by Chrys Cymri
‘But people still do.’
‘Sometimes someone will fall through, and then can’t work his way back. Nowadays there are humans on this side to help one of our people back home. And, on our side, we’ve become more tolerant of humans who find themselves in Lloegyr. Even the dragons don’t automatically eat them anymore.’
‘Thank heaven for small mercies,’ I muttered.
‘Stop.’ I halted at Morey’s command. There were houses to our left, and on the right a row of trees lined the road. Behind was a stretch of green space. ‘You need to walk into the yew tree.’
I studied the low lying branches. ‘That’s the thin place?’
‘Inside there, yes. The tree was deliberately planted over it.’
‘That’s the only defence?’
‘Not the only one. Just remember that what you’re feeling isn’t real.’
I stepped off the road and approached the tree. Unlike its neighbours, it looked sculpted. The branches dragged down the ground from further up the trunk, giving it a bell-like shape. Although the day was warm and sunny, I suddenly felt myself shiver. A coldness radiated from the tree, and a breeze muttered a dark warning through the spiny leaves.
‘So,’ I said to Morey, ‘this feeling that the tree is about to eat me isn’t real, right?’
‘I’ve not come across an easy thin place. They’re all like this.’
There are dragons on the other side of that tree, I reminded myself. But the sense of doom traced cold fingers down my arms as I forced myself forwards. Morey’s claws were digging into my shoulder, and I realised that he felt it as well. My hands were shaking as I reached out to push branches aside.
I walked into screaming blackness. Wind scraped through my hair and ice crawled down my spine. I couldn’t feel anything, not even my heartbeat. Black, blacker, blackest, I found myself thinking. Maybe if I pretended I were on a dragon going between--
Sunlight slammed against my eyes. The sudden change in temperature made my skin goosepimple. I blinked rapidly, clearing away the last of the cold.
We were standing in an alleyway off a cobbled street. Stone buildings which looked more carved than built rose from muddy verges, their colours varying from brown to grey to green. The irregular shapes made me think of a row of boulders. Except these were boulders with round entrances tall enough--tall enough to allow a dragon to enter.
A dragon was leaving one building nearby. He gave me the briefest of glances before striding down the street, gold chestplate gleaming against his blue hide.
‘Yes, we’re in a dragon enclave,’ Morey said, his feathers still fluffed against my neck. ‘Try not to stare.’
‘Trying. Failing.’ I rubbed feeling back into my arms. ‘There’s a tree in Duston that leads to a dragon town.’
‘There’s a thin place in your Parliament building which leads to a nest of harpies.’
I reluctantly tore my eyes away from the sight of a young dragon splashing in a puddle, his nearby parent clucking at him in annoyance. ‘Peter said a taxi would meet us.’
‘I’ll call him down.’ Morey rose to his hindfeet and whistled. ‘Oi, tacsi! Two to St Thomas’ Monastery!’
‘Coming,’ said a gruff voice several buildings away. A loud belch was followed by a dragon head. I looked up from the orange-red muzzle to the sign painted above the entry way. I couldn’t work out the rest of the words, but I knew what a tafarn was.
‘Have you been drinking?’ Morey demanded.
The dragon waddled over to us. His body was thick set, and his dull hide needed a good wash. Or a scrub. Or perhaps a shed? A long saddle was strapped around his body, and I eyed the metal rungs which were sewn down the sides. The word Tacsi was straggled in black letters across the brown leather. ‘Only a quick half,’ he said, beery breath wafting over us.
‘You shouldn’t drink and fly.’
‘I’m well under the limit.’ The dragon crouched down. ‘Are you getting on or what?’
Morey crawled down my arm to look at me. ‘We could wait for another.’
‘It’d be a long wait,’ the dragon said. ‘Not much call for tacsis for vampires around here. Takes time for a dragon to get into the right set up.’
‘Let’s go,’ I told Morey. ‘He’s too big for a quick half to affect him that much.’
‘You haven’t seen the size of their halves,’ Morey muttered. But he flew up to the dragon, settling onto the saddle.
