The Last Summoning---Andrew and the Quest of Orion's Belt (Book Four) (60 page)

“If this darkness is the only constant in
which I can put my trust, I would rather put my trust in a small
shaft of hope that radiates and gives, than a darkness that demands
worship, and consumes everything in its path.”

The Fallen’s eyes smoldered with burning
anger. “You know that to radiate this false light of hope, or to
radiate any light, except my own, is forbidden. Yet still you
continue to cling to this hope. Why? What is the reason? Why, when
you know there is nothing to gain from it except your own
death?”

“Does there have to be a reason for it?” The
man asked. “Hope can exist when there is no reason. That is why. It
is a candle that creates its own wax, one that never burns out so
long as you believe in it.”

The Fallen looked baffled. “Can it? Can life
exist when there is no air? Can trees exist without earth? Can rain
exist where there are no clouds? Can fire burn when there is no
fuel? I think not.”

The man shook his head, his face shining with
light. “Yes, it can, and it does. It burns inside of me, and it
burns in the hearts of many others like me. It will grow into a
consuming fire that will put your light to shame, and devour your
darkness into nothing!”

“You have spoken treason!” The Fallen roared.
“It is you who will be consumed! This hope cannot exist for no
reason. There has to be a reason for it. Some thing, some
person…”

The man grew bold. He stood tall as he faced
The Fallen, staring into his all-consuming eyes with his own
brilliant countenance. “The beauty of hope is that it can exist
where there is no air, light, ground, clouds, or even life. It is a
galaxy of its own. Those who choose to orbit around it are warmed
by its light. You may try to shut it out, but it will rise again,
and again. It is a light that never goes out. NEVER!”

The Fallen’s face gleamed with wrath. “NEVER?
That is a strong word. Ah, I see now. You are confused, and mislead
by this false hope. For that is what it is. It creates its own
twisted reality, one quite different than everyone else sees. It
deceives those it settles on with dreams that can never be, moving
them into rash actions that can never be undone. Yet, however
foolish it is, I will use this hope for my own benefit.” He laughed
and placed a dark hand on the man, sucking in the man’s light into
his own nostrils. “Are you so sure this hope will never go
out?”

“It will shine on long after you have
passed!” The man gasped for air. He struggled back. But the pull of
The Fallen was too strong. The man’s face drained of all light and
color as the Fallen inhaled the man’s light of life. The man’s
glowing countenance faded as the light of his skin passed into The
Fallen. The man fell forward, dead, his light absorbed into the
life of The Fallen. The Fallen smiled, his gleaming countenance
brightening.

“Let them have their hope,” The Fallen
murmured, turning from the fallen man. “For it will only give me
more fuel.”

He laughed and turned his eyes to the
distance where he could see a great body of glowing souls gathering
together.

“Just as easily as Hope gathers,” he
breathed. “It will be dispersed.”

Shafts Of Hope

Andrew felt himself drawn from his body and thrust
through a portal of light. He now stood at the entrance of two
magnificent white doors whose greatness and magnitude far exceeded
the brilliance of The Fallen. The cracks beneath the doors let out
warm rays of light, heralding something wonderful. Behind the doors
he could hear singing and laughter. He yearned to go inside. He
glanced at the black mist behind him and shivered. It was so dark
back there, so uncertain. The darkness behind him only increased
his desire to step through the door and into the light, where hope
of brighter things lay. He placed his hands on the doors and tried
to open them. But they were locked. He tried again, pulling against
the doors with all his might. Why wouldn’t they open? He grabbed
the doors once again. To his surprise they opened a crack, letting
out a shaft of light so bright that he was transfixed by it. He
reached out and touched it. The light felt warm, and alive. He
traced his fingers in the light, molding it like clay. He smiled
and pushed through the concentrated light, but was held back by an
unseen force.

“Not yet,” a gentle voice murmured. The voice
was Rhapsody’s. “Not yet, but soon. Very soon.”

