The Cult of Unicorns (Penny White Book 2)

by Chrys Cymri

  A bell tolled. We rose to our feet as three unicorns strode across the floor and took their places on the sunken area. The sawdust, I realised, was to make it easier for the judges to stand for long periods of time. Heavy chains of gold and silver rested around the unicorns’ necks, and fresh flowers had been woven into their white manes. Their grey-white bodies glowed even in the flickering gas light.

  A soft sigh made me look at my companions. All of them, humans, elf, and gryphons alike, were gazing down at the judges with various looks of awe and longing. My theory that the hero worship of unicorns was limited to males was obviously mistaken. Taryn seemed to be as besotted as the rest of them. My own observation was that no unicorn could match the elegance of a search dragon, even if Raven regularly annoyed me.

  The bell tolled again. The balcony across from us was suddenly creaking as four dragons flowed onto the wooden platform. I studied the four stone columns which supported the structure and hoped that these were strong enough.

  I almost missed Bodil’s entry. Her claws clacked against the floor as she strode up to the dais. She looked to be alone, and I searched in vain for the sign of any restraints.

  ‘No guards,’ Peter murmured, expressing my own concern.

  ‘No need,’ Morey answered. ‘She won’t do anything untoward with three unicorns watching her.’

  ‘I hope three unicorns will be enough,’ Peter continued. ‘Dragons breathe fire, after all.’

  ‘They breathe oxygen,’ I found myself correcting. ‘They exhale fire. When they want to.’

  ‘No one would go ‘gainst a unicorn,’ Craddoe said. ‘They are the healers of last resort. Even dragons have petitioned for a touch of their horn.’

  I hoped he was right. Bodil’s thick muscles were bunched under her red scales, and I was certain that she could take out three unicorns without a lick of flame. And she had four members of her family watching from above.

  ‘We call into session,’ said the centre unicorn, ‘the case of the People versus Bodil Inkerisdottir, Matriarch of Family Inkeri. We have with us several humans from our sister world. Are you agreeable to use English for this portion of the trial, Matriarch?’

  ‘I am agreed,’ the dragon growled. There was a pause, and all three unicorns pawed at the sawdust with a forehoof. Then Bodil added, ‘Lords and lady judges.’

  The unicorn on the left spoke in a softer, more feminine voice. ‘Have you any further witnesses to call forward, Matriarch Bodil?’

  ‘None, my lady.’

  ‘The People have one more witness,’ said the unicorn on the right. ‘Is Master James Alfred White present?’

  ‘He is, lords and lady judges,’ Craddoe replied before James could open his mouth.

  ‘And does his guardian give leave for him to testify in this trial?’

  An elbow in the ribs made me glare at Craddoe. I cleared my throat. ‘I give leave for my brother to testify.’

  ‘I will escort Master James to the witness box,’ the elf told me. ‘Unless you think he will be too distressed to be away from you?’

  ‘James will be fine,’ I assured him.

  ‘What’s all that about?’ Peter asked me once the sergeant and my brother had exited the balcony. We lowered ourselves onto the hard seats.

  ‘It’s because of a book,’ I explained. ‘A self-help book from our own world, called Why Your Man Won’t Grow Up, and How to Deal with Him. It says that men aren’t mature until they’re thirty-five years old.’

  ‘And they believe that?’

  ‘It’s in a book,’ I intoned solemnly, ‘so it must be true.’

  But as James entered the witness box, he looked much younger than his twenty-two years. I was thrown back to that terrible evening when I had to tell my then four year old brother that our parents had died. ‘But if God can do anything,’ James had said, ‘why can’t he bring them back?’ Eighteen years later, I still had no good answer to that question.

  ‘Master James,’ asked the central unicorn, ‘are you ready to tell us what happened that evening in the Inkeri longhouse?’

  ‘Definitely.’

  ‘Would you prefer to have a screen between yourself and the accused?’

  ‘No.’ James glared at Bodil. ‘I want to look that murdering bitch in the eye.’

  ‘We must caution you, Master James,’ said the unicorn on the right. ‘No plea nor verdict has yet been offered. Do not try to influence the conclusion of the judges.’

