The Last Summoning---Andrew and the Quest of Orion's Belt (Book Four) (50 page)

Andrew slowly made his way to the stairs. It
creaked and moaned as he stepped onto it. He took another step.
This step complained less. The third step made not a sound. He
continued up, step by step, suddenly falling as one step groaned
and heaved, giving way under his weight. Andrew cried out, and
caught himself on the rickety railing, pulling himself to safety.
Andrew was far more careful this time. He stepped lightly and
continued onward, though the steps creaked and moaned as if they
were conspiring against him. The stairs went on for a long time,
winding around and around the walls in what seemed like a
never-ending spiral. With each step, he felt a deep heaviness weigh
him down, making him feel as though with each step he might be
plunged down into the darkness. How could these steps support him
when he felt he could not support himself? The Wither's cruel words
hissed in his mind, echoing over and over again: “Your friends are
dead. Tortured.”

With each step, anger broiled and simmered
inside his soul, fanned to a deep burning by all that he had seen,
and would live to see. Tonight he would make the sparks fly. Even
if his sword no longer held the power of those good souls who once
lived to give it strength. If he was to die, he would die. But not
until he had faced the being who had fought so hard to stop
him.

Once he reached the top of the stairs, he
stepped through a large wooden door and found himself in a wide
open corridor. Here, he instinctively knew that he had entered into
the Shadelock itself. Andrew could feel the spirit that dwelt
inside it, that coursed through its veins, giving it a type of life
that was not life at all, but slow pulsing throb that was neither
alive nor dead. It just was. Like a lingering soul, trapped between
worlds.

The walls were made of black crystal brick
that glimmered like ice. On ether side of the halls, great lanterns
and torches illuminated the castle, casting hosts of ghostly
shadows. On one side of the hall, were tall, black, arched pillars,
with large windows so that Andrew could see the entire realm of The
Fallen spread out below, and the moonlit sky.

Andrew stepped carefully into the hallway.
The floors looked like polished black flint that shone, and
absorbed the light, yet glowed as if polished with star dust,
sparkling with silver flecks of light. It looked like if you
stepped on them, you might fall into space, and perhaps linger
among constellations and stars.

“Get him!” a Wither screeched behind him.
“He’s over there. Hurry, catch him before he escapes!”

The Warning

Gogindy groaned and stretched out, smothering a loud
yawn. His eyes were closed and he twitched, rolling over on the
stone steps. “Beetles,” he breathed. “Oh, come, come to me. Oh yes.
Yum. Oh let me catch you,” he moaned, and mumbled, in a sleepy
voice. He reached into the nothingness. Confused, he yawned and
rolled forward, instantly propelling himself down the stone
steps.

He yowled, and clawed, but his buoyant body
continued downward. Thunk, thud, thomp!

Not knowing what else to do, he wrapped his
three tails around himself and curled himself into a ball. He
rolled down the steps like a ball of yarn, faster and faster until
he tumbled down the stairway landing at the base of the stairs
where he had started from.

“Oh,” he groaned, sitting up and rubbing his
new bruises. “That was a rude awakening. I thought I was sore
before, but this is much worse. Sleep is supposed to take the aches
away, but this…” he pointed to the stairs, and then to his bruises,
“this has doubled my woes.”

Irritated beyond words, Gogindy straightened
his ruffled whiskers and marched in a circle just to make sure
nothing was broken. Finding no injuries beyond his bruises, he
peered into his pack to make sure everything was in order.
Everything was intact, except for the piece of scribbled-on paper
he had found the previous night.

“My paper…where is it?” Alarmed, he bounded
back up the steps searching for the lost item.

“Ah hah! I found you!” he exclaimed, picking
up the crumpled paper lying innocently on one of the steps. “There
you are!” He unfolded the paper and stared at the scribbly words,
illuminated from gaping cracks in the walls. The words were written
in jagged cursive which made the words look jumbled, and dangerous.
He was worried that if he put his fingers on the ink perhaps they
might jab his finger. “Oh but this is ugly writing,” he spat. “Such
scribbly hasn’t been taught or learned in many, many years. It’s a
wonder I can read this at all.” He scowled down at the words,
reading them aloud, slowly sounding out the words.
Be...ahware, de…ar s…oul---you who finds this paper---You, a
b…ell ringer by fate, but a fool by profession, turn back, before
you say your last confession. Did you really think that it would be
this easy?

“Easy,” Gogindy balked. “This is not easy
reading. Pish posh. Easy reading, my eye. This scribbler aught to
have some manners.” He smoothed out the paper, and began reading
again.

Gogindy’s eyes grew wide. He gulped and
glanced from side to side. A terrible fear crept around him,
spinning a web like the crafty spider, pinning him in place. He
slowly drew his pet rock from his pack and hugged it to him. “Oh
dear, did you hear that my friend? IT is coming for me. Whatever IT
is. And whatever IT is, creeps. I do so hate to be crept up
upon.”

Gogindy stared down at the paper, his eyes
resting on the lines,
Hope is already dead.

“Can it be true?” he breathed. “Can it not be
resuscitated? Isn’t there something I can do? If it’s dead then
what am I doing here? But then again, it can’t be dead. No. It is
sleeping. Yes, it’s not dead, it is only asleep. It just needs to
be awakened. I have felt it. Yes, glints of it. And I am to wake
it. And I
will
wake it. I will wake it for Andrew, for
Ivory, for Talic, for Freddie, for everyone! Yes. I am the bell
ringer. I am not afraid. Twiskers are not afraid. You hear that,
IT! We are not afraid of IT! And WE are coming. WE’s are not afraid
of ITS. And WE are very noisy. We like noise. Yes we do. YES I Do.
I’s and WE’s are more powerful than an ITS any day!”

