The Vengeance of Snails

by Chrys Cymri

  The acrid smell of a city slammed into my nostrils. We dropped between two skyscrapers. A river glinted in the distance. I had just enough time to note the oriental characters on the large electronic billboards before we changed location again.

  The warm smell of an English spring rose from the grasses waving beneath my feet. No, not England. Lloegyr. Raven had navigated us to the lands of the Archdruid’s unicorn herd. ‘Hold on, Clyde,’ I told the snail. ‘Just a little longer. We’re nearly there.’

  The dragon pulled up into a hover. His wings pounded as he landed on his rear legs. I was lowered to the ground, my boots sinking into the meadow. Then Raven opened his feet to release me.

  The forest was just ahead of us. I readjusted Clyde in my arms, noting with alarm that his tentacles had withdrawn into his limp body.

  ‘Penny.’ Raven’s voice was fierce. I glanced back at him. He stood tall, ears and horns pulled back, tail lashing across the ground. ‘Never, ever say that to me again.’

  I gave him a quick nod. Then I stumbled towards the trees. It’d been winter when I was last here. Frost had crunched under my boots, and the trees had been bare. Now leaves danced along the branches, giving the forest a welcoming look. I gritted my teeth, knowing better than to believe that lie.

  The soil was soft underfoot. I strode several hundred feet inside, until the grasslands were hidden by the interwoven rowan, oaks, and elms. Then I placed Clyde down. His body was nearly white. I forced the name out. ‘Neciaunim!’

  The sound of hooves reached my ears a few moments later. ‘As I told you once before, Father Penny, I am aware of any being which comes into these woods.’

  The Archdruid stepped into the small clearing. As ever, she seemed to bring her own light with her. The silver-white coat gleamed against the brown tree trunks, and her silver horn and hooves flashed as she strode over to me. She halted a few feet away.

  ‘It’s Clyde,’ I said quickly. ‘Please, could you please heal him?’

  The dark eyes studied me. ‘The malwen siarc. This is the one who saved you from yourself.’

  ‘Yes, he is. And now I need to save him.’

  ‘And what will you give me in return, Father Penny?’

  ‘Anything.’ I cleared my throat. ‘I’ll give you anything you ask.’

  ‘Anything?’

  ‘Anything. I promise by honour and blood, life and limb. Anything.’

  ‘Very well.’ The Archdruid took a step back and arched her neck. Blue fire seemed to flow down her horn, flickering cold and bright along the spiral. Then she touched the sharp tip to Clyde’s body.

  The cold flames skipped along the shell and swirled across his belly. The wing stumps dried, scabbed, healed, became puckered scars. Colour returned, dark grey, with calm notes of green and blue. Then his tentacles emerged, waving as his eyespots took in the scene.

  The Archdruid raised her head. ‘He will live. But he has lost much blood. The malwen siarc will be weak for some time, until his system has replenished itself.’

  I knelt down and held out my arms. Clyde flowed into my embrace. My hands locked around his shell and I fought back my tears. Now was not the time. I staggered back to my feet and turned to leave.

  ‘Father Penny.’ I glanced back at the unicorn. ‘One day I will call upon you to fulfil your promise. But tell me, why make such a pledge for the sake of a malwen siarc?’

  I glanced down at Clyde. He had withdrawn into his shell, and only his tentacles were still visible. Then I smiled at the Archdruid, knowing that she could never understand. ‘Because he has the most beautiful soul I’ve ever known.’

  And then, with my precious burden clasped securely against my chest, I strode away, leaving the unicorn to stand alone in her forest.

  <><><><><><>

  I watched as Rosie walked to the church doors, her hands pushing at the handles as she checked that they were locked. To have someone wander into St Wulfram’s today, when their vicar was supposedly still on sabbatical, would have led to some awkward questions. And to find Bishop Nigel present would have raised even more suspicions. My associate priest walked back over to the font where we were all gathered.

  The Bishop smiled around at us. Seven gryphons, four humans, and one snail shark. Morey, Taryn, and the eyasses stood on a table which I’d brought over from the village hall. Clyde rested on a nearby chair. Peter and I stood behind the gryphons, and James perched on a pew a short distance away.

