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

by Ivory Autumn

  “Yes,” he murmured to himself. “I will destroy these unleashed words, every single one of them!”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Summit

  Overhead, gray clouds gathered in thick sheets, mixed with deep blue hues. Flecks of snow drifted through the air like tufts of feathers that did not want to hit the ground.

  Lancedon leaned against Coral’s shoulder and closed his eyes. He listened to the gentle throb of the horse’s hooves as they plodded along. He could feel warmth emanating off Coral like a warm summer day on a winter night. He could feel the flecks of snow that fell on her hair and skin, vanish, in a vaporizing haze of steam.

  Lancedon leaned back, staring at the sky with unseeing eyes, frustrated that he could not see where they were going. He was not used to riding with someone else taking the lead. Yet, that was how it was. He was a passenger. Coral was now his guide and his eyes.

  The unleashed words that they had followed had led them from city to city, from village to village, from town to town, gathering those whom the words touched, and called.

  Those that heard the call, that listened to the words of truth, were few. But few by few their numbers grew, just as the whispered words continued to swell, and sway with the wind, the words propelled them forward, seeping in through the loopholes of darkness, reminding the rare few that they were not alone.

  Coral suddenly pulled the horse to a stop on top of a low hill, overlooking a great city. Through the falling snow, the torchlight from the city burned and flickered as if daring the moisture to dampen its great light. Though it was just evening, it felt much later because of the clouds and heaviness that bore down on them from some unseen source.

  “So,” Lancedon spoke, leaning away from Coral, and facing the hill as if trying to see the city. “This is the City of Summit?”

  “Yes,” Zeechee breathed, moving his horse to a stop beside them. “How did you know?”

  Lancedon smiled. “I could smell it.”

  Zeechee looked amused. “And what does it smell like?”

  “Promising…”

  Zeechee’s face filled with uncertainty. “Promising? I hope so. Why I led you here, I do not know. There are far more promising cities than this one, I’m sure.”

  Lancedon, do you think this is wise?” Coral wondered. “The city is…”

  “What?” Lancedon wondered.

  “Dirty.”

  “I know. I can smell that too. But there’s something else, something ready within the city. The unleashed words have worked their way through its thick walls, and I am sure that there are many who have gleaned the words and are ready for our coming.”

  “I wish I could be so sure…” Coral murmured, her eyes growing dark.

  “Yes,” Lancedon said as if speaking to himself. “Our voices must join with those released on the wind. Our voices must combine and ring as one. We must wake this city. The powerful words have come this far north. Perhaps they have penetrated through the lies just enough for our coming to actually mean something.”

  “I wouldn’t be so sure,” Zeechee cautioned. He drew his horse close to the edge of the hill, surveying the city with concern. A diluted haze of fear hugged its boarders like a specter hugging the body of some tormented soul. “Lancedon, if you could see what I see, and know what I know that is rumored of this city, you would not be so eager to come here.”

  “What do you know?” Lancedon questioned.

  Zeechee narrowed his eyes, and scowled. “What do I know? It is a city full of every kind of pollution, created from a society that has a law for every action, and a punishment for every error. Here, there is no room for good, because good can only flourish where there is freedom to fail. Here, to fail is to break the law. Here, to draw outside the lines, is death. Here, obedience is beauty. As for what I see. I do not see much that pleases me. I see a great and powerful city---tall, and formidable. Walls run around the city, with spikes protruding from the top of every column. It is ugly and disgusting to me. It looks as if it was made out of iron and steel, and malice, built by raw, bloody hands of those it has imprisoned and now holds captive. It is a city of many prisons and many political powers. Its towers rise up from the ground, tall, and stiff, like giants whose faces are smeared with judgment, and condemnation. Every brick is built with accuracy, with rigidness. It is a city of the law. Of unbending will. A city filled with rumors of death, and little mercy. Believe me, this is the last place you, or I, would ever wish to enter.”

