Immortal Duplicity

By Daniel A. Willis

The Chronicles of the Mages continues in this second installment. Edward and Bart are identical twins. But their looks are all they have in common. There is something very dark brewing among the Mage ranks and Bart is in it up to his six-shooter. Edward first encounters his long-lost twin on the prairie of 1864 Eastern Colorado. After Bart delights in the Sand Creek Massacre, Edward chases him through the decades and lands in the middle of his brother’s insidious plot, nestled away in Nazi Germany.

• Language: English
• Publisher: DX Varos Publishing
• Release date: Apr 8, 2014
• ISBN: 9781311215642

Daniel A. Willis

Daniel A. Willis is a noted royal author and genealogist of the noble houses of Europe. His previous publications have included genealogies of the Royal Family of Great Britain, the Imperial House of Habsburg, and the Royal House of Bourbon. Books currently in print: Romanovs in the 21st Century William IV, Mrs. Jordan and the Family They Made The Archduke's Secret Family A Reference Guide to the Royal Families (2012 edition) Mr. Willis lives in Denver, Colorado

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Immortal Duplicity

Copyright © 2013 by Daniel A. Willis

Published by

Bygone Era Books, Ltd.

Denver, Colorado

This book is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

Cover Art by Laura Givens

All Rights Reserved

Acknowledgements

I am eternally grateful to the Thursday Night Writer’s Group for their critiques and for suffering through my muddling of the English language and my dyslexia. Additional editing by Skylight Editorial was greatly appreciated.

Chapter 1

Captain, they need you in the stockade! Corporal Hansen stood in the office doorway, with flushed face and breathing hard. He was one of those people who looked like they were about to hyperventilate when they got excited. To make matters worse, breathing excited him. It obviously also made him forgetful.

"Corporal, I realize they’re new enough to not have dust built up in them yet, but I am wearing my oak leaves. And I’m sure whatever is going on in lock-up can wait. It’s not like they’re going anywhere," the major pointed out.

"Sorry, um, Major, but sir, I think you’ll want to go see this one. They just caught a Reb spy trying to get into the armory, but that’s not why you’re needed. It’s hard to explain, you just have to see him to understand," Hansen stammered.

You’re not going to leave me in peace until I see this guy, are you? Okay, let’s go, he said in a resigned voice.

They left the main office and made the short trek across the parade ground of Ft. Lyon. In an effort to show his annoyance with this interruption, Maj. Edward Wynkoop purposely walked with a slow gait.

Several thoughts went through his mind as he strolled along, kicking up the Colorado dust as went. Why was it necessary for him to see this prisoner? He would be getting a report soon enough detailing the man’s capture. From the information provided he would then decide how to proceed. They might not have used these stockades much, but there was still a protocol to follow. But he supposed out here in the wilderness of the Colorado Territory, protocols were easy for the men to forget, or flat out ignore. It had been a while since they had organized drills on discipline. Perhaps they were overdue.

Then he started thinking more specifically about the prisoner. Hansen called him a Rebel spy. Why would the Confederacy be spying on them? They were about as far removed from the fighting as one could get. Their primary concerns related to the Indians in the area. But the Cheyenne and the Arapaho were peaceful tribes. As long as the white men respected their space, they didn’t give them any trouble. He was starting to doubt this person’s connection to the South. More likely he was just a guy looking for something sellable to steal.

The trip across the fort was really starting to irk Wynkoop. Why did they need to drag him from his work for this? When he arrived at the guardhouse he was met by a couple of privates who had been left to guard the prisoner. They looked at him rather queerly as he walked into the holding area. Did I have dirt on my face or something? the major wondered.

There was only one prisoner at the moment. Wynkoop didn’t think they ever had more than one at a time unless he ordered both sides locked up for fighting. The prisoner was lying on a cot with his hat pulled down over his face. He was wearing typical civilian clothes that one would expect to see on a local farmer. The doubts of his Rebel nature were getting stronger.

Well, I’m here, Edward said to no one in particular, but to everyone at once. They dragged him over here, what did they want?

