by Chrys Cymri
When my legs had recovered, I joined him on a rocky outcropping. The drop was gradual, not sheer, but I still hung well back from the edge. The sea looked calm. I heard birds screeching below us, and saw several swirling around the cliffs.
‘What’s that?’ I squinted at the flashes in the distance. ‘Dolphins?’
‘Merpeople,’ Raven said. ‘Now that they’ve seen me, they’re coming over.’
‘Why? Do they like search dragons?’
‘They saved my life.’ At my glance, he added, ‘The first time I came here, it was into a storm. The winds slammed me away from the thin place, and I fell into the sea. The merpeople rescued me.’
‘So you owe them.’
Raven chuckled. ‘I don’t have that inconvenience. In their culture, if you save another’s life, you must become his guardian. They owe me.’
A new sound was rising above the breeze and the birds. ‘Do I hear--singing?’
‘That’s why I brought you.’ Raven bent his shoulder and offered his left leg. ‘I’ll take you closer.’
His skin had dried, and it was far easier to mount him this time. As I settled into my place, I glanced back across the island. ‘Now I recognise it,’ I told him excitedly. ‘Okay, there aren’t any steps, no monastery, no humans here. But we’re in Ireland. This is where Rey found Luke Skywalker!’
‘I have no idea what you’re talking about,’ Raven said, then kicked us off the ground.
Peter would have known, I thought. He loved Star Wars: The Force Awakens as much as I did. And I found myself wishing that he had been with me to share the experience of standing on Skellig Michael. Although perhaps not with Raven around.
The dragon swooped low over the ocean. I could now see that there were at least a hundred merpeople. The sea frothed as they arched muscular torsos out of the water. The women looked to have been on the same body building course as the men, and I wouldn’t have wanted to meet any of them in a dark alley at night. Not that, with their fish tails, they could have walked down an alleyway. I hoped that my muddled thinking wasn’t a warning that I was developing a fever.
Then they began to sing. And I forgot about colds, Star Wars, Peter, and even amorous dragons. Their voices were so pure, blending and separating in such breath taking harmonies, that I had to press my fingers against my eyes to stop myself from crying. Lloegyr could be a dangerous place, as Simon, Anne, and James had discovered. But this world was also full of marvel and beauty. The risk was worth the reward.
Chapter Fifteen
‘And that’s when I decided, people are like popcorn,’ I told Gregory. ‘The kernels which pop quickly are like extroverts. They speak up quickly, and they push ones which aren’t ready yet out of the popcorn machine. But if you put those kernels back into the popper, and give them a second go, then they can pop too. A bit like introverts in a meeting. They just need a bit longer.’
My spiritual director rubbed the back of his neck. For a moment he reminded me of the Third Doctor. His hair was the same grey, although Gregory’s nose was far less dramatic. ‘Penny, what are you trying not to talk about?’
I felt my fingers tighten on my mug. ‘I beg your pardon? I’ve told you how I’m worried about James.’
‘And all about your latest sermon on Doctor Who and why vampires might be the solution to bat infestations in churches.’
I scrunched back into my chair. ‘And now popcorn.’
‘That was the clearest sign yet. Ignatius would remind you that the voicing of a temptation is one of the best methods of dispelling it.’ Gregory gave me a kind smile. ‘Is it Peter? Are you two becoming, what’s the term, “serious”?’
‘It’s not Peter,’ I said slowly. ‘He’s kind, caring, a gentleman. A bit too much of a gentleman, actually.’ I brightened. ‘I was thinking that Peter and I could have a holiday in Ireland. We could visit Skellig Michael. Did you see The Force Awakens? The island’s even better in person. A bit cold this time of year, though.’
His clear blue eyes studied me. ‘I didn’t realise you’d had some leave.’
‘I haven’t.’ My mind was desperately searching for an escape. ‘It was a day trip.’
‘From Northampton? In a day? What did you do, ride in a helicopter?’
‘No.’ I took a sip of cold Earl Grey. ‘Not a helicopter. You see, there’s this dragon.’
Gregory pursed his lips. ‘From what I understand, Lloegyr has plenty of dragons.’
