After a full day of preparation, we arrived at the home of the Maidens at sunset, carting a crate of wine bottles, a crowbar, and a duffel bag full of iron charms – and a plethora of jars to hold our hopefully massive haul of piskey dust.

'Shall I jus' dump it down by these big rocks, gwas?'

'In the middle of them, perhaps.'

I winced as she dropped her crate, unconcerned for the tinkling of close-packed glass. 'Why are they all in a circle, gwas?' She rapped on one of the standing stones which were nearly twice her height, poking upright out of the earth. Her interest became a frown. 'I'd call it granite, but there's somethin' more uncanny to 'em.'

'We shouldn't have too long to wait,' I said. 'Let's pop open a bottle. Ah, and maybe don't lean on those.'

She pulled away from a stone which she'd had an ear to, as if listening for something inside the rock. 'Ver' strange,' she muttered.

'Music?'

'Aye. How'd ye know?'

'You'll see.'

The stones glowed in the fading golden light. The circle was set in a wide area of open ground, and the fields around it exuded a sense of warmth despite the lengthening shadows on their crests and furrows. Like the knockers, I felt the land here was never truly asleep.

This was Old Country, after all. Ancient memories ran deep within the folds of ageless earth.

'You hear them drums, gwas?'

'Yes.'

'Jus' checkin'.' She shifted uneasily. 'S'it coming from the stones, or beneath our feet?'

'Both, I should expect.'

The drum beat, distant and muffled at first, grew into a distinct and lively rhythm thrumming against the soles of our shoes. The trill of pipes suddenly became discernible, followed by the ringing of bells and a toe-tapping kind of tune. I hastily pulled bottles out of their boxes, uncorked several in advance – and then poured a healthy libation into the ground.

That got their attention. Voices, now. Excitement, chatter, singing, laughter.

The stones were hard to focus on; they swam in front of my eyes. I glanced at one and swore it hopped sideways. Another kept sliding away from my gaze, impossible to focus on. Yet another kept dancing into my periphery, like it didn't want to let go.

'Am gettin' dizzy, gwas.'

'They'll slow down when they notice us.'

In fact, our voices cut through a sudden silence in the hubbub. The stones stood still and attentive. I cleared my throat.

'Evening, ladies. How are we all?'

Silence.

And then:

'It's him!'

'Get the bastard!'

A haze of figures materialised on the edge of the circle and lunged inwards.

'Wait, wait!' I cried, holding out wine bottles. 'I'm here to make amends!'

They stopped short of us, whipping up a frenzied wind instead. It whirled around us like a miniature storm, twisting monstrous shapes out of grass tips and leaves. The ground rumbled beneath our feet.

'Can't we talk about this?' I shouted into the vortex. 'Take a look at our gifts, at least!'

The wind parted, and solid three figures strode out of it. Three women, with dark hair and bright eyes, wearing simple dresses fastened with round brooches.

I nodded at them, as if we weren't in the middle of a magical squall. 'Eseld. Wenna. Jenifry. Lovely to see you again. May I say you look particularly striking, Wenna–'

'Keep your snake-words,' she replied sharply. 'Why do you interrupt our merriment on this night?'

'Oh, you know, I was in the neighbourhood. Thought it would be polite to check in. Catch up, sort of thing . . .'

Her eyes rolled skyward. 'Get to the point, Hansard. You prattle so.'

'Well, you know I can't help talking nonsense when I'm around you, Wenna.' I held out the open bottle of wine. 'Can I tempt you to a drink? For old times' sake? I remember how much you liked that merlot we tried . . .'

Her glare softened just slightly as she took in the label. 'And did you bring back my ring, as well?'

'Aha.' I tugged at my collar. 'I hoped you might've forgotten.'

Jenifry stormed forward. 'How dare you! What nerve you have! You beastly, selfish man! You–'

'I know, it was awful!' I exclaimed. 'I did a terrible thing. But I never meant to hurt you. Honest to god, I didn't mean it to turn out that way. Things just . . . got complicated.'

'Always do, dun't they,' Ang muttered behind me.

'I made a mistake,' I said. 'And I'm truly sorry.'

I caught Ang's incredulous expression, but hoped the real note of sincerity in my voice might overrule it as Wenna regarded me fiercely. The squall danced around us, filled with voices eternally uplifted in song and laughter, while she and her sisters appraised my poor apology.

'You broke my heart,' she said at last.

I cleared my throat. 'In fairness, you were going to turn me to stone.'

'I offered eternal life–!'

'As a big piece of rock.'

I gestured at the other occupants of the stone circle. Nineteen standing stones – ageless dancers locked in this moonlit pocket of endless existence. The drums of their music reverberated beneath our feet.