  ‘Right.’ James rested his hands on the dark wood which reached up to his shoulders. ‘Well, this is what happened. Miranda said she wanted to express her condolences to the Inkeri family, for the death of Endre.’ There was a pause. I held my breath, praying that James would remember our promise to never reveal that Bodil herself had poisoned Endre. I relaxed as James continued, ‘But when we got to the longhouse, she ended up shouting at them all. Miranda said she knew all about Cadw ar Wahân and the pressure they put on anyone in mixed relationships.’

  ‘A dragon and a human,’ Bodil growled. ‘Endre shamed us all.’

  I shifted uneasily on the pew. The knife Raven had given me suddenly weighed heavily in my trouser pocket. Peter misunderstood my uneasiness, and he reached over to warm my hand in his own. Only then did I realise how cold my fingers were.

  ‘Then she, Bodil, she slashed her claws across Miranda’s neck. I tried to catch her, but there was blood everywhere and she just fell. She couldn't breathe--’

  The court room kept silent as James fought to control himself. I ached to go down to the dais and throw my arms around him, as if I could somehow protect him against something which had already happened.

  The unicorn on the left asked, her musical voice gentle, ‘And you are certain of the identity of the dragon?’

  ‘Of course.’ James knuckled unshed tears from his eyes. ‘That’s her there, Bodil.’

  ‘But can you be certain, Master James?’ challenged the unicorn on the right. ‘In the low light of a longhouse, with a number of red scaled dragons, and emotions running high?’

  ‘I’m certain.’ James jutted out his jaw, reminding me of our father. ‘Dragons don’t look all alike, you know.’

  ‘What has been the outcome for you, personally?’ asked the female unicorn. ‘Have there been any physical symptoms?’

  James studied her for a moment. ‘Yeah, well, I get nightmares. And I liked Miranda. She might even have been the one. But I’ll never know now, will I? Because of her.’ And the look James gave Bodil made me shudder. I had not known that my brother could feel such hatred.

  ‘Any time you want to try steel against my teeth,’ Bodil told him, ‘I am ready, genau.’

  ‘There will be no threats issued in this courtroom,’ the central unicorn snapped. ‘Sergeant Finn, please escort Master James back to his guardian.’

  There was a low hiss from the watching dragons as James emerged onto our balcony. I shifted slightly to bring out my knife. Eight reptilian eyes watched as I opened the blade and calmly cleaned under my fingernails with the sharp tip. Then I lifted my gaze to meet theirs. I saw from their uneasy movements that my message was clear. Mess with my brother, and they’d be in a whole heap of trouble from me, an acknowledged knifebearer.

  The central unicorn turned his head to Bodil. ‘Matriarch, this concludes the testimony of the witnesses. Would you like to withdraw to consider your plea?’

  ‘It’s only at this point that the accused enters a plea,’ Peter quickly explained to me. ‘The judges think it’s unfair to ask for a plea until the accused has heard all of the evidence.’

  The dragon studied the unicorns for a moment. Then she said, ‘I am ready. I plead guilty. I did murder the human known as Miranda.’

  The unicorn on the right dipped his head. ‘The penalty is hide, blood, or wergild. Which do you choose?’

  Bodil lifted her head. Her blue tongue flicked out, as if sampling the air. ‘I choose wergild.’ The dragons on the balcony growled and muttered, obviously annoyed. Th
eir matriarch craned her neck to look up at them. ‘Would you rather that I lose hide or blood to a cenau?’

  ‘Matriarch Bodil.’ The sharp tone of the central unicorn’s voice brought her blue-green eyes back to him. ‘You know the value affixed to the life of a human. The court requires the payment of five hundred troy ounces of gold. The amount, after costs, will be gifted to the Master James Alfred White in a token of your sorrow for his sorrow.’

  My mind was buzzing with the information that James was about to gain a rather large sum of gold. But my brother was on his feet for another reason. ‘She’s guilty!’ he shouted down at the judges. ‘She said so herself. You can’t let her get off with just paying money!’

  ‘Master James,’ the female unicorn said patiently, ‘the court recognises and pardons you for your youth. But we would ask that your guardian ensures that there are no further outbursts.’

