The Last Summoning---Andrew and the Quest of Orion's Belt (Book Four) (57 page)

A long, low howl of wolves cut through the
darkness, woeful and sharp. Coral stared at the sky in dismay as
the moon gradually turned a brilliant red, the color of blood.
Howls filled the air as wolves called out to the moon as if in sad
farewell. Then, a terrible hush fell over the whole earth as if
every soul who had ever been born was holding their breath. The
moon started to fall under shadow, until it became only a crescent,
then it vanished altogether---eclipsed by a great darkness, and not
from the earth’s shadow. But something far more sinister.

Lancedon stiffened, listening to the eerie
howls. “What is happening?”

“It is getting darker,” was all Coral said,
clasping Lancedon’s hands tightly to hers.

“Darker?” Lancedon asked. “It’s hard to
imagine anything darker than what I live with every day.”

Coral’s eyes grew wide. “I’m worried,
Lancedon.”

Lancedon pulled Coral into a warm embrace.
“As long as we have each other, it doesn’t matter how dark it gets.
We will have enough light to see by.”

They both sat together, holding one another,
waiting for the night to end, waiting for the sun to rise. Time
dripped as if frozen by the cold, unable to move as quickly as it
once had when the earth had been warm.

Finally the dawn came. The sun shone down
over the hills, lighting the frosty landscape in a cold warmth.
There was still another day.

“Ah,” Lancedon said, feeling the heat of the
sun on his face. He smiled, and nudged Coral, whispering into her
ear. “The sun still shines.”

Coral stirred and slowly opened her eyes. “It
does?” Her voice stopped short. She gasped and quickly stood,
gazing at the rising sun, her mouth agape. “It can’t be…”

“Coral?” Lancedon questioned. “What’s
wrong?”

An unsettling sound smothered out any answer
she might have given him. The sound surged through the land like a
strangling hand that cut off air, cut off light, cut off goodness.
The sound was as bitter as hatred, as chilling as fear, and as
pungent as death. It made those who were already fearful even more
afraid. It heightened pain, sharpened malice, and shut out light. A
cry of dismay could be heard all through Lancedon’s camp as a
darkness the world had ever seen spilled out over the sky.

“Lancedon!” Coral cried, grasping his hand,
and pulling him to her.

“What is it?” Lancedon asked, feeling more
frustrated than ever that he could not see. A heavy smell of sulfur
pervaded the air, heavy and stifling.

“The sky!” Coral cried, her voice wracked
with fear. “The darkness has finally come.”

Lancedon’s face showed no alarm. In his
already dark world, the concept seemed strange. Such darkness was
not a stranger to him.

Darkness. Its sound was stiffing,
constricting, obliterating. Onward it came.

The earth rumbled. The ground shook as the
stars fell like autumn leaves blown by a cold wind. Down they came,
crashing towards earth with little regard to where they landed,
combusting in fiery explosions. It felt as if the world, and time
itself, froze in that moment. A falling star, flaming like a demon,
fell and hit the earth near their camp, causing the earth to reel
and shake, and trees to burst into flame.

Then suddenly all was silence. Lurking,
horrible, forsaken silence. In that awful silence, the sun fell
under shadow so thick that its rays gradually vanished as if the
sun had never been. Then the noise returned, doubled in volume,
violent and rushing. The shadows coursed through the earth. Fingers
of darkness spread through the sky, reaching out clutching, and
devouring light with its powerful hand. It rolled over the world
like a wave, drenching the world in its shroud. It was as if in a
single instant an explosion of darkness coursed over the earth,
sinking its jaws deeply into the soil’s crust. All light was blown
out, suffocated, devoured in a wind that drank up all light. The
darkness was a living thing, as if it had a pulse, a breath, a
heartbeat and voice. Its breathing as was somber as a death, and as
chilling as eternal sleep. It ate away at every form of light, from
the greatest flame, to the smallest candle, leaving in its place a
darkness so heavy, so thick, so stifling, that no one could ignite
any light. The darkness rolled out in sheets, feeding off the light
like a specter devouring a struggling soul. The light that it
devoured would flame up for one moment, as if fighting the
darkness, giving depth to the darkness, form to the void, making it
appear alive and far more endless than space itself. This violent
darkness washed over the earth, snuffing out light, lamp, and
beacon. From lighthouse, to fireplace, to the humble lamp, to lusty
beacons---all was devoured. The darkness flooded in around every
soul, from old to young, rich or poor, lowly, or high of station.
None were left untouched, untainted. It clutched at throats,
pricked the blood with fear, stifled life and light, coating the
earth in a darkness thicker than ashy smoke.

