An Unholy Communion

by Donna Fletcher Crow

  At least there was little reason for anyone, even Adam, to dawdle here, although he continued to lag to the rear. Felicity, keeping a surreptitious eye on him, thought he was looking paler than usual, but maybe it was just the late morning sun on his blond hair.

  More than an hour later, the buildings began to thin as they followed another cycleway alongside the busy Caerphilly bypass. Finally a footbridge took them over the bypass and Felicity heaved a sigh of relief as they turned up the far quieter St Cenydd Road. A couple of hundred yards on, Angel Lane led them along an old hollow road. This was obviously part of the original route, and now Felicity had no problem imagining earlier pilgrims treading this way.

  She turned to say something about that to Adam and stopped still. The boy was ghostly white, bent over almost double, clutching his stomach. She rushed to him, shouting for Antony who was a few paces in front of her, with Colin.

  “What is it? What’s the matter?” she demanded, although it was obvious Adam was suffering from intense stomach cramps.

  He groaned and stumbled off the path to collapse under a tree, still holding his stomach.

  Antony pulled out his mobile to ring Michael, but even as he did so the silver minibus bumped up Angel Lane.

  Lydia jumped out and ran to her brother. “What is this, Squib? What have you eaten?” She placed her hand on his forehead. “You’re freezing.” Before she could dig a jacket from his rucksack, Felicity put her own around his thin shoulders.

  “He had a Welsh cake at the street market. He said it was the lady from Twmbarlwm.” Felicity directed the last statement to Antony, and registered his worried look.

  “Nothing else? You’ve had nothing else to eat or drink since breakfast?” Lydia’s voice was sharp.

  Adam shook his head. “It feels like a snake in my stomach.”

  Lydia felt Adam’s abdomen carefully with her fingertips. “Right.” She reached for the first aid kit Michael had brought from the van. She had her hand on the bottle of Ipecac when Antony held up his hand.

  “Wait. Someone doesn’t want this pilgrimage to be a success.”

  Antony turned to the van and returned with a cup of water, which he blessed with the sign of the cross. “Here. Drink.” He held it up to Adam’s lips.

  The boy recoiled.

  “Just a sip.” Antony looked Adam in the eye; his voice was level, but commanding.

  Adam shuddered, but obeyed.

  “Now?” Lydia held up the Ipecac.

  Antony made the sign of the cross over the small brown bottle and nodded. “Go ahead.”

  The pilgrims who had gathered around were silent as Adam swallowed the dose.

  “Holy Ipecac!” Evie’s joke elicited a nervous titter.

  But no one laughed when Adam regurgitated a few minutes later. Jared looked at the bit of brightly colored string coiled snakelike on the ground. “That’s not in a traditional Welsh cake. My gran makes them all the time.”

  Wordlessly Antony sprinkled holy water on the vomit, then covered it with dry paper and set it aflame with a lighter from the van. “Let us pray for the protection of the Blood of Christ,” Antony directed the small circle. When the prayer was finished and the little pyre had crumbled to ashes, Antony scooped them into a plastic cup. He turned back down the trail. Felicity, following at a distance, watched him sprinkle the ashes into the flowing nant, then wash his hands with the remaining holy water.

  When they returned, Michael was offering tea to those with stronger stomachs than Felicity. She shook her head when he held a bright orange mug out to her.

  “Into the minibus with you, Squib,” Lydia ordered. “I don’t know what I’m going to do with you. You haven’t any more sense than the day you were born.”

  Felicity wanted to protest that it wasn’t really his fault, but the subdued Adam crawled into the van. Through the open driver’s window, Felicity noticed that he took the seat in the furthest back corner. It was hard to remember that he was a teen. He looked so young.

  “Meet you at Groeswen church,” Michael called as he put the van into gear to reverse up the narrow lane.

  The small clutch of pilgrims moved forward, Ryan leading with the cross and listening to Colin, Jared making some remark to the Goth girls that elicited a giggle from Evie. When they were a few paces ahead, Felicity turned to Antony. “Now, what was that all about?”

