Peter - Chapter Seventeen

Peter - Chapter Seventeen
Charlotte Black studied the twenty pineal glands meticulously preserved within an hour of extraction. A marvel of nature. The craft developed through the female line of the Clun Druid families began shortly after the four families settled here. Each of the different Druid groups that sought sanctuary out of Roman governance had developed independently. Five groups; Cornwall, Wales, Eire, Orkney and Clun, all shared the same knowledge two millenniums ago. Settling into private, insular communities rarely of more than five or six families. Their objective was simple. Preserve the knowledge, the craft passed on by spoken word and demonstration. No written texts ever existed yet a Druids education took a full twenty years. The largest Druid community in Angelsea had been massacred by the Romans and history reads that ended all existence of Druids. The Roman occupation was expected to see these hidden pockets return the knowledge to the people yet the conversion of the emperor to Christianity provided a system of domination that far outstretched their own existence. Britain would never return to the pagan beliefs the Druids held authority over. The philosophical step of Christianity placed man above other animals through their unique possession of transcendent souls. Further, the unconscious Christian mindset; the journey man began by standing up and walking away from the beasts towards salvation, survived the end of religion. After the enlightenment, the age of reason saw the birth of science. Reality no longer need be a mystery negotiable through superstition, man could know truth. Through the three prong rejection of God, the Copernicus Galileo revelation of earths non centrality, Darwinian understanding of evolution and neuroscience conclusion of the apparent biological materiality of mind, the hubristic Anthropocentrism continued. The journey stripped of divine context let man free to use scientific reason to understand the secrets of existence. Yet the early delirium of scientific possibility began to find confusion. Leaving man alone on an unremarkable planet in a universe vast beyond human conception, unable to ever see reality, only a subjective vision existing only in the mind, forever beyond reach, forever unknowable. The conclusion of the promethean journey left man only an animal. Unlikely to ever know the bigger picture. Yet this was the Druids time. Two thousand years they had waited, patiently watching this delusional development follow itself through. The journey saw vast extinction, environmental changes so severe to qualify as a new planetary period. Over population and world leaders still believing more could be squeezed from diminishing resources. As the third millennium since the birth of Christ began the Druids grew their waiting would soon be over. A century at most would see global population returned to a fraction of the current peak. The Druids would then resume their cyclic cohabitation with all other life. Return to being an aspect of the greater whole. These last two thousand years drifting off into mythology of a civilisation of folly. Atlantis.
Five communities in isolation. Five shoots from the central stem. Each developing into separate branches. Each generation forging its own outlook. Building on the last, evolving its own distinctions. Would there remain any common ground? Would this archaic plan find five strands with nothing left of deep and strong enough force to permit reunification? These questions weren't for Charlotte. That lay in the realm of her brothers. The male gender. Female Druidic specialisms had finer goals. Distinct and clear objectives. Ben, her brother had returned from the party insistent that these new friends the boys had made wanted to discuss the covens work. A conference with a pair of shamans, the dissolute remains of the man in whose name their people had been all but driven to extinction alongside representatives of the underworld empire. The heir himself, if Ben was to believed, to a dying King. Her feelings ran twofold. Such intrusion was both impudent and ignorant of the work of the coven. Yet a sneaking pride that these high ranked occult figures deemed her worthy of congress. If nothing else this would be interesting.
