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

by Ivory Autumn

  “Freddie!” Andrew cried. “Freddie!”

  He looked up, his eyes filling with horror as the wagon veered over a boulder, and over the edge of a steep precipice.

  For one moment the wagon was suspended in space, as everything slowed down to a slow throb.

  Then, as if grabbed by the hand of a giant monster, the wagon was pulled down. Everything spilled out around him. Freddie was wrenched from his arms, and the terrible sensation of falling enveloped him.

  Falling, falling, falling.

  Splash! He smacked into the water so hard it felt like his skin was ripped from his body. Water swirled around him, sucked him under, as axes, and swords, and spears fell into the water.

  The water was hot and salty and stuck to his skin, burning it like citrus squeezed into a wound. He swam to the surface. To one side he could see the bits and pieces of the wagon floating on the water. The horses were nowhere to be seen. Neither were Freddie and Croffin.

  “Freddie!” Andrew called. “Freddie!”

  He dove underneath the water searching for Freddie. His hand wrapped around something warm and wet. He tugged at it drawing it up with him to the surface.

  “Let go of my tail!” Croffin sputtered, splashing desperately against the water.

  Andrew released Croffin’s tail, and dipped back into the water, searching. Andrew was beginning to feel desperate. Where was Freddie? The water was too dark. He couldn’t see. He stayed beneath the water longer this time, pushing his limits until his head pounded, and his lungs throbbed. He needed air. Finally, finding nothing, he swam back up, gasping in large gulps of air.

  “Freddie!” he cried, scanning the surface of the water “FREDDIE!”

  “He’s over here!” Croffin shouted, pointing to a floating plank where Freddie’s body lay, the arrow wound in his shoulder pooling blood into the water.

  Andrew quickly swam to him, then pulled him to shore. “Freddie!” Andrew cried, laying his limp body on the ground. His face was blue. His eyes were closed. He pressed Freddie’s chest, trying to expel the water he’d ingested. “Freddie!”

  Freddie did not respond.

  He pounded his chest harder this time. “Come on!”

  Still there was no sign of life.

  A terrifying fear gripped Andrew. He felt as though he was the one that was not breathing. He had never thought of Freddie as someone who could die. To Andrew, Freddie was like the brother he never had, someone who was always there when Andrew had needed him---someone who was always the first person to help shoulder a load that was much too heavy for him on his own.

  He had thought of Freddie as someone who was indestructible. But to look at his blue face, his motionless countenance, the blood oozing out of his shoulder, he looked quite mortal. So mortal in fact that he looked dead.

  Andrew’s whole body felt paralyzed, frozen by fear. “FREDDIE!” He cried, thumping Freddie’s chest once more.

  Freddie’s chest suddenly heaved. He coughed and sputtered, expelling water, and gasping for air.

  “Freddie!” Andrew exclaimed, hugging his friend. “I thought you’d never wake up. I thought…”

  “Yeah,” Croffin agreed, peering over Freddie. “I wondered for a moment what the world would be like without you, but luckily you woke up before I had to answer that question.”

  “Lucky for us,” Andrew said, “we won’t have to.”

  Freddie smiled, then groaned. His hand went to the wound in his shoulder. He grimaced, and rolled to his side. “Andrew, I need to get this arrow out of me.”

  Andrew knelt down and inspected the back of Freddie’s shoulder where the arrow protruded. “You’re going do need something to bite down on.”

  “Yeah,” Freddie nodded, and grimaced again as Andrew felt along the edge of the arrow. “What about Croffin’s tail? That would be nice.” He grinned, trying to make light of a serious situation.

  “Oh no,” Croffin growled, tucking his tail underneath his body. “No one sinks their teeth in this tail. Not unless you want to be sprayed with skunk juice.”

  Andrew tore a piece of his cape off and handed it to Freddie. He, in turn, wadded it up, and bit down on it. “Okay,” he said, with muffled voice. “I’m ready. Just yank it out.”

  Andrew rolled up his sleeves, and nodded. “Are you sure? First I’m going to have to break the end.”

  “Yes!” came the muffled reply.

  Andrew grabbed the end of the arrow with both hands, and broke it. The tip of the arrow came off in his hands.

