The Last Summoning---Andrew and the Quest of Orion's Belt (Book Four) (35 page)

A guard peered through the gate, and down at
the man. “Who are you, and what is your business here?”

“Please,” the man answered, “I am
blind…I…”

“Blind. Ugg. Get away!” A guard thwacked a
javelin against the gate. “We don’t let blind beggars into our
city. Your kind are outlawed. Get away before I have a mind to
throw you into the clink myself.”

The beggar jumped back, limping out of
reach.

“Please sir,” A kind feminine voice pled from
behind the beggar. “Can’t you help us this once?”

The Guard looked up, taken back by the warm
figure of Coral standing behind the blind beggar. She threw back
her cape, and let her yellow hair fall down her shoulders. Her eyes
were warm, her, lips red, and her skin soft, and warmer than
anything the cold city had ever felt. She locked arms with the
beggar and moved to the gate, stretching her hands through the iron
bars. “Couldn’t you let us in?”

The guard moved close to the gate, transfixed
by Coral’s beauty. His eyes were wide. His mouth gaped open.

“Please,” she asked again. Can’t you bend the
rules just once?” She reached out to touch the man. The man
trembled as her warm fingers touched his cold corpselike skin.

“N...no.” he stuttered, looking shocked,
frightened, and pleased all at once. “I…I…can’t.”

Coral stared at the man, her warm, dazzling
eyes melting the man’s resolve. “Will you? It’s very important for
me and my brother to get into the city tonight.”

The guard stared at Coral, mesmerized by her
brilliance, and warmth. I…uh…” he muttered, glancing behind him,
still shaking. “Um…I…don’t…know… I just…” Without realizing what he
was doing, the guard unlocked the gate and opened the door.

Coral and the beggar quickly slipped inside.
“Thank you,” she told the guard, she looked him straight in the
face, and clasped both his hands. The warmth of her hands flooded
over his body. His hands trembled as if Coral’s touch had caused
his frozen soul to thaw. His frozen heart melted, sending him into
convulsions. He staggered back, falling against the wall,
unconscious.

Coral loomed over the man, perplexed. Then,
without waiting further, she quickly turned and called to those
waiting on the other side of the gate. “It is clear. Come! Hurry,
before someone sees.”

At that moment, heavy footfalls and the
sounds of horses were heard. First Zeechee and Sterling came
through the gate, then their band of men. They all mixed into the
city without been seen, for the cold hospitality of the city
afforded only glassy eyes. They were not curious nor did they seem
to care what went on as long as no one bothered them,

The newcomers all sieved in through the city,
moving away from the busy streets and into the places where very
few, except the outcasts, went.

Zeechee leaned against a damp wall and peered
out on the other side. “Lancedon, you and Coral go to the heart of
the city, and wait for us there. Don’t do anything to call
attention to yourself. Just wait. We will be there,” Zeechee said.
“Sterling, my men and I will see about emptying the prisons here,
and finding where their weapons are stored. If anything happens to
us, Coral get Lancedon out of the city as fast as you can.”

Before Lancedon could protest, they had all
gone. Lancedon felt his way along the slimy stone walls trying to
keep up with Zeechee and his departing men. But Coral stopped him.
“Lancedon, keep hold of my arm. I don’t want you to get lost in
this dreary place. We must stay here. Zeechee doesn’t want you to
get hurt.”

Lancedon’s face clouded in anger. “This was
never my plan. To lurk in the shadows! I may be blind, but I’m not
helpless!”

“No, you’re not.” Coral clutched his hand,
and tugged him onward. “But you are a little clumsy, and they don’t
want you to get hurt. You’re too important.”

Lancedon frowned. “What you mean is that they
don’t want me to get in the way!”

Coral let out a weary sigh, and pulled
Lancedon along. “You are so stubborn.”

“And you’re so…” Lancedon couldn’t think of
the right word. He plodded on, silent and moody, holding tightly
onto Coral’s hand. They tramped through the slushy streets,
suddenly hearing shouts of men and women. Coral pushed Lancedon up
against a wall, and remained still.

“What is it?” Lancedon asked.

“Soldiers. They’ve got a boy.”

Lancedon’s eyes lit up. “A boy. Andrew? Who
is it?”

Coral shook her head. “I don’t know who it
is. I can’t tell…but his dark hair does look similar to Andrew’s.
But I can’t be sure.”

