The Vengeance of Snails

by Chrys Cymri

  43 slid away from me to study Peter. And the colours darkened. ‘Oh dear,’ Cornelius murmured. ‘She says you’re a collaborator. What did you do against the Community?’

  ‘I did what I had to do,’ Peter said. ‘We caught snail sharks and returned them to Lloegyr.’

  Jaws opened, exposing the snails’ sharp teeth. I stepped between 43 and Peter, my brain scrambling for the correct Welsh. ‘This man is with me.’

  ‘We know,’ Cornelius translated. ‘You have been seen with the collaborator.’

  ‘And I’m also the warrior who killed the Nobel Leader,’ I pointed out. ‘So please accept him, for my sake.’

  ‘Kyrie eleison,’ Peter quickly added.

  Colours and murmurs swept through the rabble. ‘For your sake, and for the Lord’s sake, he won’t be harmed,’ Cornelius translated. ‘Come with us.’

  The snails pressed at our legs, urging us to move. Cornelius leapt onto one large shell. No doubt he was as tired as we were after our long trek across the moors. But somehow I couldn’t muster up much sympathy. As we set off, following 43 from the hollow, I hoped we wouldn’t have much further to go. And that we’d have shelter for the night. And something to eat. I patted my left trouser pocket, the bulk of the small hipflask reassuring me that, if all else failed, there was always whisky.

  The snails led us to a steep rise in the ground. I stared at the mound ahead, wondering where I’d find the energy to make this climb. Then the incline shuddered. The grass was rolled upwards, revealing intricate webbing underneath. I’d been looking at a clever piece of camouflage.

  The pale hands of a half dozen weres lifted the mat high enough for us to enter the cave beyond. Their faces shimmered between rabbit and human. All of them wore rough clothes. I wondered how many of them were also trying to hide from the Nation.

  More were-rabbits stood inside. I blinked as my eyes adjusted to the brightness. Torches set into metal frames spluttered as they cast yellow light across the small chamber. The snail sharks slithered past us and most of them continued on into the passageway beyond.

  43 barked out a command. The webbing dropped back into place. ‘You’ve had a long journey,’ Cornelius translated from his perch on another snail. ‘Please rest and have some food. I don’t know about y’all, but I’m glad to hear it. I’m so hungry I could eat the north end of a south-bound bee.’

  Were-rabbits darted through passageways and returned with low wooden stools which they placed in the centre of the cave. A small table appeared, the wood rough and unfinished. Plates of plain food soon covered the table surface. We humans took our seats and tucked without complaint into raw carrots, dried grains, and wrinkled apples. Even more welcome were the bowls of fresh water.

  The gryphons withdrew to one side to eat from a platter of raw meat. James glanced over every so often, but from what I could see, Morey was pushing the smaller pieces over to his son. Jago seemed to be managing on his own.

  ‘We need a name for her,’ I said when I’d finally eased my hunger. ‘You know, the one who seems to be in charge around here.’

  ‘Forty-three?’ James suggested.

  ‘“I am not a number, I am a free man.”’ Peter shook his head. ‘Penny’s quite right. Referring to them all as numbers feels too much like an episode of The Prisoner.’

  James swallowed his mouthful of carrot. ‘A rebel princess? Leia? The hairdo, remember?’

  ‘I’d like Sarah Connor,’ Peter said. ‘Great character.’

  The snail under discussion was travelling across the cave. I watched as her skin rubbed against the damaged shell. ‘Tamar.’

  ‘Who’s that?’ James asked.

  Peter frowned. ‘She’s in the Bible, isn’t she? Why Tamar?’

  ‘Oh, reasons.’ I stifled a yawn. ‘Ask me later. When I’ve had a good night’s sleep and a long shower.’

  ‘Now I know where I’ve seen her before!’ James nearly knocked over the table in his excitement. ‘She’s one of those snails from the frost fair, isn’t she? One of those I freed? Do you think she remembers me?’

  ‘You could just ask her,’ Cornelius said from near the gryphons. He had hopped down from his mount and seemed to be eyeing the remaining scraps of meat.

  The newly named snail flowed over to us. ‘You’ve had enough?’

  ‘Ydyn, diolch,’ I said to her. It did feel a bit strange to be speaking to her close by when the mantis was translating from ten feet away.

  ‘Are we your prisoners?’ Peter asked, and waited as I translated his words into Welsh.

