The Twins of Noremway Parish (29 page)

“
What business do you have with me?”

***

“
The twins are being separated today,” Franz Phoenix said. He took a seat behind his desk as Zuriz Falcon continued to look at himself in the mirror. “I trust you know who I’m referring to.”

Falcon remained silent, taking in his appearance. He no longer seemed to be flashing in and out of existence, but he did stare intently into the mirror as if trying to determine why the face he was looking at was so unfamiliar to him. “Twins,” was all he said.

“
Aye, that is what I told you, the twins are being separated. I know you are the Father of the Darkness, and I know this is something we are supposed to stop. ‘The twins must not be separated’.” Falcon was silent. “I know you remember more than you are letting on. So come clean, Falcon.”

“
Cocky fellow, aren’t you? How do you think you know so much? You’re nothing.”

“
If I were nothing, then why did you seek me out? You didn’t come to me randomly. You found me because you know I was chosen.”

“
Interesting hypothesis, Sheriff; supported on what basis?” He flashed a sly grin.

“
I don’t know. I don’t remember,” he said; and that was the truth. He knew it had something to do with the trip to the Waterman House. It was the same trip that involved the wolf attack on Urey; the one that had led to his transformation into a wolf, and eventually into a Great Wolf, or a werewolf.

“
You’re wondering why Urey seems to have gotten all the glory, and why the only thing you have to show for all your worthiness is a broken face,” said Falcon in that devious voice.

“
I wasn’t thinking any such thing.”

“
You were; I know, because I can read all your thoughts, even before you are aware of them.” Franz did not respond. “The more contact I have with humans, the more I seem to remember.”

“
Isn’t that special,” Franz said sarcastically.

“
And what I now remember can be very helpful to you if you want to gain the upper hand against Ghora Urey. To ensure this Great Wolf doesn’t take your place as the one chosen by Darkness.”

Chapter 19

Later that day, on their way to Plague’s Lair, Teret Finley and Decon Mangler walked in time with each other without even realizing it. Their steps landed synchronously in the sand as they made their way back to where Plague was hard at work creating a miracle. “Decon, I am so happy,” she said. She had to resist the temptation to hold him and kiss him as they walked.

“
I’m happy too,” he said. He felt the same urge to put his arm around her, but the thought that someone might see them weighed heavily on him. The social stigma was real. They both held out hope it could be combated and eventually defeated, but only in good time. Both harbored the feeling that if they pushed it publicly too quickly, they would be shooting their cause in the foot.

As they entered Plague’s Lair, a nurse, Laura, pounced on them like a wolf on its prey. “Just have a seat here and Bart will be right with you.” She directed them to a stone table in a lantern-lit room and immediately left the room.

As she stared into Decon’s eyes, Teret felt a sharp pain stab through her head. It was something she had felt before; she felt it just after her vision with the story teller. But today was different–the pain was sharper. Her eyes flared bright red as she stared deeply into the blue of Decon’s. A wave of dizziness overtook her–the world around her spun.

Suddenly Decon, too, felt the sharp pain in his mind.
Decon Mangler,
spoke a voice in his mind. He grabbed his head. The world was spinning.

In that instant, they were somewhere else. They were in a green field, an apple orchard. The green foliage amazed her, as did the white flowers covering the trees. Her whole life, the world had been little more than a desert wasteland, and this was the second time in a week that she had found herself in a beautiful (she almost wanted to call it
magical
) world, and the first time that Decon had been there.

Birds chirped all around. The multitude and diversity of bird song was something she’d never heard before. Sometimes you could hear the faint calls of the few birds there were in Noremway Parish, but this was much more powerful.
Chickadee-dee-dee, cherriup, peer-a,
and
weep-weep-weep.
Songs she could not identify because she had never heard them before.

The wind blew in from the north. It was sweet, with a strong scent of apple blossoms. She’d never felt so strong a breeze before. Insects were flying about from tree to tree, suckling the sweet sugar from each of the blossoms and spreading the life-sustaining pollen.

She finally managed to tear her eyes from the trees to the sky. It was a clear, blue day with a handful of small, fluffy clouds spotted across it, with not an ounce of sand in the air.

“
Teret, where are we?” Decon asked. He was mesmerized by the same things as she.

Suddenly, Teret took off running through the trees. “Hey,” Decon cried and chased after her. “What is this place?” She was fast on her feet, much faster than Decon, but he eventually managed to catch her and wrestle her to the ground. She kissed him and then rolled so she was on top, straddling him. He pulled her head down close to his and they kissed again with a passion unrestricted by inhibition. Wherever they were, this place was safe, a place where they could feel their passion with no concern for societal stipulations or tradition. They were free.

They got up together and they ran in and out through the trees. “I don’t know where we are,” she cried. “But it’s wonderful!” She jumped and caught a low-hanging branch and swung her feet up to hang upside down while Decon, winded, struggled to keep up. “I’m too fast for you, old man,” she laughed.

“
I still caught you,” he said, and placed his hands on her upside down face and kissed her again.

“
I love you, Decon,” she said between kisses

But then, without warning, the world dissolved around them and they were back at the stone table, gazing into each other’s eyes in the dim lantern light.

After a brief moment of disorientation, Decon said, “That was—”

“
Lovely,” Teret finished.

“
I was thinking ‘strange,’ but ‘lovely’ works too.”

She put her hands to her head and rubbed her temples. Then her hands moved to her eyes, beginning to rub more intensely, more frantically. Decon, frightened, launched across the table and pulled her hands away. “You’re going to hurt yourself!”