‘Raven took me.’ My hands were shaking, so I carefully placed the mug onto the small side table. ‘He’s a search dragon. About twice the size of a horse. Green-black scales, blue-green wings, triangular spines. Usually smells like wood smoke and fresh grass. Shows up when I least expect him.’
‘Are his visits unwelcome?’
‘No,’ I muttered. ‘Never that.’
‘So he’s a friend?’
I fought against the impulse to chew a thumbnail. ‘Sort of.’ Then it came out in a rush. ‘It’s like Miranda and Endre, except it isn’t, or hasn’t been yet, but I suppose it is possible. If we get that far. But I’m not certain I want to get that far. And it’s frowned on anyway. Plus, Peter is such a nice man, and he understands all my Doctor Who references and enjoys single malt whisky.’
‘Let me go back into the popcorn maker for a moment,’ Gregory said calmly. Seconds passed, marked by the ticking of the wall clock in his study. The skin around my thumb tasted of soap. Finally, he asked, ‘This dragon. Is he kind?’
I looked up at him. ‘He took me to Skellig Michael to hear the merpeople sing.’
‘Why? Did you ask him to?’
‘We were having an argument.’
‘Was the argument resolved?’
I shook my head. ‘We listened to the merpeople.’
‘If only every argument could be so easily sidestepped,’ Gregory said drily. ‘Where else has he taken you?’
‘On Lloegyr, to his home and their equivalent of New Zealand. He’s also taken me to see the Northern Lights in Iceland.’
‘That sounds magical.’
‘It was.’ I cleared my throat. ‘That was the best night of my life.’
‘Where does Peter take you?’
‘There’s a nice Italian restaurant he likes. And I’ve had Sunday lunch at his house.’
‘Not quite the same as a dragon flight to the Northern Lights.’ Gregory shook his head. ‘Not at all. Is a relationship with Raven compatible with having a relationship with Peter?’
‘I don’t know.’
Gregory raised an eyebrow. ‘Really?’
‘You’re taking this quite well,’ I told him. ‘It can’t be every day that one of your directees talks about dragons.’
‘After you leave, I’ll pour myself a large brandy and have a lie down in a darkened room,’ he assured me. ‘But I do feel sorry for Peter.’
I blinked. ‘Why?’
‘How is any man supposed to compete with a dragon who can fly you to Skellig Michael to hear merpeople sing?’
‘Actually,’ I admitted, ‘the Star Wars bit was great, too.’
‘And all to avoid the continuation of an argument.’
‘I’m sure it wasn’t deliberate,’ I protested.
He shrugged. ‘Possibly. I don’t know any dragons, so it’s hard for me to judge. Just remember where your weaknesses lie, Penny.’
I sighed. ‘Whisky and Doctor Who.’
‘And what do those represent?’
‘Escape,’ I admitted. ‘But Raven isn’t an escape.’
‘Ask yourself why you are attracted to him.’ Gregory held up a hand to halt my reply. ‘No, don’t answer me now. Pray over it.’ He reached out to the Bible resting on his desk, and thumbed through to the New Testament. ‘And ponder over Ephesians 4:14.’
I made note of the reference, and bowed my head for his blessing. And then I fled his house before I could tell him anything more. Once I was in my car, I pulled out my iPhone and looked up the Bible reference. The black charac
ters gleamed against a white background. We must no longer be children, tossed to and fro and blown about by every wind of doctrine, by people’s trickery, by their craftiness in deceitful scheming.
As I drove home, I wondered who exactly was deceiving whom.
<><><><><><>
The light on my answering machine was blinking as I came into the study. Morey was tapping away at the computer keyboard, muttering to himself in what sounded like Greek. Clyde greeted me with a trill, and I lifted him out of his tank. He promptly joined Morey, and the gryphon growled at him in Welsh as the snail’s weight added unwelcome letters to his document.
‘Behave, boys, or I’ll send you to your rooms,’ I told them. I reached over their heads to play back my voicemail.
A request for a baptism, a query about a memorial headstone, and Rosie inviting me over for a coffee to meet Linda. Then a message which made my pen pause over my notepad. ‘Hi, would that be that Vicar General fer Incursions at Nenehampton Diocese? Kate Amhurst, t’wun in Banbury. Maybe tha could phone me ‘bout that Anne Bennet?’
