by Amy Neftzger
“Roland has this thing,” Megan explained. “He doesn’t like his food to be touching.” At this point, Kelsey noticed Roland sorting the rabbit guts into little piles, and she turned away. “I’ve never understood it, though,” Megan replied with her mouth full of another rabbit. “I like the way the rabbits pop in my mouth. It’s like a burst of flavor when I bite into the little guys. The blood splashes all over the inside of my mouth. Quite delicious, you know.” Kelsey moved a little farther away while she waited for Silence to finish cooking their meat. She wanted to keep her appetite, even if her dinner wouldn’t be ready for a few hours. Roland’s behavior and Megan’s conversation weren’t helping at all. However, it didn’t really matter where she sat, though, because by the time their food was cooked, Roland and Megan were sound asleep by the fire. It was getting late.
After dinner, Kelsey heard the sound of the distant monster again as she was falling asleep, but this time she could hear that the noise was far enough away, so it didn’t keep her awake. She thought about what Megan had said, and she knew that even though the monster had been chasing her for a while, it hadn’t caught up with her and there had been times when it sounded much closer. At this point she was too tired to keep worrying about things that were so far away, so she fell into a deep sleep for the first time since she had left home.
The next morning, Kelsey opened her eyes and stretched. “I slept very well,” she remarked with satisfaction.
“Everyone sleeps well when they’re near Death,” Megan remarked casually.
“I’m so glad,” Kelsey replied without thinking. “Will you continue traveling with us?”
“We’re crossing the sea and then turning north,” Megan answered.
“I like Roland.”
“Most people don’t,” Megan said. “That’s why we’re going to have to disguise him in order to cross the sea.” She glanced around and then continued, “He’s sensitive about it occasionally, but most of the time he’s used to it.”
“He can wear my hat and scarf,” Kelsey offered. “They’re full of dust from the desert, but I think that will keep him from being recognized.” As they were talking, Silence rummaged through his satchel until he came up with an old pair of sunglasses. The metal rims were scuffed, but the lenses were in good shape and very dark.
“Perfect,” Megan said when she saw the glasses. “One of you creatures with thumbs will need to help Roland put those on. With the scarf and hat, I think the disguise will work just fine.”
It did work. As they walked along, they passed other travelers who didn’t seem to take much notice of them other than to exchange a polite nod as they continued walking. Neither Megan nor Roland attracted attention, and things went smoothly until they reached the bay area.
Chapter Seventeen
The Decision
Things were quiet once Junko disappeared. No one talked about her. It was as if she had never been in the orphanage at all. Her room was cleaned out and reassigned within a day. The new girl was named Mavis, but even she had no idea that her room had belonged to someone else a short while ago. Only two weeks had gone by, but when Maggie asked someone from Junko’s lab group how they were coping since Junko left, not one of them could remember that she had been there at all. No one remembered the miracle she had produced, either. This was one of the ways that time was measured differently in the orphanage. Changes like these appeared to stretch further into the past as if they had started long before a given event so that once the event took place, it felt much more distant and far away. It was as if the change had always been the truth and no other reality had ever existed.
Nicholas was very tired from all the exercise he was getting. The guardians had declared there would be a “mandatory perambulation exercise” before breakfast every morning. This meant everyone had to walk his or her plant before starting the day. Even on Mondays.
“There are no miracles on Mondays,” Mr. Pontiff had announced during their weekly meeting, “but there will be walking. This is for the health and welfare of your plants. Failure to obey this policy will result in a disciplinary hearing. Your motto for the week,” he continued, “is ‘Miracles Are in the Air.’ This should remind you to walk your plants daily and give them plenty of fresh air.” The guardians were unaware of the pun. They just thought it made sense.
These weekly meetings with the guardians were short, but they did interfere with the children’s ability to sleep late on Mondays. Some of the children grumbled over their lost sleep, but they were quickly accepting the new routine. It was a bit of a production to gather the entire orphanage together to announce the weekly motto.
Because the children were so adapted to rules, the daily walking exercise was implemented without any problems. Some of the children took their plants outside and strolled around the exterior perimeter of the building, taking care not to get too close to the enchanted forest. Other children walked inside through the hallways in perfect formation.
Nicholas was walking outside with Maggie’s plant and listening for the fireflies, but it seemed as if even they weren’t fully awake yet. He yawned as he took several turns around the grounds and watched the autumn leaves falling gracefully. There was a rhythm to the cycle, and it was perfectly timed. As Nicholas came around the front of the orphanage, he ran into Taro coming out of the building. Taro was carrying a small bush with little white flowers all over it.
“Your plant is blooming!” Nicholas exclaimed. He’d never seen blooms on any of the children’s plants. In fact, it never occurred to him that Taro would have a plant.
“Yes. All the plants will flower if you give them time and care for them.”
“Do they all have white blooms?” Nicholas asked. He’d noticed different types of leaves and stems on the plants. For example, some plants had bright and shiny leaves while others had fuzzy leaves. Some had green stems, while others had twig-like stems.
