The Twins of Noremway Parish (5 page)

Plague nodded. Both the chancellor and sheriff declined the invite, however, but with good reason. Franz Phoenix approached Decon and said, “Brother Decon, I believe it wise for Urey and me to stay behind and ensure a peaceful dispersal of the crowd. You and Bart should make the journey alone. We’ll be ready to offer assistance as soon as everyone is home.”

“
Thank you, Franz. Good thinking,” Plague said.

***

After several moments Teret whispered to the friar, “Make sure Bart is prepared to deliver a child. She’s due any day now, and I’m so worried about her. What if something has happened? The baby should be your priority, Decon.”

“
Aye, I’m already on it–Bart?” He brushed past her and ran down the stage steps. He didn’t mean to be rude to Teret; in fact, it would be the last thing he would ever dream of intentionally doing, but because of the vision he’d had, he already knew exactly what they were facing. But he was in a hurry and of course he knew to be prepared to deliver the baby; the baby was the first thing on his mind.

“
Wait up, Decon. I’m not as young as I used to be.” Plague ambled from the pulpit, following Decon to the nearest carriage. The horses were ready to go, which was a small blessing. “We have to stop by the infirmary and grab supplies,” he said as he caught up.

“
That’s why I’m hurrying. We need to be prepared for this child as well as trauma on two adults. I am certain, the more I think about it, that Tomias and Lynn were attacked by wolves. Tomias was out in the field; Lynn came to his rescue and was attacked.”
I saw it in a vision
, he was about to say, but stopped himself. He’d had the vision hours ago, but it had somehow faded from his mind almost as soon as it ended. He remembered now how he had been on his way out the cathedral doorway, heading to the Waterman farm, when Rita stopped him. Then the memory of the vision disappeared, and didn’t reappear until Teret had said something relating to it. Now the memory was as strong as ever, as if he had never forgotten it.

“
Aye. Have to be ready for blood: a baby, blood, wounds, guts.”

“
So you say. Well, let’s stop jabbering and get on with it.”

Plague turned toward the people as he took the horse’s reigns: “Listen everyone; I’m coming along just in case Lynn needs help with the baby–no other reason. Mayhap we’ll have a cause to celebrate tonight after all, because I’m sure they’re fine.” Whether a correct prediction or not, a sigh of relief followed by excited whispering washed over them. People liked to hear optimism, even if it was false: politics.

***

The crowd dispersed in an organized fashion; it wasn’t the mob that Teret had feared it would be. One good thing she could say about Franz Phoenix was that his ability to intimidate could come in handy. Even a crowd of 10,000 people dared not cross the sheriff. He shouted marching orders and kept the sheep in line as they paraded out of the cathedral in several well-ordered single-file lines. Soon it would be dark, and surely would be full dark by the time Decon and Plague made it to the Waterman House.

She’d rarely been in here without Decon by her side. The candlelight from the several hundred candles in the room created an eerie glow that reflected off the walls. Her red eyes shone in the light. Shadows danced across the walls, creating deep, dark shadows. She imagined Rita Morgan lurking in those shadows. The imaginary shadow Rita stood and shouted, “I will not stand for this heathen in this cathedral. She should be ashamed—
ashamed!
She teaches
lies!
Off to hell with her!”

Teret’s eyes glowed brighter than ever as she repressed her anger. Decon had all the faith in her that was needed. She could do the job well, and she taught what she thought was right. But no one wanted to tell Rita and James how they felt for fear of being bullied into an irrefutable guilt for opening their mouths. Even in absentia, Rita could still hurt her. Such is what one would expect when dealing with the Morgans.

She began to cry. Why was it so hard to please everyone? If it was just Rita, Teret could easily ignore her and move on. But Rita had followers; more than just that pushover husband of hers. The followers stayed in Rita’s shadow.

She looked up through the open roof, gazing at the stars. A hint of red tainted the sky from the setting sun, but the stars still shone through. The night sky was an awesome sight to behold since the sand that spent all day obscuring the daytime atmosphere settled, allowing the stars to shine brilliantly.

She could get lost in those stars for hours, but knew tonight wasn’t the night for her to do that. So, as the people continued to file out of the cathedral, she ordered the heavily muscled men in charge of the ropes to close the dome.

She stepped off the stage and made her way to the holy fountain. The beautiful angels: the babies clinging to each other like twins enjoying their new lives–innocence. The stoup was full of holy water. Brother Decon had blessed it himself, saying the age-old prayers from the time of Jesus, adding in the poetry of Ragas. The water came from the reservoir directly below the cathedral, and was generally reused and re-blessed regularly. Her fingers followed the contours of the angelic babies. A longing stirred deep in her heart—a longing for a child, a piercing desire of want, of need. Tears that had been welling in her eyes before were now streaming freely down her face.

Chapter 3

The friar of Noremway Parish sat in silence as the journey began. The carriage bumped along the way over the sandy roads. The distance to the Waterman House was only several miles, but the going was slow. It was getting dark, after all, and the horse couldn’t see very well.

Behind them, the people were still filing out of the cathedral and heading home, which was good. They would all make it (assuming they didn’t dawdle or wait around for news concerning the mayor.) The sun would be setting soon and with it would come the appearance of the wolves.

Of course, he knew things were different. Wolves had appeared earlier in the day and had murdered Tomias and Lynn. This was something that never usually happened. Wolves only appeared at night, and if the people kept to the confines of their houses during the nighttime hours, the wolves offered nothing more to fear than eerie howls in the night.

