by Ivory Autumn
“Help!” he cried, grasping for solid ground. “Help!”
He moaned, and glanced down at his hefty companion. “I’m sorry but I may have to leave you after all. Just as he said those words, a small, ivory-white hand reached out and caught hold of his, pulling him to safety.
He stood panting before a small girl about ten years of age. She looked angry. Her face and skin looked unearthly, almost ghostlike.
“Hurry,” she said, grabbing Gogindy’s hand. “You mustn’t stay here. This is the place of the dead. Many brave souls fought and died here. The ground was hallowed by the blood of many, who were not supposed to die. So the ground, out of shame and respect for those slain, covers the bones of the dead.
“But I am not dead.”
“You wished to be dead. And your heart had no hope. A heart without hope is very dead.”
Gogindy folded his arms and growled. “Wishing to be dead, and being dead are two very different things.”
“No, they are not. The ground does not know the difference so it reaches out to claim its own.”
“Are you dead?”
“Yes,”
“Then how are you…talking to me? Shouldn’t little girls be in heaven?”
“I was, but your presence brought me here for the moment. I was the daughter of the captain that died right where you slept.”
Gogindy looked distraught. “Did he win? Oh, but he died, and so did you? Then I guess not.”
“Yes, the battle was won, but my father sacrificed his life for the cause of freedom, as did a vast multitude of soldiers. It was a battle of battles. After the battle, all the armor and every weapon, of both dead and living, were melted together into the bell of Conroy, in memory of those who fought on this field of battle for freedom. A freedom that must always be retained and remembered and preserved. The bell was erected so that its voice could ring out over the land and waken the people to remember. That is the bell you must ring to awaken hope in the hearts of men. You must not linger here, but hurry. Time is running out.”
Gogindy eyes filled with astonishment. “You know about the Bell of Conroy?”
“Yes.”
“You?” Gogindy balked. “But you are so small.”
“And so are you,” the girl replied. “But that does not make a difference, now does it? Little people can know things just as big people can.”
Gogindy shook his head. “I guess you’re right. But sometimes it doesn’t seem like it. I guess I just don’t think I know as much as I thought I did.”
The girl looked at Gogindy with stern eyes. “You guess? You must know, Gogindy. In times like these, you must know, or you will be swiftly swept from your purpose. How do you ever hope to ring the bell if you do not have hope, yourself?”
Gogindy sniffed, and rubbed his whiskers nervously. “I have hope.”
The girl looked at him with hard eyes, and slowly shook her head. “You don’t, right now. But you may, in time. When hope is in your heart, it sings to you. It makes you feel alive when death is looking you in the eye. It breathes life into those who are dead. It heals the saddened heart. Gives sight to the blind. It lights paths that are dark, and claims victory where there is defeat.”
Gogindy took a step towards the girl. “Really? It can do all that?”
“Yes. And much more. Now you must hurry and leave. Your heart holds many dead things. And that makes the land think you are dead.”
Gogindy looked at his furry chest with worried eyes. “It does?”
“Yes,” the girl said. “I’m afraid so. Dead dreams, memories of those gone past, and many unfinished things. You must try to get rid of the dead weight you carry. A heavy heart will weigh you down more than any physical burden you carry, and make it impossible for you to move forward.”
Gogindy looked at his feet. The ground around them was starting to crumble. He could feel his feet sinking into the earth. “Hurry!” the girl said, grabbing his hand and pulling him forward.
“I’m hurrying,” Gogindy cried, running after the phantom. “But where do I go from here? Where is the tower?”
The girl stopped and looked at him, her eyes glowing a brilliant blue. “Your heart knows. Rid yourself of fear, and replace it with hope, and it will take you where the bell is. Your heart and the bell will resonate as one. And when it does, a mighty battle will take place, far greater than the one of old. A battle that will be remembered for all time!” As those words fell from her lips the earth trembled, the ground shook and crumbled. She paused and cast Gogindy one last glance and then turned and ran, vanishing into the night.
“Wait!” he cried, the earth crumbling in as he ran, creating cracks and gaping holes. He cried out and jumped over a great fissure, then picked himself up and scrambled after her.
