by Chrys Cymri
‘That’s easy,’ James whispered back. ‘The match. Morey’s smart, he’ll know that.’
Peter shook his head. ‘I think there’s more to this than just the answer.’
Morey’s ears were pinned flat against his head. In a dull voice, he answered, ‘Y fatsien.’
The right answer. I could breathe again. But as the peryton strode away, the gryphon showed no sign of relaxing. ‘Morey? What’s wrong?’
‘Our home.’ He lifted his head to look up at us. ‘The cottage I shared with Seren. Cadw ar Wahân burned it down.’
‘But Seren--’ I cleared my throat. ‘She didn’t die in the fire.’
‘Her sister did.’
‘Another were-fox,’ Peter said. ‘That explains the shadow.’
‘But you didn’t betray her,’ I protested. ‘It’s not your fault that Cadw ar Wahân decided to attack you.’
‘She was in my house, under my protection.’ Morey’s eyes shifted to Peter’s. ‘I failed her.’
‘Did your matriarch know about the fire?’ I asked.
‘Possibly.’
‘It could be Google,’ James was muttering. ‘Send a rat through, let him do some internet searches, come back here with the answer. I mean, it could be done, couldn’t it?’ He shoved his hands into his pockets, but not before I saw how much they were trembling. ‘These perytons, they can’t be reading our minds, could they?’
Even Clyde seemed to freeze at the idea. ‘I’m sure there’s some better explanation,’ I said quickly. ‘And so far, it’s not been nice, but Peter and Morey have survived.’
‘You wait until it’s your turn,’ Morey retorted.
We trudged along the next section of path. My damp shirt was pressing against my body, but there was a chill deep inside my stomach. I found myself staring ahead, trying to spot when the trail would bend again. The gloom seemed to play tricks with my eyes. I only spotted the turn at the same moment that I also saw the peryton.
‘Clyde.’ The creature turned, and I swallowed at the snail shadow which spread from its thick talons. ‘What is made of wood and metal, and must be buried before it works?’
The blues and greens pulsing through Clyde’s body were a welcome splash of colour. ‘Shovel.’
‘He sounds confused,’ Peter said in my ear. ‘Does he remember how his mother died?’
‘I don’t know,’ I whispered back. ‘We’ve never talked about it.’
‘Maybe, one day, you should.’
‘What, remind him that I killed his mother?’
The peryton spread gleaming wings and flew up into the canopy. James glanced over at me. ‘Is it too late to head back?’
‘We can’t go back,’ I said. ‘We need to see this through for Morey.’
‘It’s you or me next.’ James lifted up his shirt to mop his face. ‘There’s some things I’d rather not remember.’
Peter put an arm around my brother’s shoulders. ‘Brave heart, James.’
‘I just don’t want to let everyone down.’
‘You survived a fight with a Tyrannosaurus rex. You’ll survive a peryton.’
‘You’re a tiercel now,’ Morey reminded him. ‘And I’m proud to have you as a member of my grŵp rhyfelwyr.’
Clyde slithered over and bumped against James’ feet. ‘Courage.’
‘All right, all right.’ James took a deep breath. ‘Anything from you, Sis?’
‘Nah,’ I said. ‘You can look after yourself.’ And he flashed me a quick smile.
Morey and Clyde returned to the front of our group. The trees were crowding in closer now, narrowing the path. Peter took the rear, allowing James and me to walk side by side. The temperature had dropped, cooling the sweat on my face.
When the next peryton came into view, I somehow knew that this one had come for me. I stepped over Clyde and Morey and marched up to the creature, stopping short of the human shaped shadow darkening the forest floor. ‘Penelope White,’ I told it. ‘Go on, give me the riddle.’
The peryton turned, thick claws churning the earth as it brought a blood-stained muzzle near my face. The two-toned voice chanted,
‘Oft I must strive with wind and wave,
battle them both when under the sea.
I feel out the bottom, a foreign land.
In lying still, I am strong in the strife;
If I fail in that, they are stronger than I,
and wrenching me loose, soon put me to rout.
They wish to capture what I must keep.
I master them both if my grip holds out.
