The Last Summoning---Andrew and the Quest of Orion's Belt (Book Four) (62 page)

This time there was no question as to who the
newcomer was. Freddie’s footfalls were unique, heavy, solid, like
the tone of his voice. Andrew let himself slide back against the
wall.

He closed his eyes listening to the gonging
of the bell as it tolled unrelentingly, unwearied by the
darkness---strong, and proud, and constant.

“Freddie?” Andrew whispered, seeing a dim
outline of Freddie’s glowing skin in the darkness. “Is that
you?”

“Yes,” Freddie answered, appearing out of the
darkness. “It is I.”

“What took you so long?”

Freddie shook his head. “I think I was seen.
I’m not sure. But I hid until I thought it was safe.”

“You were seen? By whom?”

Freddie chewed on his lower lip, nervously
drumming his fingers on the side of the wall. “I don’t know. It’s
hard to tell in this darkness. What matters now is that I found
some food.”

Andrew straightened himself, and licked his
lips. “Really? What about water?”

Freddie knelt down, and drew a black loaf of
bread from his cloak. “No. No water. But we have bread. It’s not
much. It tastes tolerable. Here, have a piece. We’ll wash it down
with some black snow. Come on, eat. You need to get your strength
up.”

Andrew took the piece of black bread and
forced himself to eat it. It tasted burnt, like charcoal. It was
dry, and stuck in his throat and teeth like bits of sand, making
him thirstier than ever. Freddie scooped up a handful of snow and
handed it to Andrew. “It’s got to be better than nothing.”

Andrew stared down at the cold snow. “I don’t
know…it might be worse.”

“It’s not so bad,” Freddie encouraged him,
munching a handful of snow. “It’s a bit salty…hmm…”

Unable to stand his thirst any longer, Andrew
licked the black snow. It was cold, and salty like Freddie had
said. It tasted black, brackish, oily, and addicting at the same
time. Andrew licked it once more, growing thirstier. He grimaced at
the bitter, salty taste, but continued licking it, feeling
thirstier with each lick. The dark snow turned Andrew’s teeth and
tongue black, yet he continued consuming it.

“We’ve got to stop,” Freddie panted, still
shoveling black snow into his mouth. “It’s bad. We shouldn’t eat
any more, Andrew. It’s no good. It just makes us thirstier. I was
wrong. We must stop, really.”

Andrew knew Freddie was right, but he
couldn’t help himself from consuming it. There was something in
that black snow that made him want more of it. It made him want to
never stop eating it. It made him so thirsty for more.

“We must stop!” Freddie commanded, knocking
the snow from Andrew’s hands and pulling him away from the
snow-covered sill.

“No!” Andrew cried out, thrashing against
Freddie. A stab of pain cut through his body. He groaned, pinching
his eyes shut.

“Be still,” Freddie soothed him.

Andrew breathed hard, and nodded. As the dark
snow hit his gut, he grimaced in pain. His stomach churned and
burbled.

“You’re right.” He pushed himself further
away from the window. He swallowed hard, trying to forget the
lingering, nasty taste of the addicting snow. “Everything The
Fallen has touched leaves you empty and thirsty for more.”

“Keep hoping, Andrew,” Freddie encouraged
him. “It is the only thing that separates us from the likes of
them.” He pointed through the window, to the darkened figures
prowling the grounds of The Fallen’s castle.

“I’m trying, Freddie,” Andrew said. “But the
darkness is working on me. I’m afraid that I’ll…”

Freddie glanced at Andrew, his wistful face
serious. “It’s working on me too. But we can’t let it grind us
down. Andrew. You need to remember what you were born for. Why you
came here, and the quest.”

“Born for this?” Andrew said, his voice
cracking. “To hide in the shadows while The Fallen takes power?
Freddie, I have failed. It’s over. We’ve lost. Look out there. The
darkness is here, in the room, out there, everywhere. I have no
mission anymore. There is no quest.”

“What?” Freddie cried, his voice loud and
angry. “It’s the blackened snow that you ate, that’s talking. You
know better than that. You hear that bell? Do you hear it?”

“Yes.”