  I pulled at his arm. ‘James, sit down. You’re not helping things.’

  ‘But it’s only money,’ he snapped. ‘Miranda was murdered.’

  ‘What sort of sentence would you have wanted?’ Peter asked. ‘The death penalty?’

  James glared at him. ‘Of course not. But I’d love to see her in jail.’

  ‘As any dragon would assure you, to lose gold is a greater blow against a family’s dignity than payment in hide or blood,’ said Craddoe. ‘And it would be unsafe to imprison a matriarch. A family without its matriarch descends into anarchy. Something best avoided with dragons.’

  ‘Money,’ James muttered.

  ‘Their standing amongst other families will be severely affected,’ the elf continued. ‘Which is why her own kin would have preferred payment to have been in hide or blood.’

  Morey walked across the railing and looked up into James’ face. ‘Gold can’t ease the loss of Miranda. There are some cures which the law cannot provide.’

  James touched the gryphon with one shaking hand. ‘She died in front of me, Morey.’

  Morey dipped his head. ‘And that will haunt you forever. But we’re here for you. You are surrounded by those who care for you.’

  I gaped at them both. Then James lowered his face into the gryphon’s fur. I found myself laying a comforting hand on his back as he sobbed. And if Miranda weren’t already dead, I would have killed her for what she had done to my brother.

  Chapter Twelve

  ‘You must be joking.’ I glared at Morey, then Clyde, noting that the snail shark was now a quarter of the gryphon’s size. ‘Since when does he go to church?’

  ‘Since we became his godparents,’ Morey said. ‘Remember? We promised to lead him by our own example into the Christian faith. He goes to church with us.’

  ‘Can’t he go to your church?’

  ‘Black,’ Morey said patiently, ‘how am I to get him there? He’s too heavy for me to carry.’

  Clyde studied me expectantly. His body glowed with a red-blue tinge which I knew meant excitement. ‘See God?’ he asked.

  ‘That’s debatable.’ I sighed. ‘Okay, I’ll get the carry case. But it’s your job to keep an eye on him.’

  ‘Of course.’

  And for most of the service, Morey was true to his word. I did wonder, as I preached, how much Clyde could actually take in. Morey had chosen a pew at the front of the church, confident in the old adage that people come early to get a seat at the back. They were the only two in the first three rows.

  They came up last as I was distributing communion. I pretended to drop a wafer on the floor, and knelt to retrieve it. I palmed it off to Morey as I rose to my feet, and touched Clyde’s shell to whisper a quick blessing. But the snail shark’s tentacles waved with indignation as I walked away. ‘Want Jesus!’ he insisted loudly. ‘Want Jesus!’

  ‘You’re not confirmed,’ Morey said patiently. ‘When you’re confirmed, you can have communion.’

  ‘Want confirmation,’ Clyde told him.

  ‘We’ll arrange for you to be instructed,’ Morey promised. ‘Come on, back to our pew.’

  And I was left wondering how I was going to teach the Christian faith to a snail.

  The week had been long. On top of the court case, I’d had a school assembly, hosted two carol services, and gone to the Northampton Interfaith Council meeting. And then there was the usual round of parish visiting, enquires about weddings, and the occasional homeless person asking for a sandwich and a hot drink. I’d spent Thursday hoping Raven would turn up so I could tell him off again. But there had been no sign of him.

  ‘I’m having lunch in the pub,’ I announced to Morey and Clyde when the church was otherwise empty. ‘You can go hunting or something until I’ve finished.’

  ‘Beer?’ Clyde asked hopefully.

  ‘You’ve got to let him have some beer,’ Morey said.

  ‘What, just because I didn’t let him have some Jesus?’

  The gryphon’s feathers ruffled. ‘Don’t mock the sacrament, Father. You promised him a drink if he didn’t die, remember? And draft ale is so much better than something from a supermarket bottle.’

  So a vicar, a gryphon, and a snail shark walked into a pub. Sounded like the start of a joke. The wooden door of The Five Bells creaked open at my push, leading into the entrance area between the snug and the public bar. I chose the snug, turning left and going through another door.

