by Chrys Cymri
All I wanted to do was to lie down and sleep. Muscles I hadn’t even known I had were aching. But then Morey said some words which gave me a welcome sliver of energy. ‘Peas. Potatoes. Beef stew. Some interesting cans here.’
I hobbled over to the shelf. ‘Tesco’s own,’ I marvelled. Then I spotted something orange-yellow in a plastic wrapping. ‘Dried mango!’ My teeth couldn’t tear the packet open fast enough.
Dinner was, in my opinion, very acceptable. Morey picked at the beef, his lashing tail a furry protest. But Clyde backed away from his own bowl. ‘Not meat.’
‘You can’t go hunting out there,’ I told him. ‘You’d freeze.’
‘Not meat,’ Clyde protested, his voice rising higher. ‘Eisiau cig! Want meat!’
A thrumming started on the wooden door. ‘Now you’ve disturbed the lemmings,’ I told him crossly. I picked up an oil lamp and walked to the entrance.
Several hundred eyes met mine as I opened the door. ‘The great leader is fine,’ I told them in Welsh.
‘Eisiau cig,’ Clyde called out from behind me. He was definitely a snail with a one track mind. He wanted meat.
‘Cig, cig, cig,’ the lemmings passed amongst themselves. ‘Cig, cig, cig.’
There was a pause. Then the mass of fur parted. An elderly lemming hobbled into the hut. She stopped at my feet, and bowed her head. ‘Cig yma.’
‘Looks like nothing’s too much for the great leader,’ Morey said. ‘If he wants meat, a lemming will be provided.’
‘We can’t let him eat her,’ I protested, feeling like I’d somehow slipped into an episode of The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy. ‘She’s not a Dish of the Day.’
Clyde had crawled down from the table and was making his way across the floor. I scooped him up before he could reach his target. ‘Arweinydd mawr nid yw eisiau bwyd,’ I lied to the willing victim, since I had no way of knowing how hungry the snail might really be. But if the lemmings thought he didn’t need to eat, they might stay away. With my free hand, I closed the door, and then propped a log against the rough planks.
I placed Clyde back onto the table. As I straightened, he opened his jaws and growled at me. ‘Meat!’
‘In your bowl,’ I said wearily. Last thing I needed was a snail shark tantrum. ‘You’re not going to eat any lemming.’
‘Tuck in, lad,’ Morey told him. ‘We’ll be back home soon enough, and I’ll take you out to hunt some rabbits.’
But Clyde merely slithered to one of the high shelves and retreated into his shell. I decided to take the same tack as when James had gone into sulks. Simply ignore the child until he was ready to resume civilised behaviour.
‘I found one more thing,’ Morey said as I piled up the dirty dishes.
‘A bag of coffee?’ I’d even settle for the powdered variety.
‘No, your other vice.’ He jumped over to the nearby shelf. ‘A bottle of Teacher’s.’
‘It’s a blended whisky.’
Morey cocked his head. ‘Do you care?’
‘At the moment, no. Beggars can’t be choosers.’ And as I sipped golden liquid from a cracked mug, the hut decently warm, a good meal inside my stomach, I felt my spirits rise. Surely tomorrow we’d find Raven alive and well, and he’d give us a ride back to a world of hot baths and soft beds. Just one more push through this wasteland of snow and endless lemmings, and we’d be home.
<><><><><><>
The streak of dried blood by the door, as I turned my torch on the next morning, was the first indication. I swung my feet out of the bed and into my boots. So I was wearing footwear when my first step crunched on something both hard and squishy.
‘Looks like Clyde had his lemming after all,’ Morey commented from the bunk above me.
Bits of fur and bone were scattered across the wooden floor. Clyde was resting on the table, humming quietly to himself. I lit the oil lamps, trying and failing to control my temper. Finally I stood over the snail. ‘I said, no lemming.’
The colour pulsing through Clyde’s body shifted from green-blue to orange-red. ‘Meat. Mine.’ And he bared his shark teeth.
‘Enough, Clyde,’ I said forcefully. ‘If we were home, I’d confine you to your tank.’
The only response was a growl. Then the snail slipped from the table to take refuge on a high shelf.
