by Chrys Cymri
Peter and I explored a couple of the pubs. Some of the patrons had recognised at least one of us, but mostly we were left alone to sip our rather bitter porters. Our days off didn’t coincide, so I spent Friday taking a long walk through the nearby fields in warm spring sunshine. Clyde joined me, zipping through long grass and occasionally zooming off to catch a small rodent.
And on Sunday, I presided for the first time in Lloegyr. The style was a bit more formal than I was used to, with a full altar party. My sermon, a tried and tested one about using Lent to give something up so that God could offer us himself, went down well. I felt at home behind the altar, only stumbling once over the old fashioned language of the Book of Common Prayer. It had been a long time since I’d had to say ‘thee’ and ‘thou’ in a service. I placed the bread into hands, paws, and beaks, and several assistants offered wine in goblets and buckets.
The only sour point came afterwards, when I was drinking a cup of tea and chatting with the verger. ‘Rector,’ a voice said sternly at my elbow. I smiled an apology at the unicorn, and looked down at a were-fox. ‘This simply will not do.’
Clyde was at her side. The colours sliding across his body were shifting too quickly to read, but the amount of red and yellow indicated that he was annoyed. ‘He didn’t enjoy Sunday school?’
‘He chewed the pens, dumped the glitter all over the hall, and chased the foals,’ she snapped. ‘And he kept insisting that he wanted Jesus.’
‘Is that a bad thing?’
‘It is when I’m trying to make the children focus on the Good Samaritan.’
‘Glitter,’ Clyde muttered, sounding disgusted.
‘And a snail shark doesn’t belong in Sunday school anyway,’ she continued. ‘I’m surprised to find you would even associate with one. Now, excuse me while I apologise to the parents.’
I put down my hand, and Clyde slid onto my palm. His colours had greyed. ‘Want Jesus.’
Morey landed onto a nearby pew. ‘Did you hear?’ I demanded.
‘Very intriguing.’ I glared at him, and he lifted his wings in a shrug. ‘That someone can teach about the Good Samaritan and yet despise our equivalent.’
I rubbed Clyde’s shell. ‘Maybe it’s time you were confirmed.’ Morey’s ears pulled back. ‘What’s the matter? Couldn’t we arrange for Bishop Aeron to do the honours?’
‘She might not be so willing,’ Morey said slowly. ‘Some theologians argue that snail sharks don’t have souls.’
My mother’s training forced me to swallow the first words which came to mind. ‘I beg your pardon?’
‘Of course, it’s not an opinion which I share. But Bishop Aeron might not want to upset the more conservative elements in the church.’
‘Okay, then I’ll ask Bishop Nigel. He’d be glad to do it.’
‘But that wouldn’t be accepted over here.’ Morey leapt onto my shoulder and peered down at Clyde. ‘Sorry, kid. You’ll have to wait a bit longer before you can receive Communion.’
‘No Jesus,’ Clyde said sadly.
‘We’ll find a way,’ I told him. ‘If not here in Lloegyr, then when we’re back in England. I promise.’
<><><><><><>
I concentrated on writing my sermon on Monday, keeping a careful eye on the battery level of my Macbook. After a couple of afternoon visits, I had an early night with the hope of being well rested for whatever Tuesday might bring.
But sleep was hard to come by. Temperatures had dropped below freezing, and the only heating in the house was the fireplace in the lounge. I burrowed under multiple blankets, wearing two pairs of pyjamas at once, but my nose was cold and my feet tingled even in three pairs of socks. Never again would I take central heating for granted.
The alarm woke me in the dullness of pre dawn. I dressed under the covers, and shivered my way down to the kitchen. Hot coffee restored some feeling to my fingers. Morey wrapped his stomach around his mug. ‘You too?’ I asked him.
‘I hate the cold.’ He took a deep gulp of coffee. ‘In future, Black, could you ask about the heating in the accommodation before you commit us to a parish?’
‘Don’t worry, I will.’
James stumbled in as I boiled water for more coffee. ‘Sis, next time you think of going to a new church--’
‘Central heating,’ I said wearily. ‘Got it.’