  ‘You’re not our prisoners. I’d rather you stayed, but you are free to leave.’ The eyespots came to each of us in turn. ‘You might want to wait until daylight. Sometimes, soldiers from the Nation crawl across the moor at night.’

  The idea of facing hostile snail sharks in the dark made me shudder.

  ‘Is that why you’re in hiding?’ James asked. ‘You know, that clever bit with the grass wall?’

  I organised the Welsh in my head and simplified his questions. Colours flowed along Tamar’s body. There was a pause in the translation, and I looked over to find Cornelius chewing on a piece of meat. ‘The Nation has tried to destroy us many times,’ he said a moment later. ‘We’ve suffered many losses. But we will prevail.’

  ‘You’ve been trying to kill the Great Leader,’ I said, my head starting to hurt. I hadn’t used so much Welsh in weeks. ‘Maybe that’s why they’ve attacked you? Maybe you need a little live and let live?’

  ‘They’ll never let us simply live,’ Tamar said. ‘We refuse to worship their Eternal Leaders.’

  Morey strode over to us, Jago trotting behind his much larger father. My Associate was, of course, fluent in Lloegyr’s native language, and he spoke in Welsh to the snail. ‘“You shall not make for yourself an idol, whether in the form of anything that is in heaven above, or that is on the earth beneath, or that is in the water under the earth. You shall not bow down to them or worship them; for I the Lord your God am a jealous God.”’

  Tamar swivelled her tentacles in his direction. ‘You understand?’

  The gryphon moved to stand in front of the snail. ‘Madam, are you my sister in Christ?’

  A commotion near the entrance made all of us look up. Were-rabbits hauled away at the camouflage, pulling it back further than when we’d entered. A moment later, I saw why. He had to nearly lie on his belly to do so, but a green-black dragon squeezed his way into the cavern.

  ‘Raven!’ My stool fell over as I hurried over to him. ‘You got out!’

  The ceiling was high enough to allow him to stand. He lowered his snout, and his soft nostrils touched my face. ‘There’s only one thing which could keep me imprisoned. And when I was told that you were free, that threat became meaningless.’

  ‘They sent a lemming to fetch the dragon,’ Cornelius said. ‘Not all lemmings are fixing to be the Great Leader’s next dinner.’

  I raised a hand to touch Raven’s muzzle. ‘They didn’t do anything to you?’

  ‘They blame you for their Noble Leader’s death, not me.’ He snorted. ‘I was taken back to the cave with the shell and the shovel and told to stay there.’

  ‘You’re another relic,’ Cornelius drawled. ‘Now that they know the whole story, those markings on your legs are sacred scars.’

  My knees were weak with relief. ‘But we can get out of here. Is Tyra nearby?’

  ‘She’s far away.’

  ‘Then we’ll have to ask you to make two trips.’

  Peter came to my side. In a low voice, he said, ‘Look at him, Penny. He’s in no condition to fly.’

  ‘But then how did he get here?’ I stepped back to have a good look. Raven’s hide was marked with mud and scratches. ‘You walked? But you’ve flown at night before.’

  ‘I tried to fly,’ he admitted. His eyes held an unhealthy tinge of red. ‘But it felt all--wrong. My balance was off.’

  ‘The air in the cave affected all of us,’ I quickly reassured him.
‘And you were in there a long time. I’m sure you’ll be all right in the morning.’

  Peter turned to Tamar. ‘We’d like to accept your offer of staying the night.’ To my relief, Morey undertook the necessary translation.

  ‘Certainly.’ The tentacles turned away. ‘I must leave you. It’s time for evening prayers.’

  ‘That’s done it,’ James muttered. ‘Honey to a bee.’

  I’d had years of practice in ignoring my brother. Time for more Welsh. ‘Morey asked you a question earlier. Are you Christians?’

  ‘We worship the one true God, Creator, Redeemer, and Sanctifier,’ Tamar answered. ‘Because of his love for us, the Holy One came from heaven to be born into the world. He died on a tree for our sins, but three dawns later returned to life. Anyone who will say “Jesus is Lord”, and refuses to bow to idols, may pass through water to enter into his new life.’

