I feel the Earth beat under my skin……..
On the last night of their journey to Chartres they had camped on a hill looking down towards the town in a grove of ancient beech trees whose leaves were turning golden orange and yellow, beginning to fall and cover the ground in a soft warm tapestry.
Slinger had made a fire with the dried twigs & branches that lay scattered beneath the trees. He had skinned and then roasted the rabbit he had shot with a single bullet from his Colt as it had stopped & turned to watch them crossing a field earlier in the afternoon. The Horse had refrained from commenting on this act knowing that her companion’s needs & appetites were different to hers.
He had toasted some maize heads picked in the fields, the Horse preferring to eat them raw though happy to share the mix of juicy windfall apples, pears and plums that Slinger had gathered from the roadside lined with fruit trees heavy with their late summer crop, filling the single saddle bag on her back that Francine had insisted on giving them with the food she had carefully packed for their journey to Chartres. This fresh bounteous feast had been supplemented with the last of the wine, bread, cheese and chocolate from the saddlebag.
When they had finished eating Slinger had added more of the beech wood branches to the fire.
Together they sat in silence gazing into the flames while the last of the day dissolved around them and a still dark night full of stars with no moon settled over the wood.
The Horse spoke first.
“So this journey you conveniently had while I was dealing with a bunch of high ranking Gestapo officers, one of them probably being Achon. How was it?”
“What….…Oh that. Actually I was thinking about…..about Blue and if she ever got to Berlin. Maybe that was her you saw in the Mercedes staff car”
“Possibly. But I couldn’t be certain”
“ I was also thinking about who we might meet in the cathedral tomorrow…..but it can wait ….so.....the journey”
He sat cross legged a few feet from the fire. Light from the flames flickering across his face, the stubble on which was fast turning into a black beard peppered with white. He sighed & shook his head as if reluctant to speak or remember the experience.
“Do you remember any of it?”
“ Of course. Every detail it was …… interesting……informative.......and painful”
He reached out, took a branch from the pile beside him and poked the fire with it. Sparks and flames rose before he threw the wood into the heat where it crackled, burnt and produced more sparks & heat.
“When you left me to check out the Nazis in their Mercedes I reckoned it might be better if I was less visible. So I lay down in the maize field and almost immediately started to journey”
As he spoke he was there again. His body pressed to the hot soil. The maize above him huge, stretching into the sky while the Horse walked slowly out of the field towards the road grazing what little grass grew between the rows of corn as the car with its contingent of German SS officers stopped and one of them….
“Below me the soft earth sucking me down but I didn’t resist, surrendered to its embrace, let the body of Slinger & the body of the planet merge. Warm soil filling my nostrils, mouth, ears, and eye sockets as it flowed into all the cavities of my body. The skull, the spaces between the joints, the stomach, lungs, chambers of the heart, the network of veins & arteries, the marrow of my bones filling up with soft clay mixed with sand and sediment, welcoming this easy immersion in the primal element. No separation any more between it and myself.
No sense of fear, of being unable to breathe. Not needing to breathe anymore. My whole physical being nourished by the dark brown soil that I was part of. Where I belonged. Buried alive, but knowing that I could at any moment rise up out of the ground, that the earth would release me, I would return to the field and be back in my body of flesh, skin and bones. What I actually wanted was to sink even deeper, become completely immersed in the soil, the rocks, the ancient structures of the planet.
I knew that anyone passing through the corn field would see me lying there on the surface as if fast asleep. A rather dishevelled unshaven man with a wide brimmed hat over his face in a long dusty dark brown leather coat snoozing in a field of maize.
At the moment when I felt I would dissolve and disappear into the dark fabric of the soil to feed the ripening grain with new nourishment, becoming part of the rich harvest, to arrive as a succulent piece of corn on the cob coated in warm butter or vinaigrette on some diner’s plate in a luxury hotel in Marseille, Berlin or Madrid or fed as maize meal to fatten the cattle that might themselves one day feature as steak or bouef bourginone in the same hotels, just at that moment I heard, or rather felt in my belly filled with rich brown soil, a voice calling my name.
“Slinger, hey Slinger. Wake up Slinger, it’s me Dorothy”
Feeling the weight of my clay and sand self starting to lighten. A separation beginning between my body and the soil. Heavy eyelids. Taking some breaths through nostrils and into lungs that a few moments before had been filled with earth. Eyelids lightening. Mouth filling with saliva. Tongue licking and moistening my lips. Fingers and feet moving slowly with difficulty as if my body had been buried or even turned to stone for decades.