Morey saved his work, and flew out of my way as I took a seat at the desk. Clyde started to play with the pen as I dialled Kate’s number. ‘Hi, Penny White. You called me about Anne?’
‘Nah then, Penny, good to hear from thee.’ Kate had a Yorkshire accent, and my fond memories of All Creatures Great and Small meant that I immediately warmed to her. ‘Aye. Anne were a member o’ t’ next parish over, and funeral’s next week. My bishop asked me to be involved, seeing as I knows a bit ‘bout what killed her an’ all.’
‘What do you think killed her?’ I asked cautiously.
‘Goin’ to Lloegyr, of course,’ she replied briskly. ‘Only been there once meself. Full o’ interesting an’ dangerous beasties. Been there thaself?’
‘A few times.’ The pen had become wedged between Clyde’s teeth, and I propped the handset under my chin as I tried to help him dislodge it. ‘How can I help you?’
‘I’m tryin’ to know a bit more ‘bout Lloegyr. Not fer the funeral, mind, just fer missen. What beastie might’ve done her in?’
The pen was loose, and riddled with teeth marks. I turned to drop it into the bin. Rather than thank me, Clyde turned to start chewing the wooden desk top. I pointed at him, then the tank, and gave him a warning glare. ‘What does your Associate say?’
‘Nay got one,’ Kate replied. ‘Not much call to deal wit’ Lloegyr in our diocese, not many o’ these thin places, so it’s atop me other duties. Had a gryphon fer a time, but not much need fer me to always have t’ Sight. An’ he was eatin’ me outta house an’ home.’
‘Mine hunts blue tits.’
She laughed. ‘He was t’ size of a bull. An’ not t’ sharpest knife in t’ block.’
I looked over at Morey, who suddenly found that his wing feathers needed preening. I put my questions to one side. ‘The coroner here thought it could have been a unicorn.’
‘Never a unicorn,’ Kate said firmly. ‘Most beautiful o’ all God’s creations. Saw one t’ once. Have thee?’
I was beginning to wonder how much longer I could continue to bite my tongue. ‘A few. Anyway, nothing’s been proved. Are you taking the funeral?’
‘Anne’s vicar is.’
‘I understand she has a daughter,’ I said sympathetically. ‘Pass on my condolences.’
‘Aye, Emily. A wee bairn, seven years old. Anne were a single mum. That girl were all she cared about.’
‘Does the family need help with the funeral expenses?’
‘Nay. They’ve been sent a cheque to cover it all. From a Wiseman.’
‘From the company, Wiseman Agricultural?’
‘Nay, from a Fred Wiseman.’
Maybe he did actually care about his staff, I thought. ‘The company lost another person.’
‘Simon Brock,’ Kate said. ‘He’s been taken by Monsignor Abelli. Catholic, he were.’
‘Does the Monsignor know about Lloegyr?’
‘Aye, but not much call fer Catholics, with most over there bein’ Protestant an’ all. He covers all o’ t’ country.’
I had scribbled down the Catholic priest’s name, determined to find out more about him. That I had equivalents in other English dioceses made sense, of course, but I had been unaware that other denominations had made their own appointments. And what about other faiths? Were there rabbis, for example, who dealt with beings from Lloegyr? Imams? Humanists? Representatives from the Flat Earth Society? ‘I hope the funeral goes well.’
‘Good to speak wi’ thee, Penny. Meet up fer a coffee sometime?’
‘Definitely,’ I agreed. When I’d hung up, I turned to Morey. ‘The size of a bull? Is that how large you’re going to grow?’
‘I am full size,’ he assured me.
‘So you come from a smaller line of gryphons?’
‘Oh, no, my egg was laid by a bovine sized dam.’
His feathers were ruffled around his beak, showing that he was calm, so I continued, ‘But then why are you so much smaller?’
‘Only one in a hundred eggs produce gryphons my size,’ he explained. ‘Taryn and I are the unusual ones.’
‘But don't you ever wish you were larger?’ I sighed wistfully. ‘I wouldn’t mind a couple more inches.’
‘Size isn’t everything. As you’d realise if you ever met my family.’
Clyde had demolished a corner of my desk. I banished him to the terrarium, and he glowered at me from behind the glass wall. ‘Well, that’s not going to happen, is it? You don’t get along with them, do you?’