Clyde, at least, looked cheerful. I’d put his sleep box in the lounge, which meant he’d enjoyed more warmth than the rest of the household. I lifted him free from his blankets. ‘Ready for our next gryphon challenge?’
‘Ready!’
The snail seemed to be going through another growth spurt. Clyde barely fit into his padded case. I buttoned up my coat and nodded at the other members of my household.
The nearby fields and trees were covered with a layer of frost. Sun was just beginning to break through a low lying fog. Peter was picking his way carefully up the road, his boots grating against ice. ‘Lovely morning,’ he greeted us, his breath puffing into the cold air.
‘For penguins,’ James muttered.
‘The house was freezing overnight,’ I told Peter.
‘Really? What about the upstairs fireplaces?’
‘What upstairs fireplaces?’
‘My house has them in every room.’ He grinned. ‘Next time it turns cold, you’ll just have to come and stay with me.’
‘We will,’ Morey said, with an emphasis on the pronoun.
James looked longingly down the hill. ‘I don’t suppose there’s enough time for me to visit the bath house? Just to warm up.’
‘Nope.’ I pointed at the two dragon bodies, glinting green and orange above us. ‘Our rides are here.’
Raven and Margh hovered over the field, conversing quickly in Welsh. Yellow flames sped from their jaws, melting the frost and charring the grass underneath. They landed on the cleared area. As I trudged across the mixture of ice and mud, I could only hope that whoever owned the field wouldn’t raise a complaint.
As I came close, Raven swung his head between me and his side. ‘You ride on Margh.’
I stared up at him. ‘Why?’
‘We’re all going to same place,’ Peter said to me. ‘Does it matter who rides whom?’
And there was no good answer to that. Mud collected on my boots as I angled around green-black dragon to the orange-red one beyond. I climbed up into the saddle, and leaned forward so Morey could land behind me. The two men made themselves comfortable on Raven. Then the dragons leapt into the sky.
Our third slip through a thin place took us into bright sunshine. Both dragons levelled off and we coasted for a few minutes. I could only assume that they found the warmth as welcome as we did.
All too soon, Raven led us through a number of aerial crossings. I lost track which was Daear and which was Earth after several switches over open ocean. When we emerged over a closely knit tree canopy, I saw the familiar tents pitched at the edge of the forest, and I knew we’d arrived.
A thin layer of white cloud covered the sky, but the air was warm. My nose began to run, which was annoying as my tissues were buried under several layers of clothing. I sniffled as the dragons circled over the gryphon encampment.
There was very little room between the tents and the forest. Both dragons went into tight spirals, then dropped the last dozen feet. I felt my stomach lurch, and swallowed hard against a reminder of my breakfast. Margh lowered himself to the ground, and I slid off. And immediately dug through to my trouser pocket to retrieve a tissue.
‘We’re late,’ Morey said, still on the saddle. ‘My grandmother’s waiting for us. Let’s go.’
He flew away, followed by Peter and James. I refused to move until I had my nose under control. After a good blow, I looked around in vain for some environmentally acceptable way to dispose of the tissue. Margh had moved off. Raven, however, still stood nearby, head cocked. His feet shuffled against the bare ground. ‘Did the tacsi dragon not fly well?’
‘I beg your pardon?’ I glanced down
at the wadded paper in my hand. ‘Oh, did you think I was upset?’
‘Weren’t you?’
‘Or,’ I demanded, ‘did you want me to be upset?’
His large head lifted away from me. ‘Maybe.’
‘Why?’
‘You no longer carry the knife I gave you.’ And still Raven looked off into the distance, refusing to meet my eyes. ‘You could at least have returned it to me. Or was it easier just to say nothing?’
‘Black!’ Morey called out. ‘We’re waiting for you!’
‘It’s complicated,’ I told Raven hurriedly.
‘Not to me.’ And then mud splattered across my chest as he leapt away.
I curled my fingers against the frustration churning through my chest. Then I strode over to the others, joining the semi-circle they had made in front of the matriarch.
‘Father Penny, good of you to join us,’ Ercwiff said.
‘Good to be here, Matriarch.’ I opened the case and placed Clyde on the ground next to Morey.
