The Cult of Unicorns (Penny White Book 2)

by Chrys Cymri

  The unicorn turned in one fluid movement and headed out of the Pavilion. I followed in her wake, struck by the way in which the crowd parted before her. As we squelched our way across the field, no matter what the species, the beings of Lloegyr ducked to one side to give the Archdeacon clear passage. Even the dragons dipped their heads in respect.

  I felt out of place in the tea tent chosen by the Archdeacon. Artificial turf had been placed on the ground, light from gas lamps was refracted through crystal chandeliers, and the pink sofas sparkled with gold brocade. The immaculate unicorn looked at home among the silver curtains lining the tent sides. I sat down on one of the elaborately carved chairs and wished that I’d had time to brush my hair.

  The tea was served in pure white china, a cup for me and a bowl for the Archdeacon. No milk was offered. The flavour was delicate and made me think of sunshine and flowers. ‘What is it?’ I asked.

  ‘Blodeuwedd. A very special mixture.’

  Then even the soft murmurs of conversations in the tent suddenly stilled. I followed the Archdeacon’s gaze. Another unicorn stood in the entrance. She was several hands higher than my drinking companion, and her coat was more silver than white. A torc of twisted gold hung around her neck, and the terminals held large red stones. A circlet of gold surrounded the silver horn which spiralled from her forehead.

  There was a flurry of movement. Nearly every being in the tent rose to their feet and bent their heads. Even the Archdeacon gave a respectful nod. I hurried to stand as well and gave a quick bow.

  ‘Ymlaciwch,’ the unicorn said regally. ‘Mae pawb yn gyfartal yn yr Eisteddfod.’

  The Archdeacon shifted around our table. ‘Archdruid, we would be honoured if you would join us.’

  I sank back into my chair. With two unicorns standing across from me, I felt more dowdy than ever. You’re only thirty-six, I told myself firmly, and not a grey hair in sight. But I still raised a hand to push stray strands back behind my ears.

  Another bowl of tea was brought over. The Archdruid’s dark eyes studied me. ‘And you are not what you seem, offeiriad.’

  ‘What do I seem to be?’ I asked.

  ‘You bear a form similar to a vampire, but I sense no fresh blood upon you.’

  ‘The Father,’ the Archdeacon said quietly, ‘is the Vicar General of Incursions from Nenehamption Diocese, the sister diocese to Llanbedr on their world, which they call Earth.’

  ‘Ah, a dynol.’ The Archdruid winked at me. ‘I bear no animosity towards humans.’

  ‘I’m quite relieved to hear it,’ I said. The silver horn looked lethal. ‘My name is Penny White.’

  The unicorn sighed. ‘I thank you for the trust of your name. But I regret that I cannot offer you mine in return. Unicorns offer their names to very few. I don’t expect you to understand.’

  ‘In the second creation story in our holy book, the Bible,’ I told her, ‘God brings each animal to Adam, the first human, to give them their names. Later, when God appears to Moses in the burning bush, God refuses to give Moses his name. “I am who I am,” God tells him. To be able to name someone is to have power over them. I understand that.’

  The Archdruid brought her muzzle close to my ear. ‘Well answered, Father. Always take care what you name. They are afterwards forever in your care.’

  She dipped her muzzle into her tea, taking care not to wet her long beard. A few delicate sips, and then she raised her head again and headed back out into the weak sunshine. A half dozen drinkers abandoned their places and hurried after her.

  ‘It’s time I was going,’ I told the Archdeacon. ‘I need to finish off my sermon for Sunday.’

  ‘Certainly.’

  We extricated Morey from the beer tent. His flying was erratic, and he clung to my coat with exaggerated care. ‘How many have you had?’ I asked him.

  ‘Just a couple of pints.’ His speech was slurred. ‘Had to celebrate Taryn’s win, didn’t I?’

  ‘Just don’t be sick on me.’

  ‘I know, I know, it’s a new coat.’

  The unicorn tactfully ignored our conversation as she escorted us across the field and to the forest beyond. I felt the usual chill as we approached the thin place. ‘Many thanks, Archdeacon, for the invitation. It’s been an interesting day. Wouldn’t have minded a little less mud, though.’

