The Last Summoning---Andrew and the Quest of Orion's Belt (Book Four) (56 page)

“It is over!” The Fallen’s terrible voice
chimed. “The past, the ways of old. Freedom, truth, all that dies
with you!”

Andrew’s eyes and skin still shone, even
under such a cloud of darkness.

“How dare you to still gleam under my power.
I AM THE ONLY LIGHT NOW! THE ONLY LIGHT!” The being stepped towards
Andrew. Like a black tower, illuminated by some unseen light. “Give
me your light!” the being hissed, blowing Andrew against the wall
with a windy gust of darkness and shadow.

Shadows swirled about Andrew, pinning him
against the wall, holding him tightly in place. “Give me your
light!” The Fallen commanded once more.

“Never!” Andrew said, crying out in pain as
the The Fallen dug his shadowy fingers into his skin.

“Poor, sickly, boy. As if you had any choice
in the matter,” The Fallen crooned, moving his dark fingers under
Andrew’s chin and across his neck. “How is it that you dared to
come before me by yourself? Alone!”

“I am not alone. I never was, and never will
be,” Andrew said, his voice strained, but filled with conviction.
“No. I am not alone. Not like you are. Darkness is always alone,
and always will be!”

“If you are not alone then,” The Fallen
roared, “tell me, where are your legions? Where are your
companions? Where are they?”

Andrew looked up, his eyes filled with a
burning light as if he understood something he had never known
before. “I am the voice of the voiceless. The resounding voice of
those whom you have silenced by fear and killed with your greed.
No. I am not alone. I am their voice, and thousands of others
combined into one. Even if you silence me, I promise you, there
will be a day when these silenced voices will resound as one,
united. All those you have murdered, and plundered, it is they who
will give the power that you have stolen, back to those whom it
truly belongs!”

“Fool!” The Fallen hissed, breathing out a
stifling sheet of blackness that caused Andrew to wheeze and choke.
The Fallen released his grip on Andrew for one short second. Where
his fingers had touched, black pigment was etched. “Even when you
are defeated, you act as though you’ve won.” He raised Andrew’s
sword and held it poised over Andrew’s body. “Why do you not give
in, embrace the darkness? That is all you have left. Worship me!
WORSHIP ME!”

Andrew narrowed his eyes, and slowly shook
his head, looking The Fallen squarely in the eyes. “No. I will not!
Darkness is your fate. Not mine.”

“I am your fate!” The Fallen’s terrible voice
quaked, causing the room to tremble. “On this day, this new dawn, I
will send you into the land of the shadow forever!” Shadows and
light swirled around The Fallen as if he were the peak of a mighty
mountain.

Andrew struggled against the shadows, but
they would not let him go. He was trapped in their dark web, unable
to move.

The Fallen’s eyes smoldered like orange
coals, darkness and light webbing through them. In an instant,
without words, Andrew knew that all his struggles had finally come
to an end.

He was going to die.

“Yes,” The Fallen whispered. “You will
finally die. But not solely by my hand, but by the blade that you
wield. All will now be fulfilled. That which was meant for me, is
now meant for you.” He held up the sword, now dark and dripping
with oily blackness.

Andrew gazed up at the blade, unafraid. He
felt strangely calm, and peaceful. He knew without knowing why,
that this was not the end, but just the beginning.

“DIE!” The Fallen howled, stabbing the sword
into Andrew’s flesh. “I will send you into darkness forever!”

Andrew gasped in pain as the blade entered
his chest. He tried to speak, but the words caught in his throat.
His eyes squeezed back tears of pain.

He stared into The Fallen’s eyes, seeing in
them the fall of the nations, the blinding fear, slavery, death,
destruction, and the fall and utter destruction of mankind. He felt
as though something was ripped from his being, like the fibers of
his soul were being tugged away. He gazed down at the blade, his
eyes wide. He could see the light from his own skin, filtering out
and into the blade, and into The Fallen’s body. He felt as though
he was watching his life seep out. The Fallen grinned, his face
twisting into an ugly whirlpool of darkness. His eyes glistened,
filled with victory and greed. With each second The Fallen’s body
grew brighter, and Andrew’s grew dimmer. “The blaze of sparks dies
with you, Andrew. The world is under my bondage, now and forever.
There was nothing you could do to ever stop it. Nothing!”

