by Ivory Autumn
A shuffling of feet sounded once more. There was a low creek as someone or---something---opened the door, and then slowly closed it again.
This time there was no question as to who the newcomer was. Freddie’s footfalls were unique, heavy, solid, like the tone of his voice. Andrew let himself slide back against the wall.
He closed his eyes listening to the gonging of the bell as it tolled unrelentingly, unwearied by the darkness---strong, and proud, and constant.
“Freddie?” Andrew whispered, seeing a dim outline of Freddie’s glowing skin in the darkness. “Is that you?”
“Yes,” Freddie answered, appearing out of the darkness. “It is I.”
“What took you so long?”
Freddie shook his head. “I think I was seen. I’m not sure. But I hid until I thought it was safe.”
“You were seen? By whom?”
Freddie chewed on his lower lip, nervously drumming his fingers on the side of the wall. “I don’t know. It’s hard to tell in this darkness. What matters now is that I found some food.”
Andrew straightened himself, and licked his lips. “Really? What about water?”
Freddie knelt down, and drew a black loaf of bread from his cloak. “No. No water. But we have bread. It’s not much. It tastes tolerable. Here, have a piece. We’ll wash it down with some black snow. Come on, eat. You need to get your strength up.”
Andrew took the piece of black bread and forced himself to eat it. It tasted burnt, like charcoal. It was dry, and stuck in his throat and teeth like bits of sand, making him thirstier than ever. Freddie scooped up a handful of snow and handed it to Andrew. “It’s got to be better than nothing.”
Andrew stared down at the cold snow. “I don’t know…it might be worse.”
“It’s not so bad,” Freddie encouraged him, munching a handful of snow. “It’s a bit salty…hmm…”
Unable to stand his thirst any longer, Andrew licked the black snow. It was cold, and salty like Freddie had said. It tasted black, brackish, oily, and addicting at the same time. Andrew licked it once more, growing thirstier. He grimaced at the bitter, salty taste, but continued licking it, feeling thirstier with each lick. The dark snow turned Andrew’s teeth and tongue black, yet he continued consuming it.
“We’ve got to stop,” Freddie panted, still shoveling black snow into his mouth. “It’s bad. We shouldn’t eat any more, Andrew. It’s no good. It just makes us thirstier. I was wrong. We must stop, really.”
Andrew knew Freddie was right, but he couldn’t help himself from consuming it. There was something in that black snow that made him want more of it. It made him want to never stop eating it. It made him so thirsty for more.
“We must stop!” Freddie commanded, knocking the snow from Andrew’s hands and pulling him away from the snow-covered sill.
“No!” Andrew cried out, thrashing against Freddie. A stab of pain cut through his body. He groaned, pinching his eyes shut.
“Be still,” Freddie soothed him.
Andrew breathed hard, and nodded. As the dark snow hit his gut, he grimaced in pain. His stomach churned and burbled.
“You’re right.” He pushed himself further away from the window. He swallowed hard, trying to forget the lingering, nasty taste of the addicting snow. “Everything The Fallen has touched leaves you empty and thirsty for more.”
“Keep hoping, Andrew,” Freddie encouraged him. “It is the only thing that separates us from the likes of them.” He pointed through the window, to the darkened figures prowling the grounds of The Fallen’s castle.
“I’m trying, Freddie,” Andrew said. “But the darkness is working on me. I’m afraid that I’ll…”
Freddie glanced at Andrew, his wistful face serious. “It’s working on me too. But we can’t let it grind us down. Andrew. You need to remember what you were born for. Why you came here, and the quest.”
“Born for this?” Andrew said, his voice cracking. “To hide in the shadows while The Fallen takes power? Freddie, I have failed. It’s over. We’ve lost. Look out there. The darkness is here, in the room, out there, everywhere. I have no mission anymore. There is no quest.”
“What?” Freddie cried, his voice loud and angry. “It’s the blackened snow that you ate, that’s talking. You know better than that. You hear that bell? Do you hear it?”
“Yes.”
