by Chrys Cymri
‘How can you…’ I trailed off. Somehow, I too knew that the shadow was of a woman.
‘Okay, let’s see if confession is good for the soul.’ I felt Morey tense as Peter turned towards us. ‘My wife. Samantha. Sam. We met at uni, and married as soon as we’d graduated. But twelve years later, she had a one night stand. She told me all about it, begged me to forgive her. An office party, a taxi back to her manager’s flat, a moment of madness. That’s what she said. I told her I was packing my things and leaving the house and her.’
‘She betrayed her vows,’ Morey said.
‘Yes, she did. And she didn't contest the divorce.’ Peter ran a hand through his hair. ‘Then, two years later, our friends let me know that she was dying. Of cancer. She was in the final stages, and she wanted me to visit her. I think she wanted to hear that I’d forgiven her, so she could go to her grave in peace.’
‘You didn’t go,’ I said.
‘I didn’t.’ He shook his head. ‘How did her dying change anything? She’d betrayed our love, betrayed me. Why should I pretend that I was now okay with it, just because she was dying?’
Clyde climbed onto his boot. ‘Mercy.’
‘Now, that’s not something I’d ever expected to hear from a snail shark.’ Peter reached down and let the snail slide onto his hands. ‘You’re quite right, Clyde. I should have gone. I realised this the moment I heard that she’d died. Her best friend told me Sam said, a couple of days before she passed away, “Tell Peter that I’m so very sorry. And don’t blink.”’
‘Don’t blink?’ James repeated.
‘She was a Doctor Who fan,’ I said. For some strange reason, this unsettled me.
‘I should have gone. I’ve felt guilty about it ever since.’
‘I’d be happy to grant you absolution,’ Morey said.
‘You can’t, you’re only a deacon,’ I reminded him. The moment weighed on my shoulders as heavily as Morey did. ‘Peter, our Lord Jesus Christ gave power to the Church to forgive all those who repent. By his authority, committed to me, I absolve you from all your sins, in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.’ I sketched the cross in the air as I named the Trinity. Forests and perytons didn't matter. All that mattered was this moment of enabling someone to forgive himself and to move on.
Peter bent his head. ‘Amen.’ Then he straightened. ‘So, God forgives me. Do you?’
‘Of course.’
‘Okay, let’s see what this peryton has to say.’
I put out a hand to stop him. ‘But not alone.’
‘I thought that was the point of this challenge. Courage, remember?’
‘But that’s not what the matriarch said,’ I pointed out. ‘She said “how well you face this challenge together.” Remember?’
‘A turn of phrase?’ Morey offered.
I shook my head. ‘I don’t think so. She spoke to us in English, not Welsh. Maybe she wanted to make sure we heard correctly. Let’s face this peryton together.’
‘Together,’ Clyde agreed firmly, his eyespots fixed on Peter.
‘Okay,’ James said, his voice thin.
Morey hopped over to Peter’s right shoulder. I slid my hand through the man’s left arm, and James did the same on the other side. Peter cradled Clyde close to his chest as we marched up to the peryton.
The creature rustled its wings. ‘A man and his son are walking down a road, and both are hit by a bus. They are rushed to the hospital. The doctor on duty looks at the boy and states, “I can’t operate on this boy, he’s my son.” How can this be?’
‘Oh, how obvious,’ Peter said. ‘Except Sam was a nephrologist, not a surgeon. But I'm not going to answer you. You’re going to have to take it from me.’
‘From all of us,’ I said firmly. ‘Because we’re Peter’s friends, and we love him.’
‘So stick that in your pipe and smoke it,’ James added.
The peryton stepped forward. I focussed on the antlers, refusing to look at the eyes. The sharp points lowered, twisted just past my face, and pressed against Peter’s left shoulder.
‘Yes, I could have done better,’ Peter said. ‘I should have gone to see her, and I didn’t. Sam, if you’re in there, I’m so sorry. But I’m not going to spend the rest of my life feeling guilty about something I can’t change.’
The peryton snorted. A mingled scent of sweet flowers and sharp antiseptic rushed into my nostrils. ‘Are you certain, Peter Jarvis? All she wanted was one word from you, one simple word so she could die forgiven. And you refused to give that to her.’
