by Chrys Cymri
The service again featured a snail choir intoning the psalm and the canticles. ‘I’m amazed how much Welsh they seem to know,’ I whispered to Cornelius at one point.
‘The Nation likes their citizens to know Welsh,’ the mantis replied. ‘Helps them understand other beings. Welsh is easier for them to say than English. And it’s easier for them to sing than speak.’
‘I’ve noticed.’
The service ended, but the snails remained in place. To my surprise, more snails slid into the cavern. I retreated to one side, and found that I was pressed against the wall as every available space was filled.
Tamar waited until most of the snails’ bodies had stilled to grey. Then she began to speak, the colours swirling bright and fast. Cornelius, who had hopped onto the shell of the snail beside me, began to translate. ‘For many seasons, we’ve been attacked time and again by the Nation. Their Eternal Leaders tortured us when we were still in their caverns, and they can’t bear to let us live in peace. We know that they will come after us again.’
Colour spread through the crowd. Tamar barked out a noise, and they calmed themselves. ‘We’ve always failed in our attempts to kill the Great Leader. But now we have new hope. As the holy words tell us, “He hath put down the mighty from their seat, and hath exalted the humble and meek.”’
‘The Magnificat,’ Morey said. ‘Always dangerous in the wrong hands.’
‘We now have with us someone who pulled down the mighty. She killed the Noble Leader. An Eternal Leader can be killed!’
The snails swayed, jaws opening and closing, reds and purples twisting through their tentacles. Morey’s tail slapped against my back. ‘A real rabble rouser.’
‘Literally,’ I replied. And I was tempted to add air quotes just to really annoy him.
‘We’re ready,’ Tamar continued, Cornelius translating over our exchange. ‘The next time the Nation comes against us, we are ready. The sacrifice will be great, but we’ll win security for our pups. And the Great Leader will die!’
‘It’s a rally,’ I said to Morey, appalled. ‘How can this, in any way, be Christian?’
Morey sniffed. ‘I asked myself the same question when I read about the Crusades.’
‘Jesus is Lord.’ Tamar rose up on her foot, cracking her belly open to expose her teeth. ‘Not the Eternal Leaders, not the Great Leader. Jesus is Lord!’
‘In hoc signo vinces,’ Morey said.
‘The vision of Constantine,’ I whispered. ‘Conquering his enemies under the sign of the cross. The sign of sacrifice being used to slaughter others. They’re using Jesus’ name in the same way.’
‘It was the chi-rho, strictly speaking, not a cross.’ The gryphon sighed. ‘They need someone to explain the scriptures to them. Someone to teach them. They need a priest.’
‘Can you see your bishop sending a priest to rabble of snail sharks?’
‘No. I can’t.’ He rubbed his head against my cheek. ‘But we’re here. We’ll have to try.’
The meeting ended. I pressed myself against the wall as the snails left the cavern. Then, after Tamar had led us back to the entrance cave, I walked past the sleeping dragon and let myself outside. I needed to visit a bush, but even more than that, I needed some fresh air and time to think.
The sky was bright and clear. I drank in the sunshine as I made my way over to a small tor. One rock was just the right height, and I took a seat on the warm surface. The woodsy smell of heather was a pleasant change from the smoky scent left by the cavern’s torches.
Caer-grawnt had expected me to return last night. I chewed my lip, trying to remember what I had in my diary. An afternoon meeting? I had a vague recollection of writing something down.
Then I sighed. Worrying over my diary was as much as a coping mechanism as James’ sense of humour. When all else fails, turn to prayer. Hi God, it’s me. Somehow, you’ve managed to reach snail sharks with the Gospel. Okay, respect. But how have they picked up this idea that they’re supposed to conquer in your name?
A were-rabbit hopped past in animal form. The long ears twitched at me, and I smiled in return. ‘Don’t mind me. Just taking some time to think.’
Am I supposed to be some kind of teacher to them? I asked. There’s so much they don’t seem to know. But, quite frankly, right now all I want to do is get away. I don’t want my body added to a cross.
The image of the snail bodies spread across the moor swam through my head. That they’d been lined up in a way which mocked the sacrifice of Jesus felt even more diabolical now that I’d met Tamar and her Community.
