by Chrys Cymri
We confessed our sins and I pronounced the absolution. We intoned the Lord’s Prayer, and then Morey sang, in his baritone voice, ‘“O Lord, open thou our lips.”’
‘“And our mouth shall shew forth thy praise,”’ the congregation responded.
The service proceeded with the canticles, Bible readings, and the Apostles’ Creed. It was at this point that I climbed up into the pulpit. The churchwardens had argued that I should speak at the end of the service, but this was one debate I had won. I wanted the service to end in prayer.
As I placed my notes on the small wooden rest, a shuffle of wings and claws drew my gaze to the back of the church. To my amazement, I watched Raven take a place with the other dragons. I closed my eyes a moment, and brought my focus back to my message. ‘May I speak, and may you hear, in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.’
‘Amen,’ the congregation said.
I looked down at their expectant faces, and felt the words dry in my throat. It took a squeak from my hearing mouse for me to force myself to drag sentences from paper and broadcast them through the church. ‘And so, here we are, the last service from Father Morey and me. As our reading reminded us, “For everything there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven.” There is a season for an interim ministry team, and that has now come to an end.’
For a few minutes I unpacked the lesson from Ecclesiastes 3, reminding the congregation that a minister served in times of birth and death, times of sorrow and of joy. I mentioned the invasion by the snail sharks, and contrasted this with the peace which the town normally enjoyed.
‘What I see here in Caer-grawnt is something you don’t find commonly in Lloegyr,’ I continued. ‘In many towns and cities, the different species maintain separate lives. But here you all are, working alongside each other, celebrating with one another, worshipping together. Your children study in the same building, play in the same schoolyard.
‘Yes, there are challenges. Love doesn’t always respect boundaries, and there are those who target couples who dare to follow their hearts beyond their own species.’ A number of ears flattened and eyes narrowed at my words, and mice carefully backed away from agitated predators. I ploughed on. ‘Diversity brings challenges. As we truly come to know those who are different to us, how much their culture and world understanding differs from our own, we are challenged. We then have a choice. We can stand stiff and insist that only our way is right, and everyone must accept it. Or we can recognise that we are stronger by embracing difference. Our eyes are opened to another way of understanding the wonderfully complex world which God created, Jesus redeemed, and the Holy Spirit sustains.’
I paused, and deliberately moved my head instead of my eyes. ‘I’m looking at those whom God has called to live together in unity whilst rejoicing in their diversity. This is a precious gift. Please continue to embrace it, cherish it, honour this gift by how you act in your own lives. Amen.’
Morey waited until I was back in my stall before he rose to his feet to continue in prayer. ‘“The Lord be with you,”’ he intoned.
‘“And with thy spirit,”’ the congregation responded.
We moved through the rest of the responses and then to the second recitation of the Lord’s Prayer. Two hundred voices rose through the church. ‘“Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name. Thy kingdom come; thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven. Give us this day our daily bread. And forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us. And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil--”’
A crash echoed against the stone walls. I rose to my feet. Raven was writhing, wings and tail slamming against pews and fellow dragons. Those nearest him were snarling their displeasure, ears and horns lying low against their heads. I met Morey’s gaze, gave him a quick nod, and placed my mouse on the stall before I hurried down the aisle.
Those near Raven drew back, leaving a clear area around his shuddering body. Raven had fallen onto his side, and his head was sweeping across the floor. Bright blood streaked across the flagstones. Morey raised his voice, doing his best to encourage the congregation to continue with their prayers. I kept my voice low as I spoke to the dragons huddled nearby. ‘Anybody know what’s happened? Is he having a fit?’
‘He just started like this, a moment ago,’ said a purple dragon.
‘For no reason,’ a yellow dragon chipped in. ‘He was just standing before, no sign of trouble.’
The green-black muzzle was still sliding back and forth, scraping more skin from Raven’s head. ‘Let’s get him outside,’ I said. ‘It’d be better for him to be on grass.’
Horns dipped low in reluctance. But several of the larger dragons did step forward, stretching their own heads under Raven’s body to lift him to his feet. Then they pressed their shoulders against his, and I led the way outside.
