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

by Ivory Autumn

  I was busy.

  “Tell me you’ll never leave me alone,” Croffin cried. “I was so lonely and lost without you.”

  Calm yourself. I am here now. And ready to instruct.

  Croffin’s eyes filled with the reflection of the words, his mind dazzled and mesmerized. The words had a terribly addicting effect. The words caused his throbbing heart to calm, his confused mind to be at peace. They made him feel safe, made him feel secure. “Then instruct me,” Croffin said. “I am ready to listen.”

  The Fallen is just, the words from the book declared. The fallen IS good. The Fallen is true. And if you are smart you’ll have Andrew Read this book, too.

  Croffin’s eyes filled with distress. He did not want to share his book with anyone else, especially Andrew. “Andrew? Why Andrew? I don’t see why I should show him. He will just make fun of me.”

  You will show him! the words commanded. He needs to know what you know---that The Fallen is good. He must stop fighting against him. Instead he must embrace The Fallen, and all will be well.

  “Yes, Andrew needs to know,” Croffin’s eyes glimmered. He shivered, the intoxicating words soothing his anxiety. “Yes, I see. I must show Andrew. The Fallen is just,” Croffin repeated, his eyes transfixed by the words. “The Fallen is good. The Fallen is right,” His voice slurred. He smiled. A warm feeling ran down his spine, and he shivered, as if he had just swallowed a piece of sunlight. Then, as the feeling settled on his mind, it cooled, and darkened, causing him to feel cold and very cross. “Let Andrew read the book?” Croffin murmured, his countenance suddenly darkening. “But why? This is my book!”

  You must not be so stingy! Angry, gleaming words appeared on the page. Andrew must learn this truth as well. You will do him a great favor, by helping him to know the real truth. The Fallen can help him, and you, Croffin. He will help you find the ending you were looking for---if you know what I mean.

  “Yes,” Croffin breathed, his eyes transfixed by the golden words. “Andrew must know the truth as well.” He crawled over to Andrew, and shook him. “Andrew, wake up…I have something. Something you MUST read.”

  Andrew groaned, and slowly sat up. “What?”

  Croffin looked nervously from side to side, and then thrust the small book into Andrew’s face. “I have something you must read. It is very important! Something you should know.”

  “At this hour?” Andrew asked, becoming angry.

  “Yes! It’s important,” Croffin urged him. “I wouldn’t ask you to unless it was.”

  Andrew sighed and slowly opened the book, flipping through the pages quickly.

  “Are you trying to be funny?” Andrew asked, staring at Croffin with hard eyes. “Croffin there’s nothing to read. The pages are all blank.”

  “Not all of them are blank. Look at the second to last page. Look, you’re almost there. Just keep going.”

  Andrew shook his head in irritation, but humored Croffin and thumbed through the book until he reached the two pages.

  “See!” Croffin said pointing. “There!”

  Andrew stared down at the glowing page, instantly transfixed. Brilliant words appeared on the page, seared into it, like they were written by fire. The words were mismatched, and made no sense at all. Despite that, the letters were mesmerizing, beautiful, like crackling fire, all consuming. They made Andrew hunger for more, made his mind numb with pleasure.

  Andrew could not understand what the scrambled words said, but he could still feel their power. He stared at them, not able to take his eyes off them. Without realizing what he was doing, he slowly ran his finger across the words. The words gave at his touch, and rearranged themselves until they found order, and formed these words: The Fallen is not your enemy. He is your friend. He is good, as he is great. Come to him, worship him, serve him, and he will be merciful.

  Upon reading the words, Andrew’s face filled with distress and darkness. Andrew furrowed his brow, shaking his head. “No! Never. The Fallen is darkness! I will never serve him!” He moved his hand to stir up the words, but his finger caught along the edge of the page, cutting his finger. Blood oozed from the wound and fell onto the page, it leached through the paper like red ink, causing the words imprinted on the page to melt away, and in their place was his own diamond symbol embroidered onto it. If you will not obey it, The Darkness will find you, and devour you, Andrew read, through blurred eyes. The paper cut on his finger started to throb and ache. He cried out as fiery needles of pain shot through his finger and ran into his arm. He gazed at Croffin in confusion. He dropped the book, feeling dizzy and faint. “I will not obey the darkness,” he murmured. “The Fallen is darkness.”

