In spite of my victory against Dartmouth I have been given three days to leave the city; it is more than enough for me. Jessica is now permanently living in South Molton Street and I am very happy to have her company. I have told her everything about myself, of Malina, of Hannah and even of Connell. Ruth and she complain loudly at the injustice of having to bear the brunt of exile but I do not care; London has lost its shine.
It is early summer and I have re-joined the world of Green; there is but a short time left for me in the city, and I wish to spend every moment of it in the grounds of St James. Jessica and Ruth think that I am morbid for endlessly re-treading the duel I fought in this garden. They do not understand. My purpose is to enjoy glorious communion with the natural world that grows here; the last remains of a great forest that rooted by the Thames before the city came.
‘Ancient Yew. Tree grown among a wilderness of stone and men. You spoke to me here. You saved my life.’
‘It was worth saving, Weed. How is your head? Do you remember yourself?’
‘I do.’ I am standing beneath the canopy of mighty Yew’s leaves. I watch Jessica and Ruth. They sit together at a nearby flowerbed, locked in private whispering. Further afield Cao is practising T’ai Chi with Issa, who is attempting to learn the exercises of that strange slow martial art. Issa blames himself for allowing the fight in the ball at our apartment to reach so grave a conclusion. His guilt compels him to not leave my side in spite of my protestations. We have all known each other for such a short time but affection grows swiftly among the red bloods.
‘Mab watches you in the lens of the Sun, Weed. Do not make her impatient. You know that it is time to eat the seed of Gwirdrych and see what you are meant to see. Malina is still abroad, doing damage in the wide world.’
Even when I hid in forgetfulness this task was ripening in the back of my mind. Now the day has finally come. I have kept the pod of three seeds with me all this time. ‘Will it hurt?’
‘You are one of us, Weed. We have no fear of pain. Step along the path you chose. Let the first seed plant in your mind. Eat it here and now.’
I take the pod from where it nestles snugly in my breast pocket. It is long and thin, browning at the ends, nothing special to see. I break it open at the top and slide one of the seeds into my palm. It is the size of a quail’s egg, white and shiny with a wet residue. I try to control my breathing. I place the seed into my mouth and swallow it whole. I do not expect it to taste so sweet.
Immediately I feel the kernel working within me. My body is fluid and strange, like water flooding down a long plughole. I seem to fall and float at the same time and my consciousness leaves the garden, dispersing into the air. There is a cold wind that blows through me. When it calms I find myself elsewhere, alighting on long grasses. That’s when the pain starts. I am treated to a grand performance of suffering. Strands of muscle and sinew coalesce around brittle bones. Hands of ice tie tendons firmly; needles knit filaments of flesh. Rods of agony burn through every viscera and I am bound together inch by inch in a birth of woe.
Then the pain washes from me and I decompress in its shocking absence. I look down at a being of solidness. I am still standing on grass but my black trousers are replaced by white robes thrashed by streaks of drying blood. I hear a voice speaking in a strange tongue but I understand it:
‘It is almost time. Midday approaches and we cannot be here when the spirits walk.’ Blinking with new eyes I see that I am standing in a circle of ancient Yew and Oak. No birds nest here, nor do I discern any animals lurking nearby. An altar stands in the midst, carved with images of Gods. Every tree is stained with sacrificial blood, but what shed that blood I cannot tell.
The holy grove is broken in two places. To the south, at the margins of the circle, I see a congregation of awful looking priests, armed with sickles and dressed in white. Beneath their hooded cowls their eyes look on, bearing witness but fearful. I ask myself what could cause fear in such a dread assemblage. I follow their gaze northward, to what looks like a great cairn built into the ground. A man-made hill with a grassy rooftop. Nothing could seem more natural and benign but the electricity in the air tells me differently.
My companion is dressed in white as I am. He walks as if he carries a heavy weight and I follow him towards the cairn as I know I must. I muse that I am in a vision or a dream. I wonder whether one may be harmed in dreams when suddenly my companion vanishes. I walk on and as I approach the cairn I see a hidden entrance at its base. Advancing further I find myself under the hill; it smells musty and damp in here and the roots of growing things penetrate the walls and ceilings.
The priest speaks. ‘This is the heart of Bryn Celli Ddu. A holy place in this island of holy places. We do not tell outsiders of this blessed mound for if they knew of it, then they would kill us for what it holds.’
In the centre of the cairn is a carved plinth of red clay thrusting from the bowels of the earth. Engraved on the plinth I see a symbol, which I recognise immediately: an equilateral cross with its arms bent at ninety degrees, The Svastika, the glyph of the Sol Invictus. Resting on the plinth’s smooth rostrum there sits a very ordinary looking piece of granite. A circle of stone with a hole bored through its middle.
‘What you see there is the Uroborus, heart of Mab and the earth cycle. Priests have called it Adder Stone in our tongue, the snake that eats itself. It is enchanted and mysterious even to we Druids. This cairn was built in the distant ages to hold it.’