The early tales of the Clun Coven began with both male and female experiments into flesh demonology yet the sacrifice of Jig Brock marked this mutation off the core Druidic discipline as a quite separate line of endeavour. A darker more manipulative practice. Generations of abuse had already rendered the Clun Druids dysfunctional. Emotional scars drove a bitter division between their tight collection of families and other people. Jig gave her life for the female Clun Druids yet to be born. Her act also split a gender divide within her people. Years of aristocratic rape of Druid girls, a despicable tradition of the areas ruling class though quite common in many areas where Lords took peasants virginity on wedding days. The practice ended as Jigs spirit divided into the conger eel demons. That first small group of eels ate her broken corpse and carried her flesh into their bodies. As they bred and grew in number, Jig dissipated as her spirit saw its molecular spread throughout the crossbreed of demon and eel. A century or more Jig spent in sleep. This dispersal reached its extreme limit before a contraction drew her particles through gravitational pull, change course and return to their centrality. In time, these creatures saw Jig reassemble as an essence. The unity of all eel minds became as hairs of her head. All the creatures independent yet as a shoal each turn and fold of turbulence was of the mind of Jig. Sea serpents that together were Jig. Much like starling murmurations are of a singular mind. The demonic conger hybrids split into a number of colonies, the sargasso home for one yet a core body remained off the North Welsh coast. Jig became the first Clun coven Witch to find ascendency through transmigration. Goddess, demon, there is no word for her class of being yet her essence and sell awareness qualifies as some type of higher being. In truth her metamorphosis was not planned, only a side effect of the early cross breeding of animals and lower caste demons. Charlotte recalled her first time meeting Jig. On reaching first blood, it became traditional for Clun witches to take the young girls out to the North Wales coast and call Jig from the sea. How the water boiled that day as the shoal of conger eel serpents, Jig herself came near to the shore. Many an upper class child has been lost on such outings, such is the hunger of redress in the heart of Jig. But for Charlotte, just to know they were not alone. That there were higher beings out there, sympathetic to her kind. Powers that could be called upon in desperate times. Her vision opened as did her dedication to the craft.
From Jigs time of change the meat witchery, the cross breeding became female only. Gender aptitudes of nurture, care and patience saw the men follow their own crafts. Their men could be brutish at times. Yet the harvest of twenty pineal glands before her was delivered by the boys. Charlotte worked with meticulous hygiene, ensuring all her glassware was sterile before the synthesis began. Dimethyltryptamine, the most powerful entheogen known, is found in numerous plants though complex biological variations meant only human DMT had the high assimilation properties essential for her project. Each pineal gland carried the channel from the physical to the spiritual, the point of the human where the dimensional passage took place. The route of entry at birth and the spirits exit point from the flesh at death. Each gland distillation delivered tiny quantities that once purified that could be blended into a homogenous elixir. An opening of the twenty combined should be sufficiently diverse to allow passage for another. An individual's opening being soul specific, twenty made into one would see a determined stranger find passage through, given education in spiritual specifics aligned with flexibility and contortion. This work invariably troubled her as the innermost specifics of each soul called out from between physical life's lost and temporarily delayed afterlife journeys. Once the work was over the hijacked channels could be freed. Returned to their rightful owner. She comforted herself by reminding each that they were only borrowed. Their passage would continue once her brief use of their openings was done. This technique of combining a number of soul specific punctures twixt dimensions to form a broader opening could only be sustained for a brief momentary window of confusion before each spirit became aware and reclaimed what was theirs. Charlotte had the separate distillates ready to blend when everything else was primed. Still the voices swam around her mind. The young lives cut short to reap her ingredients crossed her conscience no more than a chef might pity an onion. Her immersion in the importance of her bigger picture reduced such loss to mere fuel.
Dianne Brock and Stella Arbor, the Druid girls that were called to their generations coven had reached agreement on the necessity of this intervention a dozen years earlier. From that day of realisation each waking moment had been preparation towards this journey. Which of the three would be chosen none yet knew though all were certain it outdoor become apparent. They were all most curious to hear any advice the shamans may offer at the conference. Both experts in travel to other dimensions using the earth mothers vast spectrum of entheogens from the plant species. Ayuashka lay central to shamanic practice, the diverse recipes utilising DMT from mimosa hostilis, psychotrpia viridis alongside banisterria caapi, infused with other spirit plants allowed them passage to multiple dimensions. Even the sea sponges 5 bromo DMT allowed their aquatic spirit world journeys. Could they be open about their work? Probably not. Charlotte, nevertheless remained curious.