  “Norm number 20 of the Ritual for Deliverance. If someone has ingested something connected with occult activity it is necessary to vomit.” He answered as calmly as if he had been giving a mathematical formula. Then shook his head. “I know the theory. It’s the first time I’ve had to put it into practice. I’m afraid I’m rather shaken.”

  Felicity didn’t know which question to ask first. She settled for, “Even I know holy water is traditional, but blessing the Ipecac?”

  “Water, salt and oil are the traditional elements for a ritual against evil. Ipecac is an oil.”

  “But how did you know? Who would have suspected?”

  “A rather textbook case, really. The question isn’t really what, but rather why?”

  “And who?” Felicity added. “So Adam’s imaginary lady is real?”

  “I’m afraid she’s much too much real.”

  “But why do people do such things? It’s just all superstition and fraud— parlor tricks, isn’t it? How could anyone be serious about such things?”

  “Some are just curious or duped, but most are deadly serious. Power or money—the roots of all evil.”

  “It still just seems silly. I mean, a bit of string.”

  Antony spoke slowly, emphasizing the importance of what he was trying to explain. “Malefice means—”

  “To do evil. From male factus. I’m the classicist, remember?”

  “Right. For someone who means to do evil—cast a spell would be the popular term—an object like a stone or hair, a length of string, has symbolic value. It’s a tangible sign of the will to do harm, offered to Satan to be imprinted with his evil powers. We know Satan often imitates God. In this case such objects become an analogy for the sacraments.”

  “They are cursed like bread and wine would be blessed?”

  Antony nodded. “An inversion of the consecration.”

  Felicity shuddered. Put like that, it made horrible sense. “But why us—our pilgrims? A priest and an ordinand and a bunch of kids, for goodness’ sake. What could possibly be more innocuous? We don’t have any power or money.”

  “I wish I knew.”

  The walking became easier as they again began following the Rhymney Valley Ridgeway footpath. They stopped for lunch in the churchyard of the small grey Groeswen Independent Welsh Chapel on a green hillside overlooking the valley. A sign said it was the first Methodist place of worship in Wales. Antony called this to their attention: “A good example of the ecumenism this walk is designed to be fostering.”

  Sandwich and crisps in hand, Colin plopped down on the grass beside Felicity. She hoped he wouldn’t want to talk about the morning’s events, especially as Adam was sitting not far from them, sipping the black tea prescribed by his sister. But she needn’t have worried. Colin, as usual, was engrossed in his surroundings. “Groeswen means ‘White Cross.’ This was likely a waymarking cross on the medieval route. The village pub is called the White Cross, but that’s modern.” His dismissive tone showed how little interest that held for him. “But outside the village there’s a farm called Pen-y-groes. Local tradition says there was an elaborately carved cross there. No record of it has ever been found. I was thinking that would make a brilliant archeology project. Not Roman, of course, but…”

  Felicity closed her eyes and let him talk until Antony called the group together for a Station before moving on up the hill. And up was definitely the operative word as, after following hedges around several fields and crossing a stretch of open moorland, the footpath ascended the wide, green side of Mynydd Meio.

  Behind them and to their left vast views stretched out acro
ss the built-up valley. Ryan stood by the trig point and held his arm out: “Those are the Brecon Beacons to the north. Back there is Mynedd Machen we climbed yesterday.” Felicity rubbed her calf as a reflex. “And there,” he turned to the south, “is the Bristol Channel. That gleam of white is the Severn Crossing. Beyond you have the hills of Somerset.”

  Felicity was entranced, but even more fascinating were the paragliders sailing above them like giant prehistoric birds. Orange, red, blue, the wide canopies drifted silently overhead, their small dark shadows following them on the ground. Scattered sheep grazed across the hill, ignoring the aeronautic show above them. A muffled roar rose from the base of the mountain as the silver line of the Eglwysilan Road rushed traffic on its way.

  A white canopy with a purple design caught Felicity’s eye. She sat down on the smooth, flat mountain top to watch as the giant wing mounted an air current, then seemed to hang suspended against the blue sky before gliding further out over the valley.

  “Looks peaceful, doesn’t it?”

