The Marriage of Gryphons

by Chrys Cymri

  I paused outside the rough door to remove my snowshoes. When I pushed it open, the fading light revealed a space about the size of double bedroom. A couple of polar bears could fit inside. ‘It’s pretty dark in there, Morey.’

  ‘Well, you’ve brought a flashlight, haven’t you?’

  ‘Flashlight? Since when do you use American English? Yes, I have brought a torch.’

  Morey chuckled. ‘You say torch, and I think of burning rag on a pole.’

  Slipping my backpack to the floor, I pulled out my mechanical torch and switched it on. Forget polar bears. A bunk met my eyes, and cans and packets lined a series of small shelves. A black stove in one corner had a flat top on which rested several pans. ‘This is not meant for bears.’

  ‘A were could use this,’ Morey said, ‘if his hunting in bear form had been unsuccessful.’

  ‘But cans? And packets?’ I walked inside and shut the door. ‘These are from Earth. Could trappers have crossed over from my side?’

  ‘I certainly hope not.’ Morey’s shudder ran down my arm. ‘The bears wouldn’t take kindly to that. Let’s just hope it’s well managed trading.’

  I swept the beam around the small space. A stack of candles and some holders rested on one shelf. I managed to get a match to work, and placing candles in various places cast a dim but acceptable amount of light in the hut. Morey looked through the supplies while I brought in logs and set to work on starting a fire in the stove.

  Morey’s head peered around a pile of cans as he heard me ripping paper off a toilet roll. ‘Do you know what you’re doing?’

  ‘I was a Girl Guide.’ Quite some time ago, and I was trying to recall the advice about kindling. But the old training proved good. Much to my relief, and in a welcome boost to my ego, the mix of paper and small twigs quickly spread flames to the tepee structure I’d made with larger pieces.

  Dinner was refried beans, from a can, with dried crackerbread. Morey grumbled into his portion, and commented wistfully on the flavour of Arctic hare. I stared thoughtfully at the Tupperware box which held the dried bread, wondering how much trade went on between Daear and Earth.

  Something I had not learned as a Guide was how to set up a fire to last all night. I poked wood into the stove and hoped for the best. Blowing out all the candles but one, I took off my boots and climbed into the bed, wearing most of my clothes. A pile of blankets rested at the far end of the bunk, and I pulled them across my body.

  I felt Morey walk along my side and curl into my back. ‘I know some good ghost stories.’

  ‘No thanks.’

  ‘Some are set in cabins. Ghosts come in were-forms as well, you know.’

  ‘Sleep, Morey.’ I made an exaggerated yawn. ‘And don’t push me out of bed during the night.’

  ‘As if I would.’

  ‘You might be half falcon,’ I told him, ‘but your sleeping habits are pure cat.’

  I squashed my backpack into a pillow, made sure the torch was by my side, and blew out the last candle. The only remaining light was a dim glow from the stove. Morey’s breathing slowed, and I knew he’d fallen asleep. Whereas I stared into the darkness, wondering what I would say to Raven if we were to find him alive. And how I could ever live with myself if we found him dead.

  Chapter Nine

  ‘Penny.’ Morey’s voice was soft. ‘Open your eyes slowly and stay calm.’

  Of course, his words had nearly the opposite effect. At least my rapidly beating heart brought some warmth to my stiff body. I raised my head and looked down from the bed. The door was cracked open, which explained the chill. And, in the faint light, I saw a small creature blinking back at me.

  ‘Can I help you?’ I asked.

  ‘Rydym yn,’ the white furred animal squeaked. ‘Rydym yn, rydym yn, rydym yn!’

  I groaned. It was too early in the morning for Welsh. ‘We, we, we. We what?’

  There was a squeal, and the creature scurried back outside. I pulled my fur tight around me as I rose from the bed and shut the door.

  ‘Well done, Black.’ Morey sat up on the bed, looking little better than I felt. ‘You just scared off the lemming.’

  ‘More likely that was you. You’re the predator.’ I stomped my feet into my boots and hobbled across the floor. Nothing but embers remained of the fire. I built it up again, and warmth slowly returned to the hut. I opened a tin of spam and found myself thinking of Monty Python’s Flying Circus as it sizzled in the frying pan. I also brought in snow to heat up in another pan to replenish our water bottles.