Peter and Lipton woke early and stripped down what they could of their site. Sun was close to rising and following the kicking the police had taken last night despite arresting the owner of the largest remaining sound system and marque they would undoubtedly be returning to clear the Hill Fort of any remaining stragglers. Their conference with the Clun Coven was due tomorrow so needed to remain fairly close but they needed a site for the coming day and night. It seemed doubtful many would fancy going fat so together they scanned the maps for a temporary park up. A disused quarry looked good enough, fifteen miles west. This would take them over the border and into Welsh police jurisdiction.
The thankless task of waking everyone up whilst gathering assistance in taking down the bender and tarpaulin structure between the vans. Weary faces soon joined them in throwing all their equipment roughly in to the vans. They could drag it out at the quarry to sort properly. Besides, if the crew were sticking together for the time being they'd need to reassemble shelters. Most had slept at most two hours so establishing a new site away from here to recover properly seemed the optimum choice.
Lipton took Rachel and Mike plus Sue and Cathy, Peter crammed the Presleys and Harry in to his sprinter. Jesus slept on in a heap of slappers, thankfully covered in blankets. Peter looked at Lioton. Both frowned.
Peter: "We can't just leave them here! They'll freeze. Jesus fucking Christ!"
Lipton: "How many has he got under there?"
Four still clung close to the son of God. "At leat he's ditched three. I'll squeeze them in!"
Grumbled Peter waking the human heap before shovelling them into the van and slamming his rear doors. Dogs already in place, they sparked engines. Making off for the Welsh quarry.
The journey passed quickly stopping once to grab supplies.
Once parked up the shamans received little help reassembling the bender, covering a further area and setting up the fire place, however the underworld ted trio went off collecting firewood with a determined unity. The others slept on in Peters and Liotons beds, offering nothing but snoring sounds. Grabbing some bedding the shamans curled up with their dogs in the bender. The teds got the fire going before joining them there. Everyone slept on until mid afternoon.

Ginger Fortescue stood beside Rupert Bunsen outside Craven Arms police station. Mikron had accompanied G man for the fifteen mile hike from hill fort to town. Ginger couldn't find energy to speak. Anthone had clearly duped them both. Should the parties DJ sets in fact exist at all they were being held by the police as evidence. Mikron had lost the Bellends remix disc yet retained immense misguided enthusiasm in his faith in Ruperts fascination for his Grime plan. Mikron had only dodged the wrath of Bunsen by finding himself under arrest having deemed it an appropriate moment to spark up a fat blunt on approach to the police station. Rupert was ejected having been charged as Mikron passed him being dragged in shouting desperately to the uninterested business man.
Where in the name of buggery was Chivers? After six hours radio silence the chauffeur blamed on primitive rural network coverage he'd finally picked up. Once home Chivers was for the chop! Seething with fury at the impudence of the police failure to grasp their role as protectors of those that ruled. Guardians of their betters property. The Briggs prove would find the wrath of the law. Lawyers not bloody servants. This uppity oik had tried to pin the entire party on to Bunsen! Foolishly Bunsen had let his temper speak without legal council. According to Briggs report, when his men finally dispersed the armies of thugs the party organisers had sent out to defend their occupation of the private land, they found the party a mounted to a vast fire of stolen timber and a central marque and sound system. All equipment was owned and organised by a Rupert Bunsen. This four day illegal event had been the sole responsibility of a single owner and organiser. There could well be further charges regarding drug use and supply. Only once a thorough survey of the occupied land was complete could the full damage be assessed.
Fortescue had been his consultant. Lady Harrington had not been found. They'd lost Oldpastures. The Bellends remixes. All recordings had been impounded. And he was to be charged in a criminal court. Fucking! Fucking! Fiddle sticks! Oldpastures mother would be on his case too. Fuck the lot of them!
