by Chrys Cymri
‘But you’re a Christian now,’ I insisted. ‘Jesus taught us to look after the weak and vulnerable.’
The hatchling toppled over again, and let out a piteous cry. ‘We’ve got to do something,’ James said to me, his hands plucking at a loose thread on his dressing gown. ‘We can’t let her starve!’
The blue gryphon raised his head away from his dam, a drop of creamy milk gleaming against his black beak. Purple eyes met mine. Then he dug claws into the bed, and pushed away from Taryn. Slowly, carefully, his own legs weaving under him, he made his way to his sister. He touched his beak to hers, and a stream of white fluid dribbled between them. Much of it added to the stains on the blankets, but some went down her throat.
The larger chick coughed. She raised her brown eagle head, mewled again, and waited. When no more milk was forthcoming, she flopped back down again.
The griffwn glas cocked his head and studied her for a moment. Then he reached out with a forefoot, dug claws into her ear, and gave a sharp tug.
His sister rose in roaring protest. She lunged for him, her forelegs carrying her several inches across the nest before she collapsed again. Her brother reached out again, his claws drawing specks of blood from the soft skin.
Little by little, the griffwn glas taunting his larger nestling, and she thrusting herself forward in reply, they made their way across the bed. The blue gryphon held back as his sister fell one more time, and her beak rubbed up against a free nipple. Her protests stopped as she suckled.
One by one, the hatchlings drank their fill and then staggered a few steps to curl up and sleep. The injured gryphon dropped down near her mother. The blue chick was last to finish. He hopped a short distance away from the rest, and rested his beak on the tip of his furry tail.
Morey spread his wings and made a soft landing onto the bed. Taryn rose, and they rubbed their heads together. Morey pointed his beak at each female chick in turn. ‘Rothgen.’ That was the female who had hatched first. ‘Annest.’ The hawk-panther chick. ‘Eiddwen.’ The last to hatch.
Taryn turned to the larger male hatchling. ‘Gwilym.’ Then she pointed at the blue chick. ‘Jago.’
James grinned at Morey. ‘What, no complicated names? They’re so easy, compared to yours.’
Morey grunted. ‘My mother liked long names. Taryn and I agreed that we wouldn’t follow that family tradition.’ He cocked his head. ‘And “Jago” is the Welsh for James.’
My brother’s jaw dropped. A gurgling noise came from his throat. I blinked back tears as James reached out and gathered the small hatchling into his hands. Jago raised his head, blinked a few times, then curled up again. ‘Hello, little Jago,’ my brother said. ‘Welcome to the world. It can be a rough old place, but don’t worry, we Jameses stick together.’
‘We’ll be arranging their baptisms when they’ve fledged,’ Morey added. ‘And we’d like Penny, Peter, and Clyde to be the godparents.’
‘If I went to church more often,’ James told his namesake, ‘I could be a godparent too. But I’d rather have a gryphon named after me any day.’
Clyde slid across the bed, stopping beside the chicks. ‘Godparent?’
‘Of course,’ Taryn said. ‘I know you’ll be a good example to our eyasses. You’re already a mighty hunter.’
‘And you’ll be confirmed by the time we have them baptized,’ Morey added. His glittering eyes came to me. ‘Won’t he?’
‘We’ll make sure of it,’ I said, although I wondered whether I’d be able to keep my promise. Tomorrow, I decided, I would send a rat to Bishop Aeron. But would she prove to be as prejudiced as the Dean?
Chapter Eleven
I seemed to spend the next week continuously washing bedclothes. No one had told me that gryphons only nursed their young for three days before offering chunks of regurgitated meat. Nor that, on day four, small creatures would be brought to the bedroom for the chicks to stalk and kill.
‘It’s really fascinating,’ James said as I loaded blood-stained sheets into the washing machine. ‘Morey or Taryn drop the mouse from a height, and the kids all take it in turns to try to bring it down.’
‘Oh, very lovely.’ I threw in some powder and cranked the programme dial to ‘heavily soiled.’ If only the stains on the stair carpet could be so easily removed. ‘I never thought you’d be into blood sports.’
‘That’s unfair,’ he protested. ‘They have to hunt to survive. Anyway, it’s like watching a David Attenborough on the telly, only up close and live.’