  As it was Sunday, Morey quoted several Bible passages and I led us in prayers. ‘Holly will have a field day,’ I said as I doused the fire with water. ‘She’ll have time to bring the congregation round to her churchyard plans, and I’m not there to stop her.’

  ‘Rosie will defend you,’ Morey said. ‘You’d better take off the coat to clear out the ashes. Auiak won’t thank you if there are singed bits.’

  Although going outside without the fur held little appeal, I could see that Morey had a point. I came back in just as Morey poked his head out of a sleeve, something dark wriggling in his beak. ‘What’s that?’

  Morey crunched and swallowed. ‘Larva.’

  ‘Larva?’ I felt my skin twitch. ‘In the fur?’

  ‘Much nicer than spam.’ He pushed the coat across the bed at me. ‘Come on, suit up. Time we were going.’

  I gritted my teeth. The idea of carrying a colony of insects on my back did not appeal. But neither did freezing. So I forced myself to put on the coat.

  Fog hovered over the snow-covered ground. ‘And how are we going to navigate now?’ I asked Morey as I strapped on my snowshoes. ‘You’re not going to be able to see anything.’

  ‘We need to follow this line along the valley to start with,’ he said, pointing at the course on the map. ‘By the time we get up the hill, it might have lifted.’

  ‘And if not?’

  ‘Then we turn around and go back to the hut for another night.’

  And lose a whole day. I sighed. Then I felt Morey tugging at my coat. ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘The fur is big enough for two. Let me inside. It’s cold out here.’

  I unbuttoned the top, and Morey pushed his way in. My leg muscles screamed at me as I forced myself forwards. The gryphon moved down my front, and I heard a snap and a crunch. What had my life come to? I was wandering through Arctic wastes while a gryphon hunted for snacks in my clothing. It was at times like these that the magical world of Daear lost some of its attraction.

  The fog began to lift, and the sky turned blue. I glanced up, and froze. Morey poked his head out. ‘What’s the matter?’ Then he too stilled in amazement.

  Ahead of us, stretching over the snow, was a perfect arc of white. Faint colours, pastels of yellow and orange, highlighted the top. The inner edge was a subtle blue. My breath misted in front of me as I blinked away tears of sudden joy. ‘What is it?’

  ‘A fogbow,’ Morey said. ‘Like a rainbow, but formed in fog. Water droplets are smaller in fog, which is why the colours are so weak and it looks white. It’s different than a “glory” because--’

  ‘Morey, it’s absolutely beautiful.’

  And the gryphon agreed simply, in Welsh. ‘Ydy.’

  ‘Ydy, ydy, ydy.’ The soft word rumbled away from us and up the hill. ‘Ydy, ydy, ydy,’ it returned, in a growing cascade. And from the snow emerged dozens of lemmings, shaking themselves free from their burrows.

  Morey pulled his head back in, leaving only one red-brown eye to peer between the coat folds. ‘Over to you, Black.’

  ‘Well, thanks.’

  ‘Auiak said they’d help us,’ he pointed out. ‘Find out how.’

  I cleared my throat. ‘Croeso.’

  ‘Croeso,’ said the twenty lemmings nearest us. And then the word fed back, through the mass of bodies, before flowing back again. ‘Croeso, croeso, croeso.’

  It was too cold to waste time on any niceties. I decided to get stra
ight to the point. ‘Rwy'n edrych am--’

  But I had no opportunity to explain what I was looking for. Once again my words travelled from clump to clump of lemmings, the small white bodies rising and lowering as they each passed the message on. ‘Can they really talk?’ I muttered to Morey. ‘Or are they just some group echo?’

  The words seemed to roll away a second time. Then I noticed a change. ‘Am beth wyt ti'n edrych? Am beth wyt ti'n edrych? Am beth wyt ti'n edrych?’ What are you looking for?

  I waited for the group to finish, which took awhile with such a long sentence. Obviously brevity was preferable. ‘Draig.’

  As I waited for the word to wash up the hill and back again, Morey stirred against my chest. ‘Careful where you put your claws,’ I told him sharply.

  ‘I’m doing my best. Can you remember enough Welsh to ask for directions?’

  The lemmings nearest us intoned, ‘Draig werdd.’

  ‘Green,’ Morey noted as the lemming echo squeaked through the valley. ‘They must have seen Raven.’

  ‘But he’s more green-black than green,’ I said worriedly.