Low sunlight swept long shadows across the churchyard. The dragons set Raven down on the grass near the stone wall. Raven was still twitching, wings and legs sliding across the ground. I skirted around his limbs to stand by his head. ‘Raven? Raven!’
With a loud groan, he lifted his head. A few wisps of smoke spiralled from his nostrils, and the other dragons backed away. I held my ground. ‘Raven, how can we help you?’
‘Fy enw.’ His voice was high-pitched, unlike his usual strong rumble. ‘Fy enw?’
Once again he was asking for his name. ‘Raven.’ The watery eyes simply stared at me. ‘Hrafn Eydisson.’
‘Fy enw,’ he insisted, still in that strange tone. Had the fit damaged his throat?
‘Those are your names,’ I replied in Welsh. ‘Unless you have one you’ve never told me.’
Grass and soil churned under his claws as Raven hauled himself to his feet. ‘Nid fy enw,’ he told me, the high squeak at odds with the stern pronouncement.
‘“Not my name”?’ I repeated in English. ‘Raven, please, tell me what I can do for you!’
Raven turned in place, his tail knocking over several memorials. The large wings straightened, then flapped. I skipped back as bone and skin slammed against wall and gravestones. The dragon lifted his head as if to roar, but no sound emerged from his jaws.
My cassock cut under my arms as I was suddenly lifted into the air. The other dragon had removed me just in time. Raven slammed himself against the ground, his neck landing where I had been standing only moments before. Then he rose, his haunches bunching underneath his body, golden claws glinting as his forefeet pawed at the sky.
I had witnessed Raven leap from the ground many times, from both on his back or when standing nearby. But this time there was none of his usual expertise. His thrust was more forwards than upwards, and his hind legs knocked stones from the churchyard wall. For a moment I thought he might crash onto the road. But his unsteady wing beats carried him towards the sunset. I turned my head away, more than sun causing tears to form in my eyes.
Chapter Seven
My rescuer lowered me onto my feet. His teeth had opened up holes in my surplice, and my cassock was skewed to the right. I did my best to straighten my robes, and I pulled out a tissue to wipe my face. Then, after thanking the two dragons, I took a deep breath and marched back into the church.
To my relief, and no doubt to that of the congregation, Morey had not tried to cover my absence with an extended time of prayer. The service had concluded, and Aislin was making a speech. I held my head high as I returned to my stall. My torn clothing caused a few murmurs, but a glare from Cadfan brought those under control.
‘As I was saying, Fathers Penny and Morey have brought much to our town.’ Aislin gave me a nod. ‘Our dedicated interim rector even left this service to tend to a dragon in pastoral need. We will miss them for the care, the inspiration, and the guidance they have given this church and this community.’
I gave her a smile, but I knew better than to take her words seriously. Both churchwardens, after all, had tried to dismiss me from my post. ‘Than
k you, Aislin, and Cadfan. It’s said that every priest gains the churchwardens she deserves. I have asked God what I’ve done to deserve you. Your support for this church is unstinting. The building will stand for years to come. Your care for this gathered community cannot be faulted. Everyone can see that you believe your duty is, above all, to focus on those who attend St George’s Sunday by Sunday.’
Morey’s feathers were slick in alarm. He knew me well enough to realise what I was actually saying. ‘Let’s have a final hymn,’ he said quickly. ‘“The Church’s One Foundation.” It’s number 563 in your hymn books.’
The congregation shuffled and flipped through pages. Morey’s gaze came to me as we sang the line, ‘“…with his own blood he bought her, and for her life he died.”’ The gryphon was quite right. This was God’s church, and Jesus had died for them all, even the churchwardens. Suitably chastised, I promised God to bring my tongue under control.
As the singing finished, I turned to give a final blessing. ‘Draw your church together, loving God, to be one body and one mind in our mission to your universe. Give us the courage to witness to your love, in and out of season, so that the light of Christ may be seen in our lives. So send us out in the Holy Spirit, to live and to work to your praise and glory. Amen.’