Stand up! Cpl. Hansen ordered the captive. The man was in no hurry. He lopped his legs over the side of the cot and ran his hand through the helter-skelter mess that was his hair, before putting his hat back on top of his head. Then he stood up and looked at the newly arrived officer, reckoning he was the man in charge.

Wynkoop froze. The prisoner froze. Each one’s face reflected the other’s own astonishment as if they were each staring into a mirror. Edward’s hair was cut short and he was clean shaven per Army regulations. His counterpart was shaggy headed and he had a beard that was in need of trimming. But that was the only physical difference that could be seen.

Clear the room! Wynkoop suddenly ordered. I’ll question this prisoner personally.

But regulations require another person to be present for all interrogations, Hansen piped up. Fine time for him to suddenly remember protocol.

Regulations also require you to follow the orders of your superiors, now get out! the senior officer nearly roared. The men were already to the door by the time he got to the last syllable. Once they were out, Edward returned his attention to the captive.

For now, I only have one question: How old are you? Edward demanded.

Twenty-six, Major he answered with a hint of suspicion in his voice.

Sir, it’s just you and me in here now. What’s your real age?

I think you already know that, Major. He sounded like he knew the two men shared a secret, but Wynkoop was unsure.

Tell me anyway, the interrogator tried to keep his voice as flat as he could.

Very well, then. I turned 272 in June, just as you did, Brother.

The man now calling himself Edward Wynkoop always knew it was possible he might have a sibling somewhere in the world. After all, he was adopted and knew nothing of his birth mother, except that she was a mage. He would not be heading towards his third century if she had not been.

His father could have been either a mage or a sape; it was the mother’s species that determined the child’s. If she was a sape—shorthand for Homo sapiens—he would have lived a standard man’s lifespan. But he was like his adopted mother, a Homo magus, or mage.

Liesl van Kampt was the only mother he had ever known. He couldn’t remember a time when she was not Mama. But she had confided in him many years ago that she had not given birth to him. Her own sons had died in long forgotten wars in the 15th century, but a dark stranger came along with another child for her to nurture. She was told his mother had died during delivery, a rare, but not unheard of, occurrence among mage women. The far more likely scenario was that she would be sterilized by the process of giving birth and would not bear any more children. In Nature’s grand design, She balanced the one and only one pregnancy rule by seeing to it mage women typically had two, occasionally more, children at that one birthing.

So Edward knew if he had a sibling, that sibling would assuredly be a twin. But even then, identical twins was about as rare in mage births as they were in sape ones. Staring him in the face was the evidence that his sibling was an identical twin.

That tells me enough to know you’re telling the truth. You said you celebrate your birthday in June. So do I, but I don’t know when I was actually born.

June was when Momma got me. She guessed I was probably six or seven months old at the time, the prisoner said with an accent Edward couldn’t quite place. It was clear this brother was trying to sound southern, but there was a hint of something else under it.

That sounds very familiar. Do you know anything about our birth parents? There, he said it: our birth parents. The same age, identifying them both as mages, and with similar adoption stories, Wynkoop couldn’t deny the obvious.

Not a thing. Momma said the man who gave me to her had coal-black hair and light, almost shiny eyes. She said she would never forget those eyes, called them ‘devil eyes.’ She had wondered if he might’a been our Daddy, but if he were, she says he showed no remorse handing me over.

My mother only ever referred to him as ‘a dark man.’ She said she assumed he was just part of our mother’s clan. Though she couldn’t figure why a fellow clan member didn’t take me … er, us … in, Edward related what little he knew.

He continued, I’ve always felt like it was probable that I had a sibling out there somewhere. But I never imagined an identical twin. What are you calling yourself?

Bart. The whole thing is Bartholomew Thaddeus Jenkins, but that’s a mouthful. Bart is just fine.

Well Bart, what was it that has brought you to my fine accommodations here? Edward gestured to the barren cells of the stockade.

What? You ask me my name and don’t tell me yours?

