Adam’s Pilgrimage part 3: Meon Hill and Charles Walton, May 6th
as played via e-mail
Sunday May 6th: Victor's prophecy holds good as you feel
much less sore today. More porridge. It's cool with
occasional sunny spells as you make your way by the back roads to the Rollright Stones quite early in the morning. There's a couple of tourists but they're fairly quiet and
you can feel yourself drawing energy from the stones, despite the odd look of
them (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Rollright_Stones_(96100107).jpg).
You're sure the
visit helps your meditation for the next few miles and the energy seems to have
galvanised you; yesterday's aches being but a memory.
So you quickly find
your way on to the A3400, taking lunch at Shipston on
The first shower
is the worst but they continue throughout the afternoon, getting lighter and
lighter until finally the rain has become a fine mist as you near Meon Hill. It's not cold but you'll be glad to finish and
have a warm bath. You intend to traipse to the top of the hill and then down in
to
However, you
soon regret hiking up the hill so late in the day as the mist closes in. Unable
to find any landmarks to match against your map, you find yourself truly lost
and the damp is getting right inside your waterproof, you hope it stays out of
your pack. As long as you can make it to a hotel, you know you can dry all your
clothing on a radiator overnight.
But just as you
think you're in for a miserable night on top of the hill, you hear a voice not
far away (you know how voices seem to carry in mist and fog). You can only hear
it because it's so quiet. There's not a breath of wind.
As you grope
blindly through the mist, the voice becomes clearer: a man's voice, quite old
by the sound of it and definitely a local, but very hoarse; he must have a
throat infection. He's talking to someone but you can't hear any voice but his.
Then a shape
looms, quickly resolving in to the figure of a man sitting on a tree stump. You
get the strange impression that he's somehow evaporating in to the air but then
a flurry of wings reveals half a dozen small birds flying up. They must have
been sitting on him; one, braver than the rest, still sits on his far shoulder,
eating from his fingers.
The man looks
round. "Ar doo!"
he says, in some sort of greeting. "Appen ye be lost in't mist?"
Adam
will use his reading emotions power on the guy (his Psychology is 75%) and
unless he senses hostility he'll say, “Well met friend - I could do with a bit
of help getting off the hill and into
The man looks
pretty old, pensionable, and his clothes look older
but the cut and quality of the cloth looks pretty good, though there are signs
of wear and the collar is a little frayed.
The man does not
seem hostile and his manner is friendly enough but there's something a little
strange about him. Now you think about it, you get the impression the birds
flew up due to some reaction on his part, as if he was afraid of you. But he
certainly isn't afraid of you now. Perhaps he thought you were someone else?
"Eh, off
wit ye noe", he says, softly shoeing the last
bird from his shoulder before replying to you, "Aye - appen!"
He stoops to pick up some tools from the ground; a light 2-pronged pitchfork
and some sort of wickedly curved pruning tool on a pole. "Coom along thissen why." He
starts leading you to the left.
Despite
being a little worried about the farm implements Adam will follow him.
The ground is
still rising; Adam has trouble keeping up with the old man, who is vigorous
despite his age. Presently the old man begins to talk with a friendly voice but
hoarse. Adam no longer thinks he has a throat infection; it's probably either
an old injury or a congenital defect.
"Wait bring ee on't
hill in't mist? Ye loook laik ee bin oat aw die."
“I
like to visit places with a bit of a legend to them - that phantom hounds of
the Celtic king Arawn hunt the hill at night;
although I'd hoped to be in the village before nightfall.”
"Aye! Appen ee doo, betaim,
thowis taim in't noe; twar
dies ago, at Beltyne appen."
He grins briefly in the mist. "Ye saif
tonait." Though misty, it won't be dark
for a couple of hours yet, so you feel wrapped in a clammy grey twilight.
Spooky! But it's light enough to let Adam see the old man’s face clearly and
read his emotions; you sense a very faint but bitter sense of irony in the way
he pronounces the pronoun.