‘But don’t go out just yet,’ Cadfan called out over the answering ‘Amens’. ‘Stay for a drink!’
And, service over, I gladly accepted a large glass of red wine. The alcohol, however, did little to dull the fear which tightened my stomach.
What exactly was wrong with Raven?
Monday. Moving day. I recognised the workers from ‘D & D Removals’, both the dwarves and the dragons. As the former went to work in the bedrooms, packing up what James and I had not sorted out ourselves, I visited the back meadow to speak to those who would carry our belongings. The red dragon was chatty, telling me breezily about the longhouse he shared with his dwarf partner. The two blue dragons seemed to be more interested in the were-deer who had dared to wander onto the grass. ‘Aren’t you scared, little doe?’ one sneered as she came close.
The deer raised her brown head. ‘No hunting on Lord Willis’ grounds,’ she said primly. ‘So you can go and f--’
‘Find yourself something else to do,’ I broke in quickly. A foul-mouthed doe would ruin all my happy memories of watching Bambi.
A yellow tacsi dragon landed shortly after lunch. The dwarves were fastening the last bags to the dragons as James and I shouldered our backpacks and climbed onto our transport. I had looked for Lord Willis before leaving the mansion, but the unicorn was not in the building. ‘He hates farewells,’ Tierney explained to me when I’d finally thought to ask the butler. ‘I believe he will send you a rat later today.’
The tacsi dragon waited until we’d settled into the saddle, James claiming the front spot. Then she announced, ‘Three to Ashtrew crossing place. Twenty minutes flight time. Payment has been arranged in advance with the Bishop of Llanbedr. Please hold on to the grab handles and, in the unlikely event of nausea, do not vomit upwind.’
She ran down the meadow, the long grass snapping back at her legs as we gained speed. Then she lifted us into the air. I looked down. Caer-grawnt glowed in the sunshine. The streets were clean after last night’s rain, roofs capped stone buildings with red, and even the smoke rising from factory chimneys looked white rather than grey.
‘You can always come back to visit them,’ James said to me, Jago clinging tight under his right ear. ‘It’s not like you’ve been banished or something.’
‘Ministers don't return to old parishes,’ I told him. ‘A bit of an unwritten rule. We need to allow the new person to take our place. But you’ll be back.’
‘Next week, actually. Lord Willis and I are going to look over some new pottery designs.’
The dragon dipped a wing and turned away from the town. The air freshened as we left industry behind. Forests and fields slid away below us, and a river glinted in the distance. We passed over a herd of unicorns, their coats a white contrast to green grass, and then a pack of gryphons prowling through scrub land. A cloud of small creatures floated past us, bright butterfly wings carrying their furry bodies.
It’s not fair, I told God. Did you have to send a perfect day when I’m leaving Lloegyr? Just to make it all the harder? I have no idea when I’ll be back again. Oh, and while I have your attention, could you please do something for Raven? Cure whatever’s affecting him?
All too soon, we landed on the hill. A row of six stones marked the thin place. ‘This one,’ James said grimly as we dismounted. ‘Gunpowder plot, right?’
‘And a drop on the other side. Rosie said she’d put a chair in place and wait for us to arrive.’
I thanked the tacsi dragon, and she lowered her neck so that I could drop a tip into the wooden box behind the saddle. Then I took a deep breath, gave James a reassuring nod, and stepped through the crossing.
The pain and blackness drove the air from my lungs. I forced myself to kneel down and go backwards, my right leg searching for the drop. When my foot suddenly sank, the front of my boot bumped against something reassuringly solid. I slid down from the bank of grass and soil and into an ancient church in England.
I scarcely had time to notice that I was standing on a tall box before my brother’s foot nearly kicked me in the face. My arms spun wildly as I tried to both find my balance and clear the landing place. I managed to leap to one side a moment before James crashed through. My knees complained, but held firm as I landed on the gallery.
‘Bad, bad, bad.’ James was sprawled across the box, arms and legs hanging off the dark blue sides. ‘Forgot how bad that was.’
