Hallucinating (21 page)

Master Sengel returns to the front of the stage, where he announces, "We are approaching the finalé of this concert." More applause—the crowd won't let him speak. Eventually they calm. "We must now enact the traditional ritual of this time of year. Tonight, for the first time ever, we bring you the fight live before your eyes, on stage! I give you... Ilex Power and Quercus Power."

The crowd cheer the protagonists as they walk on stage from opposite wings. Ilex is wearing a sarong decorated with pentacles and white crescent moons, his upper half bare, his beard, moustache and long grey hair all blowing in the breeze from the computer fans. He looks calm enough; possibly a little nervous. Ilex Power pulls the fingers of one hand through his full, black beard, and coughs once in that powerful voice, as if to test his resolve. This, combined with his manner and his poise, make him look confident.

Master Sengel has vanished and the stage is dark except for a pool of light in the centre. Here, the two men stand to size one another up.

Then they wrestle. They are well matched, both large men, bulky, who would run to fat and beer bellies if they were less active. Neither has a height or weight advantage over the other, but it is apparent from the early skirmishes that Ilex has a certain resolve that Quercus is afraid of.

Yet there is no quick victory. Time speeds on. The two men grapple, step back, grit their teeth, grunt, even shout out before engaging in tussle after tussle, but neither can get the shoulders of the other to the floor.

Eventually, it seems fatigue is the winner. Quercus is unable to find a weak point in his opponent, and although both men are tired, Ilex has enough determination to overcome his exhaustion; then it is a quick dodge, a trip, and Quercus is on his left side, sprawled upon the floor. Ilex leaps upon him, pulls him onto his back and presses both his shoulders to the floor. Quercus relaxes. The tussle is over at last, and he raises one hand to signify acceptance of defeat. Ilex Power leaps to his feet. Quercus struggles to his.

Master Sengel is on stage, to say, "I declare Ilex Power the victor."

And Ilex Power raises his fists to the heavens as into a mike he shouts, "Ilex Power for the next six months! Ilex Power!"

...beauty and glory...

It is three in the morning (GMT—British Summer Time is no more) and less than an hour of night remains, if you could call this summer twilight a night. So the New Pagan Troubadours walk on stage to the loudest cheers of the gig so far, a genuine expression of hope and devotion by their two thousand fans; and there are tears in all their eyes. Nulight walks to the microphone and says, "Welcome, friends. Man... just welcome, that's all."

Another cheer.

They stand in line at the front of the stage. Far left: Sperm is pulling his guitar strap over his right shoulder, while to Sperm's right Jo checks the position of the mike above her harmonium. To her left side is a Korg on a low stand; Jo is sitting down. Far right: Kappa is also pulling on her guitar. Nulight looks left again. Sperm is checking the lead in/outs of his flatback bouzouki and mandolin.

Nulight, between Jo and Kappa, looks out again over the crowd, then glances down at his trumpet. He needs to say something! Yeah, he does, some introduction, some small explanation...

"Friends," he says, "we've come back."

Huge
cheers.

"The quest is over. We succeeded. We're gonna give you eight songs now, and I hope you'll like 'em."

Kappa leans into her mike and adds, "We hope you'll love them. These are your songs. This is your politics. I'm not ashamed to say it's pagan, it's of the Earth."

Sperm does an experimental chord. Jo grins.

Then Nulight says, "Eight songs for the wheel of the year. Eight songs to inspire you. Eight songs for you all to take away, for you to make something out of, yeah? Something new—not authority, not wasteful, but green and, well... pleasant. Recycled, definitely, but I hardly need tell you that. Hey, I should have Robin Goodfellow here doing this spiel..."

He bends down to pick up his trumpet. Buddah, his nerves have come back. His hands are shaking and his legs feel weak, but the moment he sounds the first note of Theme Twenty One his mind returns to its majesty, and he is okay. He plays those few notes just once in total silence. The last note echoes out over the plain. Then his mind is crashed back into reality as Kappa shouts, "Do you ken John Barleycorn?" and Sperm whacks out that opening chord of E. The crowd leap up and cheer.

They play the song, and it goes perfectly, all eight verses. Cheers at the end; excited faces at the front of the crowd.