Ah, forgive me. It’s a habit from interrogating prisoners. Edward Washear Wynkoop, at your service. Mama still calls me Eddy, so I suppose you can, too.

Well, Eddy, it was an empty stomach that landed me here.

The armory is a strange place to be looking for food, Bart. The skepticism was thick in his voice.

Didn’t know it was the armory. I was hoping it was where you stored your provisions. It looked locked up good and secure, so I assumed you did that to protect you food from the injuns. Seen lots of them near here!

Don’t let the natives in the area concern you. They’re peaceful as long as we let them be. And we don’t have to worry about them stealing our food. They usually eat better than we do. They actually know how to grow stuff out here. I can’t even keep the grass alive.

Peaceful injuns? Didn’t know there was such a thing.

Speaking of peacefulness … my men were of the opinion you were a Rebel spy. Your accent does suggest a Southerner.

I have been living in the South, mostly the Carolinas and Georgia, for over a century now. The lingo kind’a sticks to ya. I came west when everyone went crazy and left the U.S. Just not usin’ good sense to leave the part of country that has all the money. I figured out here in the territories I could avoid being caught up in all that politics. Didn’t know food was so scare here, though.

There’s plenty of food here, you just have to know how to get it, pointed out Edward. A lot of it means trading with the Indians. After all, they were here long before we were and survived all that time just fine without us.

I suppose. All this talk about food is just reminding me how hungry I am!

Well, it doesn’t sound like you’re a spy, and I’m not going to charge a man for just trying to eat. I have enough room in my quarters for another person, and I would like to get to know you better. You can stay with me and eat with the men, at least until the new commander gets here. Maybe by then we can get you set up in Auraria or Littleton. They’re both booming pretty good right now, so finding work shouldn’t be hard.

I’m much obliged, Eddy. I’ve been on my own for a very long time. Will be right nice having one of my own to talk to.

Chapter 2

Edward found he liked having a brother. He had not seen his mother for several years and forgot how nice it was having someone to share his real memories with, not the ones he made up to keep the sapes around him from guessing his true nature.

For most of his life, Edward had lived in mage communities, or clans. He was raised in the Clan of Holland, which included most of the Dutch mages. These clans were very insular in nature, but Edward, then called Edvard, wanted to see more of the world.

His mother, Liesl, had always lived in Holland and saw no reason to go anywhere else. But she supported Edvard’s desire to travel. Together, they made several trips during the early 1600s to France, England, and up the Rhine to Heidelberg. However, political tensions with the neighboring countries

made leisure travel more difficult after a time.

There were also safety concerns. On one trip to England they encountered a clan of mages who had originally been in northern France. But somehow the local Catholic archdiocese had discovered their true nature. Apparently, several mages were killed, but the majority managed to escape to England. One of the elders of the Norman Clan, a man named Loic, took a particular interest in Edvard. He said the then very young Dutchman reminded him of one of the young ladies killed in the purge that sent them on the run.

When the first of the Anglo-Dutch Wars broke out in 1652, Edvard decided to join the fighting. Not because he held any ill will towards the English, but because it was likely the only way to get out of Holland during wartime. He signed up for the Dutch navy. After a few less than smooth excursions on the English Channel, he decided the army would have been better. When the next war came a dozen years

later, he switched to the land-based fighters and took up arms against France.

Over the course of the next 200 years, Edvard, named Edward after going to America in the 1680s, continually found a new conflict to join. The American colonies got caught up in the war between France and England, and later the same colonies rose up against their King. This satisfied his traveling desires as

he also kept his personal life on the go.

Edward had never been the kind of man to settle down with a lady. He had had plenty of carnal adventures and enjoyed the same sexual appetite of most young men, but he enjoyed the variety of life far too much to tie himself to only one person for any length of time. And this variety was not limited to the ladies. Like most mages, Edward considered himself to be bisexual, at least to some degree. While he generally did not prefer male companionship, he also did not refuse it when that was all that was available. And a military life often made other men the only game in town.