“If you hear it, how can you not see? There
is not only darkness in this room, but hope. It shines through our
skin, and beats within us. Don’t let it go out, now. Keep it
burning. Don’t let this blanket of darkness and black snow fool
you. There are others out there. It is waking them, even as we
speak. I’m sure of it. We saw them flickering through the haze.
They are coming, Andrew. And when they get here, we need to be
ready. So hold on. There’s a reason we are here. If we lose hope,
how can we expect others to keep hold?

The Last Summoning

A heap of black snow drifted in through the window,
accumulating in great drifts around Andrew and Freddie. Andrew
shivered, and dusted the oily snow from his body, and tried to sit
up. He was stiff and sore. His lips were cracked, and his chest
felt cold and heavy. Yet, the pain had subsided a little, for
now.

Something had awakened him. But he wasn’t
sure what. He sat there, staring at the darkness, trying to
pinpoint the reason for the gnawing feeling that had caused him to
wake.

He had forgotten something. But what was it?
The darkness was profound. It was filled with eyes that had no
faces, filled with sounds that had no form. He wondered how long he
had slept. He had no way of telling how long it had been, or how
long they had spent lingering like shadows, in the dark room.

There was a heavy, subdued feeling in the
air, as if the world had totally and finally given in and succumbed
to The Fallen’s will. The feeling was frightening as if the
continual gnawing of the darkness had finally worn away all
resistance.

Freddie was still asleep. Andrew wanted to
wake him, just for the comfort of having someone one to talk
to.

“Freddie?” Andrew whispered.

“Huh?” Freddie groaned, rubbing his eyes.

“You awake?”

“Yeah?” He yawned. “What is it?”

“I don’t know. It feels as if something, or
someone is gone. Something is…I don’t know…missing.”

Freddie sat up, and listened. His eyes grew
wide. “Yes. Something
is
missing. The bell has stopped
ringing.”

They both looked at each other in alarm. The
familiar sound of the throbbing bell had ceased, leaving a severe,
gaping, empty hole that was instantly filled by an intense weary
silence that dripped with a pregnated want of sound.

“It has stopped,” Andrew said, pushing
himself against the window. “Why did it stop?” He stared out
through the window, straining his eyes to see through the mist. He
could see nothing but the restrained light of The Fallen shining
out from one of his many towers. No other light shone. No other
sound, except shifting shadows stirred.

“Is it over?” Andrew asked. “Why has it
stopped?”

Freddie leaned out over the window ledge
fanning the thick blackness as if trying to push it aside to see
through the eternal darkness, his skin glowing yellow-white, like
gold ingots gleaming in a darkened mine.

“Andrew,” Freddie breathed, his voice laced
with excitement.

“What is it?”

“Look,” Freddie pointed in the direction of
the Fractured Mountains. “Over there, through the mist. Look. Do
you see it?”

Andrew pushed himself closer to the window
and leaned out, straining his eyes in the direction Freddie had
pointed. He pressed his lips together, boring holes in the darkness
with is eyes. He could see nothing but the never-ending pool of
blackness. All the light ignited by hope seemed to have
vanished.

He turned to Freddie, and opened his mouth,
but the words caught in his throat. He glanced back out the window.
A stiff wind came up, and stirred through the darkness, thinning it
just enough for Andrew to see a small glimpse of what Freddie had
seen. Thousands upon thousands of pinpricks of light gleamed
through the mist, like a sea of golden, yellow stars flickering on
a stormy night, all moving together towards The Fallen’s domain.
The light glowed against the blackness as if challenging it. Then,
as instantly as the beautiful scene came, it disappeared in a haze
of darkness.

“Did you see that?” Freddie cried, shaking
Andrew. “They have come! THEY HAVE COME! IT IS THE LAST
SUMMONING!”

Andrew’s eyes were wide, his face ridden with
disbelief. “Was it real?”

Freddie’s face lit up with excitement. “Yes,
I’m sure it was. Those were people, Andrew. Real people. Like you
and me. Coming together to fight this darkness. People who are full
of light.” His voice broke off as he stared down at Andrew’s sword
that was glowing in the corner of the room, growing steadily
brighter with each moment. “Your sword, Andrew, look...”

Gradually, the darkened room awoke from its
deep slumber, in a flash of light. The light from the sword cast
out every shadow. It filled the room with a burning, glorious light
that glistened off the mirrored floors, until the room seemed to
sparkle.