  ‘Nid Eisteddfod Eisteddfod heb fwd. An Eisteddfod without mud is no Eisteddfod at all.’ The unicorn dipped her head. ‘God’s blessing on you, Father Penny.’

  I gritted my teeth and walked forward. Despite the many times I’d already crossed over to Lloegyr, the sense of doom and death still threatened to overwhelm me. I had to force my feet to carry me into the darkness which howled and swirled around my body. Ice twisted through my hair, and I lost the sound of my heartbeat.

  Then I was stumbling out into the rain of a cold December day in England. I didn’t need Morey’s urging to pull free from the yew tree which grew over the thin place on this side of the crossing. I hurried down the wet road to my car. Time to go home, make a cup of tea, and turn my attention away from unicorns and dragons and back to the more ordinary life of a parish priest.

  Chapter Two

  I made the mistake, on Monday morning, of letting Clyde pick the hymn to sing at the end of the Morning Office. The snail shark picked his current favourite, ‘All Things Bright and Beautiful.’ Morey groaned, and then registered his protest by singing the words to a different setting. Clyde stayed true to his version, his tenor voice battling against Morey’s deeper baritone. I became hopelessly confused between the two and had to give up.

  ‘Well, that’s different,’ James remarked as I stomped into the kitchen. Behind me gryphon and snail shark were still trying to outdo each other. ‘Are you allowed to leave before you’ve finished your prayers?’

  ‘I’m allowed to leave if it stops me from killing someone.’ I poured myself a mug of coffee, and headed back. The hymn had finally come to an end, but the argument was far from over. Gryphon ears and snail tentacles were angled aggressively towards each other, although at least they had stayed on their separate ends of my desk.

  ‘The Lord’s Prayer,’ I announced firmly. ‘And we’ll focus on the idea of forgiving trespasses, shall we?’

  ‘In the traditional version?’ Morey asked.

  ‘The traditional version.’

  I nearly left the room again when he started to recite in Latin and Clyde, not to be outdone, countered by singing the prayer in Welsh. I ploughed on in English, which meant that we all ended at slightly different times.

  I shut the Common Worship book. ‘In the future,’ I told them both icily, ‘we’re going to stick to one tune and to one language. Understood?’

  ‘Intelligi,’ Morey said.

  ‘Deall,’ Clyde added.

  Time for breakfast. I let Clyde flow onto my palm, his foot soft and slimy against my skin. Once in the kitchen I lowered him to the floor. He zoomed through the cat flap, his grey shell still only half the height of the opening. Morey made his own way out to the back garden a moment later.

  James was staring at yesterday’s newspaper, a half finished bowl of cereal by one hand and his iPhone at the other. I dumped two slices of bread into the toaster and joined him at the table. ‘Looking for jobs in England?’ I asked. ‘Or will you be going back to Lloegyr?’

  ‘Don’t know.’ My brother’s brown hair, which was always in need of a trim, straggled over his creased forehead. His dark eyes were fixed on something other than the sports column. ‘Might do. Don’t know.’

  I tried again. ‘Your birthday’s coming up. Why don’t we have a big celebration? Twenty-three’s a good number. I enjoyed being twenty-three. We could invite all of your friends. It’s a big house, vicarages always are, they could all stay over, no one would have to worry about drinking and driving...’

  My rule is to stop speaking when I find myself babbling. James might be sitting in my kitchen, but he felt as far away as when he had lived in New Zealand. It wa
s at times like these that I really missed Alan. My husband had always been the one who could reach out to James. But I’d buried Alan nearly two years ago, and it was just James and me now.

  ‘There’s only one friend I’d really want there,’ James said. ‘And she’s lying in cold storage.’

  I hesitated. Should I mention Miranda by name? Or was it better to let James speak in his own time?

  Then the bread popped out of the toaster and I took the coward’s way out. I retrieved my toast and added butter and jam before returning to the table. James left his seat even as I resumed mine. I stared at the remains of his breakfast while the kitchen door opened and closed behind me.

  An hour later I had cleared all debris and cranked up the central heating. Bishop Nigel had decided that I should have a review after my first six months as Vicar General of Incursions. There was little I could do about the back garden, buried under a weight of weeds and unmown grass, but I could at least move the Doctor Who Magazine to the lounge and set up the coffee maker.