Rupert swept his hand through his hair and summoned up his trademark beaming smile. As Chivers came into view piloting his Roller Bunsen took a decision. All this earthly woe, the court came over Bury Ditches would take several months. From now on he would bring forward the Ark launch date. He'd be long gone before this shit hit the fan. The planets finest. He'd initiate proceedings tonight. Six weeks should be ample. Crank up pries on the few remaining tickets. Assad over in Syria may be interested. He phone Blair. He'd know. Others of that ilk also. The sun now warmed his face. Slamming the door and clicking off locks on Ginger, Bunsen ordered Chivers : "London office, Chivers! Pronto!"
Fortescue watched the rolls disappear. Running his fingers through his ginger mop he considered, : "Rupert Bunsen has always been a cunt,"
Noticing he felt the weight of his gold chain in his many sizes too large jeans. Replacing it around his neck, plucking his shades from his shirt and the world returned to darkness.
G Man: "The G don't need no MoFo cramping his mojo. I'm from the motherfucking streets."
He decided to wait for Mikron. A true brother.


Harry sat watching the campfire flames, savouring a pocket of solitude as the others slept. Somewhere during the Gloucester party or Bury Ditches gathering she had lost her mobile. She'd given the intrusive devices up for ages but recently picked up the cheapest tesco sold. The names of her party crew that she'd travelled up country with were the only contacts it stored. Getting lost at vast parties was half the fun but a lift home could be handy. Poking at the embers she considered her moves. These lot were on about some conference but any time she heard it mentioned a somber vibe lingered. She doubted Christs slappers were invited and saw no reason to think she was. Perhaps Peter or Lipton could drop her at the A49. Hitch hiking could take all day for all she cared so long as she began early tomorrow.
Twigs snapping underfoot announced company. Her eyes stuck on flames as a slender figure sat to her left. Sweeping her dreads aside she looked up. "Mike"
Mike: "Forgive me......I have had some.......difficult.........yet, I know you, I can't recall from when but I remember..........I feel.......you are good......were kind........before."
Harry : "We have both changed. I too felt fond of you. Before."
Mike jerked in a fragmentary memory of fear, which dissolved away.
Mike: "You....I can remember that you....knew him.....disliked him....too."
Harry: "We need not discuss him. He isn't in my life any more. I left my life behind."
Mike: "You were a Lady........Harrington."
Harry: "Now I'm just Harry. I live with normal people. Like at the party. They accepted me, despite how I then must have sounded. Please, Mike. I am happy now. Don't make me Lady Harrington again. The girl you trusted is still me. Harry."
Mike: "I......trust you.......Harry.......but..... Bunsen.........he wants to kill you. Stay.....this way....hidden. Harry. Mike....call me.....Mike,"
Harry: "I know. Please tell no one you have seen me."
Mike: "....and you me too......rachel.....I will......stay......with Rachel."
Harry: "And I believe I will go before this conference they speak of."
Mike: "No!......you must stay........to.......lead.......Jig!"
Harry: "Mike, I don't understand. I have not been invited."
Mike: "They haven't asked.........because........they........don't......know......what you are."
Harry: "....and what am I?"
Mike: "..........Posh.......congor.........eel.......demon........food."
Harry: "If I am invited, I will attend, but you scare me. Food?"
Mike: "............Jig..............bait.........you can lead...........the......serpents........to Noah........they scent your blood...........the Ark........stay,..please......I will explain......to......Clun.....Druids......trust me.........together.........only....these people together.......earth has brought..........each.....of.....us.....to.....do......this.......now.......Rupert was arrested.........his plan must..........he......must......launch the Ark..........before his trial........the bodies were.........found........earth gathered this group at this point in time........we....act........now or......Rupert Bunsen........stay or the conference..........has no.......chance of........stopping..........Bunsen."
