by Chrys Cymri
Clyde slid into place beside the gryphon. ‘Jesus?’
‘What does he want?’ Aislin asked.
‘Communion,’ I explained. ‘He wants communion, but he’s not been confirmed.’
‘Want Jesus,’ Clyde muttered, his body pulsing red and orange.
‘Find a seat near the front,’ I urged him. ‘And come up for a blessing.’
Clyde said something sharp and Welsh which made Morey’s back arch. Then the snail flew out of the vestry. I could hear astonished gasps from the congregation, and I bit my lip. There was little enough love for snail sharks already. A flying one would no doubt cause even more alarm.
Not much I could do about it now. I put on the gold and white chasuble, and reached out to make some adjustments to the white cowl gleaming around Morey’s neck. Cadfan brought me the order of service. I ran a finger over the leather pages, wondering whether paper were scarce or if the church simply preferred to use vellum for important occasions.
We made our way outside. The gas lamps were dimmed as the congregation followed. Dragons and unicorns, gryphons and harpies, a dwarf, several elves and weres snorted and snuffled their way into silence. I realised that I was smiling. This was why I had wanted to come here, and why I would return. There were so few other places on Lloegyr where the different species lived, worked, and worshipped together.
I tipped the pages to catch light from the torches, and read out the traditional words. ‘“Brothers and sisters in Christ, on this most holy night, in which our Lord Jesus Christ passed over from death to life, the Church invites her members, dispersed throughout the world, to gather in vigil and prayer. For this is the Passover of the Lord, in which through word and sacrament we share in his victory over death.”’
Morey, perched on Cadfan’s arm, read out the story of the crossing of the Red Sea. ‘“That day the Lord saved Israel from the hands of the Egyptians, and Israel saw the Egyptians lying dead on the shore.”’ I kept my face neutral, although I’d long felt that the drowning of the Egyptians had not been one of God’s more compassionate decisions. ‘“And when the Israelites saw the great power the Lord displayed against the Egyptians, the people feared the Lord and put their trust in him and in Moses his servant. Then Moses and the Israelites sang this song to the Lord: ‘I will sing to the Lord, for he is highly exalted.’” Thus ends the first reading.’
Olafur took a deep breath and exhaled flame. The kindling caught fire, and blazed against the ribs of the brazier. I blessed the fire. The Easter candle was brought over and handed to Cadfan. The elf held the candle still as I pressed incense grains into the creamy white surface. ‘“By his holy and glorious wounds, may Christ our Lord guard us and keep us.”’ Then I took a taper, lit the end in the bonfire, and stretched to reach the top of the tall candle. ‘“May the light of Christ, rising in glory, banish all darkness from our hearts and minds.”’
Cadfan moved to the door, carefully balancing heavy candle and small gryphon. Aislin handed me a taper, and I lit it from the Easter candle. I turned to pass the flame down to the vampire behind me. As the congregation lit their own candles, Cadfan processed into the church. ‘The light of Christ,’ Morey sang out in his beautiful baritone voice. ‘Thanks be to God,’ we intoned in response.
The elf stopped just before the chancel. I took my place in the rector’s stall. As the congregation filed in, Morey moved up to Cadfan’s shoulder, hummed a note to himself, then started to chant the Exsultet.
‘Exsúltet iam angélica turba cælórum:
exsúltent divína mystéria:
et pro tanti Regis victória
tuba ínsonet salutáris.’
I sighed inwardly. Of course, Morey would choose to sing in Latin. But I’d sung the English version often enough to follow the ancient phrases.
‘Exult, let them exult, the hosts of heaven,
exult, let Angel ministers of God exult,
let the trumpet of salvation
sound aloud our mighty King's triumph!’
As Morey continued the long solo piece, I saw Clyde sitting on the front pew. Several members of the congregation nearly joined him, but when they saw the snail shark, they walked past and chose another pew further down the church. Clyde’s body, which had been vibrating blue and pink in joy, slowly dulled to a lacklustre grey.