‘You impressed us in the first challenge, the one of strength.’ The large gryphon arched her neck. ‘But now we’ll see if Trahaearneifion has chosen his grŵp rhyfelwyr wisely. Now will follow the trial of courage.’
‘You would’ve thought facing a T-rex showed that,’ James muttered in my ear.
Ercwiff’s long ears rose. ‘There are many types of courage. The inner battles are always more difficult than the outer. We’ll see how well you face this challenge together.’
‘Is it me,’ James murmured, ‘or is she starting to sound like Yoda?’
I was torn between wanting to affirm this exploration of his inner geek, and the need to maintain decorum in front of Morey’s grandmother. ‘We won’t fail Morey, Matriarch.’
Peter nodded. ‘What are we supposed to do?’
‘Walk through the forest.’ Her beak pointed over our heads.
We all turned to look at the trees behind us. They looked like photos I’d seen of Californian redwoods. Tall brown trunks stretched hundreds of feet upwards. No plants grew near the roots. There was just damp soil, with a scattering of fallen leaves.
‘How far does the forest stretch?’ Peter asked.
‘The path is four miles long, although the forest is only two miles deep.’ Her cheek feathers puffed out in a smile. ‘I suggest you keep to the path.’
‘To the path, I suggest you keep,’ James said under his breath.
‘Your advice we will heed,’ I found myself saying, much to my annoyance. ‘Thank you, Matriarch. Any other advice?’
‘You will only find what you take in with you.’
‘See?’ James grinned at me. ‘Told you. Yoda.’
Peter sighed. ‘That’s enough, padawan.’
Morey led us the short distance to the start of the path. We humans shed coats and fleeces, leaving them at the base of the first tree in the hope that we’d be brought back to them later. Moisture was rising from the ground as the unseen sun rose higher into the sky. I felt as if I’d gone from a freezer to a sauna.
Morey and Clyde led the way into the forest. The canopy above us blocked most of the light, and I blinked as my eyes adjusted to the gloom. The damp smell of mould rose into my nostrils as my boots scuffed against humped tree roots.
The path was wide enough for me to walk alongside James. Peter was at the rear, and I took some comfort that he had our backs. My sword was a reassuring weight at my left hip.
The path suddenly made a jagged left. And that’s when we saw it. The creature stood just beyond the sharp turn. It looked like a bird, albeit one as tall as Peter. Then the dark green wings rustled, and the antlered head of a stag turned towards us. For a moment I thought I was looking at some deer-bird hybrid, and I relaxed. Then the jaws opened to reveal jagged teeth stained with blood.
‘A peryton.’ Morey’s voice was little more than a whisper. Never had I seen his fur and feathers so slick. The gryphon was terrified.
Peter crouched next to him. ‘Tell us more.’ After a moment, he added, ‘We don’t understand.’ And he lowered a hand onto the gryphon’s back.
Morey leapt back as if stabbed. ‘The most cursed race on Lloegyr. Perytons carry the souls of the betrayed, and they can only be set free if they eat the heart of their betrayer.’
The peryton’s red eyes gleamed as it looked us over. ‘But you can’t believe that,’ I told Morey. ‘You’re a Christian. The soul goes to God when we die. There’s no such thing as reincarnation.’
‘I know, I know.’ Morey’s tail lashed at my legs. ‘But look at its shadow.’
Long and black, covering the forest floor at the peryton’s left, the shadow did not match the creature which stood on the path. James spoke first. ‘That’s not right. It’s--it’s the shadow of a human.’
I glanced at the gloom, still solid around us. ‘And where does the shadow come from?’
‘Is it related to the Vashta Nerada?’ Peter wondered.
‘No jokes about carnivorous shadows,’ I said. ‘Not without the Doctor here. Or River Song. Preferably both.’
‘I’m interested in much more than your heart.’ The voice was unnatural, both deep and high-pitched. It was as if two people were speaking at the same time. ‘What I want goes much deeper.’
How much deeper? Images of internal organs raced through my mind. Spleen, lungs, liver? And we hadn’t packed any onions. ‘Well,’ I said, ‘what we want is to follow this path through the forest. If you wouldn’t mind letting us past?’