If the rocks bring succour and lend support,
strength in the struggle. What am I?’
The answer was simple. An anchor. I had gone sailing with Alan often enough to know that. But as I stared into the red eyes, I felt the word dry in my throat. The months were stripped away, and I was once again at Rutland Water, standing on the slipway as The Fancy Free was brought back to shore. Alan’s body had already been loaded into the ambulance. The policewoman assigned to keep me company told me quietly, ‘That’s what made people realise that something was wrong. Your husband was nowhere to be seen, and the boat had been anchored.’
A heart attack. Alan had anchored the boat to go for a swim, and died in the water. And I should have been with him. ‘It’s supposed to be your day off,’ he had reminded me, shoving sandwiches into his bag. ‘We’re supposed to be sailing together.’
‘I told you, I have to take this funeral.’ I had forced myself to be patient in the face of his fury. ‘Mary was baptised in Saint Wulfram’s, she was confirmed there, she was married there, and after reaching the ripe old age of ninety, she’s now going to be buried there. I have to take this funeral.’
‘It’s always them, isn’t it? Always those church people of yours, never me.’
The bag jounced against his side as he strode from the kitchen. And I had shouted after him, ‘‘And don’t forget to rinse out the Thermos flask before you bring it home!’
Green feathers rose and fell, glinting like restless waves. Dark mud matted the brown fur, just like that which had coated my shoes after I’d walked away from the shore. White teeth gleamed like the clean bulwarks of The Fancy Free. I forced the answer past chattering teeth. ‘Anchor. It’s an anchor.’
The peryton winked at me. The large nostrils opened, and I felt a breeze across my face as it drew in my scent. Then it swaggered away.
‘Now,’ Morey said, ‘you know what I mean.’
‘It’s like it pulled things from my mind.’ I forced myself to take deep breaths. ‘How could it do that?’
‘Does it really?’ Peter asked. ‘Or do we just respond to the suggestions made by the peryton?’
‘Whatever,’ James said glumly. ‘My turn next.’
I reached out for his hand. And I gripped his fingers tight as we pushed on. Hi God, I prayed. I know I’ve not spent much time with you recently, but if you can get us out of this place, I promise I’ll read any book of the Bible you choose. Even Leviticus, if you insist, but please let me wait until I get back to England so I can have a good supply of whisky on hand.
A new sound broke in over the squelch of our shoes and the catch in our breaths. It took me a moment to identify it. Rain, splattering hard against leaves. But the canopy was so thick that only the occasional fat drop filtered through to streak across the air and disappear into the ground.
Another bend. Another peryton. James straightened. But I held him back. ‘The shadow. It’s the shadow of a snail.’
‘It’s for me,’ Peter said grimly. His lips twitched as he glanced at James. ‘Seems they don’t take turns after all.’
‘Peter Jarvis.’
‘Coming.’ He passed gryphon and snail and planted himself ten feet from the creature. ‘Go on, I’m ready.’
‘A woman was murdered at her office. The suspects are Gerry, Julie, Jason, Nick, and Sophie. The numbers one, four, nine, ten, and eleven were written on a calendar in blood by the victim. Who is
the killer?’
‘Numbers.’ Peter was looking at the shadow at his feet. ‘It’s about the numbers, isn’t it?’
The peryton aimed the sharp points of its antlers at his chest. ‘And your answer?’
‘Jason, of course.’ Peter sounded weary. ‘The letters of his name match the first letter of the calendar months. Unless one of the others was trying to frame him. But that’s good enough for you, isn’t it? Because you wanted me to remember the numbers.’
The sound which came from the creature’s mouth set my teeth on edge. It was like nails screeching down a chalkboard mixed with the whimper of a terrified dog. ‘Correct, Peter Jarvis.’
‘What’s with the numbers?’ I asked him once the peryton had left us.
‘I’ve had to deal with a number of snail shark infestations.’ Peter bent down to give Clyde’s shell a quick rub. ‘They’re not all like our friend here.’
‘I know they’ll eat cats and small dogs.’
