Chapter 16 - Of Fate and Fortune

Chapter 16 - Of Fate and Fortune
It was nearing sundown when Emmeline and Daryl arrived at the gypsy camp. It was where
Daryl had said it would be. They could still see the mountain of course, but it didn't
loom quite so near. Emmeline had yet to figure Daryl's adversion to it. Perhaps it was
just too far inland and opposite of their chosen course.
Dogs began to bark as they approached the campfires. Daryl and Em dismounted and led
their horse into camp. 'Diego!' A voice called from a wagon. Others began to gather
round then. A lithe figure in a scarlet skirt, long dark hair streaming behind, ran
out to meet them.
  'Diego! It has been long and long!' The woman ran up to Daryl, throwing her arms
about him and hugged him close. A young boy and girl followed with a shepherd dog
which Em patted absently, while Daryl was enclosed in a homecoming embrace.
'Ah, Emmelina, this is Carmen--' he kept one arm about the woman's shoulders, as she
smiled and looked Em over carefully, '...and this is Angelica and Apolinario...'
'Emmelina. Mucho gustas,' Emmelina replied. 'And, who is this?' She patted the waggy-
tailed dog.
'This is Pancho. He will be El Presidente someday, so they say...' Apolinario informed
her.
Carmen laughed. 'That is a different Pancho, nino!' Carmen took Emmeline's hand.
'Come. You both must be hungry...' Keeping arms about one another, Daryl and Carmen
led Em into camp proper.
By now, most of the tribe had been alerted to their arrival and gathered about the
central cookfires. While Daryl was greeted by his gypsy friends, Carmen took Emmelina
aside. 'Back here you can wash up and refresh yourself from the trail.
There is a small stream behind the camp. I'll go with you...'
When Em and Carmen returned to the fires, they found Daryl surrounded by his gypsy kin
and tucking into a bowl of hot stew. An older women served Em a bowlful of the same
and handed her an earthenware mug and showed her the cider
barrel. Ah, just like her own gypsies, Em felt more at home after sipping her cider;
she took a seat on the bench near Daryl.
All were engrossed in the latest news of the battles being fought all around them. It
seemed that after so many long years of the Diaz dictatorship, at last the tide
appeared to be turning in the people's favor. From what Emmeline had been able to
piece together, she wasn't so sure about Villa, he seemed to have
just as much to recommend him as she heard said against him. But he got the job done,
as it were. Zapata, though, she decided she liked very much indeed. His influence was
mostly known south.  But Fiero--the Butcher--she hoped they would never meet. It
wasn't for nothing he'd earned that name.
As exciting as it was to be back in a gypsy camp, though, Emmelina felt the exhaustion
of the trail overtake her after just her one bowlful of stew and cider. 'Emmelina?' It
was Carmen, bending over her. 'You are falling asleep where you sit, nena!  Come, you
can share our wagon; this way now.'
She was led to the rear of camp, back again by the creek, and could hear it's
murmuring in the arroyo behind the wagons. Carmen showed her a corner to herself in a
large wagon where an older woman and a child were already asleep. Em was so tired, she
curled up the blankets, sheepskins and serapes and seemed to be asleep before she was
supine.
Daryl, though, stayed up late into the evening, talking with his old friends and
bloodbrothers, thinking how to best plan their movements beyond here. He was tired,
also, but ever uneasy with Popo looming over him. For Daryl, sleep would not come
without some struggle this night.
                                  . . . .
Emmelina slept well however, waking with a headfull of busy dreams from the evening
before. She was alone in the wagon now, and could hear sounds of the camp all about
her: women washing clothes, dishes, children in the creek, men chopping wood,
hoofbeats all around...well, best get at the new day and see where it would take them.
'Ah, here you are! Awake at last, eh?' Carmen poked her head in the wagon door. 'Come.
There is coffee made and corncakes. Diego is wanting to be on the road soon, I think.'
Em wasn't surprised, but as she rose and hobbled about, she was not looking forward to
another day on the trail. She was still stiff and sore from yesterday's ride. Oh, if
only the darned artefact would decide that California is the place they ought to be...
Carmen was sitting outside laying large cards upon an overturned wooden crate with a
shawl spread over it. Em watched, entranced. 'Tarot cards. They appear to be quite
old.'
'Si.' Carmen lay a keltic sort of spread; significator in the middle, flanked by two,
surrounded by four, followed by another four, or more, depending upon if a major
arcana card was present or not. 'Have you any questions on your mind?'
Em had a few.
She took a seat next to Carmen. 'I do.' Carmen gazed up at her, dark eyes enquiring.
Em sighed. Where to begin? 'Tell me...how fares...my fiance', back home?'
Carmen shuffled, then had Emmelina cut the cards thrice, toward her left. 'Toward the
heart.' She then gathered the cards and lay her spread. 'Hm...a Knight of Cups.
Your...fiance' perhaps?'
Em nodded. 'Ah. Not good.'
'What is it?'
