The Last Summoning---Andrew and the Quest of Orion's Belt (Book Four) (59 page)

A time of doubt, and a time of hope.

A time where time and space stood affixed.

A time where none could remain between or
betwixed.

A murky haze that hinted of light, trickled in
through from the north, teasing those who dwelt in darkness with a
sense of light and direction, only to have it snatched away,
leaving men lost, and alone.

Light was gone.

The light’s struggle over darkness was, at
last, at a miserable end.

The Fallen had claimed its own. The world
that had worshiped his darkness, had given him power from the
darkness in their own hearts, from the darkness they had let dwell
in their cities, and had invited into their homes. Now it was a
permanent resident.

No one had believed it could happen.

All had been duly warned.

But none had believed it would be like
this.

The Fallen’s promises of true illumination
had fallen short. The wages of serving such a master was a price
they had not pondered, nor counted. The master whom they served had
given them a portion of power, then left them wandering in the
darkness. Now all were left alone to stumble and falter, lost in
the dreary aftermath The Fallen’s darkness had left behind.

Light, so often taken for granted---used,
abused, undervalued, cheated, poorly paid, and trampled under foot
was now in short supply.

It was now a rare commodity, its abundance
that had never stopped giving was gone, devoured, used up.

Only one source remained, and it was The
Fallen himself.

A gathering began to take place as the world
cooled. Hints of whispered light beckoned them towards The Fallen’s
realm. To him they must come, to him must they obey, in him they
must put their trust. It was now law, written in darkness, and
enforced by shadows.

Woeful, and wandering. Those are the words
that best describe those who gathered towards The Fallen’s light.
Wretched creatures who were desperate to lick up the meager
snatches of light that The Fallen offered them.

Days and nights mingled into one so that no
one knew how long they had dwelt in the darkness, or how long it
had been since they had seen the light of day. It seemed it had
been an eternal night.

The far-off memory of the sun, of color, of
warmth, of brilliance were all just faded gleams in the darkness
that offered little comfort. What was the sun? Some wondered. Had
it been real, a delusion? Perhaps the darkness was the only real
reality. Perhaps the life they had lived before was the real
delusion.

This shadowland was now the reality. A
reality that seemed to have no end and no beginning. It was ever
present, ever here, as if it always was, and always would be.

In this eternal darkness, one hour felt like
a thousand. One moment felt like an eternity. There was coldness,
and ice that would not warm. It crept over the earth icing over
cities and entire towns.

The feeling that pervaded the earth was
hollow and empty, vacant, restless like a tormented soul which
could not sleep. The light from all, both great and small, had gone
out. In its place was an emptiness that reeked of might-have-dones,
and could haves, and undone actions---things that could have held
the darkness in check. But could-haves are twice as painful when
faced with the dreary prospect of what-is, and
what-will-now-never-be.

The coldness that had been so long within,
was very much now without. Only The Fallen’s flickering light
gleamed out through the darkness, summoning all peoples to him, to
worship at his feet, to gather to his light, though faltering, and
unreliable as it was.

“Yes,” The Fallen breathed, with closed eyes.
He stood atop his great tower, beckoning with outstretched hands.
“Come! Come to me,” he called. Light radiated from his dark skin
casting the world in a false, faltering light that was uncertain,
teasing, ungiving---selfish. His light gave just enough light to
blind, to confuse, to flatter, and to create more shadows, nothing
more. “I am the only light bearer on this earth!”

The glimmering form stood on his tall tower,
like a lamp that beckoned all to him. He stood on its peak,
emanating cold heat and light, staring out over the masses crawling
to him, satisfied at what he had accomplished. His diluted light
cast its distorted glow over the entire earth. The light that he
cast birthed thousands of shadows that swirled through the air and
howled with savage delight.

“Kneel!” He cried to his numberless subjects
that had gathered beneath the tower. Their backs were hunched,
their knees were bent as they turned their faces to the ground,
licking the light up with their black tongues.