“If you hear it, how can you not see? There is not only darkness in this room, but hope. It shines through our skin, and beats within us. Don’t let it go out, now. Keep it burning. Don’t let this blanket of darkness and black snow fool you. There are others out there. It is waking them, even as we speak. I’m sure of it. We saw them flickering through the haze. They are coming, Andrew. And when they get here, we need to be ready. So hold on. There’s a reason we are here. If we lose hope, how can we expect others to keep hold?
Chapter Forty-seven
The Last Summoning
A heap of black snow drifted in through the window, accumulating in great drifts around Andrew and Freddie. Andrew shivered, and dusted the oily snow from his body, and tried to sit up. He was stiff and sore. His lips were cracked, and his chest felt cold and heavy. Yet, the pain had subsided a little, for now.
Something had awakened him. But he wasn’t sure what. He sat there, staring at the darkness, trying to pinpoint the reason for the gnawing feeling that had caused him to wake.
He had forgotten something. But what was it? The darkness was profound. It was filled with eyes that had no faces, filled with sounds that had no form. He wondered how long he had slept. He had no way of telling how long it had been, or how long they had spent lingering like shadows, in the dark room.
There was a heavy, subdued feeling in the air, as if the world had totally and finally given in and succumbed to The Fallen’s will. The feeling was frightening as if the continual gnawing of the darkness had finally worn away all resistance.
Freddie was still asleep. Andrew wanted to wake him, just for the comfort of having someone one to talk to.
“Freddie?” Andrew whispered.
“Huh?” Freddie groaned, rubbing his eyes.
“You awake?”
“Yeah?” He yawned. “What is it?”
“I don’t know. It feels as if something, or someone is gone. Something is…I don’t know…missing.”
Freddie sat up, and listened. His eyes grew wide. “Yes. Something is missing. The bell has stopped ringing.”
They both looked at each other in alarm. The familiar sound of the throbbing bell had ceased, leaving a severe, gaping, empty hole that was instantly filled by an intense weary silence that dripped with a pregnated want of sound.
“It has stopped,” Andrew said, pushing himself against the window. “Why did it stop?” He stared out through the window, straining his eyes to see through the mist. He could see nothing but the restrained light of The Fallen shining out from one of his many towers. No other light shone. No other sound, except shifting shadows stirred.
“Is it over?” Andrew asked. “Why has it stopped?”
Freddie leaned out over the window ledge fanning the thick blackness as if trying to push it aside to see through the eternal darkness, his skin glowing yellow-white, like gold ingots gleaming in a darkened mine.
“Andrew,” Freddie breathed, his voice laced with excitement.
“What is it?”
“Look,” Freddie pointed in the direction of the Fractured Mountains. “Over there, through the mist. Look. Do you see it?”
Andrew pushed himself closer to the window and leaned out, straining his eyes in the direction Freddie had pointed. He pressed his lips together, boring holes in the darkness with is eyes. He could see nothing but the never-ending pool of blackness. All the light ignited by hope seemed to have vanished.
He turned to Freddie, and opened his mouth, but the words caught in his throat. He glanced back out the window. A stiff wind came up, and stirred through the darkness, thinning it just enough for Andrew to see a
small glimpse of what Freddie had seen. Thousands upon thousands of pinpricks of light gleamed through the mist, like a sea of golden, yellow stars flickering on a stormy night, all moving together towards The Fallen’s domain. The light glowed against the blackness as if challenging it. Then, as instantly as the beautiful scene came, it disappeared in a haze of darkness.
“Did you see that?” Freddie cried, shaking Andrew. “They have come! THEY HAVE COME! IT IS THE LAST SUMMONING!”
Andrew’s eyes were wide, his face ridden with disbelief. “Was it real?”
Freddie’s face lit up with excitement. “Yes, I’m sure it was. Those were people, Andrew. Real people. Like you and me. Coming together to fight this darkness. People who are full of light.” His voice broke off as he stared down at Andrew’s sword that was glowing in the corner of the room, growing steadily brighter with each moment. “Your sword, Andrew, look...”
