by Chrys Cymri
There was a long silence. Then the Abbot nodded to himself, obviously coming to some decision. ‘No. Endre was sent there for a special reason. We won’t be assigning another.’
The sudden use of the dragon’s hatch name startled me. I felt Morey stiffen against my arm. ‘He served there as Dominic,’ the gryphon said. ‘But he went there as Endre? What was Endre’s occupation before he joined the Order?’
‘He was a swyddog heddlu. A police officer.’ The Abbot’s ears drooped in sad recollection. ‘He had seen too much, and had made some decisions which were correct, but which took a heavy personal toll. He was sent to us for guidance and counsel, and he decided to remain. But when his former captain came to talk to him about the growing influence of Cadw ar Wahân, he and I agreed to the request that he once again go undercover.’
‘To deliberately form a relationship with a human?’ Morey asked.
‘Not with Miranda,’ I said. ‘With Melody. A were-fox in the congregation. Is she also a police officer?’
‘Yes,’ the Abbot replied. ‘They both volunteered. Cadw ar Wahân usually begin by leaving intimidating messages for their targets. We hoped that Endre and Melody might be able to gain information about the culprits.’
‘But then it all went wrong,’ I said, ‘when Endre fell in love with Miranda.’
‘Endre had been chosen because he was known to be attracted to other races. We thought it would give Cadw ar Wahân more reason to select him for their attentions.’ The Abbot sighed again. ‘Melody, I understand, did her best to remind him of his duty. And his vows. But we dragons can be very insistent when it comes to the matters of the heart.’
Raven flashed across my mind, followed by a surge of annoyance, both at the vision and the memory of our last meeting.
Morey bristled. ‘You deliberately put one of your own monks in danger?’
‘Endre volunteered. He knew the risks. And we had thought that Cadw ar Wahân would be reluctant to kill someone from a religious order.’
‘Well, you were wrong,’ Morey snapped. ‘They were very happy to poison him.’
‘My son,’ Gerald said gently, ‘I know that your grief has been re-opened and amplified. Shall I ask whether your Father Confessor is free to see you?’
‘I have nothing to confess.’
‘I wish I’d had a spiritual director after Alan died,’ I told Morey. ‘I think he would have been a great help. Why not see yours? We’re not in a rush to get back.’
Gerald reached out to the wall and pulled on a long cord. A bell chimed and, a moment later, a small door slid open in the paneling over his desk. A rat flew in and hovered in front of his nose. ‘Please see if Father Antoc is free.’
‘You’ve installed a rat king network,’ Morey said, sounding impressed.
‘Time we had better links to the rest of Lloegyr.’ The green eyes came to me. ‘And perhaps even to Earth. I understand your brother is doing good work in that project.’
‘So he says.’ I was torn between pleasure at praise for my brother and renewed worry at James’ involvement in this magical yet dangerous world.
The rat returned, and I opened the door to allow Morey to exit the room. Gerald rose to his feet. ‘I must excuse myself, Father Penny. You may remain here, if you’d like. I have some interesting works in English which you might enjoy. Or feel free to visit our gardens again.’
‘Thank you for your time,’ I said politely, folding my coat over my arm as I got up from my chair.
I walked back to the grassy field outside the monastery. There, his eyes studying the grey clouds overhead, was Raven. Even in the dull light, his hide gleamed, shifting between black and green. ‘The unconquerable Penny White. I’ve been waiting for you.’
I found myself tugging at my jacket. ‘You’ve wasted your time. You can just fly back to your trampoline games with your mates.’
‘Cross with me, are you?’ His jaws dropped open, exposing sharp teeth. ‘When you handled yourself so well? You’re the talk of the settlement. Everyone admires the human who dared to bring steel into our midst and wasn’t afraid to use it.’
‘My Swiss Army knife?’ I slipped it from my pocket and opened the small blade. ‘Why were they so frightened of this small thing?’