‘They refused to accept Seren.’ Morey had turned his head, and he was staring out the window. ‘But she’s gone now, and…’
‘And?’ I prompted.
‘Sometimes, I miss my grandmother.’
‘You were close to her?’
‘She was good to me after my mother died.’
‘Maybe you should go see her?’
‘She wouldn’t accept Seren.’
‘You lost Seren years ago,’ I reminded him. ‘Maybe it’s time you saw your grandmother again.’
‘Maybe.’ But his feathers were sleek with anger.
<><><><><><>
Unicorns might be plotting in their thick forests, and dragons entertaining themselves with merpeople, but meanwhile, back on Earth, Christmas was rapidly approaching. As did most vicars, I fought the usual battle not to let the story of the Christ child just become a sentimentalised backdrop to the so called ‘festive season.’ But it was difficult to keep calm when I asked a five year old boy, ‘Whose birthday do we celebrate on Christmas Day?’ and he responded, without a hint of irony, ‘Santa Claus!’
My mood was not improved by Beckeridge School’s nativity play. In order to accommodate the costume choices of the children, a lobster, five stars, and two superheroes were gathered alongside the shepherds and kings around Joseph and Mary. But I still complimented the children when I stood at the conclusion of the play to offer the usual thanks expected from vicars.
The school was now closed for the winter break, and I felt a sense of relief on Monday morning as I contemplated a week without carol concerts. I had four days before Christmas Eve, so plenty of time to prepare three sermons. Maybe even time to face some Christmas shopping.
As if on cue, my phone rang, and Peter was on the other end. ‘I was wondering what you’re doing on Christmas Day?’
‘Not much,’ I admitted. ‘I’m usually exhausted by the time I’ve finished the morning service. Last year I just came home, made a sandwich, and slumped in front of the telly. I know that James is going to friends in London, and I think Morey has plans with Taryn.’
‘Would you like to come to mine?’ There was a pause. ‘My parents are staying for the weekend. I’d like you to meet them.’
The First Big Test in a romantic relationship. The Meeting of the Parents, something not to be entered into lightly. ‘I have a service at ten.’
‘My mum and dad are churchgoers,’ he remi
nded me. ‘I thought we’d come to your service, and then we can come back here. You can have the spare bedroom if you want to stay overnight. My mum and dad will have my room, and I’m happy to sleep on the settee.’
‘You seem to have it all planned.’
‘And I’ve ordered a big enough bird for all of us. Happy turkey, naturally. Free range and organic. After lunch, we’ll watch the Queen, of course. And later on the Doctor Who Christmas special.’
‘Seems ages since we’ve had a fix of Peter Capaldi,’ I said. ‘What about your parents? Are they Doctor Who fans?’
‘Are you kidding? My dad’s never missed an episode. He’s watched ever since the first Hartnell episode.’
I felt my mouth dry with excitement. ‘So he’s seen The Power of the Daleks?’
‘Yes, he did.’ Peter’s sigh matched my own. ‘That Holy Grail for Troughton fans everywhere. He’ll tell you all about it, if you ask him.’
‘Then how can I refuse?’ Although I did give a guilty glance at Clyde. This would mean a long day in the tank for the snail shark, but I couldn’t see how he’d fit in with the typical semi-drunken English celebration of Christmas.
‘Allons-y,’ Peter declared enthusiastically. ‘And I’ll make sure we have something sparkling to toast Her Majesty.’
It was with a much better mood that I tackled the annual problem of how to pitch the Midnight Mass sermon. For the regulars, who might appreciate something meaty? Or for the drunks who had left the pub and decided to head into the church? I’d tell them the goose story, I decided. But what should I do for the family service on Christmas morning?
I glanced at the TARDIS model sitting on the nearby bookshelf, and had a sudden idea. My fingers flew over the computer keyboard as I concentrated on my work.
<><><><><><>
The doorbell rang just as I was finishing my cheese sandwich. I left Clyde hoovering up the crumbs as I went to answer the door. A motorcycle was parked in my drive, and the rider had tucked her helmet under her arm. ‘Special delivery,’ she said cheerfully, and thrust a small tablet in my direction. ‘Please sign here.’