Gradually, the darkened room awoke from its deep slumber, in a flash of light. The light from the sword cast out every shadow. It filled the room with a burning, glorious light that glistened off the mirrored floors, until the room seemed to sparkle.
Andrew stared down at his sword, his eyes laced with fear and wonder. It gleamed against the mirrored floors. Its light reflected in every direction---a light so concentrated, so powerful that it frightened him.
“It is time, Andrew!” Freddie cried. “Take it. It is yours to hold.”
Andrew looked from the sword to Freddie, the memory of The Fallen sinking its sharp blade into his flesh washed over him. It was in his mind that he feared the sword, distrusted it. But his heart told him a truth that he could not shut out. He clutched his chest, and closed his eyes, listening to his heart beat against his chest. It was not the sword he feared, but himself.
In it he had seen his weakness. He alone was not strong enough to defeat The Fallen, though he had wished it. But now he was no longer alone. The hope in his heart rose and throbbed, growing stronger with the light that shone from the sword.
“Take it!” Freddie commanded again.
Breathing deeply, Andrew took courage and carefully closed his good hand around the sword’s hilt, afraid of what he might feel. Instead of the emptiness he had once felt, it felt warm and comforting in his hands. A surge of strength and hope washed over him, transforming every cell of his body, filling him with light.
Andrew held the sword, staring at its blinding reflection in the mirrors. His arms filled with renewed strength. His dead arm that had grown stiff and numb, began to tingle as strength surged into it. He pulled away the sling, and opened and shut his fingers, feeling the power burn through him, an unstoppable force of light. The pain from his wound vanished. He was instantly filled him with vigor and life that felt multiplied, expansive, brilliant, freeing, and unhindered.
A surge of hope pulsed through him. It was the hope of thousands upon thousands of souls all made manifest inside him, inside the sword, quailing the fear of facing The Fallen this last time. His glowing skin grew brighter. His face shone. The hope he now felt had utterly and completely washed him of the fear that had shrouded him in darkness.
He stood tall, as health and vitality, power and strength pulsed through his arms. He knew that the strength he felt was not just his own. No. He carried with him the hopes of all the valiant hearts and hands that now marched in his behalf, in behalf of their lives, their freedom, and for all that was good and true.
The Last Summoning was now. This very moment. Those that heard its final call, wakened in the darkness. They began to see clearly, though shrouded in shadow. A multitude had gathered together. Brilliant and solid. They stood together, united, coming together from the four corners of the world, their faces alight with the light of hope and truth. This hope lit their way through the darkness, until they had gathered into a massive number, a force brighter and greater than the great hosts of darkness that gathered against them. The mists of darkness could not shut out their light, no matter how hard it tried to conceal the mighty army now marching towards The Fallen’s realm.
The time had indeed come. Andrew knew it. He felt it. He could see it.
The light had not died. It was inside themselves waiting for someone to hold on to it.
Chapter Forty-eight
The Battle Of Hope Rises
From the hidden scrolls in Kesper’s Library
The beauty of hope is that no matter how pathetic and hapless a task, may seem, the voice of hope knows no boundaries.
It ignores important facts, and highlights only the most essential. It is the voice of encouragement that eggs you on when you want to quit, and it gives you that extra ounce of willpower to go on.
It does not look at facts or figures. It does not look outward.
It looks in. It sees the deep, good, beautiful things inside you and brings them to the surface. It knows what you are made of and how much you can take, not how much you are or aren’t, but how much you can and could be.
It is the voice of encouragement that whispers, “Perhaps you may win, all the same. Perhaps you will find what you are looking for. There is a chance. Don’t wait, act. Look, and if you look hard enough you will find. Speak, and let your voice be heard.”
Hope looks out over the rejection and heartache and says, “Keep trying. I see things you do not.”
Hope doesn’t see or count how many times you have failed. It doesn’t count, period. Math is not required in the equation of hope. It is exponential. It just looks out, lifts and says I’m here; do you believe in me? I believe in you. Hope is no respecter of persons. It gives freely to all who listen to its voice. Hope lives in cracks and holes, and goes through doors without hinges. It keeps company with those who struggle every day to find themselves. Hope strives with the artist, musician, the soldier. Hope lives because in her, is truth. No matter how small a truth it is, this foundation is strong and unbreakable.
