…Metallic blue piping ran at strangely oblique angles, stretching deep into the ever darkening glass cliff-face, sparkling in the sunlight when at odd times it emerged like some long forgotten swimmer up for air, jutting rudely into the open spaces a thousand feet above the softly shimmering, golden sands below.
Away in the distance men clothed in white mingled with the green of the hills as they ran and dived, swung and caught, oblivious to all who watched them perform their curious ritual.
Smiling to himself, Earl Grae gazed out across a deliciously calm, strawberry red sea.
Some sound over his shoulder… three of the power-station’s security guards, intent upon destruction, emerged from the cliff-face and headed out towards him. He turned and casually stepped from the outcrop of reinforced steel that had been his viewpoint.
Free from its countless, tiresome folds for a moment, his voluminous black cloak billowed forth as he plummeted to earth, only to metamorphose into wings the span of an Albatross’, and caught upon the up-draught, Earl Grae soared gracefully skyward away from all danger, however imaginary.
High above the cliff-tops he went, ever upwards. Like a mighty Condor he flew lazily through the warm summer sky, gliding languidly on the streams and jets of hot air; a translucent impostor upon the thermals.
And then, shortening his wing span he slowly began to spiral downwards in great sweeping arcs. Gradually he descended until when no more than sixty feet from the beach he levelled out, skimming the retreating shoreline. As he flew a semi-ridiculous love song permeated his consciousness, wandering aimless for a moment before finding form two bodies, warm in embrace, passed by below, melting into the sun bleached sands as he wheeled away. Their conversation carried on the breeze…
“Will you ever stop loving me?”
“No. I will never stop loving you.”
“Whatever I do to you?”
“Whatever you do to me, I will never stop loving you.”
“But what if I no longer loved you?”
“Even if you no longer loved me, I would not stop loving you.”
“What, even if I were to take away your life?”
“If you were to take away my life, in the very instant that I died I would love you still.”
“Mmmm,” she sighed, “I wonder.”
– Extract taken from, The Aetheling Thing
The Ætheling Thing
Stuart France & Sue Vincent
“Who was this Arviragus bloke anyway?”
Don studies the light as it plays through his beer, casting prisms on the table. How is it possible to hide such a story… the hidden history of Christianity in Britain? Oh, there are legends of course… old tales… Yet what if there was truth in them? What was it that gave these blessed isles such a special place in the minds of our forefathers? There are some things you are not taught in Sunday School. From the stone circles of the north to the Isle of Avalon, Don and Wen follow the breadcrumbs of history and forgotten lore to uncover a secret veiled in plain sight.
Wen is checking something in the Dictionary, “Get this… ‘ætheling from O.E. .Æpling, ‘son of a king, man of royal blood, nobleman, chief, prince, king, Christ, God-Man, Hero, Saint…’
“Wait a minute… wait a minute… give me that last bit again.”
“…Christ, God-Man, Hero, Saint…”
“Didn’t we call our Arthur, Aeth in, ‘The Heart of Albion’?”
“And didn’t we set his story in Mercia?”
“And didn’t Mercia grow to become the largest and most powerful Anglo-Saxon kingdom of Albion at one point in its history?”
“It did indeed.”
“Well that’s it then…The Anglo Saxon kings were claiming divine descent.”
“…Along with most other European kings at that time no doubt.”
“That’s true, but the Anglo-Saxon kings’ descent wasn’t from God it was from Christ.”
“And how did they get there?”
“They got there from their very own High One who also hung from a tree with a spear in his side… screaming.”
“They evidently regarded Christ as an avatar of Odin.”
“Blimey, you’ll not read that in any history book!”
“Just as well we’re not writing a history then isn’t it?”
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