“Run!” the girl’s voice called out through the haze, growing soft, and distant.
“I am!” Gogindy panted, coming to a sudden stop before a yawning fracture in the earth. Gathering his courage, he jumped over the crack and onto the other side, only to fall as the ground underneath him crumbled and gave way. As he fell, his three tails wrapped around a tree root. There he hung, suspended in space, swaying dangerously back and forth. He pinched his eyes shut. “I’m not dead, I’m not dead, I’m not dead, I’m not dead. Not dead, not dead, not dead. I’m alive, I’m alive, I AM alive!”
A strange feeling overcame him. He felt the tree root he was hanging on vanish. He prepared himself for the stomach-churning fall and flailed out his arms and legs. Yet, when he opened his eyes, he found that his feet were in fact on solid ground. Above him the moon was shining and the earth around him was quite intact, as if nothing had ever happened.
“Girl?” he called looking around him. “Girl, where are you?”
When no one answered. Gogindy carefully tested the ground in front of him, and when he found that it was quite firm, he laughed, and hugged himself. “I’m alive!” he cried. “Alive!”
His heart filled with a swelling, hopeful feeling that had long been absent. “I have hope,” he murmured, thumping his chest with pride. “I do. I am alive. You hear that. I have hope!”
Chapter Nine
Zeechee
That night, Lancedon and the rest of his friends made their camp in a brambly enclosure. The air was hot and heavy. Coral stood watch while Sterling and Lancedon slept. The night reeked not only of heaviness, but the unnerving feeling that they were being watched.
A persistent wind droned through the dry bushes and trees, sending leaves and twigs on a perpetual journey of shuffling and crackling.
Coral sat on a rock, drumming her fingers on its cool surface. Her eyelids felt heavy. She yawned, and glanced at the sky.
In an hour she would wake Sterling, and have him take her place. Lancedon was excluded from night watching for obvious reasons. She glanced down at Lancedon as he slept. He lay on the ground, sleeping like a child. His head was turned to her, his eyes closed, his lips neither smiling nor frowning. A lock of hair was draped over his left eye. His hands were clenched into tight fists.
Coral wondered if he was dreaming. And if he was, what did he see? What did the blind see when they slept? Feelings, emotions, colors, sounds?
A loud crunch of leaves caused her to jump. She quickly stood, her eyes glued on the forest. She scanned the darkness, but saw nothing. The place where they had camped was nothing more than a dried up forest, devoid of life. The trees were bent, and old. They groaned in the wind. The ground was dry, covered in dead vegetation.
She straightened, and pushed herself onto a large rock. She clenched a small dagger in her right hand, and scanned the land carefully.
Another crunch of dry vegetation was heard. She turned, feeling uneasy. Should she wake the others? She had no wish to wake them if there was no real cause to worry. They had traveled long, and hard, and needed their rest.
She strained her ears, listening. Yet, there was nothing. Only the wind blowing through the dry leaves. She was about to sit back dow
n, when a flickering light in the woods caught her eye.
Alarmed, she bent down and made a move to slide off the rock. There was a low clink as something jumped onto the rock behind her. Before she could scream, someone grabbed her, clamping her mouth shut. She flailed out her arms trying to slash her dagger. She could not tell what this stranger looked like, but the man was tall, and thick like a tree. His voice was callous, and cruel.
“Calm down,” a steady, proud voice hissed in her ear.
She tried to scream, and struggled even harder, slashing her dagger across the arm holding her mouth shut. The man cried out in anger and released her.
“Lancedon! Sterling!” She cried, scrambling down from the rock. She stumbled onto her face, dropping the dagger in a pile of leaves. “Lancedon!” she cried again, leaving the dagger where it fell.
“Settle down, lassie,” the stranger behind her breathed, grabbing her and pulling her back. “Or I may have to hurt you.”
“Let me go!” She protested. Her eyes filled with fear and surprise. Everywhere she looked, she could see men dressed in earthy colors, of green and brown, carrying flickering torches. Sterling was pressed against the ground, with a man forcing his hands behind him. Lancedon was pushed up against a tree, groaning in pain as a man slugged him in the stomach. “Look at this one,” the man laughed. “He’s blind.” The man pushed Lancedon into a circle of men. A great shout of laughter went up as the men shoved Lancedon back and forth.