  Freddie’s body went ridged. He cried out, his voice loud, and ridden with anguish.

  Andrew then grabbed the other end of the arrow protruding from Freddie’s shoulder, and pulled. The long stick came out in his hands, covered in blood, and jagged where he had broken its tip.

  Freddie cried out louder this time, filling the air with his agonized cries. Andrew flinched at the sound, feeling his stomach churn and his body tense in sympathy.

  “It’s done,” Andrew said, his voice soft.

  “Good,” Freddie whimpered, spitting out the cloth, and closing his eyes.

  Andrew quickly tore another piece of cloth off his own clothes, and handed it to Croffin. “Hurry, Croffin, get it wet.”

  Croffin did as Andrew asked, and dipped the cloth into the lake, and handed the cloth back.

  Andrew pressed it to Freddie’s wound.

  Freddie nearly bolted upright, in pain. He cried out in gut-wrenching screams. “It burns, oh, it burns!”

  Andrew quickly tossed the cloth away, feeling helpless against this new foe. “Oh, the water is too salty. I’m sorry Freddie. I didn’t realize…”

  He tore another piece of cloth and pressed it against the wound, without getting it wet. He had dealt with pain. But he had always been the one to feel it. It was far worse feeling pain for someone else, far more frightening.

  “I’m so thirsty, Andrew,” Freddie moaned. His lips were cracked and bleeding, and his sunburned face was peeling. The salty lake had dried out their skin, making it burn and itch incessantly. “Here, take this.” Andrew handed him one of the glowing fruits from his pack. “It’s not water, but it will quench your thirst.”

  Freddie slowly bit into the fruit, and closed his eyes, as his dry mouth, lips and body received nourishment.

  Andrew took a fruit as well, and split it between him and Croffin. He chewed it slowly, letting its cool juices linger in his mouth as long as he could. It tasted sweet and wonderful. Like something clear and clean and pure, like light itself. It cooled his burning throat, made his tired muscles relax, and revived his mind and soul. It was as if the fruit from the tree was peace, packaged in the rare fruit.

  He stayed by Freddie’s side, long into the night, until his friend had fallen into a fevered slumber. Their pursuers had gone away. Their weapons now rested at the bottom of the salty lake. Things had gone very badly.

  He stared up at the rising moon, reflecting in the salty water. The air was dry, and muggy, nearly unbearable even though the sun had gone down. It seemed as if the heat was rising up from the ground, emanating over the lake, giving it a foul, salty smell.

  He could only guess why this body of foul water had been left untouched by The Drought. Perhaps to mock those who tried to quench their thirst here---to make them that much thirstier?

  There air was thick, and heavy. The night was silent. No sounds of living things, no frogs, no crickets could be heard. He sighed, feeling very tired and discouraged. His head was starting to ache. He felt confused and disheartened. He closed his eyes and tried to picture his home back in Hollyhock Hollow. A home he’d left far behind. Somehow the memory of it seemed like a dream---a different age, like a place that only existed in his head. His memory of it was like cheese that grew better with age, but the true memory of it hidden in puffs of mold.

  A movement to the side of him broke his trance. He quickly stood, and peered around him into the darkness.

  “Hello?”

  There was
no answer.

  He stood gazing where he thought the sound had come from, for some time. All was quiet. Yet, he felt someone’s eyes on him---eyes that were loud with unsaid, words, and piercing. They were eyes that reached out and wanted to grab him and pull him in.

  Andrew looked over to Croffin and Freddie. Both were asleep, unaware of danger that lurked in the darkness. Instead of waking them, he drew his sword and flashed its light out into the night.

  In the light of the blade he saw a man standing on a boulder only a few feet away. The man was old and very thin. He wore no shirt, only a ragged pare of trousers. The man stared directly at Andrew, and pointed. Then, without warning, he hopped off the boulder, landing in front of Andrew. He stood before Andrew challenging him with his vivid eyes that glowed in the darkness. The man’s hands were stained with ink. His ears stuck out of his bald head, like masts of a ship, much too big for their bearer. His eyes bulged out of his head---glossy orbs that were filled with mystery, like a gypsy ball that contained the secrets of the universe. Andrew could not turn away from such eyes that were full of so much sadness, and so much intrigue. The man’s eyes looked as if they wanted to say a thousand things but had never been able to express his thoughts because his mouth, if you could say it was a mouth, was sewn completely shut. Andrew could see

  dark stitches hemming both his lips together in an ugly, line. To look at him made Andrew’s stomach lurch. He wanted to look away, but he couldn’t pull his eyes away from this specter. Just as bizarre as his grotesquely forever-closed mouth, were his ears that stuck out of his skull like two thick halves of an enormous mango. They sagged below his chin, as if they had heard too much over the years and had stretched under the weight of what they’d heard.