“Behold!” a shadow cried, drifting in and out
of the concourses of followers that licked up the light from The
Fallen. “The star of the earth! Bow the knee! For in him is your
miserable human path cast in light. Our new lives finally
birthed!”

“Bow the knee!” a resounding voice shouted
throughout the crowd. “BOW THE KNEE! Long live The Fallen!”

The Fallen watched as the masses bowed before
him, mingling freely with shadow and light.

“Today,” The Fallen called out to his
followers, “we have finally become one people! A unified, and
united world, in which shadow and light now mingle freely with one
another. In this new light, a new world will rise. The time where
darkness and light are esteemed as equals, where none is greater or
stronger than the other has dawned upon us. Serve me, and
live!”

His concourses of followers sent up a
deafening shout of approval. They rose to their feet, cheering.

The Fallen cheered with them sending an
explosion of light throughout the entire concourse of people, so
that his light reflected in their eyes, and weakened their minds
with a confusing haze. “You are mine!” he cried. “You have served
me well. And I now serve you. By my light, alone, you see! By my
light your new path is now clear.”

The moment he said those words, a strange
sound cut through the shadows and haze.

Gong, gong, gong! The sound was as powerful
as it was beautiful and shrill. The sound shook the land,
dispersing his mingled light and disbanding his shadows. With each
gong, the sound intensified and resounded, echoing throughout the
land, penetrating heart and soul with its message of hope and
truth. There was not a person on earth who did not have a chance to
hear its call, to accept or reject it as he chose.

Gong! Gong! Gong! On it sounded, pressing
into the endless night, lighting up those hearts that let it enter
in, retreating from those who had fallen too far to be brought back
to the light.

Gong! GONG! GONG! The sound rose and swelled,
pressing through the masses of The Fallen’s followers, searching
for hosts to bear its light.

The Fallen listened to the toll of the bell
with intense interest. The sound catapulted through the air,
lighting up the bits of darkness just enough to give hope to those
who desired it. The music stirred through the land like a warm
breeze. Its music was sweet and pierced the heart. Those who
listened to it felt that it was though they had just fallen off of
a tall cliff, only to be caught up by the music, and lifted to
lofty heights.

Gong, gong, gong! The longer it sounded, the
angrier The Fallen became. The bell’s ring intensified so loudly
that no other sound could be heard except its stirring music. The
sound hammered through the land, softening hardened hearts with
each gong. The music spoke of wars, and of life. Most of all, it
spoke of hope, of truth, of what could be. There was no spot of
land that its music did not penetrate.

On the other hand, those in whose hearts was
found nothing but stony, blackness, it smote with a great fear, and
a memory of all their sins, causing them to grow angry and
bitter.

With each gong, those whose hearts still
gleamed with a small flicker of goodness, awakened to the awful
state of darkness they were now in.

There was no soul that the sound did not
touch. It summoned all peoples, waking the world, and shaking it
with its sound of hope and its message of truth.

The music brought with it a whole orchestra
of history that rose and crescendoed with such power that it cut
through the darkness like a knife, carving out loopholes of light
for those trapped in the darkness to see by. Though the darkness
pressed in around this hope, trying to consume it, this new light
was quick and inconsumable. It flitted through the land searching
for hearts that were well oiled and ready to keep hope’s light
burning.

With each new gong, hope brought with it an
anxious feeling of duty, of honor, of truth, of action. Where they
had so long remained inert and passive, these things of darkness
passed away from them.

They had become new creatures. The light
shone in their hearts, showing them the error of their ways, and
the path of light they now must travel.

There, in the darkened world, hope’s light
cut through the shadows like lightning. Sometimes this brilliant
light got eaten up by the darkness as quickly as it had come. It
lingered only with those who welcomed its presence. With each
passing moment, the sound of hope grew more firm and affixed in the
hearts that it touched, causing a yellow glow to emanate from the
faces and bodies of those in whom this new hope dwelt.

Hope marched for its last battle! Drums
sounded in the distance and the whole world stirred and trembled.
Both light and darkness stirred and swirled, ready for their final
conflict.