“Do
you live in the village? I have been walking all day as you suggested.”
"Aye! Ye wet threw but appen
ye fancy duds'll dray in't waarm afore sunnup."
He's silent a
while, as if thinking about something. The two of you approach the crest of the
hill and you feel the power of the ley begin to
pulse. Perhaps the old man feels it too as he halts briefly to catch his
breath, looking around in the mist. Despite being cold, damp, tired and lost,
you feel a resurgence of energy and a spring in your step.
But then Adam
senses a sudden tension in the old man, as if he's heard or seen something he's
afraid of. "Coom along!" he says, gruffly,
and starts hurrying down the far slope, which you can hardly see.
"Nay,
lad! Ah noo more live in't village, thow Ah groe-oop there as lad so noo it well laik and allus in't villuj
noe mai naim
an aw. Gooodlie folk fer’t moast
paart."
Adam
will follow after what he's pretty sure must be a ghost.
Now the thought
is in his head, Adam looks the old man up and down; is he perhaps very slightly
insubstantial? Or is it just the mist? Adam also catches the old man looking at
him too, surreptitiously, out of the corner of his eye.
Adam thinks he
looks a little scared when suddenly the old man blurts out, "Ye'v a naim, strynger?
Where ye bin fram?" A tremor comes in to the old
man's querulous voice as he shrinks away, holding his farm tools across his
chest as some sort of guard. "Wait naichure o beestie ye bee? Ah kin smell summat
unclean on ye!"
Oh
dear!
“My name is Adam Walters and I'm from Otley, near
The old man's
eyes narrow as you talk and Adam senses something a little akin to the feeling
he got when Victor was giving you the once-over; it's as if he's trying to peer
inside, behind the mask of your face.
The old man
relaxes a little, responding to Adam's very soothing voice but he's still on
his guard. Adam guesses that the old man may dimly perceive something to
gainsay his words.
“
“I misunderstood
you. I have been travelling from The White Horse and Dragon Hill north towards
the
The old man jerks his head up at the mention of Dragon Hill, as if unpleasantly
surprised to hear it mentioned in the same breath as the White Horse.
He breathes
deeply a few times; then abruptly swings the tools upright in his left hand and
leans on them, panting as he recovers his breath. He no longer looks suspicious
but he still acts like he's trying to understand something difficult.
“Teynt, ye sye? Aye, there's summat
aboat ee of a teynt. An ye walkin
te Leyks te bee ridowit?” He muses for a
few seconds. “Leyks seemin odden plyes to be ridden owit. Appen te bee aw manner o plyeses
o poer doen ere, liken Meeon.” He jerks a thumb back up the hill. “An Ah sawer ye drinken te poer oop o’er, don trai te denai ut.
“So the travlin bee us laikit us te plyes?”
Suddenly he seems to understand your mission. “Ye sound liken thae folks o yore as walkit te Cannerbury.
Appen ye
cum bye teynt soaten o ere,
aye? Nay et wurrit Wait
Whores, wurrit?” He seems very concerned that
you didn’t get your taint at the White Horse.
“It wasn't. It
was Silbury Hill, far to the south. And as you say
I'm on a kind of pilgrimage.”
The old man
seems mightily heartened to hear that, though he shows no recognition of Silbury Hill as a place at all.
“
He leads you
along the path. Once it's truly level he strides along using his tools in each
hand as long walking sticks. You actually have trouble keeping up.
Then a clump of
trees loom out of the mist and he stops in their shadow next to a kissing gate.
“Ere's where Ah leef ye. Jes follow lyen; appen ye cum to a meetin o te
roads, that bee Ooper Quint'n.
Fro there taik Goose Lyen til ye cum on te
myen road. Turn ryet and kep on in ter Lo'er
Quint'n. Nobbut a mail.”