‘For payment, yes.’ The thick hawk legs, yellow and sharp-clawed, clicked as it came closer. ‘Answer me my riddle.’
‘A riddle?’ I asked. ‘But that’s what the Sphinx does, asks riddles.’
Peter glanced at me. ‘I don’t think this is the moment to argue about mythical mash-ups.’
I shrugged. ‘My poor grasp of Greek mythology has always been my Achilles elbow.’
Morey gave me a glare, then turned back to the peryton. ‘Certainly, we will answer your riddle.’
‘Not you.’ The antlers pointed at Peter. ‘Peter Jarvis. Answer me this. You are called to a house to arrest a man accused of murder. You know not his face, only that he is inside. When you enter, you find five within, dressed in the coverings of their trades. A doctor, a carpenter, a lawyer, a fireman, and a teacher. You immediately arrest the fireman. Why?’
‘That’s easy--’
‘Not you,’ the peryton interrupted Morey. ‘Peter is to answer.’
‘How did you know?’ Peter’s voice was little more than a whisper.
‘The answer, Peter Jarvis.’
‘The fireman is the only man in the room. The others are all women.’
The peryton’s jaws snapped shut. The long wings folded, and it stalked off into the forest. I found that I was shivering, despite the sweat which beaded across my forehead.
‘Well,’ Morey said carefully, ‘that wasn’t too bad.’
‘How did it know?’ Peter demanded. He ran a hand through his damp hair. ‘That was the first arrest I ever made.’
‘The riddle really happened?’ I asked.
‘Not exactly like that. I was told to look for a male suspect, and when I arrived at the address, he was in a poker game with four women. But he was a firefighter.’
‘Morey said perytons have the soul of someone who’s been betrayed.’ James looked pale, and I laid a hand on his arm. ‘All you did was arrest him.’
‘He was later found to be innocent.’ The muscles along Peter’s jaw tightened. ‘But before he could be told, he’d committed suicide in his cell. His family blamed me.’
‘You’re not to blame,’ James said.
‘That’s what I’ve always tried to tell myself.’
‘It also knew your name,’ I pointed out. ‘Morey, that wouldn’t have anything to do with your matriarch, would it?’
‘I don’t know.’ Morey’s tail lashed across the ground. ‘The peryton might have been given Peter’s name. But that doesn’t ex
plain how it knew about the arrest. And the outcome.’
‘A Google search--’ James shut up as he realised the absurdity of his words.
‘Courage,’ Clyde announced. ‘Courage.’
‘You’re quite right,’ I told the snail. ‘This is a test of our courage. Well, I’m not going to let some large horned bird thing put me off.’
‘Quite right.’ Peter waved a hand at Morey. ‘Lead on, brave gryphon.’
Morey and Clyde headed off down the path. I let go of James and went to Peter’s side. ‘Are you okay?’
‘At the moment, yes.’ He puffed his cheeks. ‘But I don’t think that’s all we’re going to face.’
Chapter Twenty-Three
We walked through the all too quiet forest. The only sounds were our footsteps. As hard as I tried, I could hear no bird song, no chitters of squirrels, not even the creak of a branch. The only colours, other than what came from our clothes and bodies, were those of green and brown. No flowers rose from the soft ground, no butterflies flew past. I tried to hum ‘All Things Bright and Beautiful,’ but the tune died in my throat.
The path turned again. And there was another peryton waiting for us.
We stopped twenty feet away. The creature had the same green wings and brown body as the one we’d met earlier, but the shadow which stretched away from its side was a different shape. Morey made a strangled noise even as I realised that the pointed nose and long tail could only be that of a fox.
‘Trahaearneifion,’ the peryton said, in the same eerie mixture of voices. ‘Mae gennych ddim ond un fatsien, ac wedi mynd i mewn i dŷ oer a thywyll. Mae lle tân, lamp olew, a channwyll. Pa un ydych chi'n goleuo gyntaf?’
I whispered a translation to Peter and James. ‘You have only one match, and have entered a cold and dark house. There is a fireplace, an oil lamp, and a candle. Which do you light first?’