Nearly everyone had found a place, the candles in their hands lighting up faces for those who had hands. A clop of hooves announced a latecomer. Lord Willis marched up the aisle, his gold chain gleaming even in the dim light. He paused at the front pew, and snail and unicorn regarded each other for a moment. Lord Willis glanced around at the packed church, and his ears twitched. For a moment I feared that he, too, would snub the snail. But the elegant head lowered, and his beard brushed against dark wood as he spoke to Clyde. ‘May I have the honour of standing beside you, noble hunter?’
Clyde’s body was suddenly alight with purple. ‘Yes.’
Morey finished the Exsultet with a flourish. The gas lights came on, and the congregation burst into a triumphant singing of the Gloria. Unicorns stamped their hooves, beings who had hands clapped, and dwarves rang bells. A few dragons let loose carefully controlled flames. ‘Glory to God in the highest, and peace to his people on earth!’
Those who could sit did so for our Bible readings. Then Morey and I went to the font at the back of the church. I climbed up the step to look at the water waiting in the stone basin. For some reason, I felt as if I wanted to plunge myself into the six inches of liquid. I wouldn’t mind feeling as young and clean as a baptised baby, I found myself telling God. Why does growing up mean feeling that the world is much grubbier than you’d expected?
I blessed the water, and huffed slightly when I took the Easter candle from Cadfan. After dipping it three times into the water, I handed it back and led the congregation through the renewal of their baptismal vows.
‘Do you turn to Christ?’
‘I turn to Christ.’
‘Do you repent of your sins?’
‘I repent of my sins.’
‘Do you renounce evil?’
‘I renounce evil.’
We said together a short version of the Creed, and then I dipped a yew branch into the font. Droplets glistened as I flung water across the church, taking particular delight in drenching both Aislin and Cadfan.
Morey and I returned to the front for the prayers and the Peace. I presided over communion, allowing the familiar words to flow through the church. After we had recited the Lord’s Prayer together, I said, ‘Jesus says, I am the bread of life, whoever eats this bread will live forever.’
Morey walked up and down the rail, offering wafers to those standing or kneeling at the altar rail. I followed with a chalice for the smaller members of the congregation, and Cadfan carried a large bowl for the dragons, unicorns, and gryphons.
Distribution had nearly finished when Lord Willis came up to the front of the church. Clyde rode on his back, droplets of snail slime trickling down the unicorn’s grey-white coat. ‘Jesus,’ the snail was muttering. ‘Want Jesus.’
‘He’s not confirmed,’ Morey told Lord Willis. ‘Penny can only give him a blessing.’
The unicorn glanced at me, then twisted his head to speak to Clyde. ‘A blessing from Father Penny. That’s a high privilege, just as good as receiving the body and blood of Christ. I too shall ask for a blessing.’
So I handed the chalice to Cadfan and went to the altar rail. I reached out first to the unicorn, my hand hovering just below the horn. ‘The Lord Jesus bless you and keep you,’ I said as I made the sign of the cross. One of my fingers accidentally brushed against a silver spiral, and I braced myself. But I felt no flush of healing. My slight headache remained.
Lord Willis moved sideways so that I could reach Clyde. ‘The Lord Jesus bless you and keep you,’ I told the snail, and ran my thumb across his shell.
I returned to the altar and assisted with the clearing up. We sang the last hymn. Then I shouted at the
congregation, ‘He is risen!’
They roared back, ‘He is risen indeed! Alleluia!’
Morey took his place on Cadfan’s arm, and we walked through the church and back to the vestry. I paused to remove the chasuble, and then hurried down to the door. The congregation were already filing out. I managed to speak to a few, receiving Easter greetings which seemed sincere enough. I could only hope that Bishop Aeron would be tactful when she preached at the Easter Sunday service, although her comment about leaving Easter free ‘to visit parishes which are causing particular difficulties’ wasn’t filling me with confidence.
The church was nearly empty when Lord Willis finally appeared at the exit, his back no longer carrying a snail shark. ‘Lovely service, Father,’ he said. ‘I'm pleased I came.’
‘So am I.’ I lowered my voice. ‘And thank you for looking after Clyde. Not many beings are comfortable around a snail shark.’
The unicorn cocked his head. ‘I know what it’s like to be despised.’ And then, with a flick of his tail, he strode out into the night. My cheeks burned as I turned to go back into the church.
