Andrew and the Quest of Orion's Belt (Rise of the Fallen)

by Ivory Autumn

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Barnacles

  Sore, tired, and bruised, Andrew ate a few bites of Gogindy's stone fish soup, and lay down, against an old dead tree, falling asleep almost immediately, soothed to sleep by the cool grass whispering its secrets to him as he slept. Gradually, the moon rose high above him, and the blazing fire burned into somber, moody coals.

  In the middle of the night, Andrew woke with a start. He thought he heard a something whisper to him, something that came deep from the ground. His hands were pressed into the moist earth around a root of the dead tree he had leaned against.

  He felt light headed and dizzy. He looked up, startled. The dead tree was no longer dead, but fully alive. It's beautiful branches spread out over their camp, as if protecting them from the night, silhouetted in brilliant moonshine.

  Steam rose up from the ground around the tree, swirling and churning, sparkling under the light of the moon, like silver smoke.

  The sight of the tree, and the mist, made Andrew feel as though he'd been kicked in the gut. He had broken his promise to Rhapsody without even trying. The diamond marks in his hands glowed and gave off the same silver sheen rising from the ground.

  The tree had asked him to heal it, and he had done it. Not intentionally, but in his sleep.

  The promise he had made to Rhapsody echoed his mind, accompanied by the terrible truth of what could happen to him if he was discovered by the Barnacles. In the truth he saw towns, where his people had once lived, cities, and homes destroyed by the creatures he had now surely summoned to him.

  He slowly stood and watched the moon, and the long shadows it cast through the forest. A hushed breeze blew through the tree above him, laden with hushed whispers he could not understand. Goosebumps appeared on his arms as an icy pocket of air pricked his skin, chilling him. A black cloud floated over the moon, obliterating its light entirely. Andrew peered through the dark forest beyond, afraid of what he might see. He could hear a low, eerie wheezing, as if whatever was out there had clogged sinuses.

  A twig snapped. Andrew jumped.

  “Shh!” Monday suddenly hissed. He put a strong hand on Andrew’s shoulder, and stepped ahead. “Don’t make a sound.”

  Dark feathery shapes hovered through the forest toward them, weaving in and out through the trees, like thick, wispy spider webs floating in the wind. The beings were cloaked in garments so shadowy that they glowed against the normal blackness of night, radiating darkness that made Andrew’s eyes hurt. The beings moved among the trees, searching, like blacker shadows of shadows. Their heavy wheezing sounded like the bubbly breath of a sick animal that was in the last stages of dying.

  Andrew felt like the sky was falling on top of him, as if the darkness was going to crush him from all sides. "It's them," Andrew gasped. "The Barnacles. It's my fault, I brought them to me, to us!"

  “Quickly, Andrew," Monday commanded. "Wake the others.”

  Andrew did as Monday asked, and woke the others, while Monday helped them onto their horses. Frightened, one of the horses, reared up in alarm, neighing loudly. An unsettling quiet followed, and then a cold wind hit them in the faces. Like a dark beam of light hitting a magnifying glass, each of them felt it, a stifling thick haze, reminiscent of a black frost that chilled them to the bone. For a moment, no one dared move. Their horses stood still. No one breathed.

  “Go!” Monday yelled, spurring his horse forward. “Go!”

  Monday's voice cut through the frozen air, jolting their horses forward through the darkness, as if their tails were aflame.

  A gust of cold wind whooshed over them again, wrapping icy fingers around their necks, nearly yanking them from their saddles.

  “KAAAH,” the Barnacles moaned behind them. “FAAAA.” Their voices echoed through the wind, like ripples of water, each syllable getting louder and more alarming.

  Another cold breath flowed over them forcefully, soaking them in moisture that hardened into long, frosty webs so strong that it jerked them from their horses.

  Thunk!

  Andrew groaned and slowly stood up, his clothes and hair were covered in icicles, so hard and stiff that it was hard to walk. He stared out into the darkness, shivering, afraid to call out to his friends.