‘And sometimes a human baby.’ Peter straightened. ‘We crate them up and send them back to Lloegyr. But a couple of years ago, I heard about a woman who was doing an experiment to see if snails had a homing instinct. She painted numbers on her garden snails, and took them next door to see if they’d return. So I did the same with several batches of snail sharks. I painted numbers on their shells before they were taken back to Lloegyr.’
‘And did they return to England?’
‘Yes. But not alive. We’d find them piled up in a heap, all dead.’ Peter rubbed his forehead. ‘I decided putting numbers on them must have made them some sort of target, so I stopped doing it. I used to tell myself it didn’t matter, they were only snail sharks. But Clyde here has made me feel differently.’
‘The snail sharks at the frost fair,’ James reminded me. ‘They had numbers on their shells.’
‘What were they doing at the frost fair?’ Peter asked. ‘Nothing too terrible, I hope?’
I glanced at James. His face reddened as he said quickly, ‘Oh, they were in a pen. For people to look at. That’s all.’
We’d all become accustomed to a break between peryton visits. So when the next one appeared, on part of the path which was nowhere near a bend, James grumbled, Peter sighed, and Morey said a word which I hoped Clyde hadn’t heard. The shadow was yet again of a fox, and Morey strode forward.
‘Your wife has been poisoned,’ said the peryton in Welsh. ‘You have been given eight pills which are all the same size and colour. Only one pill is the antidote which she needs to swallow to save her life. This pill weighs slightly more than the others. A scale is nearby. You only have time to use the scale twice to work out which pill is the antidote before she dies. How do you find the correct pill?’
I translated for Peter and James. ‘That’s a tough one,’ my brother said. ‘But if anyone can work it out, Morey can.’
The gryphon’s back arched. ‘No. I'm not playing this game.’
‘Morey--’
‘His wife was killed by poison,’ I interrupted James. ‘And he only found out after her body was dug up for tests.’
‘Do you refuse to answer?’ the peryton asked.
‘Answer it, Trahaearneifion,’ Peter said sharply. ‘Don’t let it win.’
Morey’s ears were flat against his skull. I shook my head. ‘I don’t think he’s listening to any of us.’
The peryton let out a long, whistling sound. It hopped forward. A large tongue licked around the black lips as it eyed the gryphon. Then, slowly, calmly, it lowered its antlers to Morey’s side. One sharp tip was pushing into his chest.
‘Morey!’ I started forward, but both men grabbed my arms to hold me back. Clyde darted along the path, his jaws opening to expose his jagged teeth. Then he stopped, as sharply as if he had hit an invisible wall.
Darkness seemed to flow from Morey to the peryton. The creature shivered and moaned as its shadow lightened and narrowed, pulling in closer to the tall body. Morey screamed. The sound sent shards of terror through my soul. I yanked myself free and stumbled towards the gryphon.
The peryton lifted its head. The red eyes gleamed at me, and I froze in place. The reflection I saw was not my own. Alan smiled at me from deep inside the dark pupils, young and handsome, his chin bearing the cut he’d made whilst shaving on the morning of our wedding day. Then the image changed. Now it was Raven, eyes sunk deep in his skull, scales decaying around the sockets. I felt my breath rattle in my throat.
Morey dropped to the ground. As the peryton loped off, I bent down to pick him up. ‘Morey, Morey, are you all right?’
‘I’ve just had a peryton in my mind,’ Morey said weakly. ‘Of course I’m not bloody all right.’
Peter and James hurried over, and Clyde slithered up to my right shoulder so he too could peer down at the gryphon, who was now cradled in my arms. Peter touched Morey’s side. ‘Anything we can do?’
‘I think I’ll recover.’ Morey looked up at me. ‘If someone can give me a lift?’
‘Certainly,’ I promised.
‘But not on your shoulder. You’ve let Clyde slime you again.’
‘That was a tricky one,’ James said. ‘I wouldn’t have known where to start.’
‘Actually, the solution was quite simple.’ Morey twisted, turning so that his stomach was resting on my forearms. ‘Weigh three pills on each side of the scale. If they’re both the same weight, then you weigh the last two pills to find the antidote. If the original two sets don’t weigh evenly, you just take the three pills from the heavier side and weigh two of those. Either they weigh the same, which means the antidote is the third pill. Or if one of them is heavier, then that’s the antidote.’
