'Look, we haven't got time for you to play silly buggers,' Matt said with exasperation. 'Caitlin's having another of her turns.'
'And that should concern me why, exactly?'
'Just come and listen.' With irritation, Matt spun round and marched back on deck.
‘I am the eggman, they are the eggmen,' Crowther said after him, with a dismissive gesture. 'Goo goo goo joob.'
'They're there, I tell you!'
Crowther found Caitlin marching back and forth along the aft rail, glaring menacingly at the white wake. Her voice belonged to the irritating, neurotic Briony.
'I've tried to explain to her that we know the Whisperers are behind us,' Matt said, 'but they can't be close because there's no way they could move quickly through the forest. And if they were there we'd see the disturbance they make ... or at least hear that God-awful whispering.'
'This personality is a construct to provide a voice for her inherent paranoia,' Crowther replied quietly. 'After what's happened to her, she feels the whole world is against her and something bad is just around the corner.'
'So we can safely ignore her?' Matt asked.
'I wouldn't say that,' Crowther replied.
'See, shithead.' Caitlin/Briony gave Matt the V-sign.
'These constructs come from the primal mind,'
Crowther said. 'If Jung's theory of the collective unconscious is correct, they may have access to information denied to the rest of us.'
Matt looked suspicious of this intellectualising.
Crowther wasn't deterred. 'And in quantum theory we are all connected. Some have said that consciousness isn't confined by the brain. At the quantum level, consciousness - perhaps an analogue for the soul - can move beyond the form, explaining how some seers can see events at a distance ... telepathy ... magic
'You're just doing this to make me feel like an idiot, aren't you?' Matt said.
'Yes. Is it working?'
'Will you two stop having a wank,' Caitlin/Briony snapped. 'You'd better listen to me or it's all over.'
Crowther pushed past her and surveyed the tree line. 'No sign of anything moving in there,' he said after a moment. He listened. 'Can't hear anything either.'
'That's what I said.' Matt shook his head with exasperation.
But despite their words, both Crowther and Matt could feel something. An oppressive atmosphere had settled over the area.
'I think we should take it in turns to keep watch,' Crowther suggested.
On a warm spring evening with the sun only just turning orange and the midges alive with excitement, Mary crested the final rise to see the object of her search in all its majesty. The Long Man of Wilmington was etched in white along more than two hundred and twenty feet of hillside, gripping his twin staffs proudly. She had broken away from the South Downs Way to follow a path to Dragon Hill for just such a view. It seemed right to process towards it in that way, a part of the ritual that lay ahead.
The Long Man's size surprised her - bigger than the pictures suggested - and she was also surprised to see that the chalk outlines were still sharp and clear. She guessed the locals must have continued to look after the figure as their ancestors had done for hundreds of years. Did they sense something more potent than a simple illustration; a race memory of hill figures as signals to the gods? Or even as the gods' presence on earth?
She hurried down the slope towards Windover Hill, the birdsong loud and melodious, the scents of the English countryside uplifting. This was how she always thought of England - on the brink of summer, with the elements conspiring to conjure up that unique mystical energy that coursed through the land.
Only one thing cast a shadow across her thoughts: Caitlin. So many days had passed since Mary had set off on the long, trudging march from her home that anything could have happened to the young doctor. Perhaps the whole quest and its many privations had been for nothing. Caitlin could already be dead at the hands of whatever dark force had set the plague upon the population.
In the end, it all came down to hope, and faith, as so many things did in life. Mary had to do the best she could and place her trust in the Universe to make everything all right.
She eventually found a quiet spot that had the right vibrations for what she had planned. It afforded a perfect view of the Long Man's ancient form; she could already hear the beyond calling to her.
The Long Man had been carefully crafted by the ancients. Viewed from the ground, the proportions had been drawn just right to make the figure appear as if it were standing upright; a remarkable feat of engineering, or perception. And from her vantage point she could also see something else clearly. The Long Man was not supporting himself on two staffs, he was holding open a gateway. To where? She had already guessed the answer.