“Hey Slinger wake up you lazy cowboy!”
My eyes opening to see the leaves and branches of a huge fig tree above me with patches of clear blue sky between.
I was lying in a hammock of yellow, blue and red striped cloth suspended below the tree. A young woman with long auburn hair & a suntanned smile wearing only a pair of weathered blue denim dungarees standing by my left side gazing down at me as I rocked gently in the hammock.
I could hear the sound of running water. As I turned my head I saw that the fig tree, hammock, woman and I were on the edge of a clear stream flowing over sand and pebbles out of which grew a multitude of tall flowers with bright petals of dark blue, azure and violet. Around and above us was a steep gorge of red and yellow cliffs on which balanced a number of large boulders with more huge fig trees growing out of them. Shafts of sunlight bounced off the rocks and sparkled on the fast foaming water.
“Here Slinger, try one of these. They’re amazing”
She leant over and gently pushed a large dark purple fig between my lips. I bit into it, the juice filling my mouth with a wonderful succulence and sweetness.
“That’s very good. Thank you”
“Another?”
“In a moment. Who are you.......and where am I?”
She laughed. Her laughter echoing across the rocks and cliffs, the fig trees seeming to tremble slightly in response.
“Have you forgotten me again oh valiant gunslinger. I’m Dorothy. Your daughter.”
A shock ran through me as if the fresh water of the stream had suddenly changed its course and was gushing over me.
“But I don’t have a daughter.”
“Don’t be daft. Of course you do. She feeds you figs when you come to visit and are still half asleep. Wakes you up when you’re drowning in the earth. Gives you occasional advice on how to be an impeccable immortal. Offers you general all round nourishment and support. Remember me?”
She leant over me again, put another fig between my lips then kissed me gently on the forehead.
“I love you Dad”
As she kissed me I remembered.
How could I have forgotten my lower world child. Turning my head to the right I saw the house of oakwood, grey and orange stone on the promontory jutting out over the stream that Dorothy, her mother and I had built together all those years ago. The garden now full of vegetables, giant sunflowers and nasturtiums scrambling over the rough dry stone walls that enclosed it leading down to the edge of the stream along the wooden steps of beech wood that Don Genaro and I had carefully laid one long spring day. Though in this place of course it was always a long spring day or a late summer afternoon or a crisp clear frosty winter morning or a star filled autumn night or…..
“Why am I here? It’s been so long”
She laughed again. Her head thrown back, her long beautiful hair dancing round her shoulders and down her back.
“Because this is the place you come when you need help and advice which isn’t often but sometimes needs must”
She laughed again and I laughed with her. Our laughter echoing around the gorge and up into the clear blue sky.
“So.....I came here to ask you from some advice, help even”
“Uhhh huh. So how can I be of assistance”
“We need to get to Chartres. To walk the Labyrinth and....but we’ve got a bit way laid by an unexpected time jump. After getting stuck in a trench sometime in summer 1917 and now....”
“And now you’re in a different conflict. 1940 or 41 I’d say. But you’re still heading towards the cathedral. So that’s good ”
“Yeah right. But I’m not sure why we made the jump and.....”
“But at least it was only temporal. You’re still within walking distance from Chartres. A couple of days, you and the Horse will be there. My guess is that the Illyrium you have was involved in the jump. It’s always worth considering it in any unexpected or unusual motions through time and space. It may just be easier for you to travel in WW2 than WW1 given the state of the landscape & the intensity of the trench warfare in 1917. Another fig”
“Oh yes please. I think I’ll just lie here for a few decades while you feed them to me”
She laughed and fed me another piece of soft ripe juicy fruit.
“No time for that now. You should get back into your middle world body pretty soon. Any more questions before you go?”
“ Your mother.....Rihanna......and Don Genaro. Are they here?”
“Not in the house right now but both nearby. Mum’s out in the desert collecting crystals. She’s coming back through the meadow to gather some psilocybin and herbs then to the lake to wash the crystals. Part of preparations for tomorrow night’s gathering. You hadn’t forgotten it was happening? ”
“What? No.....Of course not. I might as well just stay here then”
She laughed again. That beautiful melodic sound.
“You had forgotten. I knew it and you can’t stay here till then. Energetically it’s just not possible”
“You’re right of course. But tomorrow evening here could be weeks, months or even years once I’m back in the middle world. You know how it is”
“Of course. But you’ll know when it’s time to journey and the Illyrium will help you. You’ll bring the Horse?”
