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

by Ivory Autumn

  Strange canals filled with oil and coal, thick as shadow, and twice as dirty and sticky as a lingering nightmare, ran through the land like a patterned web, all leading to the castle.

  Soldiers prowled the land like wolves, prodding weary lines of slaves toting fuel for the steaming chasms of fire, looking like mere shadows in comparison to the fires they fed.

  Spotting several soldiers coming his way, Andrew quickly lay in the snow, trying to hide his body in the drift. Two of the soldiers marched a stones’ throw away from him. As they passed, they kicked up snow and mud into Andrew’s face. Andrew stifled a cough.

  Suddenly, one of the soldiers paused and stared right at the mound of snow Andrew had buried himself in. The soldier took a step towards him and raised a dark, double-bladed sword. “Show yourself!” the soldier barked, raising his blade above the mound of snow.

  Andrew quickly popped up out of the snow and ran.

  “After him!” the soldier cried. “Hurry!”

  Soldiers came at Andrew from every direction, tromping through the snow, hollering out to one another. Andrew’s legs were stiff and sore, his right arm useless. Using his sword left-handed, matched against so many, would be useless. He ran faster, plowing through the snow, gasping in cold air that caught in his lungs like frozen bits of ice. He glanced behind him, fear filling his eyes. Having no other choice, he jumped into a canal of oil and coal. The pungent odor of petroleum hit him in the face, and sloshed in around him.

  Andrew held his breath and dipped his head beneath the sticky, greasy goo. The oil licked up around his chin like a cold tongue of some repulsive animal, penetrating his skin, and filling his ears. He could taste the bitter, sickening taste of oil leak into his mouth. As Andrew ducked under, several soldiers peered over the edge and scanned the canal.

  “I saw him jump in,” someone shouted. “Where’d he go?”

  “Hmm, probably hiding down there somewhere,” another replied. “Fine. Then let’s roast him!” He laughed, tossing a flaming torch into the channel of oil just as Andrew resurfaced.

  As the torch hit the oil, an explosion of flames burst from the canal. The flames coursed towards Andrew in a ribbon of fire, crackling and hissing, sending a wave of heat rolling towards him.

  Heat, smoke, burning oil and the roaring of fire drowned out all senses except for fear. The tongue of fire ran towards Andrew as if it was hungry to consume him. Andrew tried to climb back up the canal, but the edges were too oily and slick. He could feel the heat from the flames on his back threatening to consume him. He looked around in panic. This was it. He could not outrun the flames. The fire rushed up to engulf him, greedy to consume their long awaited prey.

  He raised his sword, ready to meet the fire. If he was to die, he would meet it head on, and with his weapon raised. Just as the flames licked around him, he stabbed his sword down into the canal. The flames stopped at the foot of his sword and recoiled like a mighty wave suddenly dammed off. The ripple caused from the sword, moved through the lake of oil and coal, dousing out the entire canal of flames in quick succession, as if he’d stabbed a living being in the heart. The smell of burned oil and smoke hovered around him hiding him in a gray cloak. Andrew’s heart beat fast and hard against his chest. He could hardly believe that he was still alive. How was it that his sword still held some power? That was enough to give him hope.

  He could hear the cries of confused soldiers shouting through the haze. Somewhere in the distance mournful bugles called as if warning him of danger to come. In a moment, the smoke would be gone and the soldiers would be able to see him.

  Andrew quickly scanned the canal, and found a large crack with which he used to pull himself up and out of the canal. Once out, he quickly pressed himself against the ground, and rolled into a field of starflowers that hugged the edges of the canal. He lay in the midst of the starflowers, breathing heavily, as oil drained off his clothes and hair. His body reeked with the smell of it. His whole body was contaminated with grime. He closed his eyes, resting his head on the cold earth. Gradually, the sounds of soldiers died out, and all grew uncommonly quiet.

  He opened his eyes, and stared at the star flowers that hid him, feeling grateful for their cover. Even in the cold they grew, and shone, their beauty doubled by their dreary surroundings.