  Felicity looked up to see a suntanned young woman in khaki shorts and a blue shirt standing beside her, watching the same glider her own gaze had been following.

  Felicity smiled. “That’s just what I was thinking. Like floating on an angel’s wing or something.” The two women watched silently for a moment. “This hill must be brilliant for gliding,” Felicity observed.

  “It’s fairly friendly as long as they keep away from the power lines, pylons and TV mast—and as long as there aren’t too many model aircraft pilots out.”

  “You sound experienced.”

  Her companion shrugged. “Not me. Joe.” She tipped her head toward the white wing now drifting eastward beyond the hill.

  “You’re American.” Felicity just realized. The woman’s voice sounded so normal to her she hadn’t registered the difference.

  “Yes. Chloe, from Oregon. Where are you from?” Chloe sat beside Felicity.

  “I’m from Idaho. That makes us neighbors. What are you doing here?”

  “I came over a month ago with my girlfriend. We thought we’d spend the summer walking, sleeping out—had just enough money to buy our food and for an occasional youth hostel. We wanted to meet people and live easy. My main interest is photography.” She indicated the camera hanging around her neck.

  “Sounds idyllic. How’s it working out?”

  “It was great for a couple of weeks, then Sue took off with a cute Scotsman.”

  “And left you all alone?” Some friend, Felicity was thinking.

  “Oh, no. I tagged along for a few days, but it wasn’t really— comfortable. ‘Three’s a crowd,’ you know. Then I met Joe.” She nodded toward the distant white speck. “For my sins.”

  “That didn’t work so well either?” Felicity ventured.

  Chloe ducked her head. “Well, I got some great shots of his paragliding…”

  “But?”

  Chloe’s cheeks tinged pink. “He, ah, wants more—um, you know—and he’s getting awful pushy.”

  Felicity nodded. How refreshing to find a young woman of her generation who wasn’t ready to accept the first fling that came along.

  Chloe was silent as if deep in thought. “Where are you going?”

  Felicity told her about their youth walk ending with a quiet time at St David’s. “That sounds like heaven,” Chloe said, with a sigh. “You’re walking and staying in church halls and things? I mean, you’re er—flexible?”

  “I guess so.” Felicity wasn’t sure what she was getting at. “What do you mean?”

  “I hardly slept at all last night. We stayed in a hostel. Joe went out for ages—I don’t know where. When he came back, he was… I don’t know—high or excited or something. I was frightened.”

  Chloe hesitated, then took a breath and plunged, her words coming out in a nervous rush. “I need to get away, but I don’t know anyone. Can I walk with you? With your group, I mean.” She gestured toward the others standing around Antony in his dog collar holding the cross. “I’d be safe with you.”

  “Well…” Felicity didn’t know what to say. The girl needed help, but they didn’t really know anything about her.

  “I’ve got all my stuff with me—I told Joe I needed my camera equipment, but really, I was thinking of getting away—” She indicated a rucksack with a bedroll tied on below. “And I could pay. Well, a little bit.”

  “Let me ask Father Antony; he’s in charge.” Felicity scrambled to her feet and walked to Antony. Pulling him apart from the others, she explained the situation.

  He considered for several moments. “Seems the charitable thing to do. I don’t see why we can’t give it a try. We’ll have to see if it works for everybody.”

  “Chloe!” Felicity waved her new acquaintance over. “Everybody, this is Chloe. She’s from the States, too, as you’ll soon see—well, hear.”

  “Hi.” Chloe greeted the circle with a broad smile and a small wave.

  “Chloe’s going to be walking with us for a while. I know you’ll make her welcome,” Antony introduced their small group: Ryan, Colin, Jared, Evie, Kaylyn, and each one responded with a greeting—if Kaylyn’s aloof nod could be characterized as such. “And we have four others in the minibus. You’ll meet them when we stop for tea.”

  “That’s really great. Thanks so much.” Chloe gave a nervous look over her shoulder at the white and purple canopy which seemed to be descending toward the flat, open space alongside the road at the bottom of the hill. “Um, will we be going soon?”