  Andrew rubbed his eyes, and blinked a couple of times. His arm and finger throbbed with pain. A strange golden vein shot down from the cut, into his hand and into his arm. His eyesight began to blur even more. He moaned, and lay down.

  “Andrew?” Croffin wondered, peering into Andrew’s face. “Do you understand now? The Fallen is our friend.”

  Andrew shook his head. “No, Croffin… he’s not. He can’t be.”

  “He is,” Croffin insisted. “He is good. Don’t you see? All this time, you’ve been wrong. We’ve all been wrong. He is good. You’ve been fighting on the wrong side, all this time.”

  “No,” Andrew moaned, “it can’t be true.”

  “Look at his city,” Croffin pointed to The Shadelock Castle. “Does that look like darkness to you? He has tried to stop us only because you have fought against him. The Fallen is our friend. My friend. He knows best. He doesn’t want the world to be in darkness. He wants it to be full of light. It’s so clear to me now, Andrew. I can’t believe I’ve been blind for so long. It is you Andrew who has wanted to cover the world in blackness. I can see it now. I feel terrible, really I do. But, after all the book has taught me, I have learned that we cannot go on as we have. We had to put a stop to it. You are evil, Andrew, pure evil---evil because you don’t even know that what you’re doing is wrong. All those people who rallied behind you, killed, because of your lust for power. But I’m sure if you explain yourself to The Fallen, he will be merciful just as the book said. After all, he is forgiving.”

  “No…I wont, I can’t do that,” Andrew rubbed his face, and moaned. His skin had turned an ashy white. His arm throbbed. The darkening, golden vein shot through his arm like a fast-spreading infection. “Croffin,” Andrew’s voice slurred. “You must help me. I don’t feel right…my arm…” Andrew reached out, but Croffin backed away, confused, and frightened.

  “No…I can’t help you. Or maybe I can. I’ll get help. I’ll ask The Fallen to help us. He may give me back my lost tail, and he may give you back your health. He will surely forgive you and I. He will help us. Yes. That is what I will do. Stay where you are, and I will be back shortly. We will be saved at long last!”

  Croffin turned from Andrew, and looked longingly from his book, then to The Fallen’s alluring stronghold of light. “Goodbye, my friend. I will seek out help. Stay tight until I come.” He patted his book of Weeds, and quickly made his way through the snow, over hills, around mounds of coal. Then trudging through a field of glowing starflowers, he slipped out onto the main road where he was in full view of the soldiers that marched to and fro.

  A man with knotted black hair spotted Croffin and raised his sword, ready to strike the coon’s head off.

  “Wait!” Croffin cried, quickly opening his book of Weeds, holding it over his head like a shield. “I’m your friend. Do Not hurt me!”

  The soldier lowered his sword, stunned by the gleaming words in the book. His eyes were filled with their dazzling light, absorbing the words through his eyes, like lotion on dry skin.

  “Phew…” Croffin breathed. “Good. Now you see. You must understand I am your friend, not your foe. You see, my friend needs help. He is sick. He’s the boy, the boy Andrew, the one with the sword. I am sure you know of him. If you promise not to hurt him, I will take you to him. I am sure The Fallen would like
to see him.”

  The man instantly lowered his sword and waited, his face lighting up with a cruel smile. He stepped towards Croffin, like a hungry wolf.

  Croffin backed away from the man, suddenly feeling a hint of guilt and confusion flood over him. Something felt dreadfully wrong. What he was doing felt wrong, felt horribly wrong.

  Why did the book make him feel so dirty, so guilty, so ridden with fear? He stumbled back, more confused than ever. He had done what the book had told him to do. His stomach swirled and churned with guilt, heavy and piercing.

  His feet felt heavy. He could not run. He could not move. He stumbled on a loose stone, and dropped the book. The instant the book fell from his hands, his mind began to clear, and he felt as though a huge weight had been taken off him. He felt instantly light as a feather. FREE. The book had chained itself to him, and now the bonds had been broken. He looked around him in confusion. He let the book stay where it had fallen, suddenly looking upon it with abhorrence for what it really was---a bad book, a book of WEEDS, a work whose author was The Fallen himself. A book whose words were addictive poison filled with lies and deception, meant to corrupt and pollute those who opened its pages.