James stared at him. ‘Then why didn’t you give the answer?’
‘I froze, for a moment. Then I realised that, sooner or later, one of us won’t be able to solve a riddle.’ His red-brown eyes swept around our faces. ‘It’s because of me that you’re all in this forest. I decided I should find out what would happen.’
‘And?’ I prodded.
Morey shuddered. ‘It fed.’
‘That sound,’ James said. ‘That moan. I’ve not heard something like that since I split up with Debbie. That thing was getting off on you.’
‘Getting off from my guilt, please,’ Morey corrected. ‘Not me personally, I assure you.’
‘Is that what they want?’ Peter wondered. ‘They want to feed from our guilt?’
‘They eat the heart of a betrayer,’ I said slowly. ‘But not literally. They want our dark emotions. Our grief, our self-blame, our guilt. Morey, do you really blame yourself for Seren’s death?’
‘I should have protected her.’
‘But she was a were-fox,’ I pointed out. ‘Surely she, and her sister, could look after themselves? And half of Lloegyr seems to be ruled by matriarchs. Would they really have expected you to be their protector?’
‘Trust me, mate,’ Peter said to him, ‘these strong females don’t want a bloke treating them like some helpless flower.’
I raised an eyebrow at him. ‘I’m so glad to hear you say that.’
‘I’m learning.’
‘So what do we do?’ James asked. ‘I know exactly what they’re going to show me. They’re going to bring up Miranda, aren’t they? And I don’t care what you say, it’s my fault she’s dead.’
‘Or it could be Alan,’ I said.
‘That’s a great help, Sis.’
‘You’re not to blame for either of them, and I’ve told you that a million times.’
James looked away. ‘I know, I know. But I can’t help how I feel, can I? What am I supposed to do about it?’
‘Shadow,’ Clyde announced. ‘Shadow.’
I reached up to rub his shell. ‘The shadow shrunk, Morey, when you fed the peryton. Isn’t that what we’re supposed to do in life? Face our shadow?’
‘Karl Jung,’ Morey stirred himself to say. ‘Integration. Don’t quite feel it myself.’
‘Because you didn’t face it
,’ Peter said. ‘So, Penny, you think if we march to our peryton, accepting whatever happened instead of blaming ourselves--well, what?’
‘It’s not so much accepting what happened,’ I said, ‘as accepting our inability to have done anything about it. Accepting our shame, I guess. Our helplessness. Our anger, both against ourselves and others. And our fear that we’ll fail again. That’s facing our shadow. That’s what confession is supposed to do. Not make you miserable before God, but to help you see your shadow and to integrate it.’
There was an expression on Peter’s face which I’d never seen before. His eyes dropped down to my neck, and I realised that he was imagining the dog collar he had so often seen at my throat. ‘So that’s what being a priest is all about?’
‘Sometimes.’ I quirked a smile. ‘But I seem to spend more time in meetings and worrying about deathwatch beetle in the pews.’
‘Then I should tell you--’
‘When Alan died, I was in New Zealand.’ James was looking down at the ground, his hands once again resting in his pockets. ‘Penny said he’d drowned. And for the next few months I kept having nightmares. Nightmares about a huge tidal wave sweeping up the shore. I’d try to run away, but I was never fast enough. The water would break over me, and I’d wake up tangled in the sheets. Until one night, I decided to run towards the wave instead of away. And I found that I could go through the wave, and come out the other side. The nightmares went away.’ Now he met my eyes. ‘That’s what this is, right? Running towards the tidal wave.’
I felt my shoulders straighten in pride. ‘Yes, James. That’s exactly what this is.’
‘Then let’s get on with it.’
Chapter Twenty-Four
Clyde returned to the forest floor, and we continued on. Morey recovered enough strength to climb up to my left shoulder. I could only hope that I would have the courage to carry out what I’d said, should the next peryton be mine.
This time, the creature was waiting on the bend. Peter took a deep breath. ‘You know I was married, once, right?’
‘Yes. You’ve mentioned it a couple of times.’
‘This one’s for me. And it’s about my wife.’
