Chelsea decided that since there was a little more time to get back to the Savoy that perhaps she might just stroll and bypass the tube altogether. It was a gorgeous summer day and not too hot. People were filling the streets as the work day came to an end. As she exited the building there was an amazing summer breeze coming up off the Thames. To her right was the Globe Theatre and as curiosity overtook her she decided to investigate. It was a replica of the artistic home of, perhaps, the greatest English writer of all time that changed the course of Theatre and the English language still inspiring and vitally important today, William Shakespeare. She stood in front of the building in silent meditation in homage to the great playwright. The glint of the setting sun made the building turn a buttery amber color in the rich summer sunlight. It almost looked as if it were on fire. As she turned to make her way up onto the Millenium Bridge, a pedestrian walk across the Thames, she could see the familiar turban of the Sikh who had left her only a short while ago to tend to a mother in labor. He walked with intention and yet he seemed relaxed and in no hurry. She shadowed him keeping her pace at a good twenty yards behind making sure she did not lose him on the other side. The Millenium Bridge let off somewhere just before Saint Paul’s Cathedral another masterpiece of architecture created by Sir Christopher Wren. As the Sikh descended from view Chelsea grew anxious that she might lose him. She quickened her pace and as he hit terra firma she called out, “Dr. Singh?”
He turned a bit startled and in his momentary inertia finally recognized who it was that had shouted his name. He smiled broadly.
“That was a fast birth.” Chelsea said as she stepped close trying to bring a little levity to an awkward situation.
“A false alarm.” Dr. Singh replied.
“Walking home then?” Chelsea asked innocently.
“Just walking.” He answered kindly.
“You said you learned of these paintings from another place…a tavern.” She continued.
“Yes, yes.” He said. “It’s this way. We will pass by it. Would you like for me to show you?”
“Absolutely!” She smiled. The two quickened their pace in anticipation.
“London is a very old city, a prehistoric city, you see.” He began. “It was a powerfully spiritual place to the megalithic peoples and then to the Celts and Picts. The Romans called it Londinium, What people do not know is that there are holy wells still evident that the ancient people revered. And on these wells were built churches, Christianity’s way to quash paganism. What they did not know is that the sacred geometry of medieval and renaissance architecture only increased the power of these reflective holy pools. And these wells formed on ancient ley lines.” He said and he intentionally broke off any more explanation to let Chelsea digest the information.
“Isn’t that just superstition?” Chelsea replied.
“Superstition? You think it is superstition?” he said astounded.
“That’s what I hear.” She replied sheepishly.
“Aw, but what do you really hear?” He asked. She was silent. They stopped walking and stood before the grand edifice of Saint Paul’s Cathedral. Dr. Singh pulled out his moleskin diary and opened it to a miniature size map of London that unfolded and bloomed like a flower.
“Down that way you can see the Spire of St. Bride’s Church. Further down is the Temple Church and even further is St. Clement Danes Church and then St. Mary le Strand. They are all aligned on the Strand Ley Line.” He explained and he laid his pen down and every point on the map perched like crows on a clothes line and they were indeed aligned. Chelsea tried to seem impressed but Dr. Singh remained observant and in tuned.
“And yet you believe in the magic of the Rhys paintings.” He huffed. Chelsea remained silent and a bit self-conscious.
“Very well. I shall have to show it to you. Take my hand, please.” He instructed and stretched out his arm. She was apprehensive but his warm eyes seemed to foment trust. As she touched his hand the entire street changed. Horses and carriages wheeled by at rapid speeds. Where there once were well crafted cement sidewalks and asphalt for the roads there was now cobblestones and mud. Men wore periwigs, tricorn hats, waistcoats and breeches. Women were attired in long bodiced dresses and capes. Immediately the sky turned gray with smoke and filth. The stench from the river was like that of an open sewer. The streets were a mix of human shit, rotten food, animal bones, horse droppings, vermin and mud. Dr. Singh’s appearance changed as well. As Chelsea turned her gaze from the English Renaissance cityscape she was met by the regal visage of an American Indian. He was tall and muscular and he wore a bison robe along with his leather leggings and moccasins.
“There are ley lines in America, too. But these are powerful.” He said and his copper colored eyes beamed with knowing. Chelsea was speechless. She was not sure if she was hallucinating or losing her mind or having a truly ecstatic experience.
