Through the Kisandra Prism (6 page)

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,’ continues 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.

‘Please…please let me come to your birthday party my sweetest cariad – I am your best friend after all. How can you be so cruel?’

‘Look Myfanwy, your argument does not improve with repetition,’ answers Blodwyn.

‘We have been best friends, since we were four,’ pleads Myfanwy.

‘You are no longer the sweet, angelic Myfanwy Jenkins, I once knew,’ replies Blodwyn, ‘now you have terrible table manners, behave outrageously, your swearing is intolerable and then there’s your bad wind, that you no longer control in public. My dad’s relatives from Ireland will be here tonight, I do not want to be embarrassed by your behavior.’

‘Yippee!’ shouts Myfanwy lots of the lovely Irish Guinness… and all your lovely male cousins…all good looking, young, clean, Irish country lads who never swear…I wonder if they know any swear words…apart from Jesus, or be-Jesus or Jesus-Mary-and Joseph,’ giggles Myfanwy.

‘Those are religious exclamations – not swear words,’ says Blodwyn.

‘Of course they know swear words,’ she continues, ‘but they are good young Irish Catholic gentlemen. And there is another reason I am not inviting you to my party – your blatant flirting and some of the stupid things you come up with,’ says Blodwyn, ‘like sticking your bare feet under someone’s nose and saying: “Haven’t I got the most beautiful toes you have ever seen?” Or asking people: “Have you ever snogged a weasel?” It is really embarrassing, especially as you are my best friend – what will they think of my choice of friends?’

‘Is your mother making her homemade pork pies as usual, yum, yum, all that lovely jelly?’ asks Myfanwy ignoring Blodwyn’s rebuff.

‘And that’s another thing – the embarrassing way you stuff your face with food and drink – where does it all go? Do you have two stomachs now and all the pipe-work that goes with them?’

Myfanwy giggles. ‘I promise not to stuff my gob…’

‘There,’ cuts in Blodwyn, ‘exactly what I mean – ‘gob’ is not a word used by any decent young lady. And yes, there will be a great amount of ‘the Guinness’ as you put it. That’s another thing I am afraid of – you getting bladdered and embarrassing everyone.’

‘I also get embarrassed by things you do, Blodwyn Jones,’ answers Myfanwy, putting on her hurt face.

‘For example? Pray-tell?’ asks Blodwyn, hands on hips, waiting. Myfanwy has to stop and think…

‘Now then… now let me see,’ Myfanwy answers. ‘Arrr …yes…the silly way you wear your hat…the annoying way you sip your tea…and the stupid way you always dine at eight…’

‘Don’t be such an idiot,’ answers Blodwyn, ‘that’s one of your dad’s favorite songs.’

‘Well there are other things that embarrass and annoy me,’ counters Myfanwy.

‘Oh yes? I am waiting …,’ counters Blodwyn.

‘Ok,’ says Myfanwy, ‘why do women find Bill Mitchell irresistible – his face looks like a spud-you like. His body has the bone structure of a pregnant slug. And he sounds like he is deflating when speaking. And another thing that really embarrasses me’ continues Myfanwy, now on a roll, ‘when old people over thirty wear jeans and use the words “Wicked” “Cool” and “Chill” and try to dance like when they were in their teens, looking ridiculous – fall arse over tit and instead of running out into the woods and killing themselves, carry on dancing with stupid grins on their faces. What happened to Prefab-Sprout? And why have they stopped showing Billy Bunter on television – can’t you laugh at fat, greedy people anymore?’

Blodwyn knew Myfanwy was having one of her moments and tapped her foot impatiently.

‘…What about hungry students?’ continues Myfanwy relentlessly, ‘they spend all their time getting drunk – puking in the sink while sitting on the toilet, missing lessons – all on our money. They hold up the MacDonald’s queues – writing a cheque for a bag of chips – between four! And what do they do when they become solicitors, lawyers and politicians – devote their entire lives to screwing the very people who paid for their education! Please…please…please …let me come. I really miss being with normal humans – those little bug-eyed cretins – always following me around looking up – down – and underneath… asking stupid questions:

“Why are you doing that?…Why do you need to do this?… what is this for? Boochi the Sisling asked me if there was any milk in my breasts and could she have some – bloody cheek!’ (Sislings have a taste for milk and often stand under cows just before milking time on warm summer evenings, when their udders are dripping milk.)

‘Please let me come to your Birthday party my sweet, best friend; it’s my Birthday soon, but I won’t be at home and will miss it. Please!’ implores Myfanwy, ‘…let me come…’ Myfanwy breaks into song: ‘I just want to be with the dirty faced, common scruffy people…live with the filthy, lazy, skiving, common people. Dance, sing, drink, eat and puke with dirty, greedy, common people, common people like you like youuuu…’

‘Very funny Myfanwy,’ answers Blodwyn hands on hips; she was not afraid of the Queen of the Fairies changing into something frightening in order to get her own way. For Blodwyn knew a secret: a special secret that would stop the Queen of the Changelings transforming into something dangerous like a tiger, python or harpy eagle.

