Previously: The monks/ladies were about to be beheaded. We follow Samuel/Madeline.

We catch you up: “The executioner is making ready with his axe, a chopping block waits for each of us. Kneeling on the stained stones, I am next in line. He is so close, I can feel the heat of his bulking body.  As he stands behind me, I wonder if the hand on my shoulder is to steady me from listing to the left. 

That firm hand moves and begins tapping, that familiar tapping I had so longed for. My vision and hearing begin to blur. I can sense the hammering of my heart and loud buzzing in my ears. Nothing else. I do not hear her.

"Madeline, Madeline." It was Cordelia gently tapping and shaking my shoulder. "Madeline, hello."
Madeline remains our narrator.

**********

My vision cleared as I turned toward her.

"Madeline, I've been trying to get your attention for about five minutes. I stepped away for a couple minutes to check on the shuttle’s arrival time and...you'll never believe where I ended up. It seems like a year. I'm so glad you are still here. Have you moved at all? Where did you go in your imagination? You and your ability to daydream." 

That was far from daydreaming, it was a complete nightmare.  Before Cordelia gets to finish what she was saying, all of the others who were waiting there rush over toward us. I blink as if coming back to my senses. 

All of my friends are still alive in one piece. I’m sure they think I’m acting strangely when I embrace them for long seconds. We’d been through the slaughter and are now on a new adventure in a safer time with better eating utensils.

Charred smears streaked up the stone walls framing burned-out windows, that once were our home of sorts. We stand there in a group staring, holding hands and embracing each other as if we’re never going to let the others go again.

The shuttle arrives at that moment. I picture our portals pulsing behind us as we leave. 

I want to reunite our group. “I promise one and all we’ll discuss this when we get out of this shuttle up at the base of the Tor.” There is a hornets’ nest buzz of conversation as we settle into the bus seats. 

We are joined by tourists who are clueless regarding what has happened to us. One woman says to another, “Oh, we’ve got to walk back down here to get some of that well water. It is said to have healing qualities.” She taps on the bus window, indicating a sign reading The Chalice Well.

Her friend speaks my thoughts. “I don’t know.” There was a long pause. “I know we came here together to enjoy our tour and I hope you won’t be mad, but I think I’ll pass on that.”

Her friend comes back with a counter offer. “But Sarah, don’t you know it gives eternal youth to anyone who drinks it. Let me near it. Quick!” She laughs slapping her lap.

“No… thank you… I’m happy maturing at the rate I am. No need to slow that up. Besides, who’d really want to live on a gerbil wheel forever? Not me, thank you.” 

Then she nailed it. “Besides, unless you are part Vampira, tell me why in the world would anyone be attracted to drinking blood-red water?" 

Sarah continues. “Is it just water, or does it belong to the murdered on this famous Tor? Back where we were waiting for this shuttle, I read that some soldiers did some serious damage to some monk years ago, up there on that Tor. Maybe his blood is mixed in with the water. Yuck, and you want to drink that?”

In spite of the background din, we are all listening to Sarah’s friend, who it seems wild horses could not keep away from that well. “Why do you think it’s called the Chalice Well?”

Sarah answers a bit defensively. “I don’t know, Susie, why is it called the Chalice Well?” 

I am reminded of the Michael line's dark, negative influence on people. The Michael ley line is an energy wave running below the surface of the earth that has a harsh, dark feeling to it and has been the driving force through our entire journey through England.

Are we witnessing Michael’s effects on friendship?

Susie answers Sarah in a sing-songy tone. “It is called The Chalice Well because it is the blood of Jesus. Now, you tell me you’re going to refuse that?”

Fortunately, we’ve reached the entrance to the Tor. We don’t have to listen to any… more. I think the answer is a look of disgust and the sound of a raspberry indicating the level of her frustration. They will have to settle that without our audience. 

The bus driver has his assistant jump out to move the sawhorse that blocked us the first time we drove up here, telling us to turn around to wait for the shuttle.  That seems like a year ago. Was it? Time is all messed up in my head. Maybe someone has a better explanation. 

Everyone piles out and we find a cushy spot under a shade tree to gather ourselves. We have so much to process. None of us has anything to eat. I guess we expected, in such a tourist spot, there would be vendors. Instead, all they are offering is blood-red water from an ancient well.

I sense the memories fading fast. We’ve got to resolve things, so we will never have these premonitional experiences again. We need to be healed of the horrors we’ve experienced, that that part of our past will be softened.