“
My eyes; it feels like a million ants are crawling all over them.” They were squeezed tight, but blood leaked from the corners and down her cheeks. Then her eyes opened. There was no blood except for that drying on her cheeks. The red of her irises was surrounded by clean whiteness. There was no sign of any eye-irritation whatsoever.

“
Are you alright?” Decon asked.

“
Yes, I’m fine now…perfectly fine.”

“
What happened to your eyes?”

“
I…don’t…I’m not sure.” She looked down as if she was embarrassed about what had just transpired. “The story teller has something to do with this,” she said. Decon’s eyes lit with recognition.

“
The story teller, of course!” he exclaimed. “Why didn’t I think of that before?”

“
Because he’s part of me now, Decon,” Teret said. “And we haven’t discussed him in a week. The last time he sent me back in time—”

“
Back in
…time
?”

“
I’ve been thinking about it since the last occurrence, and I’m fairly certain that a story teller has the ability to travel through time, and he has somehow melded with me in order to accomplish something that he can’t do himself.”

“
To interfere with this story,” Decon said in awe of Teret’s brilliance.

“
Precisely: He needs one of the characters to interfere, but as you saw, any contact with characters in the story automatically erases the event from their minds, because story tellers cannot control the story. They can only recount it.”

Decon looked at her thoughtfully. “You know, this is actually interesting. As a friar, I try to explain the meaning of life, the meaning of the world; but there are so many things about the way the world works that I don’t know about or understand. It is quite humbling.”

“
For sure, but I think the full extent of the story teller’s purpose will only be revealed with time.”

Then Plague entered the room. “Hope I’m not interrupting,” he said.

“
Not at all,” Decon and Teret said together. At the sight of Plague, miraculously, all thoughts of the story teller disappeared, replaced by thoughts of the twins. How were they doing? Was the surgery a success? Was Gaylen going to live? These questions and more launched from their tongues like flames off lantern oil.

“
Good, good. The surgery was a success. The whole child—Julian—is healthy and healing, the smaller one is doing just fine. The modifications made to the transplanted organs have not hindered their function in any way; including a rib cage too, by the way. The right arm and leg seem to be functioning well, responding to stimuli and such. I don’t foresee any significant issues.”

Teret spoke up quickly, “Will they grow with the rest of his natural body? There won’t be any complications there?” Decon looked to her with a thoughtful gaze. She always seemed to be ready with the questions that he was only beginning to formulate in his head.

“
Remember when I mentioned the chemical he will need to continue the proper functioning of the foreign body parts along with preventing a rejection of them? This chemical also maintains a proper growth pattern throughout the body. Did you want to see them?”

“
Of course,” Teret said.

***

Decon and Teret cooed at their newly separated children. The dungeon-like atmosphere of Plague’s Lair had disappeared to become a place of peace and comfort. The fact that he was now responsible for this child, even if adopted and not his biological son, was a liberation—a liberation from the strict traditionalist mold by which he’d found himself sculpted; a liberation from the conflicting thoughts within him. In his early days and until quite recently as a friar, he had been a beacon of tradition, but things had changed and he’d learned to love. The traditional ways had served their purpose in their time, but they were backward and now out of place.

“
What are you thinking about, hun?” Teret asked. It was the first time she had ever called him that, and his heart skipped a beat. He could feel the blood rushing through his body as his heart fluttered and his stomach churned.

“
I’m thinking tradition be damned; we should get married,” he said. “For the sake of the twins, as well as our own mental health.”

He had forgotten that Plague was still in the room, and could clearly hear what they were now saying to each other. The doctor smiled and nodded, and then came over to him and whispered, “I think you and I need to have a drink.”

Decon smiled and replied, “We most certainly do.” He picked up Julian and held him tightly. The boy was light, and without the twin attached to him, he felt like any normal child. He was still asleep from the anesthesia, but Decon knew he was happy to be rid of the parasite that had been attached to him.

“
I can watch them both, if you’d like,” Teret said. “I think you and Bart should talk, drink a few beers. Celebrate a surgery well done.”

“
Well, Teret,” Plague said, “we’ll see you and the boys home, and then your man and I are off to Peyton’s Pub.”

She looked a little embarrassed, but only because she had so long believed that she was not allowed to have a man in her life. Now that she had someone with whom to share her life, her feelings, and her thoughts, it seemed natural, but she wasn’t used to being out in the open about it. Of course, Bartholomew Plague was a close friend, and he certainly shared their way of thinking, but it was still something she had to get used to.

***

After walking Teret and the twins home, Decon and Plague continued on to Peyton’s Pub. They didn’t go to the pub very often, but they enjoyed it when they did. It wasn’t politic for a friar to frequent the pub, but a drink every once in a while was fine. Especially now, a week after the harvest when the first apple beer made from the fresh apples was ready. Throughout the rest of the year, the apple beer was made from old apples, but this new batch was the freshest and the best tasting (“and has a better kick,” Plague said).

When they walked in, they saw Peyton Morgan bussing tables and working the bar. He did everything himself; both Decon and Plague respected that. There was something to be said about a proprietor who was willing to get his hands dirty.

“
The friar and the doctor–what can I do you for?” Morgan called out as soon as he saw them. They sat at a table near the piano. The piano player was tapping out a tune called “Noah’s Kiss.” It was a fine, simple little ditty about a girl who loses her lover to the unfortunate circumstance of murder.

“
Couple of apple beers, Peyton,” Plague said.

“
Two apple beers coming right up” and he was off to get the order. He stopped to chat with a few of the other patrons to ask how they were enjoying their food and drink. He was quite cheerful and energetic, especially given his age.