by Chrys Cymri
‘I’m the Great Leader. The Nation expects me to lead them into battle.’
‘Then show them something different,’ I urged. ‘You weren’t raised here, Clyde. You’ve learned that there are better ways to resolve conflicts.’
Clyde’s eyespots moved to face the carvings of knights on the walls. ‘I’ve learned that snail sharks are hated. What did the unicorn priest say? Snail sharks are born evil.’
‘And you know that’s not true.’ I longed to reach out and rub his shell. ‘And you know that not everyone thinks of you that way. Morey, for example. Jago adores you. James gives you beer when I’m not looking. And you know--’ My voice caught for a moment. ‘You know that I love you.’
Silence from the snail. I waited a long moment. ‘I’m sorry about your mother, Clyde, you know I am. That’s why I took you in, to start with. You were so small, remember? You could fit in the palm of my hand. I’ve watched you grow up, and it’s been wonderful. It’s been wonderful to have you in my life, to have you as part of my family. Will you have that here, in this Nation? I can’t see that much love here. Is that what you want?’
Reds and blues chased through his body. ‘I’m the Great Leader.’
‘As Jesus asked, “What benefit is it to you, to gain the whole world, but lose your soul?” Is this really what you want, Clyde? This big chamber, meals on tap, but in charge of a Nation which is so cruel to its own citizens?’
The snail moved closer to me. Yellow was now spiraling through his tentacles. He opened his jaws and spoke for himself. ‘Cruel?’
‘Yes, the Nation is cruel. Ask around. I’ve listened to a snail who was trapped in the breeding pens. I’ve seen the bodies of the rebels killed by your army. But you’ve seen it for yourself. Remember how the soldiers slashed other snails so we could enter the circle? Some of those snails died, Clyde. Citizens of your own Nation. Do you want to be the leader of a Nation that acts like this?’
Silence again. I took a deep breath. ‘And the rebels. They’re Christians. Just as you are. What’ve you been telling me you want, over and over again? You want to be confirmed. You want to commit yourself to Jesus. But that means making a decision. Jesus himself said you can’t serve two masters. You can’t serve God and earthly wealth. It’s one or the other.’
‘Wings,’ Clyde said. ‘Rule.’
Cornelius’ antennae trembled. ‘Snails are coming. About time you wrapped this up.’
‘Oh, yes, those wings,’ I said bitterly. ‘Those precious wings. The Nation’s army fights under the symbol of your wings. The rebels have painted their shells to show how much they hate your wings. Your wings have been turned into a sign of oppression. Clyde, both groups are your own kind. Both sides are snail sharks. Both sides are going to suffer huge losses. Don’t go to war. Don’t let this happen. Choose a better way.’
Red coloured his body. ‘Great Leader!’
‘No,’ I said heatedly. ‘Iesu yw Arglwydd. There’s only one great leader, and his name is Jesus Christ.’
Several large snail sharks entered the chamber. Cornelius didn’t translate their conversation with Clyde, but he didn’t need to. The reds and browns told me that the meeting was over. Desperate, I rose to my feet and began to sing. ‘“When I survey the wondrous cross, on which the Prince of glory died, my richest gain I count but loss, and pour contempt on all my pride.”’
The snails surrounded me. Cornelius flew over to Clyde’s side, telling the guards in Welsh, ‘There she is, the traitor! Take her away!’
I looked Clyde in the eyespots and sang the second verse. ‘“Forbid it, Lord, that I should boast, save in the death of Christ my God! All the vain things that charm me most, I sacrifice them to his blood.”’
The snails pushed me from the chamber. I had one last glimpse of Clyde, his body a mixture of red and purple. No sign of the yellow which marked uncertainty. As I was forced down several passageways, I took deep breaths and fought against the heavy weight of failure. Peter had been right. Why would Clyde want to go against a system that gave him such a good life? ‘You will always have the poor with you,’ Jesus had said to his disciples. Yes, for the simple reason that the rich wanted to keep what they had, and so the poor would simply carry on being poor.
I was placed in a small cave. Two large snails blocked the entrance with their bodies. I sat down, trying to take some comfort in the fact that they hadn’t simply killed me. Well, maybe they were too busy preparing for war, and wanted to do something far more public when they’d destroyed the rebels. Not exactly a cheering thought.