  Rosie had defied Holly’s stance on heating, namely that it was never turned on after Easter, and so the ancient church was comfortably warm. Morning sunlight brushed against the east window behind the altar, and a few stray rays touched through the windows where we stood, near the south door of the church.

  Bishop Nigel lifted his right hand, the red chasuble sliding down his arm as he blessed us. ‘We meet and pray in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. The Lord be with you.’

  ‘And also with you,’ we said.

  ‘It’s good to be with you today,’ the Bishop told us. ‘Baptism is the first step into a life-long relationship with Christ, and confirmation is the acceptance of the promises made at our baptism. I felt honoured to have been asked by Morey and Taryn to be part of this special occasion.’

  I kept my mouth shut. Morey was once again at odds with his own bishop, but there was no need for Bishop Nigel to know that. On the other hand, knowing my bishop, he was probably well aware of the pastoral breakdown which had brought the gryphons to a human church for the baptism of their children.

  Bishop Nigel said the opening prayer, and Morey read from Isaiah 43.

  ‘“But now thus says the Lord,

  he who created you, O Jacob,

  he who formed you, O Israel:

  Do not fear, for I have redeemed you;

  I have called you by name, you are mine.

  When you pass through the waters, I will be with you;

  and through the rivers, they shall not overwhelm you;

  when you walk through fire you shall not be burned,

  and the flame shall not consume you.”’

  We stood as Rosie declared the Gospel passage. Peter, as one of the godparents, had chosen the story of Jesus’ own baptism from the Gospel of Luke. Bishop Nigel gave a short homily about how all beings were knit together into the body of Christ through baptism. At one point Rothgen, who was obviously a bit bored, started to pick at Jago’s crest. Although he was only half her size, he bit back, and Taryn had to hiss warnings at them both. The Bishop merely smiled and carried on.

  Then, sermon finished, he asked the eyasses, ‘Do you wish to be baptised?’

  ‘Yes,’ they all called out excitedly.

  Bishop Nigel turned to Clyde. ‘Have you been baptized in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit?’

  ‘Yes,’ the snail replied.

  ‘Parents and godparents,’ the Bishop continued, ‘today you are making promises on behalf of these children. So I must ask you to affirm your rejection of evil and that you have yourselves turned to Christ.’

  Bishop Nigel led us through the questions and responses. Then the eyasses held still as the Bishop made the sign of the cross on each small head. ‘Do not be ashamed to confess the faith of Christ crucified.’

  We added, ‘Fight valiantly as a disciple of Christ against sin, the world and the devil, and remain faithful to Christ to the end of your life.’

  Bishop Nigel moved back to the font and picked up the brass pitcher. Water splashed against the sides of the stone font as he emptied the contents. Clyde watched intently as the Bishop prayed over the water, and I recalled that the snail probably remembered very little of his own baptism.

  We professed our faith. Then Rosie brought each young gryphon over in turn to be baptised. The larger eyasses spluttered as Bishop Nigel poured water over their heads three times, taking to liquid as unhappily as a cat. Only Jago seemed to enjoy the experience. He lifted his head and closed his eyes to let the d
rops trickle through his feathers and down to his fur. The Bishop smiled as he told him, ‘Jago, I baptize you in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.’

  Bishop Nigel brought water over in his palms and sprinkled Clyde’s shell. ‘Almighty God, we thank you for our fellowship in the household of faith with all who have been baptized into your name. Keep us faithful to our baptism, and so make us ready for that day when the whole creation shall be made perfect in your Son, our Saviour Jesus Christ.’

  ‘Amen,’ we all agreed.

  The Bishop dried his hands and addressed Clyde. ‘Are you ready to take on the promises made at your baptism?’

  ‘Yes,’ Clyde said fervently. Blue and purple swirled through his body, and his eyespots were fixed on the Bishop’s face.

  ‘Did you want to give a testimony?’