But Clyde’s not evil, I reminded God. He’s saved my life more than once. He loves us, his family. I know that power corrupts, and all that, but surely he won’t let his head be turned by all that Great Leader worship? Or a large cavern with a comfy bed and food on tap?
Then I remembered how Clyde had flushed bright pink as snails sung out his praises. The very snail who had been denied a blessing from a cathedral dean was now the subject of fervent adoration. Could anyone resist such a turnaround in fortune?
A rabbit hopped up to me, and shifted into human form. ‘Dewch i mewn. Mae leming wedi dod â neges.’
A lemming had come with a message? I pushed myself off my rock and walked back down to the cavern. My stomach was rumbling, and my wristwatch told me it was nearly noon. I’d been outside much longer than I’d thought.
The camouflage had been pulled back, allowing natural light into the cavern. Raven was awake, and seated on the far right. I frowned at the red still lining his eyes, and nearly said something. Then I saw the snails standing near Peter, and I swallowed hard. The numbers had always been painted on the flat side of their shells, and these remained. But something new had been added to the spiral side. The double crescent symbol of the Great Leader’s wings spread across the curves, the white startlingly bright against the dark surfaces. And a red line slashed left to right through the mark.
Peter straightened. A makeshift brush, dried grasses dripping paint, rested in his hand. ‘They thought the numbers showed that they were rebels, and I had to explain to them that, actually, the numbers didn’t mean anything. So they wanted a new symbol, and this is what they came up with. What do you think?’
Tamar slid past the newly painted snails. Cornelius, perched on a stool, watched and then translated, ‘Wings give the Great Leader his right to rule. We fight against his mark and his rule.’
I was appalled. ‘Peter!’
‘It was either this or a cross,’ he replied. ‘I thought this was better.’
‘I don’t like either,’ I said. ‘Symbols just create insiders and outsiders.’ I turned to Tamar and composed my Welsh. ‘You’ve been brought a message?’
Cornelius’ voice trembled slightly as he translated. ‘The Nation is mobilising its army. The Great Leader will avenge the death of the Noble Leader.’
Peter waved the paintbrush in our direction. ‘Just like I said. This’ll be the story they tell their followers. The heroic Great Leader conquered the rebels who dared to kill his mother.’
‘How long do we have?’ I asked, then remembered to speak in Welsh. ‘Ydych chi'n gwybod pa mor hir sydd gennym?
Tamar pulsed red and brown. ‘We believe they plan to attack us tomorrow.’
I picked up a bowl of water and drained it dry. ‘Then you need to leave here.’
‘We won’t abandon our children.’
‘Then what’s the alternative?’ I asked desperately, hoping my Welsh would be good enough to convince her. ‘How many are you? A couple of hundred snails? The Nation has over two thousand mature snails. You can’t fight them.’
‘We’d hoped that the dragon would help us.’ Cornelius added a wistful note to his translation.
Raven slowly moved his head. ‘She asked. I said no. I have no skin in this fight.’ Then his gaze came to me. ‘And I consider Clyde to be a friend.’
It suddenly occurred to me that I had no idea how to hug a dragon. So I forced myself
to stay in place and merely give Raven a quick smile.
‘So we have another plan,’ Tamar said.
Peter dropped the brush into the paint bowl and rose to his feet. ‘Tamar showed me, when she took me to the cave where they make the paint. The were-rabbits have been working on a snail poison. The weres will apply a glob of poison on the top of the rebels’ shells. It’ll kill any snail which touches it.’
Morey commented, ‘So it needs a very precise application, otherwise the carrier would die first.’
‘Which is why I’m going to help them.’
I stared at Peter. ‘You are?’
‘They need all the help they can get.’ Peter pointed at Tamar’s damaged shell. ‘And, as a priest, you should understand all about atonement.’
‘There’s going to be a slaughter,’ James said. ‘I mean, if the poison’s on top of the shell, the only way the other snail’s going to be exposed is if he’s already attacked. Both sides are going to lose.’
Cornelius had been quietly translating our conversation for Tamar. ‘She says that their target will be the Great Leader. Soldiers dying all around him will cause chaos on the battlefield, and members of the Community will find him with their jaws. Once he’s dead, the pups and eggs will be safe.’