  His mind whirled. The poison of the words he had read that had chiseled themselves into his mind, began to fade. “Wait…” he breathed, his eyes widening. Fear pricked him in the gut. Somehow when he wasn’t reading the book, he didn’t feel as sure of himself.

  “You were saying?” The cruel soldier prodded. “Where is he, this boy?”

  Croffin backed away from the man, his heart beating wildly. “Um…I don’t…know.”

  “What do you mean you don’t know?”

  “Forget what I said, I don’t know any boy named Andrew!”

  The soldiers face filled with anger. He raised his sword and loomed over Croffin. “Tell me where the boy is!” he commanded.

  “No!” Croffin shouted.

  “I’ll kill you then!”

  “No you won’t,” Croffin shouted. Balancing on his front feet, he lifted his skunk’s tail, and sprayed the man. Instantly a foul odor permeated the air, toxic and potent as any skunks smell. The man gasped, and wheezed, then threw up.

  “I told you, no. And I meant it.” Croffin laughed, then turned and scuttled back to where he had left Andrew. Once he reached the knoll he stopped short, and circled the whole area. The hill was empty. Andrew was not there. He peered over the edge of the knoll, and gasped, Andrew lay crumpled at the bottom, unmoving.

  A clinking of metal sounded behind him. He cried out, and dug his nails into the ground, just as something hard grabbed his tail, and yanked him back.

  Chapter Thirty-six

  Soggy Crackers, and Scribbly

  Faults

  A Twisker proverb

  Whatever faults one may have, a fault is still a fault. Whoever its possessor is, he must decide what to do with it. To throw it in the trash, or add some yeast to it, let it rise and grow bigger. The problem is, faults have a way of being glorified. And when unwanted yeast gets thrown into the mixing pot by admirers, the dough rises.

  Gogindy scurried forward, bounding over rocks, and shrubs towards the bell tower, his long whiskers bobbing up and down as he moved. After some time traveling, he paused to catch his breath. “My!” he exclaimed. “What a long way it is to the tower. I didn’t think it looked so far away. On that hill it seemed ever so much closer. You’re never going to make it to the tower at this rate. It’s too far, and you’re tired. Very tired. Why not stop, stop and take a break?” He paused, thinking. “Yes,” he concluded. “I should really do that. I shall rest.” He gazed at the bell tower one last time. Then he glanced at the descending sun. He shook his head. Something sharp pricked his heart, made him feel uneasy, and frightened. He felt as though someone was calling him to the tower. And he could not rest until he reached his destination. “No,” he sighed. “I must make it to the tower before it is night. Then I will rest. Yes.”

  He stood tall, and bounded onward. The closer he got to the tower, the bigger the tower became, and the smaller he felt in comparison. The sun had set. The sky had clouded over once more. The chill in the air had stiffened, blowing through his whiskers and deep into his bones. His well-worn feet throbbed, and his stomach growled. The tower loomed taller and taller until he finally found himself at its base, just as the first drop of slushy rain fell from the darkening sky.

  Compared to the colossal tower, he felt like a grasshopper standing next to a redwood. “I’m here,” he breathed. His heart beat excitedly. His eyes glistened and shone with awe and wonder. “I’ve made it! That wasn’t so hard, now was it?”

  He hugged his hands to his chest, and stared up at the tower. He felt very small as he looked at the towering structure. The tower was grand and intimidating like an ancient soul who knew the secrets of the world, and kept them all hidden. It was a fearsome structure built out of various shapes and sizes of bricks and rocks, as if each stone had been carved with meaning out of gray, smooth marble that glistened as the slushy rain fell over it. Each stone was carved with curious etchings, words of a different time and century.

  Gogindy could see strange, gaping holes in the tower walls as if it had grown tired and weary standing strong and steady under so much darkness, and was slowly, brick by brick, giving way and readying itself for destruction that was sure to come.

  The tower extended high above Gogindy, into the clouds. Somehow, he thought getting to the tower would have made him feel different. Yet he felt the same. The urgent nagging in his heart had not ceased. In fact, it had increased, hammering against his mind making his head ring, as if someone had implanted a bell inside him that would not stop gonging. In fact, he felt worse. He was wet, cold and miserable. And to top it off, he couldn’t even see the top of the tower anymore. It was like the bell didn’t even exist. Somehow, not seeing it made him feel very disturbed and uncomfortable.

