by Ivory Autumn
The feeling that pervaded the earth was hollow and empty, vacant, restless like a tormented soul which could not sleep. The light from all, both great and small, had gone out. In its place was an emptiness that reeked of might-have-dones, and could haves, and undone actions---things that could have held the darkness in check. But could-haves are twice as painful when faced with the dreary prospect of what-is, and what-will-now-never-be.
The coldness that had been so long within, was very much now without. Only The Fallen’s flickering light gleamed out through the darkness, summoning all peoples to him, to worship at his feet, to gather to his light, though faltering, and unreliable as it was.
“Yes,” The Fallen breathed, with closed eyes. He stood atop his great tower, beckoning with outstretched hands. “Come! Come to me,” he called. Light radiated from his dark skin casting the world in a false, faltering light that was uncertain, teasing, ungiving---selfish. His light gave just enough light to blind, to confuse, to flatter, and to create more shadows, nothing more. “I am the only light bearer on this earth!”
The glimmering form stood on his tall tower, like a lamp that beckoned all to him. He stood on its peak, emanating cold heat and light, staring out over the masses crawling to him, satisfied at what he had accomplished. His diluted light cast its distorted glow over the entire earth. The light that he cast birthed thousands of shadows that swirled through the air and howled with savage delight.
“Kneel!” He cried to his numberless subjects that had gathered beneath the tower. Their backs were hunched, their knees were bent as they turned their faces to the ground, licking the light up with their black tongues.
“Behold!” a shadow cried, drifting in and out of the concourses of followers that licked up the light from The Fallen. “The star of the earth! Bow the knee! For in him is your miserable human path cast in light. Our new lives finally birthed!”
“Bow the knee!” a resounding voice shouted throughout the crowd. “BOW THE KNEE! Long live The Fallen!”
The Fallen watched as the masses bowed before him, mingling freely with shadow and light.
“Today,” The Fallen called out to his followers, “we have finally become one people! A unified, and united world, in which shadow and light now mingle freely with one another. In this new light, a new world will rise. The time where darkness and light are esteemed as equals, where none is greater or stronger than the other has dawned upon us. Serve me, and live!”
His concourses of followers sent up a deafening shout of approval. They rose to their feet, cheering.
The Fallen cheered with them sending an explosion of light throughout the entire concourse of people, so that his light reflected in their eyes, and weakened their minds with a confusing haze. “You are mine!” he cried. “You have served me well. And I now serve you. By my light, alone, you see! By my light your new path is now clear.”
The moment he said those words, a strange sound cut through the shadows and haze.
Gong, gong, gong! The sound was as powerful as it was beautiful and shrill. The sound shook the land, dispersing his mingled light and disbanding his shadows. With each gong, the sound intensified and resounded, echoing throughout the land, penetrating heart and soul with its message of hope and truth. There was not a person on earth who did not have a chance to hear its call, to accept or reject it as he chose.
Gong! Gong! Gong! On it sounded, pressing into the endless night, lighting up those hearts that let it enter in, retreating from those who had fallen too far to be brought back to the light.
Gong! GONG! GONG! The sound rose and swelled, pressing through the masses of The Fallen’s followers, searching for hosts to bear its light.
The Fallen listened to the toll of the bell with intense interest. The sound catapulted through the air, lighting up the bits of darkness just enough to give hope to those who desired it. The music stirred through the land like a warm breeze. Its music was sweet and pierced the heart. Those who listened to it felt that it was though they had just fallen off of a tall cliff, only to be caught up by the music, and lifted to lofty heights.
Gong, gong, gong! The longer it sounded, the angrier The Fallen became. The bell’s ring intensified so loudly that no other sound could be heard except its stirring music. The sound hammered through the land, softening hardened hearts with each gong. The music spoke of wars, and of life. Most of all, it spoke of hope, of truth, of what could be. There was no spot of land that its music did not penetrate.