  Clyde studied him for a moment. Then he opened his jaws and sang. ‘“Were the whole realm of nature mine, that were a present far too small; Love so amazing, so divine, demands my soul, my life, my all.’”

  Bishop Nigel nodded, then held his hands over the snail. ‘Almighty and ever-living God, you have given this your servant new birth in baptism by water and the Spirit, and have forgiven him all his sins. Let your Holy Spirit rest upon him: the Spirit of wisdom and understanding; the Spirit of counsel and inward strength; the Spirit of knowledge and true godliness; and let his delight be in the fear of the Lord.’

  I swallowed against a lump in my throat as the Bishop told the snail, ‘Clyde, God has called you by name and made you his own.’ He placed both hands on the dark shell. ‘Confirm, O Lord, your servant with your Holy Spirit.’

  Our ‘Amen’ echoed through the church.

  We shared the Peace, and moved up to the choir area. The eyasses filled one choir seat, their parents standing nearby. James lowered Clyde into another seat, and I placed myself at the snail’s side. Rosie went up to the altar with the Bishop and helped him to prepare the bread and wine.

  As Bishop Nigel started the Eucharistic Prayer, I let my eyes wander around the old building. The replacement pews gleamed under a recent application of polish. New kneelers rested on brass hooks. Tapestries hid the damage to the pulpit. The place glowed from the efforts of those who loved their village church and were determined to restore it. Suddenly I wanted to come back, to be the one who stood behind the altar and who visited villagers in their times of celebration and need. I was tired of the politics of Lloegyr and the antics of snail sharks. I was ready to return to Northampton. I was ready to come home.

  The others were saying the Lord’s Prayer, and I hurried to join in. Then the Bishop broke the piece of bread in his hands. ‘We break this bread to share in the body of Christ.’

  ‘Though we are many,’ we responded, ‘we are one body, because we all share in one bread.’

  We said together the Agnus Dei, and then Bishop Nigel reminded us, ‘Jesus is the Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world. Blessed are those who are called to his supper.’

  ‘Lord, I am not worthy to receive you,’ we replied, ‘but only say the word, and I shall be healed.’

  I allowed the others to go up first for communion, and the eyasses for a blessing. Then I carried Clyde to the altar rail. I set him down on a cushion and knelt beside him. The Bishop made the sign of the cross over my palms, then lowered a wafer into my hands. ‘The body of Christ.’

  ‘Amen,’ I responded.

  Rosie held out the chalice, and Bishop Nigel dipped a wafer into the wine. Then he bent down. Clyde opened his jaws. With great care, the Bishop reached past the sharp teeth and placed bread onto the well-hidden tongue. ‘Clyde, the body of Christ.’

  The snail waited until the hand was free before closing his mouth and swallowing. ‘Jesus,’ he whispered to himself. And his body flushed bright pink.

  <><><><><><>

  Rosie set about clearing up after the service. Jago and James wandered outside, and Peter gave me a quick kiss before he headed back to work. Morey and Taryn took the other eyasses off for a celebratory hunt. Bishop Nigel caught my eye, and he led me to the bell chamber.

  ‘I don’t want the bats to overhear us,’ he said as he shut the door.

  ‘Vampires,’ I reminded him. ‘Rosie says they’ve been behaving themselves.’

  ‘Yours have. Other churches haven’t been so fortunate.’ He ran a hand through his grey hair. ‘These have sent a representative to my chaplain. The colony has enjoyed the sermons they’ve heard in church. Some of them want to be given instruction in the Christian faith. I think you’re going to be baptising vampires soon.’

  ‘Good thing holy water doesn’t destroy them.’

  We shared a smile, remembering our very first conversation about Lloegyr. ‘It’s been an interesting year for you, hasn’t it?’ Bishop Nigel commented. ‘Dragons and unicorns and wars between snail sharks.’

  ‘Let’s hope the war is over,’ I said. ‘Peter said both sides slunk back to their caves. They didn’t know what to do after Clyde’s sacrifice.’

  ‘Well, your sabbatical is nearly finished.’ He studied me. ‘How would you feel about having a curate here in St Wulfram’s?’

