The Last Summoning---Andrew and the Quest of Orion's Belt (Book Four) (25 page)

“There are so many questions…” he went on.
“Questions that have no logical answer, save that they have been
put on earth to torment us. To haunt us in the quiet hours of our
thoughts. To creep, and tickle our minds, and drive us all into
madness. Questions that float upon the shore of our mind like a
half-submerged ship, growing moss and coral and grime by their
lingering so long. If we don’t know the answers to these questions,
does it not make us fools? Or does it, just by trying to solve
them, make us more fools? And are we all fools, trapped in our own
shell of rock, waiting to be born into the thing we were meant
for?”

Gogindy chuckled to himself for being so very
deep and ponderful. Thinking so deeply made his stomach growl, so
he delved into his pack, bringing out several crackers, not caring
that his supply was dwindling greatly. He leaned on an old tree
stump, and closed his eyes, chewing, relishing each bit of salty,
crunchy flavor. He stared at the last bit of cracker. His mouth
felt dry and parched. He quickly reached for his small canteen.
After gulping the water down, he wiped his lips, and smiled. “And
there’s another question,” he said aloud to no one in particular.
“It is something I have thought about for hours on end. Something,
I’m sure that many philosophizers have pondered. A question, that
if answered, could answer every unanswerable question in the entire
universe.”

Gogindy flashed his footprint rock an eager
smile, twitching his whiskery nose. “The question is thus. Why is
it that when I eat a piece of salty, crunchy, yummy cracker, I then
want to hurry and get it out of my throat by washing it down with
some water? That is the unanswerable question. Why? Why wash away
what you first desired to eat? It doesn’t make any sense.”

He peered down at his rock and waited for a
response. But none came.

“Tell me why you think it is so?”

Then answering his own question, he said. “I
suppose, it is because when I eat, I get thirsty.”

He stood up and paced the ground. “But it
doesn’t make any sense! Why would I want to wash away such
delicious flavors?”

He stopped, and threw his hands up. “Of
course it does.”

Then shaking his head, he continued pacing.
“No it doesn’t. Why eat the piece of cracker in the first place, if
you’re going to want to hurry and forget about it by washing it out
of your mouth?”

He paused and stared at the ground.
“Perhaps…desirable things can only be enjoyed when they are gone.
Maybe it is only when something is missing, we can only wish for
more.”

Gogindy frowned and plucked a whisker from
his backside and wound it around his finger. “Perhaps, and perhaps
not,” he argued with himself. “But some things, like apple pie, can
and will be missed by myself. Other things, like toothaches, bad
dreams and headaches will never be missed. Oh, who could ever miss
a headache? And I have never wished for one. And when it is gone I
definitely do not ask it to come back. The sooner I can shoo it
away, the better.”

He started pacing again. “Perhaps good and
bad things, framed by space, water, or time, are made better or
worse. Only in cleared land can crops grow. Thus, Gogindy, space is
the answer. We can only be close to that piece of pie for a second,
before we need water and space from it to enjoy it fully. Just as
one would not want to be smothered in pies.”

Gogindy sniffed, and let out a low chuckle,
surprised at his own wisdom, and baffled by it by the same time.
“Space. Space? Gogindy, what are you saying. You have been alone
too long. What is space, but a hollow nothing. I’ve never had any
use for space, myself. When I find myself alone, my ears start
ringing, and I can hear my joints creaking and my heart thumping,
and my eyelids fluttering. I have no use at all for it. Silences,
spaces, empty things scare me. Empty cupboards, empty jars, and
empty houses mean only one thing.”

He stopped pacing once more. “And that
is?”

He smiled and laughed. “That they are
empty!”

“Yes,” Gogindy nodded and closed his eyes.
“Empty isn’t always good, and isn’t always bad.”

Gogindy held up a finger. “But to a Twisker,
empty is very bad. And silence is like a vacuum. Yet…yet…he
continued. Perhaps silence is good, too. For I could not sleep
without it. Yes…I suppose there are uses for things like that,
after all…”

Coming to this conclusion, Gogindy sighed,
and curled up, drifting into a fitful slumber, thoroughly worn out
with his debate with himself.