  “Who are you?” Andrew asked.

  The man shook his head, and pointed to his forever locked mouth.

  “Yes, I can see you can’t talk.”

  The man nodded, and squinted as if he were trying to smile.

  “Who did this to you?” Andrew asked, lowering his sword and pointing to the man’s lips.

  The man’s eyes glowed in the darkness, speaking oceans of sadness and misery for all the things he wanted to say but couldn’t. He bent down and pointed to Freddie’s wound, and then tugged on Andrew’s arm, trying to get him to follow him.

  “You want me to follow you?” Andrew asked.

  The man nodded, his eyes gleaming in reassurance.

  “I can’t.”

  The man’s face clouded over. He pulled on Andrew’s arm all the more.

  “I can’t leave Freddie here alone. You can see he’s hurt.”

  The man’s eyes lit up at this. He nodded. He pointed to Freddie, and then in the opposite direction, making strange motions with his hands.

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Wait…” Andrew cried. “What are you?”

  The man ignored Andrew and knelt over Freddie. He drew a bottle of silver liquid out of his purse and pressed it to Freddie’s lips. Then, taking another bottle out of his pack, he took the cloth off Freddie’s wound and poured it over the bleeding flesh. Freddie let out a peaceful sigh, still sleeping, and smiled as if it had soothed his pain.

  The man looked up at Andrew and nodded.

  “You can help him?” Andrew asked.

  The man nodded again and pulled at his arm to follow him. He pointed to out into the darkness, making swishing motions, and angry faces, as if trying to communicate that the place they were was not safe.

  Andrew looked at the man, and then back at Freddie. He wanted to trust this wordless man. Though he spoke not a word, Andrew felt that this person had something very important to say if someone took the time to understand. Without waiting further, he nudged Croffin awake, and with little explanation as to whom this newcomer was, made Croffin follow them. He gently picked up Freddie, and struggling under his weight, followed the silent man through the darkness and subdued moonshine.

  The man skipped on ahead, away from the salty lake, his long ears wobbling back and forth. He led them into a cave between jagged slabs of giant red rocks that looked like they had been carved by wind and water. The cave was lit by several candles that made it look very orange. Andrew’s arms ached from Freddie’s weight. The walk to this place had nearly used up what little strength he had left.

  The voiceless man pointed to a cot in a corner, and Andrew quickly lay Freddie down on it. Croffin stood beside him looking red- eyed and too confused to say anything.

  After making sure Freddie was comfortable, he sat by his bed, watching as the man worked over Freddie’s wound, dressing it with medicine and a clean cloth. Croffin grumbled, as he curled up in a corner of the cave, and fell into a troubled sleep.

  “Thank you,” Andrew told the voiceless man, after he’d finished.

  The man’s eyes gleamed with a smile that his lips could never show. He grabbed Andrew by the hand and shook it. His eyes shone, as if he wanted to say many things. He let go of Andrew’s hand and nodded towards a far corner in the cave.

  The cave was cooler than outside and felt nice. The candles flickered in the darkness, as if frightened by the new strangers.

  The cave was vast, and lined with long shelves, all filled with strange bottles full of red dirt.

  Andrew stood and looked where the man had pointed. Deep within the cave was another man standing hunched over the floor, beside a candle. His head went nearly to the ground, as he inspected a pile of red sand on the cave floor. The man had dark, shiny skin, and big hands, and feet so big that they stuck out from his legs like two canoes. His hair was black and kinky, lined with colorful beads that hung down past his shoulders. He wore only a white cloth draped around one shoulder, and laced at the waist. He had brown eyes that looked like chocolate, and big lips that were turned into hard lines as he inspected the sand.