'He is flanked by swords. Opposition. He may be...in a position of...hm, immobility.'
'Is he, is he...alright, though?' Em was holding her skirts in a tight grip, hardly
daring to breathe.
'At the moment,' Carmen glanced at Em seriously. She lay the remainder of the cards
and studied them. 'He is not physically threatened. But that could change.' Carmen
shook her head. 'He is not in a safe place.' She looked at Em.
Oh, no...
'Oh, Carmen!' Em knew then what had transpired. 'I fear he has come after me, here.
Something has happened to him...'
Carmen gazed at the cards, her brow knotted in concentration. 'Ayyy...that would
explain it...si...he seems to be oddly protected at the moment, but he is surrounded
by adversity. He is, in the eye of the hurricane, yes? Anything could happen, nena...'
Em could sense it. Her hand went to her necklace and she held onto her Herkimer
tightly, hoping Jack knew she was thinking of him. 'Thank you, Carmen. Oh, if only I
knew where he was!' She stood. 'We must be on our way. Perhaps friends of ours back
home can help...' Em didn't know though, really. She felt rather helpless, not knowing
where Jack could be.
She followed Carmen back to the central cookfires and after eating, took her cup of
coffee to a table where Daryl sat with a group of men, and she and Carmen joined them.
'Emmelina...this is the tribal leader, Felipe. And his brother,
Maximo. And this, is my brother, Raphael.' Daryl introduced her to his friends, and
she assumed, his blood brother. 'It is his brother, Genaro, who lives in the village
to the north.' Emmelina smiled and shook hands all around, trying to recall the names.
'Ah, have you any news of how it goes with Sonora?' she asked Raphael.
Raphael sighed, 'Quien sabe?...it is hard to say. One day you hear that battles are
raging. The next day, all is quiet. One day the Federals have the upper hand, the
next, the Constitutionalists. People fight both sides, and fight for both
sides...whoever is winning at the time! Who knows how it will go. It is too early yet
to tell. But, as for travel there...I do not advise it now.'
Daryl looked down, he was drawing in the dirt with a stick. 'Well, we won't be
travelling north. But west, or try to...'he looked at Em. 'We have to try. We can't
remain here, not in the heat of so much battle all around us.' He drew a line up and
to the left.  'We will head north of Mexico City though, and back over to the coast
that way.'
'Alright, Diego if you insist,' Raphael spoke. 'But, let us get you ready for the road
first, yes? You will need some supplies. And you can take a horse for Emmelina...come,
let us look over the herd...' The party stood then and they all wandered over to the
open fields where the horses were kept.
Emmelina liked the look of a handsome paint gelding, not too tall for her. She put him
through his paces and decided that 'Pancho' would do well for her. 'Are all the
animals here named Pancho?' she asked of Carmen, who laughed, 'It's a small
joke...that has gotten out of hand, by now. Come on, I think I can find a coat for you
to wear. You'll be needing it on the road.'
Em thanked Carmen for all her help and generosity when she'd loaded Em up with a coat
and sheepskin and a hat and gloves for riding. 'The dress, is or was, lovely, but
ayee, nena...it won't last on the trail!' She kitted Emmelina out in culottes which
would come in handy riding, and a long-sleeved shirt. 'The sun can be unforgiving.
Vaya con diosa, Emmelina. Take care of each other,' and Carmen kissed Em on both
cheeks, as Josephina would have done. Em returned the sentiment and wondered, not for
the last time, how she had gotten here.
Finally, Daryl strapped more bags to their saddles, along with their sleeping  and
cooking gear, such as could be spared from camp, and they bid farewell to Raphael,
Felipe, Maximo, Carmen, Angelica, Apolonario, and everyone, encluding, of course,
Pancho, and headed, once again, into the sunset.
Would they make it any further, this time, in their quest for the coast?
Quien sabe...?
                           . . . .
'Andele, andele! Buenos dias! Trabajo, muchachos! Andele!'
Jack awoke to the ringing of a club on the bars of his cell as the jailer pounded on
the bars to awaken the men. It was barely dawn he saw as he groped for wakefulness.
'Work detail today! Those naughty rebels have managed to undo some of the train track.
You will be part of the repair crew.
Up! Up! Time is wasting! Vamanos!' His cell door opened and Jack was handcuffed and
hustled outside into a wagon where other equally bleary-eyed men waited, also cuffed
or tied, and looking as miserable as Jack felt.
Well, at least he was out of the jail. That was a step in the right direction. Now he
could only wait and see what the day would bring.
                         . . . .
The sun crept slowly westward, and two figures on horseback did the same, angling
slightly northwest.
'I'd hoped to reach Pachuca by tonight...'Daryl sighed. 'I can see we aren't going to
make it that far. We're just going to have to resign ourselves to a long trip; at
least a couple of weeks, unless we can travel by other means...which I'm still working
on...'
