He pressed himself into the shadows and darkness, not
daring to breath. Though the darkness was thick and bore down on
him like a heavy blanket, he knew he was not hidden. His skin still
glowed like a lamp in the haze of thick fog. If someone came into
the room, they would surely see him.

A dark thought crossed his mind. He could let
hope slip from his heart. Then he would be protected, hidden,
absorbed into the black background and no one would ever know he
was there.

But if he let go of the light that lingered
in him, he would surely be gone, extinct in every way. No. He could
not hide by becoming part of the darkness. He must stand
strong.

The footfalls ceased. Now there was only
silence, and the soft sound of someone’s wheezed breathing at the
door. Andrew’s heart beat fast. Since the night The Fallen had
darkened the room, and absorbed the life in it, it was as if the
room had turned into a rotten cadaver, its dark body infested with
maggots, shadows, and all creeping things that Andrew could not
see. How he wished he could see what lurked in the darkness before
him.

Andrew pressed his good hand to the
blood-soaked cloth around his chest, feeling a pain rise and fall
with each beat of his heart. He did not know the severity of his
wound. Only that he was still breathing, and that the balm of hope
had healed him just enough to linger in this world a while longer.
If he let that hope go, he would never recover.

The wheezed breathing continued, like a
disease-ridden cat. It grew louder and more labored. Shadows
churned through the room, disturbed by the sound, but the sordid
shadows paid Andrew no mind, as if they concluded that he was
already near death. Still, the sound came nearer, closer and
closer.

Andrew closed his eyes, feeling as though
that would keep him hidden. He did not reach for his sword. He had
an aversion to it. To him it was as if a dear friend had betrayed
him---a friend who had sworn to protect him, only to be the means
of harming him. Something like that was not to be trusted.

He groaned, and pulled himself back against
the window, breathing heavily, scanning the darkness with searching
eyes, trying to see through the shadows and mist.

Without warning, the sound vanished as if cut
off and suffocated by the darkness, leaving an emptiness in the
room that chilled Andrew to his core.

What had cut off the sound, he did not know.
Perhaps something far more frightening than the sound itself lurked
in the darkness, ready to silence him. Yes, the unheard, the
unseen, the hidden were far more frightening than footfalls in the
darkness. Andrew pressed his eyes shut, and leaned against the
windowsill, breathing slowly, trying to make his heartbeat even, so
the pain in his chest would lessen.

Beyond, in the darkness, the bell still
tolled, trying to cheer him though he felt anything but cheerful.
He squeezed his left hand into a tight fist, feeling anger swell
inside him. How was it that he still hoped? How was it possible? He
must be crazy, delusional, feverish, and absolutely mad. Why did
this hope linger in him? Why did it light his skin? How had it
brought him back---why had it brought him back?

Why?

He peered out through the window, watching
the flickering lights in the distance, as they moved steadily
towards The Shade’s castle. What were these lights?

Were they people, whose skin radiated the
light of hope and truth inside them? Were they coming, at last? How
was it that he hoped that the people had finally come together?
Were they just merely floaters in his eyes---something he wished
would be?

The air was heavy and cold. A strange, black
snow had started to fall, building up in great dark drifts around
the castle walls. The snow was unlike anything Andrew had ever
seen. It was like frozen, black ink that stained everything it
touched. It was as if this black snow was trying to cover up the
gaping holes, and shafts of light that the strange sound of hope
had created. It was as if the darkness was trying to hide the light
so that no one could tell, nor see those whom this new sound of
hope had touched and lit up with its light, causing those
unpolluted souls to wonder if they were alone once again.

Maybe they were? Who could tell in such
blackness?

Freddie had been gone a long time. Andrew was
beginning to worry. He took a deep breath, and let the soothing
sound of the bell wash over him, letting hope ring in him, letting
it absorb the fear inside him that crept up on him in the darkness.
It was far better than the dark alternative.

Andrew strained to see out into the dark
world. The only light, beyond hope itself, was the light of The
Fallen. There was no mistaking where he was in these dark times.
His light was king. His light demanded to be looked at, revered,
worshiped and obeyed. A great multitude of people had already
migrated to his land, taking shelter under his brilliance. Andrew
could see The Fallen’s luminous light, as the being moved below the
castle, walking steadily towards a tower then disappeared inside.
The light from the being emanated through the cracks of the brick,
so that Andrew could see as he moved gradually up a flight up
stairs, until he reached the top. In full view of the land, The
Fallen shone like a glowing sphere, illuminating the land in a
twisted, subdued light. Clothed in his vast array of cosmic glory,
his light cast far. The light he gave off was nothing compared to
the light of sun, or even the moon that he had absorbed. Most of
the light that he had stolen was lost inside his depthless void,
giving only slight illumination to those who were his closest
companions. His light, alone, cast the entire world in an eerie,
unreliable glow. In his light, it was neither night, nor day. It
just was. There was no explaining it. Just as one cannot explain
the feeling of a nightmare, the color, the texture, or the sounds
of it. His light existed, yet seemed non-existent. The light he
radiated was like a cold fog---ghostly, severe, condemning,
entrapping. One minute you thought you could see your way in front
of you, next, the light was gone, leaving you lost and
floundering.

A stray beam of light from The Fallen swirled
on the edge of the windowsill, gleaming as if glorying in its own
brilliance. Andrew put his hand out in front of him as if trying to
catch and hold the strange light that shone off The Fallen. But it
churned and vanished, appearing in patches far out of his
reach.

A shuffling of feet sounded once more. There
was a low creek as someone or---something---opened the door, and
then slowly closed it again.