The Last Summoning---Andrew and the Quest of Orion's Belt (Book Four) (8 page)

Sterling breathed out in disgust and shook
his head. “I don’t, at the moment. You must believe in yourself
first. Just because you can’t see doesn’t mean you must act like
you are in the dark, groping for something to hold on to. You
already have a great purpose to grasp hold of to keep your feet
steady. All you need do is keep your hold on it, and everything
else will take care of itself. You must sharpen all your senses, so
that they are quick and deadly. You must make your weakness your
strength. You must feel, taste, touch, smell, and hear better than
any of us, now.”

“How am I to do that?”

Sterling pulled his horse to a stop, and he
shouted for Coral to do the same.

Lancedon felt his horse stop with the others.
“Sterling…” he called. “What are you doing?”

There was no answer. He clenched and
unclenched his fists anxiously turning his head in all directions,
listening. He heard the crunch of feet on the ground, then Sterling
yanked him off his horse. He tumbled to the ground and rolled onto
the grass. He flailed his arms, and cried out in anger, quickly
standing up. “Sterling!”

“Defend yourself,” Sterling cried, shouting
to Lancedon.

“Defend myself?” Lancedon shouted, his voice
full of wrath. “I cannot see you.”

“Hah, but that is the point. If you cannot
see me, you must listen all the harder.”

Lancedon slowly straightened himself, and
drew his sword. He stared straight ahead, brows pushed together in
hard lines as he listened for the sound of Sterling’s breathing. He
heard nothing except his own heart pounding. Angry, he stepped
ahead, swinging his sword at the empty air.

“Ha, ha ha!” Sterling’s voice boomed from
behind him. “What are you doing over there? I’m over here.”

Lancedon swung round in the direction of
Sterling’s voice. There was a loud swishing sound, just as Lancedon
lifted up his sword, and caught Sterling’s sword, midair.

Clang!

Lancedon tightened his grip on his sword, and
pushed back, feeling sweat trickle down his forehead and into his
eyes.

“Not bad, for a blind man,” Sterling
breathed.

Lancedon heard Sterling shift positions. He
grunted as he thrust his sword in toward him with a loud swish. On
instinct, Lancedon stepped back, and caught the blade just before
it hit its mark.

“Close,” Sterling murmured, “But you’re going
to have to be better than that to be leading an army into battle,
much better.”

“Who says I’m going to be leading an
army?”

“I do,” Sterling prophesied. “And I also know
you can fight much better than you have been.”

“I’d like to see you do better, blind!”
Lancedon growled, pinching his face into an angry scowl.

“Fine, if that’s the way you want it,”
Sterling shouted. “Coral, blindfold me.”

“Sterling,” Coral protested, “don’t you think
this is going too far?”

Sterling shook his head. “No! I don’t. Now,
please just blindfold me, and I’ll really show Lancedon how it’s
done.”

Once the blindfold was in place, Sterling and
Lancedon faced each other, both listening to the other’s
breathing.

“Be careful!” Coral called to them. “If one
of you comes too close, I won’t hesitate to strike you both with
lightning!”

“Fair enough,” Lancedon said, laughing.

Sterling lifted his sword, testing it in the
air like graceful strip of cloth on the wind.

“Alright, Lancedon, we’re both equal now.
Fighting blind. We both have enough experience with the sword to
know what we are doing. I do hope you are ready, because I am.”

Lancedon wiped his face with his arm, and
grunted. “Yes.”

They both stood there facing each other,
breathing, listening, sensing but not seeing, like two tigers on
the hunt.

“AHHHHHH!” Sterling suddenly shouted, running
at Lancedon.

Lancedon heard Sterling well in advance, and
moved to the side, letting Sterling run on by him. When Sterling
realized his mistake, he stopped, and twirled round.

“Ha, ha!” Lancedon laughed. “Not so easy as
it looks my friend.”

Sterling grunted in irritation, but made no
answer. Lancedon lifted his sword and stepped in the direction of
Sterling’s footfalls. Lancedon could hear Sterling’s heavy breath,
the sound of his clothes as they brushed against each other as he
moved.

He could hear a bird far above him. The wind.
Coral’s gasps, as she watched them. He could feel the heat from the
sun pounding down on them. As he approached Sterling, he could
smell Sterling’s sweaty body, and the heavy smell of mint that he
had been in the habit of chewing on. In that moment, it was like a
switch clicked on in his mind and helped him to see but, not with
his eyes---with his mind.

