The Last Summoning---Andrew and the Quest of Orion's Belt (Book Four) (66 page)

“What do we do?” Freddie whispered. “Listen
to them. We can’t go out there.”

Andrew tightened his grip on his sword,
watching the mass of shadows darting through the air, as soldiers
marched in distance. The soldiers were mere formless outlines in
the darkness, only illuminated by The Fallen’s own light from a
great tower far above them.

Andrew’s face grew firm, as his heart filled
with resolve. Andrew felt the strength of the sword surge through
him like lightning pulsing through every cell of his body. He could
feel the power of the brave hearts and their strength which powered
the sword. They were out there, fighting now. They had made their
stand. And now Andrew was going to make his. The feeling was
overwhelming, intoxicating. He could wait no longer.

“Freddie, if we are to drive the darkness
back, we can no longer hide in its covering. There’s a reason our
skin glows. The time for blending in has passed. The time for
standing out is now. It is time to come out of hiding. The third
day has come, where all must rise. I promised that I would protect
you, and I will. What I do now is what I must do. What all must
do.”

He looked at Freddie, then stepped out into
full view, drawing his sword as he did. The blinding, brilliant
light from his sword sent masses of formless bodies reeling
backwards. Its beam of solid, warm, golden light cut through the
darkness causing all to cower before him in its powerful, pure
light.

Lamentations, and exclamation of disbelief
and fear swirled about him. Those who abhorred such illumination
recoiled away from the light, screaming in revulsion. From the
thinnest shadow, to the smallest crack, to the darkest thought, the
smallest fear, to the deepest doubt, to the malice encrusted
soldier, all knew what light Andrew bore in his hands.

Andrew breathed deeply, letting the light of
hope surge through him. Andrew could feel the power of the sword
pulsing inside his veins. He felt like a tree with great roots that
reached far and wide connecting him to every soul that gave light
and power to the blade that now illuminated his way before him.
Holding the sword gave him a strength that he could have never had
without it. It vanquished the pain of his wound, pumped energy to
his limbs and caused his mind to be focused as it never had been
before. With the sword in his hands, its light and truth it bore
directed him to the path ahead that was his to follow. The path led
through the thickest mass of soldiers, towards a great tower on
which The Fallen stood.

“Freddie,” Andrew cried, waving the sword in
a circle around him at the fiendish mass of shadows and darkened
soldiers that stared at them, hungry for blood. “Get behind
me!”

Freddie obeyed, watching as Andrew cut
through the masses of blackened soldiers in front of him. The sword
illuminated the way through the darkness. It gave form to their
unseen, shadowy enemies. The power of his sword was so great that
with one strike, the strength from its blade created a wind that
knocked down any who stood against them.

A loud roar of anger filled the air as more
soldiers and shadows surged in around them, coming at them from all
sides.

“Stand back, shadows, and obey the true light
to which you are naturally subject!” Andrew shouted, bringing his
sword down in a fantastic flash of light that it caused the
darkness to cower and fall back. Andrew’s face shone. His eyes were
filled with a light that burned from some unseen source. Andrew cut
through a great accumulation of embodied doubts, dark deeds, and
shadow-infested soldiers, unstoppable, unbending, a beam of light
that would not bend itself to the will of the darkness, slitting
the darkness with the blade of light. All who came against him were
brought down. There was nothing that could stand against him and
the light of his sword. He created a wide path as he went, tossing
those who came at him aside with a single thrust, creating a path
of safety for Freddie to follow in. His body trembled from the
strength that flowed through the sword and into his arms. He felt
no tiredness, no weariness, no strain in his arms, though he had
fought more men in just these few minutes than he had in his entire
life. He felt no fear, nor regarded the mass pitted against him as
something to cower before. No. The darkness was weak. Never before
had Andrew realized how weak, how unstable, and breakable, it
really was.

He and Freddie moved far out from the castle
until they reached the base of the great tower on which The Fallen
stood.

Darkness swirled around them, surging in
pulsing angry gusts, carrying with it masses of its soulless
servants who struggled to drive Andrew back.