“Stop it!” Coral demanded, struggling against her captor. “Would you torment a blind man so cruelly?”
The man holding her arm thrust her violently to the ground.
He stepped around Coral, inspecting her delicate features and golden hair with hungry eyes. “My, my. But you are beautiful, even in darkness. Tell me, what is your name?”
“And if I refuse to tell you?”
“Oh, nothing much. Your friends may only lose their heads, that is all.”
Coral cast the man a withering glare. He had an ugly scar on the edge of his mouth that caused his lips to look permanently in a scowl even when he was smiling. His face was ruddy, and his chin was brittle with an unshaven beard.
Coral smiled, and glanced coolly around her at the men who held her hostage. “My name,” she said, her voice proud and filled with distain, “is Coral. I am daughter of a king.”
“Oh,” the man raised his shaggy, black eyebrows. “A daughter of a king. Which king?”
“King Rylee of Boreen. And that man,” she pointed to Sterling, “is my brother, Sterling. And the blind one you are tormenting so unjustly is Lancedon, lost son of king Mineheart. I swear that if you do not let us go, I will strike you all down with lightning.”
The man raised his brows and glanced above them at the cloudless sky. “Lightning? That would be a sight. We have been wanting rain. Pray let us sit down and wait for a storm. The Drought has been roaming freely these many days, perchance you are above even its power?”
Coral’s face filled with wrath. “You mock me. But what I say is true! You disrespect me, my brother, and the lost son of Danspire!”
The man belted out a laugh. “The Lost son of Danspire? Who ever heard of such lies? Morack burned him alive. And what is this talk about lightning? You sound mad!”
“You doubt me?” She stared at the man, her eyes growing dark, as she concentrated hard. A far off roll of thunder sounded in the distance, where clouds lingered over the mountains, yet dared not venture forth. Still, the thunder rolled and purred like a wild tiger.
“She speaks the truth, oh great Zeechee!” one of the men interjected, holding a torch aloft, falling before his master and trembling. He looked up at his leader, with big eyes, and then stared at Coral, kissing the hem of her skirt in reverence.
Zeechee, the leader, kicked the cowering man away from Coral, in disgust. “What are you doing? We bow before no one!”
The man yelped, but did not move. He gazed at Coral with deep interest. “I know who you are. I have seen your power. I was there when the great storm came to Danspire and you burst from a bolt of lightning. I saw!”
“Are you mad too?” Zeechee shook his head and pulled the man to his feet. “Get up, Rubin! No one bows before anyone! She is nothing but flesh and blood, like her companions.”
Rubin slowly stood, and pointed to Lancedon, with wide eyes. “You don’t understand…I know these people.” He quickly yanked a torch out of one of the men’s hands and walked over to Lancedon, and Sterling. He held the torch aloft, and studied Lancedon’s features. “Do you not see the resemblance, Zeechee? It is he. This is Lancedon. He is not dead like they said. He is the lost son of Danspire. No one believed me when I told them what I saw. But now, you must believe. It is true. He is not dead.”
Zeechee took the torch from Rubin and held it close to Lancedon’s face, squinting. “This man is blind! He is not a king, but a beggar!”
“Blind or seeing, he is still heir of Danspire!”
“If that is indeed true, it would have been better if we had never found him.” Zeechee let out loud grunt of disgust and thrust the torch to the ground, causing bits of dry leaves and branches to flame up around Lancedon.
“Tell us,” Zeechee barked, marching around Lancedon as the flames licked through the forest and up a dead tree, spreading far out into the woods. Branches cracked, sparks popped and sputtered as heat and flame devoured the dry forest as if hungry to wipe out its existence.
“Are you the lost son of Danspire? ARE YOU!”
“Yes,” Lancedon answered, staring ahead, his unseeing eyes gleaming with the reflections of fire, and heat. “I am he.”
“How do I know?” Zeechee thundered above the roar of the flames. “What proof can you give me?”