I thrust a basket of wet washing at him. ‘How about you get up close and live with a washing line?’
James looked out the kitchen window. ‘Won’t the sheets catch on the weeds?’
‘Out with you.’ I gave him a push towards the door. ‘And then I’ll make us lunch.’
I watched as James raised the rotary’s arms, and began to pin sheets to the lines. Hi God, I found myself praying. Okay, yes, I’m thankful that he’s finally coming down from his room for meals. And that there’s even a bit of colour on his skin. But he’s still much skinnier than I’d like. And I don’t think he’s sleeping well at night. What can I do? I’d appreciate some help here.
Time to pull out sandwich items from the fridge. But as I turned away, a sudden feeling of peace flowed through me. Somehow, for a moment, I knew that God loved James even more than I did, and that my brother would be all right. A Bible verse flashed through my mind, and I murmured aloud, ‘“All things work together for good for those who love God.”’
‘Romans 8:28,’ Morey pronounced as he landed on the kitchen counter. ‘Really sorry, Penny.’
I straightened. Morey using my real name was never a good sign. ‘What’s happened?’
‘The blue tit got away. She’s somewhere in the house. And I can’t find her.’
‘Dying?’ I asked with a glare.
‘No. The eyasses were too slow. They can’t really fly yet. I thought the door was shut, but she managed to get through.’ Morey looked suitably embarrassed. ‘Taryn told me they weren’t ready for flighted prey. Well, Jago is nearly there. He can already fly across the room. But the others are still growing in their primaries.’
‘And Eiddwen?’
‘She can walk now, but her hindlegs won’t let her pounce.’ Morey’s cheek feathers fluffed, showing that he was relaxed. ‘So long as she develops good flight muscles, she’ll be able to use other tactics to bring down her prey.’
‘Which you’ll teach her?’
‘Of course.’ The feathers had tightened. ‘I’m her father.’
I waggled a butter knife at him. ‘And you were willing to let her starve, if she couldn’t make her own way to Taryn.’
‘Gryphons don’t support the infirm,’ Morey said. ‘Our hunting grounds have always been too sparse to give us that luxury. If you cannot hunt, you do not eat. That’s the clan way.’
‘Then I suggest your clan traditions are at odds with your Christian values.’
‘Yes, they are.’ Before I could enjoy this rare moment of besting Morey in a debate, he continued, ‘But I'm also dependent on the clan to take in my eyasses when they’re ready to leave the nest. They have to understand the ways of gryphons. Or they won’t survive.’
I placed plates on the table. ‘Maybe your society needs to change.’
Morey snorted. ‘The same could be said of yours.’
‘We look after our weaker members.’
‘Really?’ Morey pointed his beak at the currently silent radio. ‘What do I hear on your news? Benefit cuts. Struggling schools. Your elderly suffering in care homes.’
‘Okay, okay.’ I held up my hands. ‘We’ll call it a draw. Let me see if I can find this blue tit.’
I went upstairs. A sound drew me to my bedroom. The small bird was tapping desperately at the window near my unmade bed. I opened it, and the blue tit flew out. Then, my mother’s voice filling me with guilt, I straightened the duvet and fluffed the pillows. ‘Standards, Penelope,’ I could hear her sa
ying as I returned to the kitchen. ‘We have standards in this household.’
James was munching on a sandwich. ‘Where’d you go?’
‘I had a blue tit to rescue.’ I sighed as I joined him at the table. ‘But I don’t know why I bothered. The gryphons will just hunt down another bird for their brood. Nature, red in tooth and claw.’
‘We had a cat for awhile,’ James said. ‘You didn't worry about feeding her.’
‘All I had to do for Sonic was open a can of cat food. The eyasses leave carcasses spread across the room.’
James grimaced. ‘I guess there’s no nice way to kill an animal.’
‘Says the man,’ I pointed out, ‘eating a ham sandwich. I thought you’d gone off pork.’
‘Only in Lloegyr. Pigs on Earth can’t talk.’ He grinned. ‘Besides, it’s happy pig, isn’t it? I know you only buy free range meat. And that’s what garden birds are, right? Free range.’