“She wouldn’t want to miss it. Where’s it happening?”
“In the big clearing in the redwoods. A huge gathering with beings from many places and dimensions. Humans, shamans, power animals, immortals, spirit beings & a whole range of other creatures & visitors from the middle and upper worlds. You know the sort of thing. We’re going to arrange for it to be a lovely late spring evening. A huge fire in the centre. Lots of food and drink. Music and dancing with sitting, visioning and talking. It’ll last a few days as there is much to ponder. Mostly the scale of the conspiracy and the catastrophic mess that humans are creating in nature in the middle world”
“Sounds wonderful. We’ll be there”
She fed him another piece of fig.
“Nearly time to go oh noble Gunslinger”
“Don Genaro. Can I talk with him before I go?”
“Not possible I’m afraid. He’s been on a 3 month retreat down by the lake, watching frogspawn turn into tadpoles and frogs but he’ll be back for tomorrow evening’s gathering. I guess it’s been quite a short retreat for him because he did that 20 year retreat a couple of centuries back on the mountain side watching an acorn turn into a young oak tree.”
For a moment Slinger had a clear image in his mind of Don Genaro. His old lined & weather beaten face burnt deep red brown by the sun. Shoulder length silver hair with a faded red patterned headband of flowers & leaves. Piercing blue eyes with his gentle perpetual smile.
“Oh.....I nearly forgot. He knew you’d be here so he asked me to tell you quite simply “Berlin. 1941. Speer. Hess & Achon.” You know how he loves riddles”
“Thanks. I know it will be useful. Berlin....1941...Speer....Hess...Achon...got it”
“He asked me to give you this.”
She reached into the pocket of her dungarees and took out a dagger. A beautiful Kriss about 5 inches long in a scabbard. Inlaid with gold and jewels but rather battered”
“ I don’t need another weapon. I already have my guns.”
“ This isn’t for you. You’ll know who to give it to when you meet them. Don’t worry it has trans world existence so you can take it with you.”
She handed the kriss to me. I turned it over in my hands. It felt so light also strong, powerful and well used. I put it carefully in the inside pocket of my jacket
“OK. Slinger you really need to go. Next time we meet perhaps you can give me news of my middle world counterpart. Dorothy in Devon”
“She’s well I think. I haven’t seen her for a while. Though I get news of her from Red. The Horse and I are due to meet her sometime in the temporal-spatial future at that café near Kings Cross station with Blue..”
“Sssh”
She put a finger to my lips
“Enough words from you. But do be wary of Blue. She has her own agendas and morality. Kind of a different sense of right and wrong even if we are, for the moment at least, on the same quest. Just be careful Dad of getting too entangled in human stories like she does. You may be an Immortal but you do that sometimes too.You know that their stories are brief moments passing and can lead to much pain when we attach ourselves to them”
She bent over me. Her breath sweet with the scent of wild rosemary & thyme. She kissed me on my forehead and on each cheek
“Close your eyes Dad. Sorry you can’t stay for the preparations for the ceremonies and the gathering. Mum will be sorry to have missed you but she needed to get those crystals and herbs. You can go now, lots to do in the middle world, but I’ll be seeing you soon. I’m planning to be with you at Kings Cross. Don’t forget to book us a table, actually it’s probably not the sort of place you need to book. Very good chips I remember.”
“I closed my eyes and felt her gentle hands on my chest as she began to rock the hammock slowly back and forth seeming to move in time to the sound and rhythms of the water running over the rocks and pebbles. I could still taste the sweetness of the fig in my mouth, feel the warmth of the sun’s rays filtering down through the leaves of the tree. The knife that Don Genaro had given me safely in my inside pocket. As the hammock rocked back and forth, back and forth my body surrendered to its cadence. Back and forth, body moving easily and fluidly in the hammock. Back and forth.
Opening my eyes again I saw that where a few moments ago there had been the branches and leaves of a fig tree there were now maize stalks heavy with ripening corn swaying in the breeze as I rocked gently back and forth on the ground and there you were looking down at me.”
The Horse, who had been standing completely still a few feet away from him as he recounted his journey shook her head from side to side and trotted a couple of times around the copse of trees before returning next to him as they both stood gazing into the fire.
“The knife. Did it come back with you?”
She enquired.