“No,” Taro laughed. “There are as many colors as there are people. Some plants even have more than one color of flower.” Nicholas wondered what Junko’s plant had looked like before it died. He wondered what color the flowers would have been. While Nicholas was momentarily distracted, Taro took a closer look at the plant Nicholas carried in his arms. Taro’s expression became concerned.
“Your plant looks smaller,” he remarked. He didn’t seem to notice any of the other differences, such as the different shape of the leaves. “Is it doing OK?”
“I’m not sure if the mandatory walking agrees with it,” Nicholas lied. Droopsilla had improved quite a bit during the few weeks that Nicholas had been caring for it, but it still wasn’t quite as healthy as his own plant had been when he made the exchange. Nicholas tried to maintain a calm appearance as he continued the conversation. “I know that Maggie’s plant improved a great deal with walking, but I’m just not sure that my plant enjoys the activity as much.”“Good to know,” Taro replied thoughtfully. In general, the exercise seemed to be good for the plants because it helped the children to remember to care for them daily. It was difficult to neglect a plant if you were required to pick it up and walk it every day.
“That’s why I’m trying the outside air today,” Nicholas remarked. The plant was almost ready to go back to Maggie, and Nicholas thought that perhaps it was about time to make the exchange before Taro noticed that the leaves on his plant had changed shape, also. In general, though, Taro was more concerned with the health of the plant than what kind it was. Still, it would be safer to change the subject.
“No one remembers Junko,” Nicholas mentioned as he continued to walk through the grounds with Taro. “It’s like she never existed.”
“She lost the essence of who she was. When you forget yourself, you can’t expect others to remember you.”
“Where is she now?”
“Gone,” Taro replied. Nicholas knew enough not to ask anything more about it. Jovan might have a questioning nature, but Nicholas wasn’t Jovan.
“What happened to her
miracle?” Nicholas asked. “No one seems to remember that, either.
“It was never hers,” Taro explained. “Junko had stolen that miracle from the garden. As soon as she presented it as her own, her plant began to die. It took less than a week.”
“Did she kill her plant?”
“She denied who she was when she presented something that didn’t belong to her as her own. That was fatal to her identity. That’s why the plant died.”
“It happened so fast,” Nicholas remarked.
“Sometimes it happens fast, but almost nothing dies immediately. It’s a process,” Taro explained. “That’s why we check on your plants regularly.” He shifted the large bush he was carrying from one arm to the other. Some of the dirt fell on Taro’s crisp, white shirt. “Sometimes the process is so gradual that no one knows it’s happening.”
“Where is the miracle now?” Nicholas asked.
“Safe,” he answered, as if he wasn’t going to provide any more detail. After a few moments, he changed his mind and added, “Back in the garden where it came from.”
“Is that why the garden is always locked?” Nicholas asked.
“One of the reasons.” Nicholas waited for Taro to continue, but he showed no sign of explaining further. Nicholas shifted the plant he was carrying to settle it more comfortably on his other hip. He wished that Taro would answer all of his questions, but he also knew that this was wishful thinking. It was a miracle, he thought, that Taro had answered any questions at all. Nicholas knew Taro answered more questions for him than anyone else. None of the other mentors talked with their apprentices. They merely governed them and made sure that the rules were followed.
“In many ways, this is a very mysterious place,” Nicholas remarked as they turned the corner of the building again and reached the front door of the orphanage. He couldn’t wait to find his friends and tell them what had happened to Junko and also about Taro’s plant.
“Life is mysterious,” Taro answered. “The orphanage reflects life, so it can’t help being mysterious.” Nicholas turned to go inside the tall wooden doors when Taro called his name again. “Nicholas, I think the guardians are nearing a decision on your miracle.”
“Will that change anything?” Whether the miracle passed the guardians’ tests or not didn’t matter as much to Nicholas as it did to everyone else. Nicholas already knew it was real.
“Miracles change everything,” Taro replied. They said goodbye, and Taro continued walking his plant as Nicholas took Droopsilla back to his room.
***
Two days later, Taro was escorting Nicholas and his friends back up to the turret room to hear the guardians’ decision. Maggie was much more nervous on this trip than she had been on the previous visit. Nicholas watched her clench and unclench her fists as they walked the long hallways to the far end of the orphanage. She wanted to punch something ... again.
As they passed the courtyard, Nicholas strained to peek through the windows at the miracles. They reflected the sunlight so brightly that it was difficult to see them clearly, but what he could see was beautiful. He wished he could view them up close just to know what a proper miracle looked like. Then he wondered if his miracle had changed or if it looked the same way it did when he saw it last. Perhaps the testing had damaged it. He decided not to dwell on the thought because he would know soon enough.
As he listened to his own footsteps echoing in unison with his friends’, he looked up at the doorway to the turret. The word “Industria” was engraved on a marble plaque above the doorway. He remembered seeing it above the tailor’s doorway, and Nicholas wondered what the tailor had in common with the guardians. They were both employees in the orphanage, but they did not have apprentices like the mentors. Perhaps “Industria” meant “employee” or “worker.” Or did it even matter?These words were everywhere but no one knew why they were there or if they had any meaning. Words without meaning are useless.
