The Twins of Noremway Parish by Eric R. Johnston

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—”
    “ The Waterman farm is burning!” Rita interrupted, attempting to take command from the friar. The crowd began to panic as they noticed for the first time the orange glow in the distance. Plague was already off the carriage, pushing his way into the cathedral with the child in his arms. “Where is he going?”
    The chancellor tugged on his long beard, but didn’t say anything. That was the work of his attack dog, the sheriff.
    “ You’ll have to step back, Rita,” Franz said, grabbing the stocky woman by the arm.
    “ Let go of me.”
    “ Step back and I will.”
    She hesitated.
    “ Do it,” the sheriff said. “Now everybody else, there is nothing to see. The friar wants you all to go home. So do it! ” Then a small smile crept over his face as he seemed to forget Rita’s insolence. Ever the schemer, he was likely thinking that the longer Rita hung around the cathedral, the higher her chances of being attacked by a wolf on her way home—a trip of at least two miles.
    As the small crowd in front of the cathedral dispersed, Decon, spotting Teret, ordered, “Get the holy water ready—quickly!” She entered the cathedral without question. She grabbed the lantern and continued past the statue of Ragas and toward the fountain with the little angel children carved into it. She felt around the bottom of the stoup to find the switch to activate the pump (the water had already been drained to the underground reservoir for the night). It hummed as water rushed in through the angels’ mouths. The stoup filled quickly.
    Plague and Decon were ready and waiting.
    Taking the child from Plague, Decon said a short prayer and plunged him into the water. He said another short prayer for the safety of the child’s soul.
    ***
    “ It’s a miracle,” Brother Decon said, because that was all he could say. Depth of thought was as impeded as his tongue was tied. Anything else, insubstantial or not, would not come, would not dare the breath required to give it life. Just as he was lowering the barely breathing, profusely bleeding boy ( it’s a boy! he thought) it happened. The water glowed with a blinding, golden light. The glow travelled through the water and carried its way into the two children wrapped in angel wings. The wings quickly unfurled, revealing two little boys who appeared to be joined together. It was more than the connection of the stone. These