“Dr. Singh?” She said in a fearful voice. The great chief gazed at her and smiled.
“I am Tamanend, Chief of the Lenni Lenapi tribe. You are safe with me…because…I am you.” He replied. He took her by the hand and they glided effortlessly only inches above the soggy cesspools of the London streets.
“Ley lines are the entrances to the space time continuum.” He explained and the words did not seem to match the Indian’s appearance.
“Water is a conductor and that is why the holy wells have become portals.”
They stopped just in front of a local public house. A hand crafted sign read ‘Ye Olde Cock Tavern’ and in front of the establishment were dirty vagrants, a few women of ill repute as well as barristers and merchants. To Chelsea it looked like a movie set but the odors in the air and the kinetic psychic energy told her this was the real thing. A heaviness hung in the air and Tamanend pulled Chelsea inside through the throng of merry men and barmaids. The chief stood head and shoulders taller than the patrons and as he moved gracefully through the crowd he made a clear path in his wake. The pungent odor of stale beer and urine infused the cramped, stuffy pub. They moved to a small table in the back of the establishment.
“This is Dr. Samuel Pepys.” Tammanend said.
“And who is this deliciously ripe petit four?” Dr. Pepys replied.
“Chelsea…Barrett” She answered. The bar hushed.
“A strange accent, indeed. From whence do ye hail, my fair girl?” Pepys inquired.
“America.” Tamanend replied for her. His voice was velvety and yet authoritative.
“Ah, a place that shall be quite familiar to my compartriot here. Chief Tamanend, Lady Chelsea Barrett this is William Penn. He is about to embark on a trip to Ireland.
“Pleased to make your acquaintance.” Penn said and then added, “I am not at all familiar with this America nor do I have any desire.”
Dr. Pepys laughed uproariously.
“Oh, my dear boy. If you only knew what lies before you.” He said. Then as an aside, whispering behind his hand he leaned in and said “He does not know this yet, but he is about to trade in his armor for the cloth. A Quaker, no less. A pariah. An outcast in this very city. But he is resourceful and he shall build his own city of Philadelphia all in good time.”
“How does he know this and why am I privy to it?” Chelsea asked.
“A part of your soul is familiar to them and them to you.” Tamanend explained softly.
Chelsea studied the young man, Penn. He was so handsome he almost looked like a woman. He had fine delicate features and yet a strong physique. She found herself a bit attracted to him but not at all to the etiquette of the time, nor to the tradition of regarding women as things.
“And what brings you to our little pocket within this tiny wormhole?” Dr. Pepys asked teasingly.
“She has been studying the Rhys Paintings.” Tammanend explained.
“Alchemy, is it?” Dr. Pepys replied and he stared at Chelsea hard. “Are you worthy?”
“She is undergoing purification.” Tammanend replied.
“Searching for the Philosopher’s Stone?” Young William Penn asked and his gaze was sweet yet electric with sensuality.
“Something more arcane.” Tammanend replied. “A wish that cannot possibly take place on the physical plane. It is of an angelic nature.”
“I see.” Pepys said studying the two.
“What, may I ask, my fair lady, is the desire?” Penn asked innocently and with intense curiosity.
“Um…I’m not sure how…” Chelsea began. She wasn’t sure how to form the words in a succinctly understandable way since the desire seemed so completely unattainable.
“Leave the how to us, my dear, and let us know of your heart’s desire.” Pepys instructed.
“Two of the same shall beget an heir. That is the desire.” Tammanend said matter-of-factly. Dr. Pepys scratched his chin and studied Chelsea intensely for a moment.
“This requires Enochian evocation.” Dr. Pepys murmured. “Dr. John Dee’s work will be of help in this. You see he was able to change his gender merely by contemplation, meditation and evocation. But first we must visit the Temple Church and its archives. I shall escort you.” Dr. Pepys said and he stood up and bid young William Penn adieu.
Richard was pale once again, his energy drained. Even though the night provided some comfort and much needed rest his reserves were low and his being seemed vulnerable to exhaustion and disease. The round of ale and toast most likely added to his discomfort. He sat on the bed waiting for Mrs. Hopkins and Mr. Watkins to acquire Michelangelo from the livery. It was Saint Patrick’s Day and so Ned and the other stablemen had joined in on the festivities. They were not to be found since the snow had prevented equine locomotion for many days now.
