Rise of the Fallen
Page 23
The travelers followed the winged creature as it flew from above, like a guiding star, for those lost on earth. They traveled through the open plains, until they entered another forest. When the wood grew too congested with foliage for them to see the sky, the unicorn flew down and galloped in front of them, leading the way. On they went, until they found themselves in a place very different from any forest Freddie and Talic had ever been in. All about them were trees colored in silvery hues of green. Instead of the smell of damp earth and leaves, the forest was filled with the scent of maple, and hot caramel. The trees were covered in gleaming leaves, shaped like stars and crescent moons. The earth smelled of chocolate, and the green moss smelled like the soft scent of butter, and sugar.
Ahead, the unicorn came to a sudden stop, in a circular clearing, where a low-glowing, clear white pillar, in the shape of a winged dove, stood frozen in place. Lining the clearing was a long row of trees covered in dripping ivy, hanging like green lace on a dress.
“Follow me,” Coral murmured. The unicorn jerked its head back, causing Andrew let out a pitiful moan.
“Isn't there something we can do to ease his suffering?” Ivory cried.
The woman shook her head. “Nothing can ease the pain of a Barnacle’s bite, except death. The bite is meant to torture its victims in the most painful way, robbing them of any relief.”
“Are we near Boreen yet?” Lancedon asked, glancing at Andrew's shaking form. “I don't think he can travel like this, much longer.”
“We are here,” the woman replied. “You stand at Boreen’s very gates.” She then turned to the stone pillar, and touched the glowing dove’s beak. As its mouth opened, a white double-wing shaped door was revealed through a curtain of ivy leaves.
“Follow me,” the woman said, leading them through the white doors. They followed her in, coming face to face with a tall young man who was clad in a green cape, a white loose fitting shirt, and brown breeches. He carried a bow and arrow. On his face was both concern and anger. “Coral!” the man exclaimed. “Your father's been sick with worry, searching for you. Where have you been?”
“There's no time to explain,” Coral said, her voice stern. “Quick, run to Drogan's house and tell him that I’ve brought a very special boy who's been bitten by a Barnacle. Hurry and bring a litter for him.”The young man bowed low, and ran with amazing speed to the house of Drogan, bringing back two men carrying a litter. Behind the litter was an old man dressed in a dark red robe. He had a long white beard that covered his chest and fell down to his knees, like a mass of white foam.
As Lancedon helped Coral set Andrew’s cold stiff body onto the litter, he marveled at how light Andrew felt. It made him think of picking up a cup that he expected to be full of liquid, but was empty. When Coral let Andrew out of her grasp, frost crept over the boy’s face again, forming at his eyelashes, and hair.
Drogan stepped over to Andrew and touched him with trembling hands. Andrew looked so familiar to him. “Barnacles,” he murmured, brushing the frost away from the boy's face. “Why must they waste the life of one so young? Hurry take him to my house! There is little time left. He looks as if he has already crossed to the other side.”
Drogen led the procession through the beautiful streets of Boreen, past the flowering hedges and white houses covered in ivy with glowing berries gracing their foliage like small night-lights. They followed these ivy-covered houses, until they reached a place with a great star-shaped courtyard, with a glowing water conduit around its edges.
“Faster!” Drogan cried, leading them up a long flight of steps, taking them two at a time, until they reached the doors of his brightly-lit house.
Andrew was carried through its doors and set down in one of Drogan's soft beds, near a big window.
“Quickly!” Drogan cried to one of his servants. “Bring me my physician’s tools. Bring my most precious medicines. The boy is dying!” Drogan went to work like a madman grabbing his medicines and rushing around the room as if his clothes were on fire.
“Leave the room, if you do not wish to watch!” Drogan shouted to Andrew's friends as he reached for a pair of surgical pliers. “Extracting the fangs will hurt the boy much worse than it should, because the Barnacle has broken several of the boy's ribs.”
