The Twins of Noremway Parish (22 page)

“
Oh, so, you know over the billions of years of history the moon has been hit by lots of rocks–like Jupiter is throwing rocks at us from the asteroid belt.”

“
Is it now?”

“
Aye…I think so. Isn’t that cool?”

She went back to her book. He loved watching her get so excited about learning new things. The thought of ever losing her, like he lost his wife, was a thought he couldn’t bear. In fact, despite how difficult it had been for him to get over Pamela’s death, he knew Nora’s would be worse ten-fold. Just the idea of losing a child brought him to his knees. How would Decon and Teret deal with it if he couldn’t save both twins? There had to be a way. There just had to be.

He couldn’t bear the thought, but what if he could harvest the organs from someone else? That low life Ortega Gool had threatened Mangler in the cathedral. It was a capital offense. No one would blame the chancellor if he ordered an execution. He had a mind to pay him a visit. Removing his lab coat, grabbing his cloak, and telling Nora that he loved her dearly, he headed out the door.

***

The chancellor’s house was empty so the next logical place he could look was the jailhouse. His instincts proved correct as he found Franz and the chancellor exchanging winnings over a hand of poker. Franz’s pile of chips was a lot bigger than the chancellor’s. “What can I do you for, Doctor?” Franz said as he dealt out a fresh hand of cards.

“
Is he asleep?” Plague asked, referring to Ortega Gool.

“
Believe so. What do you need?”

“
Chancellor, is execution on the table?”

The chancellor looked to Franz then up to the doctor. “What is this about?” Franz had an enormous grin spread across his face.

“
Is execution on the table?”

“
What is this about?” the chancellor demanded again.

“
To save both twins, I need organs. If Ortega is going to be executed…well, just make sure you keep his organs intact. Bring his body directly to me.” Plague started to leave. The chancellor grabbed his arm and then let him go when his eyes connected with the sheriff’s.

Of course, Ortega was wide awake in his cell. The pain in his arm was at this point so intense he had begun praying for execution–put him out of his misery.

Chapter 14

Rita Morgan had slept uneasily. The memories of seeing Decon and Teret kissing, and then the sight of the chancellor turning into a wolf, danced in her mind like lightning in a heavy storm. As soon as she woke that morning, she went out to the orchard just to walk. She forced James to come along with her despite the fact that she wanted to be alone. She couldn’t leave him alone. He was too much of a dope (in her opinion) to function without her supervision.

What was happening here in the parish? She longed for the days of old, when she was a child, when the morning light was greeted with a prayer song from
The Book of Ragas
, but Brother Decon had done away with the practice for reasons he had never disclosed. He and Teret Finley were tearing apart the parish religion, changing the landscape of tradition, and damning them all to a hell in darkness and chaos.

Ragas taught that every morning’s light should be greeted with appreciation. Not only did the friar banish Ragas and his protection from the parish, but he and the parochial vicar were engaged in an affair. Brother Decon and Sister Teret were inviting the Darkness to return to the parish. And it seemed as though the chancellor himself was talking directly with the evil beings. She had to take action, take matters into her own hands. That man she met yesterday—Zuriz Falcon—would be able to help them. Surely, he would.

As the anger within her continued to build, she and James arrived back to the house to find Zuriz Falcon standing on the portico. The anger she felt turned to an equally strong excitement. She didn’t have to rely on the chancellor or that arrogant sheriff. “Falcon, Falcon, you need to help us. Noremway Parish needs you. Last night, not only did I see Decon and Teret in a forbidden relationship, but the chancellor is a wolf—a creature of Darkness!”

Falcon flashed a smile. “I’m glad you had such a fulfilling night.”

“
The parish is in danger and only you can help.”

“
Uh huh, I see.”

“
When the righteous wrestle control out of the hands of the heathens, the parish will return to its former glory.”

Falcon laughed a little. “Funny, isn’t it, how the most ‘righteous’ among you is the first to sell her soul to the devil? By the way, Abby says ‘hi’.”

“
Wha—” she started, but he was gone, having disappeared into a black mist before her eyes.

***

Rita Morgan was horrified. The man identifying himself as Zuriz Falcon had just disappeared before her eyes. She needed more than ever to put a stop to whatever blasphemies were going down in Noremway Parish. She gave no thought to Falcon’s statement about selling her soul to the devil. She was religiously pure and there was nothing that could convince her otherwise. But when she walked into her house and saw the horror that awaited her there, she could do nothing but scream. Self-reflection was most certainly out of the question.

***

The sight that filled Rita with horror would have made Plague jump for joy. He would have seen a prime candidate for organ harvesting sitting in the rocker by the window, but what the Morgans saw was their naked daughter, head severed and lying in her lap, her auburn hair sprawled over her legs. Her breasts were exposed, but covered with the blood still gushing from her neck. The head had been removed within the past couple of minutes, perhaps no earlier than their arrival back home.

“
Oh God, Abby!” She ran to her, snatched the disembodied head from her naked lap and kissed it as if the kisses would breathe life back into it. “Oh no, my beautiful baby!” She hadn’t seen her daughter in years, but she looked just like Rita had at that age, the spitting image of her mother. The horror, the death, the blood; it was all too much. She dropped the head and rushed to the bedroom to grab something to cover the body. She couldn’t let her daughter be exposed like this.

“
James, I can’t believe this,” she said after she covered the body. “I can’t believe this. I can’t believe this.” She repeated it over and over again. “Who would have done this to our beautiful darling? Who?”

But James didn’t respond; he had something else on his mind. The painful tightening in his chest occupied all of his thoughts at the moment. The pain shot throughout his chest and down his arms. His back was suddenly seized with horrible stiffening, and as he clutch his chest, attempting to dull the pain, his wife gave not an ounce of notice; she was distracted by her own pain as she stared at the dead body of her daughter, once so beautiful, sitting in the rocker.