‘And, in this garden, they’re an endangered species.’ I glanced out the window. Morey and Taryn stood on the roof of the shed, heads bent together in discussion. Then they flew away, angling towards the west.
‘Who’s looking after the kids?’ James asked, his eyes having followed mine.
I abandoned my lunch and hurried up the stairs, my brother at my heels. Squawks and squeals from the bedroom made me fear the worst. I pushed the door open.
Clyde sat in the middle of the bed, his tentacles swiveling as his eyespots followed the antics of the eyasses. Rothgen was perched on the snail’s shell, her claws scrabbling as she chittered defiance down at her siblings. Gwilym and Annest were pacing around Clyde, eyes bright as they studied their oldest sister. Jago perched on a pillow, his fox tail lashing. Eiddwen, her weak hindlegs bent under her, watched from the end of the bed.
Gwilym reared up, his forefeet driving at Rothgen. I started forward, then realised that there was no malice in the move. The other chick batted back at him, but both were keeping claws well away from eyes and ears.
Annest tried to leap onto the shell, but Rothgen twisted around and pushed her away. Her own grasp on Clyde was loosened, and she slipped off with a squawk. Gwilym jumped up instead, screeching in triumph.
‘It’s “King of the Castle”,’ James said. ‘They’re playing “King of the Castle”.’
Gwilym reared up on his hindlegs, gloating over his siblings. One hindfoot was firm on Clyde’s left-handed spiral, but his claws were slipping from the smooth right side. That was the moment Jago made his move. The blue gryphon, only half the size of his brother, sprang through the air to knock him from his perch. Gwilym rolled across the blankets, wings and legs tucked close to his purple-grey body. Annest quickly skipped out of his way. My stomach lurched for a moment, then calmed as Morey’s look-alike rose to his feet and laughed.
Clyde’s eyespots came to me. Blue and pink pulsed through his body and he tried to speak. ‘Baby--baby--’ Then he gave up and burst into song. ‘“There's a friend for little children, above the bright blue sky. A friend who never changes, whose love will never die.”’
‘“Our earthly friends may fail us”,’ James sang back at him, ‘“and change with changing years. This friend is always worthy, of that dear name he bears.”’ My brother shrugged his shoulders as I raised my eyebrows. ‘That was Mrs Sherman’s favourite. We had it almost every week in Sunday school.’
‘Are you baby-sitting?’ I asked Clyde. He dipped his head, jaws opening into a wide smile. ‘Good job. That’s exactly the sort of thing a godparent-to-be should be doing.’
‘When are they being christened?’ James asked me. Clyde’s eyespots were fixed on Eiddwen, so I was able to give him a quick shake of the head. ‘And look at that Jago. Isn’t he something?’
The iridescent gryphon had spread his shimmering wings over the snail’s shell and was trumpeting defiance as his siblings tried to unseat him. I walked over to Eiddwen and stretched out a finger. She studied me for a moment, then put down her head so I could scratch her brown feathers. ‘I once saw a video about a baby elephant,’ I told her. ‘He wasn’t able to walk when he was born, and everyone worried about him. But he recovered. So will you.’
The small gryphon pulled her head away. Then slowly, carefully, she pulled herself to her feet. Her hind legs were still unsteady, but she was now standing on her cat’s paws. After a moment, she dropped back down, panting. I smiled at the gleam of triumph in her dark eyes.
James and I withdrew from the room, leaving the eyasses with their guardian. Rothgen was making an attempt to regain her position as I shut the door.
‘What’s that about their baptisms?’ James asked me when we’d returned to the kitchen.
My appetite was suddenly gone. I dumped the remains of my cheese sandwich into the bin. ‘Bishop Aeron sent a rat this morning. She won’t confirm Clyde. I’ve never had an “Over my dead body” delivered in iambic pentameter before.’
‘Did a bishop really say “Over my dead body”?’
I sighed. ‘Of course not. But that’s the gist of it.’
‘Why?’
‘Because, it seems, snail sharks don’t have souls.’
James snorted. ‘I’ve gone off the church.’
‘Again?’ I accepted his empty plate and loaded it into the dishwasher. ‘What’s that, the fourth time this week?’
‘So what do we do now?’
