The face in the mural

Back in the ‘80’s one could ‘get away’ with a lot more. There was no political correctness for one thing; society is far more restrictive these days. However there was a resurgence of the ‘old world’ religion, re-packaged and shiny, of course, as ‘New Age’ thinking. New labels and a new vocabulary: Ley lines were simply what we used to call paths of the dragon; UFO’s were just Will O’wisp energies, direct from the earth itself.

However, this did mean that everyone involved in this paradigm shift could become rich if they knew how to market themselves properly. Luckily this wasn’t my first rodeo and quickly established myself as a local shaman looking to take on new initiates. It wasn’t long before I had amassed a following; my own flock. Ah, plus ça change, plus c'est la même chose!

Of course, I gave them nothing of any value; the true magicks were not to be undertaken lightly, it meant dedication and will power and a great deal of sacrifice –things that that generation knew nothing about (nor any since). But fools are ever after the glamour –always willing to accept iron pyrites over the genuine alchemical element.

Every so often, however, I would be introduced to a prodigal; one that showed true promise and I would always take time to nurture them; teach them a bit more than rest. Allow them to be my disciple, if you will. Leonard was by far the brightest and most promising of them all and I often think of him fondly. I owe a lot to him, after all.

Leonard was pretty non-descript; one could hardly call him a character –certainly not one of any note. Neither short nor particularly tall; neither fat nor thin, he just was. Destined to be ignored by most others he had one thing that stood him apart from the others: his intellect, and it did make him stand out. If anything he belonged to a by-gone age, as I did. His way of thinking was too radical for many of the up and comings mages who believed in chaos energies and crystal unicorns. Leonard was far more rooted in the earth; able to keep the bigger picture in mind whilst focusing on the minutiae. And he wasn’t afraid of getting his hands dirty.

I first met him at the first meeting of the Earth Energies Alliance that I had set up in.. ’86, I do believe. I was based in Haywards Heath at the time, in Priory Way (which was once dense woodland) around the Priory of Our Lady of Good Counsel –a fact that caused me no end of mirth. The group would meet once a fortnight and we would talk about the latest fads: Uri Geller and psychokinesis, Edgar Cayce, Crystal Skulls, Arthur C. Clarkes World of Strange Powers… anything that stimulated their little minds and brought me a few extra pounds on the side. But Leonard was actually well read on the subject, knew of Paul Deveraux, Chaos Magik and psychic questing. He wanted to know more about that sort of thing, which intrigued me immensely.

So, against my better judgement, I indulged him. I wanted to see how far I could take him, whether he really was the ‘right stuff’, so to speak; and so the classes became more intense, much to the chagrin of the other hangers-on. Each time we met there would be fewer people, which was fine by me as it meant we had more interesting conversations. One day Leonard suggested the group try our own psychic quest and I readily agreed. Now was the chance to see what he was made of.

We met the Saturday after the group and much to Leonard’s dismay (and my amusement) he was the only one of the group to attend. I had expected as much as it was raining… and cold, but nothing seemed to dampen Leonard’s enthusiasm. The location was ‘chosen’ by Leonard to be The Long Man of Wilmington, a chalk figure holding two staves carved into the Sussex Downs near Eastbourne. The origins of the figure are clouded in mystery and Leonard was keen to see whether the questing could shed any light on it.

Psychic questing uses meditative techniques and a highly tuned intuition to gather clues and information from the landscape; to interact with the local energies to find out information otherwise impossible to discern. I knew that there was promise in Leonard and that he was receptive to psychic information as he picked up on the location I ‘gave’ him.

We sat at the round barrow at the base of the chalk figure and I told Leonard to envisage the two staves as one giant door. (This couldn’t be further from the truth of the figure, but it helped my purpose to lead him far from the truth) The door would shine with a black light, become a portal where he would be able to traverse through and talk to the Spirit form that inhabited the area. He would then be directed to an object of worth.

Leonard took this all in his stride and did as I asked. He sat cross-legged, his duffle coat making him look like a troll – it was with that image that I sent him the tulpa (or thought form) of a rock troll to converse with. Rather than balk at such a sight he readily conversed with it and seemed to take great enjoyment talking to himself.

After a while the ‘conversation’ ceased –I was getting too cold to indulge Leonard’s whimsy any longer- and he took me to the church in Wilmington. I hadn’t been here in many a year and remembered the ancient yew and the lovely smell as the pews burned. Leonard used the dowsing rods that I had brought expressly for this excursion and it wasn’t long before he found a curious stone, buried amongst the roots of the yew. It was wrapped in a loose fabric that looked like old leather. He unwrapped it and dropped it immediately with a cry of disgust.

Inside was a sheep’s heart, still bloody, it had been pierced thirteen times. 12 of these looked like twigs from a tree, possibly a thorn of some kind, and the thirteenth from a roughhewn dagger of some kind. The dagger had markings scraped into it –some kind of ancient alphabet of some kind.

Leonard scurried off to the bushes to vomit and I supressed a grin. Taking a phial of Holy Water I cleansed the heart and dug a hole to bury it properly.  I could hear Leonard shuffle up behind me with some embarrassment.

“Sorry about that… I’ve never seen anything like it before. Why do you think it was there?”

He asked.

“To serve as a warning of some kind, I’m not sure.”

“What were the markings on the stone dagger?”

“Does it matter? You were the one that dug it up –are you ok?” I asked.

“Yes, I think so. I feel a bit light headed.. probably down to the shock.”

