by Chrys Cymri
‘He’s nude,’ I found myself saying.
‘Of course.’ Aislin sounded puzzled. ‘As it says in the holy scriptures, our Lord was stripped before being placed on the cross. The soldiers then divided his clothes amongst themselves.’
I dragged my eyes away. At least the crucifix would be above me, so I wouldn’t be forced to look at it Sunday by Sunday. Perhaps it made sense for Jesus to have been crucified naked, and maybe only human sensitivities had caused us to drape a loin cloth over his privates? Morey would probably have an answer, if I could bear his condescension as he quoted at me in New Testament Greek.
The road down into the town was cobbled and clean. I paused for a moment to take it all in. The grey stone buildings all looked well kept. Several streets were of terraced houses, the wide doors opening onto the pavement. Other contained rows of larger, semi-detached buildings, and these had small front gardens. Larger structures rose beyond. One looked to be the school which Aislin had mentioned. Others I couldn’t easily identify. A library, perhaps, and a town hall? And past there, taller yet, were the factories.
‘Saltaire,’ I found myself saying.
The churchwardens had waited patiently while I gazed over their town. Cadfan asked me, ‘Pray tell, what is this Saltaire?’
‘A village built during the time of our Queen Victoria,’ I explained. ‘The industrialist, Sir Titus Salt, wanted his workers to have a good living environment. So he built houses and institutes near his factories.’
‘He sounds very much like Lord Willis,’ Cadfan said. ‘We are fortunate. Has the same happened in this Saltaire?’
‘The buildings are preserved.’ I hesitated, searching for the right words. ‘The factories are closed. Industry has changed on my world.’
We walked up the hill. Set off to one side was a thatch roof cottage. The white walls, supported by brown timbers, looked out of keeping with the rest of the town. Aislin produced a key and let us in.
The house was warm, but still had the dusty smell of a place which had been unoccupied for some while. We walked straight into the lounge. Stairs to the upper floor rose on our left. A fireplace was set into the other wall, and the crackling flames explained the cosy temperature. Burgundy settees rested at right angles to the hearth. A door on the far end led to a small kitchen.
The churchwardens took a seat under the window, so I lowered myself onto the settee opposite them. No sign of refreshments. I allowed myself a moment’s regret and then focussed on my hosts.
‘This is the rector’s house,’ Cadfan told me. ‘It’s fully furnished, including the three bedrooms upstairs. Our last rector was an elf, so there is a toilet.’
And I’d always taken indoor plumbing for granted. ‘That’s good to hear.’
‘The kitchen is fitted with a stove,’ Aislin added. ‘A garden shed has been stocked with wood for both the stove and the fireplace.’
‘I’d need someone to teach me how to use them properly.’ They nodded. ‘So, what would you like to know about me?’
Aislin leaned forward. ‘What was the most difficult conflict you faced, and how did you resolve it without the death of one or both of the parties involved?’
I nearly smiled. Then I realised that the harpy was serious. Putting Holly out of my mind, I waxed lyrical about steering the congregation through a change in hymn books.
Then a question about the most recent book I’d read. I omitted mentioning Lungbarrow as no doubt neither churchwarden would want to hear about the glories of Doctor Who. Fortunately, I had flipped through the book review pages of The Church Times just this morning, so I was able to offer an analysis of N T Wright’s latest offering. I even managed to make it sound as though I’d read the book myself.
Some more questions, about my pattern of prayer and my approach to all age services. Then Aislin stabbed a finger at me. ‘We expect tolerance towards all in our community. I want you to tell me how you’ve made this a focus in your church.’
I opened my mouth to answer. Then I looked up, certain I’d heard a tenor voice singing, ‘Geronimo!’
A moment later, the front window shuddered and shook as a grey-brown body impacted against the glass. The churchwardens dived from the coach, but although a crack appeared, the window did not break. And I found myself staring at the open mouth of a snail shark, teeth tucked inside the edges of his belly.
‘Excuse me,’ I said to the elf and harpy. And I walked outside.
Clyde’s tentacles rotated towards me. His entire foot was plastered across the glass. ‘Mmph mrrph emph,’ he gargled.