  “Why, they only left a few good ones, those dirty trespassers,” the man muttered. His voice was rich, and deep. “Those messy mollusks---marring perfectly good prints. If they’re going to go in unwanted places, they might as well leave a clear path where they’ve been!”

  He blew on the sand, looking at what Andrew surmised were footprints. The man bent down even lower and blew away any stray dust that did not belong to the footprint, then gingerly swept each footprint into a separate bottle.

  Andrew coughed from the dust the man had blown into the air. At the sound, the man looked up, finally seeing the strangers for the first time. He raised his brows and stared at Andrew and Croffin, then at Freddie’s body on the cot, then to the man with the sewn-shut mouth.

  “Whab?” He asked the voiceless man. “What strays have you brought in now? We can’t keep doing this. It’s dangerous!” He turned to Andrew and pointed towards the door. “Go! You must leave now. I’m sorry. But you can’t stay here. My friend doesn’t know his own mind.”

  Whab’s eyes filled with furry. He pointed to Freddie, and then, growing angrier by the minute, he jumped up and down kicking up dust into his friend’s face.

  “Whab! Stop it! Don’t act like a savage when we clearly know you’re not one. I can hear you good and loud. Fine! They can stay. But only for one night. The last stragglers you brought in scavenged several of my most important footprints. I hope these vagabonds are a little more gracious than that.” He stared at Andrew with distrustful eyes.

  “We won’t take anything,” Andrew assured him. Whab stood by him and nodded as if trying to tell Drust he was taking full responsibility for Andrew and his friends.

  “Really? Well you’ve already taken up much of my time. How do I know you won’t steal something when my back is turned?”

  “Then don’t turn your back.”

  The man’s face reddened. “What did you say?”

  Whab shook his head and waved his hand at Andrew, trying to sooth Drust.

  “I said,” Andrew repeated, moving away from Whab, “why would anyone want to take your jars of footprints anyway?”

  The man opened hi
s mouth wide, his eyes filling with a ghastly look of surprise. “Why? I can’t believe my ears. Why? Why? You obviously don’t know anything about anything! Don’t you know that a single footprint can contain vast resources of information---stores of knowledge your smallified brain could never begin to grasp.”

  “Oh really?” Andrew asked. “What kind of knowledge?”

  The man raised his brows. “You mock me. I can see it in your eyes. Don’t you know who I am? I am Drust. The Footprint Reader. You don’t have to believe me. But it is true. A single footprint contains immeasurable amounts of knowledge. With one look, I can read a footprint as I can a book. I can tell where that soul has been, where he has traveled, where he is going, and sometimes I can tell where he will end up.” He motioned to his vast jars of footprints lining the room. “Some people keep scrolls. But I, and those who came before me, have kept footprints. In them there is no misspelling, no error. No embellishments, no fiction of any kind. Only truth. My ancestors and I have kept a record of how men have walked, over thousands of centuries. In here lies more information about man and his true nature than any book could ever hold. For how man walks, and where he walks, and what he does, tells me more about his nature than anything else does. Here, contained in this cave, I have kept and preserved man’s true walk on earth. That is why I must guard it so. There are many who would kill for the information contained in this cave.”

  The skepticism on Andrew’s face vanished. He scanned the shelves filled with numberless footprints of every kind, of both man and animal. Contained somewhere in this cave were footprints of the past, and perhaps footprints that could tell of his future. “These footprints you have collected and studied,” Andrew said, “do they tell you where man is heading now…where he is going?”

  Drust’s face filled with a somber aura. “Ah, man. Where he is going? I’ll tell you. They all walk in the same manner, in many directions, on many different paths that lead to the same place.”

  “And what place is that?”

  Drust lifted his chin, studying the cave ceiling and then looked directly into Andrew’s eyes. “Destruction. That is where they are heading. To their own fall. To Darkness, where they will continue to wander, lost and alone forever. They have been steadily treading on such a path for years now. Inch by inch, into shadow they have gone, until they cannot see the path ahead. Would that they had never veered from the good and beautiful path of truth and light they had started on. But something in man’s nature has an affinity towards dark paths, just as to light ones. It is his test to keep on the right path, even when it is rocky.”