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. Guardians 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.'