  ‘Their Welsh might be as limited as yours. Green will do.’

  The lemmings had finished, and several hundred eyes were pointed in my direction. I asked, ‘Cymryd fi at y ddraig?’

  I waited for the request to be passed on. And then the welcome response, ‘O’r gorau.’ Yes, they would take me to the dragon.

  ‘Pa mor bell yw’r ddraig?’ I continued, hoping their answer would indicate that Raven wasn’t far away.

  The response made little sense. ‘Did I hear correctly?’ I asked Morey. ‘Did they say “four clouds away”? That makes no sense whatsoever.’

  ‘Your question probably doesn’t make any sense to them. Do you expect them to measure things in human terms?’

  So I repeated, ‘Cymryd fi at y ddraig?’

  The lemmings swarmed down the hill. Two piles of bodies lined themselves on either side of me, only a few feet away from my snowshoes. As I resumed my trudge, the lemmings kept pace with me. Their small bodies were light enough to permit them to scurry on the surface of the snow, but even so there was a regular change over in the leaders of each group.

  We travelled in silence. Morey managed to snag his claws into the inside of my coat, so he could press himself against my stomach. The fog finally lifted as I stopped to chew some cold spam for lunch. And it was then I realised my error. ‘Morey, if we don’t know how far away Raven is, we could end up outside overnight instead of in a hut. Should I ask for us to be taken there, just to be on the safe side?’

  I was distracted from Morey’s answer as I noticed something glinting against the blue sky. My sunglasses were steaming slightly, and I rubbed my glove over the lenses. The tumbling object was small, oblong, and grey-brown. And I clearly heard a tenor voice sing out, ‘Geronimo!’

  My mouth dried. ‘Morey, it’s Clyde!’ Though why he was channelling the Eleventh Doctor was beyond me.

  But the gryphon was already tearing at my coat. He forced his way out, claws catching against the fur as he launched himself upwards. ‘Nattoralik, nattoralik, nattoralik!’ the lemmings squealed, tumbling over and around each other as they scurried away from me. The word wasn’t in any language I recognised, but the terror was obvious.

  ‘Gryphon,’ I snapped at them, a different fear making my heart pound. ‘And that’s a malwen siarc, if you really want to know.’

  ‘Malwen siarc,’ the lemmings echoed. ‘Malwen siarc, malwen siarc.’

  Morey had placed himself below Clyde, and his wings pounded as he turned upside down. My hands curled inside my gloves. The gryphon might be several times larger than the snail, but Clyde was heavy for his size. The impact would surely drive both of them to the ground. Would Morey’s brave rescue attempt end up with both of my friends dead?

  The lemmings swarmed away from me. Both groups pulled together, forming one large mass, piling on top of each other into a furry pile. Clyde smacked into Morey’s chest. The gryphon’s claws scrabbled at the shell, trying to get a grip as he fought to right himself. His wings were beating furiously at the air, but he was losing altitude rapidly. I could feel a scream rising in my throat.

  Movement from the lemmings dragged my gaze down again. A few of the rodents perched on the backs of the others, issuing squeaks which adjusted the position of the group. I just had enough time to realise what they were doing when Morey and Clyde smacked into their midst.

  There were squeals and snow flurried up around the mix of white, purple, and grey. I hurried over as fast as snowshoes would allow. A stream of Welsh curses eased some of the tension in my chest, making me realise that Morey, at least, was alive. ‘Clyde?’

  ‘Sure, ask after the kid.’ Lemmings pulled away to reveal Morey, staggering slightly on the dug up snow.

  ‘I could hear that you’re okay.’ The lemmings surrounded the snail, and I feared the worst. ‘Clyde?’

  Multiple small bodies churned. And Clyde was raised up from their midst. The snail was perched on several backs like a footballer who had kicked in the winning goal. ‘Arweinydd mawr, arweinydd mawr, arweinydd mawr.’ The lemmings spoke in an awed whisper. ‘Arweinydd mawr, arweinydd mawr, arweinydd mawr.’

  ‘Great leader’? I watched as Clyde glanced around him. He extended his body to full length, and his jaws cracked open as he smiled at the lemmings. Much to my surprise, this excited rather than terrified them.

  ‘I wouldn’t mind a bit of help,’ Morey said.

  I climbed over and picked him up. ‘How are you?’

  ‘Winded. Bruised. I wish you’d packed some whisky.’