She removed from her bag all the doings she had brought with her for this moment - the tiny packets of herbs, the mortar and pestle, the cream that would provide the base for the alchemical ointment. She hadn't brought her broomstick - too cumbersome for the long road journey - but she had another ritual applicator carved from smooth soapstone.
Stripping off her clothes, she briefly enjoyed the heat of the sun on her skin. The breeze made her nipples hard and there was a familiar flurry of excitement deep in her belly that was almost sexual; it always felt like this, that moment of heady anticipation on the verge of the ride of her life.
The herbs and cream were prepared with a ritualistic attention to detail, the right words muttered, the correct movements followed, and finally, as the sun eased towards the west, she was ready.
She applied the ointment to the applicator and then lay with her legs apart, facing the Long Man. Already moist from the sexual tension, it was easy to slip the applicator inside her. An electric thrill ran into her belly. This was how her sisters had done it, in times long gone, when the Old Religion was the only religion. The true night-flight, the real broomstick ride, for sexuality and spirituality were always inextricably linked, part of the great worship of life.
The psychoactive elements of the herbs rapidly entered her bloodstream through the porous walls of her vagina. It felt like heat, like energy, engorging her clitoris, rushing up through her body to her brain where it tripped the right switches, threw open doors to secret rooms. And then she was falling back, back, through darkness, the hidden door at the back of her head. She emerged through it, and the rush was as astonishing as it had been the first time she had embarked on the spirit-flight, sucking her up high into the sky where the sheer wonder of it all made her head spin. Far below, her prone, naked body looked so fragile; here she was glorious.
As the light of the setting sun made her spirit-form sparkle with an inner warmth, she soared even higher until the landscape was a mass of green with the Long Man standing out in stark white. It was only then that she realised the figure had been designed for viewing from above as well as the horizontal. Yet it had been constructed at a time when man was supposed to have been rooted to the earth. Perhaps everyone in those times indulged in spirit-flight, an era of true freedom that made a mockery of the claims of the leaden modern age, trapped in materialism, a fixed worldview. Everywhere she looked, the marks of ancient mysteries, forgotten mysticism, lay across England's green and pleasant land. Gateways to old knowledge, hidden powers, secret stories, forgotten tales. They'd tried to concrete over it, trap it under roads and pylons, but it was still there, dreaming, just beneath the surface.
She was shocked to see she was not alone. Ghostly figures were dotted all around Dragon Hill, glistening like patches of mist, their heads raised to look at her. Mary drifted down, unsure if there was danger present, and found herself drawn to one particular figure, a man, tall and imposing, his hair long, his face strong-jawed and high-cheekboned.
'We greet you, sister.' His words came to her, though his mouth did not move.
'Who are you?' Mary asked suspiciously. She had seen many strange things since the Fall, but nothing like these people.
'Old souls. Guardi
ans and guides. We move along the lines of Blue Fire, shepherding mortals who need us at the points of power, offering wisdom to those who seek answers to questions of the spirit. For centuries, the ley system lay in ruins, fragmented by those who had lost their link to the world-mind, and our influence was restrained. But now the Fiery Network is active once again, and so we are free to move and guide. And our presence is needed more than ever at this time, when the seasons have changed, great events fall into alignment and mortals prepare for the great step into the unknown. We are the Elysium, and I am Sharish.'
Mary wondered if these beings were responsible for stories of angels, for there was certainly something angelic about them, more in their nature than their appearance. They almost appeared to glow with the faintest blue light, but their features were not benign; indeed, they had an unsettling subtle quality that made Mary quite afraid.
'My name's Mary,' she replied. 'Are you here to help me? Or stop me?'
'We are guides, helpers. We do not interfere, whatever path you choose.'
'I want to petition the Higher Powers,' Mary began. 'I'm very concerned about a friend who has gone off into a dangerous situation.'