  He smiled, tracing one of the delicate flowers with his oil-covered fingers. It was so beautiful, so bright, so simple. It reminded him of Ivory the day he’d met her. He closed his eyes again, and breathed slowly, feeling a jab of pain and guilt. He wondered what Freddie and Ivory were enduring on his account. Was it their strength he felt in the sword? He clenched his jaw, and crawled further into the field, feeling more like shadow than a man covered in oil and black earth.

  Andrew paused, glancing behind him. He scowled upon seeing the huge trail of dead starflowers left in his wake. His cover was not so hidden as he had first supposed.

  “There he is!” a voice barked from somewhere to his right. “Get him! Grab him!”

  Andrew quickly stood and began running, not caring where he was going. The night, though dark, was filled with a lovely glow from the field of flowers. All around the field were strange iridescent, glittering lights that seemed to come from nowhere and everywhere. Behind him Andrew could see a host of tall, thin Codes running after him, moving gracefully, making disturbing yips and moaning sounds as they ran.

  Andrew burst from the field of starflowers and ran down the road through the snow, towards a large pile of rocks and rubble. Just as he reached the pile of rocks, a hand caught hold of his cape and yanked him back.

  “You coward!” The Code said, letting go of Andrew and stepping back. The creature was dressed in a cape that was barbed with pieces of sharp metal stitching it together like uncomfortable thread. The Code’s shimmering eyes stared at Andrew in heated wrath, giving off steam as if its eyes had a breath of its own. “I should kill you where you stand.”

  Andrew’s hand went to his sword, but he hesitated. There was something strange about this Code. Behind the creature were dozens of other Codes. They stood bunched together, as if watching with dread and great interest.

  “You must have several shadows lodged in your skull!” The Code seethed, cuffing Andrew with a hard fist. “You were ordered to return to Shadelock! Why did you not come as you were ordered?”

  Andrew made no answer. He was confused by the Code’s strange behavior.

  “Well,” the Code barked, “answer me!”

  Andrew stood and gawked. The Code thought he was one of them. Perhaps he did, he mused, covered in a thick layer of oil, thin and tall, similar in form to them. Perhaps his eyes were glowing as well. He could not tell.

  “Not going to answer me are you?” The creature bellowed, cuffing Andrew again.

  Andrew cowered back, but said nothing.

  “Not going to speak? Well, I wouldn’t either. Thought ya had the boy, now did you? Wanted to run away before having to pay the price for being a good for nothing, fool. It was you that told us that it was the boy you found. But he wasn’t, now was he? Well, I couldn’t just let you run off leaving the rest of us Codes to die for your stupid mistake!”

  “No!” The other Codes gathering in around him murmured in agreement, stirring with suppressed anger and agitation.

  “No!” The Code thundered. “You can’t escape from what’s coming to you. You’re going to pay the price.” The creature sniffed and spat a black wad of oily spit into Andrew’s face, then shoved him forward. “Move, you worthless being. I should kill you myself. I can’t believe you ran off like that, leaving us to die for your mistake. Can’t let you get away with it.” Its voice was filled with venom. “Get on with you!” It grabbed Andrew and clamped its cold, twisted hands on Andrew’s shoulder. “Move, you traitor!”

  The procession of Codes moved through the snow, dragging Andrew along with them, as they moaned in disjointed words and mumbles that Andrew could not make out. When they spoke among themselves their words sou
nded like half words and numbers mixed with static.

  They slowly made their way along the main roads where hoards of soldiers marched passed him, unaware of Andrew’s true identity. On either side of the road were fields of starflowers, lined with canals that were burning like ominous heralds for something that could consume much more than they could.

  The Codes led Andrew nearer to The Fallen’s castle where it loomed brighter and brighter, like a star affixed on the earth. The closer they came to the castle, the warmer it became. Heat and fire spewed up from the chasm surrounding the castle, yet the Codes went forward undaunted as if the heat gave them pleasure. The bridge was black, and covered in an oily liquid that reminded Andrew of The Shade's trees.

  The bridge was made of a wood that would never burn up, but gave off blue flames that were both hot and cold. These strange flames licked up through the cracks in the wood causing Andrew to trip and stumble several times.

  The air over the bridge was filled with a thick, heavy smoke that mixed with shadows and light. Andrew could barely see his way ahead.