‘Bishop Nigel said he’d confirm Clyde, if Bishop Aeron wouldn’t.’ I poured water into the kettle and turned it on. ‘I’ll have to make sure Clyde can convince the Bishop of his faith commitment. I guess it’ll have to wait until I’m back from Caer-grawnt.’
‘Pen?’ The catch in his voice made me turn around. His face was pale. ‘Should I go with you to Lloegyr? With my heart and all. It’s not like they’ve got emergency rooms and hospitals over there.’
‘If you want to stay here, that’s fine. Peter will be around.’
‘But you and Clyde and the gryphons will be over there.’ Brown hair flopped over his forehead as he shook his head. ‘I’d miss all of you.’
Although it was difficult, I somehow managed to fight off the impulse to give him a hug. ‘Then come with us. You’ll be all right.’
‘I’ll think about it.’
‘James.’ I took a deep breath. ‘What you did--it was very brave.’
‘Yeah.’ His smile was crooked. ‘I just thought, well, I thought the unicorn horn would totally heal me.’
I laid a hand on his arm. ‘Remember what the medical team told you. You’ll still have a long and healthy life.’
‘I guess.’ He pulled away and strode out the door, leaving me to wonder how I could reach through his anxiety.
<><><><><><>
The coffee machine was gurgling and I’d poured hot water into the tea pot. During my curacy, the priest in charge of my training had taught me this trick. ‘Always have the drinks ready, so the couple don’t have to sit in your office for several minutes while you’re in the kitchen.’
The cat flap rattled and Morey landed on the table. ‘A meeting?’
‘Yes. A wedding couple. They’re due any minute.’
He cocked his head. ‘Isn’t Rosie handling all parish matters?’
‘She asked me to see them.’ I pulled out three mugs. ‘Seems they have “unusual requests” and, since I’ll be the one doing the wedding, she thought it best that I handled the initial meeting.’
‘That sounds quite interesting.’ Rain was falling outside, and Morey shook himself, scattering droplets across the room. ‘I’ll join you. I'm certain I can help.’
My heart sank. Morey’s idea of help was usually anything but. ‘Okay. But behave yourself.’
‘Don’t I always?’
‘No,’ I said sternly. ‘You don’t. You try to make me laugh although you know the other humans can’t see you.’
His large eyes were all sparkling innocence. ‘As if I would.’
The doorbell rang. Morey flew to the study as I went to answer t
he door. The couple huddled under the storm porch, coats soaked from the short walk from the drive. Wet apparel was removed, hot drinks provided, and they settled into the two chairs opposite me.
‘The date you want for your wedding is available,’ I told the couple. ‘I know you’ve spoken to Rosie, but she said you have some special requests?’
The young woman, Anna, leaned forward. Her long blonde hair spilled across her arms. ‘Well, you see, we’re really worried about people being comfortable in church. A lot of my friends, well, we believe, of course, but we don't go to church that often.’
‘Every Christmas, though,’ John, her fiancé, added. He looked to be around ten years older, and in need of a shave.
Morey paced across the desk to take a seat on my left. ‘So he’s virtually a regular, really.’
‘We don’t want church to be “uncomfortable” for them.’ Anna raised her hands and twitched her fingers as she said ‘uncomfortable.’
Morey growled. ‘She’s using air quotes. I hate air quotes.’
‘You see, we went to a wedding in a church in London,’ John said. ‘And the vicar just went on and on about Jesus for ages.’
‘I was so bored,’ Anna said. ‘My head, like, literally exploded.’
‘Surely not literally,’ Morey said. ‘Unless she has a very good plastic surgeon.’
‘So we want people to be “comfortable” when they’re in the church,’ Anna continued, again wriggling her fingers.
‘I hate air quotes,’ Morey reminded the universe.
‘It’s not you,’ John reassured me. ‘We loved the carol service.’
‘It’s our friends, who don’t “do” church.’ More finger motions.
Morey rose to his feet. ‘Have I mentioned how much I hate air quotes?’
John grinned. ‘So we came up with a great idea.’
Anna nodded. ‘I mean, we’ll literally have rings and hymns and everything, but this will make it more “inclusive”.’
‘If she uses air quotes one more time,’ Morey told me, ‘I won’t be held responsible for my actions.’