The way Sterling’s footfalls fell, everything
began to take shape in his mind. From the Sterling’s clipped
movements, to his sweat-covered clothes.

Almost without realizing it, he raised his
sword and brought it against Sterling’s with jarring clash of
metal.

“Be careful!” Coral cried.

Ignoring Coral, Lancedon forged ahead. Anger,
furry, and something strong and powerful welled inside him---it was
a feeling he didn’t know still existed inside himself. One of
competence, of skill, of strength, and stability. He was still a
great warrior and leader, though blind. He brought his sword down
against Sterling’s with such force the sword was knocked from
Sterling’s hands and flew back against a tree.

Lancedon loomed before Sterling, his unseeing
eyes proud and undefeated. “Do you yield?”

Sterling turned his lips into a thin smile.
Without making reply, he flailed out his legs and knocked Lancedon
to the ground.

Sterling breathed in excitedly, and quickly
picked up his fallen sword, pressing it against Lancedon’s neck,
pinning him to the ground.

“I think you’re finished!” Sterling said, his
voice filled with triumph. He leaned over Lancedon, his hot breath
blowing in Lancedon’s face, his sword pointed at Lancedon’s
neck.

Lancedon could tell by the way Sterling
spoke, that he had a big grin on his face.

Disgusted, Lancedon, grabbed Sterling’s long,
curly hair and yanked, him to the side, then kicked out his leg,
bringing him to the ground.

Thud!

Sterling hit the ground hard, the air
expelling from his lungs with a loud whoosh. Lancedon loomed over
him, with his sword in hand, and pointed it at his throat, then
quickly lowered it. “I think I’m beginning to understand what you
were telling me earlier. Thank you, my friend, for helping to see
what I had missed.”

Sterling threw off the blindfold, and stood
up, dusting off his soiled clothes. “Don’t mention it.”

From the tone of his voice, Lancedon could
tell that Sterling was anything but thrilled.

“Sure, anything for my friend.”

“You did well, both of you,” Coral said
placing a warm hand on Lancedon’s shoulder. “However, as for
Sterling, I cannot tell, for I saw him peeking.” She raised her
brows, and shook her head at her brother. “Several times.”

“What!” Sterling protested. “I did not
peek.”

Coral laughed. “Really, Sterling, I’m
surprised at you.”

Sterling threw up his hands. “Fine! I peeked.
But only a few times. I didn’t want to kill him, after all.”

“That’s what they all say,” Coral said,
linking arms with Lancedon, directing him towards his horse.

“Did he really peek?” Lancedon asked.

“Yes,” Coral replied. “He did. But…” She
leaned close to Lancedon and whispered, “I think he needed the
extra help. You however, did not. Now that you are blind, the
playing field is a bit more equal now, but not by much.”

The Land Of The Dead

Gogindy trudged over the piles of sharp lava rocks
until his feet were raw and bleeding, his body tired, and his mind
numb with pain.

“I am a bell ringer,” Gogindy consoled
himself, climbing over a set of jagged rocks. “I’m an amazing bell
ringer.” He struggled over another heap of rocks. “I am…” his voice
faded as he stood upright. He gazed below him, overcome with
amazement and relief. “Water. Earth. Wonderful!”

The endless heaps of rocks petered out into a
moorish land where a silvery river spiraled through the rugged
countryside where The Drought had not yet touched. He let out an
exclamation of happiness, and stumbled over the stones, until the
stones were no more but earth, with little scraggly bits of grass
and frost-touched vegetation poking from it. He kissed the soft
ground and rubbed his raw feet over the dirt, digging his claws
into the ground. He dragged himself over to the edge of the river,
and stared into the glistening water. “Yes,” Gogindy told himself,
dipping his fingers into the water and drinking his fill. “I am a
bell ringer of great distinction. I am very clever. After all, I
found my way out of that land of rocks.” He looked at his
reflection, analyzing his drooping whiskers. “I am GOGINDY THE
GRAND. GOGINDY, THE GREAT!” his smile faded as he thought of Ivory
and Talic. “Yes…grand,” he murmured obliterating his reflection
with a harsh swipe of his hand. “I suppose I am only just a foolish
Twisker. But I shall be an honest one, and a brave one from now on.
He ambled along the edge of the river until he came to a bridge. He
was about to cross it. But he stopped. His ears began to twitch,
and tingle.

