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

by Ivory Autumn

  “Oh my dear Lancedon, I have missed you,” She moved closer, and wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed her lips to his. Her kiss enveloped him with the warmth of summer. It caressed his heart and cast a spell of peace over his troubled mind.

  He pulled back from her embrace. He ran his fingers along her face, tracing her smiling lips, her big eyes, and her long, warm hair. “Where are we?” he wondered.

  Coral’s voice filled with mystery. “We are in a barn. You, Sterling, and myself. All safe.”

  “Sterling is alright?”

  “Yes. My brother is fine. He’s sleeping for now. He woke before you, and is resting again. When you are well, we will leave this place. I have your horses and food prepared for our journey. ”

  “I don’t understand. How? How did you get us here? All I can remember is fire and smoke.”

  Coral stroked Lancedon’s hair and murmured in a soft, pleasant voice. “You called for help and I came. The diamond flower does not summon without due cause.”

  “Then it was growing, after all…” Lancedon said, remembering the strange plant growing in his prison cell.

  Lancedon fingered Coral’s hair, pressing it to his lips. “But how did you save us from the fire? I do remember hearing thunder, and people crying out. But everything else is hazy.”

  Coral kissed his cheek, and stared at him with smiling eyes. “Rain.”

  Lancedon leaned in closer to Coral, mesmerized by the warmth her skin radiated, feeling drawn to her like a moth captivated by a glowing orb. He placed her hand on his cheek, and flinched. Her hand was so hot that it caused the already burned skin on his face to throb.

  She pulled away from him. “Sorry, I think I’m burning your burns.”

  “No,” Lancedon exclaimed. “Besides, I would rather be burned by you more than anyone else.”

  “Not if you could see your blistered hands, and poor red, smoke-stained face.” Coral pressed a cool rag with a soothing paste, onto his hands and cheeks.

  Lancedon closed his eyes and sighed. “Ah, that feels nice.”

  Coral continued wrapping his feet and arms with the healing salve.

  “Coral?” Lancedon said. “Do you care so much that I am blind?”

  “Yes. It makes me very sad.”

  Lancedon released her arm, and leaned his back against the wall. His heart was heavy. He wondered what a wonderful woman like Coral was doing helping a blind, helpless man like him.

  “Lancedon,” Coral said. Her voice sounded hurt. “Don’t you know that love is blind? I wouldn’t care for you less if you were missing an arm. I love you. And you don’t have to see my face to know that.”

  Lancedon’s eyes filled with tears. He covered his face with his hands and began to weep. This was the first time he had really cried. Even after all that had happened, he had held it in. But now this was too much. “But why?” he asked, his shoulders shaking with sobs. “I am a broken man.”

  Coral wiped his tears. “Only a broken man can be made whole by someone he loves, and someone who loves him. If you have me, you are no longer broken. Together, we are whole. I will be your eyes.”

  He groped for Coral’s hands. He held them tightly. “If you are my eyes, then what do you see?”

  Coral smiled, her eyes filling with a distant glimmer as she stared at Lancedon. “I see a strong, courageous man who still believes in freedom. Someone who will not give in or give up. Someone who sees what this country could be, someone who will do everything in his power to let his voice be heard, and his message be spread.”

  “Do you really see all that?” Lancedon asked.

  “Yes,” Coral answered, “And I see ever so much more.”

  Chapter Three

  Waking the Desert

  The time had come. Today was it. Morack had prepared his people. A month had passed, and all had gone better than expected.

  With help from The Fallen’s vast resources of slaves and soldiers, he had amassed huge stores of food, water, and other necessities that were sure to soon be in short supply.

  All was in order.

  The time had come. What he was about to unleash, and the effects it would have on the world, he could only imagine.

  He could feel his ego itch, and his lust for power swell and tighten in his chest at the thought of the great power that was sure to be his once The Drought had done his work. Every weapon would be taken. Every means of resistance stopped.

  Once it was done, it could never be undone.

  No one could stop what was coming. Only welcome it, obey it, appease it.

  His stores of food and water were not just mere provisions. They were power.

  The Drought was waiting.