“Rhapsody?” He cried, glancing around him.
“Where are you?” He pulled at the doors once more. They opened
wider, letting the wonderful light flow over him. But before he
could enter, a cold wind rushed up, blowing Andrew back, back,
back, slamming the door with a terrific bang.

At that same instant, Andrew’s eyes flew
open. A ringing resounded in his ears, gong, gong, gong! The sound
was piercing and urgent, calling him back from the doors he had so
longed to enter. A terrible pain throbbed in his chest, causing him
to breathe in short labored breaths. The pain swelled with the
ringing of the music that tolled. It was a pain he had thought he
had left far behind him with his body.

Yet still he lingered in his body, called
back by the strange tolling voice. And for what?

He did not know.

The world was drenched in shadow so heavy
that Andrew could feel it cling to his skin like sticky tar. It
encircled him on all sides, pressing him with heaviness. He cried
out, his hand going to his chest. He felt the wet blood that oozed
from the place where his own sword had entered his chest. He
moaned, yearning for the door he had been pulled away from. He
trembled all over and started to cough up blood. He could feel
himself losing consciousness, fading out again. The darkness wanted
him, tormented him, but the sound in the distance pounded in his
ears all the more, louder and louder. It kept his heart beating
with the incessant gonging. It seemed as if he clung onto a great
precipice and the throbbing clang was the only thing holding him
inches from the clutches of death. He could not understand the
sound, only that it called out to him without ceasing.

Oh, how he wanted to sleep, oh how he wanted
to go back to where he had felt finally at peace. Still, the sound
continued to chime in the darkness, beautiful, mysterious, growing
stronger with every throb. Where the sound came from, Andrew
couldn’t tell. With each chime he felt all the more tormented. He
wanted to be set free, wanted to escape from the darkness, from the
pain. But the music clutched him in a firm grip that would not be
easily broken.

The stirring sound rose and swelled through
the darkness, gong, gong, gonging, over and over. Andrew cried out,
clutching at the gash in his chest, torn by the pull of death and
the tug the music had on him.

Had he been at the doors of heaven, only to
be thrust to the gates of hell?

The gonging continued ringing through the
land, rippling through the cover of darkness as if challenging it,
causing parts of the thick sheet of blackness to thin, and crack in
places. Through such a crack, a brilliant yellow bird-like creature
flew, with feathers of light, sending shafts of radiance into the
dark corridors of The Fallen’s castle. The creature did not mind
the darkness. In fact, it soared and darted into the darkest places
it could.

It settled on the window in The Fallen’s
chambers and perched on the sill, overlooking Andrew. The bird sat
there, a beam of light and hope. Its glow glimmered on
the mirrored floors, in the impenetrable
darkness, twittering out a cheery song into a bitter world. Andrew
felt a ghost of a smile appear on his lips as he listened to its
music. The music relaxed Andrew and caused him to forget all else.
The music fed his hungry soul, and caused him to hope. It was a
funny feeling, hope, in this great darkness. Hope. Where had it
come from?

It seemed so ironic to have hope in such a
state. He was dying. But there it was. Hope, shining brilliantly
and unexplainably in the darkened room of The Fallen. Hope. It
pulled him back from the clutches of death, caused his weary heart
to revive. It was a wonderful sound!

The glowing bird fluttered its wings and
hopped about on the sill, singing. It stopped and seemed as if it
might flutter out the window and perhaps go somewhere else to cheer
up another spot of gloomy land, or to be consumed by the gloom
itself.

Andrew felt a sudden panic at the thought of
the glowing bird leaving him alone in such darkness.

“Please,” he moaned. “Don’t…go.” The bird
seemed to understand Andrew’s words. It cooed gently and stretched
out its yellow wings, gliding onto Andrew’s chest. It sat there, a
fluttering, uncontainable beam of light. It opened its wings and
covered Andrew’s bleeding wound with its feathers, melting into his
skin, causing the gaping hole in his chest to stop bleeding, and to
form a thin scab. He cried out in pain as the bird melted in a
brilliant shaft of light, seeping into his skin. A strange,
fluttery, excited feeling began to beat in his heart, growing
stronger with each second. Ever so slowly his skin began to glow,
flickering with his labored breaths, illuminating the dark room as
if he was a weary lamp.