  The heat coming up from the sides of the bridge was heavy, and unbearable. Sweat poured down Andrew’s face, and fell onto the bridge, freezing as it hit the blue flames tickling up through the cracks in the wood. Smoke billowed from the chasm in angry gusts, filling the air with stifling fumes. The oil on Andrew hair and skin sizzled, making him feel as if he was being cooked in his own oil. Dazzling sparks sifted through the air, floating through the smoke, like stars in their own orbit.

  A loud crackling roar that drowned out any other sound filled the air, as the fires below the bridge licked around them as if daring them to come close to the edge, reaching out with fiery fingers, threatening to pull in any who dared get too close to the edge.

  Andrew glanced behind him at the slaves that were fueling the fire. His eyes met that of a slave who was tossing fuel into the fire along with several hundred other slaves. The man’s face was greasy and black. His back was bent, his eyes looked dead and almost blind, as if he saw nothing, not even the blazing inferno he was fueling. His gaze was so disturbing and frightening, it made Andrew stop.

  In all the time he had freed slaves, he had never seen such slaves as these. It was as if they had lost the light in their souls, and all that was left was an empty hollow hole.

  The slaves moved, lifted, and did all their tasks, like strange bug-like organisms, instead of individuals with hearts, brains, souls. The slaves stood dangerously close to the edge of the chasm as soldiers whipped their backs. The heat billowing up from the fire burnt their hair and faces as they tossed fuel into it. The sight was so awful Andrew turned away in shame.

  A loud explosion went off underneath the bridge, beneath the chasm, causing flames and sparks to belt up. Andrew thought he saw thousands of grasping hands in the flames, hands that grabbed and reached out for him like they wanted to take hold of him and drag him down into the lake of fire. A flaming fingery hand reached out and tugged at Andrew’s cloak, but a Code caught Andrew, and yanked him back. “Can’t get off that easy,” the being breathed, shoving him forward.

  On the other side of the bridge, a strange sensation enveloped Andrew. He felt as though he had been walking over the a bridge into another realm, a realm that had no sun, a realm that was full of shade and lifelessness, a realm that was diluted, filthy and cold, and filled with a heat that could burn you, and freeze you at the same time, but never make you completely warm or completely frozen.

  It was a realm that did not know good from evil, dark from light. A realm that was mixed with every bad thing, where nothing was ever defined, because there wasn’t light enough to define anything. Here, half truths, traitors, shadows, and every dark thing existed. This place was home to the spiders of thought, and the lurking hand of deception, ready to clamp down on you and crush you if you weren’t watching. It was terrifying. The ground they walked through was black and oily and glowed a strange blue color that was saturated in the shadow of the castle that loomed over them.

  They stopped before a magnificent gate made of crystal, clear as glass and strong as any element on earth. The gate was tall and wide, so that many soldiers could fit through it at once.

  As the gate was slowly opened, a gust of chilly wind hit them in the face, pushing away the smoke and smog, revealing a dreary courtyard, lit by many eerie-looking fires and torches. They pushed Andrew through the gate and into a courtyard shaped like a crescent moon, with thousands of blue torches lining it, like a cathedral at someone’s death.

  Mounds of snow, stained in splotches of oil, littered the ground. All the Codes were ordered to kneel. Andrew was thrust to his knees along with them.

  High on a wooden platform, near the castle walls, a lone figure stood staring at the Codes in disgust. The figure was tall, and luminous.

  Andrew could not make out any of his features, except that he was large and gleamed brightly, casting them all in strange distorted light. The figure wore a shimmering cape that glittered like silver. It fluttered in the breeze like a ripped flag, emanating such light that all who stood under the being were cast in a startling light mixed with shadow that was both confusing, and dazzling. “Have you brought the Code?” The figure’s powerful voice boomed, stirring the rivulets of light over them with each word.

  “Yes!” screeched the Code holding Andrew. “Yes, we have!”

  Andrew was thrust forward, and the rest of the Codes stepped back, trembling in fear.

  The figure smacked his fists together causing the ground to tremble and shake. “You Codes have disappointed me,” the figure’s voice purred, low, and penetrating but soft. It caused a blanket of dark fog and fear to cover them. “You had the boy at your fingertips yet you let him go, and brought an imposter to me? You are worthless, all of you. I should punish all of you. Not just this broken, malfunction Code. You’re all as worthless as he!”