‘But it doesn’t work that way,’ I said in despair. Then I switched back into Welsh. ‘Nid yw'n gweithio felly. You don’t change a regime by cutting off its head. Human history has shown that time and again.’
‘I don’t think they’re particularly interested in human history,’ Morey said. ‘Looks like they’re fixated on this course of action.’
‘Please,’ I pleaded. ‘Don’t do this. Find another way. Listen, let me tell you what Jesus said. He talked about peace--’
Tamar barked a command at the other snails. They turned and slid from the cavern. I stared at their departing backs, my fingers curling into my hands. ‘Peter,’ I said, turning to him. ‘Please don’t help them do this.’
He turned his head, avoiding my eyes. ‘They’ve also caused death and destruction, Penny. I know that. But I owe them. I need to help.’
‘Then there’s only one way to stop this,’ I told my companions. ‘I have to speak to Clyde.’
The protests were loud, numerous, and human. I ignored Peter and James and looked down at Morey. His feathers were relaxed as he met my gaze and asked me, ‘What appeal will you make to him?’
‘He’s a Christian.’
‘So are these snails.’ His wings lifted in the gryphon equivalent of a shrug. ‘Doesn’t seem to put them off mass murder and suicide.’
‘He’ll listen to me.’ I found that I was twisting hair in my hand, a habit I thought I’d broken years ago. ‘And I have to try. We can’t let this happen.’
‘Seems we can’t stop it from happening,’ Peter said. ‘And since we can’t get out of here...?’
Raven met his gaze. ‘I tried earlier. I might be able to fly on my own, but my balance still feels all wrong. If I took on passengers, we might end up crashing into a tor.’
Peter nodded. ‘Then I’d better get to work. Lots of shells to paint.’
‘But this is Clyde we’re talking about.’ I stopped, determined to remove the whine from my voice. ‘He’s family.’
‘He’s the ruler of an oppressive regime,’ Peter said. ‘These snails know what they’re fighting. Why are you defending him?’
‘Because he’s better than all this.’ I took a deep breath. ‘I know Clyde. He wouldn’t want this sort of slaughter.’
Peter came over and laid an arm across my shoulders. ‘You care for him. I realise that. But I’ve seen what power does to people. It changes them, and then they can’t imagine living without it.’
I stepped away. Food items rested on the table. I filled up my water bottle, picked up a couple of apples and what looked like a large oatcake, and slipped the supplies into my coat pockets. ‘I’ll be back here. With Clyde. And then we’ll stop this war.’
‘Raven,’ Peter said, ‘would you please block the exit?’
The dragon snorted. ‘I honour Penny’s decisions. Why don’t you show the same respect?’
‘Even if that decision might cost her life?’
‘It’s her life,’ Raven said. ‘It’s her right to determine what risks she takes with it.’
And so I strode out of the cavern and into the bright sunlight. Footsteps made me turn around, and into my brother’s embrace. ‘Just look after yourself,’ he said into my hair. ‘And make sure Clyde’s okay. I love that guy too, you know.’
He released me, only for a gryphon to land on my shoulder. ‘Where you go, I go,’ Morey said gruffly.
‘No.’ I lifted him off and put him into James’ arms. ‘You’re a father. You need to stay safe for your wife and family.’
Morey snorted. ‘Really, Black. Is that the best you can come up with?’
‘I think Clyde might listen better if it’s just me,’ I said. ‘You just get everyone home safely. And look after Raven. He’s really not well.’
‘You’ll need someone to get you to the Great Leader.’ Cornelius stood at my feet. ‘That’s me. I can get you past the guards.’
I winced, but the mantis was right. He paced at my side as I set off. ‘I thought you’d want to stay here, with the winning side.’
‘Well, ma’am, theirs would have been the winning side, if the dragon had been willing to co-operate,’ Cornelius said. ‘His turning them down caught me by surprise.’
‘What ever made you think he’d help the Community?’
‘Why, you, of course. I reckoned you’d join yourself to the Community, and the dragon would’ve followed.’
‘You obviously don’t know him very well.’