'I'm doing things more formally, this time,' I said. I tapped the crate with my foot and pulled bags of snacks from my coat. 'A proper offering, in exchange for your assistance.' I rolled an additional proposition over in my mind. 'And – before you say no – a promise of reparations for past wrongs.'

Wenna's eyes narrowed. 'Unless you can lift the curse that binds us here, I am doubtful of your ability to compensate.'

There was a muffled snort from Ang.

'Would it interest you to know that we shall be visiting a Green Man?' I rocked on my heels. 'They grow a very curious fruit, so I hear.'

Eseld – only a quietly hostile presence until now – piped up.

'One for each of us?' she said. For a moment her visage flickered, revealing what was truly underneath. Deep, greedy hunger laced her voice. 'Bring three.'

'We shall!' I chirped, pushing Ang behind me. ('But gwas, did ye see what–!') 'We need your assistance to reach our destination, however. It's known as Trevethy Quoit, in the here and now.'

Wenna closed the distance between us, woollen dress whipping at her heels, yet her raven hair barely disturbed by the wind. I think, perhaps, I am a sucker for women with sharp eyes. Wenna's were the kind that could cut through you like silver shards of glass.

'You want to access the Leys.' A small smile tugged at her mouth. 'You regretted it, last time.'

'I trust you fine ladies to carry us safely.' I hoped my own air of certainty would convince her that this was not, in fact, an unrealistic expectation.

'Leave the wine.'

With a single gesture, Wenna and her sisters retreated into the squall, swallowed up by wind and music. The vortex we were at the centre of began to rise and expand.

'Ever travelled by Ley, Ang?' I trilled.

'Never had call fer it, gwas,' she shouted over the growing maelstrom.

'I think you'll be fine with it!' I shut my eyes tightly. 'But I hate how it feels like being squee–eeeeee–eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee–'

The really awful thing about Ley Lines is that fact that they are an entirely liminal space. Not merely a boundary between real and unreal; not just some interplanar dimension, but the stretched edge of blurred existence . . .

. . . where time means nothing because every moment is connected to every other moment and every atom is in some way connected to every other atom, so in reality you are not really so much covering distance as you are simply aligning your own atoms with those of where you want to be . . .

. . . where, for what you'd want to call moments but only because moments have no meaning, you feel as though you can know everything and be everything and if you let your mind dwell for any length of non-time on this then you'll start to slip-slip away from yourself, stretching and thinning until all that's left of you is just mindless atoms which happen to be connected to everything else in the entire universe and then . . .

'–eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeezed. Oof!'

'All right, gwas?'

My eyes creaked open.

'Wifflepish,' I slurred, and shook my head. My legs slumped, apparently jellied. 'Urgh. That's godawful. Did we make it?'

'Depends. Branok said it were a big door o' stones, right?'

'That's right.'

'Well, there's a door. But it's inside a hill, like.'

I followed her gaze to a large mound of green earth. Cut into it was a rectangular hole, receding into darkness within the mound. The word 'barrow' sprung to mind. A place where dead things rested. My neck prickled with goosebumps.

It also prickled with the familiar sensation of wavering reality. This place was a bridge, just like Men-an-Tol.

'Looks like the only way is in,' I said.

'Aye.' Ang pulled the lantern from her belt and held it up to the dark. 'After you.'

* * *

Author's Note

Oof. A LOT happens in this section, and it's ripe for some serious editing. I feel the scene needs more texture, and to slow down in places.

For now, Episode 4 will end here with Ep 5 picking up the rest. I expect the overall pacing to change in the edit – I can feel this story arc may require the length of two episodes, but don't know for certain where that cut off point should land.

I've also got some alternate ideas for it: I might replace the use of travel by Ley Line with a different concept, playing more into the historic (Neolithic) link between the Maidens' stone circle and Trevethy Quoit – Hansard is effectively having to access it via a different time and place, because the chamber is 'closed' in our time. I'm also explaining this so you know why Hansard's explanation of it all in the next episode may seem disjointed. This is what drafts are for – changing direction midway through a sentence and mashing completely different ideas together to see how they feel. :P

For those interested, I've picked Trethevy Quoit because it lies along the supposed 'St Michael' ley line, which cuts a diagonal line from the very south-western tip of Cornwall up north-east to the coast of Norfolk. So this line roughly connects Trethevy and the 'Merry Maidens' stone circle (near St Buryan, if you're trying to find it on a map). If I ditch the Ley Lines idea, I'm tempted to change the location to the Tregiffian Burial Chamber (which is practically next door to the Maidens) instead.

What do you think? Yes to using Ley Lines here, or no? Should they be characterised as something more interesting than a kind of portal device, perhaps?

Thanks as always for your wonderful thoughts!