  The morning was quiet, and almost peaceful. The sun shone down on the city, almost as if it was trying to uncover the truth and penetrate the smog of lies that lingered over the city.

  Morack had a great scowl on his leathery face as he exited his castle. Just the thought of releasing The Drought made him thirsty. He licked his lips, and quietly made his way to his horse that was waiting in the courtyard. A servant helped him onto his powerful horse, and held the reins while Morack spoke to the few men who where waiting to go with him.

  “Men,” Morack’s powerful voice cried, “today you will help bring about a great change, not only in Danspire, but in the whole world. You are to come with me. Speak to no one of what you see or hear. Your oath of silence is the reason why I have chosen you few to help me. However, may I remind you that if you break this oath, I will not hesitate to silence you very quickly. Do you understand?”

  His men all nodded, and shouted, “yes.”

  Morack smiled. “Good. Now let us be off!”

  The gates of the city were opened, and Morack and his men took off through the fields of Danspire, and over the plains into the sweltering desert of Drycrust, where the seasons never changed, and the land was always hot and dusty. They traveled several days over the towering sand dunes, through waterless stretches of land, until they found themselves on the pinnacle of one of the largest dunes. It towered above the rest like an ominous wave waiting to drown out all the other dunes with its thick sheets of sand.

  “We are here,” Morack said, licking his dry lips and steering his horse to the bottom of the great dune, where a solitary well stood. The well looked out of place, and strange, like something that had been put there by accident. It was a place that looked like it might have been an oasis. But to look at it now, seemed a mockery, something opposite of an oasis. The well, standing there in the dry, sandy-brown, hot desert, made the land seem thirstier and hungrier for water, than ever.

  The men with Morack leapt off their horses and ran to the well. “Water!” they all cried, pushing and shoving as they dipped a bucket down. But when they brought it back up, the bucket was full of sand.

  “Not a single drop of water,” Morack’s men complained. “What kind of well is this?”

  Morack stood over the well, letting the sand sift between his fingers. He smiled. “It’s a dry well---The Well of Drought.”

  “Well of Drought?” the men questioned

  “Yes. If one grain of its sand, just one, touches your lips, you will be thirsty for all of eternity.”

  Morack’s men shrank away from the well, frightened by such ominous words. “If this is true, why are we lingering here, Morack?” one of the men asked.

  “It’s frightening, isn’t it?” Morack murmured, more to himself than to his men. “To be thirsty. Thirst can cause men of the noblest blood to cower, to become beggars. We all need water. The best and worst of us. It is a commodity that many thirsty men would give their life for.” He laughed, half heartedly, and dropped the bucket of sand back into the well. “Arise!” he commanded, letting a single drop of water from his canteen fall into the dry well.

  As the water hit the bottom of the well, the ground rumbled. A great gust of wind seemed to catch the entire sand dune behind them, tossing it into the air.

  Morac
k and his men fell to the ground and covered their faces with their capes as the wind and sand whipped over them, howling, and angry. The sand and wind beat into their skin, grinding away at them, unforgiving, and vengeful.

  Then as suddenly as it had begun, the wind stopped. A dry, gritty sound of someone laughing echoed from deep within the well. A large puff of sand and steam shot up from the well. With each laugh rivulets of heat, and sand swirled around them.

  “Drought?” Morack asked, dusting sand out of his hair. He rubbed his tongue over his sand covered teeth, and took a step towards the well, only to stop. The ground shook as another succession of throaty coughs echoed from within the well. There was a loud grating sound, and a thump, thump, thump. With each thump, dust was catapulted into the air from the bottom of the well, accompanied by a throaty moan. When the dust settled, Morack narrowed his eyes, and peered into the dark hole, only to jump back as a huge, dry hand reached out and grasped the side of the well, nearly yanking him in. Morack yelped, and cowered before the dry, crumbly-looking creature emerging from the well. The dry being coughed, and sneezed, sending a cloud of dust and sand swirling into the air.

  When the dust cleared, Morack gasped, and drew his sword. Perched on the side of the well was The Drought himself. He looked at Morack with dry eyes that caused Morack’s skin to itch and peel.

