St. Margaret's Well
This unique Well House dates from the late 15th century. It originally stood at Restalrig, close to the church, and its design is a miniature of St. Triduana's Aisle there. In 1860 it was removed from its first site, which was then encroached upon by a railway depot, and was reconstructed in its present position near a natural spring.
Church read it carefully then said, "When they moved it, did whoever was in charge know this was the entrance to the path beneath Arthur's Seat? Or was it coincidence?"
"There is no coincidence." Tom surveyed the well-head carefully, as if he were looking for a lock.
"So someone did know?"
"Perhaps. A great deal of secret knowledge has been maintained down the years. There are numerous societies which keep their version of the truth close to them, many secret believers passing words down from mother to daughter, father to son. Or perhaps the people who moved the well-head were simply guided by an unseen hand."
A few weeks earlier Church would have met such a comment with derision, but now he was more than aware of what lay behind the visible. "So how do we get in? Can you see the switch like you did at Tintagel?"
"I can, but I'd be remiss in my job if I didn't start teaching you."
"I can't see anything!"
"That's because you are not looking correctly," Tom replied with exasperation.
Church squinted in the feeble hope it would reveal some hitherto obscured detail, but it only brought an irritated snort from Tom. "Haven't you learned anything yet?"
"I've learned you're an annoying bastard," Church snapped.
"The mistake you people constantly make is that you see the five senses as separate, and as the only tools at your disposal. Haven't I told you to trust your intuition? Sense where the switch is. Feel the power of the earth energy in this spot, its arteries and veins, where it pulses the strongest. Then let it inform each sense in turn, until they are all working together. Smell the switch, taste it in the air. Hear it calling to you."
Church attempted to do what Tom said. After a few seconds he said, "It's not working."
Tom cuffed his shoulder so that Church spun round in irritation. "You're not trying hard enough. Concentrate. Open your mind and your heart to it. If you don't believe, you won't do it."
"Why should I be able to do it?"
"Why? Because you're special, though God knows why. You are a manifestation of the Pendragon Spirit. Its force moves through you. You're closer to the land and the energy than I am. In an ideal world, you should be teaching me!"
Church sighed and turned back to the well-head. "It's not easy to believe in something like that."
"Stop whining. Get on with it."
Church concentrated. After a while he gave up trying to look at the detail in the stone and closed his eyes; that seemed to help. In the dark behind his eyelids he imagined he could see blue tracings like the trails left by firework sparklers. But then he realised it wasn't his imagination, and if he concentrated, he could make the paths stronger, see the faint web they made. A little more concentration and he could hear them fizzing, as if he were standing near a hightension power line; they smelled and tasted like burnt iron.
And then he opened his eyes and he could still see the blue trails glowing beneath the surface of the stone and the surrounding grass. "It's there." His awed voice was hushed. He let his gaze slip slightly to the side and he could see the blue arteries continuing out and up into Arthur's Seat, across the ground behind him towards the city. "It's in everything. Everywhere."
He noticed that some of the arteries and veins glowed with a paler blue and others appeared oddly truncated, as if they had withered and died. With this realisation and the conscious stream of thoughts it generated, he began to lose control of the vision. It flickered as his senses fragmented, became individual units again. Desperately he launched himself forward and hammered the palm of his hand on to the point on the well-head where the blue fire had appeared to converge. There was a surge of needle-pain in his fingertips and blue sparks flew. With a deep rumble, the well-head split open, flooding water out, but giving access to a dark tunnel which lay beyond the spout of the spring.
Tom grabbed his elbow and propelled him in. The moment they set foot in the tunnel the well-head ground shut behind them. Church had expected stifling darkness, but there was a faint phosphorescent glow to the slick rock walls which gave the passage the gloomy appearance of the last minutes of twilight. But it was enough to see by, and Tom was already marching ahead.
Church caught up with him with a double-step, breathing in the dank air and shivering slightly. His footsteps echoed off the walls. "That was amazing." Although there was no reason for it, he spoke in a whisper. "Is that how you see things?"
"Sometimes. When I allow myself."
"It's-" He searched for the right word, but couldn't find one to match the immensity of what he felt. He settled for, "Tremendous. I can understand how people could get all religious about that. It showed the interconnectedness of everything. That blue, spiritual fire, in the land, in the rocks." He gazed at the back of his hand. "In us."
"It's the neolithic mindset. Once everybody could see things that way."
"Then what happened? Why did we lose it?"
Tom shrugged. "The more we developed the rational side of the brain, the more we lost touch with the intuitive. We simply forgot the skill to combine the senses, to be holistic in feeling. It's one of the great arrogances of man that we consider we are constantly evolving, that to dwell wholly on reason and science and logic is somehow better. But what would you think of a man who chopped off his left arm to make his right arm stronger? That ability to combine the senses, to feel, that was the most amazing skill of all. Man hasn't been whole for a long time, yet everyone in this century thinks they're some kind of superman, the pinnacle of existence. If it wasn't so bitter, the irony would make me laugh."
Church thought about this. The passage began to slope down, but just as he thought they were going to head into the bowels of the earth it rose up sharply, then descended again. Soon he'd lost all sense of direction.
"I've got a question," he said eventually.
"Go ahead."
"In all the stories there's a myth that the fairies are scared of iron. The Fomorii and Tuatha De Danann don't seem to have any problem with it."
"Correct."
"But I noticed the earth energy seems to smell and taste of iron-" Tom's sudden grin brought him up sharp.
"Very perceptive! You've found the source of the myth! It's the blue fire and everything it represents that fills them with fear. That's what can bind them. And in its most potent form, that's what can destroy them."
Church surprised himself with the awe he felt. "I didn't realise the power of it. Then if we can control it-"
"The Brothers and Sisters of Dragons truly can be the defenders of the land."
"We have to awaken it," Church said firmly, almost to himself.
"That's your destiny," Tom added.
Ahead of them the tunnel dipped down into the darkness again. Church found himself subconsciously going for the locket given him by the young Marianne; it filled him with strength in a way he still couldn't quite understand.
"What lies ahead, then?" he said uneasily.
Tom shrugged. "It won't be an easy journey. This close to such a powerful source of the earth energy, time and space will warp. It will be disorientating. We will have to keep our wits about us."