Harry understood very little of Mike Oldpastures words. Yet she trusted him. She knew about the Ark. Shame had riddled her ever since she succumbed to a desire to be included. Her rejection left her forever unsure whether she would have embraced inclusion. Or if she would have had strength to be chosen, then to refuse. By asking Rupert she admitted knowledge of its existence, either she became included, or she must die, or hide. Two years from now had been launch time back when she mixed with the hundred richest humans on earth. Clearly things had shifted. Six weeks from now Rupert Bunsen would be leaving the planet. Harry recalled his delusions of grandeur. That this last fifty years had seen the distance between rich and poor reach its historic peak. The hundred wealthiest had amassed the earths resources by relentless use of its mineral resources. He saw evolution as a refinement of life leading to him and his crew. The earth a fungoid bloating, a fruiting body, that ripens and spits forth its spores, used up to propel his elite off to a new planet.
But how could these mixture of oddities know? How could they hope to stop such wealth? Mike now sat silent. Harry's mind gradually saw who she was amongst. These were scruffy travellers, dissolute druggies, yet they were more. These people had never sought power nor money. The soon to be King of the Underworld, The Clun Druids and Coven, the purest most powerful drulords of Britain, Jesus Christ the son of God, and the two most dimensionally travelled shamans of Albion, both Archangels of the global six, two of whom were archmermaids. Could this be madness? Tramps on drugs? Or the United council of Albion Mystics. These strangers could be the governing congress of the islands mystical dimension.


Sue looked around her, confused at first amongst strange bodies, asleep in a van. She had been wrapped around a white skinned yet handsome teddy boy whose hair hadn't incurred the slightest flaw in its greased perfection. Her movements had brought him to consciousness and he smiled with a warm innocence returning reason. Esau, they'd been dancing last night and stuck close. Holding hands with an ease and safety despite sharing few words. Cathy, still in sleep hugged Sues legs cuddled by Esaus brother, Elijah. These two must have also bonded. Cramped and finding a few aches she slid open the side door. Light woke Cathy and all four began to disentangle limbs and push bedding aside. Elmer, the oldest of the three sat boiling a kettle on a fire, smiling offered them tea. Nodding groggily they emerged into the mid afternoon sunshine.
The three eldest boys of Jesse Presley, King of the underworld rock and roll empire, still struggled in daylight and sought the shade leaving the girls who appeared to soak it up like recharging some inner hunger. Satisfied his siblings were happy Elmer sought out Christ. Liptons bed had been hijacked by the lamb of god and four young girls late teens or early twenties. Jesus lay central, two each side, the only one of the five awake. Ketamine polo rings round his nostrils, a can of special brew and a large joint keeping him company.
Elmer: "Sir! Pardon my intrusion but since that night when we arrived at the party, as the Tuberous Bellends remixes were filling the floor, you recall my gyrations got a hold of me and I am most grateful to you, sir, for politely asking me to temper my moves, since that night I've been looking for a moment to ask your advice on a few matters. Would now be appropriate whilst your lady friends still sleep?"
Jesus: "Good timing, Elmer! Let's take a wander. It'll give my loins a chance to refuel."
Christ eased his slender form free of the slumbering slappers, covering them with blankets before stepping from the van.
The quarry face, long abandoned curved round to a tree lined peak then dropped steeply to a forestry track. Together they began to walk under the tree shade. Jesus asked the young man,
Jesus: "In the heat of the evening I never got the chance, what concerns you?"
Elmer: "A number of issues arose. Born plumb stupid my father assumed I was born with only a fraction of the family gift. After I travelled out to see you and the shamans carry out your duty, an act my father commissioned. I recall how Abel changed. His gyratory powers were profound. With a flip of the hip he could target a female at two miles. From a sudden glow to an explosion of orgasmosis destroying her in a single ecstatic climax. With a shimmy he could bring every female to simultaneously go off. He grew bitter. Over the banishment of Jesse, over Elvis premature death, on the john. That day Abel died you freed me of plum dumbness for which I am eternally grateful. My interests became intellectual. I never suspected that your healing might unleash any latent gyratory skills I may have. Yet the other night I could have given every lady her highest moment. The temptation took mighty self control. How am I to keep a clear head? I want to be good!"