She has kept many a man alive in desperate conditions. She has won wars, medals, and has crossed many finish lines. She has given birth, united lovers, traversed nations, kept friends with the lonely, built castles, downed dungeons, released captives, crowned kings, helped strangers, united kingdoms, and kept people warm. In hope, all inventions, muses, progress, live. Hope is indeed powerful.
In hope, breath without heartbeat is felt. For hope is a heartbeat, one that cannot easily die.
***
How long the bell of Conroy sounded out through the darkness, before it stopped, no one could tell. But while it sounded, those who listened to it knew that its sound was the only thing keeping them from the brink of despair. It tolled on, never diminishing in strength of voice, only growing louder and more desperate. Where hope’s voice called, the cover of darkness was momentarily lifted. Those who accepted hope’s humble offering---however small---partook of what light and truth she had to offer. At the magnificent sound, slumped backs straightened, people’s feet became sure. Wavering hearts decided. Those who had felt overwhelmed by despair suddenly looked up towards the blackened sky. Something inside them began to come alive, like a forgotten, broken cog, long since rusty and failing, moved by a force stronger than that of an anvil. It began to call them into action. Hope was beginning to take flight, slowly, one heart at a time. But that was how anything great started.
One at a time.
The bell of Conroy had awakened, and with it, the world was beginning to stir.
Lancedon had stood transfixed by the voice of the bell ringing out through the darkness. The sound had peeled through the air, sounding more beautiful and haunting than anything he had ever heard before. Though he could not see its light, he felt the hope swirl around him, dazzling him with the strength it filled him with. Where the chill of darkness held him captive and frightened, the light offered from hope’s voice opened a way of escape. It was as if someone had offered him the sun in a planet of blackness. He dared not move for fear that it would dash away like a wild animal. The gleaming ray of hope twirled around him, hovering o
ver his open palms. Lancedon smiled, feeling its warmth and readily welcoming it. He closed his palm around the beam of light. Immediately his body began to glow, and his skin began to shine. Though he could see none of this, he felt it, perhaps more vividly than anyone else. By this hope that he had let into his being, he saw things others with sight could only imagine. Though the darkness had whispered to him that Andrew had died, the light of hope told him something quite different.
Hope swirled through Lancedon’s diminished army. Those who had not fallen under shadow, embraced the truth, the hope and light with opened arms, becoming instantly lit with the same undying glow. Once they accepted it, they began to see the path ahead just enough to give them courage. They could not see far, but they could see just enough to step ahead, out into the unknown.
Only those who had fallen under the chains of fear, and worshiped The Fallen’s light and power, were left as they were--- fallen, dark, despairing, yet clinging to the thing that kept them in slavery. Theirs was a fear so powerful that hope itself could not break through. There were many people, soldiers from Lancedon’s army included, who slunk away into the shadows only to embrace more shadows, joining themselves to The Fallen’s numberless ranks.
Those of Lancedon’s army who had their hope rekindled moved together, creating a great body of light that could not be dispelled, even by the heavy darkness. An air of peace settled over them combining with the light that came from inside themselves. The bell of Conroy had called out to the land, summoning the world to awaken in the darkness and to physically battle the night, calling to some greater dawn.
With each hour, their army grew brighter as more individuals heard the call and gathered with Lancedon’s army. Hour by hour, and day by day, their numbers grew, as with the strength of the light that they created. They came in ones, and twos, and small families, bearing what weapons they had. But their greatest weapon in the darkness was they themselves, and the light that they had let into their hearts---the light they bore. This new hope had reawakened them in ways that never could have happened, had the sun still been shining. It was only when all was lost, when all was darkness, that they finally saw the light. Though no one could backtrack, no one could undo what had been done, no one could say the words they had not said. No one could bring back to life those whom their passive action of inaction had accused and martyred.