But they could not. He was more powerful than
they.

Andrew paused before the tower, staring far
up it, feeling his heart beat faster, and his mind surge with the
driving purpose for which he had been preordained to accomplish.
The tower stood before them, like a black tree rooted in the
ground. Its jagged spires reached up and out, as if grasping at the
sagging sky trying to hold it up. The Fallen stood on its pinnacle,
a gleaming orb, casting shafts of diluted light over the land in
terrible splendor.

Andrew paused, and glanced behind him,
feeling a jolt within his body. In the distance he could hear the
roar of men, and the clash of swords as the armies of light and
darkness met in the Fallen’s field of black ice, in this, the
supreme battle of dark against light. All the while The Fallen was
looking on, watching with eyes that shone with the magnificence of
the cosmos.

Andrew faltered for one moment, feeling
strange emotions swirl through him as the souls whose strength he
borrowed, fought, some dying, some surging forward with great hope
and truth filling their breasts, just as others were being devoured
by doubt and darkness. Every time even one of them died, Andrew
knew it. He could feel it, like a candle being snuffed out. Urgency
and strength surged through him.

“What’s wrong?” Freddie wondered, noticing
the pained look on Andrew’s face.

“We must hurry.” Andrew started up the tower
steps that spiraled around the tower, climbing up and up, with
Freddie close at his heels. With each moment, he could feel the
power of the sword growing stronger in his hands, as his purpose
became more unified with those who fought behind him. The handle
became so hot that it made his hand feel as if was it binding with
the metal. With each step, it was as if he saw and heard every
person behind this sword, counted them, heard their anguish of
spirit, felt their heartbeat in his chest, felt their hope. It was
if he saw their suffering, the fear that had once held them back,
and the courage that it had taken them to finally give into the
call that led them to this moment. Every one of them counted---no
flickering spirit was insignificant. He knew, without a doubt, that
the sword was ripe. Like a fruit waiting to be plucked, it was
ready. And so was he. Even in this great darkness, light existed, a
light powerful enough that could finally drive that darkness away.
It would not bend. And neither would he.

He stopped short, and gasped, feeling and
seeing a fleeting vision of Lancedon standing at the head of this
brilliant army, blind but every inch a king. Lancedon’s strength,
too, was bound with his, and gleamed out through the sword’s
blade.

“What is it?” Freddie wondered, staring at
Andrew’s stunned face.

“Lancedon is alive,” Andrew breathed, taking
the tower steps two at a time. “He is leading the army. The army of
light. I saw his face. His strength, as with yours, lives in this
sword. I feel it.”

Freddie’s face lit with astonishment.
“Lancedon is alive?”

“Yes!” Andrew breathed. “He lives!”

That comforting thought gave Andrew and
Freddie the extra courage they needed to take the last few steps to
the top of the tower. Below them, they could see both armies
struggling against each other, battling on the black ice---light,
and dark, both unbending to the other's will. The pressure and
tension in the air was unlike anything Andrew had ever felt. The
darkness felt taut and twisted, humming like a wire strung over an
instrument, the frets tightening with each moment that passed.

Soon, something was bound to break.

The air stirred with wind, as warmth and icy
air collided, the two forces creating strange blasts of cold and
heat pitted at one another.

Andrew knew one or the other must soon give,
and crack, very soon. And when it did, the world would know which
side had won.

As Andrew stepped onto the pinnacle, he
shielded his eyes, momentarily blinded by the dazzling figure
before him, the radiator of stolen light. The Fallen was far more
brilliant than before. He was magnificent, stunning, resplendent!
Before, Andrew had been astounded by his splendor, but now, The
Fallen was something far more amazing, far more captivating. Light
beamed from every pour of his skin. Every breath he breathed seeped
with light that mingled freely with the shadows that surged around
his head like buzzards circling around a carcass, trying to snatch
up what light they could.

Freddie stood paralyzed in place, dazzled as
Andrew had been when first he saw The Fallen.