Suddenly, a wave of vertigo washed over him and he nearly fell off the carriage. “Hey!” Plague shouted, grabbing his arm and pulling. His face was nearly pulped underneath the carriage wheels. His world was spinning, faster than even the wheel that nearly squashed his head. As Plague struggled to pull him up, the world spun into oblivion, materializing into another glimpse through the story teller’s eye.

***

Decon found himself suspended in a dark room with someone else’s thoughts running through his mind like the narration of a story:

Why are you doing this?

The Darkness has grown darker since I lost awareness and continues to grow darker still, offering no sight: offering no answers: offering only questions. Flashes of bright light sear across my vision. The deaths of Tomias Waterman, his wife, and child weigh heavily upon my heart. “The story is taking a completely uncharted path,” I say.

“
As it should, Story Teller,” the Darkness responds. “We wouldn’t want the story to be predictable, would we? Then what would be the point in having you here?”

“
What do you mean? Why are you doing this?”

“
How can you ask ‘why’ when you don’t even know ‘what’?” The voice is now pleasant, serene, almost a pleasure to listen to. The sweet melodies of songbirds couldn’t be more peaceful…yet I’m terrified, locked away in darkness below the Waterman House. How long has this entity been here?

Interrupting my thoughts the voice says, “There are so many things you do not know, nor do you understand about your precious hero Tomias Waterman. Oh, how you would cry if you knew the truth! But alas, I cannot reveal that now. There is still far too much story left to unfold.”

“
What do you mean?”

“
Don’t act like you don’t know how this works. I can tell you all there is to know about all the answers you seek, but without the proper exposition and without the proper context, my tale may as well fall upon deaf ears. Look into the night. What is darkness but an absence of light? What am I but hidden in the darkness, covered in darkness, an entity of darkness? A spec of light, a star in the vast distance of an interstellar ocean; something masterful within the nothingness.”

“
Within the darkness…”

“
Aye, a diamond sparkling in the dark.” It pulsates as it speaks. Whatever it is, it has some form. Is it corporeal? Or is it just an empty dark consciousness? Whatever it is, it—no, IT—surrounds me, holds me, suffocates me. It is not chains holding me, but thick filaments of mist. “We are like a painter and his canvas, brushing off the bare white with bits of color…of substance. Like a story teller does with words, peeling back the nothing, and revealing what is underneath–creating.”

“
And it’s this creative process that you aim to stop?”

“
Oh, no, no, no, not stop! Why ever would we want to stop it? We merely needed to change your story. Of course, it will mean so much more if you can see the consequences play out. We may be the darkness that blocks the story teller’s eye, but do not think for a second that we cannot control the outcome. As you’ve already seen, we’ve altered the course of this story. How was it again, Story Teller? Tell me about how the heroic mayor was going to vanquish the darkness from the face of the earth. How he was to preserve Noremway Parish for all time…how he was to live on in the hearts and minds of future generations as the second coming of the great Ragas Moliere! Such a sad story, with barely a breath of life.”

“
You mock me.”

“
And why shouldn’t I? Such a predictable—and boring—story!”

“
And to think, I thought I had a fan.”

“
Don’t flatter yourself, Story Teller. We take a particular interest in your art and have been trying for ages to imitate it. Imitation, that is the key…the key to…”

“
The key to what?”

“‘
What’ is the question,” the voice says, heavy, mocking.

“
What?”

“
Aye, what?”

What is this disembodied darkness saying? Riddles: only riddles: nothing but riddles; the imitation of an inarticulate story teller. It seems too concerned with whatever literary games it is playing to form a coherent sentence. A story can contain riddles, games, little gems of the obscure, but the story itself cannot be an unreasonable mess of inarticulate sludge.

“
Oh but the purpose of a riddle is to be solved, Story Teller, and if the riddle is the story, then all the better; one great big riddle to solve.”

I have no comment so I keep silent. Instead I ask, “What are you doing?”

“
Holding you captive, of course.”

“
I mean, what do you hope to accomplish?”

“
I wish to change the story to one more magnificent than any you have told before! To change the world with a stroke of the pen; to usher in a new era of chaos; to finally watch the parishes of the Inner-Crescent—especially Noremway Parish—fall.”

“
And you need me to help you tell this story? To make this happen?”

“
Nay, the story is already unfolding. We just needed you to stop the story you had been telling. It was interfering with our work.”

“
Then what have you of me?”

***

Decon woke with a start. As he jerked awake, Plague said, “Oh good. You decided to join me after all.”

Tomias Waterman’s farm was on the outskirts of town. They arrived as the sun was setting; not quite full dark, but given ten to fifteen minutes it would be. A full moon—which glowed with a bright light—hung high in the sky.

The friar and the doctor were good friends going way back. Decon was in seminary at the same time Plague was in medical training. Decon’s ordination even coincided with Plague’s christening as Noremway’s doctor. In some cases they had exchanged patients between each other. Some of the treatments for the ill included prayer and meditation, while some too afraid to go to Plague with their particular ailment sought Decon’s comfort. He would assure them the doctor was a good one and ease their minds to accept the potential diagnosis that ailed them. Their friendship allowed for this two-way flow of traffic.

“
So, where were you, Brother Decon?” Plague asked. “You seemed to have been somewhere else for a while.”

“
We are in a lot of trouble, Bart. When we get there we should check the fields. I know wolves have got them. And that house…” He trailed off as if the whole line of thought had been ripped from him in mid-sentence.

Plague responded, not noticing Decon’s apparent mental lapse. “I hope you’re wrong, but I’m thinking the same. I think we should prepare for the worst.”

“
Aye…” He
knew
there was something else. Whatever it was he had been thinking a moment before was gone, long gone. He remembered having the same experience earlier while in the cathedral, but he couldn’t for the life of him remember what that had been about.