He pauses for a
moment, as if something's just occurred to him. “Ye bee kennen
te slepp
in College Aarms?” It’s a question but sounds more
like a statement. “There bee nay tother
inn nearer’n Micklet’n?”
Adam will thank
him for his help. He'll confirm that he is to stay at the College Arms and bid
him farewell.
The old man nods thoughtfully. “Aye, appen!”
He starts fumbling with his overcoat, muttering, “Theys
goodlie folk fer’t moast paart but sumas need'n a li'l helpen, laik,
te doo a rait thing.”
He opens his
coat and reaches inside his jacket to pull out an old-style hunter watch but
his muffler, which has been keeping the damp from his collar, falls in the way
so he throws it over his shoulder, revealing his throat to the pallid evening
light for the first time.
Suddenly Adam
knows his earlier intuition about this man being a ghost is only too true. The
old man bears a deep jagged gash from where his collar bones meet to right up
under his left ear. There's no blood but it looks fresh and Adam's sure no
living man could survive such a wound more than a few minutes.
(Strangely,
perhaps because he's half-prepared mentally, or maybe
because the misty half-light lends the proceedings a surreal, dream-like
quality, Adam's San is not tested.)
Giving no sign of
anything being untoward, patiently the old man opens his watch and from it
takes something, offering it to Adam on his open palm. It looks like a piece of
dark-coloured glass, about the size of his thumbnail.
“They be cannie folk in't villuj an mye
gif ye shoet shrift if they sniffen
tyent, but jes showen thik and say Charlie Walt'n sennee. Ut jes be a bit o glass fro
church winnoe but appen it
bee blessen enow te kep awie waild dark things an aw.”
Adam will accept
the gift and thank Charles Walton, say his goodbyes and head off. After he has
left Charles he will sense the energetic nature of the glass to see if there is
anything to it.
Walton nods
farewell as you pass through the kissing gate. When you look back over your
shoulder there's no sign of him.
The piece of
glass is irregular in shape but worn smooth, as if it's been on a sandy beach.
It might be a deep green colour in a brighter light; right now it just looks
dark.
There is
something about it, more than you might expect just from church glass. Perhaps
the church it came from was on a ley-line? Exactly
how powerful or whether it's a force for good or ill Adam can't ascertain
without exercising his spiritual powers, which Victor advised him not to do.
You follow
Charles' directions and, sure enough, about twenty-odd minutes later you find
yourself approaching the College Arms inn. http://www.bbc.co.uk/coventry/features/stories/2003/02/lower-quinton-gallery/quinton-gallery-4.html
It's the only
pub in the village and is very full, mainly of locals, you'd say. A couple of
people look up as you enter but no one seems overly interested in your arrival
and the background noise doesn't change. After your little brush with the
supernatural, both today and earlier in the week in Penrith,
it seems wonderfully normal.
Since you're wet
through and very tired, you need a room to shower and change before you eat.
You ask the young barman for a room; he nods efficiently and directs you to a
red-faced woman of middle age. You don't really need your sensitivity to
emotions to realise that she's naturally bad-tempered.
What your talent
does tell you, however, is that she's one of those people with an innate grudge
against the world and likes to vent her spleen in petty acts of random
unhelpfulness.
When you ask for
a room, she makes a show of cupping her ear, making you repeat yourself. Then
she shakes her head, saying they only take bookings in advance. You note that
she doesn't say they're fully booked, only that you need to book in advance.
Adam will use
his Persuade skill (50) and say "Surely you wouldn't want to turn down custom, it's just for one night?"
Her eyes show
she's impervious to charm. Your senses tell you that she knows she's in a
position of power and the only thing that might make her change her mind is
someone or something with a greater power, possibly something or someone she's
afraid of.
Like most
bullies, for that's what she is, she's a coward at heart, but Adam can hardly
threaten her with violence, even assuming he'd stoop so low in the first place.