Although I had little appetite, I forced myself to eat and drink. Then I spent some time staring up at the glow-worms, trying to pick out patterns along the ceiling.
A commotion brought me to my feet. Cornelius was forced into the cave, his protests filling the air with Welsh. ‘How can you think that I’m a rebel? I’ve always been loyal to the Great Leader.’
‘You’ve been found out?’
‘Can’t think how,’ the mantis grumbled. ‘I’ve been as careful as a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs.’
‘But Clyde knew better.’
‘No, not him.’ He clicked his forelegs. ‘That General, all his fault. He threw me out quicker than a sick dog. There I was, just waiting to serve the Great Leader, when he barged into the cavern. He told the guards to bring me here.’
I lowered myself back to the floor. ‘What’s Clyde been doing all this time?’
‘Very little,’ Cornelius said. ‘Just sitting there, saying nothing.’
‘Maybe he’s thinking things over.’
‘You reckon he has some doubts?’ the mantis asked.
‘A dark night of the snail? That’s what I’m hoping.’
‘Ma’am, if you think he’s going to change, you haven’t got the sense God gave a goose.’
‘Just stop it,’ I snapped. ‘All these “gosh, darn” sayings of yours. What would a praying mantis know about rocking chairs? Or cats? Or geese? Where do you get all this from?’
Cornelius ruffled his wings and stalked off to the other side of the cave. I leaned back against the wall and took deep breaths. ‘“See from his head, his hands, his feet, sorrow and love flow mingled down,”’ I sang quietly. ‘“Did e’er such love and sorrow meet, or thorns compose so rich a crown?”’
‘What are you doing?’
‘Praying, I guess.’ I gave him a glare. ‘You could try it.’
His antennae waved. ‘Don’t be fooled by the folding forelegs. I’m not as prayerful as I look.’
‘I realised that some time ago.’ I closed my eyes. ‘Fine. I’ll do the praying for both of us.’
My wristwatch marked the hours as afternoon turned into evening. I ate and drank half of my supplies, holding back something for the morning. Around 10pm I decided to try to get some sleep. The cave was warm enough for me to take off my coat and use it as a pillow. As I tried to make myself comfortable on the hard ground, I shot Cornelius a glance and told him, ‘Holler like a cat on a hot tin roof if anyone comes.’
I was dreaming about a hot bath of Prosecco when a tap on my shoulder woke me. ‘Ma’am, rise slowly,’ Cornelius said quietly. ‘No sudden moves.’
Somehow I managed to obey. I sat up, and rubbed at my eyes. Four snail sharks were lined up just inside the cave. It took me a moment to realise what was missing on their dark shells. None of them bore the mark of the Great Leader.
I rose to my feet as one of the snails moved. She curved across the floor, stopped, then made a second curve which intersected the end of the first. Then she retreated, and waited.
The slime glistened in the blue-white light. ‘It’s the ichthys,’ I told Cornelius. ‘The symbol of a fish.’
‘What’s a fish?’ he asked, sounding baffled.
‘Come with me, and I’ll make you a fisherman.’ My mouth was dry, and I took a sip of water. ‘It’s an ancient symbol, used by early Christians when they were being persecuted by the Roman Empire. Someone�
�s taught it to the Christians living in the Nation.’ I addressed the snail sharks. ‘Iesu yw’r Arglwydd.’
The colours of Jesus’ name rainbowed across their bodies. ‘They’ve come to take us outside,’ Cornelius said. ‘Most of the Nation have left the caverns, but we still need to be quiet. There are a few guards left.’
I bit back my words. So the snail sharks had gone out to wage war on the Community. I had clung to the hope that my words to Clyde, and my many prayers last evening, would have changed his mind. Thanks for nothing, I told God sourly.
As we stepped from the cave, my boots slid across something wet and slippery. I looked down. Blue liquid coated the floor. Beyond were our two guards, their bodies little more than shreds of flesh. Several other dead snails cluttered the passageway. The rebels had paid a high price for our freedom.
