Islands in the Sea…

kites 334*

…“No matter,” says Wen, “they sometimes put contact details up.” She starts to scrutinise the notice board of the porch and then taps a number into her phone…

“No answer!”

Bugger times two!

We content ourselves with a swift circuit of the church but that merely emphasises the sense of disappointment and, as we climb back into the car, I start to wonder if we are destined for a hangover. It would have been in any case difficult to match the enormities of yesterday’s explorations and maybe we should be spending some time assimilating their significance rather than tearing about the country-side… it is akin I suppose to what, as teenagers, we used to call ‘Chasing the Dragon’ when we stayed out all night looking for drinking parties.

“No worries,” says Wen, “there’s another we can try on the way.”

Wen of course has no such doubts, “On the way to where?”

“The Hell-Fire Caves! Don’t you remember any of our conversation last night?”

“Ah, yes, the Hell-Fire Caves…”

To be honest it feels a little bit off-beam to me, but it is a place of interest in the area and we need to do something today…I attempt to retrieve some of last nights conversation from the fog of grape but before I have even got to the Megalithic Behemoth of Wayland’s name, we are pulling up outside the village church of Oving. The mound of this one is too obvious not to remark and there are several stone steps and a still fairly steep incline before Wen skips along the gravel path and enters the church porch where she pauses and looks back at me mysteriously. This is already becoming something of a ritual for us and as I gain the porch I find myself hoping against hope that the door will open… Wen twists the iron ring with a yank and leans into the heavy oaken door. The door does not yield. The door is locked…

“There should be a law against it.”

“It’s sort of understandable I suppose.”

“Desecration of sacred places is incomprehensible on any scale…and besides now we’re on a mission, it’s totally and wholly unacceptable.”

“And what mission would that be?” Wen arches her eyebrow in saintly fashion.

“Not sure yet… I’ll let you know.”

*

Continue reading at France and Vincent

About Sue Vincent

Sue Vincent is a Yorkshire-born writer and one of the Directors of The Silent Eye, a modern Mystery School. She writes alone and with Stuart France, exploring ancient myths, the mysterious landscape of Albion and the inner journey of the soul. Find out more at France and Vincent. She is owned by a small dog who also blogs. Follow her at scvincent.com and on Twitter @SCVincent. Find her books on Goodreads and follow her on Amazon worldwide to find out about new releases and offers. Email: findme@scvincent.com.
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