She gazes coldly
back at you and sniffs, wrinkling her nose as if you smell unpleasant (which,
come to think of it, you probably do). "I'm sorry," she says, though
she clearly isn't, "you have to book in advance."
Adam will get something to eat while he
takes a look at the odd piece of glass with his power - he is hoping it might
act as a lucky charm.
He'll try to figure out whether the woman
is the manager (asking if necessary).
The woman is
clearly in charge. There are two other staff behind
the bar, the young barman already mentioned and a girl of similar age, but they
both defer to the woman. There’s a man in the kitchen who
brings out the meals; he might be her husband but even he takes his orders from
the landlady.
You order a meal
but as you sit down at a vacant table you feel very damp, tired and dirty, not
at all comfortable.
While you wait for
your food you examine the piece of glass surreptitiously, keeping it below the
edge of the table (you’re not sure what makes you do this but it’s generally a
good rule not to flash spiritual artefacts about willy-nilly).
The glass is a
bright green in the light and was once almost certainly part of a stained glass
window. It’s not particularly powerful but there is energy within it. It is
neither evil nor good, simply a source of energy to be drawn on at need.
However, there is something else about it, what it is Adam cannot tell, but
he’s sure it’s not meant to harm him.
2 questions,
what time is it and how far is it to the next village where I might be able to
stay?
Charles Walton
said, “There bee nay tother inn nearer’n
Micklet’n”, and he should know. According to your
map, Mickleton is about 3 miles south (ie in the wrong direction) on B or C roads. It’s getting
genuinely dark now and it’s still misty.
Adam will ask
one of the barmen for directions and set off (he's had enough of this place).
The directions
are simple and given gladly (since the landlady’s not involved). Back down the
road through Lower Quinton for about half a mile, turn left on to the B4632 and
then keep walking for another 3 miles.
Adam sets off in
the gathering dark and quickly realises his body had already begun to stiffen
in the warmth of the pub. However, he’s not short of willpower so he makes his
limbs move, though his pace is a little slow.
As he’s walking,
he can almost feel the low bulk of Meon Hill looming
to his left. Somehow he gets the feeling the hill, or something intimately
connected with the hill, is watching him. It’s an uncomfortable feeling.
By the time he
gets to Mickleton, just over an hour later, it’s
completely dark and Adam knows he’ll regret this extra effort in the morning.
On the other hand, everything is straightforward and within 10 minutes of
stepping through the door he’s slipping in to a warm bath.
Adam almost
dozes off in the bath but rouses himself enough to get out and dried. Ow, ow, ow!
He aches all over!
Adam’s very
tired, exhausted in fact. Do you want to phone Victor tonight? You feel you
should but the bed is so inviting.
Adam will phone
Victor but make sure the chat is brief so he can get some sleep. (Glad it was the
right move and Adam wasn't lost in fog.)
(There’s no
‘right move’ as such. The nature of a pilgrimage is that the journey is a
process of refining your soul. A decision that might in normal terms be seen as
‘wrong’ (as in making your journey longer or more difficult) might prove
‘right’ in terms of how it ends up for you, spiritually speaking.)
Victor remarks
on how late you’re phoning. You tell him how the day went and he becomes
cautiously excited by your encounter with Charles Walton. Victor confirms that
a Charles Walton was murdered on Meon Hill on
Valentine’s Day in 1945. He had a local reputation as something of a witch or
warlock.
Victor
understands why you removed yourself to Mickleton.
Charles Walton’s gift of the piece of glass was evidently intended to help you
with ‘sumas need'n a li'l helpen, laik,
te doo a rait thing’, of whom the landlady seems a good example.
However, it’s
unclear to Victor whether Walton’s ghost is a thing of good or evil and you
were probably wise not to test the ‘charm’ but you should keep hold of it as it’s undoubtedly significant and hopefully it should prove
important later in your pilgrimage. You turn in feeling the day was good for
your meditation.
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