Gogindy whimpered, but all stayed literally frozen in place, watching as Drogan proceeded to extract the fangs from Andrew's body. The fangs were embedded into Andrew's chest like roots of a tree stuck in frozen water.
Coral placed her hands on Andrew's chest, warming him, so that Drogan could more easily extract the fangs.
“Hand me my gloves,” Drogan snapped. His hands were shaking because Andrew's body was so cold, and he couldn't get them to hold still long enough to do what needed to be done.
Drogan’s servant handed him a pair of gloves, and he put them on, then swiftly went to work until he located one of the fangs.
“Arrrggg!” Drogan growled, pulling with all his might until the fang gradually came out. Andrew let out a pitiful, moaning cry, breathing in shallow, raspy breaths.
Drogan held the fang and stared at it for one full second, watching in amazement, as his gloves iced over. “Ugh,” Drogan cussed, throwing the horrid thing out the window. The discarded fang sailed over the head of a passerby, and embedded itself into a tree outside the window. The old tree crackled and popped, turning into ice, then fell down, almost crushing Drogan’s house.
“Guess, I'll have to be more careful,” Drogan murmured, turning back to Andrew. He extracted a second fang from Andrew's body and set it on a table. The table iced over, until it cracked and split apart.
Andrew let out a horrible shriek of agony and then not so frozen blood commenced to stream out of the wounds.
Ivory covered her ears, and turned her head away, tears filling her eyes.
Drogan worked over Andrew’s mangled body with the fervor of a young man. “Quick, bring me the Sunberrie root! It will make him warmer than any earthly heat will.”
“Will he live?” Lancedon asked, grabbing Drogan, gazing at the old man with desperate eyes.
Drogan looked irritated and tried to escape Lancedon's firm hold. “Look for yourself. Your guess is as good as mine.”
Lancedon flinched, and turned away as Andrew let out another pitiful cry. The boy was dying, he could see it, and anything Drogan did wasn't going to make any difference. Lancedon left the room, so overcome was he with his own agony and fear. He sat in the hallway, outside Andrew's room, with his back to the wall and his head bent. Since he had found Andrew, he’d felt like his life had some purpose. If the boy died, every hope he had would die with him. He had broken his promise to Rhapsody. He had failed in protecting his friend. A lump came into his throat and he began to weep. He had waited seven years in captivity, only to become captive again. Captive to fear. He started to shiver, feeling cold, and alone.
“Are you okay?” Coral asked, kneeling down and gently putting a warm hand onto Lancedon's shoulder. “You look cold.”
Lancedon looked up and smiled. “Not anymore.”
She squeezed her hand tighter round Lancedon’s shoulder and the warmth from her touch dissolved the coldness in his heart. A warm tingling feeling rushed through his veins and warmed his whole body. It felt like her touch had dipped his whole body into a warm bath of bubbling water after a cold snowstorm.
He smiled and gazed at her with puzzled eyes. “Thank you.”
She returned his smile then turned away. “I must go to my father.”
“Will you be back?”
“Yes,” her warm voice echoed down the hallway.
“When?”
“Soon.”
~~~~
Chapter Twenty-Three
Gone
During the night, Andrew convulsed in his bed, crying and moaning, while Drogan, bustled around the room, talking to himself, trying to make Andrew more comfortable. Andrew’s cries were so pitiful that those who heard him covered their ears.
His friends stayed by his side, through the night, watching and waiting. Freddie placed Andrew's sword close to Andrew's bedside, hoping that perhaps the sword’s power might help strengthen him. But, in the morning, when Andrew grew worse, Drogen commanded Freddie to take the sword and hide it in the farthest room in the house, insisting that it was killing the boy.
In the quiet of afternoon, Drogan sat by Andrew’s side and stared at the boy’s pale face, feeling guilty, murmuring in a troubled voice. It was clear to him now. He knew what he had to do. He didn't like it, but it was the best way. The boy had suffered so much already, and to prolong what was already imminent was against his kind nature.
