Through the Kisandra Prism

by Jack Challis

  ‘Good morning sergeant Thomas,’ answers Blodwyn, ‘my dad’s in the barn. I will make sure you get at least one pork pie.’

  ‘I thought I should warn you Brian…’ says the sergeant as soon as Blodwyn’s father appeared. ‘…Peter the Goat had three sheep killed last night… according to him it was a giant spider that tried to break in and kill him and his dogs as well. A nightmare if you ask me… too much home made rocket fuel I dare say…but he did lose three sheep.’

  ‘Something killed his sheep?’ answers Brian Jones. ‘Losing three sheep in one night is a serious business. I will have a quick look around this morning…maybe pick up some tracks. My sheep are now on the lower slopes.’

  Mr. Jones had to act quickly, sheep killers were a threat to the livelihood of all Shepherds and smallholders. It was now eight o’clock on a fine June morning. Brian Jones picked up his twelve-bore shotgun and a handful of cartridges.

  Charcoal, the Jack Russell terrier, was curled up by the fire asleep, dreaming his doggy dreams of the lovely new blond, afghan bitch a mile up the lane; the fact that she towered three feet above him made little difference to his erotic canine fantasies. As usual one ear was cocked and scanned the house like radar. He considered it his duty not to miss any outing; that is except a visit to the vet or to Mrs. Jones’ mother in-law.

  As soon as he heard the shotgun being broken and two cartridges being inserted, he sprang into a run from a sleeping position and was outside waiting, bright eyed with a pleading look of ‘let me come with you!’

  ‘A warm June morning takes some beating,’ exclaims Brian Jones to his daughter Blodwyn, ‘come cariad, we can check our sheep and also have a look at Peter the Goat’s hut – see for ourselves what animal was responsible, the dog should pick up a scent trail to follow.’

  They took the shortcut to the middle slopes of the mountain. The Jones’ sheep were grazing peacefully. Blodwyn and her father joined the mountain path just before that area known locally as the enchanted glade. As soon as they passed the glade the fragrance of wild woodbine and the sound of the giggling mountain rill flooded their senses.

  Blodwyn took a quick look; the glade looked lovely and tranquil. Had the Queen of the Changelings returned from True Arcadia on Quilla Prime in the third Quadrent?

  Reaching the higher slopes they were soon standing at the front of the Shepherd’s hut: shocked at the damage. But it was obvious that some powerful animal had deliberately tried to enter at two places.

  ‘Well damn my eyes!’ exclaims Brian Jones, ‘just look at that …could be a big cat…look at the claw marks on the door, it was trying to get in after Peter’s dogs…big cats, especially leopards have a strong liking for dogs.’ He closes his shotgun and releases the safety catch, then looks around.

  ‘Now stay behind me cariad,’ warns Mr. Jones. Do not run… if we see a big cat… I will give it both barrels!’

  A dozen crows and a pair of magpies gave away the positions of the sheep skins. Mr. Jones scratched his head examining them.

  ‘Definitely not the work of a poacher or a big cat,’ concludes Brian Jones, ‘I have never seen an animal skinned like this before, not from the back down.’

  Charcoal the terrier began growling, while sniffing the area and looking ahead at a pile of large boulders; the hairs on his back stood upright.

  ‘The dog’s picked up the scent!’ remarks Brian Jones. Even so the little dog was not keen on following the heavy scent trail. He was a brave little dog: but not that brave.

  On this occasion digression was the better part of valor as far as this Jack Russell was concerned. The little dog had a big heart, not even the largest dog-rat made him hesitate. But here was the strong musk odor of a creature he held in high respect, a wild polecat – a very big polecat! The Jack Russell looked the other way, which reminded Blodwyn of ‘the three wise monkeys.’

  Little did Mr. Jones and Blodwyn realize they were being watched by a pair of small, short-sighted eyes with horizontal split pupils: alien eyes? The being watching them from the rocks was a web spinning, bat-faced Sillian!

  ‘The dog has lost the trail,’ says Blodwyn’s father, ‘let’s do a circle.’ Blodwyn knew her dog better, but said nothing. Walking around the shoulder of the mountain for a few hundred paces, they stopped. A large shiny boulder-like rock lay just off their path, (the other half of the meteor).

