Beneath the Tor Read Online Free PDF Page B

Alys have wanted that?”
    â€œYeah, I’d like to—” Anag broke off and looked away.
    â€œLike to get your money’s worth?’ sneered Freaky.
    â€œOkay!” I had to raise my voice. Freaky was usually such a mild man; Anag had managed to snip one of his nerves. I hoped they wouldn’t both be at the next workshop. “Okay, let’s go into the workshop space and settle ourselves. I’ll guide you into a visualization.”
    I led them into the big room off the kitchen. I was confident it was no longer full of the spiders I’d found when I’d shifted the sixteen budget sacks of dog food and the twenty outers of canned cat food and the three boxes of cat litter into the utility room to join the horse nuts, chicken pellets, and bags of sawdust. I’d pumped each floor cushion to prevent a spray of dust emerging each time someone lay on one and had gone over the ancient carpet with Stefan’s hoover, removing, it felt at the time, the last vestiges of the pile.
    â€œHave we all got a power animal that can help us? Some sort of guardian that we can communicate with? An intent, whether or not that might be a shape-shifting experience?” They were nodding their heads so I got them to settle and unzipped my drum case.
    â€œLove the painting,” said Ricky, pointing to my bodhran.
    â€œFreaky did it. It’s my power animal, Trendle.”
    â€œAn otter. Wow. Would you do one for me, Freaky?”
    Freaky inclined his head. “It would be my honour, friend. We can speak later, perhaps.”
    â€œYeah, don’t forget to exchange the energies,” said Anag, but he kept his voice down and Freaky chose not to respond.
    Ricky leaned towards me. “I don’t think I’ve got a power animal yet, is that okay?”
    â€œUse this as a chance to go searching for one. Look for openings in the land, where one might emerge from a Lower Realm. And be sure to ask them. Don’t take anything at face value in the otherworld.”
    He flashed me a grateful smile and I started taking the group into a quiet mood. I lifted the drum and began a soft but fast tapping beat. I planned to walk them through a benign and tranquil setting. I didn’t want anyone going down into the roots of the World Tree or having encounters with dead souls. I wanted them to leave Stonedown able to drive their cars, at least.
    â€œYou are in your safe haven,” I began. “The portal from where you always begin your journeys …”
    I’d decided to wing this a little by portraying aloud the images I experienced as I made my own journey. I hardly felt my wrist move as the drum pace and volume crept up.
    â€œTrendle?” I whispered beneath my breath, and my otter came into view.
    â€œI am here, Sabbie.” He already knew. I could tell it in his voice. He knew how I was feeling, and why. He knew more about my spiritual life than I did myself. I followed him into an avenue of oaks, ancient as gods. I described the trees which stood at the top of the avenue, Gog and Magog. I’d seen them earlier as they really were, but here they were in glorious June leaf and filled with oakish inhabitants—beetles, birds, butterflies. I found myself touching the bright green summer leaves. I snapped off a single one.
    â€œChoose one tree in the avenue.” I was beginning to mumble a bit. “Sit beneath it. Be ready to gain its wisdom.”
    In my mind’s eye, I settled down at the base of Magog, my back against its roots. The vibration of the drum tingled in my fingers, my hand, my arm, my heart. The ground was damp under the seat of my jeans. I twirled my oak leaf between finger and thumb. I moved further and further into this place, and my voiced faded away.
    They were all on their own now, in their own journeys. And so was I.

    At the bole of the oak was a hole, big enough to push a boot into. It was fashioned from the way the surface roots bent