  ‘That could be interesting,’ I said carefully. ‘But he or she would have to know about Lloegyr.’

  ‘That wouldn’t be a problem. Her name is Skylar Grey. Are you willing to meet with her?’

  I shrugged, then realised that maybe the Bishop was looking for something far more positive. ‘I think I’d enjoy training a curate. Let’s face it, Morey doesn’t really count. Maybe she can come over when I’m back home? Or is that too late? I know the ordinations are in late June.’

  ‘She’s already a deacon, so that isn’t a problem.’ He smiled at my reaction. ‘Yes, it’d be a second curacy, but there are reasons why she’s looking for a new setting. Let’s meet when you’re back from your sabbatical, and I’ll explain.’

  The church was empty when we emerged. Well, except for the vampire colony hanging from the rafters. They liked my sermons, did they? It was good to think that someone listened to what I had to say. Most of the human congregation seemed to think that they could have a quick kip whilst I stood in the pulpit.

  I drove James, Clyde, and Jago back to the vicarage. We were going to spend the night at the house. Raven was to collect us in the morning. I wanted to have a few hours clearing post and emails before taking a bath and enjoying a night in my own bed.

  But first a cup of tea. James and I sighed as we took sips from steaming mugs. Clyde tucked into his own bowl. ‘You’re too young,’ my brother told Jago as the gryphon tried to sneak a taste.

  The doorbell rang. ‘Bother,’ I said as I rose from the table. ‘I’d better see who that is.’

  A woman stood on the doorstep. I had barely a moment to take in the short blonde hair, the brown eyes, and the way her stomach strained against a bright blue shirt before she launched into speech. ‘I know that you’re still on sabbatical, and Bishop Nigel wanted to speak to you a bit more, but I know he mentioned me today and I’m super excited that we might work together. So I know I shouldn’t be here, but when I heard that he’d mentioned me and I was only nearby, because I live around here, you see, I thought I’d come over. And I know you’re not ready yet, but I wanted to meet you, and say that it’d be wonderful if I did come to your parish. Oh, and I’m Skylar, and it’s so wonderful to meet you.’

  Finally she paused for breath and gave me a huge smile. As her lips pulled away from her teeth, I found myself staring at a pair of overly long canines. My potential new curate was a vampire.

  #####

  Penny White will return in ‘The Vexation of Vampires.’

  Thanks for reading my book. If you enjoyed it, won’t you please take

  a moment to leave me a review at Amazon? It’s very important to self-published authors such as myself.

  Thanks again!

  Chrys Cymri

  To leave a review at Amazon in the USA, click here:
r />   Amazon USA

  To leave a review at Amazon in the UK, click here:

  Amazon UK

  Go to my website, www.chryscymri.com and get a free ebook by signing up to my newsletter. Click below:

  Sign me up!

  About the Author

  Priest by day, writer at odd times of the day and night, I live with a small green parrot because the upkeep for a dragon is beyond my current budget. Plus I’m responsible for making good any flame damage to church property. I love ‘Doctor Who’, landscape photography, single malt whisky, and my job, in no particular order. When I’m not looking after a small parish church in the Midlands (England), I like to go on far flung adventures to places like Peru, New Zealand, and the Arctic.

  Discover other titles by Chrys Cymri

  Dragons Can Only Rust

  Dragon Reforged

  The Dragon Throne

  The Unicorn Throne

  The Judas Disciple

  The Temptation of Dragons (Penny White 1)

  The Cult of Unicorns (Penny White 2)

  The Marriage of Gryphons (Penny White 3)

  Connect with Me:

  Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/chryscymri?fref=ts

  My website: http://www.chryscymri.com

  Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/1076161.Chrys_Cymri

  First Chapter of The Dragon Throne

  Fianna dropped a final portion of straw on the stable floor. Resting a moment on her pitchfork, she wiped a grimy sleeve across her sweaty forehead. The smell of horse dung seemed to cling to her very skin, and she studied the stalls left between her and the main doors. Four more to muck out. Her muscles ached already. Taking a deep breath, she moved on.