“It is him!” Rubin interjected. “Please, you must believe me!”
Zeechee marched around Lancedon, ignoring the inferno he had caused, and the danger he had put himself and his men in. There was a greater flame burning inside him, one of rage, and stubbornness that could not easily be quenched. “You are not Lancedon!” Zeechee sang out. “For if you are, then we are all lost, indeed! You cannot be him. You cannot!” In a fit of anger, he raised his sword and came at Lancedon.
Lancedon was quick. He heard the clang of Zeechee’s sword as it was taken from its sheath. Without a moment’s hesitation, Lancedon pulled a sword from one of Zeechee’s men’s scabbards, and caught the blow, sending Zeechee reeling back. “I am Lancedon!” he cried, his voice loud, and commanding. His stature was unyielding, proud, and full of power, though a flaming forest of heat and smoke billowed behind him. The flames illuminated Lancedon in an unearthly glow, making him look taller, his hair brighter, and his countenance kingly.
A shout of fear and amazement rippled through Zeechee’s men. “It is he. It is he!”
Zeechee’s eyes flickered with alarm. “Yes…It is he.” He stared at the blaze he had caused. The forest behind them was orange with smoke, and dazzling sparks. A branch above them cracked and broke off.
“Lancedon!” Coral screamed.
“No!” Zeechee shouted, quickly grabbing Lancedon, and pulling him to safety just as the flaming branch hit the forest floor in a burst of sparks.
Zeechee held a firm hand on Lancedon. “Come, all of you. The forest is burning. We must leave here. Quickly!”
Chapter Ten
Wounded
“EEEYAHHH!” Freddie cried, slapping the reins against the horses, driving the wagon further into the wilderness. He turned a sharp corner, causing some of the weapons to fall out.
Andrew glanced back at the soldiers pursuing them on horses. He could hear the twang of arrows as they were shot into the air.
“Duck, Freddie!” Andrew shouted, holding onto the side of the wagon, trying to keep himself from falling out as the wagon went over another large bump. He felt a sharp pain in his side, and quickly looked down. The tip of an arrow had grazed him and embedded itself into the wagon’s wood. “Gosh,” Andrew breath
ed, pulling the arrow out of the wood and flinging it away. “That was close.”
“You could say that,” Croffin growled, poking his head up from the buckboards. “An inch closer and you would have…”
“What do we do?” Freddie cried. “They’re gaining on us.”
“Try to keep the horses steady,” Andrew said. He quickly made his way to the back of the wagon, and picked up a bow and several arrows. Without hesitating, he stood steadying himself on the bumpy wagon. Then, drawing back an arrow, and taking careful aim, Andrew let the arrow fly, just as the wagon hit a bump. He fell back.
Angry, that he had fallen, he peered behind him.
Surprisingly, the arrow had hit its mark, a man screamed and a horse became riderless. Andrew’s gut churned at the sound. He hated violence. Yet here he was a leader in violence---someone who had been chosen to challenge a power that had gone unchallenged until now. How he had been chosen, he did not know. He, who raised flowers and planted gardens had now exchanged his shovel for a sword.
He drew another arrow back, took aim, and let the arrow fly. Another scream was heard, and a second rider fell. His stomach throbbed with the sound. His throat grew tight and his mouth felt like he had swallowed a mouthful of cotton. He set his jaw, and tried to ignore the feeling.
Of one thing he was sure. He would not let his friends die. He drew a third arrow back, trying to steady his now shaking hands. The wagon went over a large bump, causing him to lose his balance. In that one second the riders behind him unleashed a flurry of their own arrows. The arrows whizzed through the air falling down around him like a cloud of locusts ready to consume.
Freddie let out a pain-filled cry, and the wagon suddenly veered off the road, down a steep incline.
“Freddie!” Andrew cried, stumbling to the front of the wagon where Freddie was hunched over with an arrow protruding out of his shoulder. His face had drained of color, and his eyes were filled with pain. “Andrew, don’t look like that. I’m not very hurt.” He groaned, as he went limp in Andrew’s hands, and his eyes rolled back in his head.