I rocked back on my heels. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘Grph plugh.’
‘You’re stuck, aren’t you?’ I slid my hands into my pockets. ‘Is that what you’re telling me?’
‘Mrph plff.’
‘And I suppose you want me to pry you lose.’
His body pulsed red-brown. I was beginning to annoy him. ‘Yrph.’
Somehow a vacuum had formed between his body and the window. I carefully slid my fingers under his belly, trying to avoid his razor-sharp teeth as I sought to loosen him. There was a small pop as air rushed in, and then the snail was in my hands. Clyde shut his jaws and waggled his tentacles at me.
‘Don’t blame me,’ I told him. ‘It’s not my fault you smacked against a window. Just be glad it didn’t shatter. You could have been nothing more than slivers of escargot.’ Then I rubbed his shell. ‘But I’m very glad that you’re not.’
Clyde’s colours slid back into a happier shade of green-blue. I carried him into the cottage.
Aislin’s ears swivelled back, flattening against her head. ‘Is that a malwen siarc?’
‘It certainly is,’ Cadfan answered for me. ‘Why are you holding one of those vermin?’
I glared at them both. ‘What happened to tolerance towards all? Were those just fine words? Or did you mean it?’
‘But a malwen siarc--’
‘This is Clyde, he’s my friend, and if I came here as rector then he’d be living in this house.’ I returned to my seat and placed the snail next to me. ‘And if there are any problems with that, then I might as well fly home.’
‘Fly,’ Clyde echoed.
They sat back in their settee. Numerous funeral visits had taught me not to be afraid of silence. Elf looked at harpy, and she nodded back. ‘We’d like you to meet with our church members,’ Cadfan said. ‘We’ll arrange a light meal, and then ask you to preach to us.’
I managed to stifle a groan. I’d never been fond of Trial by Buffet. ‘That’s fine. When?’
We agreed on Thursday afternoon. ‘We understand that there would also be a curate,’ Cadfan added. ‘Please bring him with you.’
‘Certainly.’ I wondered how many drams of whisky it would take to convince Morey.
Aislin exposed sharp teeth in a smile nearly as frightening as Clyde’s. ‘And the topic of your sermon is to be Saint George. What can his martyrdom teach us about relationships between Christians and non Christians?’
‘Certainly,’ I said, refusing to be rattled. ‘What length?’
‘No more than fifteen minutes.’ To her credit, the harpy laughed. ‘Any longer than that, and there would be ructions.’
‘Sounds like a typical Anglican congregation,’ I commented.
After that, I went upstairs to check out the facilities. The toilet was clean and human sized. Clyde was eyeing Aislin when I returned, no doubt remembering that he’d sunk teeth into the leg of the last harpy he’d met. I scooped him from the seat and we all made our farewells.
Aldred thumped onto the hilltop as I climbed back up the road. Clyde was a worrisome weight in my hands. ‘I’m going to put you into my jacket,’ I told him. ‘Do your best to hold on. And, by the way, how did you get here anyway?’
The snail’s eyespots swivelled over to the waiting dragon. ‘Fly.’
‘Yes, yes, we’re going to fly back,’ I snapped. ‘I know full well that you can find thin places. But
how did you manage to cross over? Did you get someone to fly you through?’
Clyde reared up on my palm. ‘“Angels from the realms of glory, wing your flight o’er all the earth--”’
‘I don't believe angels brought you here either,’ I cut in. Perhaps Clyde simply lacked the vocabulary to tell me. And we’d reached Aldred. ‘Okay, putting you inside now.’
‘How did it go?’ Aldred asked as I made my way up his side.
‘Not certain,’ I admitted. ‘I don’t think the Rector’s Churchwarden is that keen on me.’
His head turned to bring his large eyes near mine. ‘Just remember that an interview is a two way process, Father Penny. Don’t accept the parish if you don’t think it’s where God is calling you.’
‘Thanks,’ I muttered. To my shame, I hadn’t given God a single thought. No doubt my spiritual director would have something to say about that. As we took off, I wondered if there were any way I could cancel my upcoming meeting with Gregory.