Gong, gong, gong! The unrelenting bell tolled
in the distance, gripping him even more as if holding him in this
world by force. “Go, go, go, get up. Live, live, live!” the sound
of the bell unmercifully chanted. Though his wound had stopped
bleeding, and the pain lessened, he felt weak and unable to
move.

“Get up,” the tolling music seemed to
command. “Get up!” Andrew groaned. He scooted himself to the wall
and leaned against it, heaving with pain. “I’m up,” he murmured,
ripping a piece of his cloak and placing it over his wound. He
closed his eyes, feeling himself slipping again. “No!” the bell
tolled, “your sword, take it! Take it.”

“I don’t want the sword anymore,” Andrew
murmured, tears of frustration coming to his eyes. “I’m so tired.
Just let me go. Why can’t you let me go?” His glowing skin
flickered with his faltering voice, and his sputtering hope.

Footsteps approached through the darkness.
Andrew groaned, and pressed himself against the wall, too tired and
weak to move. Even with the flickering light emanating from his
skin, the room was still draped with darkness. The footsteps slowed
to a shuffle. He could hear breathing. Then through the darkness, a
dim outline of a figure appeared. The outline grew brighter and
brighter until Freddie’s face appeared through the darkness.
Freddie’s skin glowed, too, as if he had swallowed a healthy
serving of warm, healthy sunshine.

“Andrew?” Freddie’s voice ventured, unsure
and guarded. He held a sword in front of him and stepped nearer.
“Is that you?”

Before Andrew could answer, Freddie ran to
him and knelt by his side. “Oh Andrew! It is you!”

“Freddie,” Andrew cried, clasping Freddie’s
arms. “I thought you’d been killed.”

“Oh, they tried,” Freddie said. “But it’s
going to take a lot more than a rope to kill me.”

“Freddie,” Andrew breathed, “The
others…Ivory? Is she safe?”

Freddie shook his head. “I don’t know. After
I was questioned, they separated us. I haven’t seen Ivory or
Croffin for several days. But I did see Talic. He is alive. Or he
was, the last I saw him. I do hope he’s faring better than
you.”

Freddie ripped a piece of cloth from his
cloak and pressed it to Andrew’s wound, where blood seeped around
the scab and pooled on the ground. “My, Andrew, you look terrible.
But these days, terrible is pretty good. You could be much worse
you know…”

“I’m not sure if it gets worse than this.”
Andrew gazed at Freddie with glistening eyes, and smiled. Freddie’s
skin glowed brilliantly beneath his clothes. He had a nasty gash
across his forehead and scalp. His hair and left ear were covered
in blood. His face was plastered in coal dust. His left eye was
black and nearly swollen shut, and he had a nasty purple bruise all
around his neck.

“You…don’t look so swell yourself,” Andrew
murmured.

Freddie smiled, and shrugged. “I suppose
that’s the price one pays for claiming they’re someone they are
not. Counterfeits only get hanged, whereas real one’s get
stabbed.”

“Hanged?” Andrew questioned. “How is it that
you are still alive?”

Freddie shrugged, and rubbed his swollen eye.
“How am I still alive? Well, I’ll tell you. I’m not exactly sure.
But those marks in my hands got really hot, and burned through the
ropes on my arms. Then I was able to burn the ropes around my
neck.

“That’s incredible.” Andrew’s face grew
serious. “Maybe you’re not really a counterfeit, Freddie.”

“Don’t be fooled, Andrew. Counterfeits are
useful in their own right, but they can never replace the real
thing.”

“Perhaps they can,” Andrew said. His voice
sounded weary. He closed his eyes, squeezing back a stab of
pain.