Fuel

The image of Tavron’s old and young frame was
forever imprinted in Andrew’s mind. This old and young, helpless
man full of desire to do good, a man who had made his decision even
if it killed him, made Andrew’s heart burn with a desire to wake
the world. To free those who did not know they were in bondage.
Something deep within his soul stirred and pounded against his
chest, like a bird wanting to get free. This feeling throbbed in
time to the ever constant, unceasing pleading of the unsaid words.
With each new day, this unnerving sense of urgency inside him
ticked, and hammered, not letting him rest, not letting him stop,
not letting him have peace.

He had never yearned for something so hard in
his whole life. He had never felt the burning desire to proclaim
freedom like he did now. Such a feeling was as invigorating as it
was powerful. The power of truth. A power that wanted voice, wanted
to be heard just like those unsaid words. Such power gave him the
strength to go on.

Time was running out. And there was still so
much to be done. Still so many cities they had not visited, people
they had not spoken to, words they had not yet said.

Time called out to Andrew with every waking
moment, speaking to him of all that must be said, all that must be
done, all who must be reached before time was no more.

The world, was every day, going more into
bondage, inch by inch, one word, one lie at a time. If Andrew
didn’t try to stop it, then who would?

Andrew could barely eat or think of anything
else except to free the unsaid words, and free those imprisoned by
lies---to wake the world. He had never wanted something so much in
his life. The importance of what he and his friends were trying to
do was more important than anything he could have imagined.

Andrew looked up and sighed, holding out his
hands as rain fell into his palms. The day was cold and damp. The
clouds overhead were soggy with moisture. Ever since they had left
the land of the Inbetweeners the rain had been their constant
companion. Andrew couldn’t tell what time of day it was, because of
the hazy sky. He only knew that it was cold, and it felt later than
it probably was.

“Over there,” Flicker called, as he soared
above them, weaving through the droplets of falling water. “The
camp of slaves.” He glided down and settled in front of Andrew.

“Good,” Andrew said. “My feet are getting
tired.”

“We can walk,” Ivory called from Freddie’s
horse. “You don’t have to.”

“No,” Andrew insisted. “I’m fine. Just a bit
tired is all. We are almost there, anyway.”

“Yes,” Flicker said, as he folded his wings
against his body, and cocked his head. “Only a mile more. Look, do
you not see it?” He pointed ahead to a hilly stretch of land where
uniform heaps of earth dotted the ground like anthills. “Just
beyond those mounds, you will find the slave village.”

“How strange…” Andrew said, stepping closer,
and peering through the trees, past the mounds. The overcast sky
glowed an ominous orange-purple over the slave camp. Andrew
couldn’t help but feel strangely drawn to the place. There was
something mesmerizing about it, something almost beautiful. It was
brilliantly lit, like a great mansion awaiting guests. From the
outside it didn’t look like a prison at all, but a beautiful
cathedral, stunning in size, and surrounded by light. Lining the
gate were two posts on which were affixed two candles four feet in
length, and a foot wide. They burned and flickered like two
heavenly beings welcoming those who traversed through the gate. The
camp was surrounded by miles of long bulwarks made entirely of waxy
dirt. Lining these waxy walls were flickering candles, glowing like
thousands of little fairies. From within the walls of the camp, a
great orange smoke went up as if someone was boiling a huge caldron
of oil. What is causing such torrents of smoke? Andrew
wondered.

Flicker cast the glowing prison a disdainful
look. “This is the slave camp of the candle makers. The Fallen has
many such places. Here, oil is made into wax. Since it is not far
from the ocean, many sea creatures are brought and harvested for
their oil, and made into candles. There are many other such places
where oil is harvested and made into fuel. Oil, coal, bones, wax
from bees, fish, and bodies of dead, oily creatures are dug up all
around the world, and harvested. And for what? To light the
Fallen’s house. To give him power and light. Illumination is his
desire, though he cannot illuminate anything. Only darken all in
his path.”

“How do you know so much about this place?”
Andrew asked. Flicker closed his strange, bird eyes, and sighed. “A
bird sees and hears much. Too much sometimes.”

“What do you know of this camp? Is there any
way to get through without being detected?”