  Lancedon’s face set in determination. Though his eyes saw nothing, it seemed to those who looked at him, that he saw much more than they. “Then you do not know me, my friend. For I see none of those things. The only thing I see is a stifled city on the verge of cracking. Such perfection is like cement poured on shifting ground. No matter how hard you try to cover the raw earth, it is still there, waiting to be cultivated, waiting for the light, waiting to be uncovered. And in such a city, the time is ripe for unearthing. Here, in such a place, there are people yearning to be free, but with no voice, no words for their sorrows. Here we will open their minds, and give them a choice where they had none before.

  You have heard the voices on the wind, as have I, and they have gone on before us, carried by those who listen to them and carried men to our aid, carried fleeing souls to our arms. These words have carried us even here. Those words have gone before us through the cracks of this city. They have crept under doors and through the streets, and caught up by those ready to listen. Such powerful words cannot be stifled, even in this place. Here, our voices will shift their very foundations and crack the laws that have covered their humanity. We have a city to awaken.”

  “But how?” Sterling asked, his voice angry and loud. “How Lancedon? Zeechee is right. This is foolishness. The numbers inside that city will quickly overpower us. We will all die, Lancedon. If you do not care for us, care for my sister. You would not wish to send her to her death, would you?”

  “I would wish for no one to die!” Lancedon shot back. “I ask none to come with me. I will go alone if I have to.”

  Sterling shook his head. “Alone? That is madness.”

  “The only madness is to give up. And I will not do that! I WILL NOT! Zeechee, Sterling, Coral, all of you, stay if wish. I do not ask any of you to come. I will find my way down into that city, alone.”

  “Lancedon…” Coral breathed, grasping his hand and pressing her fingers to his. “Wherever you lead, I will follow. Some are blinded by fear. Sterling is afraid. We all are. But we will always stand behind you, even when we must lead the way.”

  “Yes,” Sterling murmured. “I am afraid. But only because I do not see what you see. And you are not afraid because of what you don’t see. But I will follow you, to death if that is where we must go.”

  “Ah, as will I,” Zeechee’s heavy brows descended, casting his eyes in shade. He turned towards his men, and cried in a loud voice. “What do you say, men?”

  The men cheered, and raised their arms and voices in one resounding, acclamation of trust.

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Unleashed

  The unleashed words gathered the people like no herald could. Though many words, and bearers of those words had been executed, the words could not die. They spread and multiplied like an infectious plague.

  Once one heard and listened to the truth, and digested it, there was no antidote, no cure, no going back to the way things were.

  Only death could silence the words and the lips that spoke them. But even in death, the words multiplied gathering followers. Even while Morack executed the very perpetrators and guilty souls who gathered in secret to hear and speak the words.

  Those who were brave and true kept the words, nurtured them, and grew in knowledge and wisdom. These wise individuals hid themselves, seeking refuge from persecution, in Andrew’s ever growing encampment of dissenters---or what Morack called, the “Army of Traitors.”

  Word spread of Andrew’s army. Those who could not re
side in their cities came by the dozens to be among friends, and to seek a better way. For there was no hiding once you ingested the truth. Once you gave truth a place in your heart, you just knew. There was no hiding. There was no going back. Towns were divided, and all was in turmoil.

  Andrew’s army moved from town to town, village to village, gathering the few softened individuals whose eyes had been opened to the truth. They ransacked garrisons, gathered weapons, stormed unprotected cities, gathering not riches, but people, slaves, prisoners, and those who had been condemned.

  With each day, their numbers grew. Their supply of weapons and food swelled. The more time that went by, the greater their numbers became, so that no one, even those who did not like to look at unpleasant sort of things, had to look, had to take notice of Andrew’s great army. Word of Andrew’s army spread throughout the land. Though some tried to diminish the truth of their success in sweeping through the country, there was no denying it. They had become a force to be reckoned with. Their numbers were not hardly the army of 500,000. But 10,000 in all, made up mostly of ex-slaves, and persecuted individuals fleeing their cities, people who had gathered the unleashed words and tried spreading them, but with little success.