Sharish's gaze fell on her powerfully, drove straight into her. 'Your desire to help is good, but sometimes desire is not enough, and events must unfold as Existence requires. Are you prepared for what you have to do?'
'Yes. I'll do anything. Can you help?'
Sharish motioned to the Long Man, and as she looked Mary was aware of a subtle change in the landscape. Now thin veins of blue light ran just beneath the turf like the pulmonary system of an enormous living being; she could feel the energy pumping through them. One line, stronger than others, ran through Dragon Hill to Windover Hill, illuminating the feet of the tall, old god, and then beyond. She had a vision of the network crisscrossing the globe, linking points of great spiritual power.
'There is more at stake here than you think,' Sharish said.
'What do you mean?'
'The smallest things are always part of something bigger. What may seem random events become part of a structure when viewed from a greater perspective.'
'You're telling me to take care? Are you being my guardian angel now?'
He smiled and in an instant everything about him softened. 'When you step into a dark room, it is good to have a helping hand to bring you back to the light. That is why we are here.'
Mary looked up at the Long Man, his hands pressed against the symbolic gateway. 'I want to open the door,' she said.
'Then know that you will contact something very old, and very high. He is beyond all you will find in the Fixed Lands, and in the Far Lands - even those who think themselves above all else. He was here when this place was first made, and he shall be here at its end.'
'God, then?' Mary asked. 'The highest?'
'There is always something higher.' Sharish moved to her side, and Mary felt every fibre of her being prickle with a strange anticipation. 'Ask him what you will, seek his aid, but know that the direction comes from you, and you may be wrong.'
'That wouldn't be a surprise.'
'Would you like to know more of what is at stake?' He was looking at her in a way that suggested she should seize this opportunity. She nodded, and he pointed to Hindover Hill in the dying light beyond Windover Hill. 'His companion stood there, once - the Goddess. Twin gateways to the powers that make up all Existence. She was the night to his day, the moon to his sun. Many old things have been torn asunder under the mistaken rule of mortals, and some have been put right in recent times, but this still remains. The Goddess is lost to him and he mourns.'
'You want me to find her?'
'She will return, when she is called. But the call must be loud and clear.' His spectral, shimmering hand touched her spirit-form and she jolted. 'Four million women died across your world, burned at the stake or hanged by fearful men afraid that the Goddess power would manifest within them.'
His cold, hard rage was frightening to feel. Mary knew what he was talking about - the persecution of witches carried out by religious zealots throughout the Counter- Reformation. 'And I would have been one of them if I'd lived back then,' she said.
'And that is why you are here, whatever you might think. Some men do not want the Goddess ascendant - they have grown comfortable with their own rule, with their wars and their money and their science and their logic. Fearful men have driven the Goddess away, but there must be a balance if mortals are to advance.'
'I still don't see what I can do—'
'You will be guided. The seasons are still changing. You know these words: " Also a damsel shall be sent from the city of the forest of Canute, to administer a cure. Once she has practised her oracular arts, she shall dry up the noxious fountains by breathing upon them. Afterwards, as soon as she shall refresh herself with the wholesome liquor, she shall bear in her right hand the wood of Caledon, and in her left the buttressed forts of London."'
Mary clearly recalled the potency of the image. 'Yes. It's from the prophecies of Merlin. I've read them.' She paused, thoughtfully. 'You're saying it's all about women?'
'England's gateways are closed. They must all be opened again. Bear this in mind as you go about your business.'
He stepped back, and Mary realised it was finally time. She had prepared some minor ritual to try to open the way, but it was clear that it would not be necessary. Some other members of the Elysium had congregated on the vein of blue, and now it was growing brighter, pulsing. The vibrancy moved quickly through the ground towards Windover Hill and then rushed directly into the Long Man. At first, Mary thought it a trick of the fading light, but in the blue glow the figure came alive; his hands pressed the gateway wider and a sapphire light shone out across the landscape.