  ‘So do I.’ I carefully looked him over. ‘And if the lemmings hadn’t broken your fall...’

  ‘They paid a high price.’ I followed the direction of his beak. A number of small bodies were strewn around the site of the fall, some still twitching in death throes. ‘I should administer the coup de grâce.’

  ‘That might only make them scared of you again,’ I told him. ‘Same if I did anything. I think we’ll have to just leave them.’

  Morey was tense against my chest as I turned us away. Unlike Clyde, who liked to tear chunks of flesh from struggling birds, I had only ever seen Morey dispatch his prey quickly and cleanly.

  The lemmings surged past us, still carrying the snail. Despite Clyde’s obvious enjoyment of their adulation, I could see that his skin was beginning to blue with cold. I transferred Morey to my shoulder. With several quick steps, I came alongside the parade and grabbed Clyde by the shell.

  The lemmings halted. In one smooth movement they lined up, forming rows of ten, and little black eyes glared at me. Lips pulled away to reveal long yellow teeth. ‘Arweinydd mawr, arweinydd mawr, arweinydd mawr.’

  ‘Arweinydd mawr,’ I acknowledged, then added, ‘Oer arweinydd mawr.’

  A long moment of silence while the group considered my explanation. Surely they could understand that even a great leader could get cold? They might be small, but I didn’t fancy my chances against a couple hundred lemmings. Death by a thousand cuts indeed.

  Finally a response rippled through their ranks. ‘Gwneud yr arweinydd mawr yn gynnes.’

  ‘Ie,’ I agreed. There was no need for them to command me to keep Clyde warm. My coat was still sagging open from Morey’s earlier departure, and I slipped the snail inside. He managed to wrap his foot around the edge of the fur, which meant that part of him was still exposed to the air, but at least he wouldn’t slide down my front.

  ‘That’s it,’ Morey told me. ‘We definitely need to find that hut.’

  ‘Clyde,’ I said to the snail, ‘Morey needs to fly. Can you please tell the lemmings that he won’t hurt them?’

  The snail shark wriggled his tentacles at the lemmings. ‘Aderyn yn ffrind,’ he told them.

  ‘Bird, indeed,’ Morey huffed. ‘I’m so much more than a bird.’ But he waited until the words had cascaded through the group. Then he flew off.

  ‘
Now, Clyde.’ I bent my head to look down at the snail. ‘How did you get here?’

  But the snail shark merely opened his jaws to smile at his rapt audience. The lemmings reared up to shout out, ‘Arweinydd mawr! Arweinydd mawr! Arweinydd mawr!’

  ‘Why “great leader”?’ I asked them in Welsh.

  It took me a moment to work out the answer. ‘Hedfan.’ Flew.

  Now I was cross. Clyde had fallen, not flown. And if they venerated flying creatures, why not Morey? That would have been preferable, as the gryphon would have taken their adoration in his stride. Clyde, on the other hand, was enjoying every moment of lemming worship.

  Morey circled back. I bit my lip. His flying was erratic, and I put up an arm to ease his landing. ‘The hut is just ahead, over that hill,’ he said, puffing slightly. ‘Looks in good nick. And, Penny, I think I’ve spotted Raven. He’s about two miles away.’

  ‘Only two miles?’ I kicked one snowshoe, then the other. ‘Let’s go.’

  ‘Not today.’ He met my glare. ‘You’re tired, I’m bruised, and Clyde’s cold. We need shelter and food.’

  ‘But what if Raven doesn’t last another night?’

  ‘We need to last the night.’

  ‘Better tell the lemmings,’ I muttered. ‘What’s the Welsh for “hut”?’

  Somehow I managed to communicate to the rodents that we were looking for the nearby shelter. This time the group forged on ahead, leading the way in a far more satisfactory manner. No doubt this increased helpfulness was due to the great leader currently tucked into my coat.

  We climbed up the hill, and down the other side. The hut was resting part way down, slightly larger than last night’s, and with a turf roof. I paused by the entrance. The sun would be up for at least two more hours, and part of me wanted to hurry on and find Raven. But I knew that Morey was right.

  Clyde was a hindrance as I set about getting a fire started. But until the hut was warm, I didn’t want to take him out of my coat. The wood and kindling were in a covered box, so the fire caught quickly. Several oils lamps hung from bent nails, and I lit them so as to save the batteries in my torch.