For centuries man pondered why ancient man erected stones, worshipped stacks of rock and placed obelisks across the landscape. Calendars, memorials, places of celebration or sacrifice, tapping into the mysterious magnetism of the Earth’s leylines and gravitational fields: the theories were both prosaic and profound, many and varied and often failed to approach the truth. One smooth sided plinth, ancient and austere confounded the many archaeological brains that turned their attention to it. What could it be?
In a majestic dwelling a couple of blocks down Valhalla Drive, just past the turning to Olympus Heights, Atlas and Athena watched their son Horace as, reluctantly, he boarded climbed the School of Deities chariot. They exchanged a look that spoke of divine concern.
‘Well?’ Atlas lifted a couple of worlds in his right hand, repeating ten times: these new planets were unforgiving and he needed to keep in shape.
Athena wiped her hands on her superfine cloak of magic and tweed and banished the washing up to the cupboards. ‘He has to learn not to cheek in class, darling. Especially when his teacher is Uncle Granitus…’
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