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

by Ivory Autumn

  “Welcome home,” Morack murmured, taking the glass jar of ash out of his pocket. He held it high. “All hail to Lancedon, last son of Danspire. How does the world look now from your lofty resting place?” He kissed the jar, laughed, and set the glass on a shelf full of hundreds of other jars containing the ashes of dozens of the beloved of Danspire’s finest that he had executed. Now all he needed was the boy, Andrew. He’d heard from shady sources that the boy was weak and hadn’t survived his trip to The Shade's forest. Even if the boy did kill The Shade’s trees, the earth had already gone too long with the trees’ roots poisoning the soil. Nothing much would change. There was no stopping the movement of shadow. NOTHING!

  So all was better than expected. Much better. Everything was perfect. He was perfect. How he loved himself. How he loved his devious mind and every twisted thought that swam through its depthless channels. There was no other like he. No one who surpassed his amazing stature, wisdom or strength. How he praised and admired his amazing looks and abilities. He leaned back in a cushy chair and examined his reflection at all angles for a full hour. Unsatisfied with a particular expression, he stood up and walked closer to the mirrored walls. Morack smiled at his reflection, stroked his mustache, raised his bushy brows, cocked his head to one side, itched his nose, opened his mouth and inspected his brilliantly white teeth. He picked out a piece of spinach that had lodged itself between his molars.

  “Sire?” a voice behind Morack inquired.

  Morack jumped back as the reflection of a dark, shadowy figure polluted his own magnificent reflection in the mirror.

  “How dare you!” Morack snapped, whirling around. “What on earth are YOU doing in here? This place is private. I’ll have your head for intruding!”

  “Nothing is private to a Shade,” the figure laughed like a great moaning wind, causing the doors in Morack’s chamber to slam shut.

  “The S-Shade? Impossible.”

  The Shade crept closer to Morack, looming over him like a black summit. “You sound frightened, Morack. Why? Are you scared of the dark?”

  “No. Of course not! But aren’t you suppose to be in your forest, casting your shadows, watching your trees? What are you doing here?”

  The Shade moved lightly over to Morack and whispered in his ear. “I should ask you the same question. The king of Danspire is supposed to be eliminating his enemies. But instead, I find him in a room filled with mirrors, staring at his own reflection!”

  Morack held his head, cringing from the unbearable sound of The Shade’s voice. He stepped away from The Shade’s dark figure. “You don’t understand, I have been eliminating my enemies. I came here to celebrate my latest victory.” He pointed to the rows of shelves filled bottles of ashes. “Do you not see! These are the ashes of those I have destroyed.” He grabbed a bottle and handed it to The Shade, his eyes lighting up with pride. “This one is my most recent addition---Lancedon.”

  “Your nephew?” The Shade inquired, looking at the ashes with critical eyes.

  “It is,” Morack said, smiling with pride. “I have done everything the lord of dark and light has asked.”

  “Not everything.” The Shade held the glass so tightly that it cracked in two, under the pressure, causing the ashes to fall to the floor. “These are not your nephew’s ashes, you idiot!”

  “Of course they are,” Morack retorted, sweeping the fallen ashes with his feet. “Whose else would they be?”

  The Shade’s dark eyes filled with cruel hate. “No ones, you fool. And if you aren’t careful, I’ll fill a bottle with your ashes and keep them on my shelf for me to stare at!”

  “What? You’re wrong!” Morack cried. “These are Lancedon’s ashes! I saw Lancedon burn with my own two eyes. He and his companion are dead.”

  The Shade crept behind Morack and put his dark fingers on his shoulders, squeezing tightly. “Are you really sure you saw him burn?”

  The breath of The Shade caused Morack to shake in fear. Uncertainty filled Morack’s eyes. He began to sweat. His hands trembled and his nose began to twitch. “Y-yes.”

  “You’re lying.”

  “I am NOT!”