‘George wasn’t the only dragon murdered by humans bearing steel.’ He snorted. ‘It’s not the size of the knife, but the intent behind it. And your intent was very clear.’ He lowered his muzzle to my eye level. ‘My dear Penny, you were magnificently menacing. Obtain yourself a larger blade. I would love to see what you are like as a proper knifebearer.’
‘You don’t think I’d accidentally hurt myself?’ I asked, recalling Peter’s dismissive words.
‘Why should I think that?’ he asked, sounding puzzled. ‘You’re a competent human.’
Then and there I decided that I must find a way to legally carry a dagger. Surely I could convince the police that it was part of my work? Well, the police who knew about Lloegyr. Then I winced as I wondered what I would say in court. Okay, not a dagger. Something just this side of legal?
‘I never had the chance to show you my home,’ Raven was continuing. ‘Ready for a return trip?’
His woodsmoke and grass scent wafted across my face. I gritted my teeth against the sudden weakness in my legs. ‘Not sure I am.’
Raven pulled back his head and looked away. Some of the arrogance dropped from his shoulders. ‘I was hoping to show you my workshop. I like to sculpt. In obsidian.’
Both his sudden shyness and his admission intrigued me. This was a side of him I’d not seen before. I could feel myself wavering. ‘I don’t have much time. Won’t it be a long flight from here?’
‘I know a shortcut.’ He dipped down, and held out his left leg. And so, against my better judgement, I pulled on my coat, climbed up his side, and settled between two back spines.
The take off was at a gentle run. His wings carried us up into the cool air, and I was glad that I was wearing an extra layer. The left wing dipped, swinging us towards the woods, now fifty feet below us. I glanced down, hoping that Clyde hadn’t decimated the local rodent population.
The air shimmered slightly. Forests and fields gave way to streets and houses. The dark grey slashing through the landscape must be the M1 motorway. I tried to remember how Northampton looked on Google Earth, and decided that we were around twenty minutes from my vicarage. By car. I had no idea how long by dragonflight.
Then I had a sudden thought. Raven would be invisible to anyone without the Sight, of course, but what about me? Were people working in their back gardens being treated to a close view of a woman’s bottom floating magically over their treetops?
Another shiver in the sky, and the heat of Raven’s home hit me. I risked wiping first one hand, then the other on my trousers, removing some of the sweat which threatened my tight grip. A realisation struck me. Raven had used thin places beween his world and mine to take thousands of miles off his journey. Did search dragons do this regularly? And could humans, if we learned how to find thin places, do the same to cut long distance travel between places on Earth?
I swallowed hard. I could see a business tycoon wanting to investigate the possibilities. Even worse, what military power could resist such an advantage? Best to keep the idea to myself.
Raven’s backwinged landing was elegant and precise. He seemed determined to impress me today. I slid down his smooth hide onto the rocky ground, far too late remembering that I’d worn one of my better pairs of shoes to visit the Abbot. As lava cut lines across the black leather I resigned myself to buying a new pair.
I pulled off coat and jacket as we walked to the entrance to the settlement. The same dragon stepped out, her torc glistening in the sun. She watched as I wadded up my warm clothing and placed it on the ground near the wall. Then I straightened. ‘I assume you remember me from last time.’
‘I do.’ She lowered her head, eyes averted. ‘Penny White, knifebearer.’ Then she stepped back stiffly. Afra
id, I realised. She was afraid of me.
‘Let’s just say that stories about you have been exaggerated,’ Raven explained as he led me down a passageway. ‘Someone might have reported that the blade was three feet long. And gleaming with internal fire. And that you swung it like a master.’
‘It was a two inch blade on a Swiss Army knife.’
‘What dragon would admit to having been frightened of such a short length of steel?’ He glanced down at me. ‘And as I’ve said, it was how you menaced them that struck terror into their hearts.’
‘Bullies,’ I said with a nod. ‘They’re not used to a someone taking a stand.’
‘Not a human with steel in hand and soul.’ Then Raven snorted. ‘But if you had simply given in, I wouldn’t have troubled myself with you again.’
‘Because I would have fallen off a wing and ended up bashing my head?’