“What if it is?” Lancedon’s voice grew in
volume. “We’ve got to help him. If they’ve got Andrew, and he is
really in this city…” his voice drifted off as the boy’s cries
filled the air as the soldiers ripped off his shirt and lashed him
across the back with a whip.

“Stay here!” Coral hissed, leaving the
shelter of the dark corner, moving out into the street.

“Wait,” Lancedon called, stumbling after her.
But she was gone. He groped in the darkness, and fell off the curb
into a puddle. Angrily, he pulled himself up, back onto the curb,
and sat hunched over, listened eagerly to the sounds within the
street.

“Stop!” he heard Coral’s commanding, clear
voice echo down the street. “Stop! Why are you whipping this poor
boy?”

“Because,” a cruel voice of the soldier shot
back. “He was caught with this.” The soldier held up a book, then
tossed it on the ground in disgust. “He was reading a forbidden
book. Such a book is against our laws to read.”

Coral’s face filled with anger. “And what is
in this book that is so terrible that it has been outlawed?”

“Lies,” the soldier shouted. “Treason. The
old histories of our people, full of dangerous ideas that are
outdated.”

“What kind of lies?” Coral questioned,
bending down and picking up the book.

“Don’t touch that,” the soldier shouted.
“Drop it! Drop it now!”

She raised her brows and stared at the
soldier, as if challenging him.

“I’m warning you,” The soldier breathed.
“Don’t!”

Then, as if to further aggravate him, Coral
opened the book, thumbing through its pages, reading. “Lies?” she
questioned. “I see no lies. Only truth.”

The soldier’s face filled with wrath. He left
the boy hanging limply from the post he was tied to and stepped in
Coral’s direction the whip still in his hand.

“Give me the book,” the soldier
commanded.

Coral shook her head, and clutched the book
to her chest. Her eyes were hard, and unbending. “No.”

“That’s it!” the guard thundered. “I warned
you. GUARDS, take her! She’s worse than the boy!”

Before Coral could run, two dozen guards
burst down the street and encompassed Coral. The book was ripped
from her hands and tossed to the ground.

“Coral!” Lancedon cried, as the soldiers
carried her off. “Coral!”

Lancedon stumbled through the street after
her, feeling helpless, unable to discern where he was. Terror and
fear gripped him. He was alone in this frozen, formidable
city---alone and blind.

A horse thundered past him, nearly running
him over. He stumbled and fell, covering his head with his
hands.

When the horse had gone, he slowly groped his
way through the street, his hands suddenly coming in contact with
the fallen book. “The forbidden book,” he breathed, feeling its
leafy pages. He opened it, and ran his fingers across the pages. He
could smell the weathered smell that wafted up from the paper. It
was an old book. How old he could only guess. And how it had found
its way into this city was a mystery. Yet, he knew that words of
all kinds had been unleashed, why not forbidden books?

“Please,” a pain-filled voice of the trapped
boy cried. “Help me.”

Lancedon slowly pushed himself up, and turned
in the direction of the voice. “Help you? Of course. Where are you?
You must keep talking to me. For I am blind. I cannot see where you
are.”

“Over here,” the boy’s voice called.
“Quickly, before the soldiers come back.”

Lancedon stumbled over to the boy, closer and
closer until he reached a long pole sticking out of the ground to
which the boy was tied.

“Good. You’re almost there,” the boy
encouraged him. “Up a little further. Do you feel that rope? My
hands are tied to this post. Do you have a knife?”

“A knife?” Lancedon scoffed. “I have a sword,
and a knife, and a dagger. Which one do you want?” Lancedon
fingered the rope, and then felt the boy’s hands, searching for the
diamond mark that was sure to reveal who this boy was. “What is
your name?” Lancedon asked.

“Drew,” the boy answered.

“What?” Lancedon asked. “Andrew?” He felt the
boy’s face, running his hands through the boy’s hair, feeling every
inch of him.

“No. The boy shouted. “Drew, that is my name.
Hey. Will you stop touching my face!”

Lancedon’s face drained of all color. “Drew?
Oh…” Lancedon’s voice fell flat as he felt the boy’s ordinary
hands. “Well, Drew, you’re not Andrew. But your voice sounds very
much like his.”

“The knife,” the boy urged him. “Do you have
one?”

Lancedon nodded, and quickly withdrew a
dagger.

