The tunnels get smoother and smoother, inexplicably becoming broader as we keep going. But we don’t talk. The only sound is the flapping of his wings, and the whistle of his echolocation. Usually, I can tell if a silence is nice or awkward, but right now, I really have no idea. Goss seems nervous, but I can’t tell any more than that.
Still, we’re getting there. Oddly enough, though, the closer we get, the stranger it smells.
At first, it was just some little scent, tickling my nostrils. But now it’s starting to become almost overpowering, though not in an entirely unpleasant way. It kind of reminds me of the smell of a fireplace, but without the smoky overtones, leaving only the deeper, purer fragrance. Is something burning? Is that it?
To ensure whether or not I should be worried, I turn to look up at Goss, brushing away a bit of windcaught hair to see him better. Even in the darkness, the tentative look on his face is clear. Tentative, but not worried. So it’s probably okay. One funny thing I’ve noticed in being flown around by this guy is that dragons have remarkably flexible necks. Right now, even though his neck is normally about the length of a bus, it’s been pulled in to decrease the effect of the wind on him. It makes him look absolutely ridiculous, but laughing at him would be kind of mean, so I abstain.
The smell becomes more and more omnipresent, and by the time we can see the light at the end of the tunnel, I’m starting to wonder if someone set a monastery on fire. But, no. As we emerge into the light, it becomes all too clear what we’ve been heading towards.
In the middle of a lovingly formed dome-shaped cavern, hanging from the ceiling like a big carved stalactite, is a church. I have no idea how it got there, and I have no idea how it works physically speaking. Did someone literally carve the ceiling into a circular church? Why? My questions are only intensified by the way the church looks. The sides are all filled with frankly beautiful stained glass windows, each one depicting a dragon or a winged goblin in some state of grace.
I think the most important thing to mention at this point is that unlike what you would expect from a church presumably designed to be attended by dragons, it isn’t big. It’s the size of a normal church—no more, no less. The question of how a dragon who wanted to attend would even join is answered by the position of the single dragon in attendance. He’s sitting beneath the church, his head stuck into one of the many windows. I can’t see him inside, but going by the casual way he’s sitting, I can only assume that this is the regular state of things.
As we approach, Goss comments lightly, saying, “I think that’s Ymir.”
Since I can’t smell any other dragons around, that should be the case. Still… He’s far from a pretty sight. All other dragons so far have been fairly pompous, or at least nice to look at, with their colorful feathers and saturated hues. This guy, though? Fleshy. Almost all of his feathers have either fallen off or been plucked out, leaving the majority of his form exposed. If I hadn’t known he was an awesome dragon, I would have assumed someone grabbed a skinned chicken and elongated it. Not even his wings have more than a few solitary feathers on them. Can he even fly like that?
Once we’re close enough to maybe call out to him, we both simultaneously realize our mistake. Above us, in the church, as clear as day, is the sound of singing. It’s… beautiful, honestly. I can only smell two presences in there, but it sounds as though four people are singing.
“Double-throat singing?” Goss mutters, low enough to not disturb what is quite obviously the evening mass. The mass Fr. Moonlight asked us to attend. The mass that, clearly, nobody attended, save for some featherless old bonebag.
We turn to each other. Goss makes an expression of physical pain. I shake my head.
It’s not like I’m part of this dynamic, and he didn’t even invite me personally, but… Still…
Goss turns away from the church, his heavy footsteps padding against the cavern floor.
I squint up at him. “Where are you going?”
He meets my gaze, more confused than outraged. “What do you mean?” he says in a hushed tone. “I’m going away so we don’t disturb them. We can return later.”
I cross my arms. “So, that’s it? You’re just going to leave? Like a little chicken?”
“What’s a ‘chicken’?”
“Someone who’s very cowardly,” I quickly explain. “Ergo, someone like you.”
“I—I’m not cowardly!” Goss shoots back, quickly glancing over at the church to check if they’re still singing, which they are. In a whisper-shout, he says, “Listen, I don’t know how you humans do things, but here, if mass is in session… You can’t just join in out of nowhere. Walking away is the respectful thing to do, so that’s what I’m doing.”
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“Respectful,” I concur, “and exactly what a chicken would do.”
“I’m not—”
“Bwok bwok bwok!” I tease, replicating the beating of a chicken’s wings.
“What is that? What are you even doing?”
“This is you,” I explain helpfully. “Bwok bwok—that’s the cry of a chicken, and then the wings…”
“I don’t—” He heaves a big sigh, loud enough that they should definitely have heard us. “Okay, okay. You know what? Sure. Let’s join in the middle of mass. Why not? I’m sure Father will be delighted to see us and not at all ask us to leave because, hey, we literally just barged in.” He huffs in frustration and turns around with a big dramatic flourish, but the second his eyes fall on the church, he freezes in place.
“Well?” I say. “Are you going to join mass, or…?” I flap my fake wings at him.
Gritting his teeth, Goss strides forward, taking a seat opposite to Ymir. He brings me up to his face, scowling darkly. “If he asks anything,” he says, “I’m blaming you.”
“Cool with me,” I say casually. I wonder if blaming me would be enough to create a new party? Ah, I can see it now—type ten: Fennrists. I chuckle to myself like a madman. While I continue my insane mental imagining of what I could do to create a dragon, Goss deposits me atop his head, right between his horns, which is… This is such a nice place to sit! Why haven’t I been sitting here all this time?