Victoria studied him closely. She let her hands feel his face and forehead and then she let her palm slip beneath his shirt and touch his chest.
“You’re with fever again.” She said. “We must stay here until you are well enough to travel.” She continued as she wiped her sweaty hands on a cloth.
“I want to go home.” Richard answered.
“And we shall. But net yet.” She advised. “This storm has already taken enough lives. And it shall not take my husband.”
“What if I ride? Would that be too unchivalrous? I could wrap myself in this hide. It kept me warm in the storm and now that it has passed…” His words trailed off as his eyes grew heavy.
“You must lie down for a moment. I shall see to the innkeeper and to Mr. Watkins and Mrs. Hopkins. I shall also make a cup of tea for you, dear. You must rest.” Victoria instructed. Richard slowly lay back down on the flimsy mattress and pulled the bison hide over him. He watched Victoria move almost like an apparition, a faint mist, a remnant of a potent long-ago dream. She vanished leaving him alone on the cramped attic room. As his eyes closed and his mind began to drift he could feel himself undulating on the water as if lying down in a small row boat, the gentle rocking soothing his senses and creating a kind of hypnotic state.
He awoke with a start to find himself in actual water surrounded by the most beautiful lotus blossoms and the smell of sandalwood. As he sat up in the holy well he could see the nave of St. Bride’s church. He had only been there a few times before when he lived in London. It was a place where the poor could be fed. And as a small boy he begged the vicars and congregants for food. Quickly he moved from the well and stepped up onto the floor of the church. With each step towards the door the water was wicked away as if by magic. He stepped out onto Dorset Rise completely dry and in the distance he could see Ansa in her saffron robes turning down Tudor Street. He dashed out into the crowded lane to try and catch up with her. She seemed like a golden orb floating among the mundane. He knew he could find her at the Thai restaurant and so he made his way there down Tudor Street and then to King’s Bench Walk. When he arrived at the establishment it was crowded with a variety of ethnicities. He maneuvered his way through the crowd awaiting sustenance and down the narrow hallway to the back room. There he found Ansa sitting with Ashley at a small square table.
“Welcome.” She said and she bowed her head slightly. “Come. Sit. Eat.” There was a bowl of soup already prepared for him. He sat down as Ansa and Ashley studied him.
“Ms. Coleman, you’re looking well.” He said kindly. Ashley blushed and smiled.
“Thank you, Mr. Rhys.” She replied. Then Ansa pulled out the orange thread that Ashley was holding.
“We call you.” Ansa giggled. “We pull on this and we call you.”
Richard nodded as he devoured the coconut soup. It was the exact thing his body needed and he felt immediately revived and restored.
“Now you ask.” Ansa instructed. Ashley seemed completely self conscious. She took a breath and then she began.
“Chelsea and I…” She started slowly.
“Chelsea?” Richard said, his attention immediately taken. “Where is she?” He queried.
“You must combine.” Ansa said. “To make a life…very special life.”
“Combine?” Richard asked unsure of the request.
“When you and her combine you become one --- you become deva, bodhisattva.” She said. “You become how to say…androgynous…In your tradition…an angel.” Ansa stood and then she motioned for Ashley to stand. Then she took Richard by his arm and positioned him just in front of Ashley.
“Step back.” Ansa commanded and a bright flash of light blinded the room. The cooks in the kitchen clapped and cheered. Ashley and Richard were perfectly aligned. Both male and female. Both potent and powerful. Ashley looked down to see a much more muscularly defined physique. And to her surprise as she lifted her arm she could see Richard’s bicep there and just behind it the immense wings that glowed a soft lavender color. It took her breath away.
Ansa gazed at Richard embedded within Ashley. Then she uttered a soft directive.
“If you want to go home this is the way. There is only one chance. Then you will be free. And you will not remember. But you will give life, you will give seed to something new.” She gazed at Ashley and said, “There is only one chance. Only once will you have the ability to create with her. Then it will be gone and you will not remember him. Understand?”
Ashley nodded yes. Then Ansa coiled the string about her finger and Richard stepped out of Ashley and they were themselves again.
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