The Twins of Noremway Parish (6 page)

The grass lining the road grew ever higher, blocking their view of the tall house. They continued in relative silence. The only sounds were the clop of hooves on the road and the bumping and grinding of wheels on the uneven dirt–and the faint howls of wolves that seemed to be growing louder with each passing minute.
The wolves
, Decon thought,
that are in the process of ingesting their latest meal.
But then his mind wandered to the lovely parochial vicar with the head of flowing red hair…and those piercing red eyes; one of a kind, a unique portrait of beauty. With the thought of the beautiful Teret Finley, nothing else seemed to matter; not the wolves, not the Watermans; not the continued itch at the back of his mind of something that had been forgotten.

“
Sister Teret,” he said under his breath, betraying the secrets of his thoughts to his passenger.

“
Aye. She’s a beautiful woman,” Plague said, acknowledging the Friar’s tone. “Great teacher too, according to Nora. She comes home from school every day talking about ancient cultures and astronomy—which happens to be her favorite, you know…and Teret seems to know a lot about it.”

“
That she does.”

“
Aye, I hear you. You’re so supportive of Sister Teret. Good to see you defend her against Rita Morgan. At least someone around here stands up to her. Sister Teret’s incredible.”

“
Nora is open to new ideas. Easy to build a relationship around that,” Decon said. He didn’t respond to the comment about Rita because, simply, he couldn’t say anything about it that hadn’t been said before.

“
She wants to study the stars. That’s all she ever talks about.”

“
Good for her–encourage that. It’s rare in a child so young to have a passion like that.” He gave the darkening sky a cursory glance, briefly noting the sun had made its final farewell as they spoke.

They knew they were getting close to the house when the wolves’ howls grew louder. When they pulled onto the Waterman land, he stopped the carriage in front of the house. “You got your knife, Bart?” he asked, pulling a long blade from his cloak.

“
Always, Decon; can never be too safe with these wolves about.” As if to make his point several wolves howled out in the field. “Methinks the wolves out there are still feasting on their prize.”

“
Agreed, mate–the Watermans, no doubt.” Somehow, he knew this to be the case with absolute certainty, but he didn’t know why.

He pulled two lanterns from the back of the carriage, lit one and handed it to Plague. Then he lit the other. “Alright, come on. Hope for best, but it sounds like we should expect the worst.” They crouch-ran into the field, ducking low under the cover of the tall grass, completely ignoring the house as if unseen. The smell of blood was strong, but he didn’t have the keen sense of a wolf to track it. No matter: his ears would lead them right to the wolves as they continued their incessant howls. “Sounds like we’re going to be coming up on them soon. Be ready.” They continued stalking into the field.

Suddenly Decon’s foot came down into a slippery mess. Looking down at what he had stepped in he saw chunks of bloody sinew and flesh. The metallic scent of blood was strong, and on closer examination there looked to be a finger lying within the gore. He fished it out with the toe of his boot. A ring gleamed in the moon light, a ring that Lynn Waterman often wore. “Bart, I think our worst fears are true.” He motioned the doctor to take a look. “Lynn’s ring; sages be petrified!”

Plague gave him a strange look. “Was that supposed to be a curse?”

“
What? I don’t usually say things like that.”

“
Aye, but leave the cursing to me, alright? You don’t seem to have a knack for it.”

A trail of blood led further into the field. The low howl of the wolves grew louder, more frequent, and a bit agitated, as if they knew they had company. They likely did. The human scent—sweat from the heat of the night—was very potent.

The howls became more frequent as the number of wolves increased. Plague and Decon stood together, lanterns raised and knives ready, as wolves materialized out of the shadows all around them. This was the first time Decon had ever seen a wolf appear out of thin air. According to myth they did so every night; how else could they enter the parish? But to actually see it happen before his very eyes was a sight entirely unexpected.