Never had he permitted a soul to be ravaged by the bite of the Barnacle longer than was necessary. For those poor souls who had been fatally bitten, he'd gladly given them a drink to end their sufferings. Not because he was heartless, but, because he knew that they did not have long to live, anyway, and he hated to see anyone suffer needlessly.
“It would end his suffering,” Drogan told Lancedon, after he had given the matter careful thought. “You have little comprehension of what the boy is going through. The Barnacle’s bite is torturous and agonizing. It leaves a sting that nothing on this earth can relieve. His gifts have been drunk dry. His body has lost its core. If you had any heart left in you, you would let me end this, for his sake. Look at him, he’s not getting any better.”
Drogan's words tore at Lancedon’s heart, but he couldn’t agree to stop a heart that was still beating. To do so would end so much more than Andrew’s life.
“No! I will not allow it!” Lancedon cried, turning away from Drogan in fury. “There is nothing you can say that will let me consent to a death of one who still may live. Let God decide!”
“Then you have no pity, no decency in you. None at all! You forget that God is sometime slow in deciding.”
Lancedon stared at Andrew’s shivering form. “Then I will pray for him to make a quick decision.”
Drogan eyed Lancedon in distaste. The madman was going to sit by the boy’s side all day, making sure that he did not harm the boy. He didn't understand Lancedon's odd connection with the boy. Why would he just let him end the boy’s suffering?
On the third day, Andrew grew much worse. Drogan pled with Lancedon again to let him end Andrew's sufferings. But, Lancedon was firm in his resolve, and would not hear of it.
“Why must you put your friend through this?” Drogan raged. “It kills me to see this, to see him suffering so. No drug of mine can ease his pain, in the least degree!”
“Why do I resist your pleas to end his suffering?” Lancedon asked, in a voice filled with emotion. “Because I cannot. I dare not. Because he is my friend. Because he is the elf lord, the lost son of elf lord, Gemini. Heir to the stars. To do so would kill more than him!”
“He may be heir to the stars, but he is still flesh and blood!” Drogan turned from Lancedon and left the room, slamming the door.
During the night, all grew silent. Andrew’s shivering, and convulsing had ceased, but his fever heightened. Nevertheless, Lancedon and Freddie stayed faithfully by his side. Freddie fell asleep with his head resting on Andrew's cold chest. The quietness of the room, like that of a tomb, awoke him in the morning.
Freddie's sandy-blond hair had frozen to Andrew's cold skin. He shivered, pulling away.
Andrew lay motionless as if he were dead. His face was pale, his eyes remained closed. Wisps of frost graced his lips, and hair. Freddie grabbed his friend’s cold hands, in dread, calling out Andrew's name.
“What's wrong?” Drogan asked, rushing into the room.
“He's dead!” Freddie said, tears pouring down his cheeks. “Dead.”
“I told Lancedon that this day would come,” Drogan looked sternly at Freddie. “I knew I should have ended this sooner.” He put an ear to Andrew's chest, and then looked up surprised. A smile slowly curved on his lips. “I can’t believe it! He is…not dead! He’s sleeping!”
“Sleeping?” Freddie choked out. “But he's so cold.”
“Even so, he is sleeping,” Drogan laughed, piling a heap of blankets on top of Andrew.
“Will he live?” Lancedon asked, coming up from behind, and touching Drogan on the shoulder.
“You have kept him alive with your faith this long. Let’s wait and see what happens.” He smiled and turned to leave.
“Drogan,” Freddie called after him, “if he lives, will he ever be able to use his gifts again?”
Drogan sighed. “I wouldn't know. No one has ever lived through the bite of a Barnacle to tell about it. At least, not to my knowledge. From what I've heard, the Barnacles suck the elves gifts’ from them---take them right out of their being---using that stolen power for themselves.”
“You mean, the Barnacle that bit Andrew will be able to have power over plants, now?”
“Yes, I suppose so.”
“Horrible.” Freddie stared down at Andrew’s sleeping form and shook his head. If Andrew lived, would he still be the same Andrew?