‘He’s confessed, and he’s been given absolution,’ Morey said. ‘Who are you to argue with the Almighty?’
‘And does Father Penny speak for God? A priest who rarely speaks to God?’
But I’ve been rather busy lately, I found myself thinking. And I did pray about half an hour ago.
‘Ex opere operato,’ Morey retorted. ‘The validity of the sacraments is not dependent upon the worthiness of the priest or the recipient. The grace given comes from God.’
Clyde reared up from Peter’s hands and opened his jaws. For a moment, I wondered if he were going to bite the peryton on the nose. Instead, the snail shark commanded, ‘Go away.’
The creature stepped back. The shadow at our feet thickened, darkened, sharpened in detail. A gasp from James made me look up. The peryton itself was changing. The wings faded away, the horns drew back into the head, and it shrank in size. I blinked. The image of a woman stood in front of us, her face pale above a blue hospital gown. I could see the forest through her body, and even as she spoke she was fading away. ‘Thank you, Petey.’
Then she was gone. The path ahead was clear.
‘Peter?’ I asked.
‘I’m okay.’ He smiled. ‘Actually, better than okay. Confession is indeed good for the soul.’
‘Just hope it works for me,’ James said quietly. ‘It’s got to be me next. I’m the only one they haven’t tagged yet.’
Peter gently freed himself from our grasp and placed Clyde on the ground. Then he put an arm around my brother’s shoulders. ‘I did it. So can you.’
‘But you’re way better at this than me.’
‘I’m also much older than you,’ Peter said gently. ‘I’ve had about twenty years more than you to make mistakes, and to learn from them. And that’s the only way you can become a man, James. Make mistakes, and learn from them.’
Morey was nodding approvingly. As male bonding rituals were, by definition, beyond me, I walked a few feet away to study the light coming through the trees. As I’d thought, the area ahead was brighter than what lay behind us. We were nearing the end of the forest.
Male encouragement continued for several more minutes. I kept my face turned away, hiding my smile as Morey gravely reminded James that he was now a tiercel and fully fledged hunter. Once again I wondered how much Alan’s sudden death had deprived James of a male mentor when he’d needed one most. But Peter was saying all the things I would have hoped to hear from Alan, and perhaps even better.
Clyde rested nearby, his body pulsating green and blue as he listened. No, not a he, I reminded myself. Snail sharks were hermaphrodites. I did hope giving him a male name hadn’t made him take on a false gender identity.
Goodness, I needed be out of this forest before I started feeling guilty for allowing James to have his own email address when he was only twelve years old. As far as I knew, he hadn’t contacted any of the Ukrainian women who had spammed him.
‘We’re nearly at the end,’ I told the males when a bout of back slapping announced that they had finished. ‘Ready?’
Morey fluttered to the ground and once again led the way. Weak sunlight was beginning to filter past the trunks, spreading long shadows across the dark ground. I paused for a moment in a shaft of golden light, and felt my shirt start to dry.
‘And there it is,’ James said grimly. One last peryton stood between us and the last of the trees. ‘That’s mine.’
&nb
sp; My mouth dried. ‘James. The shadow, it isn’t a woman’s.’
‘It’s Alan.’ James stared at me. ‘I thought it’d be Miranda. I can face Miranda. How can it be Alan?’
‘Doesn't matter who it is,’ Morey said firmly. ‘We go together, like before.’
Peter glanced over at me. ‘Actually, I think it does matter. Penny?’
‘I can get why I feel guilty,’ James said to me. ‘If I’d told you about Alan’s funny turn, you would’ve made him go to the doctor, and he wouldn’t have had his heart attack later on. But you didn’t do anything wrong. You weren’t even with him.’
‘Precisely,’ I said bitterly. ‘I was supposed to be with him. But the church got in the way. Doesn’t it always?’
‘You have a calling,’ Peter said. ‘We all respect that.’
‘And what could you have done anyway?’ James asked. ‘If you’d been on The Fancy Free with him. You’re not a doctor.’