He stopped and glanced from side to side. Not
far in the distance, he could hear the distinct trop, trop, trop of
heavy footfalls.

“Soldiers,” he murmured glancing behind him,
seeing a hoard of black men marching in neat rows towards the
bridge.

“Quickly,” Gogindy told himself. “Hide, hide.
But where? Oh dear. Where do I hide? There’s nothing, no bushes no
hidey holes.” Out of desperation he bounded over to the bridge and
instead of crossing it, he crawled underneath it, and clung to the
wood like an upside down baboon.

The bridge began to shake as soldiers crossed
it. Thump, thump, thump. Gogindy choked back a sneeze as dust and
pieces of mud fell into his face.

“Very nice,” he murmured, fanning the dust
and peering through the cracks in the bridge. In the darkness, all
he could see was the underbelly of horses, and their ugly hooves.
He pressed his eyes closer to a crack and poked his fingers
through, just as a horse stepped down. Pain shot through Gogindy’s
smashed fingers. He let out a muted yelp, let go of the bridge and
fell into the freezing water.

Luckily, the sound of his splashing in was
not heard over the thunderous footfalls of the army.

As soon as the army had crossed the bridge,
Gogindy swam to the other side of the bridge and sat on the shore,
watching the vast army retreat into the night. He felt wet and
miserable, body and soul.

“Smash my fingers will you?” he fingered his
bruised hand and then shook a fist in the direction of the
retreating army. “You’ll pay for this, you, oafs.”

“Brrr,” he murmured, wringing out his
drenched fur. “This won’t do. Won’t do at all. I’m c-cold, and
m-miserable, and h-hungry, and a-alone. But you are a Twisker, even
if you are alone, you are good company to yourself.”

He frowned and shook his head.

“No, I’m not good company. But it really
doesn’t matter, now does it, when you have a rock footprint for a
friend. He patted his pack with his trusty rock poking out from it,
an item he had gathered just before Ivory and Talic had been so
cruelly taken from him. He shook his whiskers, one more time, and
after checking to make sure no one was watching him, he took off in
the opposite direction the soldiers had gone. He was not sure where
he was going. He had somehow misplaced the map Skaff had given him.
He had lost it the day Ivory and Talic had been so savagely taken
and eaten by the lava monster. Perhaps the map had fallen from his
purse and the creature itself had gobbled the map up as well.

His only map now was his instincts, and a
feeling deep inside him that told him that the bell tower he was
looking for was in the direction he was heading.

Though his feet ached and throbbed, and his
heart was heavy from the loss of his friends, he continued on.

As he walked, he kept reaffirming his pledge
to fulfill his task, to be a better Twisker, and to never forgive
himself for giving Talic that cursed piece of Twisker Zolic. He was
sure that if it hadn’t been for that, both Ivory and Talic would
still be alive and safe. Not eaten by that awful lava tube
monster.

When he was sure he had put a safe distance
between himself and the soldiers, he rested on the smooth ground
where there was nothing but soft feathery grass as far as he could
see. It was a quiet land, almost too quiet. Almost as if the dead
themselves would be disturbed by the silence. With the coming of
night, fog drifted over the land, hugging it in a quietude that
even Gogindy could not compete with.

“It’s too quiet,” Gogindy said, setting the
heavy footprint on the ground beside him so he could talk to it.
“It’s too quiet here. And the dirt is too soft here, too nice for
my bad feet. I would have been glad to walk on sharp rocks forever,
just to punish myself for being such a bad Twisker. I’m not brave
at all. I killed them. Killed them all. Wish I was dead, wish I was
dead, dead, dead, dead.”

His nose twitched. He rubbed his tearful eyes
and moaned. “The world is so gray. So full of nasty things, so
wretchedly dreary when you have no one to share your troubles with.
Only a stupid footprint.”

In tears, he took out a bit of cracker from
his pack and nibbled on it. Still the tears fell, and he could not
contain himself. He continued crying and eating until almost all
his food was gone and his tears dried up. He whimpered and sniffed.
The night was dark and filled with the creepy sounds of nothing.
The worst sounds of all to a Twisker.