The voice sounds foreign but it comes from my mouth. ‘It must be of great worth to dwell in this hidden chapel of soil.’
‘It is of great danger. This cairn is more a prison than a chapel. Today is the summer solstice, the longest day of the Great Cycle, when the sun’s ardour is strongest. Shortly, the light of Sol will shine into this secret place. His rays will converge and focus on the deadly relic. Ancient architects who knew their craft built this place as a lens for the Sol Invictus.’
‘Why are we here?’
‘Every year a priest comes. We must ensure that Sol’s rays hit true. Tremors in the earth or the shrink and swell of hot and cold seasons may dislodge the Adder Stone. It is our burden and it is our privilege to mark that what transpires here today is just exactly what is supposed to transpire.’
‘What would happen if the sun’s light mistook the stone?’
‘The power of life without death is contained within the stone. When Sol shines on this relic it binds him to retreat from the earth. If the ritual fails then it would be an end to balance in the Great Cycle. The rest of winter would never come and all would burn. Life without death is terrible. Summer without winter is corruption, deeply destructive. That strength is contained within this object at Midsummer. Look upon it if you will. We have a few moments still.’
I peer at the Adder Stone, careful not to touch it. It seems inconsequential, common granite with a hole through the centre. I squint in the half light and see crouched in its hollow heart a woman, beautiful, naked and weeping endlessly. I break my stare and go to the opposite side of the cairn but there is nothing there. From my new vantage point I look again at the hole in the middle of the stone and see the same haunted woman. Tears flow down her cheeks in a river of sadness. It is a very strange sight to behold.
‘The woman that dwells within the stone is grieving.’
‘Aye. It is Mab. She senses the time is near to say goodbye to her lover or see the world wasted. The dreadful glare of Sol will spill out into the world unless the stone gets its measure. A dose of holy light to quell the fire within is what’s needed. The moment has come. Watch.’
I look up and a shaft of brilliant light pierces the cairn roof from above. It is joined by a second and then a third and a powerful fourth and fifth until myriad white beams are carving through the cavern. As the sun passes on its course aboveground they begin to dance around each other, shifting their aim in intricate, swirling patterns. Rays of pure sunlight meander and coil around the plinth until all at once they settle and order themselves into ever decreasing circles I take one final look at the hole in the heart of the Adder Stone and the lady within stares directly back at me, her eyes shining through her tears. Finally the gathering horde of beams converges and focuses into a single bright ray, which shoots the Uroborus straight and true.
‘Good. Bring death. The grave that makes us new. Now see.’ My companion gestures at the stone.
I look again within the adder stone but there is nothing. No sign of the weeping woman or anything else. ‘It’s empty.’
‘Now it may be handled.’ The Druid picks up the stone in his hands. ‘That is our most important duty fulfilled.’ He replaces it quickly. ‘Next year this task will fall on you. Now it is time for us to leave this place, and quickly, before the light dances away. There are others who guard this stone through the long year. Those divine shades will haunt your dreams, poison your thoughts and do worse than that. You must never come here except at this time and on this day. Believe me, you don’t ever want to meet them.’ We hurry for the entranceway and as the sun leaves its highest house the beam of light dissolves into fine filaments once more, dissipating around the plinth. I turn and in the shadowy corners of the cairn I perceive a strange movement. I feel a tug on my sleeve. ‘It’s time to go.’
We walk out into the bright day and after the darkness of the hollow I am blinded. Blinking in the sun, a familiar feeling of falling overwhelms me. My vision blurs and I lose myself to the breeze, discorporating, until I find myself under the soft sheets of my own bed at South Molton Street once more.
‘Hello. Is anybody there?’
Jessica, Ruth and Issa run into the room all at once. When she sees me Jessica bursts into tears. ‘Good God, Weed. Where have you been? We thought we’d lost you. You were insensible to touch or anything else.’
‘She’s right, Weed. We were just about to pack you onto the cart like a dead man without a coffin.’ Issa puts his hand to my forehead. ‘He feels fine. Not that that means anything. You’ve not had a fever these last two days.’
‘Two days?’ I can hardly believe my ears.
Jessica takes me by the hand and sits me up; my joins crack painfully. ‘Yes, Weed. Ruth and I have been beside ourselves. We’ve reached the limit of our indulgence to stay here in London. We need to leave the city now.’
‘But we don’t even know where to go.’ Ruth looks at me nervously. ‘Oh, Weed. It looked like you were dreaming. What did you see?’
‘I saw a vision. I saw what Malina desires for herself. I know where we must go. To a place called Bryn Celli Ddu. But I’ve never heard of such a place.’
‘Well Bryn, I know that. It’s Welsh language,’ says Jessica. ‘Means mountain if I’m not mistaken.’
I look up at Issa standing above me and he smiles down. ‘There are worse places on this earth to go. When all else fails, try Wales.’