I reached out to grab my brother’s arms. ‘And even if you’d told me, do you really think Alan would’ve gone to see his GP? You remember what he was like. He could be so stubborn.’
‘But we’ll never know, will we?’ James asked, blinking rapidly.
‘You can’t know,’ Peter said gently. ‘But would Alan want either of you to feel guilty over his death?’
‘He would have told me to man up,’ James said. ‘And to look after Penny.’
I added, ‘And I would’ve told him that I can look after myself, thank you very much.’
‘That I can believe.’ Peter offered me one hand, and held the other to James. ‘So, let’s do this. Together.’
Clyde climbed back up to my shoulder, and Morey’s claws tightened in Peter’s shirt. And like the Famous Five, but with a snail shark instead of a dog, we headed into danger together.
The peryton was standing where no sunlight could reach its green feathers. The shadow writhing at its taloned feet reminded me of Alan at his most vulnerable, like the day he had asked James whether he’d like to be adopted and to carry Alan’s name. Neither of us had been sure how the eight year old boy would react. But when James had answered by throwing his arms around Alan’s neck, my husband’s smile had made me bite my lip to hold back tears.
‘The one who makes me sells me,’ the peryton said. I shivered, certain that one of the voices was Alan’s own. ‘The one who buys me never uses me. The one who uses me never knows that he is using me. What am I?’
‘I know full well what you are,’ I said firmly. ‘Ghosts and shadows, the regrets which keep me awake at night, the empty spot in my bed, the man who gave James a second chance at having a father. You were many things, Alan, but you were never cruel. You wouldn’t have wanted your memories to be used in this way.’
‘You once told me that a man knows when to walk away.’ James spoke slowly, as if he had to force out each word. ‘Alan wouldn’t haunt us like this. I’m not like Sis, I’m not sure where we go when we die. But I know Alan’s not inside of you. You’re not Alan. Stop pretending that you are.’
The peryton shrank. Then, like an icicle exposed to the sun, it melted away. The greens and browns pooled into the shadow, which changed into the mixed form of bird and stag. I jumped back as the darkness slithered away, disappearing into the forest.
‘I’m not quite sure,’ Morey murmured, ‘what Jung would have made of that.’
‘Who cares about him,’ James said. ‘Let’s get out of here before any more turn up.’
He broke into a run without releasing Peter’s hand. So we were both pulled along in his wake, Morey and Clyde clinging grimly to shoulders. Bright spots of blood appeared in Peter’s shirt but he said nothing as we kept pace with my younger brother.
Then we were past the last tree and running on grass. I slipped my hand from Peter’s and stopped to catch my breath. The word Clyde muttered under his breath was crude, but I didn’t have the energy to deal with it. James halted a few feet away, also panting. Only Peter seemed to have found the run easy. He extracted Morey, placing him on the ground, and rubbed at the claw wounds.
‘We’re out, we’re out, we’re out,’ James started chanting like a mantra. I glanced back at the forest. For a moment I thought I saw several dozen red eyes glowing between the dark trunks. Then they disappeared, and I suppressed a shudder.
‘Yes, James, we’re out,’ Peter reassured him. ‘And here comes the welcoming party.’
Ercwiff’s large form led the flight of gryphons gliding into a land. Morey strutted forward as her claws sank into the soft ground. ‘We’ve come through, Matriarch.’
‘Together,’ I added firmly.
The brown eagle head lowered to her grandson. ‘Mae eich grŵp rhyfelwyr wedi gwneud yn dda.’ Morey visibly swelled at the praise, but I felt we deserved better than a ‘you have done well.’
A barn owl gryphon brought my coat, fleece and Clyde’s case over to me. Everything was wet from the earlier rain. I hung them over my arm and hoped that I could dry them out at home. It wasn’t like I had brought spares over from England.
‘Until the next challenge,’ the matriarch said in Welsh.
The dragons spiralled down. The moment of relief I felt at seeing Raven alive was quickly squelched as I remembered his refusal to carry me earlier. I collected Clyde and marched straight to Margh. If Raven didn’t want me, I wasn’t going to force myself upon him. I climbed up into the saddle and draped my wet clothes over the pommel. Morey flew over, noted the position of my coat, and went to join Peter and James on Raven.
