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

by Ivory Autumn

  “Yes…but…”

  “But what?”

  “I don’t know where he is, or how to stop him.”

  Drust closed his eyes, and moaned. “Oh, Andrew. You don’t have to know every step you take before you begin a journey. You start. You take the first step. You know where you want to go, but you leave the rest to be found. The journey is what gives the story of your life meaning. The hidden byways, the paths of sunshine laced with shadow, and music. All of it is yours for you to discover. If you knew what lies ahead, the mystery, the joy, the possibility would be gone. To not know should not be a burden, but a blessing, a gift, a journey that is yours to discover. You don’t know it, but you find it, you experience it, you enjoy it, endure it, command it, and conquer it. It finds you, and you find it. You find beams of light on undiscovered paths. That is the key to all journeys. If you get lost, you ask directions. If you stumble, you get back up. If you don’t know where you are, you look to something higher than yourself for guidance. You can’t plan ahead for what is to come. You become open---a tool, something free and good. Yours is to act, to step, to run, to move, to have faith. That is your job. You want to break The Drought. That is enough. When you need to find out how, you will. You posses a gift to see both strengths and weaknesses. But not a second before you need to know. That is the way of the road, the way of all journeys.”

  Andrew took a deep breath. “So…you really know where The Drought is?”

  Drust nodded. “I do.” He turned to his vast shelves of bottles, and scanned them, his fingers hovering over the bottles as he pushed and shoved them, looking for the desired one. “Now where did I put it? I’m always hiding things from myself,” he murmured, grabbing one of his chairs, and standing on it to reach the higher shelves. He scooted back several blue and red bottles marked: “Mismatched prints, terribly boring. Good for confusing,” and withdrew a large, rusty, red bottle with a clay-like powder filling it.

  “I have it!” he cried, grabbing the bottle, and stepping down from the chair. Drust leaned over a small table in the corner of the room and beckoned for Andrew to watch.

  Drust uncorked the rusty-colored bottle and poured the sandy clay-dirt on top of the table. As the dirt fell from the bottle, and settled it formed several perfect footprints, as if the sand had somehow been chained together like links of armor.

  Andrew stared at the prints, unsure of what he saw. They were footprints. But not like any he’d seen before. They were large, and shaped very much like a man’s footprints. Except within each print were dozens of squiggles, like waves of heat burned into the sand. The sand surrounding the prints glittered a golden hue, and gave off a warm glow. Just to look at the footprints, made Andrew suddenly thirsty.

  “Amazing,” Andrew breathed. “Whose are they?”

  “Whose do you think? The Drought’s footprints, of course!”

  “Oh.”

  “Oh, is all you can say?”

  “Sorry, I don’t know what else to say.”

  “Say, ‘thank you Drust. How clever you are for finding The Drought’s footprint.’”

  Andrew chuckled, and nodded. “Thank you Drust. You are clever.”

  Drust grinned, then leaned in close to the footprints and inspected each imprint, each squiggle, each line, with careful eyes. After a long time he stood up and stared at Andrew, his brown eyes glistening in the candlelight. His face was very solemn. When he finally spoke, his voice was deep, and laced with foreboding. “The Drought is closer than you think he is.”

  “Where?” Andrew asked, accidentally leaning in too close and smudging part of the footprint with his elbow.

  Drust’s eyes filled with wrath. “You just had to go and do that! Mess up perfectly good footprints. You probably don’t even watch where you step. I’ll bet you are that nasty type who messes up perfectly beautiful tracks in the clean, white snow with your big, clunking feet!”

  “I don’t have big feet,” Andrew protested. “You do.”

  Drust's face reddened. He chewed on his lower lip, and breathed out slowly. “Yes. I suppose I do. But that’s beside the point.” He pointed to the footprint. “Morack summoned The Drought. Gave it life. The Shade put him up to it. He knew that once you destroyed his trees, the grip of darkness held over men’s hearts might slacken. The Drought was summoned purposely to restore The Fallen’s balance, and keep all in fear and obedience. Andrew, you must stop it before you release the unsaid words, or they will have no effect on the people. People who are starving and thirsty only care for their hunger and thirst to be quenched, nothing else.