‘And for the last time stop calling me your little cariad,’ continues Blodwyn, ‘you are not my great aunt – besides I am a day older than you. You are still not coming to my birthday party and that’s final.’

‘Please my sweetest cariad…I shall just die…kill myself…or maybe have a nervous breakdown and need counseling if I am not invited. Now what dress can I wear?’ says Myfanwy again totally ignoring Blodwyn’s re-buffs.

‘Listen cloth-ears,’ says Blodwyn, ‘you…are…not…coming, you will just embarrass and annoy me.’

Myfanwy places her hands on her hips and huffs and puffs.

‘You are such a drama Queen – you are still not invited.’ Repeats Blodwyn. She could see her friend getting up steam, as if to acquire the right pressure to force out a few tears. She studied her once best friend and nearly burst out laughing – how Myfanwy Jenkins had changed. There was a time that this rebuff would have sent the old Myfanwy into a genuine streaming veil of tears. That is before she had been chosen by the Lings and Fairies to be their new Queen; now she was as bold as brass and as common as muck.

‘Look,’ says Blodwyn, beginning to feel sorry for her best friend. ‘You would not be able to come anyway – there can’t be two Myfanwy’s Jenkins in Tala Pandy or at my birthday party – don’t forget the Silky Changeling masquerading as you is now accepted by your parents as the real Myfanwy – she will have to be invited.’

Myfanwy smiles sweetly; she knew Blodwyn was weakening.

‘I am Queen of the Fairies and the Lings – all Silky Changelings are kin and take commands from me. I have already instructed the Silky posing as me. We are to meet by the river bank under the willow’s leafy weeps. The Silky will undress,’ continues Myfanwy working herself into a high state of excitement at the thought of the party. ‘I will put on the Silky’s clothes, chosen by me in advance and come to your birthday party. The naked Silky will slip into the River Pandy and swim underwater out to sea to meet up with her own kind for the evening.’

Suddenly a possible solution to Blodwyn’s other dilemma came to her. She thought about the Sillian. Perhaps, just perhaps, the Queen of Fairies could help?

Blodwyn relents. ‘Ok, you can come to my seventeenth Birthday party, but on certain conditions.’

‘Anything – anything, I will even kill myself if you asked me to,’ answers Myfanwy skipping and hopping with excitement. ‘I will always be grateful…unless I forget of course.’

‘Now,’ says Blodwyn, ‘I want you to promise you are not going to swear, threaten to gob on anyone or bite anyone – especially my male cousins. You are not to have wind, eat or drink too much. You are not to shove a drumstick down anyone’s throat while they are speaking to you and lastly, none of your childish sayings – I mean it Myfanwy or I will murder you myself!
…
Understand?’

‘Bloody-hell…oops sorry,’ interrupts Myfanwy. ‘I can’t’ remember all those rules and conditions!’

‘Yes or no?’ demands Blodwyn.

‘Yes – yes my dearest friend – I will do everything you say, how can I ever repay you?’

‘Simple,’ answers Blodwyn, ‘You can get rid of a Sillian that arrived on Pandy Mountain last night. Every person and animal in Tala Pandy is in danger – it has already killed three sheep.’

Myfanwy looked puzzled.

‘Have you seen a Sillian? You have heard of a Sillian haven’t you?’ asks Blodwyn

‘Now let me think…a Silly-Ann,’ says Myfanwy, looking up at the barn roof. ‘

Blodwyn knew the new Queen of the Fairies was not acquainted with this dangerous alien; she just did not wish to admit the fact.

‘You have never seen one, have you?’ says Blodwyn.

‘Noooo – I have never seen a duck-billed platypus either, so what? Anyway we Fairy Lings are not afraid of any animal.’

‘A Sillian is not an animal – it is an intelligent, dangerous alien!’

‘In that case,’ answers Myfanwy pondering the matter… ‘I think I will pass on that one, the problems of Terasils are no longer my concern.’

‘Your parents walk on the mountain path – they will be in danger!’ answers Blodwyn.

‘My parents are now the responsibility of the Silky Changeling who has taken my place – it is her duty to look after them.’

‘You ungrateful, selfish, little cow,’ says Blodwyn, her blood rising. It was time to find out if an old trick that Blodwyn knew would still work; it would mean exploiting an important secret that she knew about Myfanwy Jenkins. It was a kink in the Fairy Queen’s armor of magical tricks and powers; an Achilles heel. A secret that her many alien enemies like the Cold-blooded Malis Afar and the Jal-mar would be most interested in.