We crept past cave entrances, the snails always going on ahead to have a look before their tentacles waved us forward. My stomach grumbled, but I didn’t dare try to eat my apple. Cornelius followed close behind me, although I wondered what he’d do once we reached the surface. Neither snail colony looked like a good bet for food and shelter.
Come to think of it, I wasn’t certain what was my best course of action. I hoped that Raven had finally finished his withdrawal symptoms, which meant he’d be able fly us to safety. But that meant abandoning both sides to their mutually assured destruction. Was there really no other way? I found myself twisting hair again. I’d tried so hard, both with Tamar and Clyde. Neither had listened to me. What else could I do?
The air held the chill of early morning as we emerged onto the moor. I glanced at my wristwatch. It was only 7am. I tightened my coat around my shoulders, and noticed how much I really needed a shower. A less than helpful part of my mind was suddenly very glad that Peter wasn’t around to share that realisation.
The eyespots of our guides were fixed on my face. ‘They want to know,’ Cornelius said, ‘where you plan to go next.’
‘I don’t know.’ I rubbed the back of my stiff neck. ‘What will they do?’
‘Join the war. They know where the Nation was headed. They will attack from the rear.’
‘But that’s a suicide mission.’
‘They know.’
I swallowed hard. ‘Let’s follow them.’
Cornelius twisted his head. I had the distinct impression that I’d just witnessed his version of a eye roll. ‘Being eaten in battle wasn’t part of my game plan.’
‘There’s not much either of us can do,’ I snapped. ‘But maybe we can find a vantage point.’
‘Why?’
‘Because friends are going to die today.’ I closed my eyes, determined not to cry. ‘And since it’s all my fault, the least I can do is watch.’
The snails set off, and we followed. After a long pause, as I was navigating a tricky bit of bog, Cornelius said, ‘And how’s this all your fault?’
‘I couldn’t convince Tamar to call this off, and it didn’t work with Clyde, either.’
I was too busy pulling my boot free from the ground to look at the mantis, but I heard his forelegs clicking. ‘This war has been a long time coming. Don’t give yourself that much credit.’
Whether his words had been meant to reassure or to rebuke me, I couldn’t decide. So I concentrated on climbing up the incline ahead of us. My boots, I noted, were coated in a mixture of black peat and blue blood. Black and blue. Exactly how I felt.
We halted at the top. The land dropped away, and we looked down into a small valley. Cornelius pointed with one pincer. There, only several hundred yards to our right, the Nation moved over the moor. The double crescent symbol was a bright blue on a thousand shells. Speeding up on our left were the Community, only a couple hundred strong. Black gunge was spread across the top of their shells, just above the red line striking through white crescents. Far behind them, struggling over the uneven ground, were Peter and James. Morey and Jago rode on their shoulders. And at their heels, his wings hanging loosely from his back, was Raven.
Our guides dashed away. I started after them, then forced myself to stop. ‘Good luck,’ I found myself murmuring. ‘And may God have mercy on your souls.’
Both sides had caught sight of each other. They slowed. Tamar was at the front of the ragged line of the Community, the General at the apex of the Nation’s arrow-like shape. Where was Clyde? I scanned the group for his distinctive left facing spiral.
Scarcely twenty feet away from each other, both groups halted. Dark colours pulsed through their bodies. ‘Insults,’ Cornelius explained. ‘Going on about rotten eggs and malformed tentacles.’
The General swaggered into the gap. ‘He’s telling the rebels that they can die quickly, or slowly. He suggests that the first is better for them, and that all they have to do is lie down.’
Tamar moved forward, until she was only a few feet from the larger snail. ‘She’s simply told him, “Jesus is Lord”.’
Growls and hisses rose from the massed snail sharks. I bit my lip. Any moment now the lines would break and fall upon each other. And then there would be nothing but dead and dying snails strewn across the moor.
White wings glinted against the grey clouds, then brightened as the feathers caught a sudden shaft of sunshine. The armies stilled, tentacles stretched upwards, all eyespots focussing on the snail swooping down from the sky.
Clyde landed between Tamar and the General. My heart pounded at how small he looked. The two other snails were several times his height. As he tucked his wings up against his shell, red and purple twisted through his body.
‘What’s he saying?’ I asked Cornelius.