His voice rang through the tower, resonating
as though it was the loudest sound the tower had heard in several
ages. Loose pebbles rained down the stairs as if the tower, too,
had been sleeping and Gogindy’s loud voice had caused it to
awaken.

“Oh boy,” Gogindy breathed, listening to the
power of his own voice as it echoed and then faded. His courage
seemed to fade with the sound. He shivered as he stared at the
steps before him. “What have I done? I should turn back. Yes, turn
back before IT gets me. I will turn back.” He turned around, and
started down the steps, glancing nervously behind him.

“Wait…” he breathed, suddenly stopping. “I
can’t go back. I made a promise to myself. And I can’t break a
promise. Twiskers don’t break promises. EVER!”

He slowly turned around and faced the flight
of formidable stairs. Shadows, and light shone down the steps,
mixing together, creating a feeling of mystery, and something else
enticing, yet dangerous. The smell of snow and his own damp body
that smelled of dandelions wafted around him, reminding him of
home. A thought dawned on him. In a way, this tower was his home.
His own stone dandelion.

“What am I doing?” he murmured, treading
carefully back up the steps, making sure that he was much quieter
than before. “This is my house. MY HOUSE! When I get to the top I
will be able to see everything. And we Twiskers like to see
everything. We certainly do.” He stepped softly so as not to make a
noise. He limited his self dialogue to only
occasional murmurs and outbursts of dismay.
“Boy these stairs go on forever, don’t they?”

He held the piece of paper clasped in his
hand. Every once in a while he would peer at the words written on
it, then moan, and start upward again. The stairs wound around up
and up, never ending, and never seeming to go anywhere. Small
shafts of light could be seen peeking down from random holes in the
walls that time and weather had worn through.

Step by step, Gogindy made his way up, until
the light ahead grew brighter and brighter from larger holes in the
walls that had crumbled away, letting in drifts of snow blow in
from the outside world.

Gogindy stepped up to one of these gaping,
crumbling holes in the wall and peered out. “It looks like I am in
the clouds,” he breathed. He saw only mist and fog. He could not
tell how far he had gone or how close he was to reaching the top.
“Hoy, jolly fog. It seems that I am a Twisker that is neither up
nor down. What a strange thing it is. I’m sure no Twisker has ever
been up so high.” He sighed and stepped away from the opening. “Oh
dear,” he murmured covering his mouth. “I hope I didn’t speak too
loud. Why can’t I ever learn to be quiet. Or IT will find me. But
IT should know that this is my house. And I can be as noisy as I
like in MY house! You hear that, IT?”

He smiled and puffed out his chest, listening
to the brave sound in his own echo. His eyes lit up with pride. Now
fully puffed up with his own self importance, he climbed up the
steps, bounding over them at first, and then gradually going slower
and slower as time went on. His back ached, his small knees
screamed for him to stop. It felt as though he’d been traveling for
hours. His stomach gurgled, bubbling like a pot of water aching for
someone to throw noodles into it.

“Poor thing,” Gogindy said, patting his belly
tenderly. “Now, now. I know you’re hungry. But you must wait. When
I get to the top, and ring that confounded bell, maybe you and I
shall eat footprint rock soup. Now doesn’t that sound nice. For
that is all I have left.”

Gogindy stopped when he said those words, and
glanced down at his trusty rock. “Oh dear. I didn’t mean that,
really I didn’t. I would never eat you, my good friend. I promise.”
Satisfied that his rock footprint was not offended, he slowly
climbed the steps, pulling himself up with his hands, and then
resting his head on the stone steps. His stomach burbled again,
only much louder this time. “Will you quit complaining!” he
shouted. “I’m the one who’s doing all the work, and all you can do
is growl at me. A word of encouragement would be much better than
continually rumbling and grumbling. If you don’t shut up you could
wake the IT. Don’t you know that IT doesn’t like noise!”

His eyes suddenly widened, and his face lit
up with a brilliant grin. “Food,” he breathed, spying a long beetle
that shone silvery-green blue, creeping over his foot. “So pretty,
so shiny, so yummy looking,” he said, reaching to snatch it up. But
the bug spread its wings and few away. “Stop! Bug. I want you,”
Gogindy cried, running up the stairs after it. “Want to eat you.
Want to crunch you. Want to pick your wings off, and eat your legs,
and juice your insides.” He lunged for it, leaping into the air,
but it was too quick and remained out of reach.

“You naughty bug. Bad bug, I’ll get you yet,
and when I do I’ll pull off your head and eat your antennas. Oh,
doesn’t that sound fun?” The bug flitted farther and farther up the
steps while Gogindy bounded after it.

“Wait!” Gogindy panted, leaning against the
wall, gasping for air. “Wait…bug I want you…”

Without warning a loose brick fell away from
the wall Gogindy was leaning on, and with it, part of the wall
crumbled and fell. Gogindy quickly leapt back and watched as bricks
fell tumbling away, revealing still another gaping opening in the
decaying walls, like a strangely patterned doily. “Oh,” Gogindy
moaned. “The higher up I go, the more hole there is than wall to
this tower.”

He glowered at the stairs where the bug had
vanished, wishing he could have eaten it. “Stupid bug,” Gogindy
growled, picking up a stray brick and tossing out the gaping hole
in the wall. His ears tingled. He felt as if someone was standing
behind him, making ready to shove him out the opening. He heard a
low, creeping sound, soft and feathery. He swung around wielding
his small sword. “I know you’re there, whatever you are. Come out
and face your most formidable enemy!”