It was a shadow so deep no one could escape
it. Every candle was snuffed out, every campfire, every lamp, every
star, every reflection, every color was consumed by it. Every
hope---great or small, every dream, every light, both great and
small, was instantly stifled. The earth shook and groaned. Crags
opened up, as if the darkness itself had been encrusted deep within
the depths of the earth and was now bursting out to greet it.

The chains of darkness bound the earth with
such gripping fear that none could speak, none could move.

In one instant, all was changed.

Darkness had taken power. Yet the power the
darkness took was only the power that had been given freely by
those who dwelt side by side with it. It had gained power a day at
a time, a word, a thought, a deed at a time, until this darkened
now.

Who could not bend to such power? What soul
could not cry out in fear, and frustration, paralyzed in place
where no flame could be ignited, no hope kindled?

Every soul groped in the darkness, trying to
grasp onto the things they had lost. All was darkness, all was
heaviness, all was cold, deplorable, clutching, lost. Light had
died. Its soul was consumed, its home was now a wasteland of
darkness where shadows picked the cold bones of the last crumbs of
light.

A stench of death and destruction lingered
over the land, foul and ugly.

Who could wake the light now, a light that
every one had abused, misused, and had treated lightly? All
mourned, not just for the lack of light, but for the light they had
lost inside themselves. They had been groping in darkness long
before this awful time, lost to the truth and light that could have
guided them in a far better direction they were now heading.

Every soul cried out in despair---all except
one.

Lancedon stood amidst this darkness. He could
feel the heaviness weighing on him, its coldness eating at him,
trying to make him bend his knees and worship at its feet. It
penetrated every crack on earth, chilling it with its message of
utter submission to its terrible, and great power of darkness.

“No,” he cried, struggling to stand erect. He
straightened his back, and lifted his head. He had already faced
this foe. He knew that it could not triumph.

It would not.

He had already conquered darkness once.

And he would conquer it, still. Darkness was
not his king, and never would be.

The Birth

Gogindy moaned, struggling to wake up. He felt a
terrible jabbing pain in his head and neck. He tried to open his
eyes, tried to move. But he felt paralyzed. A strange tickling
sensation rustled through his fur. He could hear a steady humming,
bug-like click, click, click. The sounds were metallic, all
encompassing, as if whatever it was had crawled inside his ears,
and into his fur. Then the sound faded as quickly as it had come.
His body felt strangely naked, and bare. Alarmed, he squirmed, and
howled until he was able to open his eyes and move his limbs once
more. His whole body was sore, and stiff. A pile of snow had
accumulated on him, causing him to feel frozen in place. He groaned
and glanced around in fear. He saw only darkness. How long had he
been unconscious? His body felt so stiff, he could have been asleep
for days. It was so very dark. Darker than ever before. Darker than
even inside his head.

Something felt strangely missing. He couldn’t
put his finger on what it was. But its vacantness was all
consuming, all around him. He whined and whimpered, stretching out
his hands, feeling only cold stone and drifts of snow.

“Where am I?” he whispered, rubbing his wet,
frosted fingers. They were so frozen he felt like they could crack
in half like stiff twigs. “Oh. Oh.” He moaned. “It’s so dark. So
scary. So black.” He felt as though the very darkness itself had
caused his headache and was now threatening to crush him.

The air though cold, was heavy, strangling,
and oppressive. He shivered dusting off a heap of black frost and
snow from his body. He wondered if he had died. There was no moon
in the sky, no light---nothing. No way where to tell where he
was.

“Where am I?” he whimpered. “Oh, my head
hurts so. Oh, but it’s so cold. And I’m so hungry. And oh, what
time is it? It feels like 6,000 O’ clock, and as dark as the inside
of a demon’s mind.

He fished around in his pack for his glowing
mushroom. But when he found it, it did not shine. No light came
from anywhere. He whimpered again, shivering as he groped around in
the darkness for his dropped-bell ringing stick. Finding nothing,
he sat in the snow and cried. Oh, he was so very cold. The darkness
had invaded his lungs, filled his nose, and caused him to
cough.