Chapter Ten
As a consequence of my sudden dismissal from Caer-grawnt, the rectory still housed plenty of clothes and toiletries. Morey and I had a wee dram of whisky before we went to our bedrooms. I slid into bed and was asleep within minutes.
I woke early in the cold house. Breakfast supplies had been delivered, so I was able to have some bread and cheese. The tacsi dragon landed on the road outside just as I was gulping down the last of my black coffee. Morey had already flown off to use a thin place and return to his wife. So it was only me and a snail shark to burden the small dragon. Her claws tore into the cobblestones as she opted for a running take off.
There were just a few clouds in the sky. The morning sun gleamed across green fields and blossoming trees. I found myself smiling as the dragon found an air current and settled into a long glide. Flying over Lloegyr on a lovely spring day was my version of heaven. Well, that and standing in the TARDIS film set. I hoped that God, if he allowed me through the pearly gates, wouldn’t make me choose between the two for my eternal reward.
My wristwatch told me it was 9.30am as the onion-domed towers of Llanbedr Cathedral came into view. The red roofs of the buildings nearby always reminded me of the ending of Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory, and I found myself humming ‘Pure Imagination.’
The tacsi dragon wasn’t the only one landing on the large cathedral green. She hovered for a moment, waiting her turn whilst other winged beings touched down onto the close-cropped grass. I slid down to the ground surrounded by gryphons, dragons, harpies, various weres scrambling for clothes, and a glittering gold and red bird which I could only assume was a phoenix. I managed to suppress the impulse to go up to him and ask, ‘Fawkes, I presume?’
I turned to the yellow dragon. ‘Thank you for the flight. The service should finish around 11am. Can you wait that long?’
The dragon settled her wings against her sides. ‘I will wait.’
Many of the pews, and much of the empty area set aside for those who could not sit, were already taken. The front pews were, of course, empty. I smiled at this similarity to English churches as I slid into my seat. Placing Clyde’s case onto the polished wood eased the ache in my shoulder. ‘You,’ I said as he crawled out, ‘are getting too heavy to carry.’
The snail’s eyespots were fixed on the high altar. Two elves in white cassocks worked on preparing the area for communion. ‘Jesus?’
‘There will be a Eucharist,’ I agreed. ‘And you’ll have a blessing. Just like last night, when the unicorn had a blessing too.’
‘Unicorn good,’ Clyde said, sounding confused. Flickers of yellow darted across his grey body. ‘Unicorns good?’
‘Depends on the unicorn.’ I gave his shell a rub. ‘I’m not yet certain about Lord Willis. But he was good to you, I’ll say that much.’
A bell was rung, and the congregation fell silent. I rose to my feet as the first hymn was announced. ‘Jesus Christ is risen today!’ I sang out with enthusiasm as the organ blasted through the building.
A full altar party processed down the long aisle. An elf held up a golden cross. He was followed by two dozen choir members, consisting of mostly weres and vampires, but a small dragon and a gryphon added bass voices to the harmonies. Two elf candle-bearers and a dwarf Gospel-bearer followed. The Dean, a tall unicorn, came last. A silk cloth of white and gold was spread across her back, and a white cowl rested around her neck.
The service was in Welsh. I was thankful for my intensive sessions with my personal Welsh tutor. And, to be fair, everything proceeded along the lines of what I would have been doing in St Wulfram’s. The choir sang a shortened version of the Exsultet, the Dean held a yew branch in her teeth to splatter us with baptismal water, and even the hymn tunes were familiar to me.
To my surprise, the Dean sang not only the sursum corda but continued in the same plain chant for the preface to the Eucharistic prayer. Her pitch was low, nearly baritone, and the very pillars of the cathedral seemed to tremble with the power of her voice.
I gathered Clyde under my right arm to go up for communion. The kneelers at the altar rail were well padded, and I felt some guilt as I lowered the snail onto the material. Stray bits of slime darkened the blue velvet.
An assistant held the patten for the Dean, and she used her lips to pick up wafers and deposit them into the hands or mouths of recipients. ‘The body of Christ,’ she intoned as she made her way down the altar rail. ‘The body of Christ,’ she told me, her beard sliding over my palms as she gave me communion.