  ‘I have never noticed this rock before…mind you I have not been up here for years,’ says Brian Jones ‘… not since I was courting my first girlfriend Megan Price …. we used to come up here… every friday…’ Blodwyn took on that bored, glazed look… that daughters adopt on such subjects… that quickly stopped any further reminiscing. She soon noticed the burnt out meteor was covered in small spider webs.

  Brian Jones collected some gossamer on the tips of his fingers.

  ‘Just the webs of small field spiders,’ he comments. ‘Wonderful stuff is spider’s silk – we Celts used gossamer to dress wounds in times gone by – fighting the old enemy.

  ‘Come on cariad, we better get back. It’s your birthday and we have a lot of work to do before the big party.’ Her father tucked the shotgun under his arm. Charcoal the terrier was instantly at his heels, looking rather relieved that they were leaving the scene.

  Blodwyn hung back and took a quick look at the other side of the shiny rock: it was concave. Moving closer and brushing away the small spider’s webs she studied the depression closely. Ingrained in the depression was the faint imprint of a creature. To her horror it was an image she recognized: a Sillian! Earth was not ready for a web-spinning Sillian.

  She remembered her first lucky escape whilst on Tarrea-one, a small earthlike planet. She had been the prey and was being hunted then. The feline Na Idriss led by a single Malis Afar were following her sent-trail. Although at that time she had never heard of a Sillian, whilst hurrying along a game path, Blodwyn had become suspicious of thick strands of web crossing her path that were highlighted by sunlight and which disappeared into the ground: a giant trap-door spider she had guessed. She took a wide detour: it was just as well. The being waiting below the trap-door had been a scarier creature than any giant spider.

  Later, whilst on the planet Goya Perilus, Blodwyn had seen a captured, caged Sillian: she was shocked at its gruesome appearance; it had the rear end of a spider! The being hated the sunlight so much it would quickly spin a protective cocoon in order to hide and shade its misshapen body – just like an arachnid.

  Now, a Sillian in mid Wales – or anywhere else in the world for that matter, was too horrific to imagine. Blodwyn knew only too well that its diet consisted only of decayed flesh. With a quick look around she quickly caught up with her father, seeking comfort in the protection of his shotgun. Even the Cold-blooded Malis Afar, she knew, were afraid of this deformed being.

  The sinister watcher noticed that the two upright life-forms were using the same path on both their journeys: an ideal place to build a trap-door that night and to lay-out silken trip-lines! The three decomposed sheep were already eaten, for such is the appetite of a Sillian; but these woolly ruminants were not to this Aliens taste and did not satisfy this alien’s prodigious appetite.

  How could she warn the people of Tala Pandy? Blodwyn wondered. They would think she was crazy, like the old English widow, Mrs. Pettingel.

  Blodwyn knew that once a Sillian had eaten its fill it would lay dormant in its cocoon, dreaming away for years. Would the creature draw the line at humans? She thought not!

  Blodwyn was sure of one thing, the alien being had to go; there was no place on earth for such a dangerous life-form. “Given enough thought, all problems can be solved,” was her family’s motto. Blodwyn would now have to give this problem a considerable amount of thought.

  She began exploring her options. There were life-forms whom she had encountered on her travels in distant space that could probably help her, like the frivolous Ora-Pellas – higher beings who were afraid of no life-form made of flesh a
nd blood. But how could she contact them? The pair of Ora-Pellas lived in the fierce heat of a Super Nova that would turn the Tellium constructed hulls of any spacecraft into liquid within seconds!

  However if Sebus, the Galla Quall kept its promise and came for her, maybe this delicate alien could help? The Galla Qualls were well respected; even the disgusting and untrustworthy, sand-swimming, Orb eyed Oga Koya of Goya Perilus, respected the Galla Qualls. The two Oga Koya had let her go immediately when a Galla Quall and his Ida Jaade had appeared. Perhaps the Sillian also respected the Galla Qualls. Maybe they could take this predator some where else. But how could she contact these gentle sensitive aliens? This problem also needed a great deal of thought!

  Chapter Five

  The Circling Happy Eagle

  Through the Harpy’s eagle eye, below she watched the winding river lie;

  And the toiling plebes bent in fields of bearded barley and swaying rye.

  This she saw with keen raptor eye,

  as she quartered the bright un-clouded sky:

  Then her long, tawny, mottled pinions quivered,

  straining in lighting stoop:

  below fur and feather shivered;

  scurrying towards safe den and coop.