  “We can wait a bit if you want to say goodbye,” Felicity offered.

  “No! Er—that is, it would be simpler… Joe has a temper… I could just leave a note on the window of his Land Rover.”

  “Don’t worry.” Antony gave her a comforting smile. “I was thinking of doing a Station here, but no reason we can’t move on to the back of the hill first. Right, troops?”

  Chloe enveloped Felicity in a hug. “Oh, thank you so much.” She turned to Antony. “I won’t be any trouble, I promise. I’ll meet you on the back of the hill.” She ran off to leave her note, and the pilgrims moved into line.

  Chloe rejoined them in a few minutes, falling into step beside the Goths. “Hi, I have two kid sisters back home. They’re both Illuminated Goth.”

  Evie held out her bright blue fingernails and touched the magenta spikes of her hair. “Coo, sweet as a nut!”

  Felicity blinked. Her only reference of illuminated Gothic was to a medieval manuscript. She suddenly felt old and out of touch. But it was obvious Chloe had made a friend already. Even Kaylyn seemed to respond a bit as she held out her black fingernails. It looked like their newcomer would be an asset to the group.

  Felicity lengthened her stride to hear Ryan informing the others about the long line of dark green bushes topping a bank that descended the hill to their right. “That’s the remains of the Senghenydd Dyke. In the thirteenth century it enclosed a vast deer park belonging to the lords of Senghenydd who lived at Caerphilly Castle.” He pointed northwestward across the valley. “That next hill is Cefn Eglwysilan. The dyke runs across that, too.”

  “Yeah, and that’s where the Senghenydd Colliery Disaster was—worst mining disaster in UK history.” Felicity shivered at the note of relish in Colin’s voice. “Four hundred, thirty-nine miners killed in 1921. An electric spark ignited the coal dust on the floor, see, and that raised a cloud and that ignited, too. The shock wave ahead of the explosion raised yet more coal dust, so the whole thing just self-fueled through the tunnels. Those miners not killed immediately—”

  “Yes, thank you, Colin.” Felicity was thankful that Ryan managed to cut off Colin’s flow. “Look, there’s tea.” Ryan pointed to the sun glinting off the roof of the van below them.

  As usual, Michael had everything in readiness, and the walkers, several of whom had eaten more lightly at lunch than usual after the morning’s unpleasantness, fell on the array of cakes and biscuits. Felicity took the opportunity to introduc
e Chloe to the rest of their crew and to enquire after Nancy and Adam, both of whom were looking much better. Felicity was especially gratified when she noticed Adam taking his second slice of flapjack. He gave Chloe a bright, welcome smile and she snapped a photo.

  Ryan offered Chloe a cup of tea and sat beside her. “Did you spend much time on Mynedd Meio?”

  “No, we only went there because the place Joe wanted to sail was blown out. I’m glad we did, though, or I wouldn’t have met you all.”

  “We’re glad to have you.” He took a deep drink of tea and finished his slice of flapjack. “I’d have liked to stay up there longer, though. There’s a Neolithic burial site I’d have liked to explore.”

  “Ah, the Shinney,” Jared joined them. “Lucky we are to be down from there, I can tell you. My gran warned me.”

  “What old tale is this?” Ryan smiled around his mouthful of cake.

  “The oldest—4,000 years, my gran claims. And not just a tale; they found a bunch of half-burned, painted skulls. The banshee collects them, you see,” Jared leaned forward, relishing his tale.

  Chloe laughed. “Ohh, tell me more.”

  “Shinney’s the guardian of ways to the Otherworld. She waits on the road at the ford to grab people. She uses the ford to wash their heads before putting them in her collection.”

  Chloe shivered, encouraging Jared to enhance his tale. “You have to watch out, see, because she’s got three guises. She can be really old and haggard like she needs help, or beautiful and sexy, or young and like—lost and alone. Or she can be a combination.” He offered the newcomer his wide grin, blue eyes twinkling. “Like you, beautiful but alone, needing help.”

  Chloe gave a toss of her sun-streaked ash-blonde hair and reached out for Jared, “You see my plan. Now I’ll have to take your head for my collection.”