On the other hand, those in whose hearts was found nothing but stony, blackness, it smote with a great fear, and a memory of all their sins, causing them to grow angry and bitter.
With each gong, those whose hearts still gleamed with a small flicker of goodness, awakened to the awful state of darkness they were now in.
There was no soul that the sound did not touch. It summoned all peoples, waking the world, and shaking it with its sound of hope and its message of truth.
The music brought with it a whole orchestra of history that rose and crescendoed with such power that it cut through the darkness like a knife, carving out loopholes of light for those trapped in the darkness to see by. Though the darkness pressed in around this hope, trying to consume it, this new light was quick and inconsumable. It flitted through the land searching for hearts that were well oiled and ready to keep hope’s light burning.
With each new gong, hope brought with it an anxious feeling of duty, of honor, of truth, of action. Where they had so long remained inert and passive, these things of darkness passed away from them.
They had become new creatures. The light shone in their hearts, showing them the error of their ways, and the path of light they now must travel.
There, in the darkened world, hope’s light cut through the shadows like lightning. Sometimes this brilliant light got eaten up by the darkness as quickly as it had come. It lingered only with those who welcomed its presence. With each passing moment, the sound of hope grew more firm and affixed in the hearts that it touched, causing a yellow glow to emanate from the faces and bodies of those in whom this new hope dwelt.
Hope marched for its last battle! Drums sounded in the distance and the whole world stirred and trembled. Both light and darkness stirred and swirled, ready for their final conflict.
“What is the meaning of this?” The Fallen shouted to one of his men. He scanned the land, seeing strange yellow lights flicker on, as hope entered the hearts of those who welcomed it.
The Fallen’s countenance fell with each gong of the bell. His face filled with anger that grew, swirled, and bubbled with each toll. A spray of hope had the audacity to shoot through the air, and flutter in his face, as if tempting him, of all beings, to accept it. How was this possible?
The Fallen caught the shaft of light and held the trembling beam in his hands. “How dare you come before me?” He seethed, squeezing the winged ray of hope. “You withered beam of impudence! Do you hope to give me hope? Well, I’m sorry to get your hopes up. But I think I’ll pass. I need no hope. Hope is useless. Fear and shadow are my servants, darkness and doubt are far more liberating. Your meager offering will never light the world. I, on the other hand, will. You see, now there’s enough darkness to go around! No one will ever be without.” He laughed, pressing the beam harder, with each laugh, until all the light drained from the winged creature, and it fell to his feet, dead.
“The bell of Conroy has sounded!” one of The Fallen’s servants cried, breathlessly bowing before The Fallen.
The Fallen kicked away the dead wisp of hope he had just killed, and looked at his servant with condescending eyes. “What?”
“The bell of Conroy has sounded.”
The Fallen’s face clouded with wrath. “Yes. I can hear that! But how?”
The Fallen’s servant cowered before The Fallen. “I…I don’t know.”
“You don’t know. You must know! How has it that its sound has reached my ears!” The Fallen loomed over the man, threatening to suck in the m
an’s light and life into his own nostrils.
The Fallen’s servant cowered even more. “Please...I don’t know why…”
The Fallen’s countenance grew darker, like a flickering candle in the wind. “Well, I know why. Because someone rang it!”
The man fell to his face, and covered his head with his hands. “Please, do not harm me, oh great light bearer. I’m sure the bell’s power will not last long. For you are far stronger than anything on earth. Far more powerful than anything!”
The Fallen scowled, and nodded, glowing in his own glory. “Yes, I am the most powerful force on earth. You have spoken well. Go now. And leave me be. Tell my captain to summon all with my mark of darkness to devour those who bear the light of Conroy. Spare none. This miserable hope must be stopped before it spreads. Do you understand?”
“Yes, my master,” the man bowed, then retreated into the darkness.