“The front gates are poorly guarded, I have
seen all from above. There are very few soldiers within. I do not
think they suspect an attack. I believe that if we are careful, we
can slip inside, undetected, with our weapons. All of us together
may be able to hold the soldiers off long enough to arm the slaves.
The population of slaves, once riled, will cause a great stir, and
will easily overpower their masters. However I do have one
misgiving. As a bird, I do hate oil and heat. But I will go with
you, despite my fear.”

“Thank you,” Andrew said. “I appreciate that.
Are you sure that the gate is our only chance of getting in?”

Flicker nodded. “Yes, that is the only way.
It is a flimsy structure, made of mostly wax and iron. If your
sword is as powerful as you say, we can get through.”

Andrew’s eyes filled with determination. He
turned towards his friends. “You heard Flicker. Tonight, we will
slip through the gates and free those poor souls trapped inside! If
any of you wish to stay behind, let him say so now.”

“I don’t want to come,” Talic quivered,
shaking his long whiskers. “I hate fire, and hot things.”

Andrew smiled and nodded. “Stay, then. And
you shall be in charge of guarding the chest of unsaid words until
we return.”

“Now that I think of it,” Croffin piped, “I
think I should stay, as well.”

“But we need you,” Andrew protested.

“Don’t you think someone should keep an eye
on Talic?”

Andrew stared at Talic who was picking
through his whiskers preening them for bugs. “You’re right. Both of
you will stay here, and guard the chest of unsaid words with your
life. At nightfall, we will take the other wagon of weapons, and
try to arm as many slaves as we can before we leave. Then we will
meet you shortly, if all goes well.”

“Ah,” Croffin sighed. “Until night then…” he
laughed and pointed at Talic who was now licking the bottoms of his
feet, and chewing on his toenails. “Why do I get the feeling that
looking after Talic will be a lot harder than coming with you?”

“Probably,” Andrew said, “because it will
be.” He laughed, then turned and walked up one of the tall mounds,
which Andrew had previously thought was earth, but was really
discarded, dirty wax.

He peered over the mound, and probed the
waxen prison with critical eyes, wondering if their victory would
be as assured as Flicker had determined.

The night was long in coming. At least Andrew
thought it was. Time seemed to drip along, like an old worn-out
tap. Though the sky was overcast, the sun seemed to not want to go
down for fear of what the night might bring.

When at last the sun did go down, Andrew felt
a rush of excitement and fear flow over him. He knew not what to
expect, except for what Flicker had told him. He worried that they
would be overpowered, that they would fail. Yet, something inside
him knew that there wasn’t any other way.

This was a step in his journey that he must
complete. The chest of unsaid words had hushed to a pitiful whimper
as if it felt the sorrow of those silenced and imprisoned inside
the prison walls. How many words, Andrew wondered had gone unsaid,
unheard, here? Probably too many to count.

He wondered how long the wagon could hold
such a heavy chest, and how long his faithful, uncomplaining horse
could carry it.

In the darkness the great prison’s waxy walls
glowed, almost seeming transparent. The cathedral-like prison
looked uninviting and intimidating, like the glowing eyes of some
nocturnal predator, with its mouth-gate gaping at them with waxen
fangs, daring any to enter and face whatever horrors it held
inside.

“Is it time?” Freddie hissed, leaning up
against the mound of wax Andrew had placed himself against.

Andrew pushed himself up, and nodded. “Yes.”
He turned and faced Ivory and Flicker. “It is time. You all know
what to do. Be careful. The wagon of weapons must be protected at
all times. Freddie, Ivory, you are to hand the weapons to the
prisoners. All of you, be safe. Flicker, you keep an eye out. If
anyone comes, let us know.”

With those words they all got into the wagon
loaded with weapons, and made their way along the wax-covered road,
passing the waxy mounds that dotted the land, until they stood
before the prison gates where the two large candle pillars
stood.

The candles flickered as they passed by them
as if they were afraid of their coming. Everything seemed unusually
quiet and heavy. The air smelled of burning oil and hair. It was as
if the whole camp was in a deep sleep. Candles were glowing along
the entire ridge of the waxen walls. It seemed that no eyes except
those of the candles watched. The light from the walls cast the
strangers in an almost ghostly glow. The gate stood before them, a
gaping apparition, daring them to enter.