  “Don’t look at me!” Morack commanded. “It makes me thirsty.”

  “And so it should,” the gruff voice of The Drought replied. “Your body is made up of mostly water…and drying up liquid is what I do best.”

  Morack shook an angry finger at the dry creature. “Look at me like that again, and I will send you back to where you came from.”

  The Drought laughed and licked his dry lips with a sandy, brown tongue. “You couldn’t send me back, even if you wanted to. I am free to do as I wish.”

  Morack narrowed his eyes. “Not totally free. You are bound to fulfill all my commands, since I was the one who released you. In order for you to not be thrust back into that well, The Fallen gave me the power to release you, and if you do not do as I ask, he can put you back just as easily as I called you out.”

  The Drought frowned and stared at Morack with thirsty eyes. “Very well then, what task do you require at my hand?”

  The Drought stepped nearer.

  Morack’s face filled with alarm. He held up his hands to keep The Drought from coming any closer. “That’s close enough.”

  The Drought stopped, and laughed, sending a spray of dust into Morack’s face.

  Morack covered his face with his cape, and coughed. “That’s…quite enough. You are to free to roam anywhere you wish. Only Danspire, you must leave untouched. Do you understand?”

  The Drought nodded, his crusty lips turning into a wide grin. “I will do this. You can be sure of my work. No one, not even The Fallen can question my thoroughness.”

  “Yes. You will do an excellent job at making everything ugly,” Morack agreed. “But you must remember to leave Danspire out of this.”

  “I will do my best, but I cannot be responsible for what happens once I get started. Once I start, my work consumes me, my thirst for more takes over…”

  “You must be responsible!” Morack shouted, averting his eyes from the sweltering being.

  The Drought stared at Morack with eyes full of pride and power. “I will be responsible for nothing! You are the one who has released me.”

  Morack scowled and stepped away from the dry creature, wiping sweat from his brow. “You will obey me, you crusty, water sponge!”

  “I obey no one!”

  “You will leave Danspire alone!”

  The Drought laughed, and turned away from Morack. “We shall see.”

  Morack clenched his fists. “Good. Go. Get out of here. You really make me thirsty.”

  The Drought smiled so big that it caused part of its dry skin to wrinkle and fall off his face. “Now, if you really want me to make you thirsty I can.”

  “No, I don’t want you to make me anything. Goodbye. And I hope that we will never meet again.”

  “Oh, but I’m sure we will.”

  “We had better not.” Morack turned away from The Drought and mounted his horse. “Farewell,” he said, casting The Drought one last apprehensive glance, wondering at the powerful monster he’d released into the world.

  Chapter Four

  Root and Shadow

  Andrew gripped his sword, watching the shadows, and the greasy, black bodies of the dark thoughts as they formed out of the black ground of The Shade’s Trees. They stared out at Andrew with burning eyes, watching, and waiting.

  Yes, Andrew concluded, these were indeed the darkest thoughts of men, given shape and form. How disgusting and repulsive they looked. Hungry and angry, devilish and selfish. They looked at him with such hate, as if they knew he had destroyed the three trees that had given them life. He and Freddie called these nameless blobs of dirt, and filth, parasites. For that is what they appeared to be. Slimy, like slugs. Slippery, large, and black---things that had grown, nurtured and spawned underground by the three evil trees, and by men’s vile thoughts.

  Andrew stared back into the faces of his foes, foreboding filling his mind. He and Freddie had to leave this place. Had to find a way out. He and Freddie had already spent too much time resting in the white circle of sand, basking in the three white tree’s light, partaking of the fruit, and gaining their strength as they prepared for the journey ahead. However, the longer they stayed, the more restless Andrew became. The nights seemed long and drawn out. The trees that offered them protection called to Andrew as he slept, whispering to him of dark things to come, urging him to go.

  The trees’ voices were insistent, pleading, yet kind. Andrew turned and made his way over to one of the glistening white trees. The three trees’ silvery bark shimmered in the darkness, casting light onto his face, like water reflecting the light of the moon. How he would miss this place of peace. This haven. He plucked a large glistening leaf. It was shaped like a star, and felt comforting in his fingers. It smelled fresh, light, like a well-used pillow that gives one comfort at the end of a long day.