He stood transfixed, the howl of these new wolves paralyzing him. They circled and stalked, howling, barking, and drooling. He and Plague stood motionless, not wanting to continue their search for the Watermans for fear that it would provoke an attack. “Decon, there are wolves everywhere.”

The wolves, large, grey, and dirty, baring their teeth, blocked the path from which they’d come, as well as blocking any path they could use to escape. He fought the urge to scream.

Plague said, “Feel the need to curse now?” They both had their weapons drawn and ready to use.

“
No, just…run!”

They ran forward, each waving their large knives in front of them. Despite their hostile temperaments, the wolves moved out of the way, as if letting them through. They ran further into the field, following the blood trail. If they were to find Tomias’s and Lynn’s bodies, what then? They couldn’t carry them back to the parish-proper without being eaten by the wolves. Surely they’d only let them through in order to ensure there would be no escape.

As they reached the end of the entrails, they stopped dead in their tracks. Three vicious creatures stood in front of them silently licking their teeth. These were not wolves like those now behind them, but large, humanoid beings with bright yellow eyes, long pointed noses, and fangs reaching down the length of the necks. Sloped shoulders and long muscular arms that reached down to the ground gave the creatures the appearance of a severely mutated human. Drool dripped from their curled lips. Their faces painted a portrait of growling monsters, yet they made not a solitary sound, not an auditory hint of carnivorous intent. But those faces—the horrible, monstrous faces––gnashing teeth, flinging spittle, the glaring, glowing eyes. The three of them stood in front of the men, each angled in to a center point, forming an arrow of man-eating beast. Blood dripped from their long fangs.

“
Fresh,” Decon said in a low voice.

“
Fresh isn’t the f-word I’m thinking right now,” Plague replied.

“
The blood on their fangs, it’s fresh…still wet.” Decon didn’t need to explain further. Plague saw exactly what he meant. The blood was especially thick on their faces—around their mouths. Their teeth were stained red with pieces of flesh hanging between them. Being a physician and a surgeon, he was used to the sight of blood; children with deep cuts and scrapes from jumping off a barn balcony and missing the hay pile; men kicked by horses, sometimes in the face; accidents with farm equipment—cutting an arm or a leg with the blade of a scythe. But he hadn’t seen anything like this: human flesh and blood hanging from the teeth of a demon.

Plague could feel it start in his throat. The urge to vomit travelled to his stomach, and before he knew what was happening, the roast that he had eaten before the harvest gathering exploded into the air in front of him.

The three figures advanced and threw off their pact of silence. They growled, gnashed, and spoke to each other in a language completely foreign to the humans’ ears. The wolves behind them stayed where they were.

“
By the teachings of Ragas, and those of the man Jesus, I command thee to step aside!” Decon shouted, standing firm, and ignoring Plague’s lost supper. The creatures didn’t budge. “We will be walking through now, demons, and you will let us pass. We have no business with you. We are here to collect the bodies of our mayor and his wife if it pleases ya, or even if it doesn’t. You will move aside
now!
”

To Plague’s amazement, the creatures did just that. In fact, not only did they move aside, they walked off together and disappeared into the dark. He turned back to the wolves behind them—they were gone too. All the myriad creatures of the night were gone, leaving only the scent of blood behind. “Sorry I lost my supper, Decon.”

“
I didn’t notice; I was fixated on the demons. Either way, let’s go.” They continued on to where they assumed the Watermans were. When they found them, they discovered there were still wolves feeding on the bodies. Tomias and Lynn were clearly dead. Decon and Plague stopped and pulled their knives. “Move aside, wolves!” Decon ordered as Plague yelled “Get away!” and waved his knife as he ran toward them. A wolf leapt at him and missed, but knocked the lantern from his hand. The dry grass immediately went up in flames.

Decon thought he’d command the wolves again (
Dammit, Bart, why didn’t you just let me handle this!
he thought), but they were already scattering from the flames.

“
We gotta get out of here,” Plague said.