  The Shade’s shadowy cape grew in size and a dark mist filled the room, bubbling up from The Shade’s feet. Shadows swam into the room, reflecting from the mirrors, splitting in twos, threes, and fours, creating more and more until the room was filled with hundreds of The Shade’s own shadows. “Morack, do not suppose that you can lie to the one who created lies in the first place. I gave you the power to speak deception, and I can take that gift back. You may deceive the people with your trickery, but I, who am the master of such arts, can see right through you. You did not see Lancedon burn. Sources tell me that a lightning storm caused you to turn tail and run for your own pitiful life, before you saw the fire consume your captives.”

  “They are dead!” Morack huffed, shaking off a shadow that was twirling its dark finger round his mustache. “You don’t understand. It wasn’t just any lightning storm. It was as if the gods themselves were making war on the whole city. It was dangerous. I was nearly struck by a bolt, myself.”

  “So you ran?”

  “Only after I was sure that Lancedon’s death was certain. I saw the fire with my own eyes. It was devouring the platform on which they both stood. There was no way for them to escape. You can look for yourself. Nothing remains.”

  The Shade grabbed Morack’s collar and pushed him against a mirror, shattering it into a million pieces. “You were certain? Don’t you know that nothing is certain. Especially when it comes to your nephew. You, of all people, should know that. You’re a fool in love with your own reflection. Nothing in life is certain. NOTHING. Not even your own life.”

  “Please,” Morack pled, struggling against The Shade’s strong grip. “You don’t understand. Lancedon was chained to a post. He was surrounded by flames. There was no way he could have escaped.”

  The Shade laughed and his shadows swirled round the room in swarms. “But he did.”

  “It couldn’t be.”

  “Yes, it is true. Your nephew is…alive.”

  Morack’s face turned white. “Oh my,” he gasped. “There was no way he could have survived. How did this happen?”

  The Shade lifted Morack above the ground by his collar, and then dropped him to the floor. “It happened because you are frightened of your own shadow!” The Shade let out a shrill laugh, shattering all the mirrors in the room.

  “No!” Morack yelped, crouching on the floor, as the glass fell around them like sharp rain.

  “Stand!” The Shade ordered. “You really are pitiful, Morack. Pitiful.”

  Morack stood up slowly and brushed the broken glass off his clothes, trying to retain some dignity, as he glared at The Shade. “Me pitiful? Ha. Well I don’t see how a shadow, such as yourself, can get any more pitiful than you. Just look at yourself. You don’t even dare step out into the sun.”

  The Shade’s voice grew quiet. Yet even in a whisper his voice was piercing. “That’s because I don’t have to. Now listen Morack, and pay attention this time. What matters now is that you find Lancedon before he makes any more trouble---that you get rid of him before he causes the people to forget which side they are on.”

  “He’s not the threat he used to be,” Morack reminded The Shade. “He’s blind. Blind! No one could possibly listen to a blind man.”

  “That’s what you think. As long as he has his voice, he is dangerous!”

  “Really,” Morack argued, “there’s no need to worry. Even if I turned a hundred such men loose, no harm could be done. I’m sure of it. I have trained my people well. Before long he will be weeded out.”

  The Shade stood above Morack’s trembling figure, stern and unyielding. “I have heard your promises before, Morack. And they mean very little to me. Find your nephew, or I will make sure that you will really be afraid of your own shadow.”

  “You wouldn’t turn my own shadow against me.”

  “I would.” />
  “Please. I’ll do anything you ask.”

  “Then, find your nephew, and get rid of him!”

  “I will. I give you my word.”

  The corners of the Shade’s mouth turned up slightly, and he nodded. “Your word?”

  “Yes.”

  “Your word means nothing. Remember…it is your action that will show me.”

  Morack nodded. “Yes. Yes. I’ll remember.”

  The Shade’s eyes filled with a murky light. “Oh yes. I almost forgot. The Fallen sends his regards. He also hopes that you will prove your loyalty to him once and for all.”

  Morack flicked bits of broken mirror off his shoulders. “Prove my loyalty? So, now my loyalty is in question? Unbelievable. I have done everything he has ever asked. What more proof does he need? Me to cut off my own arm?”