  The counter was curved to allow access by staff to both areas. The landlady was wiping a glass dry as she came up to her side of the bar. ‘Vicar. Good to see you in here. For a change.’

  And that statement reminded me why I usually avoided my local pub. I glanced down at the pump handles. Four real ales to choose from. ‘A pint of the Bishop’s Farewell,’ I said. ‘Seems only right.’

  ‘You staying for lunch?’

  ‘That’s the plan.’ I glanced at the board. ‘The roast beef, please. With chips. Could I have a bowl brought to the table?’

  Her eyebrows rose. ‘Empty?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Fine.’ She shrugged. ‘The cubicle is free, if you want to go there.’

  ‘Certainly,’ I said gratefully.

  The cubicle was only just big enough for a table and two chairs. It was set back from the rest of the snug, allowing for greater privacy. I poured some of the ale into the bowl and let Clyde out of his carry case. Both he and Morey slurped away at the beer and made appreciative noises.

  My plate of meat and veg arrived, and I tucked in. My carnivorous companions ignored the beef, but I had a silent battle to retain my chips. I tried not to think what beer and potato might be doing to a snail’s guts.

  ‘Vicar. I want a word.’

  The well-groomed man slid into the chair opposite mine. I chewed my last bite of beef, took a slurp of beer, and pushed my plate to one side. ‘What about, Mister…?’

  ‘It’s Pat.’ His dark hair was flecked with grey, and his brown eyes held mine. ‘You’ve been asking for money again.’

  ‘The church writes to village households every year, asking for help,’ I replied steadily. ‘It costs a lot of money to keep an ancient building in one piece.’

  ‘And to pay for you.’

  ‘And to pay for me,’ I agreed. ‘I’m the minister to the whole village, not just those who come to church on Sundays.’

  ‘Well, don’t expect anything from me.’ Pat snorted. ‘It’s about time people realised that you don’t need a god to explain why the universe is here. Like Dawkins said, none of us believe in most of the gods humans used to believe in. Some of us know that your God is just as false.’

  ‘I’ve got this one, Penny,’ Morey said. He strode over to my elbow. ‘Just pass on what I say.’ His throat clearing was unnecessary since, of course, Pat wouldn’t be able to hear him. ‘There was good reason why many of the earlier religions were rejected. Pagan gods often required human sacrifice. Equality between the sexes, or even peoples of differing skin colours, was rejected. Christians on your world, when at their best, insisted on equality for all, following Saint Paul�
�s maxim that there is no longer Jew or Gentile, slave or free, male or female in Christ. Do you think he’ll want the reference?’

  ‘You could say that Christianity was an improvement on older religions,’ I summarised. ‘Remember that many hospitals and schools were founded by Christians.’

  ‘But the Bible is full of how nasty God is,’ Pat continued. ‘Like that whole bit with Moses. All those plagues, and then the Egyptian army is drowned in the Red Sea. And how about the Israelites then being told to slaughter enemy tribes?’

  ‘God hardened Pharaoh’s heart,’ Morey responded, ‘to show his power and glory. God is in ultimate control of all our fates. He shows mercy to whom he decides to show mercy, and we are in no position to challenge him.’

  I swallowed hard. Sometimes I forgot how conservative Morey was. ‘The Bible was written over a long period of time by many different people,’ I said. ‘The understanding of God develops over that time. The full revelation wasn’t until Jesus was born into our world. I know that doesn’t answer questions as to why there is evil in our world. But we trust that one day God will give us those answers.’

  ‘Right, once we die and go to heaven, all will be revealed.’ Pat leaned forward, causing Clyde to slither closer to me. ‘And in the meantime, we’re supposed to trust God is always right. Religion just teaches people to turn off their brains.’

  ‘Saint Thomas Aquinas responded to this argument quite thoroughly,’ Morey said grandly. ‘The Christian faith has truths which exceed human reason. But we can also discover the truth of religious claims without faith. As he wrote in the Summa Contra Gentiles, we have a two fold truth, one which can be reached by reason, the other which surpasses the ability of human reason.’

  Clyde tugged at my sleeve with his mouth. When I looked down at him, ignoring Morey’s continued lecture, the snail said, ‘Man sad.’