Clyde reared up, touching his belly to the wooden rail as he presented his shell for the Dean’s blessing. The unicorn paused before him. Then she snorted. ‘No,’ she said quietly. ‘No blessing for a malwen siarc.’ And she moved on.
I choked on my wafer. ‘The body of Christ,’ the Dean murmured to the elf on my left. Clyde was frozen in place, his body nearly white. I reached out to the snail. ‘Clyde--’
His wings erupted from under his shell. I stumbled to my feet as the snail shot out of the cathedral, leaving a trail of exclamations in his wake. A long queue of people filled the aisle, waiting their turn at the altar rail. I ducked down a side aisle, Clyde’s empty carry case flapping against my side as I jogged over the hard stone floor.
Bright sunshine made me squint as I hurried onto the cathedral green. No sign of a snail shark. But the tacsi dragon caught my eye and pointed with her snout. ‘Down there, he went. To the east.’
I nodded my thanks. A wide path led around the south side of the cathedral. My toes caught in an uneven cobblestone, and I fought to regain my balance. A distant twitter of laughter made me grit my teeth and increase my speed.
Clyde had come to rest on the grass below the east end. His white wings were spread across the ground, feathers darkened by traces of mud. I wondered for a moment whether he could tuck them away when dirty, or if I would need to arrange some sort of bath. Then he raised his head. His cry of anguish drove such minor concerns from my mind.
‘Clyde, oh Clyde.’ I knelt beside him, my hands hovering over his shell. ‘You can have my blessing any time. You know that.’
‘Why?’ His eyespots looked up at me, dark against his pale body. ‘Clyde bad?’
‘No, no, Clyde is good,’ I assured him. ‘The Dean--she didn’t understand. She didn’t realise that you’re a Christian.’
‘Dean bad.’
‘It’s not that black and white,’ I forced myself to say, although at that moment part of me agreed with Clyde. ‘She’s prejudiced. That doesn’t make her evil.’
Something moved nearby. The red squirrel from the Bishop’s palace was walking past, the white fur at her throat blazing in the morning sun. She halted nearby, one foot up, her whiskers twitching as she took in the scene. ‘Malwen siarc.’ Her pronunciation of the Welsh name for ‘snail shark’ was heavy with distaste.
Clyde’s te
ntacles swivelled. Then, with a roar, he threw himself at the squirrel. His belly split open, revealing the jagged teeth which gave his species their name. The squirrel squealed and turned to flee. But Clyde grabbed a hindleg, his jaws snapping shut over fur and bone.
‘No, Clyde, no!’ I was on my feet, shouting down at the snail. ‘You need to let her go! Her name is Glynda and she’s on the Bishop’s staff!’
Blood was trickling onto the grass. Glynda held herself perfectly still, perhaps realising that she was in danger of losing her leg if she struggled. Clyde’s eyespots wavered between me and the squirrel. His body was dark, nearly black.
Hooves drummed against the ground. The Dean charged towards us, her back bare, the cowl twisted around her neck. Grass churned as she came to a sudden halt. Her dark eyes took in snail and squirrel, and the red-rimmed nostrils flared. Muscles twitched in her hindquarters.
She was about to rear. My chest squeezed shut. Clyde’s shell would crack as easily under unicorn hooves as his mother’s had against a shovel. ‘Let go,’ I begged the snail. ‘If you ever loved me, Clyde, let go now!’
Clyde spat out the squirrel and retreated to stand by my feet. Glynda limped over to the unicorn, her leg dragging behind her. The Dean shook her head, and the tension in her body eased. The silver horn gleamed as she lowered it to the squirrel. The tip touched the bleeding wound. Light seemed to intensify along the swirls as power surged from the Dean. The bleeding eased, stopped. Skin stretched and smoothed over the torn flesh. I watched, amazed, as healing which should have taken weeks was finished in less than a minute.
The unicorn raised her head. She looked down at us both. ‘And you wonder why I will not bless snail sharks. Has it not just proved that it was born evil?’
I watched the Dean and Glynda stalk away. My throat was burning. I looked up at the crack in the east window, my hands itching for a rock.