  The giant Harpy eagle circled high in the pale blue, cloudless mid-morning sky, above Tala Pandy. The long feathers of her ruff-crest quivered as she turned her head from left to right. Her un-blinking yellow, malevolent eyes were scanning a rough-tiled wooden barn of the Jones’ smallholding in the farmyard below. Blodwyn Jones was sweeping out the barn in preparation of her birthday party in the evening that Friday, the twenty third of June 2009; she would be seventeen years old, an adult. Blodwyn was excited. This was the first chance to wear her new best dress. It was just four days after returning from her secret quest to find the Alter Dom where she had encountered the two frivolous and fickle Ora-Pellas who had confirmed that they had witnessed a mysterious being (their master) enter the Event Horizon of a feeding Black Hole, summoned by the ultimate life-form: the Dom Maxamus. This mystery had stilled to be solved: the future of Earth depended on it.

  Blodwyn would clean out the barn; her Father and friends would put up the decorations and lay the tables; her mother was in the kitchen preparing all the lovely food. Her mind wandered: “why was the vain, reptilian Queen Raa, the Malisaraptor still a reptile while her sons were now tailless humanoids? Was the Festus-Noop still alive? Could she trust the elfin-faced, thieving, six-fingered Salas Panar if their paths crossed again?”

  Blodwyn wondered: “Should she still be angry with Myfanwy Jenkins for tricking her into the quest of finding the Alter Dom by making it all sound so simple?” On her first journey into the Antares Cluster Blodwyn had been afraid of some of the Aliens and Alieniods; mere mention of their names terrified her. But sometimes the unknown is often more frightening than reality. She now was aware that she had a powerful weapon, that none of the male aliens seem to wise up to or to see through; despite their advanced technology. Blodwyn was gifted like all human females with patience, guile and the ability to switch to feminine theatricals. She could be all sweetness and light act at a drop of a hat. Mind you, she had yet to meet an astute female alien!

  The noise of chickens, ducks, and geese panicking in the yard interrupted her thoughts and made Blodwyn rush out. Perhaps a bold fox was trying its luck in broad daylight. Circling buzzards and the smaller kites were now abundant in the beautiful mountain-guarded valley, deep in the heart of Gwynedd, North West Wales. Losing the occasional young birds to a buzzard or the bolder goshawk was acceptable; but a fox kills far beyond its needs. Grabbing the broom she rushed out, no fox was in sight. All the geese, ducks and chickens were now safely in their sheltering coops and were quiet, waiting for the danger to pass. This was a sure sign the predator was an airborne bird of prey.

  Blodwyn looked up; she was shocked at the size of the bird that circled overhead. She recognized the giant raptor as a Harpy eagle – the biggest bird of prey in the world, a killer of large mammals!

  ‘Mum!…Dad!…look… a giant Harpy eagle flying over the yard…it must have escaped from Chester zoo. But her Mother and Father were out of ear-shot. Her small Jack Russell shot out of the kitchen door to see what the trouble was. The large dark shadow of the Harpy eagle on the ground made the small dog gaze upwards. As quickly as he had shot out of the kitchen door: he returned even quicker. The little dog did not do giant eagles. Blodwyn felt threatened as the giant bird feathered its wings and dropped lower when it saw her; as if sizing her up.

  The sounds of the wind rushing though the eagle’s long, wing pinions were audible. She could see the enormous eagle’s hooked talons out-stretched, hanging open: ready! Blodwyn, not a girl easily frightened, gripped the broom firmly – she knew she was the object of the giant eagle’s attention – to turn her back and run from any predator would be most unwise. The giant bird then trimmed its massive wings and swooped, coming straight for her. Blodwyn ducked, but it was unnecessary. She felt the rush of air as the giant eagle flew straight over her head and in through the open barn doors. Alighting on a bale of hay, it began to carefully fold each of its two and a half meter wings.

  Wings folded, the giant raptor seemed to be waiting for her. The bird of prey lowered its large head threateningly, golden, hostile raptor eyes held her in an unblinking stare. As Blodwyn slowly began backing off, the

  massive, winged predator raised its crested ruff and winked at her.

  Blodwyn then knew at once who the giant eagle was. She was in the presence of a Changeling, a Star-worshiper; the Queen of the Fairies!