I pulled myself up using the rungs. The metal was cold and I trapped a finger at one point. At least I’d thought to wear sensible shoes and trousers. The saddle had been sculpted to hold more than one person, and I slid myself into the concave area at the front. The dragon’s girth was wider than any horse I’d ever ridden, and I could feel my legs already beginning to ache.
The dragon rose to his feet and shook out his wings. Muscles slid under the broad shoulders as the joints unfolded, spreading out yellowing skin. ‘Two to Saint Thomas Monastery,’ he announced. ‘Twenty minutes flight time, barring traffic. Payment agreed at one deer, due before departure. Please hold on to the grab handles and, in the unlikely event of nausea, do not vomit upwind.’
My bottom slammed painfully into the hard leather as he sprung into the air. I held onto the metal rail as his wings beat downwards, lifting us upwards at a pace which seemed at odds with his weight. For a moment I wondered if I would have to obey his last piece of advice.
Then we levelled out. I peered over the side of the thick neck. Green-brown countryside was sliding away beneath us. The wind whispered around the wings, but otherwise our flight was silent. I was riding a dragon. Tears of joy were welling up in my eyes. Okay, the dragon belched, was weaving a bit, and his hide smelled of stale beer, but I was flying through the skies on the back of a dragon.
Forests gave way to cultivated fields. A monastery came into view, looking as grey and austere as any I’d ever visited on Earth. I saw a large chapel and outbuildings, and a nearby graveyard. The last reminded me why I was here, and I worked at bringing my wide smile under control.
The dragon tipped his wings and took us into a spiral. Once again I found my stomach threatening to rebel, and I swallowed hard and furiously. Then he was spreading his wings and slowing us into a surprisingly elegant landing. He only had to hop once after his feet touched the grass near the monastery entrance.
A dark blue dragon stepped through the arch which hovered between two towers. The tacsi dragon lowered himself onto his belly, and I climbed down his side as the Abbot approached. My legs were numb from the flight, and I held onto one of the metal rungs to help me remain upright.
‘Father Penny, Elder Moriarty,’ Gerald greeted us. ‘I trust you had a pleasant flight?’
‘Certainly,’ I said, cutting off something far less complimentary from Morey. ‘Lovely flight.’
‘Then my thanks to you,’ Gerald said to our tacsi. ‘Feel free to hunt your fee in our forests. If you will remain until I have finished my business with my guests, you may hunt two deer.’
The red dragon studied him. ‘Hunting is thirsty work.’
‘And there will be a bucket of ale for you as well. Come back in four hours?’
‘Done,’ grunted the dragon.
I managed to pull my hand free before he dropped back and launched himself towards the nearby woods. My legs were still rubbery, but I gritted my teeth and managed to remain upright.
Morey fluttered to my shoulder and glared at the Abbot. ‘Was it a good idea to offer him ale?’
‘The ale will be well watered down,’ Gerald said calmly. ‘I’ve dealt with this particular dragon before. Come, let’s go to my study. I’ll send for some tea.’
We walked through the cloisters and then a side door. The monastery was similar to ones I’d visited on Earth, all soaring columns outside and dark corridors inside. Except, of course, built somewhat larger to accommodate dragons. I could comfortably walk alongside the Abbot, even when we met a dragon coming the other way.
; His study could also have been that of an academic in England. The books might all be leather bound, and wider and taller for dragonic forepaws, and Gerald simply sat down rather than taking a chair. But as I sank into a dusty armchair I felt quite at home. ‘Have you brought a seat in just for me?’
A low rumble came from Gerald’s chest. It took me a moment to realise that he was chuckling. ‘We keep a few in storage for bipedal visitors. I hope it’s comfortable?’
I could feel a spring pressing against my leg. ‘Comfortable enough.’
There was a knock at the door, and then it was pushed open by a dragon muzzle. I had the answer to my question as to how a dragon could carry a teapot and cups. A trolley rolled into the study, and the yellow dragon used his surprisingly nimble fingertoes to pour the tea. A large mug for the Abbot, one much smaller for me, and a bowl for Morey.