Andrew wrapped his fingers around the blade,
trying to pull it away from him. But his hands had grown weak. The
pain was beginning to vanish. He stared beyond The Fallen, seeing
something far brighter beyond the darkness. He had done his best.
But his light alone was not strong enough. The power men had given
the darkness was still in their hearts, and Andrew could not change
that. But he had done what he had set out to do.

He had faced The Fallen, alone.

He had not defeated it, but he had defeated
his fear of it.

He reached out to the light far beyond The
Fallen, his face alight for one second with a surreal glory. The
Fallen did not see the light that he saw, nor could he comprehend
it. There was light beyond this place, light far beyond the
strength and power of The Fallen, a light to consume all other
lights, a power to break in pieces all who fought against it. And
it was to this place he was heading now. “The light will come!”
Andrew gasped, falling back, as the last strands of light from his
skin faded then burst out of the handle of the sword, absorbing
into The Fallen’s own being.

“It has begun!” The Fallen thundered,
throwing the blade onto the ground like an insignificant trinket.
“Just as no one can bring back the dead, no one can renew the light
of this dead blade!”

He stood by the window with arms outstretched
to embrace his newfound light. He pulled back the curtain of
shadows. He gazed at the sun rising over the mountains. It looked
as if it was afraid to shine too brilliantly on The Fallen, and
provoke him to jealously.

“Shine!” The Fallen scoffed, “For on this new
dawn, all other lights shine their last!”

He laughed and held up his hands and basked
in his own glory. He was tall, powerful, magnificent! The light
from Andrew’s spark of life gave him the strength he needed to
command the heavens. He opened his mouth and expelled a thick cloud
of darkness over the land, absorbing all light into his self. Like
a broken bottle of ink, his darkness spilled out over the sky,
creeping outward over sky, ocean, and land. Wind, and shadows
surged around him, as a darkness that had been building inside
Shadelock for many years was released over the land. Like a caged
tidal wave, the darkness splashed out over the land, instantly
snuffing out the brilliant fields of starflowers, the lakes of
fire, one by one. The light of the sun was eclipsed by his
darkness, the moon as well. Stars began to fall as the shadows
surged through the world like a massive hand putting out light,
from the greatest to least, no light was left untouched. All light
was snuffed out, except for one. The Fallen had risen. He was the
only source of light left.

Now all would look to him for illumination.
All would serve him or perish.

Death

Where there is coldness there is absence of heat.

Where there are holes, there is absence of dirt.

Where there is doubt, there is absence of hope.

Where there is loneliness there is absence of
friends.

Where there is ignorance, there is absence of
knowledge.

So then the question is, what is absent in your life?
For where there is absence, there will be your worst fear and foe,
teacher, and refiner. Fill in all the empty holes in your life with
goodness. Open your arms wide and let in the light. Welcome it.
Embrace it. Let your life be filled with hope and warmth. Gather
close to your friends, and rejoice in those whom you love. Fill
your mind with the knowledge of truth so that when darkness comes,
nothing will be vacant and empty for it to fill. And then it cannot
cause you to bend to its will.”

~~Rhapsody, Rumble The Grand~~

The moon was an eerie color of orange as it rose
slowly over the mountains like an unblinking spy who looked down on
the earth every night, neither in anger, sadness, nor joy---it just
was. It hung in the sky, a silver orb, far from the world. Distant,
untouchable, collecting the information it saw through the ages,
both good and bad, terrible and lovely, absorbing it all into
silvery light.

Lancedon gazed up at the moon. Even though he
could not see its light, he could sense it, like it was a weary
lamp trying to light up the cold world. The earth was filled with a
pensive, strained, impregnated feeling of desperation and fear. It
was as if the night’s sky knew that it would soon be empty of
light. It was as if the heavens were beaming down silent pleas of
desperation.