“It’s ok –we can go home now, I’ve deactivated it. The holy water will have dispersed any negative energies that might have dwelt within the heart.”

“But I touched it! What will it do to me?” Leonard asked, nervous now at what he was involved in.

“Nothing; you barely had hold of it and you didn’t actually touch the heart itself; you’re just suffering from shock. We’ll go home and have some tea, you’ll be fine, Leonard. Trust me.”

The next week Leonard was the only one at the meeting; everyone else had given up which suited my purposes perfectly. Leonard looked quiet and withdrawn and he had been suffering from nightmares since the incident with the heart.

“Just psychic backlash from such a traumatic episode.” I consoled him as best I could, secretly pleased that things were working out perfectly. During that session I taught him about psychic protection and gave him the tools to ensure he wouldn’t be attacked by nightmares any more. He soaked up all the information just like a sponge; by far one of the best pupils I had ever had. Such a shame really, but by the end of the session I knew he was ready for the second stage. I suggested that he had to put all the information to the test so I suggested a visit to Clapham wood, one of my old haunts of yesteryear.

That Sunday was a complete contrast to the last time we undertook a quest and Leonard was brimming with confidence, having practiced the protection ritual religiously. The weather was warm and sunny; sheepish clouds adding comfort to the day.

We parked by the church and took a walk through the wood, stopping at the ……….  About half an hour into the walk Leonard starting complaining.

“I… my legs… “

“What is it now, Leonard? I know you’re having second thoughts about the group but I certainly didn’t force you to come.”

“I’m starting to feel weak; my legs… they’re starting to go numb.”

“I’ve a Marathon bar in my knapsack if you think it’s your blood sugars.”

“No, it’s not that… It feels like I’m being pulled back; like something doesn’t want me to be here.”

“We’ll be stopping in a minute so just use the techniques I taught you –do you remember? They’ll help you through; not much further to go.” Leonard nodded and carried on walking. We reached the area of the wood which was once the site of an old lime pit and I told Leonard to sit on a log at the base of it and to sit quietly. There was nothing around us; no one walking around – there was no bird song either. Leonard didn’t notice, of course, but that was only to be expected.

“This is a place of power where one can become open to the unimaginable. I’ve already prepared you so you will be protected as long as you do as I have told you. Open yourself to the power, Leonard –just like I told you. Trust me. Become part of the pit.”

He was so trusting; opening himself up to the energies without the true protection, soaking in the negative potential. All through the ritual he had his eyes tightly closed and he intoned the words of power I had given him without understanding. Soon the light began to fade with the dying of the afternoon and the mist began to rise; dense and cloying. It got very cold and I knew that the ritual was nearing its conclusion. I saw his hands reach down to the base of the log and start to move the damp loam around. It didn’t take him long to find them. He opened his eyes suddenly and started shivering.

“Well done.” I told him, feigning an interest. “You never cease to amaze me –you managed to find them!”  He looked at what he was holding with disbelief; in each hand was a large silver sovereign.

“What are these for?” He asked, surprised by what he’d found.

“Payment, maybe?” I replied.

The ordeal in Clapham woods had tired him out and it was several weeks until I saw him again. Part of me was concerned that I’d pushed him too hard; it was a danger to be sure but it was something I could easily salvage. As luck would have it I didn’t need to. There was a knock on the door one evening and I couldn’t have timed it better if I tried.

“I can’t stop the nightmares.” He said at the doorway. It was a little after nine on a moonless night and his face was drenched in cold sweat. “I thought the words you gave me would help but nothing seems to. It’s got to the stage that they’re invading my day to day thoughts. All I can see is this figure, like something out of Blake’s paintings –it’s a lizard thing with horns coming out of its head, and it’s swathed in fire. I can’t stop thinking about it; please help me. What am I doing wrong?” He pleaded. I put my arm around him and just smiled.

“It’s ok, Leonard.” I said to him, like a priest.  “It’s time. It’s almost over now, you’ve done well.” I led him to the car and he stopped before getting in.

“Where are we going?” he asked.

“To complete your training. That’s what you want isn’t it? To be initiated? To be one of the chosen?” He hesitated and the nodded slowly. “Trust me, Leonard. It will soon be over.”

We drove for an hour in the rain drenched billowing darkness, Leonard just shivering against the weight of his inevitability.

We reached the farm house and I could see the flickering light in the downstairs room, everything had been prepared.

“Close your eyes now and I will blindfold you.” I whispered to him “I will tell you when to open them.” He looked at me warily. “The initiate must always enter the threshold blindfolded so he can be birthed into the new. Come now, you know that, Leonard.” He smiled weakly and let me place the blindfold over his eyes.

I led him across the gravel drive way, the crunch sounding so much louder in the darkness. I could feel his hand getting sweaty in mine and I smiled to myself. We stepped into the room and I bade him kneel down and face the far wall. I took off the blindfold and asked him to keep his eyes shut for a few seconds more.

When he opened his eyes he finally realised. He was surrounded by my true disciples, seven of my finest students all dressed in ceremonial robes and head-dress. Strewn around the floor were the offerings; severed heads of cows, mouths and eyes wide in supplication and prayer. He started to moan and rock in place and actually tried denying that it was taking place. I kissed him on the forehead and directed his attention to the wall in front of him. It was his worst fears made flesh, the Master himself; he who had been invading his thoughts and nightmares. The mural, vivid and bloody, a serpentine face, long in tooth and horn, rising from the flames to devour all who cross his path. And now Leonard was its final victim. The face in the mural turned to him…