I drew on my fur and collected snow from outside. There was no sign of the lemmings, but I was certain that they must be somewhere nearby. After I’d made the fire, I heated up enough water for both of our bottles and to make an effort at scrubbing the floor clean.
Morey landed near me and helpfully picked up the larger pieces of flesh. ‘What am I to do with him?’ I asked the gryphon quietly. ‘He’s never acted like this before.’
‘It’s always tough when a kid hits teenage years,’ Morey replied. ‘All that rebellion.’
‘You’re not a parent.’
‘Not yet.’ He threw a particularly grisly bit of leg through the partially open door. ‘But you have been, in effect. How did you cope when James went through adolescence?’
‘Badly,’ I admitted. ‘That’s when I missed our parents the most. Alan was very good with him, though.’
The hut was finally decent again. Morey ate his fried spam without complaint, and I finished off the last of the dried fruit. Then, pots scrubbed with snow and the fire doused, we prepared to leave. I tried a piece of rope around my middle and pulled out part of the coat to make a pouch in which Clyde could rest. Morey took his place on my shoulder, and we went outside.
Just one more push, I reminded myself as the lemmings emerged. Find Raven, and go home. All would be fine once he saw me. Wouldn’t it?
Chapter Ten
Our departure was delayed by the lemmings demanding to see the arweinydd mawr. Clyde obliged by poking his head out of my coat and giving a wave with his tentacles. With a quick flick of his eyespots towards me, the snail told them, ‘Draig.’
‘Draig, draig, draig,’ they agreed enthusiastically.
‘Don’t think that gets you off the hook for the dead lemming,’ I told Clyde.
‘You have to admire his skill, though,’ Morey said. ‘He managed to eat it without waking either of us.’
Clyde flushed pink. I sighed. ‘Don’t encourage him.’ And then I pushed the snail down inside the fur.
Fresh snow had fallen overnight, adding an inch of powder onto the older accumulation. I pressed on with my snowshoes, promising myself that this would be the last day of Arctic travel. Home tonight. I clung to the thought. Home tonight.
The lemmings spread out on either side of us. Morey flew ahead just the once, confirming that we were heading in the correct direction. ‘I don’t think Raven saw me,’ he said upon landing. ‘But it seems best not to try again, in case he does and takes off.’
‘You’re sure it’s him?’
‘Yes.’ There was a moment’s hesitation, and then he added, ‘He doesn’t look very well.’
I nearly tripped over my snowshoes. ‘Not well? Was he even moving?’
‘The snow’s melting off his back,’ Morey quickly reassured me, ‘so he’s not dead. I’m just trying to warn you that he’s not looking--like he usually looks.’
We trudged for an hour in silence. I focussed on thoughts of Talisker and soap. And maybe I’d treat myself to a takeaway. Peter might want to join me. No doubt he’d be interested in my Arctic interlude, although he’d also be annoyed at the risk I’d taken coming here. But there was no way to tell about this trip without mentioning Raven.
The lemmings led me up a hill. Fresh energy flowed to my legs as I saw a mound of green halfway up the slope. I ignored the cold wind, the ache in my back, even Clyde’s sudden shift inside my coat. The sooner we got this over with, the sooner I could be home and warm.
My pace slowed as I drew nearer. The dragon was definitely Raven. I’d recognise his snout anywhere, and the scars on his right foreleg from where Clyde’s mother had attacked him. But he was a pale green, with l
ittle trace of the black which normally iridesced across his scales. Although he’d always been a lean dragon, his ribs were sharp ridges under his thin hide. Even his golden claws looked dulled, and several were broken.
For a moment, I feared that he was dead. Then I saw his red-lined nostrils flutter as he drew in a shallow breath. By now I was close enough that he should have scented me, but the long head remained stretched out across the ground.
The lemmings suddenly scattered. Their little bodies raced away, left and right, only regrouping when they were several hundred yards away from the dragon. I crunched closer, counting down the distance in my head. Two hundred feet. One hundred. Fifty. Twenty. Ten.
A shudder went through Raven’s body, shaking off the remnants of melting snow. He opened his eyes without lifting his head. The pupil shrank inside the blue-green irises, making me wonder how long it had been since he had last taken a look at the world around him.