  ‘Pass through water?’ I stared at her, so startled that I spoke in English. Then I returned to Welsh. ‘Pasio trwy ddŵr? You’ve been baptised? I mean, you’ve had water poured on you in the name of Creator, Redeemer, and Sanctifier?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Not sure how valid that is,’ Morey said thoughtfully. ‘The standard Trinitarian formula is, of course, “Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.”’

  ‘We don’t know what words they used, really.’ I rubbed my forehead. ‘The intent is clear. They’ve been baptised, Morey. They’re Christians.’

  ‘I must go to evening prayers,’ Tamar said.

  ‘May I come with you?’ I glanced at Cornelius. ‘With a translator?’

  ‘Certainly,’ Tamar replied, already sliding from the chamber. ‘But the big one won’t fit.’

  ‘The big one is fine with that,’ Raven said, settling onto the ground. ‘I have no time for Penny’s deity anyway.’

  Morey flew up to my shoulder. ‘“All Priests and Deacons are to say daily the Morning and Evening Prayer either privately or openly, not being let by sickness, or some other urgent cause.” 1662 Book of Common Prayer.’

  ‘More honoured in the breach than in the observance,’ I said as we followed Tamar and Cornelius down the passageway. To my disappointment, but not great surprise, the rest of our group remained behind.

  The yellow light of torches was replaced with the familiar white-blue from glow-worms. I tried to pay attention to the path we followed, but as Tamar chose yet again from multiple options, I realised that I had no chance of finding my own way back.

  Tamar led us into a long and narrow cavern. The roof was only several feet above my head and writhed with glow-worms. The walls were marked with crudely etched crosses. At least a hundred snail sharks waited for her. They had lined themselves up in ten rows of ten, half on either side of the cave, facing each other across a small gap. I found myself reminded of a church choir, and I instinctively halted where the congregation would have stood.

  Tentacles of the snails in the two front rows reached out to touch Tamar as she slid past. She stopped at the far end, and turned so that she was at a right angle to the rows of snails. Then she cracked open her jaws, and with a beautiful baritone voice sang out, ‘Arglwydd, agor ein gwefusau.’

  ‘A'n genau a gyhoedda dy foliant,’ the response rose from a hundred snails.

  I knew the English by heart. Evensong. The snails were using the 1662 Book of Common Prayer for Evening Prayer. The translation flowed through my head.

  ‘O Lord, open thou our lips.’

  ‘And our mouth shall shew forth thy praise.’

  ‘O God, make speed to save us.’

  ‘O Lord, make haste to help us.’

  The singing equalled the best I’d heard in any British cathedral. The snails then intoned together, in Welsh, ‘Glory be to the Father, and to the Son, and to the Holy Ghost; As it was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be, world without end. Amen.’

  ‘Molwch yr Arglwydd.’ Praise ye the Lord.

  ‘Moliannus fyddo enw'r Arglwydd.’ The Lord’s name be praised.

  Giving in to my aching legs, I lowered myself to the floor. This brought me closer to Cornelius, so I was able to ask him quietly, ‘Why do they know Evensong?’

  ‘Is that what you call it, ma’am?’ asked the praying mantis.

  ‘And they used the proper Trinitarian formula,’ Morey said. ‘So much for your translation earlier.’

  ‘Never been much of a God botherer,’ Cornelius said. ‘So maybe y’all can tell me what they’re doing now.’

  I tuned in again. ‘A psalm in plainchant. Not sure which one. Morey?’

  ‘Psalm 115.’ His ears flicked. ‘It’s reminding us not to trust in idols.’

  ‘And so the theme continues.’ I rubbed at my calf muscles. ‘And now we have the doxology. But, wait, they’ve launched into the Magnificat, haven’t they? Where’s the Old Testament reading?’

  ‘Really, Black, do you expect them to have a Bible?’

  ‘They’ve memorised Evensong,’ I pointed out. ‘Why would they have the Prayer Book but not the Bible?’

  ‘Maybe you’ll just have to ask them.’

  Morey reared back on my shoulder to join in as they moved on to the Nunc Dimittis. I found enough energy to sing the canticle in English, doing my best to match the pacing of the Welsh. ‘“Lord, now lettest thou thy servant depart in peace, according to thy word. For mine eyes have seen thy salvation, which thou hast prepared before the face of all people.”’

  The Apostles’ creed was intoned, as well as the prayers. As the versicles and responses filled the cavern, I found myself smiling at ‘O Arglwydd, achub y Frenhines.’ I told Morey, ‘They’re praying for the Queen. That could help us work out when they learned Evensong.’