  Andrew’s face fell. An overwhelming feeling of guilt crept in around him accusing him of the suffering he had witnessed. “So everything Croffin said was true. I am responsible for this Drought. If I hadn’t destroyed The Shade’s trees, I wouldn’t have brought this upon the world.”

  “But you did,” Drust said. “And I’m glad you did.”

  “Morack was the one who summoned The Drought, not you.”

  “That doesn’t really make me feel much better,” Andrew replied.

  “I wasn’t trying to make you feel better. You are the only one who can make yourself feel better. I was merely stating a fact. And the fact is, if it was you who caused The Drought to be summoned, it is you who must stop it before it stops you. I gathered The Drought’s tracks not many days ago. By their age, I can tell that these tracks are only a few days old. His steps were deliberate, full of purpose. He has covered much land. His reach has spread out farther than I first supposed. Only a few northern kingdoms have been spared from his parching gaze. He heads now to the sea to evaporate it.

  “The sea?” Andrew asked.

  “Yes, the sea. Don’t act so dumbfounded. It is to be expected after the great and terrible roots of The Shade’s trees were yanked from the earth. All felt the jolt as you downed them. Something just as terrible had to replace them---a Drought so powerful and potent that fear would grip the world tighter than before. So great a Drought has not walked upon the earth before---one that has covered much ground in so little time, and has stayed this long. If he is allowed to persist, all the oceans and waterways will dry up, and all men will surely be lost.”

  Andrew chewed his lower lip, thinking. “How far is it to the ocean from here?”

  “Not very far. Perhaps two or three days’ journey.”

  “Three days? He will be gone before we get there. And if The Drought is as terrible as you say, then the ocean will be gone, as well.”

  “No.” Drust said, his eyes growing dark. “He waits for you. He will wait until you come.”

  “He’s waiting for me? But why?”

  “You are the reason for his existence. The creation yearns to behold its creator. It wishes to defy you. To destroy you. And it will, if you are not careful.”

  Andrew sat back in his chair and sighed. “I never asked for this. I didn’t ask for any of this. I don’t know if I can do it.”

  Drust lowered his brows, scrutinizing Andrew. “You may not ask for trouble. But when you act, you must face the consequences of your actions. The Drought is one of those consequences. And you must face it!”

  Andrew nodded. “Yes. You’re right. I won’t run from it. I will face it, though I haven’t a clue what to do when that time comes.”

  Drust scooted the sandy footprint back into the bottle, corking the jar tightly. “I knew you would. You are a good lad. Like I said before, you will know what to do when you are faced with that choice.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Escape

  Andrew had spent the day browsing Drust’s collection of footprints, feeling ill at ease and pensive. The large chest of unsaid words hummed and throbbed like a disturbed beehive.

  Freddie had slept most of the day, and so had Croffin. Andrew figured Croffin was catching up on all his missed sleep. He wished that he could do the same.

  Whab had spent the day caring for Freddie’s wounds, with great care and consideration. He was as silent, as h
e was sincere. He had tried to make Andrew comfortable as well. Though they didn’t have much food, Whab and Drust had graciously shared what little they had.

  During most of the day, Drust had been out collecting footprints. Now that it was evening, Whab was out, and Drust was sweeping the floors, though Andrew couldn’t understand why. He swept the dirt floors with such intensity that it caused a great red dust to fill the cave. Still he swept. Swish, swish swish.

  Andrew coughed, and fanned the air. “What are you doing?”

  “I’m sweeping!” Drust answered. “What do you think?”

  As the dust settled, Whab appeared at the cave door, his face stricken, his eyes bulging from their sockets, his mouth pregnant with words that he couldn’t say. He had a purple bruise on his forehead, and blood dripped from a cut in his cheek.

  “Whab?” Drust asked. “Are you okay?”

  Whab stood there for a moment, dazed

  “Whab!” Drust cried, shaking him. “What happened?”