“What is the meaning of this?” The Fallen
shouted to one of his men. He scanned the land, seeing strange
yellow lights flicker on, as hope entered the hearts of those who
welcomed it.

The Fallen’s countenance fell with each gong
of the bell. His face filled with anger that grew, swirled, and
bubbled with each toll. A spray of hope had the audacity to shoot
through the air, and flutter in his face, as if tempting him, of
all beings, to accept it. How was this possible?

The Fallen caught the shaft of light and held
the trembling beam in his hands. “How dare you come before me?” He
seethed, squeezing the winged ray of hope. “You withered beam of
impudence! Do you hope to give me hope? Well, I’m sorry to get your
hopes up. But I think I’ll pass. I need no hope. Hope is useless.
Fear and shadow are my servants, darkness and doubt are far more
liberating. Your meager offering will never light the world. I, on
the other hand, will. You see, now there’s enough darkness to go
around! No one will ever be without.” He laughed, pressing the beam
harder, with each laugh, until all the light drained from the
winged creature, and it fell to his feet, dead.

“The bell of Conroy has sounded!” one of The
Fallen’s servants cried, breathlessly bowing before The Fallen.

The Fallen kicked away the dead wisp of hope
he had just killed, and looked at his servant with condescending
eyes. “What?”

“The bell of Conroy has sounded.”

The Fallen’s face clouded with wrath. “Yes. I
can hear that! But how?”

The Fallen’s servant cowered before The
Fallen. “I…I don’t know.”

“You don’t know. You must know! How has it
that its sound has reached my ears!” The Fallen loomed over the
man, threatening to suck in the man’s light and life into his own
nostrils.

The Fallen’s servant cowered even more.
“Please...I don’t know why…”

The Fallen’s countenance grew darker, like a
flickering candle in the wind. “Well, I know why. Because someone
rang it!”

The man fell to his face, and covered his
head with his hands. “Please, do not harm me, oh great light
bearer. I’m sure the bell’s power will not last long. For you are
far stronger than anything on earth. Far more powerful than
anything!”

The Fallen scowled, and nodded, glowing in
his own glory. “Yes, I am the most powerful force on earth. You
have spoken well. Go now. And leave me be. Tell my captain to
summon all with my mark of darkness to devour those who bear the
light of Conroy. Spare none. This miserable hope must be stopped
before it spreads. Do you understand?”

“Yes, my master,” the man bowed, then
retreated into the darkness.

The Fallen murmured as he stared out over the
land with dark oily eyes. He smirked as he watched the mysterious
beams of hope swirl through his lands searching for those who would
accept its meager offering. Here, his followers pushed the call of
hope aside and embraced the mingled light The Fallen gave. Here,
his followers crowded around his towers, feeding off his light,
ingesting his lies like leaches that could never be satisfied. He
watched all this with consuming eyes, satisfied that this hope
would soon be suffocated.

“Oh brilliant one!” one of his guards
shouted. “We bring a traitor to you. His fate is now in your
hands.”

The Fallen looked up, a flash of irritation
crossing his face at being thus disturbed. “A traitor?”

“Yes, a traitor!” two soldiers came, carrying
a man with serious eyes, and a brilliant countenance. His skin
glowed, and gave off a star-like sheen.

“Look at him! One of your own subjects!” his
guard spat. “Caught him trying to escape to the other side of the
frozen sea. The traitor killed five of our own men.”

The Fallen walked around the gleaming man,
searing him with his eyes. “So it has come to this. One of my own
followers. How is this possible?”

The man glared at The Fallen, not bothering
to shield his eyes from The Fallen’s brilliance. “I have awoken
from a deep sleep,” the man said, his eyes alight with defiance.
“And I will never be blinded by your deceptions again.”

“Blinded?” The Fallen repeated. “Don’t you
understand. You are blind now. The hope in which you put your trust
is a false hope. A fleeting flash, a flickering wick that will go
out with the slightest breeze. You must put your trust in me. I am
the only constant now.”