  Somehow Andrew felt that the words that escaped The Fallen’s purge would survive and live to bring more willing soldiers to fight. Yet, he dared not hope.

  They had been through every town and city from the east and south, in this northern part of the land.

  Their forces swelled, yet their numbers were not nearly enough. They were ten thousand strong, men and women, old and young alike. It was a strange sort of army, made up of mostly ordinary people who had extraordinary courage.

  Andrew hoped that with enough time their army would grow. They had made their camp on the edge of the Murky Sea. This sea was much more turbulent, cold, and dismal than the Pipewhistle Sea. Its water was dark, as if polluted by something deep within its depths. The sea roared tirelessly as if angry that they had made their camp there. The water even smelled different, oily, and dank. The weather had turned off very cool, and bits of frost graced the ground. Though it was early in the morning, men were up, training. Those who were skilled in fighting taught those who were untrained. The rising sun gleamed over the turbulent ocean, reflecting a deep blood red in is dark surface.

  Andrew yawned and looked at the vast encampment of tents dotting the sandy shore. This army he had not gathered. They had come mostly of their own accord. They had answered the call. He was just an instrument. To see so many who believed as he did made his heart swell with gratitude. Here, with these people, he was at home. Here he had friends. Here the world was not so dark. Here he was accepted and respected. He had never had that feeling before. Always he had been an outsider.

  Now he was no longer the outsider, but working alongside people like him who just wanted to be free, nothing more. The feeling of peace and unity he felt was something he could not put into words. He only knew that to belong to something that was worth belonging to and to be apart of this group of brave souls, was worth every struggle he had endured thus far.

  Hope, mixed with doubt, mingled in his mind, tormenting his every waking moment. Would their numbers be enough? Time was running out. Would more people come? He had been an instrument in bringing these people together and he felt responsible for their welfare, for their protection and for their safety.

  Andrew sat tracing shapes in the gray sand, listening to the thundering ocean as it pummeled the shore.

  “Andrew!” a frantic voice called, “Andrew! Where are you?”

  Andrew quickly stood and brushed off his pants. “I’m over here. What’s wrong?”

  Flicker strode up to him, and bowed, his eyes stricken with worry. “A messenger from The Fallen seeks audience with you.”

  “A messenger from the Fallen?” Andrew repeated.

  Flicker nodded. “Yes. Quickly come this way. I fear there is trouble.” He motioned with his feathered hand towards a large tent, where Andrew and his captains met. “Come, this way.”

  Andrew slowly followed Flicker into the tent where two soldiers carefully guarded the opening.

  Inside was dark, except for a few meager candles on a small table.

  “Hello, Andrew,” A silky voice crooned. Andrew looked around the tent, unsure who or what was speaking. “Ahem,” the voice called. “Over here.”

  Startled, Andrew stumbled back. A man, who looked drenched in an oily liquid stood in front of him, he was so transparent and thin that he looked like one of the shadows within the tent, only more bulky, and sinister. Over his body was draped a thick, silvery cloth like seal skin, that gave off an unnatural glow.

  “Andrew, my master sends his greetings.” The being bowed low. “He is impressed by your unceasing efforts to raise such a great army, when he has made it almost impossible for you to do so. You have indeed caught his attention. Your numbers are to be commended as is your diligence. You have done much more than he thought you ever capable. ”

  Andrew raised his brows, “Your master?”

  The being scowled. “Well, yes…The Fallen himself… he wishes… to how, shall I say…to come to an agreement with you.”

  “An agreement?” Andrew repeated, his voice tinged with distrust.

  Flicker let out a low pigeon like croon, rustling his feathers in irritation. “What kind of agreement?”

  The being leaned in, and lowered his voice to a silky whisper. “One you cannot say no to.”

  “I’ll be the judge of that,” Andrew shouted.