All I wanted was to go home to a nice hot bath, a glass of Gigondas, and a Doctor Who episode. None of which would be waiting for me in the rectory. There were times when life in Lloegyr left something to be desired.
The tacsi dragon lifted us into the air. We rose above the forest’s thick canopy. A tumble of purples and blues drew my attention. Furry animals, about the size of small cats, were chasing each other from branch to branch. One paused to look up at me, huge multifaceted eyes gleaming in the evening sunlight. Butterfly wings fluttered from the hunched back.
And that was why I loved Lloegyr. These unexpected moments of wonder. So what if the cottage lacked hot water, the wine bottle rack was empty, and no TV was available? I would go down to the bathhouse, pay for a private cubicle, and have a through soak. Someone had left a small barrel of beer in the pantry, so it was time I sampled it. And I’d make up the fire, and find a good book to read on my Kindle.
Margh followed Raven through a thin place, and we left forest and gryphons far behind.
<><><><><><>
The sun had set several hours previously, and the temperature had dropped once night had fallen. I stepped outside my front door at 8.25pm, and my annoyance grew for every minute I waited. When Tyra finally landed, twenty minutes later, I told her, ‘Nice of you to drop by.’
She was breathing heavily. ‘Had to take a different route. Avoid one of the crossings in your world. Planes in the sky. Fire on the ground.’
‘A bombing run? Which country?’
‘How should I know?’
I wondered how much news I was missing. What might be happening on my own world? It was worse than being in the parts of Rutland which lacked a proper 4G signal. For a moment I thought about fetching my iPhone and see if I could pick up something during one of our crossings. Then I put the temptation behind me and climbed up to Tyra’s back.
Several transitions and half an hour later, and we were flying over the lava fields. The switch from cold dark night to hot mid afternoon made me sweat inside my coat. At least, I told myself, it would finally finish drying out.
We flew over the settlement. The black twisted ruins of Raven’s tent were gone, and the space was now empty. Had he done that, or one of the other search dragons?
I smelled the midden long before we reached it. Although I’d taken turns mucking out stables when learning to ride a horse, and even helped to spread cow manure on a friend’s allotment, neither had prepared me for t
he stench which assaulted my nostrils. The huge mounds of fewmets looked like twisted black sausages, some of them as long as my leg. Bits of fur were embedded in a number of the droppings, and the long hairs ruffled in the breeze.
A small mound was a short distance away. Tyra angled her wings, and landed us nearby. She turned her head to look back at me. ‘This is my midden. The knife is somewhere in there.’
‘Then get it out.’
‘No. That’s your job.’ She pointed her muzzle at a nearby shovel. ‘I did bring this to help you.’
I slid down and marched up to her snout. ‘You said you’d pull it out.’
‘I was going to. Until you convinced Hrafn to sell himself as a tacsi dragon. He’s disgraced himself.’
‘There’s another search dragon working for the gryphon clan.’
‘Her.’ Tyra snorted. ‘I don’t care about that one.’
I stared up at her. ‘But you care about Raven, don’t you?’
She lifted her head away. ‘What does that matter? He only looks to humans. Always has.’
Unrequited love. I would have probably felt more charitable if I weren’t looking at spending the next few hours shovelling fewmets. For a moment I considered giving up altogether. Why should I try to find the knife, when Raven had so obviously snubbed me? Then I gritted my teeth. I wasn’t going to give Tyra the satisfaction of seeing me give up.
I dumped my coat onto the ground and pulled out my bottle of sun lotion. Then I forced myself to strip down to underwear and bra, before applying a coat of cream.
‘You might do better naked,’ Tyra commented.
‘No thanks.’ I picked up the shovel. ‘There are some places I do not want fewmets to reach.’
Her hoot of laughter followed me as I strode to the midden. ‘I could come to like you, Father Penny.’
‘The feeling’s not mutual,’ I muttered under my breath. The pile of fewmets reached up to my waist. I dug the shovel into the freshest, at the top, disturbing the flies as I pulled the excrement to one side. Would the knife be on top, or buried inside the sausage? I probed the mess with the shovel, but hit nothing metallic.