Sitting there, alone and cold, he came to
another startling realization. Two things he dearly loved were
missing. The light, and all his whiskers that had covered his
body.

All was completely gone, down to his last
whisker.

His body was completely naked. He felt the
area around his nose, his backside, his three tails, everywhere. He
was shaved, clean, sheared like a sheep.

“OH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!” Gogindy
howled. “Oh woe is me! That bug, that evil, nasty bug shaved me.
Oh, I am the miserablest of all miserables! He shaved my winter
coat, trying to freeze me to death in this darkness. Oh, I feel
faint and feeble. My strength is gone. Everything that I ever cared
for is gone, consumed, darkened, sheared. Everything that made me,
me has vanished. I have no identity. I am naked like a newborn
mouse. I am nothing, a nobody. My identity is lost forever. A
Twisker without whiskers might as well be dead. My Twiskerhood has
been stolen. My whiskers will never grow back. No, a completely
shaved Twisker is no Twisker at all. His whiskers never grow back.
Oh. I will be a stunted Twisker, scarred for all eternity.
Hh…ah…chooo….sniff, sniff. I think I’ve caught pneumonia, or it has
caught me,” he wheezed. “Oh this is terrible.” Sniff. Sniff. “I
must have died and gone to the bad place. I knew I was destined to
go there. But so soon? I should have known that IT would be a bug
to send me to my doom, something crunchy and shiny, something
small, something that has always been my distraction. Oh, the
horror of it, to be shaved, and sheared, and now to be as bald as
an overgrazed mountain top! Hope is indeed lost. I can do nothing
without my whiskers. My strength was in my whiskers, my courage, my
resolve. It is all shaved away with my wonderful whiskers. I am
helpless as a newborn babe. Soft, and without my armor, I might as
well be dead.”

He cried and moaned, and coughed, and
sneezed. “I think I’m allergic to this darkness. I truly am. It’s
making me break out in hives. Not that I can see them. But I can
feel them, itchy and bumpy. I’m sure I look a sight. Bald, and
ridden with spots. But then again, it’s so dark, what does it
matter? No one can see me. And come to think of it, I’m glad it’s
dark. Now I can’t see me. I’ll just freeze twice as fast. Oh it’s
so quiet. Oh, it’s so very dark. Oh, it’s so cold. Oh, it’s so
horrible. So horrible and inky black. I’ve failed. I’ve failed
everyone, including myself.” Tears fell freely down his face.
“Failed, miserably. Oh I have no friends, no one to talk to, no one
to tell my sorrows…oh, I am a cursed Twisker if ever there was
one.” His fingers went into his small pack searching for his
footprint stone. “Oh,” he murmured. “I forgot. I used you to crack
across that nasty bug’s skull. Now even you are gone. What a kind
friend I turned out to be. Replaced you with a devil bug. I am very
sorry. So very sorry. Oh, moon, oh stars, oh sun, oh world, oh
Andrew, what have I done? What have I not done? I resolved to ring
that bell, and I was tricked by a bug? I failed because of a bug? A
bug! Who is so distracted, and set off course so easily by such a
silly thing as a bug? Who, but me, I. I the foolish Twisker,
shaved, naked, lost on a tower. I have indeed met my match. A bug.
Oh, that miserable bug. All hope is truly lost. I feel not an ounce
of hope left in all myself, or in all the world. Yes, all hope is
lost and dead, just as I am lost and dead.”

He sat in the dark for some time, weeping,
unable to move. The darkness was inhibiting, grinding, rough,
devouring. It clutched at him, like heavy chains, causing him to
feel weighted down. He moaned, and hovered near the edge of the
tower, contemplating leaping off into the nothingness. Then Gogindy
thought he saw something through the blanket of darkness. What it
was he could not really understand. It was a misty light that lit
up at random, beckoned him to it, beguiled him with a feeling of
direction. His eyes were transfixed by the meager offering of light
that hovered over him. He instantly jumped up and tried to snatch
the light, tried to hold it in his hands. But it would not be
still. He turned to the uncertain light, though diluted with
shadow, and followed it, nearly tumbling off the edge of the tower
where it led him. More confused than ever, he teetered on the edge
of the tower, wanting to follow the flickering light, but unable to
let himself jump to certain death where the light led him. Gogindy
whimpered, crying out in frustration. “I am indeed LOST! What kind
of light is this that it has led me to the edge of an abyss? He
reached out into the emptiness, towards the beckoning light.