‘I’ve told you before, I demand equality from my relationships.’ He halted in front of a purple tent, the colours a dark contrast to the brighter ones nearby. ‘And this is it. My own place.’
The heavy material shimmered as he pushed it aside with his muzzle. It slipped shut behind his tail, and I was left to open the tent for myself. I stepped out of the midday heat and into the cooler interior.
Openings in the apex allowed slashes of sunshine to touch on a pile of bright metal, large wooden chests, and a long table along the right tent wall. ‘Do dragons really sleep on treasure?’ I asked, looking at the gold and silver.
‘Only those who can afford to. I’m paid well for commissioned pieces.’ He pointed his nose at the table.
I walked across the smoothed lava. Many pieces of obsidian were laid out across the light wood. The colours varied, from dark black to bright red. Several were pure white, or mottled with a snowflake pattern. They had been carved into delicate shapes. Dragons, gryphons, a unicorn, an elf. Some were three dimensional statues about a foot high. Others were flat, enclosed in a circle, and I could imagine them being worn by the beings depicted.
‘How did you do this?’ I asked Raven. ‘With flame?’
‘Not for this work.’ The touch of shyness was back. He made his way to the end of the table. ‘I’ll show you.’
His fingertoes lifted a slice of obsidian. It was small in his forefoot, about the size of my palm, and was dwarfed in his claws. Raven held it carefully between his equivalent of a thumb and forefinger. Then he opened his jaws. But, rather than flame, what came out was high-pitched song.
My ears squeaked in protest. I was reminded of the old story of opera singers shattering crystal with their high notes. Raven directed his voice, and the stone responded. Sections splintered and dropped away. The chiselling continued, and as I watched I saw a celtic cross take shape. Four arms stretched over the circle, the stem longer than the other three. A particularly piercing note punched a hole in the middle. Then a series of trills carved woven knots into each arm, and a grove into the circle.
With a delicacy of touch which amazed me, Raven picked up a thong of leather, threaded it through the top section, and tied it off in a knot. Then he held the cross out to me. I allowed him to lower it into my palm, the stone warm against my skin. I now saw that a dark rainbow swept across the obsidian, blending from green to brown to purple. ‘Croes Geltaidd,’ I said.
‘Croes Geltaidd,’ he confirmed. ‘It’s for you.’
I found myself stuttering, ‘But this--it’s too much...’
‘It’s not a pledge gift,’ he said, voice rough with sudden vulnerability. ‘You are not obliged by accepting it.’
This was somehow important to him. I placed the thong over my neck, allowing the cross to rest over my breasts. ‘Thank you. It’s beautiful.’
His ears returned to their normal upright state. ‘I also work with crystal, but obsidian is my favourite. I could show you more.’
‘I’d love to,’ I said, putting extra effort into sounding apologetic, ‘but I need to get back. Next time.’
For a moment he looked like he was going to protest. Then he dipped his head, and we walked back out into the harsh sunlight. And, next time, I decided, I will make sure I’m carrying some sun lotion in a pocket.
He flew me through the two thin places and back to the monastery. My heart sank as we landed. Morey was perched on a tree branch. His eyes followed our descent. I leaned forward, and murmured in the direction of Raven’s ears, ‘My Associate doesn’t know about you.’
An amused rumble went through his chest, making my legs shake. ‘And you don’t want him to? Why not? We’re just friends, aren’t we, impenetrable Penny White?’
I slid to the ground without giving him the satisfaction of an answer. Raven backed away, then launched himself upwards. I buttoned my coat as I walked over to Morey. No need for him to see the obsidian cross.
The gryphon dropped down to a lower branch, bringing our eyes level. ‘Why were you on the back of a search dragon?’
‘He came to visit the monastery,’ I found myself saying. ‘He offered to give me some riding practice.’
‘Well, be careful. His type aren’t to be trusted. You don’t want to get into bed with a search dragon.’
‘And where’s Clyde?’ I asked quickly. I knew that Morey’s comment had been said in all innocence, but it left unfortunate images in my head. ‘Clyde! Come, Clyde, come!’