I cleared my throat. ‘Hello, Raven.’
‘You.’ His voice was flat.
‘Yes, it’s me.’ I spread out my gloved hands. ‘Anyway, I’m here. So, come on, time to leave this place.’
‘Why?’
‘You need to go somewhere warm,’ I said. ‘And you need to eat.’
‘Why?’
‘Oh, come off it,’ I snapped. My nose was beginning to freeze. ‘You’ve sulked long enough. Time to go home.’
‘Taking the pastoral approach, I see,’ Morey whispered into my ear.
‘I have no home,’ Raven said.
‘You can make a new tent,’ I pointed out, ‘and build a new workshop.’
‘You’ve been to the settlement?’ A forefoot shifted. ‘Tyra sent you here.’
‘Actually, your mother. Seems she wants to eat you.’
‘That is her right.’
‘But that doesn’t make it right,’ I retorted. ‘Look, I didn’t come all this way just to let her know where to find your body.’
‘Then why did you come?’
‘To make sure you don’t kill yourself.’
‘And that matters to you?’
I drew myself up straight. ‘I’m here, aren’t I?’
He raised his snout from the ground. Whispers rippled through the lemmings, but I ignored them and kept my focus on Raven. ‘Oh, yes. Presence is all that is required.’
Again his tone was impossible to read. ‘Then are you ready to leave this place?’
‘I burnt my home and all my possessions. I have no gold to use to replace them.’
Morey shifted on my shoulder. ‘Hrafn Eydisson, I will soon be embarking upon a quest to prove myself worthy of marriage to another gryphon. My clan will need search dragons to cut our distance to the challenge grounds. I’ll give your name to the Matriarch of Cornovi, and suggest that she hire your services. That’ll enable you to rebuild your home and your life.’
Somehow I managed to restrain myself from hugging the gryphon. Raven cocked his head. ‘How much?’
‘My clan is wealthy,’ Morey said easily. ‘My matriarch will offer you a fair rate.’
The dragon hauled himself to his feet. I managed to keep my face calm, although the gauntness of his body made my chest constrict. ‘Done, Trahaearneifion. Send me a rat at my mother’s longhouse.’
I stared at him, shocked that he would even consider going back to the place. Then, as he unfurled his wings, I said quickly, ‘Could you first give us a lift?’
‘The dragon needs to hunt,’ Morey said, ‘before he takes on passengers.’
‘I’m not sure I can go through another two days of this,’ I told him. ‘Not far, Raven. Just to the small boat at the start of the valley.’
‘I can do that,’ the dragon agreed. Exhaustion was obvious in his voice, and I steeled myself against a pang of guilt.
Morey fluttered off to land behind one of Raven’s triangular neck spines. I carefully transferred Clyde to my backpack and attached the snowshoes to the straps. Then I climbed up to slide into my usual place on Raven’s back.
The take off was slow and ponderous. Raven angled down the more sheltered side of the hill, where the snow was thinner, but there was still enough to slow his attempts to build up speed. When we were finally in the air, I could feel him labouring to gain altitude. We flew so close to the ground that his wing tips nearly hit the surface at every down stroke.
I regretted my fear of another two days in the Arctic. I regretted every chocolate I’d eaten. I regretted every gym booking I’d missed. And above all, selfish as it was, I regretted ever seeing Raven in this condition.
Raven swung to the left, evidently deciding to take a short cut over a nearby ridge. I felt my throat close, wondering if he’d have the strength to lift us over the top. Maybe I should say something. But what could I say?
Movement along the ridge caught my attention. Lemmings flowed up the steep sides, short legs scrabbling at rock and snow. As Raven increased the power to his wings, taking us higher, the lemmings crested the top. Hundreds of heads lifted to watch us soar above them. Then the mass started to move again.
My hands slipped on Raven’s spine as I twisted around, fearful at what the rodents might do next. They were running towards the edge, heedless of the steep fall in front of them. ‘See!’ I shouted at Morey. ‘I knew it! They’re going to throw themselves off the cliff!’