<><><><><><>
The sound of the phone ringing made me thrash in my bed. I reached out in the darkness, hand flailing in the direction of the sound. After I’d knocked the side lamp to the ground and sent the alarm clock flying, my hand closed on the unit. ‘Beckeridge Vicarage,’ I managed to get out.
‘G’day, that the church in Beckeridge?’
The Australian twang made me wonder for a moment whether I were in a strange dream. Then my hand began to throb from where I’d hit the lamp. Awake, then. ‘I’m the vicar, yes.’
‘I'm researching my roots. Do you have a Samuel Price in your churchyard?’ The man chuckled. ‘I mean buried, of course. He died back in 1756. Long before my granddad left Old Blighty for Oz.’
‘What time is it over there?’
‘Just after lunch. This isn’t a good time for you?’
‘It’s a bit early.’ I propped myself up on the bed. ‘I don’t think I can help you. Our records only go back to Victorian times. You’ve tried some on-line searches?’
‘That’s what sent me to you.’ He might be thousands of miles away, but the wonders of modern technology effortlessly carried his disappointed tone to my ear. ‘You don’t have computer records?’
I wondered if I should admit that our graveyard plan was one semi-completed document, held in the safe-keeping of an eighty year old who lived in the village. ‘No, I’m afraid we don’t.’
‘Well, next time you’re walking through the cemetery, could you have a look for him?’
For a moment I simply stared into my dark room. How could I explain that, even if I had the time to take strolls around my churchyard, any inscription that old had probably weathered away? ‘Next time you’re in England,’ I told him, ‘you’re welcome to look for yourself. The churchyard is open 24/7. Thank you for your interest.’
I managed to find the phone’s cradle, and then the lamp. The sudden light made me blink. Then I got up, pulled on a dressing gown, and went downstairs to turn on my computer. I was going to whip up the greatest sermon about Saint George ever to emerge from an annoyed priest’s hands.
Gregory handed me the requested extra strong cup of coffee. We wandered through from kitchen to study. A new icon was hanging above his desk, and I admired the gold paintwork surrounding the Madonna and Child. ‘But it’s not every night you’re woken by Australians,’ he said as he settled into his chair. ‘That in itself isn’t enough for you to be plotting your escape, surely.’
‘It’s not an escape,’ I countered. ‘It’s a sabbatical.’
‘Penny. You’ve wanted to move to Lloegyr ever since you met your first dragon.’
‘I’m certain I could do some good there.’ I took a gulp of coffee. ‘They do seem to have this prejudice against humans. Maybe I could change that.’
‘What else has been going on in Beckeridge?’
I waved a hand. ‘You don’t want to hear me moaning.’
‘I’m giving you permission to moan. Why not use it?’
So I went through the list. Holly’s monetary deception, the deathwatch beetle in the pews, the continued lack of a second churchwarden, and the struggle to attract any families to our all age service. ‘I’ve been there five years. A break would do them good too. And Rosie is very capable, she can cover everything. They like her better than they do me, anyway.’
Gregory gave me a sad smile. ‘Of course they do. Rosie is able to simply be a priest. You have to be their vicar. She’s like the kindly aunt who comes and pats them on the head. You’re the parent who has to make decisions which they might not like.’
‘I certainly do that. Or so they tell me often enough.’
‘But that’s what love demands of us. As Saint Ignatius said, “Love is shown more in deeds than in words.” That’s what God calls us to do. To act in love, even when it costs us personally. Where can you best show that love of God, Penny? Here, or in Lloegyr? What has God said to you?’
I coughed. ‘Well, we haven’t been talking that much, not lately. More like polite nods to each other from time to time. But all relationships go through patches like that.’
‘Hmm. Could this be what the Desert Fathers called acedia?’
‘Who knows, maybe,’ I said, racking my brains for what the term could mean. Was it something I should see my doctor about?
We talked a bit more about my meeting with the Caer-grawnt churchwardens. At the end of the hour, Gregory sent me away with homework as well as his blessing.
Clouds chased themselves across fields as I drove back to my vicarage. It suddenly struck me that I’d be away for Easter, if I were to go to Caer-grawnt. For a moment, I wondered if I could really bear to be away from my parish for the most important Christian day of the year. Then I clenched my jaw and turned my thoughts to how I could celebrate the Lord’s resurrection in Lloegyr.