  “I will miss you,” he whispered, staring up at the trees.

  In answer, a great wind came out of nowhere, and rustled through their branches. “Leaf, leave, leaf, leave,” the hushed, voices of the trees whispered.

  Andrew placed the leaf he had picked into his pack, and nodded. “Yes. It is time.” The grim prospect of what was ahead gave Andrew no comfort.

  “Time for what?” Freddie asked, appearing behind him. His eyes were shining. He looked well rested, and almost content.

  Andrew pointed to the trees. “They say it’s time to leave.”

  Freddie nodded. “Yes. I know. I’ve packed our bags. I’ve got us enough fruit from these trees to last us for awhile.”

  Andrew stared at Freddie, analyzing his friend with careful eyes. “You can hear them too?” He pointed to the trees.

  Freddie shrugged. “I don’t have to. I saw it on your face this morning when I awoke.”

  Andrew placed his hood over his head and turned his gaze to the edge of the white clearing where the shadows and gooey bodies of the parasites---the darkest thoughts of men prowled around the circle of light, waiting for their chance. The contrast between the pure ground, and the shadows that surrounded it, was chilling.

  “You ready?” Andrew asked, casting Freddie a weak grin.

  “No.”

  “Me neither.”

  “Good,” Freddie breathed, hoisting his pack over his shoulders. “Then, we’ll both be equally as scared.”

  They walked to the edge of the clearing and stood at the line that divided the light from the dark. As they neared it, shadows swirled and churned through the air, reaching for them like ink dripped into a jar of milk.

  Andrew held his sword ready. He looked behind him at Freddie. “I’ll go first, and you stay behind me, okay?”

  Before Freddie coul
d answer, Andrew had already stepped over the line into the land of shadow.

  “Wait, Andrew!” Freddie cried, bolting after Andrew.

  The second Andrew crossed the line, he was hit in the face with a gust of darkness. The temperature was colder, and the air stunk like beetles. Everywhere was shrouded in numberless concourses of shadows. They churned through the air like black sheets that tore and tugged, and yanked. The bodies of the parasites, mingled in shadow, flooded around him. The air was so thick that he had to cover his face with his cape, to avoid breathing in the shadows.

  “Stay behind me, Freddie,” Andrew cried, raising his sword and bringing it down into the mass of shadows. The Shadows and parasites shivered and whooshed out of his way, like a school of fish disturbed by a rock thrown into a pool.

  They instantly re-formed around Freddie and Andrew, eyeing his weapon with dingy respect. The sword’s light was dim, too dim. It flickered uncertainly in the company of so many shadows.

  “Andrew,” Freddie murmured through clenched teeth, “what now?”

  “Just stay close to me, okay.”

  “Brilliant. As if I would do otherwise.”

  Andrew took a step forward, suddenly coming to a stop before a dark shadow that loomed high above them casting him in darkness like a threatening cloud.

  Andrew brought his sword against the dark pillar. His sword hit the unbending shadow in a flurry of sparks. The shadow stood unmoving, absorbing the sword’s light into its darkness, until the sword’s blade dimmed, flickered then went out.

  That instant, it felt as if the legions of hell descended upon Andrew and Freddie, as both Shadow and the earthy bodies of the dark parasites closed in around them.

  A grubby hand of a parasite grabbed Andrew’s leg and yanked him to the ground. The second he hit the ground, another parasite pounced on him and jerked the sword from his hands. A hideous feeling enveloped him as the sword left his hands. Instantly, the shadows and parasites swarmed around him filling the air. The light from the sky above was completely blocked out. Screams and cackles and cries of lament filled his ears. He tried to move, but the parasites had latched onto him like slime, binding him to the ground. The weight of the shadows, and the pull from the parasites was too great. It was if he was buried in the darkest abyss. His lungs heaved, crying out for air. Where was Freddie? Where was his sword? Was there nothing he could do? There were no words for the intensity of the fear Andrew felt at that moment.