Jesus: "Well, I can do nothing for your nature. The man you want to be is up to you. If you want my opinion, I think you will use your gifts for the good. My tale may be of some use. It looks as though you may be about to take your fathers place. Jesse lies close to death, I hear. But you have always loved your father and I know his passage on from this life will be peaceful once he learns he has now, a worthy heir. Things were very different with my old man. He was always a pompous and jealous man. There are many truths but in his reality he created man. Placed them here in what he considered a garden of beauty. Yet he then refused to show himself. He chose to test his children. They must have faith despite any evidence. Equipping them with reason was a double trick. There is but one conclusion a rational person could make. This is no garden of Eden. Earth is subject to natural laws. Gaia, if you attribute a volition or awareness to the system is self levelling. There is great beauty yet there is in truth impartial laws. Evolution sees the most suited to its environment survive. Good and bad are human concepts. The lion that kills the gazelle isn't evil, its actions aren't moral. Neither are mans. He is an animal. My father saw this and hated that his creation either failed to believe or recognised that he was defined by the same natural laws as any other life form. He isn't even the highest power. I know of three gods that are way beyond his power. His existence is dependent on belief. The existence of anything is dependent on belief. Consciousness is all any creature has. If you believe the earth is flat then to you it is, if you don't believe in my dad then to you he doesn't exist. Matter, reality is a construct of consciousness. His jealousy has all but destroyed him. We fought a lot when I was young. I found his neediness pathetic. Watching mankind turn away from him his jealousy grew to anger. I used to wind him up. How is his pestilence and famine any different than Thor throwing thunder and lightening down. But he needed to be loved. Worshipped. So he through me out. Out on my arse. He'd already kicked out Satan for offering man a choice. You know satan isn't bad, he is most easily grasped in the term 'playing devils advocate'. He says to man, 'God says this yet if you look at things from this angle there's another possibility'. He could be naughty but so can my old man. His prerogative is choice, not evil. But disagree with my old man and that's what he'll call you. So, and you'll read how this act showed my fathers unparalleled love that he gave his only son. He gambled his only son on the hope that my death might return people to praising his greatness. You don't hear anyone asking how I felt about it? So, following his tantrum I find myself on earth. For thirty years I thought, bollocks dad, I'm going to be a joiner. But, you know, I began to have my own views. Mostly political philosophy. And I gave up the joinery job to try kick some sense into people. First, I hate money. I hate inequality. I favour the weak. I hate the property ladder shite. Do unto others as you would have done unto yourself. Share out your food and wine. Let homeless people sleep under your roof. Don't test people. Don't think you have a godlike right to judge others. They don't know why they act as they do. Free will. The big test he set was a con. No animal has free will. They act as their hidden unconscious tells them. Reason comes later. Stories of self justification spun to try explain why they did something they can't morally condone. Now I took to street drinking and rebel rousing. I often conjured up free wine so soon I had a bunch of idle folk, others that gave up work for a life of street drinking and political banter. The Jewish temple were just cashing in claiming a unique access to God. I told everyone you don't need a priesthood. The dangers of materialist greed. And to an extent I had some success. My poverty cult took hold. But it soon got hijacked. The Orthodox Church developed using my name to continue exactly as the Jewish priesthood had. It wasn't long before the sole line to god was only authorised by the church. Key to all this are mystical experiences, first hand religious experiences. These show no respect to human hierarchy. Anyone can have one. Yet, the church decreed all mystical experiences had to have their seal of authenticity. Otherwise they were considered apostates and often killed. I now know that man always will sanctify a mystical experience, proclaim singular access to the divine, ensure positions of power are preserved, It is mans nature. Any action however horrific will find some divine sanction. Land ownership is claimed as God given. I believe all I said during my public ranting, but it counts for nothing when man is an animal subject to his animal nature. Whatever I had said wouldn't have