‘I know him better than you.’ I stopped, one foot on a rock, to glance down at the mantis. His forelegs were open, giving him more purchase on the uneven ground. ‘Don’t you forget, darling, I don’t need words to understand someone. You might be getting hitched to Peter, but the dragon’s the one who loves you.’
‘Peter loves me.’
‘Indeedy, but not in the way you want.’
What did an insect know about human relationships? I decided to concentrate on my footing. Sunshine might have dried out some of the wetter parts, but the mounds of grass and moss-covered stones still made grabs at my boots. My legs, which had recovered somewhat during our rest, were beginning to wake up to the fact that I was yet again on a long walk. Early twinges of protest started to spread along my calf muscles.
After an hour’s trek, I found a rock and sat down for a breather and a swallow of water. The sun was slipping down the sky, but we had plenty of daylight left. I was certain that we’d passed the tor up ahead not long after our escape from the Nation’s caves. Gorse bushes spread yellow flowers around the lower rocks. ‘We should discuss what we’re going to do, when the snails have spotted us coming.’
‘The lemmings have already spotted us. I reckon the guards will be here faster than green grass through a goose.’
I nearly choked on my bite of apple. ‘Then a plan, sooner rather than later.’
‘That’s easy. I tell them I found you, and I’ve brought you back here.’
The apple core was rotten. I threw it under a bush. ‘You think they’ll fall for that? It’s one of the oldest tricks in the book.’
‘You expect snail sharks to read books?’ The mantis clicked his forelegs. ‘I’ll get us in. And you’ll get your meeting with the Great Leader. If both sides die, then there’s nothing left for me.’
‘Yes, yes, I know. The insects here are no bigger than a minnow in a fishing pond, and the winters are cold enough to freeze the wings off a bee.’ I rose to my feet. ‘Okay, let’s go get ourselves arrested.’
We circled around the tor. I stared up at the rocks piled upon rocks, wondering if one ever fell down. The grass was thinner around the base, and I lengthened my strides. My heart was beginning to pound from more than exertion, and I just wanted t
o be captured before I could change my mind.
Large snails slithered out from behind the rocks and blocked our path. Their shells bore the wing marks of soldiers. I straightened, looked them in the eyespots, and said, ‘Take me to your leader.’
Chapter Twenty-Five
The next couple of hours crawled by. We were passed from snail to snail, first outside, then inside the caverns. Time and again Cornelius explained that he’d been sent to find me, and that the Great Leader wanted to see me immediately. I was reminded of those tedious Doctor Who scenes in which the Doctor had struggled to establish his credentials. No wonder Russell T Davies had created psychic paper when he’d revived the series. I needed something equivalent that I could just wave at the soldiers so they’d allow me to see Clyde.
Finally, after Cornelius had turned his charms on one particularly massive snail, we were given an escort and taken through another set of passageways. ‘Your job now,’ the mantis said as he paced behind the snail. ‘I’m only here to translate.’
We entered the Great Leader’s cavern. Under the watchful eyes of our snail guard, I bowed to the images of the Eternal Leaders. Jesus is Lord, I reminded myself as I straightened. And I sent a quick prayer his way. Help!
Clyde was resting on the platform. I took a step into the room, my boots sinking into the soft grasses. The snail’s shell had been scrubbed clean. The only colour around the dark grey was a thick line of red. The same mark as his mother had carried.
I walked over to the bed. Then I lowered myself to the ground. The moss was damp, and I winced as I felt moisture seep into my trousers. ‘Hi, Clyde. I’m back.’
The snail studied me, his body remaining resolutely grey. ‘He’s not that happy that y’all left,’ Cornelius said.
‘We thought we were meeting with you. It was a trick.’ I decided it was best not to mention exactly who had lied to us. ‘Clyde, is it true? Is the Nation planning to attack the rebels?’
Dark colours pulsed through his body. Cornelius translated, ‘The rebels tried to kill me. They deserve to die.’
‘The Nation has attacked them as well,’ I pointed out. ‘Your people attack them, they strike back, and it never ends. Violence is never the answer, Clyde. Remember that Doctor Who episode I showed you? And what we talked about afterwards? How Jesus went to his cross to show a better way, a peaceful way to live?’
