by Chrys Cymri
Then he was in my arms. His clothes were stiff with drying blood, he smelled of vomit, but I held him tight as he sobbed into my shoulder. ‘When our mum and dad died,’ I told him, trying to hold back my own tears, ‘when they died, and you cried and cried, I told you that I’d take care of you. That we’d stick together, no matter what. You’re my little brother, and I’ll always take care of you.’
‘Alan--’
‘Is dead.’ My voice caught for a moment. ‘And it’s no one’s fault. Not yours. Not mine. No one’s fault.’
Then there were dragons backwinging into the streets around us. I listened, intrigued, as two dragons gave the orders and the elves dismounted to obey. The longhouse was surrounded. One of the police dragons called out the Matriarch’s name and demanded entry.
Another dragon came to us. ‘Bore da,’ she said politely. ‘A ydych yn dystion?’
My Welsh wasn’t going to be up to this. I cleared my throat. ‘I’m sorry, we’ll need to speak in English. Yes, you’ll want to interview us. But maybe in the morning? My brother isn’t that well.’
Raven quickly translated for me. The other dragon pondered a moment, then gave a long reply. ‘She suggests that they take you to the station,’ Raven told me as, behind him, two police dragons threw their shoulders against the longhouse door. ‘They want your brother’s clothes for evidence. And they can offer hot showers for him to clean up. If you, the gryphon and I give our statements tonight, they’ll let James come back in the morning.’
‘I can do it now.’ James straightened. ‘For Miranda. I owe it to her. Let’s go.’
Chapter Twenty Four
‘Yes, they’ve admitted to Miranda’s murder,’ Peter said. I pressed my iPhone closer to my ear, determined to hear his voice over the sound of the traffic passing the church. ‘Not much else they could do, not between James’s testimony and a dead body at the scene.’
I had to pick my next words carefully. ‘What did they say about Miranda’s accusations? Did they poison Endre?’
‘The heddlu are certain they did, but the family aren’t saying a word and there’s no proof. I don’t think we’re going to get much further on this one.’ There was a pause, and then he asked, ‘And how is James?’
I glanced over into the churchyard. My brother was standing a short distance from the newly dug grave, hugging the small wooden box close to his chest. ‘He’ll be all right. Just needs a bit of time. I don’t think he was in love with Miranda, but...’
‘But he did see her killed in front of him. We’ve got an excellent chaplain at the Rugby station. Do you want her details? She was very good when, well, the time I needed someone to talk to.’
‘Yes, thanks. I need to be James’s big sister, not his minister.’ The hearse was pulling up to the churchyard gate. ‘I need to go. A burial.’
‘Okay. Are you free Tuesday night? Maybe a movie?’
For some reason my eyes drifted over to Raven. The dragon was standing a respectful distance away from the grave. I didn’t know how he had found out about the burial, but somehow I was glad to see him. So I felt a stab of guilt when I replied, ‘Yes, that would be great. Talk to you later.’
I slid the phone away. Another car pulled up alongside the gate, and to my surprise Bishop Nigel slid out. He gave a respectful bow to the small coffin inside the hearse, and came to my side. ‘Bishop. I was only letting you know because you took the funeral. I didn’t expect to see you here.’
He dropped a warm hand onto my shoulder and gave a quick squeeze. ‘I thought I should finish the job. Unless you mind?’
I shook my head. ‘Of course I don’t mind.’
‘And it looks like I’m not the only bishop here.’ I followed his gaze to where Bishop Aeron was landing, her claws sinking into the soft earth twenty feet away from the grave. ‘Time to start?’
I nodded. Two men dressed in striped suits emerged from the hearse. They opened the back doors. Morey, I saw, had travelled alongside the small wooden coffin. He rose, stretched, and flew over to me. As he settled onto my left shoulder, I found myself feeling suddenly complete.
The pallbearers lifted the coffin between them. Bishop Nigel and I led the way across the wet grass to the small hole dug near one of the yew trees. God had listened to my fervent prayers, and the sky was a bright blue. Burials are hard at any time, but I always felt that rain during a burial merely added insult to injury.
We lined up around the grave. The two men lowered the coffin into the ground, and I spoke. ‘We gather here to bury Seren, the much loved wife of Trahaearneifion.’ I had stood in a mirror practicing Morey’s real name for over an hour, and I hoped that I hadn’t mangled it too badly. I nodded at James, and he lowered the wooden box into the grave, placing it at the foot of the coffin. ‘And we also bury the ashes of Alan--’
Tears were rolling down my brother’s face, and I was suddenly unable to continue. So Bishop Nigel stepped forward. ‘We bury the ashes of Alan Arthur White. Much loved husband to Penny, and foster father to James. Accept Seren and Alan into your loving arms, our Father, and give them rest in your eternal kingdom.’
Morey sighed. But his voice was strong as he quoted, ‘“You only are immortal, the creator and maker of life; and we are mortal, formed of the earth, and to earth shall we return. For so did you ordain when you created me, saying, ‘You are dust, and to dust you shall return.’ All of us go down to the dust; yet even at the grave we make our song: Alleluia, alleluia, alleluia.’”