“Yes. It’s here”
He reached into his jacket and took it out of his pocket. It glistened and almost seemed to dance in the light from the fire.
“ A very powerful object I would say. Any thoughts on who it’s for?”
“Not really. I’m sure I’ll know when we meet them as Don Genaro is usually right. Time to sleep I think”
Between them they gathered many of last years dry beech leaves mixed with some that had recently fallen. Piling them together in the lee of the fire as a bed for them to lie on.
“No wind tonight. So no danger of the bed catching fire from fast moving sparks” said the Horse.
Slinger rubbed her back gently and she lay down on the leaves with her legs spread out towards the fire. He covered her carefully with one of the blankets and then lay down between her outstretched legs pulling the other blanket over himself
“Hey Horse. Tell me a bedtime story”
“OK. One you know or...”
“No. A new one would be good”
“You remember I told you about all that time I spent in the lovely field in the Lot et Garronne when the boy and girl who kind of looked after me would come and told me stories?”
“Yeah sure. What we’re they called?’
“Noah & Tatiana.”
“Right.....while I was in Southeast Asia.....all that USA war shit..... Laos, Thailand, Cambodia & of course the nightmare hell that was Vietnam. Pretending to work for the CIA, that was weird. Did I tell you about that CIA operative in Pnomh Pen who...”
“Excuse me. I thought I was telling you a bedtime story.”
“Sorry Horse. I’ll tell you about it another time if that”s OK”
“Of course. You’ve not talked much about that episode.”
She paused for a moment.
“7 years I waited for you in that field.....anyway......they told me many stories while I was there. Actually I have such good memories of that time, though I did wonder if I would ever leave”
“Yeah well.....what can I say....it got complicated”
“Not a problem. So here’s one of the stories they told me. Actually it was the girl who told me this one. Sometimes, with the longer stories they’d take it in turns. But this one was just her. So if you’re lying comfortably and you think there’s enough wood on the fire then I’ll begin”
“Very comfortable thank you and I put another couple of good sized branches on the fire which should burn through slowly till early morning. So please, do begin”
“She told it to me one beautiful summer’s evening as we sat together under the cool spreading branches of the copper beech tree. It goes something like this”
She lay for a moment gazing up at the star filled night. Then she began.
“It’s called. Travelling hopefully”
“Two travelling friends, a young woman called Michaela and an older man called Gabriel, were on a long journey across the north of the British Isles when they stopped to spend the night in the mansion of a wealthy husband & wife.
They were unfriendly, rather rude and didn’t invite them to stay in any of their numerous guest rooms. Instead they were told that they could spend the night in one of the barns. It was cold in there but the barn was solid and waterproof.
The hay loft was half full of sweet smelling fresh hay so they took their sleeping bags out of their rucksacks and made themselves a comfortable bed.
As they were doing that Gabriel noticed a hole in the wall at the far end of the loft. He walked over, peered in, then using some of the stones that had fallen or been taken out he repaired the wall.
When Michaela asked him why he’d bothered to repair it he replied.
“This may not be the best overnight accommodation we’ve had on our travels but at least it’s shelter and we’re not having to pay for it. It feels good to do something as thanks if not to our hosts at least to this old building that’s holding us tonight. Sometimes things aren't always what they seem."
They left early next morning and stopped a few hours later by the edge of a fast flowing river to eat the few provisions they had left in their rucksacks. Some rye bread, a couple of rather wizened apples, a chunk of cheese washed down with mouthfuls of fresh stream water.
It was a beautiful warm early spring day and they walked many miles across moorland, through a forest and along the banks of a wide river until as night was falling they arrived at the house of a poor, but hospitable, farmer and his wife.
After sharing a delicious home cooked meal with them made from their own potatoes, some slices of home cured ham, steamed cabbage and an onion sauce with a tasty cheese and apple pie with custard as dessert accompanied by glasses of home brewed rose hip wine, the couple gave them their bed to sleep on so they could have a good night's rest after all their travelling.
They were insistent that they would be just fine sleeping on a spare mattress in front of the fire in the kitchen.
When the sun came up the next morning they found the farmer and his wife in tears.
When the woman went out to milk their only cow, the sale of whose milk had been a large part of their income, she lay dead in the field.
Now one thing you need to know about Michaela & Gabriel was that they were no ordinary travellers. They were both what Arab people would call Djinns and Europeans or Christians would call Angels.