changed anyone who wouldn't have changed anyway. After my contribution to philosophical theological and political discussion found a following, the jealous Jewish priesthood scared at my popularity grassed me up to the authorities. The temple held a modicum of influence despite the Roman occupation. They saw it as a trivial local beef. Rivalry of the spiritual being the remaining field of domestic power. The local governor of Roman occupation, Pilate, virtually offered me amnesty if I apologised. I'd been on the vino all night with the apostles and like a knobhead talked in riddles. But my fate was written from day one. There was no way on earth my dad was going to save me because his message through putting me here has nothing to do with my political philosophy at all. He couldn't give a toss what I said. One way or another I had to be seen to die very publicly, denied by my followers and grassed up by my best mate. That questioning session with Pilate gets all sorts of criticism. Why didn't I save myself? Why take the piss? God needed me to die. By my talking shite it gave him opportunity to ask the locals what they wanted done with me. God needed his flock to call for my death, to be cursed as my judge. I had to die painfully by their decree. Then he resurrected me. Cursing them with guilt for murdering his son. Every other bastard word I said meant fuck all. The Orthodox Church embodies the inverse opposite of everything I taught. I was a tool. He needed to reveal death transcendence. The chance of an afterlife. That all the pain some folk suffer was worth it because humans were unique amongst animals. Worship God and you will live in heaven for eternity. What a stupid twat! So Christianity blossoms. It's my dad's religion, not mine. I'm a Jew! In his need for mans love he offered the impossible. Christianity said man is unique. Only man has a transcendent soul. He got a boost of ego but at what price? Firstly now the unit of currency is no longer life but the soul. Lives can be treated as temporary and unimportant. Send your boy to war and he dies but it's ok as he's off to heaven. The cost in human suffering was immense. Christian martyrs revelled in torture for my old mans ego. The greater peace only returned once neuroscience confirmed consciousness came from a working brain. Secondly, and far worse was man now assumed he was special amongst all creatures. Gods favourite. Others had no souls and died whilst we were spirit beings in flesh vehicles. So man used the environment to do as he pleased, causing vast extinctions of so many beautiful life forms I shudder."
Elmer: "I see your difficulty. And I feel for you. But your miracles, your powers? That is what I wished to know about. If you can cure the sick, why not cure all? Why did you not take advantage of these gifts to help more people?"
Jesus: "Well, to be fair, I did far more than you have any idea about. Granted, in youth my politics were ideological, if I'd given it the Paul Daniels who'd have listened? Earth, nature, Gaia, Mother Earth, whatever name you prefer, how does it work?"
Elmer: "It appears harsh and cruel. Impartial"
Jesus: "Exactly! To the individual it has to remain impartial. The earth must sustain itself. It comes first. To keep any species in good health the cycle of birth life and death continues toward evolution in parallel to environment. If I gave all men eternal life how long would the earth last. It concerns me more than anything now. Human over population. Each time I hear they've cured some disease or new cancer cure, wealthy few live longer as a weaker human example. It's cruel but only in the selfish sense. You're granny might die but we need the earth to be well, and mans making her very ill these last fifty years. Climate change. Vast depletion in biodiversity. Men who never saw this coming seriously believe human science is going to prevail over natural laws. Elmer, we are animals, subject to the same laws. Our current overpopulation is a planetary disease. No animal is exempt. Before very long, human population will plummet. And for the earth it's a good thing. So I implore you, Elmer, use your gifts sparingly. I'm sure you'll figure it out."
Their woodland walk had formed a loop returning them to the quarry camp. Most of the crew were up and about though Liptons van doors were still closed, the bed Jesus left to walk with Elmer still a cluster of slumbering slappers.
Elmer: "Why, thank you sir! That's given me much to think over. "
Jesus: "Come on, lad, let's go get a beer, eh?"
Elmer : " Sure thing!"
Jesus: "Hey Elmer, mate. Do me a favour, just for a laugh! Give me ten minutes to snuggle back under the covers with the girls, you know, kiss them awake a little, then give us a gyration spun our way? I'm an older fella and it's been a struggle keeping all four in tow. What do you say?"
Elmer blushed but nodded in collusion.
