The Last Summoning---Andrew and the Quest of Orion's Belt (Book Four) (44 page)

He began to feel somehow guilty for keeping
such a book. It had told him some very terrible things, and it had
had him do some shady deeds he wasn’t very proud of. Yet, he still
hungered for the words it once held. He hungered for the
comforting, understanding words now, more than ever. Andrew had
somehow shut him out, making him feel very lonely. Why had Andrew
blamed him for something Freddie had done?

Angry and sad, he slowly cracked the book
open, then stopped. He glanced nervously around to make sure Andrew
was still sleeping. Satisfied that he was, Croffin turned the
pages, looking for some words, one letter. The pages were all blank
white, and unusually ordinary. “Words…” he breathed, “where are
you?” He thumbed through the book, carefully studying the pages for
any sign of a word. Some hint. Anything. “Stupid, stupid, stupid,”
he muttered, flipping through the pages faster and faster. Reaching
the very last page, and still only finding it blank, he lifted the
book up, ready to toss it over the edge of the knoll.

“Good riddance!” he cried, letting it fall.
“I never needed you anyway!” Just as he dropped the book over the
edge, the pages fluttered, and a page filled with words caught his
eye. “Wait!” he called, scrambling after the discarded book. He
grabbed it back up, and held it close, and ever so slowly opened
the book. It fell open to a page that shimmered and glowed a golden
hue. He stared down at the page, his face illuminated by the words
written in gold lettering on its surface. “You’re back?” His heart
thumped against his chest wildly. “Tell me that you are.”

Yes
.
Brilliant words appeared across the page.
I am back.

“Why did you go?” Croffin wondered.

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

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!”

“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.

Soggy Crackers, and Scribbly

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.”