  The doorbell rang at exactly 11am. I’ve never known my bishop to be a minute early, nor a minute late. I walked to the hall, welcomed him in, and led the way back to the kitchen.

  The chair creaked slightly as Bishop Nigel lowered himself onto the cushion. He’d put on a bit of weight, and his purple shirt bulged over his paunch. From a carrier bag he pulled out a bottle and placed it on the table. ‘For you. I seem to remember that we managed to get through quite a bit of whisky last time I came to see you.’

  I touched the label reverently. ‘Talisker. My favourite. How did you know?’

  ‘Penny.’ He smiled. ‘I’ve read your blog. Of course I know.’

  ‘Well...’ I coughed. ‘You told me to start writing it again. All about being Vicar General of Incursions. So people wouldn’t believe stories about dragons appearing in their skies and vampires in their barns.’

  ‘And you’ve done a great job.’ Bishop Nigel took a sip of his coffee. ‘And you’ve even published a book?’

  I shrugged. ‘It’s quite easy to self-publish these days. The six people who’ve read the book seem to have enjoyed it.’

  ‘A few more than six.’ He leaned forward. ‘I know I said I’d come for a review, but Huw, the communications officer, heard from a production company yesterday afternoon. They want to film a web series based on the book.’

  I felt suddenly dizzy. ‘A web series. Based on my book.’

  The Bishop pushed the whisky bottle towards me. ‘I think you need a drink.’

  ‘It’s only eleven in the morning.’

  ‘Think of it as showing canonical obedience to your bishop.’

  I got up and went to a cupboard. ‘Does canonical obedience require one or two glasses?’

  ‘Oh, two, I should think.’

  When I was seated again, he opened the seal, pulled out the cork, and poured a generous helping of amber liquid into each glass. ‘I’m not driving,’ he assured me before taking a sip. ‘Now, I need to let you know that the series would be filmed at Saint Wulfram’s.’

  ‘My church?’ It came out as a yelp, and I felt myself flush. ‘Why?’

  ‘Huw convinced the producer that Saint Wulfram’s was the perfect location. An ancient church, in a small village, but surrounded by modern housing estates. A very good combination for location filming.’ His brown eyes twinkled in amusement. ‘And with an excellent priest to serve as consultant.’

  ‘My diary...’ I began weakly.

  ‘Can you find the time?’ he asked, suddenly concerned. ‘Is Rosie working out well? Is she an asset to your parish?’

  ‘She’s great,’ I assured him. ‘You’d never guess that she’s over sixty. I don’t know why she retired. She could easily still work as a full time priest.’

  ‘Rosie had her reasons.’ Bishop Nigel coughed, and I fetched him a glass of water. He nodded his thanks. ‘I know that dealing with the filming will take up time. But I’m certain Rosie could take on additional responsibilities to help you out.’

  ‘I’m sure she could,’ I said out loud. But inwardly I was wincing at the sharp words which I could already predict would come from my churchwarden, Holly. ‘When will all this happen?’

  ‘In January. If you’re happy to do this. Let me know before I pass your contact details on to the production company.’ His grey hair glinted under the kitchen lights as he leaned back in his chair. ‘Huw’s negotiated a fee for your parish.’

  ‘That’ll help with the parish share.’

  ‘But Penny, I’m sorry, there’ll be no extra money in it for you.’

  I chuckled. ‘No one who’s interested in money becomes a priest. I always say that my reward must be in heaven, because it certainly isn’t here on Earth.’

  A sudden commotion from the back garden drew our attention. We both rose and walked over to the kitchen windows. Morey had downed a blackbird, and was ripping out her throat. Clyde split open his belly to expose his shark-toothed jaws, and his teeth were wrapped around a pigeon’s leg. The pigeon was twice his size, and the bird was dragging the snail across the long grass.

  ‘So it’s true?’ Bishop Nigel asked. ‘You actually have a snail shark living with you?’

  ‘Snail sharks can find thin places,’ I said defensively. ‘I’ve been training him to find them on command.’

  Morey had finished killing the blackbird, and his sharp beak was now ripping into the breast. Clyde had split himself open further, revealing the full length of his ferocious teeth, and he was in effect using his jaws to climb up the pigeon’s leg to her chest.