“
Ya think? Smooth move, by the way.”

“
Sorry. Got rid of the wolves though,” Plague said. “My way.”

“
Your ‘incompetently frightened and flailing’ way. I had this; the wolves would have gone away. I think they were here to ensure we found the bodies–just a hunch. I
know
there is something I’m forgetting. It’s happened twice today. There was something important on my mind. It’s there one minute and gone the next.”

“
Well, you took care of those creatures. I wanted to help too. I wanted to do something other than vomit all over myself.” The fire was roaring all around them and they needed to move fast.

“
We still have to retrieve their bodies, Bart. Help with that. We can’t let Tomias and especially Lynn burn in this blaze.” They rushed to the bodies as the flames spread around them. They were clearly dead; Tomias’s throat and abdomen were ripped out. What was left of his limbs only hung by threads of thin flesh to the rest of the body, and his face was entirely gone. Lynn was in even worse shape. Both arms were gone, and her abdomen was completely torn out. The baby was missing.

“
Is there even enough left to take with us?” Plague asked. “I mean seriously. Don’t give me any of your metaphysical excuses for doing pointless things.”

“
That’s fair,” Decon said, slightly offended, but at the same time agreeing with Plague that there was really
nothing
left of Tomias or Lynn, or the baby. But as they both turned to leave the fiery field, they heard the cries of a child.

“
You hear that?”

“
Aye, by the balls o’ the dragon, I hear it, Decon.”

The friar cringed at the crude use of language, but forgave the doctor for his verbal transgression. It was a common figure of speech in the parish anyway. They both followed the cries and found a bleeding newborn baby in a part of the field untouched by fire. The bite marks on the sides of its head indicated it was dragged to this place. Bite marks covered its right arm and leg as well, and its chest looked almost crushed. “Bart, we need to get this child to the infirmary; time for you to work your magic.”

“
You know as well as I do, Decon, a child in this condition won’t survive long no matter what ‘magic’ I perform. He must first be baptized. If the Waterman heir dies in my care without proper baptism, I will be run out of town. You know this. I defer to
your
‘magic’ on this account.”

“
Agreed.”

They ran to the carriage. The horse, Jasper, was waiting, and had gorged himself on the surrounding grass.
Well, at least we don’t have to feed Jasper tonight
, Decon thought as he climbed aboard.
No blessing, no matter how small, should be passed over without gratitude
. They left the farm, leaving the Watermans’ bodies to burn in the flames as they sped to the cathedral.

Chapter 4

Bartholomew Plague stared at the moon as Jasper drove the carriage back to the cathedral faster than he’d ever done before. The baby in his arms had stopped crying. It didn’t stir, but he could feel its tender heart beating through its crushed chest. “Almost there, little one,” he whispered. He kissed the child’s bitten, scraped, bruised, and bleeding forehead. In his twenty years as a physician he had not seen anything like this. The child was somehow clinging onto life by only a thread—a very thin thread. He didn’t even want to think of it as a “he”, or think about it as something with a name; something that could be loved, and something that could love. The baptism was to ease their conscience for when this child finally released its tenuous grip on life. Who knew the fate of lost boys and girls who had not the chance to find salvation?

Soon the angled cross atop the domed crest of the cathedral appeared in the white moon light. As the carriage drew closer, they could make out the party waiting for them in front of the building. Teret Finley’s distinctive head of red hair and her red, piercing eyes were easily discernible even in the dim light. Rita and James Morgan stood in front of the cathedral, looks of judgment written on their faces. And Chancellor Ghora Urey stood next to Sheriff Franz Phoenix. Everyone else (comprising approximately fifty people, according to Plague’s estimation) made up an undefined group of dimly lit faces.

“
Just what we need,” Decon said under his breath. “I thought I said for everyone to go home. Chancellor, round up these men and women,” he was looking at Rita Morgan as he said it, “and march them home. We have a situation here and we need—”