But this life as a soldier was spent exclusively with the sapes, or short-lifers, as they were called then. The word sape was a 19th century concoction. After decades of this, he often yearned to be with other mages, who then called themselves immortal, even though the term was not technically correct.

Now he had a brother, a new way to connect with his roots, even if neither of them knew where those roots had originally been planted.

Being an officer, and the temporary fort commander, Edward had more room than most for living space. But it was still only a one-room unit. He arranged to have an extra bunk placed in there and had enough room so each brother could have their space to get up and walk around without bumping into one another.

Identical twins routinely have an unnerving effect on those around them. To help the men know who to salute and who it would simply be a good idea to be polite to, Edward and Bart agreed that Bart should keep his beard. However, he did otherwise clean himself up to look more respectable than he had when he sneaked into camp.

Edward was up front with his brother that these quarters were only temporary. Their previous fort commander had been reassigned to a division in Missouri, and they were awaiting his replacement. When the new commander came they would be required to vacate these quarters, which were reserved for the fort’s top official. At that time, Edward would return to the general officers’ quarters, and they would have to make other arrangements for Bart.

The new commander, Major Scott Anthony, arrived in due course. An amenable fellow, he allowed Bart to be assigned a bunk with his brother in the officers’ quarters, but for only a couple of days. That was long enough, because Edward took some leave once the major had settled in, and headed out with his brother towards the confluence of the Platte River and Cherry Creek, a few miles east of the Territorial Capital, Golden, about two days ride from the outpost of Ft. Lyon. It could have been done in one day in an emergency, but there was no need for that much punishment to the horses, or their own backsides.

A small village had started up there a few years ago, and after a few name changes, was currently being called Denver City. Bill Larimer, now a general commanding somewhere in Kansas, had named the town after Kansas Territorial Governor John Denver in an ass-kissing exercise. But it turned out to be for nothing, as Denver, the Governor, not the city, was already out of office. But the name had stuck so far. A couple of years after that, the area stretching from roughly Ft. Lyon westward was then cut off from the Kansas Territory as it made its bid for statehood, and the Colorado Territory was formed.

As they plodded along, Edward and Bart exchanged their life stories to date. Edward told of his life in Holland and, later, New York. He talked a little about each of the wars in which he had fought; the current one was his seventh. He also mentioned the old Norman mage he met who thought he looked like someone else. Who knows, it might be a clue to their biological parents. It was something that he had not really dwelled on in many years, but finding this unknown brother had brought it to the fore again.

For his part, Bart’s life had been very different. He had been taken in by a Catalan family named Bordes, and raised near Barcelona. Like most mage villages, it sat out a ways from the main population center. His adopted parents were very unusual among mages. They were a married couple who had been together well over a hundred years. They operated as one unit, their movements always complementing each other the way dancers do. Bart had loved them very much and had only learned they were not his biological parents when he was in his thirties.

The clan they lived in was very small. They also did not associate very much with other groups of mages. But that suited Bart just fine. The few times he had been to visit the clans in Madrid and Toledo, he found them pathetic. All they could talk about was how hard it was to protect themselves from the sapes’ church. They lived in complete fear.

Bart’s small clan was very differently minded. They knew their place in the pecking order. They knew it was the short-lifers who should be afraid of them. They chose to remain away from them, because they could live a better life without being polluted by lesser beings.

When revolution came to Catalonia in the 1640s, the rebels were predictably met with overwhelming numbers from Madrid. But the soldiers did not take time to ask people if they were rebels before they killed them. One night, on their way to Barcelona, they happened into Bart’s village. The soldiers mistook the villagers’ general contempt for all short-lifers as allegiance to the rebel cause and began ransacking the village, killing anyone who opposed them.

Carlota, Bart’s mother, sought to protect her house from the soldiers. She had kept many artifacts from her own long life and had had many things handed down to her by her ancestors. A lot of them were fragile and irreplaceable. The soldiers didn’t care, nor did they even look twice at what they were destroying or where they were swinging their swords. A sword caught Carlota across the back of the neck, severing her spinal cord immediately as well as enough blood vessels that she could