~~~~
Chapter Twenty-Four
Rain
On a warm, sunny morning, the cold grip that had held Andrew so securely, released its icy hand. It was as if the blinding wasteland of snow that had held him captive for so long, had slowly melted.
Andrew opened his eyes, squinting because of the brightness of the room. He could smell the scent of herbs, mixed with the smell of apple pie. He smiled, enjoying the warm sunlight that shone through the large rounded window in the center of the room. Ivy leaves had crept in at the open window. They draped around the room, making it resemble a sort of garden. Freddie, Ivory, Gogindy, and Talic were sitting in chairs that lined the walls. They were leaning on each other, sleeping peacefully.
Andrew tried to move, but even the slightest movement was agony. His whole body felt hollow, and strangely empty, like a pillow that had all its stuffing beat out of it. The emptiness seemed to echo inside of him. It vibrated off his broken ribs and cut through his joints, and skin, like someone was poking around in his body with a sharp nail. He shivered, feeling cold, but not as cold as he had been. Mostly the cold feeling flowed outward from the wounds in the side of his chest, like dripping water that accumulates into a huge mass of ice.
He opened his mouth to say something, but his breath was shallow and the words caught in his throat. The effort tired him out more than he thought it should have, and the slight movement of his jaw caused waves of pain to flow through his body.
Tears welled up in his eyes as he stared at his friends, trying to take his mind off his body that his soul was chained to.
Gogindy was curled up in a ball. His long jagged ears fell over Talic's eyes like big leaves, shading him from the sun. Gogindy's numerous whiskers, twitched as he slept. The Twisker muttered some indefinable word as he shifted in his seat so that his whiskers conveniently brushed against the side of Talic’s nose, face, and neck.
“I'd like a piece of that cheese to take to my anthill,” Gogindy murmured. “Grumhumbergg! No. Move your island a little to the left. It's getting in the way of my dandelion.” He twitched his whiskers even more, causing Talic let out a loud sneeze.
“Gosh!” Talic cried, sitting up and shoving Gogindy off his seat. “Move YOUR island. It’s getting in the way of my sleep!”
“Gggrrr!” Gogindy sputtered, his hair standing on end. “What did I do?”
“You put a little too much cheese in your anthill that's what!”
“Huh?”
“You’re such a feather head,” Talic huffed, his voice growing loud. “You ought to be locked for attacking people with your whiskers.”
“My whiskers attacked you? What Twiskery rubbish!” Gogindy rose up on his hind legs and sneered. “I’ll show you what a real whisker attack really is!”
“Be quiet!” Drogan thundered, stepping into the room with Lancedon. “If you have any compassion on your sick friend, you’ll all have the courtesy to leave this room!”
Drogan glanced over to Andrew, his eyes growing wide. “He's awake!” he shouted, almost breaking into tears of joy.
Andrew stared at Drogan and tried to smile. The old man's curly beard was so long that it dragged on the floor, framing his cheerful cheeks. He looked very old, and very wise. He wore a long, red robe embroidered in soft, white fur. A delicate crown of silver leaves was placed on his head.
“How do you feel, lad?” he asked, analyzing Andrew's gaunt figure. Andrew had dark purple circles under his eyes, and his whole figure looked thin and fragile, like a delicate porcelain doll.
Andrew opened his mouth in attempt to answer, but Drogan hushed him. “No, never mind, don't speak. Just lie still and old Drogan here will tend to your every need.”
His friends gathered around his bed and spoke softly to him, while Drogan placed a spoonful of broth to his lips. Andrew sipped very slowly. After a couple of spoonfuls, he closed his eyes, and concentrated on not crying out in pain as the liquid hit his stomach. It was torture. He was SO HUNGRY! It was as if he hadn’t eaten in months.
“Hah,” Freddie laughed, tousling Andrew’s hair playfully. “My, you look terrible. If we were in Hollyhock Hollow, we could play a joke and stick you in a coffin, and everybody would think you were a corpse. Then you could sit up and scare everybody.”