Next up is Autumn Lament. They don't play it too slow because they don't want to lose the momentum that the jolly melody of their first tune has brought, so the guitars double up by playing a tad syncopated, allowing a double-beat to peep through the basic rhythm. Kappa is in fine voice. Nulight shakes a tambourine in one hand and an African sikesse in the other.

A second success. The crowd express their appreciation.

"Right, yeah," Nulight tells them, "we're gonna slow it down now, 'cos this next one is all about Samhain, y'dig? It's called Samhain Memories, and it's a bit sad. I'd like to dedicate this one to the memory of all the people in this country who've died under vile regimes... too many to actually name 'em. And of course the latest, the alien regime."

This is a song that they have found works best with Jo taking the lead melody underneath Kappa's mournful voice. Nulight plays a single bendir drumbeat, monotonous, unchanging, while Sperm plays a single D minor. And at the end of this song there is no applause, just silent regret over what the aliens have done. It is at this point that Nulight senses the strength of these people, of how they want to struggle against dominion.

Midwinter White, Midwinter Night begins as a glow appears in the eastern sky, and just a hint of high cirrus, pale against grey-blue. They play it just a fraction faster than the previous song, knowing that they will never again recapture that intense silence. They don't need to. They chant, they sing, they finish. This time the crowd cheers in wild abandon.

This is going well. Nulight glances at the eastern sky, then down at the digi-clock screen at his feet: 3:38. The timing is just about right.

Chant For Imbolc is up next, but Nulight is well over his hissy fit at its Christian flavour, and he plays it as well as he can. They downtempo the chant, knowing that the next two songs must build, to then leave space and momentum for the majesty of the final song.

Loud applause. The crowd is still with them. They play Step On The Green next, and its happy tune gets the crowd dancing. This is the stuff. They love it. The light is increasing; night is departing. Ilex Power is dancing with his girl to the side of the stage, along with quite a few of the technicians.

More applause. 3:47.

"Okay, yeah, right," says Nulight. "Nearly at the climax now, eh?"

"I'm gonna cum!" some unwashed wise-guy shouts out. The crowd laugh.

"Sure," Nulight replies, with a chuckle. "Hey, dude, this is our shagging song. Take it away, yeah? You look like you could do with a little help."

So they launch into Put Your Foot In My Slipper. The beauty of this tune is that its verses can be repeated seamlessly, using the same two-line chorus ad infinitum. They want to end just a few seconds before the sun peeps over the eastern horizon. Nulight is glancing at the digi clock as he whaps a rhythm on his tambourine. He is in charge of timing. At 3:52 and a few seconds he nods once each to Sperm and Kappa, so that after they've played the next chorus, the song ends.

There is another enormous cheer.

"People," says Nulight in a cracked voice. "Look east. Your star is about to ascend."

He picks up his trumpet and plays the theme. Everybody has turned around to look at the eastern horizon. 52 becomes 53. Then there is a flicker and a glow of spectral red as the upper edge of the sun's disk appears. Many people raise their arms; others shout out. And many are indeed weeping.

The dual guitars of the New Pagan Troubadours launch into the underlying chordage of Theme Twenty One, and from then on time seems to stretch out, as the glorious music builds and builds, the trumpet riff repeats, never changing, never losing its glory, while the harmonium plays a fluttering harmony over the whole. Then, too soon, the sun is whole, and hanging over the Wiltshire horizon. The longest day has come. The guitars fade, then the trumpet ceases, and all that is left are the notes of Jo's harmonium fluttering down the octaves, then whispering into silence.

Applause rings out for five full minutes. The foursome bow to the crowd; they hug one another. People are coming on stage to hug and to smile. This is the crowning moment of the quest.

Many people are now wandering away to visit the stones. The gig is over.

It worked.

Nulight stands alone on the stage, drained of vitality, with only Kappa holding him up. He wonders, "Sweets, what d'you think they'll take away from this?"

...the Plains Police plc...

Does there always have to be a downside? Not always... but this time, there is.

It is about eight in the morning and the sun is shining. Nulight and Kappa are sitting alone in their tipi behind the stage. It is quiet, the alky-generators silent now that the sun is up to power the solar cells. Jo has found some man or other, while Sperm is chatting in the shadow of the stones with some people he has met. A vibe of peace and warmth is abroad.