‘Land crossings always are,’ I reminded him. Then I stared at his bare shoulders. ‘Where’s Jago?’
James paled even further. ‘I don’t know. We went in together. Maybe he’s gone back out to Lloegyr?’
‘He would’ve tried to come through again.’ I saw now that a step led up to the taller platform. Someone had gone to a bit of trouble for us, and I filed this away for later. A thought chilled my stomach. ‘He might be lost in the thin place.’
‘Can you get lost in a thin place?’
‘I haven’t a clue.’
Rosie hurried over, a book in one hand and Clyde in the other arm. ‘Penny, James, are you okay? I thought the box would help. Was I wrong? Have you hurt yourselves?’
‘We’re okay,’ I said quickly as James made his way down the step. ‘But we need to find Jago.’
‘Jago?’ Clyde repeated, his body pulsing orange and green. ‘Lost?’
I removed my backpack and climbed back up to the platform. ‘Don’t worry, Clyde, I’ll find him.’
‘Me too,’ the snail said. He tapped Rosie’s cheek with his tentacles. ‘Find Jago.’
‘Are you certain?’ Rosie asked us both as she brought him close. ‘What if you get lost too?’
‘You stay here, Clyde,’ I said even as the snail slimed his way up to stand at my feet. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll bring Jago back.’
‘Godfather,’ he reminded me. ‘Understand. Thin places.’
I hesitated. Clyde flushed red and orange. Then, to my amazement, he leapt upwards, and disappeared into the thin place. Now two of my friends were at risk. I forced myself to follow him.
Agony. The darkness seemed angry that I’d returned so soon. A rope tightened around my throat, and I had to force the words out. ‘Jago! Clyde! Where are you?’
My intention had been to press through to Lloegyr and see if either of them were on the green hill. But I staggered as a sharp blade sliced through my stomach. My hands pressed against my belly, and I was surprised to find that my guts were still safely tucked away under skin and clothing. Hung, and drawn. Only quartering remained. My shoulders and hips twitched in fearful anticipation of my imminent loss of limbs.
My arms were suddenly filled with snail. ‘Jago here,’ Clyde shouted above the screams. ‘Left! Two steps!’ I drew my shoulders away
from the axe and shuffled sideways. ‘Right! One step! Left! Three steps!’
The darkness was absolute, and my eyes ached from trying to see even the smallest glimmer of light. ‘Clyde! Let me know when we get close. I don’t want to squash him!’
‘No squash! Forward, three steps!’
My boots tangled in something sticky. I swallowed hard and tried not to wonder what it was. A metallic smell rose to my nostrils, and I regretted the piece of cheesecake I’d had at lunch. ‘Is Jago much further?’
‘Five steps! Right one, left two, three forward.’ I obeyed. ‘Stop! Down!’
I shifted Clyde into my right arm and bent down to search with my left hand. My fingers brushed against a small lump of fur and feathers. With great care, I worked my palm under Jago and lifted him from the warm ground.
As I straightened, I realised that I had new worry. Were my movements in the thin place mirrored in either Lloegyr or England? In other words, if I were to try to go back to the church, might I emerge in thin air? Or in a wall? Could we get out at all? If so, it might be best to aim for a wide sweep of grassland. ‘Clyde! Which way is Lloegyr?’
‘Backwards! Five steps!’
I started to turn around, then understood the reason for Clyde’s command. The disorientation was so intense that I wouldn’t be able to sense how far I’d rotated. So I gritted my teeth and obeyed the snail.
Sunshine hit my eyes, and I instantly snapped them shut. Clyde squirmed in my arms. Obviously his eyespots weren’t affected in the same way. ‘How is Jago?’ I asked, blinking as I tried to hurry the adjustment of my pupils.
‘Not hurt.’
Clyde crawled up to my shoulder, freeing my hands. I studied the small gryphon. Jago was breathing, and I couldn’t see any sign of physical damage. I ran a finger along his head. ‘Come on, boyo, we’re out. Wake up. Please, wake up.’