  “Stay where you are!” a Barnacle's repulsive voice howled through the forest, ringing in Andrew's ears like awful notes of discordant violins. He covered his ears, but their frightful voices rose higher and higher, making him mad with confusion.

  “The boy! The boy!” they called. “Catch him! Kill him!”

  “Run, Andrew!” Monday cried, appearing through the darkness. "Get out of here! NOW!”

  "But..."

  "Just go! GO!”

  An icy, powerful wind surged over the trees drenching their leaves in ice so heavy that branches cracked, and leaves fell. Everywhere Andrew turned he heard the terrifying voices howls of the Barnacles.

  "I can't leave you here," Andrew cried, wrapping his hand around his sword, only to be instantly jolted from courage to fear. He quickly released his grasp on the sword, stunned. In the sword he felt no strength, no surges of valor. Only truth, terrifying, stark, stripped bare, like an open wound exposed to the air---this truth was his to view, ugly as it was shocking. It was the kind of truth no one never wants to know or hear---a truth about oneself, about one's own fears, limitations, and lack of strength, and power over forces that cannot be stopped.

  The truth was so strong, it nearly took his breath away. He could not defeat these Barnacles, nor could his sword put an end to the fear they evoked. Not today, anyway.

  Fear, acute and icy as the wind blowing around him gripped his heart. He felt himself turn and run blindly ahead, thinking no coherent thought except to run, to flee as far from his fears as possible. Behind him, he could hear the shouts of Monday, then a bone-cracking thud as a body was thrown against a tree.

  “He is dead!” a Barnacle hissed. “Pathetic.”

  “Help!” he heard Ivory scream. “Help!”

  Andrew stopped instantly, listening to the howls and snickers of the Barnacles as they taunted Ivory. Cold sweat dripped down his forehead. His heart throbbed against his chest, reminding him of the truth he could not run from or face.

  “Come, Andrew,” the Barnacles hissed, “or we’ll crack the skulls of your friends, and feed their carcasses to The Hunger.”

  Andrew slowly turned round, and drew his sword, trembling so badly that he could hardly keep his hands steady. In the blade he felt only the painful truth. A cold truth that told him to run.

  They were the truth---the truth Rhapsody had warned him about, evil truths, broken shards of darkness from The Fallen's own consciousness, undefeated as The Fallen himself.

  “Andrrrrew. We are waitttting!” their voices taunted. They hissed, and screeched, howling like hunger-ridden wolves. "You already know what happens next if you do not come to us!"

  Ivory to let out another scream.

  Andrew breathed heavily. Every cell in his body cried out for him to run away. The truth was his to know, to see, to partake of. He knew vividly what would happen to him if he turned back. But he also knew what would happen if he didn't. Ivory hadn't revealed to anyone that she was an elf. But Andrew had known this truth all along. They would drain her of her gifts, and she would die.

  He gripped the sword, and ran in the direction of Ivory's cries, pushing against the raw truth inside him, like it was a thick hard liquid that it had to be overcome. Every fiber of his being resisted, hated, feared, and loathed the very thought of turning back, because of what he knew.

  "Leave her alone!" he cried, bursting through the trees, in full view of the Barnacles. “Leave my friends alone! I'm the one you want, not her.”

  The sight that met Andrew sickened him. Monday lay unconscious by a tree. Gogindy was howling pitifully over Talic and Freddie who were lying prostrate on the ground. A Barnacle held Ivory in its knobby claws, gazing at her as if in a mesmer
ized trance. Dozens of the Barnacles stood in the shadows, watching, breathing in and out in hungry gusts. As soon as they spied Andrew, they let out hideous hissing shrieks. “There he is! Catch him! Kill him!”

  Acid rose in Andrew's throat at their voices. His skin pricked with goose bumps as a cold wind hit him in the face. His gaze locked on the terribly thin Barnacle who was holding Ivory, one who had the hungriest looking eyes he'd ever seen in his life.