Andrew stared down at his sword, his eyes
laced with fear and wonder. It gleamed against the mirrored floors.
Its light reflected in every direction---a light so concentrated,
so powerful that it frightened him.

“It is time, Andrew!” Freddie cried. “Take
it. It is yours to hold.”

Andrew looked from the sword to Freddie, the
memory of The Fallen sinking its sharp blade into his flesh washed
over him. It was in his mind that he feared the sword, distrusted
it. But his heart told him a truth that he could not shut out. He
clutched his chest, and closed his eyes, listening to his heart
beat against his chest. It was not the sword he feared, but
himself.

In it he had seen his weakness. He alone was
not strong enough to defeat The Fallen, though he had wished it.
But now he was no longer alone. The hope in his heart rose and
throbbed, growing stronger with the light that shone from the
sword.

“Take it!” Freddie commanded again.

Breathing deeply, Andrew took courage and
carefully closed his good hand around the sword’s hilt, afraid of
what he might feel. Instead of the emptiness he had once felt, it
felt warm and comforting in his hands. A surge of strength and hope
washed over him, transforming every cell of his body, filling him
with light.

Andrew held the sword, staring at its
blinding reflection in the mirrors. His arms filled with renewed
strength. His dead arm that had grown stiff and numb, began to
tingle as strength surged into it. He pulled away the sling, and
opened and shut his fingers, feeling the power burn through him, an
unstoppable force of light. The pain from his wound vanished. He
was instantly filled him with vigor and life that felt multiplied,
expansive, brilliant, freeing, and unhindered.

A surge of hope pulsed through him. It was
the hope of thousands upon thousands of souls all made manifest
inside him, inside the sword, quailing the fear of facing The
Fallen this last time. His glowing skin grew brighter. His face
shone. The hope he now felt had utterly and completely washed him
of the fear that had shrouded him in darkness.

He stood tall, as health and vitality, power
and strength pulsed through his arms. He knew that the strength he
felt was not just his own. No. He carried with him the hopes of all
the valiant hearts and hands that now marched in his behalf, in
behalf of their lives, their freedom, and for all that was good and
true.

The Last Summoning was now. This very moment.
Those that heard its final call, wakened in the darkness. They
began to see clearly, though shrouded in shadow. A multitude had
gathered together. Brilliant and solid. They stood together,
united, coming together from the four corners of the world, their
faces alight with the light of hope and truth. This hope lit their
way through the darkness, until they had gathered into a massive
number, a force brighter and greater than the great hosts of
darkness that gathered against them. The mists of darkness could
not shut out their light, no matter how hard it tried to conceal
the mighty army now marching towards The Fallen’s realm.

The time had indeed come. Andrew knew it. He
felt it. He could see it.

The light had not died. It was inside
themselves waiting for someone to hold on to it.

The Battle Of Hope Rises

From the hidden scrolls in Kesper’s Library

The beauty of hope is that no matter how pathetic
and hapless a task, may seem, the voice of hope knows no
boundaries.

It ignores important facts, and highlights only the
most essential. It is the voice of encouragement that eggs you on
when you want to quit, and it gives you that extra ounce of
willpower to go on.

It does not look at facts or figures. It does not
look outward.

It looks in. It sees the deep, good, beautiful
things inside you and brings them to the surface. It knows what you
are made of and how much you can take, not how much you are or
aren’t, but how much you can and could be.

It is the voice of encouragement that whispers,
“Perhaps you may win, all the same. Perhaps you will find what you
are looking for. There is a chance. Don’t wait, act. Look, and if
you look hard enough you will find. Speak, and let your voice be
heard.”

Hope looks out over the rejection and heartache and
says, “Keep trying. I see things you do not.”

Hope doesn’t see or count how many times you have
failed. It doesn’t count, period. Math is not required in the
equation of hope. It is exponential. It just looks out, lifts and
says I’m here; do you believe in me? I believe in you. Hope is no
respecter of persons. It gives freely to all who listen to its
voice. Hope lives in cracks and holes, and goes through doors
without hinges. It keeps company with those who struggle every day
to find themselves. Hope strives with the artist, musician, the
soldier. Hope lives because in her, is truth. No matter how small a
truth it is, this foundation is strong and unbreakable.