‘Our Father, who art in heaven,’ Bishop Aeron began, and we all joined in. Even Clyde, who had insisted on coming along and was watching from his pouch, repeated the words.
Then we stepped back to allow the gravedigger to fill the hole. Bishop Aeron made her farewells, and took to the sky. Bishop Nigel went over to talk to James. Raven still remained at his discreet distance, his eyes on the grave.
‘Why is he here?’ Morey grumbled, his beak jabbing at Raven.
‘He did help us to find James,’ I reminded the gryphon.
‘Just you be careful about that one.’
‘Why? Because he gave me a knife without a coin?’ I twisted my neck to look at Morey. ‘What does that mean, anyway?’
His feathers were ruffled in annoyance. ‘When you give someone a knife, you give a coin so that the friendship can’t be cut. But he didn’t give you a coin. That means he believes that there is nothing, absolulely nothing, that could ever sever your bond. Penelope Black, what is your relationship with that dragon?’
‘I don’t know,’ I responded truthfully.
‘Be careful,’ he warned. ‘Don’t get caught up with a dragon. Don’t try to mix.’
‘I thought, after Seren, you’d be more open to mixed relationships.’
He said, sounding bleak, ‘I don’t want anyone I care about to make the same mistake I made.’
Raven raised his head. For a moment our eyes met, and I was lost in the green-blue swirls of his irises. He dropped his jaw in a smile. Then he gathered his legs under him and launched himself upwards. I watched as he circled away into the sky, green-black against the blue. For a moment I longed to be with him, hurtling towards yet another magical destination. Then my gaze dropped down to James, and I knew that I had to be here, here where I was needed.
James and Bishop Nigel wandered across the graveyard towards us. I could sense that James was being polite to the Bishop, and that Nigel knew this, but both men would play the British game of civility. ‘I need to go on to a meeting in Kettering,’ Bishop said apologetically. ‘But I do have a favour to ask of you, Penny.’
‘Yes?’
‘Remember that blog you used to write? “The confessions of a manic preacher”?’
I flushed. James looked at me with new interest. ‘You realised that was me? I tried to do it anonymously.’
‘Penny, if you want to be anonymous, you need to cut out references to whisky and Doctor Who,’ the Bishop said with a laugh. ‘But I’d like to ask you to start it again
. Only, write about dragons and unicorns. Write about Lloegyr, but make it sound unbelievable. And give yourself some important sounding title.’
‘Because?’
‘Because too many people are beginning to see things. For example, there were reports recently of a woman floating above the M1.’ I bit back a question as to whether they’d said her bum was big. ‘Bishop Aeron and I thought this would be the best way to stop speculation. Find reports like that one, and give an outrageous explanation. After all, who would expect a parish priest to be involved with dragons and gryphons?’
‘Who indeed?’ I echoed.
‘And if it’s good enough, maybe you can even turn it into a book.’
I watched the Bishop stride away to his car. James came to my side, and I reached out to grab his hand. Clyde blinked up at me from his bag, and Morey’s tail was a warm comfort around my neck.
‘And what do we do now?’ James asked.
‘We have a wake.’ I looked at each of them in turn. ‘We break out the whisky, and we remember Seren and Alan. Because that’s what families do.’
And we all headed home together.
######
Penny White will return in ‘The Cult of Unicorns’
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About the Author
Priest by day, writer at odd times of the day and night, I live with a small green parrot because the upkeep for a dragon is beyond my current budget. Plus I’m responsible for making good any flame damage to church property. I love ‘Doctor Who’, landscape photography, single malt whisky, and my job, in no particular order. When I’m not looking after a small parish church in the Midlands (England), I like to go on far flung adventures to places like Peru, New Zealand, and the Arctic.
Discover other titles by Chrys Cymri
Dragons Can Only Rust
Dragon Reforged
The Dragon Throne
The Unicorn Throne
The Judas Disciple
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First Chapter of The Dragon Throne
Fianna dropped a final portion of straw on the stable floor. Resting a moment on her pitchfork, she wiped a grimy sleeve across her sweaty forehead. The smell of horse dung seemed to cling to her very skin, and she studied the stalls left between her and the main doors. Four more to muck out. Her muscles ached already. Taking a deep breath, she moved on.
‘My lady.’ Ern, the stablemaster, suddenly stepped in front of her.
Fianna straightened. She was tall for her eleven years, but still had to tip back her head to look him in the eye. ‘You’ve told me, in here, I’m Fianna.’
‘Not today, Your Highness.’ He gently but firmly removed the wooden handle from her grasp. ‘I haven’t forgotten the grief of fourteen months’ standing. Today is your mother’s death day.’
‘I didn’t forget,’ she told him bitterly. ‘Please let me work.’
‘You should be with the King--’
‘My father hardly ever knows when I’m gone.’ The words hung in the warm air. Fianna turned her head, regretting the outburst. A princess did not speak that way of the man who was her ruler as well as her sire.
‘Aye, lass, I know.’ Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Ern reach out, then drop his hand away before it could touch her. ‘It has been but a year. He might now change.’