“Careful,” Drew warned him. “That’s my
hand.”

“I know,” Lancedon retorted, feeling his way
along the rope, and carefully slicing it.

The boy suddenly bolted, taking off down the
street.

“Wait,” Lancedon called, holding up the boy’s
book. “Your book.”

The boy glanced behind him and shook his
head. “You can keep it. I don’t want it anymore.”

With that, the boy vanished down the road,
leaving Lancedon standing there with the book in his hands. “That’s
gratitude for you.”

Lancedon stared blankly ahead after the
ungrateful boy. He had wanted to ask him for help. Now he was just
as lost as he was before. Angry, he stuffed the book in the crook
of his arm, and felt his way along the streets. “Stupid boy,”
Lancedon cussed, stumbling over the uneven ground. “Should have
left him where he was.”

He stumbled through the streets, feeling very
disoriented and frustrated. He had no way of knowing where they had
taken Coral, where Sterling or Zeechee were or where anyone was. Or
where he was. Zeechee had been right. He should have never come to
this horrid city. He had thought he had caught the scent of
something good in this city, some hint that the released words of
truth had found their way within its walls. But now, here, alone,
among these strangers in the cold streets, all he could smell was
filth. Growing angrier by the minute, he felt his way through the
streets, faster and faster, suddenly crashing into the chest of an
oncoming stranger. The blow knocked him off balance and sent him
flying onto ground

“Move out of my way,” the man shouted,
pressing past him.

Lancedon rubbed his head. Then he pushed
himself back up, feeling the heat rise to his face in
embarrassment.

“Please,” he cried, “I need help. Can anyone
tell me where I am?”

“You’re in the way, that’s where,” a woman
shouted, shoving on past him.

“Please,” he cried, trying to stand back up.
“I need help.” All around him he could hear the buzz of people, and
the splash of wheels and feet sloshing through the puddle-ridden
streets.

“Asking for help is illegal,” a voice shot
back. “Go back to the cracks where you came from, or you’ll really
get it. No crack dwellers are wanted here. Go back to the scum that
spawned you.”

“I don’t want help,” Lancedon argued. “I just
need directions.”

“Asking for directions is also against the
law!” a nasally voice thundered. A stiff hand pressed his face back
against the ground, filling his nostrils with slush, and mud. He
struggled against his unseen enemy, until he could stand it no
longer. Angry, he drew his sword, and threw the man off him.

“Get away from me!” he shouted. “Get
back!”

The crowd of onlookers who had taken some
amusement in the goings on, gasped and drew back. Shouts of dismay
and horror rippled through the crowd.

“He’s got a sword. A blind man. He has a
sword. That has got to be very illegal. He could really hurt
someone.”

“No,” Lancedon assured them. “I don’t want to
hurt anyone.”

“You already have,” a hate-filled voice spat.
“You have been seen in the streets. Our children have seen you. A
blind man, someone deformed and disgusting. You and your kind are
not welcome here.”

Lancedon stared ahead, his sword ready in his
hands. If he was to die, then so be it. With a book, in the crook
of his arm, and a sword in the another, it did not matter that he
could not see his enemy. The hate he felt coming from these
strangers was proof enough of the degenerate generation that
populated this city.

“Grab him!” a voice screeched. “GET HIM!”

Before Lancedon knew what happened, someone
jumped him from behind. The sword clattered from his hands and the
book fell to the ground. He gasped as someone punched the air from
his chest, and forced him to the ground. Swarms of people
surrounded him and dragged to the town square, before the most high
judge Willcicle.

“Let me go,” Lancedon roared, thrashing as he
was thrown to the hard pavement before their judge.

“Here he is, your honor,” the voice of his
captor said in a cool tone. “We found him with these.” The man
dropped Lancedon’s sword and book at the judge’s feet.

Lancedon lunged towards his lost weapon, but
someone with a very large foot stepped on it.

“This is quite disturbing,” Judge Willcicle
said, probing Lancedon’s neck with the edge of a golden rod to
better inspect Lancedon’s face. “Ah, a blind man. A blind man with
a book, and a sword. Perhaps this has some great meaning, some
insight into what he is reading. Perhaps the evil words made him
blind. Perhaps the book itself has boggled his mind and fogged his
vision. Perhaps the book has provoked him to carry a sword, a sword
that he could commit worse crimes with.”