The Fallen murmured as he stared out over the land with dark oily eyes. He smirked as he watched the mysterious beams of hope swirl through his lands searching for those who would accept its meager offering. Here, his followers pushed the call of hope aside and embraced the mingled light The Fallen gave. Here, his followers crowded around his towers, feeding off his light, ingesting his lies like leaches that could never be satisfied. He watched all this with consuming eyes, satisfied that this hope would soon be suffocated.
“Oh brilliant one!” one of his guards shouted. “We bring a traitor to you. His fate is now in your hands.”
The Fallen looked up, a flash of irritation crossing his face at being thus disturbed. “A traitor?”
“Yes, a traitor!” two soldiers came, carrying a man with serious eyes, and a brilliant countenance. His skin glowed, and gave off a star-like sheen.
“Look at him! One of your own subjects!” his guard spat. “Caught him trying to escape to the other side of the frozen sea. The traitor killed five of our own men.”
The Fallen walked around the gleaming man, searing him with his eyes. “So it has come to this. One of my own followers. How is this possible?”
The man glared at The Fallen, not bothering to shield his eyes from The Fallen’s brilliance. “I have awoken from a deep sleep,” the man said, his eyes alight with defiance. “And I will never be blinded by your deceptions again.”
“Blinded?” The Fallen repeated. “Don’t you understand. You are blind now. The hope in which you put your trust is a false hope. A fleeting flash, a flickering wick that will go out with the slightest breeze. You must put your trust in me. I am the only constant now.”
“If this darkness is the only constant in which I can put my trust, I would rather put my trust in a small shaft of hope that radiates and gives, than a darkness that demands worship, and consumes everything in its path.”
The Fallen’s eyes smoldered with burning anger. “You know that to radiate this false light of hope, or to radiate any light, except my own, is forbidden. Yet still you continue to cling to this hope. Why? What is the reason? Why, when you know there is nothing to gain from it except your own death?”
“Does there have to be a reason for it?” The man asked. “Hope can exist when there is no reason. That is why. It is a candle that creates its own wax, one that never burns out so long as you believe in it.”
The Fallen looked baffled. “Can it? Can life exist when there is no air? Can trees exist without earth? Can rain exist where there are no clouds? Can fire burn when there is no fuel? I think not.”
The man shook his head, his face shining with light. “Yes, it can, and it does. It burns inside of me, and it burns in the hearts of many others like me. It will grow into a consuming fire that will put your light to shame, and devour your darkness into nothing!”
“You have spoken treason!” The Fallen roared. “It is you who will be consumed! This hope cannot exist for no reason. There has to be a reason for it. Some thing, some person…”
The man grew bold. He stood tall as he faced The Fallen, staring into his all-consuming eyes with his own brilliant countenance. “The beauty of hope is that it can exist where there is no air, light, ground, clouds, or even life. It is a galaxy of its own. Those who choose to orbit around it are warmed by its light. You may try to shut it out, but it will rise again, and again. It is a light that never goes out. NEVER!”
The Fallen’s face gleamed with wrath. “NEVER? That is a strong word. Ah, I see now. You are confused, and mislead by this false hope. For that is what it is. It creates its own twisted reality, one quite different than everyone else sees. It deceives those it settles on with dreams that can never be, moving them into rash actions that can never be undone. Yet, however foolish it is, I will use this hope for my own benefit.” He laughed and placed a dark hand on the man, sucking in the man’s light into his own nostrils. “Are you so sure this hope will never go out?”
“It will shine on long after you have passed!” The man gasped for air. He struggled back. But the pull of The Fallen was too strong. The man’s face drained of all light and color as the Fallen inhaled the man’s light of life. The man’s glowing countenance faded as the light of his skin passed into The Fallen. The man fell forward, dead, his light absorbed into the life of The Fallen. The Fallen smiled, his gleaming countenance brightening.
“Let them have their hope,” The Fallen murmured, turning from the fallen man. “For it will only give me more fuel.”
He laughed and turned his eyes to the distance where he could see a great body of glowing souls gathering together.
“Just as easily as Hope gathers,” he breathed. “It will be dispersed.”