A movement near the edge of the woods caught my eye. The snail pup emerged from the shadows. Something dangled from his closed mouth. I decided not to look too closely to see exactly what it was.
‘He’s had a good hunt,’ Morey commented.
I sighed. ‘Obviously.’
‘You can’t keep him on crickets forever, you know.’
‘One challenge at a time.’ And as Clyde made his way over to us, Morey summoned the tacsi dragon for our return flight.
Chapter Twenty
It was only as I was climbing into the pulpit, sermon in hand, that I saw Peter standing quietly at the back of the church. I did wonder how I’d missed spotting him earlier, when both his gender and age marked him out amongst a congregation who were predominately female and grey. He gave me an encouraging smile as I opened my folder and said my opening sentence. ‘May I speak, and may you hear, in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Amen.’
The congregation took their seats. I found myself wishing that the sermon were one of my better efforts. I’d only found an hour Saturday evening to bash it out. Then I reminded myself that it didn’t matter who sat in the church, and that God could often take the most meagre of efforts and use it for his purposes.
I managed to find a better conclusion to the sermon that the one I’d come up with at ten o’clock the night before. After nearly inaudible prayers, offered by the eighty year old retired Reader who worshipped with us, I led the congregation in the creed. At the peace I ensured that I shook Peter’s hand. The third hymn was sung, with a notable lack of enthusiasm from the regulars.
Peter came up to the altar rail and knelt down, hands extended for a wafer. I realised that I had no idea of his religious background, or whether he were even baptised. But it’s my policy never to hold discussions at the altar rail, so I placed the bread in his hands. ‘The body of Christ, broken for you.’
‘Amen,’ he replied, and lifted the wafer to his mouth.
Morey had decided to attend my service. He perched on the altar as I finished the distribution to the congregation. I waited until the server’s back was turned, and then quickly dipped a wafer into the wine and held it out to the gryphon. ‘Body and blood of Christ.’
‘Amen.’ He consumed the bread and flew back to the side aisle.
We sang our last hymn and I dismissed the congregation. I forced myself to keep to my usual practice of changing in the vestry before going out for a cup of coffee. Spillages were more easily removed from a fleece than robes.
I was hanging up my chasuble when Holly bustled into the small room. ‘Vicar, that third hymn. I don’t know why y
ou keep picking that hymn, we keep telling you that we don’t know it.’
‘One day you will,’ I said sweetly. ‘And it was very suitable for All Saints’ Day.’ But I was already counting, One.
When I did emerge, Peter was surrounded by several widows thrilled to see a man half their age. He was handling them with great finesse, nodding to stories about grandchildren and answering questions about occupation and domicile with carefully chosen words. When he mentioned that he’d come to church because he knew me, I saw eyes narrow in hope and concentration.
‘Wecome to Saint Wulfram’s,’ I said to Peter before anyone could start asking him about his future prospects. ‘Have you had a coffee?’
‘Not yet.’ He flashed a dazzling smile at his admirers. ‘Too busy hearing about Rosie’s grandson. Would you mind bringing me one?’
So I made my way over to the serving hatch and returned with two drinks. Rosie was waxing lyrical over her genius grandson, already speaking in full sentences at the age of three. Peter nodded and inserted comments at appropriate pauses.
The sacristan turned off the lights, her signal that it was time the church was emptied so she could go home. I helped to empty the remains of the coffee pot onto the outside lawn, and locked up the vestry. Morey darted down to my shoulder as I walked up the steps to the south door.
Peter joined me outside. He swept a gaze around the tidy churchyard and up the bell tower. ‘Everything looks in good nick. How much do you get to keep this place going?’
‘Get from whom?’
‘Well, the government. Don’t you get grants for this sort of place?’
‘There are various grants available,’ I agreed, ‘but we have to apply for them. The upkeep is really down to the locals. We’re blessed with a number of people who mow the churchyard and clean inside the church. But when it comes to major repairs, that’s when things get tough. We’re working our way through the quinquennial report.’
‘And what’s that when it’s at home?’
