Michael Wallis - The Golden Quill

THE GOLDENQUILL

The corridor is as darkas it is long and almost square. The longest auburn hair onZuzannas head skims along the ceiling while her fully extendedfingertips barely reach the walls on each side. She is in acobblestone shaft, heading downward on a gradual slope, andadvancing on a flickering flame in the distance.

Snatches of yellow andgold shimmer and dance on the brick-patterned surfaces. A currentof air tugs at Zuzannas white cotton nightgown, giving her theappearance of a hyacinth in bloom. A cascade of goosebumps spreadsacross her dainty frame. She is cold, but there is no stopping. Thelights allure is simply stronger than her will toresist.

Like a mothto the flame , Zuzanna thinks. Seems Ive got the intelligence of abug.

Maybe thatswhy youre so good at moth-ematics! Achuckle comes from behind and a hand larger than hers grabshold.

Cassandra!You scared me. I thought I was alone.

No, Zuzu, Imhere too. Do you really think Id let you go anywhere without me?Where are we, anyway?

No idea, butthat light over there wants to be followed. Theres somethingplayful about it.

What a weirdplace, even for a dream.

Whose dreamis it, anyway?

Lets sayits mine, so I can go first! Cassandracannot help her dominance; it is in her nature.

Lets sayits yours because youre the weird one in the family! Zuzanna is only half-joking.

Cassandra ticklesZuzannas waist, setting her off balance. Her tactic works, andCassandra jumps ahead of her younger sibling. She would not have itany other way, and Zuzanna does not mind a bit. While different inalmost every wayheight, features, temperament, andabilitiesCassandra and Zuzanna are complementary colours in thespectrum of life.

This placesure is messed up, Zuzanna. Only your pickled brain could producesomething like this.

Cassandras mane ofgarnet red hair, only rarely set free from a confining ponytail,leads the way. Zuzanna cannot see around her sisters muscularframe and is content to be led blindly.

I cant seeCassandra. Whats going on?

I think weregaining on it, Zuz.

When Cassandra stops,Zuzannas thimble-size nose and blue eyes peer around her sisterswaist. Hovering in the centre of the tunnel, the light radiatesmore broadly than ever. The girls remain motionless.

I think itswaiting for us. What do you think?

Neither is comfortablewith the situation, but Cassandra is especially bothered. Shouldersretracted, green eyes fixed on the target, and eyebrows furled,Cassandra is doing her best to intimidate and scan the surroundingsfor a trap at the same time.

Zuzannas body is relaxedeven though her mind is in overdrive. No matter whose dream it is,countless sources of wonderment catch her attention. She may besmall in stature, but Zuzanna is spectacularly curious.

Both girls watch as acrescent moon materializes beside the light, gradually taking theform of a half-lit face. Wisps of short hair and a long neck rootedin square shoulders suggest that this is the head of a sender,young man. Cassandra spreads her arm to shield her sister from ananticipated threat. Zuzanna, by contrast, is ready to extend herhand to the stranger in peace.

Who isit?

More likewhat is it. Must be some kind of freak for hanging around thisplace.

Uh...thats not saying much for us.

Just be onyour guard, will you.

Oh,Cassandra! Dont be such a worry wart.

The light, now clearly atorch, the kind that conjures images of treasure-seekers andmummies in crypts, rotates around a slender body. A silhouettedhand beckons. Cassandra and Zuzanna are shuffling hand in handtoward their mystic host when all of a sudden, the arm holding thetorch drops like a hammer.

Flicker! Flash! Flutter!The girls senses are overcome by an explosion of energy. The floorgives out beneath their feet. Cassandra instinctively grabs hersister around the waist and grasps for something... anything,but it is too late. They fall.

The landing jars thegirls. They have been ejected from the Dreamworld into anotherplace. But where? Their mouths gasp for air, eyes strain in the lowlight, and hands flutter in all directions like panickedpigeons.

Covers? Pillows? TheMerit sisters find themselves back in their shared bedroom, safeand physically unharmed despite the violence of the fall. In shock,they cling to one another without communicating. Reason cannotexplain the events that just transpired, just as words cannotconvey the comfort of family.

20150723-ENCRYPTED

C:\TEXT FILE222

File Name: RareFlowers

Dear MadameBeatrice,

Two rare flowers of remarkable quality growundetected in this modern world. They are Cassandra and ZuzannaMerit, self-described best sisters. Two closer people would behard to imagine, yet they rarely speak to one another.

When sittingat the family dinner table, the girls talk only for appearancessake. The same is true when riding the bus or spending time withmutual friends. For everything else, they use a unique way ofcommunicating that they have come to call pushing. Thoughperfected through childs play, pushing is more of a gift than agame. With no more force than that required to click send on a smartphone,the girls push their thoughts back and forth like text messages.

As you will soon learnthrough my resourceful report, this different way of connecting hasa lot to do with the girls specialness. After two years of devotedservice to this cause, Im delighted to announce that thesesiblings are the most exceptional pair encountered to date. When itcomes to Cassandra and Zuzanna, there is definitely more than meetsthe eyeand the ear, if you get my meaning.

Seeing isnt alwaysbelieving, and of course, believing isnt always seeing. What Imean to say is that things are seldom as they appear. This truthaccounts for the high degree of difficulty in my painstaking workas I do the needful.

You know, in Pakistan,where I came to life, praise be to God, there is a proverb thatsays: careful plans lead to advantage, while those made in hastelead to waste. Despite the incredible weight of myresponsibilities, I carry out my tasks with great care andconcentration. Im your loyal representative, and to fail would bethe same as to give up. I could never accept this. Every aspect ofmy being resents the notion. And this is why I work quickly, butthoroughly and with purpose, in the same manner as a devoted doctorprovides careful treatment to one patient, knowing that many morewait beyond the examination room door. Weighty pressures mustnt bepermitted to affect the quality of my work.

I shake my head at thepossibility that I might just have missed this fantasticopportunity, had I been a less capable servant. Had I overlookeddetails, or failed to properly identify the cause behind thestrange things happening around Cassandra and Zuzanna, thisdiscovery would not have happened.

Of course, the strangehappenings are what interest you most, so I shall stop carrying onabout myself and get to the heart of the matter.

Allow me to start withthe very thing that first caught my attention. Im referring toloud fits of laughter without cause. Anyone but those whove losttheir senses (and their nurses) would find this behaviour abnormal.One doesnt just explode into laughter. And yet with Cassandra andZuzanna, such is the case. Their laughing fits erupt withoutwarning. Understandably, the explosions can be unsettling to peoplein the house, particularly the aged housekeeper. Her health suffersas a result, or so she claims, possibly with the hope of guiltingthese creatures into a more acceptable comportment. When she isstartled, her false teeth have been known to fly across the room.Cassandra and Zuzanna find this funny; their caretaker does not.With much drama, Regina often laments: You girls are going to giveme a heart attack.