The mantis sounded confused. ‘Stop! I command it! There will be no battle here!’
‘The Doctor,’ I breathed. ‘He’s quoting from that Doctor Who episode I showed him.’
‘The General disagrees. He’s saying, “You are the Great Leader. These rebels don’t recognise your rule. They must be destroyed.”’
‘And Tamar? What’s she saying?’
‘That the Great Leader must be killed. As long as he lives, as long as the Nation lives, the Community can never be free.’ Cornelius moved closer, his eyes intent on the scene unfolding before us. ‘Now the General is saying, “We fight for the true leader, under the sign of the winged one.” And Tamar is telling him, “And that’s the sign of the Eternal Leaders who have always oppressed us.”’
Colours pulsed through Clyde’s body. Cornelius had fallen silent. I glanced at the mantis, and saw that his forelegs had fallen open in shock. ‘What? What’s Clyde saying?’
Cornelius responded in a near whisper. ‘If that’s what keeps you fighting each other, then take them.’
Clyde bent low. He spread out his wings, the long white feathers clean and bright against the churned brown and green of mud and moss. Tamar surged forwards, her jaws opening wide. She grasped the nearest wing, and began to tug him towards the line of rebels.
The General’s growled. He dug his jaws into the other wing, and pulled back, seemingly determined to keep his Great Leader on the Nation’s side of the line.
Clyde shrieked. The sound tore through my heart. I found myself running down the hill, not caring as I stumbled and nearly fell, my arms churning against air and soil. My eyes were fixed on the snail as blood began to pour from beneath his shell. Then, with sharp snaps which echoed across the valley, his wings tore away from his body.
Both Tamar and the General fell back, their jaws full of feathers. I plunged past them and dropped to my knees. Clyde was sprawled on the ground, bloody stumps where his wings had once been. I picked him up, not caring as blue liquid pumped hot and sticky across my legs. ‘Clyde,’ I cried out, his body blurring through my tears, ‘Why? Why have you done this?’
His tentacles swivelled between the two armies. The snails from both sides had shut their jaws, and their eyespots were raised high as they took in the sight of the snail bleeding in my arms. Then yellow spread across their massed bodies. Tamar and th
e General spat feathers from their teeth, and called out to their troops. But the snails tumbled away from their military leaders, abandoning us in our swirl of blood and feathers.
Clyde looked up at me. ‘Peace,’ he answered. He touched my face gently with his eyespots. ‘Mam.’ Then he fainted.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Someone was screaming. The sound hurt my ears and I wished it would stop. When I took a breath, I realised that the sound had been coming from me. I rose to my feet, Clyde’s body pressed tightly my chest. ‘Raven!’ I shouted. ‘Help me!’
Snails flung themselves as the dragon dropped heavily to the ground. His nostrils fluttered as he drew the smell of snail blood. ‘Penny. My flying is still--off.’
‘I don’t care,’ I said. ‘I need to get help for Clyde.’ My mind was racing. The vets at the Midlands Safari Park? We didn’t have enough time. There was only one person who could heal the snail now. I drew in a deep, painful breath. ‘I need you to take me to the Archdruid.’
‘But my balance--’
‘Raven, if you’ve ever loved me, help me now!’
The dragon stared at me, his red-rimmed eyes bulging in his narrow head. Then he launched himself unsteadily into the sky, wings pounding against the air. The toes of his forefeet opened wide, and he swooped, catching both me and snail into a tight basket of flesh and claw.
Moor and sky swirled around me as Raven laboured upwards. My stomach lurched, and I closed my eyes. Clyde felt unnaturally heavy in my arms. The angle at which Raven had grabbed me forced my head to remain upright, so I couldn’t bend to have a look at the snail. I couldn’t feel a heartbeat, or any signs of him breathing, but I had no idea what was normal for his species.
The air temperature changed as we passed through a thin place. The hot sun was welcome on my cold body, but I wondered if it would do Clyde any good. Raven dived, and a moment later a chill wind bit through my hair. I dared to look, and found that we were skimming over an ice field. The dragon seemed to be more certain in his flight now. A quick change in wing angle, and we turned left. I caught a quick glimpse of a pure blue lake before we went through another crossing.