***

Mica Jones lived in a shack on the outskirts of Noremway Parish, not far from Rita and James Morgan, and not far from the wall that surrounded it. Her shack was off the edge of the far end of Morgan’s Orchard. The home was located near the entrance to the parish where there was an opening in the wall. Often she would sit just outside the wall (this was just one of the things she did to convince some of the more cynical people in the parish of her senility) facing away from the town into the vast desert, and muse over the caravan-folk she saw passing by on the horizon. Being the oldest member of the parish, she knew its history over the past 100 years better than anyone, and knew that dealings between the caravan-folk and Noremway Parish were far more numerous than anyone would care to know.

There was a time long ago, perhaps 90 years ago, when one group of them came by the parish and set up a carnival just outside the great wall. They set up games, haunted shacks, and freak show events. It was a great past time, even though the friar at the time disapproved. He let it slide because it was fun for the kids.

Some said he was in on it when it came to pass that the caravan-folk were only there to steal children. It may have been true. Either way, he had been convicted of the crime and sentenced to hang, as did many other parishioners who were said to have had knowledge of the true intentions. She kept these memories to herself, however. She was just the crazy old lady when it came down to it, even though her mind couldn’t be clearer. But politics was what it was, and if people didn’t want to know certain things, they just discredited the messenger.

She could remember the day of the carnival like it was yesterday. She was going through the crowds and watching the carnies do their thing; some were juggling, playing three-card Monte, others were spitting fire, some were putting on magic acts. It was all in good fun–that is, until children started disappearing.

A magician who called himself “The Master of Illusion” called for a volunteer. He was looking for a child who wanted to disappear. All the kids were jumping up and down, hands high, laughing, yelling “pick me, pick me, pick me.” He chose a child—little Mica Jones—who ran up to the stage, excited by the prospect of being in the magic act. “What is your name, little girl?” the Master of Illusion asked.

“
My name is Mica Jones, sir, and I am so excited to be in your show.”

“
Okay, Mica, I’m excited you’re in my show too. Are you ready to disappear?”

She looked to the crowd of kids who were all cheering for her. This was a feeling she had never felt before. “Yes. I’m so excited,” she said. Next thing she knew, a curtain was dropped in front of her as a trap door in the floor opened. The fall was scary, and the landing knocked the wind out of her. Before she knew it, strange men were putting a mask over her head and dragging her away. She kicked and tried to scream, but they were covering her mouth. She felt a sharp pain in her neck as a cold, metal object was pressed into it. “Be quiet or I’ll slit your throat.” They dragged her from underneath the stage and shoved her into a wagon before anyone could see her. Even to this day, she could smell the camel’s breath. Meanwhile, in front of the stage, the crowd cheered at the incredible disappearing act; no one was even concerned where Mica ended up.

They never took the bag off her head, and they didn’t let her go. This wasn’t part of the act, but at the same time it was. The caravan-folk were kidnapping children from parishes across the entire Inner-Crescent, and she just happened to be the latest victim. It was a great scheme. The child could be openly kidnapped and the kids who watched it never suspected a thing, and the adults assumed revealing the real location of the disappearing child would compromise the effect. Combined with the repeated assurances from the carnies, parents didn’t make a serious search for their missing children until the caravan-folk were already long gone. Only then did they put the pieces together and discover what happened. Noremway Parish lost more than two dozen children that day. Mica Jones was the only one to escape.

She couldn’t remember how she escaped or how she found her way back to Noremway Parish through the desert, dirty and nearly naked. Chancellor John Urey found her wandering the streets and took her home.

That was many, many years ago, and Mica Jones was the only citizen of Noremway Parish who remembered such dangerous dealings with the caravan-folk. No record of the event had ever been made because Chancellor John Urey had, for the first time in the history of the parish, ordered the execution of as many as two-dozen people. These were not frivolous executions either. Evidence surfaced that all the parishioners involved with setting up the carnival had knowledge of the true intent behind it, and therefore could be tried as accomplices.

John Urey had thought it might look bad on the parish if the fact of all these hangings were commonly known. He suppressed the knowledge, conducting the executions privately, and forbidding any record of them from being made.

Now, as Mica Jones stared off at the caravan-folk travelling on the horizon, on the edge of the world, she feared for the future of Noremway Parish.

***

Screams jolted Mica from her thoughts. Her hearing wasn’t what it used to be, but whoever was screaming was making a good effort at it.
What is it with these young people? Don’t they know how to say something quietly? Back in my day we knew how to talk in a normal tone of voice.
But as she listened she could start picking out individual words. “Help…daughter…Abby…
DEAD!
” She didn’t need to think very hard to understand the meaning; someone was in trouble. She stood with her cane in hand and walked back inside the wall to her house, and climbed upon the carriage out front. She didn’t do a lot of driving these days, but she most certainly couldn’t walk that far. If there was ever any time that she had to leave the house, she had to take a carriage. She had a well-fed horse named Boris all ready to go that was tied to the carriage in a permanent yet comfortable harness for both comfort and convenience. Johnny—the young stable boy—came by every morning to make sure Boris was doing alright.

After climbing aboard, she ordered Boris to run at full speed to the other end of Morgan’s Orchard, where it sounded like the screams were coming from. As the Morgan house grew closer, the screams grew louder. Something was definitely wrong.

When she arrived she didn’t have time to act before Rita came out of the house screaming, “My daughter is dead.
MURDERED!
Please Mica, help!” James stood, leaning against the shack, clutching his chest. Mica had been around long enough to know what that posture meant. Rita just stood there screaming up a storm about her dead daughter, totally oblivious to the fact that her husband was dying right next to her.