  The Shade smiled and twirled a stray shadow that was lingering in the air in front of him, creating a floating whirlpool. “You haven’t done everything….”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You forgot to do something very important that was asked of you some time ago.”

  Morack furrowed his brows, and slammed his fists into the wall. “What did I forget to do now?”

  “Release something…”

  “Release what?”

  “You were supposed to release The Drought.”

  “Release The Drought? I don’t ever remember being asked to release The Drought. To do that would simultaneously release The Famine. And Danspire doesn’t have enough food to survive a thing like that.”

  “Well, you were asked once, and you did not do it. Now I’m not asking, I’m telling you. Release The Drought!”

  “I cannot! My people will starve.”

  “You can and you will. You are a resourceful man. The Fallen has sent me with orders that you must go to the four corners of the earth to gather enough food and water for your city and the cities 'round about, so that when The Drought has been summoned, The Fallen and his carefully-selected kings will have food and water to supply the world with.”

  Morack’s face clouded over in anger. “Why would I want to feed and water the world?”

  The Shade leaned over Morack, towering above him like the trees he fostered. “Don’t you see? By doing this, you will bring the people of every city, of every nation, and every tongue, to their knees. Every unyielding soul, and every unwilling heart, will be made to bend to The Fallen’s will.”

  Morack still looked unconvinced. “How will releasing The Drought do all this?”

  The Shade’s voice filled with a cruel, shadowy tone. “Few can resist hunger, and even fewer can resist thirst. If pressed hard enough, the unbending souls will have no choice but to give up their weapons in exchanged for food and water. By receiving such a boon, they will have made their choice. We will have won a war overnight, without a single blade being raised. Weapons, and the making of them, will be outlawed. They will have given away their heritage for food. And willingly. It is the perfect plan. One that will not fail. Food for weapons, life for their means to protect it. The plan is fail proof.”

  Morack nodded, his face filling with understanding. “Ah, I see. How clever, how very clever. However, there is something I do not understand. Why would you be interested in releasing something that might damage your trees?”

  The Shade stepped back, his face filling with a smoldering fire. “There is nothing left to damage. My trees have been destroyed. The boy’s strength was underestimated.”

  It was Morack’s turn to look amused. “Destroyed? Unbelievable! You had him at your fingertips---in your power! I don’t understand, I thought you had him under control?”

  “I did!” The Shade’s voice echoed through the room with such intensity that the shattered pieces of glass on the floor cracked, and shattered into even smaller pieces. “I had him under MY control. But I could not contain him. Now that the grip of my trees has been broken, and their roots withered, we must do something drastic to maintain control, and keep hold of the darkness that binds them. The Drought is the only thing that will do this.”

  “I’m finally beginning to understand,” Morack narrowed his eyes and smiled. “So, naturally I have to come and save YOU from the mess you created. It seems you and I have more in common than I thought. We both are failures---to some degree.”

  The Shade’s voice filled with venom. “The only thing we have in common is that you are a mere shadow, and I am the maker. You live only because I help cast you. I have always been a SHADE, Keeper of Shadows, and I will always be. You are a keeper of human maggots, because you flatter them with lies. I create works of art from my own beautiful darkness. You, on the other hand, are a diluted glass of pig swill, that attracts flies.”

  Morack’s face contracted in rage. “I am not!”

  The Shade narrowed his eyes. “Then prove it.”

  “How?”

  “Do as I have asked. Begin storing food and water. In a month’s time, release The Drought.”

  Morack held his aching head in his hands. “A month? There’s no possible way I can get all that done in a month!”

  “One month!” The Shade repeated. “If you fail, I will make sure that your own shadow stalks you in the dark, torments your waking hours, and darkens every path you tread. Believe me, if you do not do this, I will haunt your dreams and choke you with your own shadow.”

  Morack’s face looked vacant, and pale. He swayed back and leaned against the wall. “A month? How is that humanly possible?”

