The Last Summoning---Andrew and the Quest of Orion's Belt (Book Four) (31 page)

“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.

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 reside 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 consume 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?”