  Morey’s chuckle was warm on my ear. ‘Anytime in the last sixty-five years.’

  Tamar was now intoning the collects. She went on to sing the prayers for the Queen and the Royal Family. Hearing her mention ‘Charles, Tywysog Cymru,’ made me think of Clyde. I bit my lip, wondering how he would react when he discovered that we were gone. Would he think that we’d all deserted him?

  Evensong had finished, and colours churned through the snails’ bodies. ‘Cornelius?’ I asked. ‘What’s happening?’

  ‘Hold your horses, they’re all clamouring at once.’ The mantis cocked his head. ‘They don’t get why you know the holy words. They’re demanding that Tamar, as y’all call her, tells them why.’

  Morey hopped down from my shoulder and walked to the centre of the choir. ‘We know the holy words,’ he said in Welsh, ‘because we too are Christians.’

  The resulting swirls of colour made me suspect that I was seeing the snail equivalent of shouting. Tamar rose on her foot and barked out a noise. The other snail sharks grumbled, but slowly returned to their more neutral grey.

  I forced myself to remain seated as the snail flowed past Morey to stop at my side. Her eyespots were level with my own eyes. ‘Have you bowed to the Eternal Leaders?’ Cornelius translated.

  My mind scrambled for the correct Welsh. ‘Yes. But I repent, and I ask God to have mercy on my soul. Kyrie eleison. Christe eleison. Kyrie eleison.’

  Several snails growled. But Tamar silenced them with another sharp noise. ‘She’s pardoning you,’ the mantis explained. ‘Seeing as you’re only young Christians.’

  ‘Young Christians?’ Morey huffed.

  ‘If it gets us off the hook, just swallow it,’ I told him hurriedly.

  Morey’s ears laid back, but no annoyance leaked into his voice as he spoke to Tamar. ‘Efallai y gallwch chi ddweud wrthym pwy ddysgodd y geiriau sanctaidd i chi?’

  ‘After we’ve returned to our companions,’ I added. Morey might want an explanation about the holy words, but I preferred to be back where I could find the exit.

  I hauled myself back up onto my complaining feet and followed Tamar from the cavern. Much to my relief, none of the other snail sharks looked inclined to follow us. Cornelius leapt onto the snail’s shell, and although her tentacles twitched,
she allowed him to remain.

  The passageways twisted and turned. Tamar showed no hesitation as she chose between the options. I concentrated on keeping close behind. Morey paced at my heels, meaning that at least I wasn’t carrying his weight, light though it was.

  Tamar came to a sudden stop. I managed to just avoid stepping on her tail. Cornelius leaned forward, stared into the dimly lit path, then twisted his head to look up at me. ‘Escapee.’

  The mantis hopped down. I strained my eyes to identify what was crawling across Tamar’s body. Then I realised. It was a small snail, no larger than a golf ball, yellow and orange swirling under a nearly translucent shell. Tamar responded with blues and greens. The pup perched near the top of her spiral.

  ‘She’s going to return the youngster to the escargatoire,’ Cornelius said. ‘Y’all are welcome to stay here.’

  ‘No thanks,’ I said. There was no way I was going to lose the one person who could find the way out of this maze.

  The nursery was only a few turnings away. I halted at the entrance, Morey flying up to my shoulder and craning his neck for a better look. The cave was small. On my left, Tamar was allowing several snails to remove the pup. It was hard to count how many youngsters were spread out on the floor beyond her, but I guessed somewhere between eighty and a hundred. On the right rested several piles of round white objects. Eggs, I realised. Other snail sharks stood nearby. Every so often, they touched an egg with their tentacles.

  Tamar exchanged communications with the other snails, then flowed back to us. ‘Are these your children?’ I asked.

  ‘The pups of the Community. I can’t have any of my own.’

  ‘Why not?’ Morey asked.

  ‘Her shell,’ I explained. ‘Look at the damage. Moving is painful enough for her. How could she mate?’

  Morey turned and spoke to her in Welsh. ‘Madam, I’m truly sorry to hear this. I’ve recently become a father, and the experience has both delighted and humbled me. My sorrow for your sorrow.’

  ‘We choose our own partners.’ Cornelius’ voice echoed the emphasis given by the reds swirling around Tamar’s body. ‘There are no breeding pens here.’