  ‘Still a dangerous pet to have.’

  I paused a moment. It’s never a good idea to openly challenge a bishop. ‘He’s not really a pet. More like family. I took him in after I’d killed his parent, and I think he sees me as his mother.’

  Bishop Nigel turned to look down at me. ‘Penny. Be careful.’

  Somehow I knew that he meant more than just living with what my brother had termed ‘a piranha on slime.’ I cleared my throat. ‘I try to be.’ Then a thought struck me. ‘Bishop Nigel, how long has it been since you touched someone from Lloegyr?’

  His eyes drifted back to the battle between snail shark and pigeon. ‘Oh, perhaps two months.’

  ‘Most people lose the Sight within ten days,’ I continued. ‘Our brains decide that what we saw was impossible. But you don’t, do you? Are you like Miranda?’

  ‘The Sight is permanent with me, like Miranda, God rest her soul,’ the Bishop confirmed. ‘Has been all my life.’

  For a moment I hovered in a no man’s land between deferential and ballsy. Then I landed on the latter. ‘So you can see people from Lloegyr all the time. You don’t need an Associate to keep the ability.’

  ‘When I was young, I thought it was magical. When I was a teenager, I thought I was going mad.’ He gave me a sad smile. ‘When I was a young man, I gave my life to Christ and prayed that he would take the delusions away from me. It wasn’t until I became a bishop that I was introduced to Bishop Aeron, as my counterpart in our sister diocese, and I realised that being able to see dragons was a gift. But not all who have the permanent Sight cope as well as I did.’

  ‘Miranda didn’t,’ I said, remembering my first meeting with her. ‘She blamed it for making her unable to keep down a job or to have a normal life.’

  ‘And the incursions between our two worlds seem to be increasing,’ the Bishop continued. ‘When I was a boy, these were less frequent. Miranda grew up as the contact increased. No wonder she was affected. May she rest in peace.’

  ‘And rise in glory,’ I found myself saying automatically.

  Clyde was now ripping flesh from the still struggling pigeon. The Bishop and I both turned away from the gory sight and returned to our seats. ‘And how are you, Penny? Really? You didn’t have the easiest introduction to Lloegyr.’

  ‘It wasn’t what I was expecting,’ I admitted. ‘It isn’t Disneyland with dragons.’

  ‘But you want t
o continue in the role.’ It was a statement, not a question.

  ‘Of course. It’s only--but you know what I’m going to say next.’

  ‘You’d like to be a full time Vicar General.’ Bishop Nigel shook his head. ‘It’s going to remain a part time post, Penny. And if you agree to the filming, we’ll need you to be here, in this parish. Try to encourage the production company to make it as unbelievable as your blog and your book. You do understand the importance of convincing people that sightings of dragons and vampires are simple delusions.’

  ‘I do,’ I said, ‘even though I wish we didn’t need to lie.’

  ‘It’s for a higher purpose.’ He grimaced. ‘That’s what I tell myself. And that snail shark?’

  I braced myself. ‘I know. One day he might bite off the hand that feeds his prey.’

  ‘Actually,’ Bishop Nigel said mildly, ‘I was going to ask whether you planned to get him baptised.’

  ‘Baptised?’

  He smiled. ‘Aeron told me how he directed you to the thin place in Ashtrew. They’re obviously sentient beings. Just a thought.’

  We wrapped up with some observations about clergy training, and then I took him to the door. My mind was reeling at the thought of finding godparents willing to promise Christian education to a carnivorous snail. Or to take Clyde into their homes should I slip from Raven’s back on my next dragon flight.

  I went back to the kitchen and downed the rest of the whisky in my glass. And polished off what the Bishop had left behind as well.

  <><><><><><>

  ‘As you can see, Vicar, the wall is sagging.’ Holly, my churchwarden, spoke in tones which I would have expected a doctor to use when delivering news about a cancerous tumour. ‘That section there, just in front of the yew tree.’

  I turned and followed the direction of her pointing finger. The weather was mild for December, but the dull skies threatened rain. I buttoned up my coat as I spoke. ‘Yes, it’s definitely sagging. It’s a dry stone wall, isn’t it? There must be people in the village willing to help rebuild it.’