The reason why they were walking through the North of England (and also when) is really another story but has something to do with a temporary banishment from the realm they usually inhabited as punishment for their secret forbidden love and sexual liaison.
Michaela & Gabriel commiserated with them and thanked them for their hospitality. Gabriel then opened his rucksack, drew out his purse. He took 2 gold coins and placed them on the table. He hoped that with those coins they would be able to buy another milk cow.
They left a few minutes later after the couple had thanked them effusively, given them a loaf of fresh baked bread, a large chunk of cheese, pieces of ham, some dried plums and pears and a bottle of elderberry wine. They told them that if they were ever passing again they would be most welcome to stay.
They had only walked a short distance out of sight of the farm when Michaela stopped and enquired angrily what the fuck did Gabriel think he was playing at?
How could he have let the cow die in the night. Where had the money come from to buy a new cow?
When they had stopped the other night at the rich people’s mansion he had helped them by mending the hole in their barn so why hadn’t he helped these two lovely old people who shared their nourishing and tasty food with them even though they had so little when he must have known...
Gabriel interrupted her angry rant.
“ When we stayed in the barn, I noticed that there was a hoard of gold hidden in that hole in the wall. Since the owners were so greedy and unwilling to share even a little of their wealth and good fortune with two weary travellers I sealed the wall so they wouldn't find it.
I took 2 gold pieces before I finally closed it up with stones to make it look like the rest of the wall with no sign that there had ever been a hole there.
Then last night as we slept in the couple’s bed, Azrael the angel of death came for the wife. I talked with her for some time , as you know we used to be good friends and I eventually persuaded her to take the cow instead. I knew when I took the 2 gold pieces from the stash in the barn that there was a reason for having them. So I was able to give them to the old couple, they’re worth more than enough to buy them a new milk cow.....maybe even two”
He paused and looked her in the eyes
“ As we both know. Things aren't always what they seem."
They stood opposite each other only a couple of feet apart. Then she moved quickly towards him, put her arms around him, passionately but gently kissing him on the lips.
“How could I not have trusted you my darling angel? The way you tell it........it’s just so obvious really. I must pay more attention. Let’s walk again and see what other lessons this world and these places have to teach us”
So, holding hands, they continued their journey together up the long straight path that sloped gradually between hawthorn & beech hedgerows towards the open stretch of moorland beyond.
Sometimes that is exactly what happens when things don't turn out the way they should. If you have faith, you just need to trust that every outcome is always to your advantage. You just might not know it until some time later.”
There was a long moment of silence.
Then Slinger spoke in a sleepy voice.
“Beautiful Horse and you told it so well. It’s always good to be reminded of trusting that things will turn out.....as they’ll turn out. Thanks my friend. Time to sleep I think”
He yawned, stretched and turned over pulling the blanket around him.
The Horse lifted her head for a moment and looked over at him, curled up with the firelight flickering across the blanket and his breathing already beginning to deepen as he prepared to enter the realm of sleeping & dreaming.
She laid her head down again and said
“Sometime we’ll need to go back to the Roget’s barn. I hid the map in a hole in the wall there. I should have told you before. Just didn’t seem safe to be carrying it with us”
There was no reply from Slinger. He’d gone to sleep almost immediately. Even an immortal warrior gets tired after 4 long days of walking across hills, down valleys, through meadows and woods.
So the Horse took a couple of slow deep breaths and she too fell asleep.
Next morning they breakfasted together on a few apples, Slinger also munched on the remnants of bread that he had toasted on the small revived fire, spreading it with some of the delicious honey that Madame Rogeaux had given them, while the horse browsed the beech mast and the rather tasty chanterelles she had found amongst the leaves.
They carefully put out the fire and removed all traces of their overnight stay so that noone other than an Arapaho tracker called Nawahehotiwaha (Movessilently&swiftly) a good friend of theirs, would know anyone had been there.
They walked together down the bank of autumnal meadow onto the rough track out of the woods which led them to a small country road and into the town of Chartres.
The early morning sun was beginning to lighten the streets and old houses that clustered round the square at the east end of which stood the massive and beautiful 12th century cathedral through whose western doors they entered.
Hold medium shot of Slinger & the Horse walking through huge cathedral doors that close behind them.
Slow pull out to reveal high front of cathedral.
Pan round and up into long high shot of cathedral square with empty nazi lorries and jeeps parked around the edge.
Slow pan up towards pink sunrise sky and into clouds.
Fade to white.