  “Don’t be a fool!” The Shade thundered. “For a human it might not be. But for The Fallen, it IS possible. The Fallen will aid you in this venture. There are many who have already started securing the necessary stores.”

  Morack nodded, his eyes filling with understanding. “Ah, I see. Very well then. I will do my best.”

  “Good!” The Shade whispered in Morack’s ear. “I’ll be sure to tell The Fallen of your continued loyalty.”

  “Yes. You do that.”

  The Shade glared at Morack with sinister eyes, then turned to leave. “Remember, Morack, that a Shade never casts threats that he won’t fill.”

  “Ha,” Morack retorted. “And a tyrant, such as myself, is never threatened by a mere Shadow.”

  The Shade glanced back at Morack, and smiled. “That’s hard to believe, coming from a man who spends half his time with his own reflections, and the other half trying to conceal who he really is. Take care to cast your own devious shadows in the dark, Morack, or the people might not like what they see.”

  “Same to you,” Morack muttered, watching as The Shade breathed in a long breath, sucking in the masses of shadows he had created. The shadows screamed, and cried out as The Shade inhaled them through his mouth and his nostrils in one long gulp. A moment of silence fell over the room as the last shadow vanished.

  The Shade’s gaze fell on Morack. “Remember,” he hissed, “Remember!” With those sinister words, he slipped away through a dark corridor as noiselessly as he had appeared.

  Relieved to have his space back, Morack turned to his shattered reflection in the only remaining piece of mirror on the wall. He raised his brows, inspecting his bruised neck, and the blood oozing from a cut in the side of his head. He squinted, inspecting his nose. Then he smoothed back his disheveled hair. The fractured reflection made him look much more sinister than he already did. For some reason it bothered him.

  “Gather supplies. Release The Drought, eh? Kill Lancedon again? Morack, you handsome devil. Looks like you have your work cut out for you. Release The Drought. Hmm...”

  Just saying the word, “Drought,” made Morack thirsty, made his lips feel dry. Once The Drought had been summoned, once it was called, it could never be recalled, unless someone with the right kind of power broke it. The Drought would come and do its work quickly and as quietly as the sun rises and sets. The thought of releasing a monster with such power over his lands made him cringe. As much as he liked the thought of more people coming
to him for their needs, he disliked the brown that would surely replace his green fields. But there was no other choice. He sighed, gave his reflection one last glance, and exited the room. After all, he had food to collect, water to store, weapons to confiscate.

  The Drought was waiting.

  Chapter Two

  The Blind To See

  A field of yellow roses that smelled of allspice stretched out before Lancedon like a field of golden fire. The field gave off a wonderful wave of tranquility that soothed him to his core.

  “Lancedon,” a voice whispered. “You are my son, placed in a dark world. Please be the light when all others go out.”

  The warm feeling suddenly vanished and he awoke with a start only to be greeted by the dark world of blindness.

  Memories of the terrible heat, the overwhelming smoke, the sounds of the fire roaring, and the people, his people, watching his execution with morbid delight, waiting for him to die, flooded over him. Confusion and fear gripped him. Where was he?

  He groped around in the darkness, grasping at bits of dirt and straw. His hand came in contact with the edge of something that was rough and splintery. He pushed himself up, steadying himself on what felt like a wooden wall. His feet, arms, and face felt raw and sore. They throbbed, and ached. He groaned, and stumbled to the ground.

  “Shh…” a soft, feminine voice murmured. “Don’t trouble yourself so.”

  Lancedon looked up, trying to determine where the sound had come from. “Where am I?”

  “You are safe,” the woman replied placing a warm hand on his arm.

  Lancedon pulled away from her. “Who are you, and what do you want?”

  The woman ran her hand gently over Lancedon’s cheek and forehead, causing his skin to tingle from its heat. “Has it been so long that you have forgotten my touch?”

  Lancedon’s face grew alert, recognition dawning on him. He grabbed the woman’s hand. “Coral?”

  “Yes.”

  Lancedon pressed the woman’s hand to his parched lips. “Oh, that I could see your face!”