‘Thank you, Robert,’ the Abbot said, claws curling around his drink. ‘And please, shut the door behind you.’ Then the green eyes were studying me. ‘I asked you here due to some unwelcome news from your diocese.’
‘Yes.’ I took a deep breath. ‘I’m sorry to inform you that Dominic’s body was disturbed. Intruders broke into the facility housing him, and--he was eaten. Down to the bones.’
Gerald looked down at me, steam from his tea trickling across his muzzle. At least I hoped it was from his tea. ‘His birth family have been informed?’
‘Yes.’
‘And did they admit to being the instigators of this sacrilege?’
‘That’s a very interesting word,’ Morey pointed out. ‘“Instigators.” Do you suspect that someone else could be behind this action?’
The Abbot’s silence reminded me of my bishop, taking time before answering a difficult question. ‘Dominic broke his vows a number of times. He found monastic life, at times, very difficult. Let’s just say that his earlier indiscretions were at least with his own kind. But his last, as is common knowledge, was with a member of another species. There are those who disapprove of such mixing. Both Christian and otherwise.’
‘Like his family?’ I asked.
‘More than just his family,’ Morey reminded me. ‘What did Miranda say to us? “They got him.” I don’t think she meant his family.’
‘A monastery might look cut off from the world,’ Gerald said. ‘But our brothers hear many things. Rumours and tales have reached our ears of a group who call themselves Cadw ar Wahân.’
‘My Welsh,’ I admitted, ‘is a bit rusty.’
‘“Keep separate,”’ Morey translated. ‘A group against mixing?’
‘I meet regularly with leaders of other religious groups,’ Gerald continued. ‘They too have heard of this organisation. Again, only tales and rumours, but it’s said that Cadw ar Wahân have started to target those who dare to cross species boundaries.’
‘Forgive me for saying so,’ I said cautiously, ‘but isn’t this world as ancient as my own? You’ve been a mixed culture for at least hundreds of years, haven’t you? Hasn’t this sort of mixing gone on for centuries?’
‘Not really,’ Gerald said. ‘Until recently, the different species lived in different habitats. The unicorns on grasslands, the dragons in their mountain holts, the gryphons on plains, the merpeople in the seas, the harpies in the scrublands, and so on. But in the last fifty years, particularly after relations were established with your world, Lloegyr has been undergoing an industrial and technological revolution. Villages have become towns, and towns have become cities. As our cities grew, the able from many races were drawn to the new opportunities offered by urban life.’
‘Colonies,’ I offered. ‘Europeans going to developing countries, and then people from those countries coming to live in the Old World.’
‘Precisely. Can you tell me that there has been no tension between old settlers and new immigrants?’
‘No,’ I admitted heavily. ‘There’s still a lot of prejudice.’
‘And at least you humans are all of a more immediate evolutionary heritage.’
Morey growled. I quickly explained, ‘He’s a creationist.’
‘As are some of our brothers,’ Gerald said calmly. ‘The Lord expresses his truths in many guises. Those who take the scriptures more literally are a useful check on those of us who might be tempted to dismiss them too readily. God’s truths are eternal.’
‘Exactly,’ Morey said.
‘Although, there are times,’ the Abbot continued gently, ‘when it is a tragedy, personal or more general, which can make one seek certainty in a more conservative viewpoint.’
I kept my mouth shut. At some point I planned to ask Morey how he had changed from someone in a mixed relationship to an adamant opponent of such mixing. Preferably when he was sober and we weren’t sitting in an monastery full of dragons.
‘Or,’ Morey responded, ‘personal tragedy reminds someone of essential truths. Let me remind you, the first chapter of Genesis clearly mentions the Trinity. “And God said, “Let Us make man in Our image, after Our likeness.” The Godhead is discussing the creation of the world.’
‘That misreads the Hebrew,’ Gerald said. ‘The word is “elohim” is a plural of majesty. And in the next verse we have singular pronouns. “So God created man in His own image, in the image of God created He him; male and female created He them.” The doctrine of the Trinity does not appear in the Hebrew scriptures.’