Lancedon could feel it---the heaviness, the
solemn ache that emanated from both earth and sky. In their
unspoken words, he knew that something was brewing, waiting,
lurking, watching, ready to consume without restraint. Even without
his sight, Lancedon could feel the light of the stars. They gleamed
and sparkled as if they were saying their last prayers before the
dawn of their own execution. They shone like flowers of the sky,
blooming in their full glory before a winter frost obscured them
forever.

Night. A word once welcomed by tired souls in
need of rest, now was a word that lingered, hovered, like a sticky
paste that would not wash off. Every evening the sun went down, and
night came, bringing with it a darkness that was far more sticky,
far more dirty, far harder to shake off than the previous night.
Many wondered, would this be the day the sun did not rise?

Lancedon closed his eyes and breathed deeply,
letting the tension, frost, and melancholy of the night flow over
him. Rumors of a boy who had unleashed a chest of forbidden, unsaid
words had reached him and his growing band of men. These were the
very words Lancedon had felt and heard and welcomed. These were the
very words that had gone before him like a herald, helping him to
gather those who were ready to listen.

Lancedon’s heart swelled within him, for he
knew that the rumors could be about only one boy---Andrew.

Andrew was still alive.

That thought gave him great hope.

Andrew may not have known it, but the words
he had unleashed had helped him. Like water on dry ground, the
words Andrew had unleashed had transformed the soil of hardened,
cemented, hearts, into fertile ground. These changed souls who
heard the call came to Lancedon, ready to fight. They came not in
great numbers, but as individuals and small groups. Yet still they
came. Like small candles they shone, rallying behind Lancedon, the
blind leader with more vision than those who could see. To
Lancedon’s camp, men trickled in from the towns and cities, one by
one. They came, bearing weapons, their eyes vivid, their hearts
soft and their minds opened by the truth that they heard spoken,
without reserve. The city, Summits cracking, and the waking of
unsaid words smote them to their core and caused them to act.

Lancedon’s small army made their camp in a
field of dead corn that had long since been harvested. It was
covered in frost and patches of snow. In the darkness he could hear
many of his men conversing around small fires, as they tried to
warm themselves. He listened to their voices, wondering at their
numbers. How many days more would it be until his army had grown
large enough to even consider going to battle? How many more
sunrises were left before all was darkness? He had heard another
rumor of a great battle that had taken place on a sea of ice. A
battle so terrible that all who had fought against The Fallen, had
died. Ever since that battle all gathering had ceased. It was as if
the summoning was indeed at an end. No one else dared to raise
their voices, no one else dared fight. Even his men were growing
restless and worried.

Was he too late? This question haunted him.
Had Andrew already fought and been defeated?

Coral leaned against Lancedon’s shoulder, and
laced her fingers through his. “What are you looking at?” she
mused.

“You should know better than to ask that
question.”

“No,” she continued. “You looked as if you
were studying the moon.”

“No. I do not study it. I only feel it, as I
feel you by my side.”

“And what does the moon feel like?”

“Cold, compared to your warm touch.”

Coral smiled, and lay her head on his chest.
“I envy the moon.”

“Why?”

Coral sighed, and looked at the moon with
gleaming eyes. “I envy its highness, and its all-knowingness. It
rises high above the troubles of earth, untouchable and distant
enough to see both good and bad and make it all into beautiful
moonshine.”

“I should think the moon envies you,”
Lancedon replied.

“Envies me?” Coral said. “Well, I guess it
should. For it does not have your strong hands to protect it as you
protect me.”

Lancedon’s voice filled with bitterness.
“Protect you? These days, it seems as if you have protected me far
more than I have protected you.”

“Don’t be silly.” Coral pulled him back to
her. “There are many ways in which a girl wishes to be protected.
Some means of protection are far more important to a girl than
protection by muscle and sword. You have protected me by your
gentleness, by your companionship, by your very presence, by your
voice, by your words. By your kind hands and conviction, you have
protected me from self-doubt, loneliness, and...”