  The being nodded, his eyes shining with a silvery hue. “You are to give yourself into The Fallen’s hands, and disband your army, and in return, he will be lenient to those you have misguided. He will spare their lives, in exchange for yours.”

  “And if I choose not to?”

  The being paused, and breathed out slowly. “If you choose to go against The Fallen’s wishes, you and every soul who fights behind you will be consumed, annihilated, killed, hunted and sought until every last one of you, and the poison you have spread, has been eradicated from the earth!”

  “And those are his terms?” Andrew questioned, his voice filled with anger.

  The being smiled and nodded, looking very pleased by Andrew’s countenance. “Even now, The Fallen’s great army marches to destroy you. His numbers, his strength, his power will consume you and your little army in a night’s work. His army will be here before dawn tomorrow. You must make your choice, and quickly, for the sake of those you say you care about. If you do not do as he wishes, your men will be killed, long before you reach the boarders of his realm, and long before you can ever gather the needed sum of men you seek. Your quest is over. Your time has run out. The words you have unleashed have been silenced and put under lock and key once again. There will be no more who will answer your call.”

  Andrew paced in front of the messenger, his face filled with distress. “He will be here before dawn tomorrow? How is that possible?”

  The messenger inspected his fingernails as if he was bored of the whole conversation. “Anything is possible with The Fallen. Ah, he has ways and means of traveling unbeknownst to mere peasants like yourself.”

  Andrew stopped pacing and locked eyes with the dark being. “Peasants, that is what you think we are? Well, then you have underestimated us, as well.”

  “What will your answer be?” the messenger sneered, ignoring Andrew’s words. “Will you disband? Will you give yourself up? Or will you foolishly fight for a cause that no one cares about anymore.”

  “We will never disband!” Flicker roared, his flickering eyes burning with hatred. “Get out of here and tell your master we will never give Andrew up. He will have to kill every one of us first!”

  “Wait!” Andrew cried, holding up a hand to quiet the angry bird. “I must think.”

  “Don’t think too long,” the dark being hissed. “Time is running out for you. Your days of plenty are over. Tonight the feast of darkness will cons
ume your bones. The cause for which you fight is dead.”

  Andrew faced the vile messenger, his voice trembling with rage. “Every person in my army believes in this “dead cause” you speak of! Perhaps it is not so dead as your master wishes it. Perhaps he wishes to destroy us because he is afraid, afraid that if left too long, we will outnumber him!”

  The messenger slunk back. “Just give me your answer, and I will leave.”

  Andrew let out an exasperated sigh, and ran his fingers though his hair. “I need time.”

  “You don’t have time.”

  “I must speak to my men. It is their decision. Not mine.”

  “Fine,” the messenger breathed. “Then I will wait, one hour for your answer. Agreed?”

  Andrew nodded, “Agreed.” He turned from the being, and exited the tent, with Flicker following behind him. A horn was sounded, and his men were quickly assembled. Andrew stood in the midst of his army. His heart felt heavy. As he looked into their young faces, he could see himself in their eyes, the way he had seen himself when he was living in the Hollow---hopeful, expectant, full of plans for the future and too young to know that there might not be one. Ten thousand souls, some women, some old men, some young men. But all brave, all strong, all dedicated to a cause they had just begun to fight for. A cause powerful enough that they were willing to sacrifice everything for it. Willing to question, willing to see and hear, and listen to truth, and accept it, even when they could have willingly believed a lie, then lived with it.

  Yes, Andrew thought, as he gazed into their resolute faces. These were the finest of the earth, these 10,000, the first responders, the first to hear the call. The first to say enough is enough, the first to do and say what needed to be done. So this is how it was all to end. No more army was to be summoned. All had come to this point. They were it. There would be no more. Ivory had said that Gogindy was going to ring a bell made from the swords of men who had fought for their freedom in great battles. This bell, once rung, would ring through the hearts of men and wake the world.