  “No!” the Codes howled, pointing to Andrew. “It is he. He is to blame. Punish him.”

  The figure let out an angry cry that shook the ground and filled the air with frost. “Why just kill him, when you all are just as guilty? I don’t know why I ever brought you into existence.” He turned to a man standing next to him. “Graydim,” have your men kill them all. Let none live. These Codes have exceeded their use. These Codes have long expired. They are outdated and are of no importance to me. I shall make new Codes to replace these faulty ones. Codes that will not so easily crack as these have.”

  A cry of dismay fell over the Codes as soldiers swooped in from every direction and started killing them. Shrieks filled the night air as the butchering began.

  The shining figure stood, watching the carnage with emotionless eyes, unfeeling, uncaring, cold and hot, without conscience---ruled by one thing and one thing only.

  Andrew pushed through the screaming Codes. Their disjointed voices beeped, clipped, and scraped out through the night like something mechanical and animal.

  Andrew ducked behind a Code as it fell, crashing head first into the chest of a tall animal-like soldier with eyes of a man and skin of a toad. The creature wore black armor and a necklace with little barbs that looked like it was digging into his neck. The man growled, and brandished a doubled-bladed knife.

  Andrew picked up the fallen blade of a Code and plunged it into the creature’s chest. Ducking down, he sifted in and out of the bodies of the struggling, the fighting and the dead. All the while, he could feel the cold eyes of the shining figure watching him like the bite of frost tickling his neck. No matter where he ran or hid, he felt as though this being’s gaze could see him, feel him, and stick to him like a shadow that would never let go.

  He ran from the throbbing crowd of struggling bodies and slipped out of the courtyard and down a dark byway. The clipping sounds of Codes’ screaming still echoed through the air, mixed with the sounds of shifting shadows. He paused to catch his breath. The shining figure had caused a cold, frosty prick of fear to shroud his thoughts. Something about
the figure made him feel as if his soul had become paralyzed, and his body subject to its will. It made his entire being feel cold. Not the normal kind of cold when you stay out in a blizzard for a long period of time. But a cold that draws you to it, like a metal pole that asks you to stick your tongue on it, even though you know it will cause you pain.

  “Over there!” A gruff voice called. “Grab him!”

  Andrew stumbled through the dark ally and fell into an oily snow drift. He quickly pulled himself up and pressed himself into a shadowy corner. The shadows there squirmed and writhed, pinching him, irritated that he had taken up their spot.

  “He was here, I’m sure of it,” a soldier shouted, bursting down the dark street, overturning carts, scouring the area.

  Andrew stood where he was, pressed against the wall, closing his eyes as the soldier came dreadfully near him and stopped.

  Without knowing why, Andrew quickly stuffed his hand into his pack and rubbed the smooth shell Shellbee had given to him back in the land of the Brittlewambers. He didn’t know why he rubbed it, but he did, and without realizing it, the sound of his quick breathing became absorbed into the shell.

  The soldier stepped nearer and placed his boot over Andrew’s foot, causing Andrew to cry out, but the shell absorbed that sound, and the soldier heard nothing. The soldier stood by the wall for a long time, listening. But the shell Andrew held kept any sound of Andrew hidden in its depths.

  Finally, the soldier moved on. Andrew stepped away from the shadowy wall, glad to be rid of the pinching, squeezing, inhospitable shadows. He drew out Shellbee’s shell and gazed at it. Where it once had a beautiful, silver swirl, it was now just a faded distant gleam. Andrew had wondered what kind of power the shell had. Now he knew. How he had known to rub it, he had no idea. But he was thankful he had. He made another noise and rubbed the shell. But the power the shell had once held was now used up.

  Andrew quickly dropped the shell and moved away from the wall. He could hear the screams of Codes as they died, and the angry shouts of soldiers. Still nearer to him he could hear the sound of crunching of snow, the clattering swords and heavy breathing. He turned, and stumbled through the street, only to find himself trapped by four stark brick walls that reached high into the sky. He felt as if those hard walls were laughing at his smallness, daring him to try to climb them.