Chapter Forty-five
Shafts Of Hope
Andrew felt himself drawn from his body and thrust through a portal of light. He now stood at the entrance of two magnificent white doors whose greatness and magnitude far exceeded the brilliance of The Fallen. The cracks beneath the doors let out warm rays of light, heralding something wonderful. Behind the doors he could hear singing and laughter. He yearned to go inside. He glanced at the black mist behind him and shivered. It was so dark back there, so uncertain. The darkness behind him only increased his desire to step through the door and into the light, where hope of brighter things lay. He placed his hands on the doors and tried to open them. But they were locked. He tried again, pulling against the doors with all his might. Why wouldn’t they open? He grabbed the doors once again. To his surprise they opened a crack, letting out a shaft of light so bright that he was transfixed by it. He reached out and touched it. The light felt warm, and alive. He traced his fingers in the light, molding it like clay. He smiled and pushed through the concentrated light, but was held back by an unseen force.
“Not yet,” a gentle voice murmured. The voice was Rhapsody’s. “Not yet, but soon. Very soon.”
“Rhapsody?” He cried, glancing around him. “Where are you?” He pulled at the doors once more. They opened wider, letting the wonderful light flow over him. But before he could enter, a cold wind rushed up, blowing Andrew back, back, back, slamming the door with a terrific bang.
At that same instant, Andrew’s eyes flew open. A ringing resounded in his ears, gong, gong, gong! The sound was piercing and urgent, calling him back from the doors he had so longed to enter. A terrible pain throbbed in his chest, causing him to breathe in short labored breaths. The pain swelled with the ringing of the music that tolled. It was a pain he had thought he had left far behind him with his body.
Yet still he lingered in his body, called back by the strange tolling voice. And for what?
He did not know.
The world was drenched in shadow so heavy that Andrew could feel it cling to his skin like sticky tar. It encircled him on all sides, pressing him with heaviness. He cried out, his hand going to his chest. He felt the wet blood that oozed from the place where his own sword had entered his chest. He moaned, yearning for the door he had been pulled away from. He trembled all over and started to cough up blood. He could feel himself losing conscious
ness, fading out again. The darkness wanted him, tormented him, but the sound in the distance pounded in his ears all the more, louder and louder. It kept his heart beating with the incessant gonging. It seemed as if he clung onto a great precipice and the throbbing clang was the only thing holding him inches from the clutches of death. He could not understand the sound, only that it called out to him without ceasing.
Oh, how he wanted to sleep, oh how he wanted to go back to where he had felt finally at peace. Still, the sound continued to chime in the darkness, beautiful, mysterious, growing stronger with every throb. Where the sound came from, Andrew couldn’t tell. With each chime he felt all the more tormented. He wanted to be set free, wanted to escape from the darkness, from the pain. But the music clutched him in a firm grip that would not be easily broken.
The stirring sound rose and swelled through the darkness, gong, gong, gonging, over and over. Andrew cried out, clutching at the gash in his chest, torn by the pull of death and the tug the music had on him.
Had he been at the doors of heaven, only to be thrust to the gates of hell?
The gonging continued ringing through the land, rippling through the cover of darkness as if challenging it, causing parts of the thick sheet of blackness to thin, and crack in places. Through such a crack, a brilliant yellow bird-like creature flew, with feathers of light, sending shafts of radiance into the dark corridors of The Fallen’s castle. The creature did not mind the darkness. In fact, it soared and darted into the darkest places it could.
It settled on the window in The Fallen’s chambers and perched on the sill, overlooking Andrew. The bird sat there, a beam of light and hope. Its glow glimmered on the mirrored floors, in the impenetrable darkness, twittering out a cheery song into a bitter world. Andrew felt a ghost of a smile appear on his lips as he listened to its music. The music relaxed Andrew and caused him to forget all else. The music fed his hungry soul, and caused him to hope. It was a funny feeling, hope, in this great darkness. Hope. Where had it come from?