And the dragons might come down from the Sacred Mountains and sit one of their own upon the Throne. Fianna winced at the saying. It had been one of her mother’s favourites. ‘You’re right. I’d better go.’
‘I’ll get Jeremy to finish here.’
Fianna nodded. She glanced at the last stall. ‘Tell him Midnight likes to sleep in the right corner. I always put extra straw there for him.’
‘Aye, my lady.’
The shower rooms were empty. Most of the pages were still at their duties, cleaning stalls, repairing tack, training the dogs, the multiple tasks which young nobility were expected to undertake in their earliest service to the King. Fianna stripped off her dusty clothes, dropped them into the communal barrel, and stepped into a hot jet of water. A child of the royal family, she had discovered when she had first come to the stables just under a year ago, was expected to keep to the lighter duties in the castle itself. Carrying messages, greeting visitors, serving the King.
Fianna slicked back her long hair. She liked the stables, the kennels. Animals were often better than people when you wanted to someone to talk to. Midnight was one of her favourites. The gelding always nuzzled her in greeting, and never minded if she left tears in his mane.
Once she’d rinsed, she had no excuse to delay any longer. Fianna reluctantly left the shower, grabbing a towel as she stepped into the next room. Heat rose from the floor, drying her skin as she scrubbed her scalp with the towel. As usual, it took longest to convince a brush to tame her mass of hair. She was convinced that a curry comb would work best, but she couldn't see Ern agreeing to let her use one for such a purpose. And the tell tale strands of red she’d leave behind would give her away.
Beyond the drying room was the dressing area. Fianna opened the wooden door to her own wardrobe. Fortunately she had one set of court silks still unworn. They’d only been sewn for her a month ago, so they’d still fit. She slipped the trousers over clean undergarments, tucked the shirt into the waist before tightening the belt. Dark green and black. Not the royal colours, but the red badge was in its place above her left breast. A golden bar across the top, cutting across the golden wings of the dragon, marking her as heir to the Dragon Throne.
Fianna laced up her boots, then stared out the window. A wind was playing with remnants of snow, swirling white flakes across the cobblestones. The entrance to Secondus castle was several hundred feet away, and Fianna was tempted to use the underground passage from stables to pages’ quarters. She put the thought aside. It would not do for the King’s daughter to be seen entering the castle from the servants’ halls.
Gritting her teeth, she made her way across the courtyard to the main entrance. The chill stripped the last of the shower’s warmth from her body, and she was grateful for the mulled wine warming over a brazier just inside the thick doors. She ignored the guards’ respectful salutes as she dipped a mug into the spicy liquid.
‘Your Highness.’ Fianna was unable to stop the grimace at Bernard’s low voice. ‘Your sire will meet you in the Queen’s apartments.’
A Queen must be able to hide her emotions from public view. Her father’s advice helped her to swallow her dislike of the Court Recorder, assisted by a helping of mulled wine. ‘All right, I’m going.’
Fianna had occasionally heard guests to the castle complain at its size. Since she’d grown up in it, she couldn’t understand how they got lost down the rambling corridors, or wandered into the wrong wings. Her father knew it even better than she did. He had always won their games of hide and seek. Back in the days when they had played games together.
Her mother’s apartments were on the third level of the north wing. Fianna stopped outside the painted door, automatically checking her clothes, her hair. The seal had only been broken today. The edges of the plaster were rough. She laid a hand on the wood, then pushed it open.
The dust of a year’s neglect stirred at her entrance. Fianna shut the door behind her, then stood in the gloom, remembering other times. Her mother had never been strong, and had spent much of her time in her rooms. But they had been happy, the three of them. In the evenings, Fianna
and her father had often come here for games and tales. A game board still stood by one grey window, the players ready. And a book rested on a bed-side table, next to the chair where her father had often sat, holding the hand of her mother as she laughed at his gentle teasing.
But last year the winter had been long and harsh. The winds which blew off the dragons’ Sacred Mountains seemed to find their way in through the thick stones of the castle itself. Despite the efforts of the best mages, her mother sank gradually from life. In one of her last, lucid moments, she had pressed into Fianna’s hand the gold and ruby Summoning Ring. Fianna raised a hand and touched the band where it rested against her neck, held fast on a chain of gold.
‘Take one last look.’ Her father’s soft voice startled Fianna. She glanced at him, but Stannard was studying the room. ‘Fourteen months have passed since I placed my seal on wet plaster outside this door. But the seasons turn on, and the year is soon over. This is the last time we will see this place as she left it. Tomorrow, all must change. Will you want these rooms?’
‘No!’ The violence of her response finally made him look at her. ‘Leave them like this.’
Her father sighed. He ran a hand through his short cropped hair, and for the first time she realised that the once red head was now chased through with grey. ‘The year of mourning is now past, Fia. These apartments must be opened again, and we must both dress in lighter colours. Life must go on.’
Fianna felt her hands bunch into small, useless fists. ‘I don’t want to forget her.’
‘No, you must not.’ Stannard shook his head. ‘Always remember how you felt, fourteen months ago, and again today. Anyone who dies leaves others behind to mourn. Remember that, when you are Queen, and have to order knights into battle. For every one that dies, more are left with dark clothing and empty rooms.’
