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By Root 1181 0

tail over my waist, easing lower, as her wanton nature dictated, for I could already tell she had an irredeemably lascivious aspect. She lifted her finger and I watched as a drop of liquid formed on it, like a raindrop. It glistened green, then gold, then rosy as it shifted through the rainbow, searching for the right shade. The succubus looked thoughtful, as if it cost her great effort. Then she seized my mouth as if I were a babe refusing to take his medicine and thrust her finger into it. The liquid coursed into me and I groaned—the pleasure of its taste took me fiercely, and I could not help but suckle greedily at her, ashamed, but overwhelmed by the thickness of it, the milky richness. This is my body, I thought wildly, this is my blood.

And then the drug struck my brain like a fist wrapped in rose petals and I knew no more. Her laughter chased me down the black stair of sleep.

I woke in a warm darkness, with savory smells around me. As my eyes crinkled open, I saw that I lay on a long plinth within a cavern whose ceiling soared up into the distance. Some clever mason had carved shelves and alcoves all through the cave, up to its highest cranny, and many surfaces were laid about with rich furs and piles of scrolls and books. As my vision cleared I gasped, for the walls of the cave were all of gold, and the sheer wealth of those humble steps could have purchased a papacy. Over a pleasant fire the hulking gryphon stood sentinel, stirring a pot with an iron spoon clapped in his beak. I smelt onions and wild beets, harsh, bitter herbs, and even pepper—priceless pepper, for an invalid’s supper! Dimly, I remembered collapsing into fields of the precious stuff, but then I had been too sun-maddened to marvel.

“I can’t hold your head and let you sip it like a baby,” the gryphon growled. “Anatomy is unkind. You will have to feed yourself.”

And so I did, ravenous, desperate. The beast directed me, still shaky, to a pot of yoghurty beerish stuff, and my gratitude swelled so great I could not give it voice. He introduced himself as Fortunatus, and the name seemed to me Latin and home enough to bring tears to my eyes. I ventured some words:

“We have tales of creatures like you, where I come from.”

His barrel chest lifted a bit in leonine pride. “Is that so? Well, I am a fascinating individual. I suppose that is understandable. What do they say?”

I considered. My duty to minister and witness warred with my desire for more soup, and shelter against the demon with eyes on her breasts. I felt stronger already, and the nightmare of the sandy sea receded in the face of my own name, my own self returning.

“We say that you are like Our Lord Jesus Christ, part strong earthly lion, which is like the flesh, part soaring eagle, which is the divine soul. You are a symbol of the mystery of God.”

The gryphon blinked at me, his limpid golden eyes gleaming with concern in the firelight. “I am Fortunatus. I am not a symbol of anything.”

“No, what I mean to say is, God’s wisdom dwells in every living thing, and in your people He has chosen to illustrate His Divine Nature.”

“My people are gryphons. Not illustrations or symbols. It is not a simple thing to be a gryphon, but you are over-complicating it.”

I held up my hands. “Let me begin again. In the beginning was the Word and the Word was with God and the Word was God.” Fortunatus settled himself by the fire, kneading the fur rugs on the floor and after a long feline stretch, dropping his hindquarters abruptly down.

“Which word?” the gryphon purred pleasantly.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, there are many words. Which one is God? Love? Joy? Quince? Sandal? Blue? This is very interesting!”

“Christ is the Word of God, but Christ is God, and God is Christ. But Christ was also a man.”

“Like you?”

“Not like me. Christ was the Son of God. God incarnate, born of a virgin, died of crucifixion, ransoming us all from death.”

Fortunatus bent his feathered head. “Forgive me, John. I do not quite see how death can ransom death.”

“Your questions make me tell it all backwards! Before Christ comes