The argument seemed to be cheering Morey up, so I sipped my tea and let them carry on. They lost me as they started to debate the meaning of specific Hebrew terms, and I let my eyes wander over the titles stamped in gold on the spines of Gerald’s books. Most were in Latin, and I was pleased to be able to work out a number of them. My year long Open University course hadn’t been a waste of time, despite Alan’s comments to the contrary.
‘Father Gerald,’ I finally broke in. ‘As interesting as this all is, I have the feeling that you didn’t ask us here to discuss the interpretation of Hebrew texts?’
‘No, I did not.’ I straightened in my chair as his voice firmed. ‘I wanted to express our order’s great disappointment that our brother’s body was subject to such sacriledge. Please take that back to your authorities and superiors. And also let them know that we expect what remains of Dominic to be returned to us as soon as possible. It’s past time that he was given a proper Christian burial. We also want your reassurances that those behind this foul deed will be found and brought to justice.’
‘My bishop extends his full sympathies,’ I said carefully, confident that Bishop Nigel would have said so. ‘I will take back your words to the local authorities who had responsibility for his body. But, although I’m not a police officer, I’m not certain a crime has been committed. At least not in English law. Would it be considered a crime here in Lloegyr?’
‘Depends on who owns the body,’ Morey told me. ‘That was the basis of the disagreement between the family and the Order.’
‘And neither side wanted to go to court,’ I recalled. ‘So we never really established who had the right to Dominic’s remains. I’m not certain what the British police force, a human police force, can or would be actually willing to do in this case. I’m sorry, Father Abbot, but I don’t want to make promises I might not be able to keep.’
The ears had drawn back, but lips stayed smooth over teeth. ‘Fair enough, Father Penny.’
‘I will speak to the police liaision,’ I continued. ‘Peter might have some ideas.’
‘He might indeed.’ A bell began to toll. Gerald put down his empty mug and rose to his feet. ‘Time for midday Mass. Will you join us? Our order is in communion with the Church of England. Although you might find it, what is the human expression, “all smells and bells.”’
‘The true faith,’ Morey said fervently.
And so we followed the Abbot through the cloisters and into the large chapel. The building, although built to hold dragons, was still smaller than many I’d visited in England. No pews, of course, so I stood next to dragons in the nave.
The service was in Welsh, but it followed a pattern similar to my own church. The monks obviously knew the words by heart. This included the Psalm, which they chanted in unison. The sound of thirty deep draconic voices speaking at once thrummed through the stone floor and made my chest ache.
I tried to worship God. As is the case with most priests, we’re often too busy leading services to have the opportunity to simply be present to the Holy Spirit. But there was too much to distract me. The sight of a dragon swinging a thurible from his jaws, the golden ball spreading grey-blue incense across the floor only to be disturbed by his claws. The shudder which went through the chapel when most of the dragons prostrated themselves for the reading of the Gospel. The fresh leather smell which rose from their gleaming hides.
And then the Abbot took his place behind the altar. A green cowl rested on his neck, matching the green altar frontal. His deep baritone voice echoed against the stone walls as he sang the sursum corda. Morey joined the dragons in chanting the responses. To my great joy, Gerald went on to sing the preface.
Think about Jesus, I tried to tell myself as he took a large piece of bread into his claws and lifted it above his head. ‘Cymerwch, bwytewch,’ said the dragon, inviting us all to take and eat. But I found myself admiring the gold band gleaming on the middle fingertoe of his right forefoot. ‘Er cof amdanaf,’ Gerald intoned, reminding us that Jesus had commanded us to do this in remembrance of him. And sunlight was slanting through a high window, casting coloured light across his dark-blue scales.
I went forward with the others to take Communion. Fortunately it was real bread, so Gerald was able to break off pieces small enough for a human and for a gryphon. The chalice was the size of a bucket, and the dragon holding it looked relieved as I dipped my bread in rather than try to take a drink. I lowered my arm into the bucket so Morey could safely follow my example.
I made my way to a side chapel. ‘Why are we going here?’ Morey whispered to me.
‘I feel a bit of a fraud,’ I whispered back. ‘I can’t say I was paying that much attention to the Lord during that service. And now I’ve taken Communion.’