As the son of God climbed back to bed Elmer stood under tree cover. It felt a real honour to have brought his kin into this crew. He hadn't spoken much with Harry though she carried her age with grace. Peter had become a true friend and never complained when Elmer referred to him as Skree still. Lipton called him Skree still, usually at affectionate moments. These two shamans had a bond he'd never before known. They argued at times, took the piss out of each other, yet it was clear they had a trust that was complete. They would die for the other. Lipton was a wild man. A creature of the outdoors. A hunter and angler. A fighter too yet a pugilist of honour. Never one to use his physical superiority over anyone, unless challenged, or defending a friend. Peter was more into the mystical. His appetite for psychedelics was fearless. It was he who joined the dots. He saw the underlying mystical patterns that mapped their missions. A pair of men that fought battles with demonic forces few could even sense. The dull grey world of modern society had been rejected by both in a quest of transcendent wonder. Lives lived on the edge. Oldpastures had been a great addition. Where else could such a broken man find space and support to recover. A genius. Rachel had done a great service to the world in putting aside the superficial. Looking deeper and returning a man of great talent. Her mates slipped in seamlessly. Seeing his brothers happy was its own reward. Even the Clun Druid lads that bristled with a violent paranoia had opened up. Sound boys once they'd decided not to batter you. From his position in shadow he watched the group chat and joke, an ease in being connected all sat around the fire. Elmer knew in two days he'd be saying goodbyes. They'd have to get back soon. Jesse was ill. But he would return in higher spirits than he'd left. His chat with Christ had settled his mind. Jesse would be overjoyed to hear the unexpected side effects of Christs healing at Clay Hill. Jesse could now rest in the knowing he had an heir to rule his subterranean empire of eternal rock and roll. Abels death had caused such a change in his father. Following the shamans murder of his demon spawn son he seldom smiled. To carry that weight, having shouldered such a duty had ushered in his autumn years. Jesse had loved Abel as much as all his boys. In saving the world from Abel Jesse believed the Presley gift had been the price. Elmer stood proud. Returning to Jesse, his gift now drawn from deep within, summoned up to the surface of his being, an unexpectedly late fruition. To see his father smile once more, there could be no greater gift a son could deliver. Jesse could let go of his pain, safe in the knowledge the Presley gyrations would continue spreading joy to all women, clitoral stimuli and orgasmosis reaching into the future. And under a rightful king. The Underworld empire that Jesse had built would flourish. Who knew? Perhaps Elmer may lead the uprising young Jesse dreamed of. In his fathers honour Elmer flicked a fluid shimmy, a modest controlled gyration. An arrow as promised for Christ and girls.
Slappers: "Oooohhhhhhh! Jesus Fucking Christ, ooooohhhhhhh, my, yesssss! Fuck yes!"
The moaning from Liptons van turned each and every face toward the transit. The trees shimmered and a shower of needles fell. Laughter rang out across the quarry.
Slapper: "Jesus, I am born again!"
A boomerang breeze rippled through the trees, it's fading tail flicked across the fire.
Harry, Rachel, Sue and Cathy all failed to repress their moan of pleasure, though laughter hid their dignity. Blushing the girls shared a glance of private knowing.


Spread out at two metre intervals the police lines swept over Bury Ditches Hill Fort. Virtually no litter had been left, the odd tampon, used condom. A bottle or sealy bag. Three cars had been left by the burned fires mark, a further two remained in the car park. Owners might return to collect or report them stolen. Tucked away obscured by the curving forestry track sat a sixth that PCs Hartcliffe and Dundass spotted. Walking to check it out both stopped to marvel at a pure white barn owl that sailed close by in the days failing light. Both coppers agreed the beautiful sight made the traipse up here worthwhile. The vision that followed turned both men white. The cars front seats were occupied by decapitated male bodies. Touching nothing they radioed for crime scene forensics. Hartcliffe stepped away to vomit, Dundass could not turn away. Illegal parties were a pain in the arse but neither had expected anything of this nature. Ten minutes passed before either thought to look for the heads.




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