The first dozen ran out into space. I watched as their grey-white bodies fell towards the valley below. Would the snow be deep enough to break their falls? The sound of yesterday’s dying lemmings was all too clear a memory.
Then something unravelled from their coats. Cold air whistled down my throat, and I quickly shut my mouth. Gossamer wings, thin and translucent, stretched out from the lemmings’ shoulders. There were two on each side, shaped like those on a dragonfly. The wings thrummed as the lemmings hurried to catch up with us.
Raven snorted as the small bodies bumped and jostled just beyond his wing tips. Several dozen peeled off, and formed an inverted ‘V’ shape just beyond his nose.
Morey leaned forward. ‘They’re giving him a bit of a slip stream. That’ll help.’
‘They’re more intelligent than they look,’ I commented.
‘It takes a lot of intelligence to fly.’
We were nearing the water. To my relief, the small boat was bobbing gently alongside the small pier. I could see Auiak shivering as a man on the deck, doing some work near the bow. For a moment I thought I saw a second form standing near the entrance to the lounge. Then I blinked, and saw it no longer.
Raven turned, bending his wings to send us into a slow spiral. Only when his feet crunched onto the shore did I release the breath I’d been holding. I waited a moment, trying to pretend that this had been a flight just like the many others I’d enjoyed on his back.
Hundreds of lemmings were still soaring above us. I slipped from Raven’s neck, and opened the backpack. ‘You need to tell them to go home,’ I told Clyde as I lifted him free.
His body pulsed red-orange. ‘Like lemming.’
‘Yes, I’m certain you do,’ I said. ‘But we can’t take them with us. Where would we keep them? Besides, you already have plenty of options in the back garden.’
‘No more birds.’
The blackbirds of the neighbourhood would rejoice to hear it. ‘I’ll look into getting some rabbits.’
Clyde reared up on my glove. ‘Mynd adref!’ he shouted up at his admirers. ‘Bendithia chi!’
‘Giving blessings,’ I reminded him, ‘is my job, not yours.’
The lemmings hovered for a moment, their small bodies blocking out the weak sun. Then they lifted into the air, rising as effortlessly as mini helicopters. I slid Clyde back into the warmth of my coat. Morey took up his usual place on my shoulder.
Raven stood where he had landed, his nose nearly touching the ground as he breathed heavily. ‘Will your mother look after you?’ I asked.
‘A search dragon can be a useful family asset.’
‘I mean, wh
ile you’re weak, will she...?’
‘I am still strong enough to defend myself.’ And his snort was more like the Raven I knew.
Words struggled in my throat. ‘Well, I mean, take care.’
The large head lifted, and swung towards me. For a moment I saw myself reflected in the green-blue eyes. ‘Certainly, knifebearer.’
I flushed at the term. But he was already running along the shore, kicking up ice and gravel as he gained speed to take off. Within a few wing beats, he found a thin place, and disappeared from sight.
<><><><><><>
Auiak welcomed us back on board with mugs of tea and a grunt. His nose twitched as I placed Clyde onto the table, but he merely went down to the galley and returned with a bowl of tea for the snail. I felt the hot drink and the warmth of the lounge drive away the Arctic chill.
‘Settlement here,’ he said, pointing to a mark on the map. ‘Can send a rat to dragon. Tomorrow morning.’
I winced. As I thawed out, I could smell just how badly I needed a shower. ‘Great. And thanks for the tea.’
Another grunt. Auiak hauled himself from the bench and went outside.
Morey had curled around his mug, warming his belly against the sides. I cleared my throat. ‘Thanks for giving Raven a job.’
‘Don’t thank me too soon,’ Morey said. ‘That he accepted the offer shows how desperate he really is.’
‘It was still kind of you.’
Clyde finished his tea and burped loudly. Morey glared at me. ‘And the snail sleeps in your bunk.’
‘You have more room in yours,’ I protested.
‘And there’s farther to fall from mine.’
So I ended up, after a fish supper, trying to find a sensible way to share a bed with a snail shark. In the end, Clyde settled at my feet, and I could only hope that he didn’t sleep walk. The idea of a snail crawling across my face in the night kept me awake far longer than I would have liked.