The house was quiet when I entered. Morey was seated on my desk. Clyde was in his tank, curled up in his shell. I rolled out my chair and took a seat. ‘Any messages?’
‘None.’ Morey flicked his ears. ‘How did it go with your spiritual director?’
I winced. ‘He’s given me Luke 1: 26-38 to pray over.’
‘The angel Gabriel appearing to Mary, and her agreement to bear Jesus,’ Morey mused. ‘He wants you to discern God’s will, obviously.’
‘Obviously. It’d be easier if God could just discover email. “Dear Penny, this is what I want you to do. Love and kisses, God.”’
Morey snorted. ‘Like you’d pay any attention if he did.’
‘True.’ I nodded at the computer. The Word document of my sermon was glowing from the screen. ‘What do you think of it?’
‘You’re trying a bit too hard. There’s no need to beat your breast about being human. They’ll know that going in.’
‘I want to go there, Morey. See what parish life is like on the other side.’
‘You’ll still have your Hollys over there.’
‘At least a Lloegyr Holly would have scales, or feathers, or even fangs.’ I sighed. ‘It would just be different. Maybe it’s acedia.’
For a moment I held my breath, wondering if Morey would tell me I could get an ointment for that condition. But he cocked his head. ‘Ah, the sickness that can strike in the mid-day. Both literally and figuratively. Beginnings are always exciting. There is a bitter-sweetness at endings. The middle can be a bit sticky, leading to a dullness of the soul. Or even despair.’
‘A sabbatical would do me good.’ I pulled the keyboard closer. ‘I just need a break. And then there’s this group thingy of yours.’
‘About that.’ His ears twisted. ‘We need to meet with my matriarch on Thursday.’
‘But that’s the same day I have to be at Caer-grawnt!’
‘We’re meeting her in the morning,’ Morey said smoothly. ‘We’ll be done in plenty of time for you to go on to your supper and preach.’
I glared at him. ‘I deliberately agreed to go there on Thursday because it’s my day off.’
‘W
hich is why I agreed we’d meet her on Thursday. I knew you’d be free.’
‘Then you’d better help me with this sermon,’ I told him sourly. ‘And I’d better be in a fit state to meet parishioners when I arrive at Caer-grawnt.’
‘Don’t worry, not a hair will be harmed,’ he assured me. ‘This won’t be one of the challenges.’
And with that comforting thought, we bent our heads over the keyboard to write about Saint George.
Chapter Fourteen
The sun had barely struggled over the horizon when a green-black dragon thumped into my back garden. Even before he turned his glittering eyes towards me, I knew it was Raven. For a moment my heart slowed. Then I slung a backpack over my shoulder, collected Clyde’s carry case, and braced myself for Morey’s claws on my shoulder.
A frost had coated the ground. As my boots crunched across to the waiting dragon, I shivered from more than the cold alone. A saddle rested around two spines, cinch straps running around his neck and still too-thin chest. I halted a several feet away. ‘Raven?’
His head swung towards me. For a moment, I thought I saw a spark in the blue-green eyes. Red-rimmed nostrils expanded as he drew in my scent. Then he looked away, his wings sagging on the grass. ‘Please board.’
I swallowed hard and used the rungs built into the side of the leather to pull myself up into the saddle. Dear God, I thought, forgive me for all the times I thought it would be easier to ride him this way.
‘Three to Clan Cornovi,’ Raven announced, his voice flat. ‘Thirty minutes flight time, barring gryphon interference. Payment has been arranged in advance with the Matriarch of Cornovi. Please hold on to the grab handles and, in the unlikely event of nausea, do not vomit upwind.’
The near vertical take off pressed me against my backpack. At least the spare clothes resting inside gave me some padding from the spine behind me. I wrapped my gloved hands around the metal handles protruding either side of the front spine.
We rose through our first thin place. I closed my eyes. A challenging phone call from my treasurer, asking me why we hadn’t seen Holly in church for a couple of weeks, had made me toss and turn much of the night. The early rise, designed to get us aloft before too many people could wonder how a woman was floating through air, hadn’t helped matters.