and grime on them. Unwashed, they rust in groups. Rubble and fragments of metal and glass litter the dual carriageway.
The only sound is the whooshing of the wind. They fly east at forty kph in single file, Kappa first, Zhaman next, peering this way and that for black laminae, Djo bringing up the rear. When occasionally they slow, the silence is unnerving. The sun is high. The breeze cools them as they fly. A surreal peace comes over Kappa as they pass the Exeter interchange and start flying north up the M5, and she feels that she is hyper relaxed, cooled by nature, warmed by nature, amidst nature. A revitalised nature. For a moment she relishes what the aliens have done, before guilt makes her suppress the thought. Not even the dippiest New Age dogma can justify the invasion.
At junction 23 they head east again. They can see Glastonbury Tor, just fifteen miles away. Kappa again feels her nervousness as she wonders what they will find. Before the invasion, Glastonbury was a haven of green peace and cool vibes. What now? More guns? Eco-fascists? Or will she find Master Sengel king of a new Avalon?
A couple of miles out they land the lotuses and hide them in the brambly depths of a copse. Kappa listens. On a light breeze she can hear music, strummed guitar chords, bansuri flutes, zils and hands clapping. Sounds good. Peace still reigns in Glasto, she is certain of that, and she leads the other two forward.
But some things have changed. The town has fragmented into communities. Knowing they will be seen as outsiders, and thus dangerous, they proceed with care. The first people they meet are locals from the Street Community. The town of Street itself is ruined, but its name lives on.
Two men in flowing white robes challenge them. "Who are you?" one shouts. "Don't come any nearer."
Kappa holds up her hands. By good fortune this is one of her ex-students. "It's me, the Dean." She pulls her flaming dreads out of their rasta-hat and adds, "Kappa Smythe. I know you, Robbie Blacksword."
"Dean! But... but what..."
"Never mind all that. What's going down here? Is the Avalon Fac still standing?"
"Last I heard, yes."
"Everything's split?"
Robbie explains that Glastonbury is now ten communities. Its population is a fiftieth of what it was. The town is run by the Avalon Parliament; three reps from each community. The Faculty is a separate body, now more of an advisor to locals, especially to those of the High Street Community, in whose patch it resides. The Tor People freak on, but they send nobody to the Parliament. They are separate. There is trade, however.
Pondering this, Kappa lifts her gaze to the Tor. As ever it is a patchwork of green and brown, but some parts have been terraced for maximum use of the land, and there are more peace engines, and a sprouting of windmills on top of St Michael's. People crawl up and down and across like tie-dyed ants. The effect is not unlike an animated Seurat painting.
"Is it safe in the centre of town?" she asks.
"Sure. People won't have forgotten you."
So the trio walk into the town centre, up Magdalene Street and right into the High Street. Folks drinking and smoking joints watch, but nobody stops them, or even speaks. It is trial by stare. Kappa feels like a total outsider. She sees people she knows, Helios, Matey, Dreadboy, Frank the Manc, even Slim Ciggie who used to be her factotum. She stops.
"Hey, it's me," she says. "Don't you recognise me?"
The atmosphere is broken. Kappa understands what suspicion has fallen across the land—she only needed to recognise it. They smile and stand and come to her, alternately hugging her, taking her hand, offering her weed, saying 'Hi!' and 'Peace!' to Djo and Zhaman. Zhaman, a tad wrecked, flops into a seat with some ancient hippy, and Kappa is left to enter the Courtyard and then the Faculty with Djo. There is a crowd, and, bizarrely, she thinks of Jesus entering Jerusalem on Palm Sunday. She smiles. They smile back.
Slim Ciggie (not so
The only sound is the whooshing of the wind. They fly east at forty kph in single file, Kappa first, Zhaman next, peering this way and that for black laminae, Djo bringing up the rear. When occasionally they slow, the silence is unnerving. The sun is high. The breeze cools them as they fly. A surreal peace comes over Kappa as they pass the Exeter interchange and start flying north up the M5, and she feels that she is hyper relaxed, cooled by nature, warmed by nature, amidst nature. A revitalised nature. For a moment she relishes what the aliens have done, before guilt makes her suppress the thought. Not even the dippiest New Age dogma can justify the invasion.
At junction 23 they head east again. They can see Glastonbury Tor, just fifteen miles away. Kappa again feels her nervousness as she wonders what they will find. Before the invasion, Glastonbury was a haven of green peace and cool vibes. What now? More guns? Eco-fascists? Or will she find Master Sengel king of a new Avalon?
A couple of miles out they land the lotuses and hide them in the brambly depths of a copse. Kappa listens. On a light breeze she can hear music, strummed guitar chords, bansuri flutes, zils and hands clapping. Sounds good. Peace still reigns in Glasto, she is certain of that, and she leads the other two forward.
But some things have changed. The town has fragmented into communities. Knowing they will be seen as outsiders, and thus dangerous, they proceed with care. The first people they meet are locals from the Street Community. The town of Street itself is ruined, but its name lives on.
Two men in flowing white robes challenge them. "Who are you?" one shouts. "Don't come any nearer."
Kappa holds up her hands. By good fortune this is one of her ex-students. "It's me, the Dean." She pulls her flaming dreads out of their rasta-hat and adds, "Kappa Smythe. I know you, Robbie Blacksword."
"Dean! But... but what..."
"Never mind all that. What's going down here? Is the Avalon Fac still standing?"
"Last I heard, yes."
"Everything's split?"
Robbie explains that Glastonbury is now ten communities. Its population is a fiftieth of what it was. The town is run by the Avalon Parliament; three reps from each community. The Faculty is a separate body, now more of an advisor to locals, especially to those of the High Street Community, in whose patch it resides. The Tor People freak on, but they send nobody to the Parliament. They are separate. There is trade, however.
Pondering this, Kappa lifts her gaze to the Tor. As ever it is a patchwork of green and brown, but some parts have been terraced for maximum use of the land, and there are more peace engines, and a sprouting of windmills on top of St Michael's. People crawl up and down and across like tie-dyed ants. The effect is not unlike an animated Seurat painting.
"Is it safe in the centre of town?" she asks.
"Sure. People won't have forgotten you."
So the trio walk into the town centre, up Magdalene Street and right into the High Street. Folks drinking and smoking joints watch, but nobody stops them, or even speaks. It is trial by stare. Kappa feels like a total outsider. She sees people she knows, Helios, Matey, Dreadboy, Frank the Manc, even Slim Ciggie who used to be her factotum. She stops.
"Hey, it's me," she says. "Don't you recognise me?"
The atmosphere is broken. Kappa understands what suspicion has fallen across the land—she only needed to recognise it. They smile and stand and come to her, alternately hugging her, taking her hand, offering her weed, saying 'Hi!' and 'Peace!' to Djo and Zhaman. Zhaman, a tad wrecked, flops into a seat with some ancient hippy, and Kappa is left to enter the Courtyard and then the Faculty with Djo. There is a crowd, and, bizarrely, she thinks of Jesus entering Jerusalem on Palm Sunday. She smiles. They smile back.
Slim Ciggie (not so
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