'The door is open,' Sharish said.
'I don't like her.' Mahalia sat in the crook of Jack's arm, watching Caitlin balefully. Carlton was now staring up at the doctor with puppy-dog eyes.
'Why?' Jack was surprised at Mahalia's vehemence.
'She's manipulative. She's a nutcase. And she can't be trusted.'
Jack peered at Caitlin as if trying to see through a disguise. 'I don't understand.' He shook his head. 'If you'd spent all your life stuck in this place without any other humans, any family or friends, you wouldn't be so quick to judge.'
Mahalia's expression changed quickly. 'I'm sorry. Don't think badly of me. I can be a bitch sometimes, when I'm not thinking.'
He tightened his arm to hug her closer. 'I couldn't think badly of you.' There was a tension in his muscles that puzzled her. After a moment it manifested in his voice. 'I like you.'
She looked up into eyes that sparkled, his intention clear. 'I like you, too,' she said.
'You don't understand. During all my time in the Court of the Final Word, I never thought I'd ever get close to another person, never thought I'd .. .' He gently reached out and touched her face with his fingertips as if he were committing some terrible indiscretion. He snatched them back, as if burned by the contact with her. 'And I never, ever dreamed the first person I found would be someone like you. You're so good, in your heart. You care deeply about things ... and ... and you're afraid that people are going to hurt you ... emotionally ... so you pretend you're someone else.'
Mahalia was taken aback. 'You really see me like that?'
'They gave me lots of abilities in the Court of the Final Word. I can see right into the heart of you. You're a good person, Mahalia.'
His words overwhelmed her. She moved her face, inviting a kiss. He was just as innocent, didn't really know what to do, but her intent and his desire were clear. They somehow found each other's lips, hesitantly and with embarrassment, but the purity of what they felt drove out all else. Mahalia, never before kissed, felt something profound happen to her, though she still didn't know enough to understand exactly what it was.
When they broke off, they held each other, hearts racing, trying to comprehend what had just occurred. And only once did
Mahalia's thoughts grow cold and divert her eyes to Caitlin, who now had one hand on Carlton's shoulder.
The journey upriver continued, the banks getting closer with each mile that passed. The day had been hot and the insects that clouded over the water had long been a nuisance, so the travellers had spent most of their time beneath gauzy makeshift shelters or below deck.
They had increasingly noticed a fruity odour of corruption, growing stronger the further they advanced; in the heat it was florid and overpowering and occasionally so strong that they had to cover their noses and mouths.
It was not long before sunset that they came upon another boat travelling downstream. Triathus saw it with his acute eyesight long before any of them had any idea it was there.
'There is danger ahead,' he said, turning to them. 'A skiff approaches. It bears the sigil of the Court of Glimmering Hope.'
Matt stood at the prow and peered ahead beneath a shielding hand. 'How the bloody hell can you see that?'
'They're the enemy?' Caitlin asked.
'Five courts stand firm alongside the advancement of Fragile Creatures. Five are opposed. Ten remain unaligned. The balance has been held with tension in recent times, but our side believe pre-emptive strikes by the others ... the enemy ... could drive more into their alliance.'
'So, it's all about to go pear-shaped.' Crowther emerged from below deck with a canister of water. 'A civil war amongst the gods.'
'Leave them to it,' Jack said passionately. 'We don't need them. We should locate the cure and then return to our world.'
'We can't bury our heads in the sand.' Caitlin tried to see the approaching boat, but the sun on the water was too bright. 'That's what the Golden Ones have often done. We'll have to deal with the repercussions sooner or later ... they won't leave us alone, whoever wins.'
'Are they going to attack?' Matt picked up his bow from the rail where it had been leaning.
'They will strike if they see me aboard,' Triathus replied.
'Then we hide you below deck,' Caitlin said. 'And we hope they leave us alone.'
'You think they're going to be scared off by us?' Crowther sneered. 'Have you looked around recently?'
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