The Fallen stood perched on his platform a
mixed array of light and shadow, a mesmerizing orb of grandeur,
illumination, darkness, and light mixed together into one
frightening, brilliant star in human form, smiling down on his
subjects with cold eyes. By The Fallen’s side stood Talic, sitting
on his haunches, with his head tilted up. His long whiskers, and
jagged, tall ears stood on end, twitching at the sound of their
approaching feet. Talic scratched his ear with his foot, like a
dog, suddenly turning his head in Andrew’s direction. He stopped
short, and stared at Andrew with dark, distrusting eyes. His face
and hair was filthy. His eyes were big and glassy, as if a curtain
had closed, and the light in his eyes had gone out. His clothes
were drenched in darkness as if he had been dipped in a vat of
ink.

“Talic?” Andrew called.

Talic flinched at the sound of his name, yet
he made no move to come to Andrew. The Fallen glanced up, his face
filling with surprise. “You?” The Fallen purred, casting Andrew a
look filled with limitless hate. “I had suspected something like
this had happened. I knew there had to be a reason, for all this,”
he waved to the glimmering army of light beyond the tower.

“I was not the reason,” Andrew replied. “Hope
summoned them. Not me.”

“Ah, I see…” The Fallen’s velvet voice seeped
out, mixing with light and shadow in dazzling rivulets in the
frosty air. “And this hope has summoned you back from the dead to
pursue this false hope still again?”

“Yes,” Andrew shot back. “I have been
summoned back by the power of light, and all that is good. It has
called me back to finish what I started.”

“And what have you started?” The Fallen
laughed. “The fight is already finished. I have won. I have
absorbed all the light from the cosmos. This multitude of sparks
who battle for freedom will easily be snuffed out by my darkness.
Your kind are out-numbered by my darkness, and always will be.”

“We may be out-numbered, but there is now
enough light to drive you back!” Andrew cried raising his sword,
causing the light emanating from The Fallen to scatter before him
like a school of frightened fish.

Talic howled in savage fear, hugging the hem
of The Fallen’s shadowy cloak, reaching up and grasping the bits
and pieces of shattered light, like a mouse scavenging cheese.

The Fallen circled around Andrew like a
swirling vortex of light seeping out light-years of blackness.
“Enough to kill me? I think not. With that dull blade? Hardly.
Don’t you see? I am the soul-bearer of light now. Not you. Not
anyone. Only I, and I alone.”

“Then it is you who cannot see,” Andrew
cried, standing tall and undaunted before the brilliant black void,
his sword casting the vividness of the Fallen into shadow. “For
there are many gathered together who bear light, a light you cannot
destroy, even with all your blackness. No one person can keep all
the light to himself. It can only be given away. That is the only
way it can expand and never diminish.”

The Fallen narrowed his eyes and laughed a
dark laugh that was filled with the might-have-beens, and
should-haves, and never-weres of every soul he had snuffed out,
siphoned away by his darkness. The powerful laugh shook the ground
causing a great discharge of oily darkness to surge off The Fallen,
and out his mouth, twisting through the veins of light he emitted,
polluting it like ink dumped into clear water.

“I do not give, light,” The Fallen boomed. “I
take it. And I will continue to take it. To give, will only make me
weak. To take is to expand. To hoard, is to grow. Have I not proven
this? Have I not caused the nations of the world to bend to my
will, to worship at my feet, and to kneel, and to partake of the
fruit of darkness at my table?”

Andrew’s eyes gleamed with light. “No. You’re
wrong. To give, is to have strength. It is self-sustaining, a
source of power that will never diminish even in the darkness.”

“To give is to shrink.” The Fallen roared,
blasting Andrew in the face with heat and ice, entwined with bits
of darkness and light that pulled and tugged at him, trying to make
him bend.

“To give is to expand. To grow. You have
never held true power. True power is something that resides in its
own sphere, and it cannot be created or made. It lives because it
gives itself, and those it gives itself to, rejoice and are made
better. You have always taken what you wanted. You deceived your
followers with promises that will never be fulfilled. All that you
give is death and darkness. That is why you will never be anything
but a black hole. The power, the light, the truth and strength in
this sword is freely given. Thus it is more powerful than any force
that you can aim at me.”