Then a dude says from outside the tipi entrance, "Someone to see you."

Nulight smiles in Kappa's direction. "Man, so polite around here." He opens the flap at the entrance, lets Kappa out, then follows, to see two men, the dude and—

A policeman?

He stares. Weird clothes. Black trousers, big black boots. Steel toe-capped? A grey jersey sort of a thing and a
badge.

Nulight's heart skips a beat. A badge? A tie, too, and a white shirt.

Fright loosens his tongue. "Who the fuck are you?"

The man is maybe forty, pale skin sun-reddened, with a naff moustache and a sly manner. "Am I speaking with the organiser of this festival?"

"Who's asking? Not you—that's obvious."

Then the man actually takes out a piece of plastic with his photo on it. "Detective Sergeant Damon Hall. I need to have a talk with you."

"You
what?
"

"If you are the organiser of this illegal festival, I want to talk with you. I witnessed your rant from the stage. Incitement. Unpleasant."

Nulight is so shocked he now cannot speak. Kappa too is struck dumb. They stare at each other.

Then Nulight breaks into a little laugh. "Man, you're high. You can't have no police without no government. Who the—"

"You appear a little behind the times, Mr. Nulight. There
is
a government and I am one of its officers. The Plains Police plc pays my wages. I wonder who pays yours, Mr. Nulight?"

"Are you fucking
arresting
me?"

"Not yet. Now perhaps you'll answer my question. Are you the organiser of this illegal festival?"

Nulight runs. The stage is still set up, waiting for an ambient Banco set planned for the evening. He runs
hard.
Gotta warn the people!

In moments he is on stage and facing a crowd of maybe a couple of hundred, chilled, many of them eating breakfast picnic style.

He shouts loud into the mike. "Danger! Hey, people, there's danger! The pigs!"

A few faces turn towards him, but for the moment they are baffled.

"Luminous jackets!" Nulight shouts.

More faces. People are listening, now.

"Pigs! Luminous jackets! Arise, people, arise!"

It sounds so pathetic...

But then a horrifying sight. From over the rise at the western edge of the festival site come a horde of pigs in black trousers and yellow, luminous jackets. Some of them are carrying stun-sticks.

"Fuck!
Look!
"

Hundreds of people turn their heads around in one simultaneous motion, to eyeball the charge of the pigs. Then there are screams, wails, the cries of infants, once soothed, now distraught. Nulight is appalled at what he is seeing... in fact, this has got to be another hallucination—but, no, there
were
no hallucinations, were there? 

"Come closer!" he shouts. "Band together and face out, guarding your children."

There is pandemonium on stage as people run up to get a better view of what is going on. The crowd has doubled in size already. But the pigs are running fast, and it looks as though it is going to get ugly.

"Defend the stones! Defend yourselves!" Nulight yells.

Other people are taking mikes now, random people: organisers, punters, artistes. "Set up a defensive wall!" "Hey! You! Grab those bin lids and use them as shields!" "Somebody find Black Sam!" "Oy—grab him... no, him!"

The pigs are maybe two hundred yards away, a hundred of them at least, closing fast. Then Nulight hears noise behind him, and he turns to see a tie-dye longhair rugby-tackle DS Hall to the stage floor, then struggle with him. DS Hall manages to pull a truncheon from his belt—nasty looking thing—which he thwacks down upon the longhair's head. Unconscious in a sec. It is so brutal and unexpected that Nulight just stares.

The pig stands up. "You asked if you are under arrest," he wheezes. "You are, Mr. Nulight, you are now, for incitement to riot."

Nulight leaps from the stage in a single bound, striking the ground six feet below and rolling at once, as he was taught long ago; the breath is knocked from his body, but he is on his feet and unhurt. He runs to the rear of the stage, glancing up to see DS Hall also running, to the steps at the side of the stage. Nulight is freaking out now, unable to comprehend what is going on.

He stops. "Kappa! Where are you?"

From the side of the tipi Kappa emerges. They run to one another, and Kappa grabs Nulight's hand.

Nulight: "What the f—"

Kappa: "I don't know! Government? Where?"

Then DS Hall appears. He has the truncheon in one hand and a spray gun in another, which he aims at them.