  “Ah, so you’ve come, at last,” the thin, Barnacle hissed, breathing out a gust of cold wind. Andrew took a step nearer to the Barnacle, flinching as if he knew what kind of fate awaited him. The Barnacle showed its fangs, and pulled Ivory closer. “You want this girl, elfling? Then come and get her.”

  “No, Andrew,” Ivory whimpered. “Please go Andrew—run!”

  “Yes, Andrew, run, run,” all the Barnacles around him mimicked. “Run, Andrew, RUN!”

  The Barnacle’s voices caused every nerve in Andrew’s body to buzz with pain. His face paled. His hand went instinctively to his sword. Gripping it, he ignored the truth inside it, infusing every cell in his body with the truth and stark knowledge of his own powerlessness against these creatures. Such truth made the sword heavy to hold. Holding such truth, he felt terribly susceptible, weak, and fearful. But knowing a greater stronger truth, one in which he would save Ivory's life, he raised the truth high, slicing the darkness with a flash of light that beamed from him to the sword, this was the truth he would wield. He brought it down hard, striking the Barnacle’s arm.

  "Fool!" The Barnacle screamed, shielding its eyes from sword’s light, fully exposed to the truth and light it radiated. Andrew could see every part of the dark creature. Every unfathomable hole and crevasse lit up, like a crag-filled canyon, when lightning flashes over it. Its skin was, thin, and tubered, with a face like the darkest pit, of a rusted nail, of an old empty house, of dead tree, of an empty sigh covered in wispy rags of spider webs.

  “Yes!” the Barnacle screamed, throwing Ivory to the ground, its eyes locking onto Andrew.

  “Try to defeat me with your truth! Because it will not diminish me. I, Andrew, am your truth, one you cannot escape from. I am the truth that no one can hide from, the guilt that purges and torments, the stark now of certainty, what is, because what has transpired, and what is to be. I am the consciousness of The Fallen, the bleeder of life, and light, the hunger of the mind, the howling, ravenous, desperation of an entire population, ready to give up their freedom for slavery in order to free itself from the fear of me. I am the only security you have Andrew, the reality of what is. Lack, hunger, desire, despair and endless darkness," The Barnacle hissed, puffing out cold mist of fog and ice over Andrew. "Darkness! That is what is, and always will be. It is the only constant!"

  The creature stepped towards Andrew, its hungry eyes devouring Andrew where he stood. “You know the truth, yet still you came. The sword is only meant for the heart of the one whose darkness I radiate. It will not harm or have the power to destroy me. Why do you think my source of power sent me to destroy you? Ha, ha, ha, hiss. You are foolish to think your fate will be any different than the truth that you know. You are MINE, Andrew, and so are your gifts to be devoured by me!”

  Andrew could hear the raspy breathing of the other Barnacles as they closed in around him, chanting, "bleed him dry, suck his gifts, and feed his carcass to the wolves!"

  Andrew stood alert, ready. With his sword in hand, he stabbed it into the chest of the thin Barnacle just as it lunged for him.

  "Nothing can stop me!" The Barnacle howled. "Nothing!"

  The icy truth of those words crept up from the blade and iced over his hand, making him feel like his arm had turned into a slab of ice. Andrew cried out in pain. The sword fell from his hands, hitting the ground, instantly going dark, the small truth Andrew still clung to, snuffed out by the darkness.

  Andrew’s mind whirled. He thought of the diamond flower seeds that Orion had given him. Why hadn't he thought of them sooner? He grasped the bag of seeds with his good hand, and quickly opened it. The Barnacle screeched and wrenched the bag from him, causing hundreds of the diamond seeds to spill out onto the ground.

  “No!” Andrew cried, reaching out to save them.

  The thin Barnacle snapped its long wispy cloak out, like a whip, catching Andrew’s ankle, yanking him to the ground. The dark being pulled Andrew into its clutches, and clamped its black, cold, knobby claws around Andrew’s neck. Its hands felt like slimy icicles, like something dead.