  As if awoken from a trance, Whab broke free of Drust, and ran to a small drawer. He drew out a small piece of parchment, and wrote the words with a long quill and ink. They know the boy is here. They know what he intends to do with the chest of unsaid words. They are coming. He and his friends must leave now, or it will be too late.

  “What!” Drust thundered. “But how?”

  Whab in turn, penned the words, The soldiers that drove the boy off the cliff followed him here. There was only a handful of them at the time, so they plan on coming back tonight. They caught me and told me what they intend to do. I escaped before they could do me more harm. But I’m afraid of what they might do if they find the boy. They know about the words. I’m so afraid Drust. The boy must leave. He must take the chest now!

  Drust stared into Whab’s unhappy face. “Are you sure?”

  Whab nodded so hard that it looked like his big ears might wobble off his head.

  “Then we have no other choice. Whab, gather them enough water, and supplies to last a week. They must be well fitted for their journey. I am glad I read the signs and bottled enough water for such a time as this. “Andrew, you and your friends must prepare to leave now. You have been found out already. We must take no chances. You have a work to do that cannot be stopped!”

  Andrew looked stricken. “What about Freddie? He’s not yet healed.”

  “No. But if he stays here, he won’t have a chance to heal. Quickly, now. Grab your things.”

  “Wake up!” Andrew cried, shaking Croffin.

  “What?” Croffin drawled, bits of slobber dribbling off his mouth. “Must I wake up? I was having the nicest dream.”

  “Yes,” Andrew answered. “You must. Soldiers are coming; we don’t have much time.”

  At those words Croffin became alert. “Soldiers? I thought we had shaken them off our tails.”

  “Hurry!” Drust cried. “Andrew, I fear you must carry your friend. Whab’s sleep medicine won’t wear off until morning. Whab and I will take you and the chest of unsaid words as far as we can.”

  Andrew stood over Freddie’s bedside, then carefully hefted Freddie’s limp body over his shoulder. His knees buckled under the weight. He grimaced, but did not complain.

  “Are you ready?” Drust asked, lifting the handle on one side of the chest, while Whab lifted the other.

  Croffin and Andrew both nodded.

  “Then come, follow behind us. Be as quiet as you can.”

  Andrew and Croffin slowly made their way out of the cave, following Whab and Drust into the darkness.

  Andrew stumbled ahead under Freddie’s weight, trying to keep up. He could see very little of Whab and Drust, but he could hear the faint sounds of the chest as it throbbed like crickets in the darkness. He followed that sound, tripping over rocks, heaving under Freddie’s weight.

  Behind him he thought he heard the heavy stomp of footfalls, and the clank of armor. The night was stiflingly hot. The moon was out, fully exposed in the cloudless sky. Its once brilliant light, now diluted in a haze of lies, and shadows. Such a moon, Andrew had never seen. It was like a hard eye, not cool as it should have been, but hot, angry, probing, magnifying the heat the sun had left behind, drenching the drowsy world in a stifling blanket of muggy air you could not escape from.

  “Come!” Drust’s muffled voice whispered from behind a host of lumpy rocks that stuck out of the ground like thousands of nameless headstones against the flat ground. “Hurry.”

  Andrew and Croffin followed Drust’s voice until they found themselves behind one of the large rocks.

  “Now that we are all here,” Drust whispered, “I must go back and cover our tracks. I brought several bottles of footprints. I will use them to lead those rogues off our trail. Whab will take you a little further. And then you will be on your own to carry the burden of the chest alone. It is a heavy load, even for Whab and I. A load that I wish I could help carry further. I’m sorry to leave you in this way. But it can’t be helped.” He turned to go but stopped and turned back. “Andrew, I forgot to give you this.” He smiled and handed Andrew a parchment. “It’s a crude map to the ocean. I drew it from what I saw in The Drought’s footprints. If you follow it, you will be sure to find him. Take care of yourself. Watch your step. I may have read your footprints, but it is you who will walk the path. Have faith, and don’t lose hope. For hope will always revive you when you think all is lost.