  He looked around him, warily, and shivered. The slushy rain stuck to his whiskers, causing all his whiskers to melt down like cotton and stick to his cold body like wet, sticky yarn. He felt as grungy and graceful as a wet mop.

  “Burr,” he chattered, rubbing his cold fingers together. “Where’s some shelter for poor Gogindy? Poor wet, miserable me. I should like a shelter. Why weren’t we born with built in umbrellas? Yes, that would be very nice.” He shivered again and made his way around the tower until he found a dark, arched doorway that led up to what looked like a never-ending row of steps. The sinister stairway wrapped around the tower’s crumbling walls, climbing it like a dark snake frozen in place.

  Gogindy peered into the dark passageway and sniffed. He could smell nothing, only stale cobwebs, and emptiness. “Any nasty personages, or creepers habitating this tower are to leave immediately!” His voice echoed into the tower, then died out. “Understand?”

  When no one answered him, he slowly crept inside. He smiled, glad of the shelter the tower offered. “Oh, this is much better,” he breathed wringing out his dripping fur. “Water’s much too wet for my liking. If it was up to me, I’d make water less drippy.” He poked his nose back outside. His snout was bombarded by flecks of frosty snow.

  “Burr!” he cried, quickly retreating inside. “Oh, would you look at that? It’s snowing now. Can you believe it? Snow! Well, I don’t like snow either, it’s much too solid. Much too cold and shivery for me.” He stretched his sore muscles and explored his new surroundings. The small place in which he stood was nothing more than a doorway where a steep flight of dusty-looking steps spiraled upward, vanishing into the darkness. Except for a few stray spiders, the tower looked unguarded, abandoned, and as lonely as he felt.

  He scowled at the puddle of water that was accumulating underneath his dripping body, and quickly hopped onto the first step of the ominous stairway leading into blackness. “Guess it’s just you and me,” he said, taking out his trusty rock footprint and laying by his side. “What’s that?” You’re hungry? Well, me too. Let’s se
e what’s for dinner.”

  He fished around in his little pack, and drew out a small handful of crackers that had gone soggy from the rain and sleet. Gogindy’s eyes grew dark. “What is this? The very last of the crackers? It can’t be? Wet…yucky…gooey…ucky…soggy, squelchy, damp, sodden, waterlogged crackers!” He fingered the wet crackers. Anger accumulated in his face with each second. “This is an outrage! A Twisker can withstand many things. But wet, drowned food is not one of them. No. This is an injustice that I will not stand. Someone is responsible. Was it you?” He held up his rock. “Yes, it was you. I know you did it. You ate most of my food. Mashed it up while you were hiding in my purse, then you let water drip inside. This is an outrage! I will not stand it. For that, you will be punished. Yes. Punished.” He threw down the foot print, and glared at it. “I shall leave you there, alone. Forever!”

  He leapt up and glared around the room, the wet crumbs still in his fists. He stood there panting for a long moment. Finally his face softened, and he sat back down. “Oh dear. I don’t know what has gotten into me. I’m sorry, Mr. Footprint rock. I know you didn’t mean to crumble all my crackers. I won’t leave you here alone. That would be too cruel.” He opened his fist and slowly picked the wet crumbs out of his hand, eating them with little pleasure. After he had eaten what was left of his soggy crackers, he stared mournfully at his rock friend. “Oh, I’m sorry. Did you want some? I am a dreadful piggy snout. If it makes you feel any better, it wasn’t even tasty. Oh, this is a sad day indeed. That sloggy slosh was the last of my food. After this, it seems that we shall both starve. But then again, you’re just a rock, and rocks don’t eat anything. So you shall go on being your same, boring self, and I shall turn into a pile of bones and wet whiskers.”

  He folded his arms and hugged his wet body, still shivering. “I’m in a soggy mood myself. But I can’t help it. Being out in the wet weather does that to a person. Makes them damp and moody. Makes their bones rust and their joints go stiff. Yes. I do feel stiff and sore. Why can’t it rain warm snow, warm rain, like in Boreen? That would be ever so nice.” He closed his eyes, remembering warmer times. Warm food, steaming cups of chocolate, boiling stew, summer days, warm baths. His body started to warm up. He leaned back, breathing evenly, feeling himself being drawn into warm slumber.