  “You are mine,” the Barnacle hissed, lifting Andrew up. “You don't know how long I have waited for this moment. Your blood was promised to me by my The FALLEN. No other elf’s blood would suffice. And now my patience, and my long, long, long, hunger and fasting has been rewarded!”

  “No,” Andrew choked out, struggling against the Barnacle, “it hasn’t!”

  “What?” the Barnacle screamed, blowing a gust of cold sleet over Andrew. “Do you know a truth I do not?"

  "You know nothing of real truth!" Andrew shouted, standing firm against the onslaught of ice and wind.

  "I know more than you think," it breathed, sniffing Andrew and shivering with delight, clamping its warty fingers over Andrew, like octopus tentacles, breathing webs of ice over his body. "Ahhh! Your gifts smell so deliciously ripe. I’m hungry, HUNGRY!” the creature moaned. “Do you think that I would let something so simple as a sword deter me from my long awaited meal?”

  Its vampire-like fangs dripped with dark slime. It clenched and unclenched its long fingers, staring at Andrew with a chilly gaze. The creature’s face was inches from his. He could smell the foul odor of icy rot as it breathed on him.

  “Foolish brat!” the Barnacle howled. “You are nothing, nothing at all, nothing but my meal!” The creature lashed out at him with the speed of a striking snake, and sank its sharp fangs deep into Andrew's torso.

  Andrew let out agonizing cry as the Barnacle’s fangs pierced his flesh like two black icicles. The Barnacle clenched Andrew in its jaws, like a wolf with a pheasant in its mouth. The Barnacle stood stock still, and closed its eyes as if it was enjoying every moment of Andrew's pain.

  Andrew tried to struggle, but as he did, the Barnacle only dug its sharp fangs deeper into Andrew’s body. Andrew gasped out for help, but only an appalling gurgle escaped his lips.

  It felt as if the Barnacle was sucking the life out of him, drinking it up. He could hear an disgusting sucking sound, as if the thing was drinking through a straw. With every passing minute, he felt colder, lighter, weaker. And with every minute that passed for the Barnacle, its thin body grew plumper, warmer, stronger.

  Andrew couldn't think straight. The pain was horrendous. It felt as if the Barnacle’s teeth was sending little sharp knives into his bloodstream, and they in turn were slicing and cutting, and pulling every part of him apart and then pulling it out, leaving a horrible empty coldness in its place. His heartbeat slowed, but the pain only increased. He felt so cold, so frightened.

  This was the truth he had tried so hard to avoid, a truth he knew was now his fate. He had seen it vividly as it was now happening. He clung to the only bit of light and warmth that the truth afforded him. This was not his end. Not yet, not like this. He had to believe. A loud sobbing sound, awakened his dizzy mind. His foggy vision met Ivory's gaze. Her big green eyes glistened with tears. Her lips were pressed together into a tight line. An agonizing stab of sympathy washed over Andrew as he looked at her.

  He had traded fates with her, knowing this moment would come. How he wished he could convey to her that he saw so much more truth than this, more than the pain and the suffering of now.

  “Ivory...it’s...it’s...okay...” he gasped, stopping short as the Barnacle clamped its jaws tighter around his body, and his ribs cracked. He flinched, his breath cut short in a cry of agony. His vision dimmed as an arctic grip encompassed him, driving him into a wasteland of a thousand winters. He felt the coldness wash up around h
im. It was a coldness that froze the sound that came from his lips. It froze smell, froze taste, froze sight. All was bitter, stiff, empty, and forsaken. Gusts of biting wind swirled around him, blowing snow into his face, like hard grains of sand eating away at his skin, until all was ice.

  “I am satisfied!” the Barnacle screamed, suddenly releasing its grip on Andrew, and glaring at Andrew’s lifeless body in triumph.