I get my answer as Goss raises us both into the air, the movement almost making me tumble right off his head. I’m able to regain my footing, but from now on, I will be clutching onto his horn, thankyouverymuch.
And soon, one of the many large stained glass windows stands before us, easily bigger than Goss’ head. I frown at it. How do we…?
I notice a shadow moving behind the window, and with the tiniest click, the window opens outwards, making Goss and myself jerk back a little. Fr. Moonlight quietly affixes the window in place. Both Goss and I stare at him in mute horror. Straightening out, he looks at us, and gives us the biggest smile I’ve seen in months. Then, saying nothing, he walks away from the window. Goss isn’t moving, so I bonk him on the head, which gets him out of it. He carefully slides the both of us inside the church, his chin easily finding rest on a well-carved wooden stand. It’s a little too big for his head, but Goss seems to find it comfortable enough.
Looking around the church itself, I watch with curiosity as Fr. Moonlight returns to stand in the middle of the church, atop a small, well-engraved stage—or, I suppose, an altar? I never did learn all the church terminology. Either way, the stage is as round as the room as a whole, and Fr. Moonlight stands in the middle of it, wearing different robes from before, now dressed all in RED, matching his wings. Not a bad color.
Across the room, a wrinkled and aged dragon smiles at us. His face is covered with scars, and I’m pretty sure one of his horns has been chipped, making him look strangely war-torn despite having the complexion of raw chicken.
When I look down at Goss’ face to see if he’s politely smiling back, I instead find his eyes wide and staring and his lips drawn into a tight line. I bonk him on the head again, but it doesn’t help. Ah, if only I could control him like a certain chef rat…
Apparently, I have to do everything myself, so I look up at Ymir and give him the biggest smile I can muster. I have no idea if he saw me or not, but I’m not bold enough to wave.
This place feels… weirdly real. I don’t know how else to put it.
The smell I felt before is here, in all its glory, but it isn’t as strong as I expected it to be. It’s here, relaxed and calm. A light spirit of smoke, gently moving around the pulpits, some of them large enough to hold the heads of dragons, others small enough for singular people to be seated. There’s space enough for a total of twelve dragons, and maybe thirty normal people. Right now, though, there’s only me, Goss, and Ymir.
Under the light of a dragonheart lamp, Fr. Moonlight abruptly begins speaking. Or maybe continues. “—Such a pair of lovers had never been seen before. Her parents, fearing her draconian suiter, refused to allow her back into their home. And he, being so pitiful as to fall for a goblin, was chased from the tops of Loathe Summit.” I have no idea what he’s talking about, and where I sit on top of Goss’ forehead, I can feel every twitch of his face as his brows furrow in confusion. “Their love was such that it could have saved any heart, purged any dragon, and made any goblin fall. With none but each other, their plight was finally recognized by the Gods, who numbered only seven at the time. They took the two of them into Their fold, granted them the titles of God of Goblins, and Goddess of Dragons, forever to watch over Their eternal offspring. Even now, They see our every pain, share our mishaps, and forgive us our trespasses. When we fall, They fall with us; when we fly, They fly with us.” He smiles out at us. “So tells Borrh the Witness, Apostle of Dragons. Aye.”
“Aye,” Ymir says.
“”A—aye,”” Goss and I say in equal hesitation.
Apparently, there wasn’t much left of the mass. After the reading, we sang two hymns—neither of which I could really join in on—listened to Fr. Moonlight talk, and kissed a small box containing a single WHITE feather that he brought around. Apparently, it’s the feather left by the god of goblins as he was chased out. I have no idea if that’s actually true or not, but everyone else was doing it, so I followed along.
is pleased.> is pleased.> …I’m going to ignore that. “...The mass is finished, go in peace.” Nobody leaves. Goss and I are here to see Ymir, and Ymir is smiling lightly, waiting for Fr. Moonlight to finish up with putting the things for the mass inside the altar. Weird place to put it. This includes the big weird robe he was wearing, so once he’s finished, he looks the same as always. He looks around at us, clearly unsure who to talk to before finally turning to I and Goss. Another smile lights his face. “I’m so glad you decided to join us!” Sitting atop Goss, I can feel him start to tremble lightly. Right. Sliding off of Goss’ head, I join Fr. Moonlight in standing on my own two feet. “Yeah, haha,” I say, “funny coincidence, really. We actually came here to see Ymi—” “It was nice!” Goss blurts out. “We—we just got, the drafts were really bad, and, um, I didn’t know the way, so, uh…” I frown at him. Turning back to Fr. Moonlight, I lean in close, whispering right into his ear, “He’s lying, but he feels bad about not showing up. Be nice, okay?” I pause for a moment. “...Please? Fr. Moonlight chuckles, stepping away from me. “Oh, Ymir told me all about it. Something about an abrupt downwind?” Goss, despite how confined he is, begins nodding fervently. Still smiling, Fr. Moonlight walks over to him, patting him on the nose. “Never you fret, Goss.” Some cruel glint appears in his eye, like a disguised devil. “We shouldn’t have any such issues for tomorrow’s high mass.” Goss gulps, the movement of his throat making his whole head bob up and down. “Y—yeah, of course.” Hand still on Goss’ nose, Fr. Moonlight turns to me. “Now, what was that about meeting with Ymir?” Since Goss is still incapacitated by Fr. Moonlight’s casual show of affection, I speak in his place. “Yeah, so, it’s about his type…”