  The previous Queen of the Lings and Fairies, a lovely Scot, felt her end of time (seven hundred years) was near; it had been her task to choose a successor on true Pagan mid summer’s day, the twenty first of June – the longest day of the year. Myfanwy Jenkins had been perfect; she satisfied all the traditional criteria; she had flame-red hair, green eyes, was tall and graceful and was of either, Angle, Saxon, Jute, Scandinavian, and Frisian or of Celtic ancestry. Once chosen there is no choice but to comply. (All traditions in time are bypassed, and one day the Queen of the Fairies maybe olive skinned, black or brown.)

  Blodwyn knew the purpose of this unexpected call. She quickly closed the barn door in case one of her parents passed and saw the real Myfanwy breaking her molecules down and changing her shape. By the time Blodwyn had closed the heavy barn doors and had turned around, Myfanwy Jenkins was back to her normal beautiful self, dressed in tight gossamer medieval dress with a v-girdle with flowing sleeves.

  ‘When did you get back from True Arcadia?’ asks Blodwyn.

  ‘Now isn’t that the queerest thing…I can’t remember,’ fibs Myfanwy. ‘Anyway – when am I going to get an invite to your birthday party – we have never missed each other’s birthday parties.’

  Myfanwy puts on a child-like, am-dram hurt face; her bottom lip protruding; eyebrows angled downwards, spoiling the outline of her beautiful face.

  ‘You can huff, puff, and pout as much as you like Myfanwy,’ says Blodwyn, ‘you lied to me!’ She was the only person allowed to call the Queen of the Fairies by her real Christian name.

  ‘No, I did not lie… actually,’ answers Myfanwy, all sweetness and light, ‘I just did not tell you everything. Not telling someone everything is not a lie… it is an omission and anyway I had my fingers crossed behind my back.’

  ‘Grow up stupid – you are also seventeen next week,’ says Blodwyn, ‘Crossing your fingers behind your back does not mean you are free to tell lies – or omissions as you call them. Why did you describe those terrible creatures on the moon as ‘harmless little Rills’? Why didn’t you warn me of the sand-swimmers – the Orb-eyed Oga Koya of Goya Perilus, who were dangerous, deceitful and disgusting to look at?’

  ‘Well you could say they are ugly,’ Myfanwy giggles. Blodwyn realized Myfanwy, the new Queen of the Fairies, had not seen an Oga Koya yet.

  ‘You better hurry up and marry,’ cont
inues Myfanwy quickly changing the subject. ‘I could be the most beautiful bridesmaid in the world. You can have a little sweet baby girl… I could baby-sit… and teach it to spit.’

  ‘You are the last person I would have as a baby-sitter. I remember when you baby-sat Dr. Tudor’s little son… and put three woodlice in his mouth when you were feeding him!’

  ‘I know,’ answers Myfanwy with glee … ‘the look on his podgy little face… when the woodlice tried to get out of his little fat gob! If you don’t marry soon, you will end up a dry, and wizened old maid, who grows chin whiskers, sits with her legs apart, smells of pee and always has white lines at the corners of her mouth…why don’t old women shave – haven’t they heard of razors or mirrors?’

  ‘Look,’ answers Blodwyn, ‘old people have indigestion – they chew tablets made of chalk. And old women don’t shave because shaving their faces has never been the habit of females. Does that answer your question?’

  ‘No,’ answers Myfanwy, ‘females shave everything else why not their chins – get out the old shaving brush and lather up – like my mum does every Saturday night… I have watched her through the keyhole …and could have burst out laughing when she cut herself and swore!’

  ‘You should not spy on people – especially your own parents,’ says Blodwyn.

  ‘I don’t spy on them in the bedroom,’ answers Myfanwy, ‘there is always cotton wool in the keyhole!’

  ‘Everyone deserves privacy,’ how would you feel if your parents spied on you …when you were in your bedroom?’

  Myfanwy giggles. ‘Get married,’ she insists. ‘There are plenty of young men in Tala Pandy. It would be nice to have a male waiting for you when you get home, all covered in mud after a hard day’s work in the fields.’

  ‘No thanks!’ answers Blodwyn, ‘I already have a fat and lazy male waiting for me when I get home at night – my tom-cat, Squeaks.