The same short, bearded assistant came to greet them, but this time Taro was escorted into the meeting room along with the children. The assistant opened one of the tall, wooden doors and held it for everyone as they filed into the meeting room. The Pontiffs were seated in the same place and looked as if they hadn’t moved or changed since the last meeting almost a month ago. Mrs. Pontiff appeared just as cold as she did then, and Mr. Pontiff was still sweating despite the chilling temperature. Fans were blowing in all directions, moving the already cold air about the room and rustling the papers on the table. Taro walked up to the Pontiffs’ end of the table and bowed.
“Good morning, Taro,” said Mrs. Pontiff. She had a pleasant tone when she spoke to him, which contrasted with her husband’s gruff address.
“Taro,” Mr. Pontiff said as he nodded. It was more of a soft bark. Nicholas got the impression that Mr. Pontiff greeted everyone this way, and Taro was accustomed to it.
“You both look well,” said Taro. Then he turned to Mrs. Pontiff “Is that dress new?” It looked exactly like the white dress she was wearing the last time the children had seen her.
“Why, yes,” she admitted.
“It goes beautifully with your hair,” Taro commented. To Nicholas, it was simply white on white. However, he could see that Taro knew how to handle the Pontiffs. They responded well to flattery.
“Thank you,” she replied with a kind smile.
“I know you’ve been considering this difficult situation,” Taro said with a respectful tone, “This is no easy task, and we appreciate all the work that’s gone into testing this miracle.”
“It has been tested considerably,” Mr. Pontiff added. “More than the usual. What made this so difficult is that it wasn’t a full miracle so it doesn’t look or respond quite the same.”
“But a calf is still a cow,” Jovan interjected, “even though it doesn’t produce milk or isn’t as large.”
“Yes, it is still a cow although it doesn’t behave exactly like a full-grown cow,” Mr. Pontiff continued, “but a calf is born of a cow.”
“What are you saying? That a miracle is born of other miracles?” Jovan asked in a confused tone.
“Sometimes,” Mr. Pontiff answered. “In this case, what I’m saying is that miracles are born at a particular time and that time is not on a Monday.”
“Our miracle happened on a Tuesday,” Maggie announced.
“It appeared on a Tuesday,” Mrs. Pontiff corrected. “But it was still unformed. We believe that the completion of the miracle is still taking place and that it was initiated on the day before, which was a Monday.”
“And there are no miracles on Mondays,” Mr. Pontiff replied sadly.
“I’m not sure we understand,” Taro said. He was clearly disappointed and had expected a different ruling.
“We have decided that it was a miracle that you made a miracle,” Mr. Pontiff explained. “Without the miracle given to you to create the miracle, you would not have a miracle at all. The miracle given to you morphed into your miracle. Therefore, you didn’t make one of your own accord.”
“What does that mean?” Nicholas asked, staring back in confusion.
“It means that it doesn’t count,” the guardian explained. “You’ve failed again.”
“We haven’t failed,” Taro interjected and then explained. “We just haven’t succeeded yet. It’s not the same as failure.”
“It’s not the desired outcome,” Mr. Pontiff said.
“It’s more like delayed success,” Taro replied confidently.
“You haven’t exactly ruled that it isn’t a miracle,” Jovan said after a pause in the discourse.
“We haven’t ruled that out,” Mrs. Pontiff agreed, “But we have ruled out the three of you as the source of the miracle. It must have been sparked by another miracle since it was in the process of being formed and the previous day was a Monday. You three were merely in the right place at the right time.”
Nicholas knew this wasn’t true, but he also knew better than to argue. Maggie was just about to op
en her mouth to disagree with the Pontiffs’ ruling when Nicholas gently kicked her foot to signal her to be quiet. She took several deep breaths as she clenched and unclenched her fists.
“What we do know for certain,” Mr. Pontiff continued, “is that this thing needs to be nurtured. Therefore, we are reassigning the three of you children to the garden to care for it until it ripens.”
“The garden?” Nicholas asked. “Why us?”
“Because,” Mrs. Pontiff responded with authority, “for whatever reason this thing chose the three of you. Now you’re responsible for it.”
The children looked at one another and then at Taro. They had gone into this meeting expecting one of two outcomes, and they were leaving with a verdict that none of them had considered. Taro quickly recovered from the shock of the unexpected ruling and thanked the guardians politely for their careful consideration of the issues and decision. Then he bowed before leading the children out of the room before any of them could argue with the decision.
“What a rip-off!” Maggie screamed once they were away from the turret room. She kicked a few overstuffed cushions that were sitting on the floor, but they were so heavy that they barely moved. After a few tries, Maggie flopped down on them and stared up at the ceiling. “I thought the guardians were supposed to be smart. Or wise.”
“The situation is unusual,” Taro reminded her, “They’re doing the best they can. You have to remember that we’re protected here, but there is a war going on, and they have a responsibility to fulfill a mission for the king.”
“We have done more to fulfill that mission than anyone in the last few years,” said Jovan.
“I know,” Taro agreed, “but the guardians are the ones in authority. It doesn’t benefit us or the mission of the orphanage to challenge them.”
“I don’t see how following their rules benefits the mission, either,” Jovan stated with a hint of annoyance.