  Before Andrew could reply, Drust vanished into the darkness, spreading out his bottles of footprints over their tracks, leading their pursuers in the opposite direction.

  After that, they continued on their forward journey into the night. Andrew couldn’t really tell where they were heading, but the further they went, the less rocky and more sandy and flat the ground became. With each step Freddie’s weight intensified in Andrew’s arms. Andrew’s back ached. His knees begged for him to set Freddie down. He had never carried a person this far over this much terrain. Freddie was so limp and lifeless, it felt as if he were lugging something dead, like a huge sack of rocks. His feet ached. His mind felt groggy. All he could think of was to put one foot in front of the other, to keep following Whab.

  “One more step,” he told himself. “One more step.”

  Just as the sun rose over the horizon, a hint of an almost cool breeze stirred through the land, causing Whab’s ears to sway back and forth like sails on the ocean. Andrew smiled, feeling the breeze flow over him, cooling his sweat like a life-giving elixir.

  Whab glanced behind him at Andrew and Freddie, then set the heavy chest of unsaid words down. He straightened his bowed back, and stretched his tired muscles. Sweat gleamed on his face.

  Andrew in turn, gently sat Freddie down against the chest of unsaid words. His arms tingled, his legs felt wobbly, and strangely light after lightening his load.

  Whab stood before him, staring intensely into his eyes, unable to say the words he wanted to speak. There was a long silence in which kind thoughts were passed and no words spoken, but all was understood. He grabbed Andrew’s hand and held it tightly, then placed Andrew’s hand on the chest that was holding all the words he wanted to say, but couldn’t. He looked up at the sky, pointed to the chest, and then back up at the sky, waving his hand like a bird.

  It was as if he had said, “Free the unsaid words, make them fly, give them wings!”

  Andrew nodded. “I will. I promise.”

  Whab’s eyes gleamed. He sighed as if Andrew had understood him exactly, and that had given him great assurance. Then he handed Andrew a sack loaded with food and water. He smiled once more, nodded at Andrew, then turned and walked back the way he had come. He stopped, turned back and waved, then continued forward, leaving Andrew alone, forsaken and desolate.

  Above, a lone bird soared, screeching as if it disliked the look of the parched world below. As far as Andrew could see, dead fields of dry, brittle grass stretched out over the land, hugging a now-dry riverbed that snaked on for miles. All was quiet except for the low throb co
ming from the chest of unsaid words, and Croffin moaning that his feet hurt.

  “What were those crazy fuddyduds expecting us to do?” Croffin asked. “You can’t carry Freddie and the chest at the same time.”

  “We rest, if we can,” Andrew said, sitting down, and leaning against the chest. He closed eyes, trying to sleep in spite of the heat of the rising sun. It beat down on him mercilessly as if angry with him for trying to rest. Croffin sat at his feet, muttering incoherent curses at the sun, trying to share in what little shade the chest offered them.

  Freddie unexpectedly awakened. He groaned, and reached out, calling for water.

  Andrew sat up, and put a canteen to Freddie’s parched lips.

  “I’m glad you’re finally awake,” Andrew said, “I was afraid you’d sleep forever.”

  Freddie eagerly gulped the water, then nodded in thanks.

  “How are you feeling?” Andrew asked. “Whab left me with some medicine. Do feel much pain?”

  Freddie shook his head, and closed his eyes. “No. It only hurts a little.”

  “Are you sure? I can get you something if you need…”

  “Really, Andrew. I’ll be fine. You act as if you haven’t seen me hurt before.”

  “I haven’t, not like this.”

  “Like this? You speak of me as if I’d nearly died.”

  “For a moment I thought you had.”

  “Well, I’m not dead now. And I’d appreciate it if you would treat me like normal.”

  “Normal, what’s normal?”

  “I don’t know, just normal, that’s all.”

  “Okay.”

  “Good. Now, would you mind telling me where in blazes we are? I can’t remember very much.”

  “I’m trying to figure that out myself.” Andrew said, as he stared above at the cloudless sky, thinking back over all that had happened.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The Heavy Burden