Em said nothing. What else could they do? She was anxious about Jack, and Carmen's
reading, but hesitant to bring it up with Daryl; for one thing it was a rather
nebulous warning, considering the source. But if Daryl gave such things credence, it
could just add to the worries he shouldered already.  At least she'd her own steed and
was no longer plastered against Daryl. That was a mercy. Pancho was a good horse, he
didn't wear her out with nonsense like spooking at shadows and the trip thus far had
been almost enjoyable for her.
'And tonight?' Em asked.
Daryl pulled up and gazed westward. 'Those low hills over there. I think we'll make
them in good time. We'll be camping out tonight, and possibly for many nights to come,
I fear,' he glanced her way. 'But at least we have more of what's needed for the road
now. It won't be so bad. C'mon...another hour and we'll be there...'
Em thought though that she was probably feeling more at ease about their situation
overall, than was Daryl...at least judging by the many times she'd noticed him
glancing over his shoulder and frowning at Mt. Popo behind them. She rather liked the
mountain, it reminded her of the Sierra Nevada.
                        . . . .
Fire made, and water heated, Em was drinking tea and inhaling the delicioso scent of
rabbit roasting, which Daryl had caught and skinned, while they relaxed around camp
and watched the moon come up, a thin crescent like a sky scythe for harvesting
stars...
'This isn't so bad...I could enjoy outdoor life, I think, if I wasn't always on the
run to or from someplace...'Emmeline mused aloud.
Daryl checked his rabbit and poured more hot water for them both.
'Yes, it's alright. Until it rains.'
Em recalled the days of downpour with the Guevaras and her bronchitis souvenier from
it all. 'True enough.How long have you known Felipe's band?'
'Oooh...well, hard to say...in real time.' For Daryl, keeping track of time was
problematic to say the least. 'But, yes, I did travel with them for some time. I
became used to gypsy life.'
'It does have it's attractions...'Em recalled Josephina's band of gypsies and the
night of song and dance and spiced cider and scent of exotic oils on the wind...
'That it does,' Daryl agreed, adding some twigs to the fire. 'Especially for those who
know what they're missing.' Em eyed him questioningly. 'People like Jack and
myself...well, once you have lived in our time, this looks like paradise...'
'Tell me.' Emmeline  had heard only vague hints from Jack and Al regarding the
future;in fact it seemed so ominous that she'd recoiled from knowing too much. But
perhaps she should arm herself with all the knowledge she could.
Where to begin? thought Daryl. Naturally he couldn't tell a young woman that
overpopulation had ravaged the earth like locusts decimating a cabbage field; no
drinkable water, rampant famine, no clean air to breathe...that was the real bugger.
People were heading underground to escape the noxious fumes caused by pollution,
cities choking in their own waste and garbage. Climate change and rising sea levels
had salienated ground water and aquifers causing people to flee coastlines and so
crowd out more farmland...there was simply so much chaos, and all brought about by the
greedy powers that be. As always.
Daryl sighed, drawing in the sand with a stick. 'You like Dickens...'he pondered, 'Do
you recall, when Scrooge returns with the spirits to his own past, how nostalgic he
became for what had been, as he called out to his old friends, or reached for a glass
of cider only to have his hand pass through it, for he wasn't there,not really, not
physically...' Em made a 'um-humm' noise, leaning on her elbow, the firelight dancing
across her features.
  'But, in the story, at the end, he gets a chance to make things better, and to still
be a part of that good life he'd lost; to
reach out to others, to dance again, and sing and share a cup of cheer with
friends...' Em waited. Daryl rolled over onto his back then, and stared at the stars.
'Well, in my time, there is no going back. There will never be a way to 'make things
better'...
the damage is irreparable. We succeded in destroying our only home...'
Em wasn't sure what to say. She simply couldn't fathom. How? Were people so addlepated
in the future they would rather make profits now rather than ensure there is a future
to be had? Perhaps their
minds had been affected by some disease, malfunction or brainrot.
Daryl continued:'...but, even aside from the pollution, destruction, the big evils
done...the small things, one notices intently as well. People became drones. Children
no longer played together, they don't know how! They became utterly passive, and
inured to living in a virtual reality rather than...well, what they had lost. True, it
was helpful to learn to do without sunshine, or green grass or fresh air or
birdsong...to have to live underground with only electronic devices for companionship
or interaction...not knowing what one has missed, is a mercy, comparitively. But,
ultimately...people became machines, and machines began to rule them.'
He rolled onto his side then, facing Emmeline. 'Can you imagine,
what a miracle it seems to us, then, to be here, where one can breathe the air, drink
the water, still see the stars at night?
Ah, Emmelina...' Daryl tossed his stick into the fire. 'It is such a rare and blessed
experience to get together with friends, to dine on real food that has taste, and
nutrition as well, to interact with one another, as people should, face to face, not
Facebook!' (Whatever that was, thought Em. Sounded rather like what happened
when she fell asleep reading.)
'Here and now, people actually celebrate holidays singing together, making music,
dancing with a partner whom one actually touches!'
'People don't dance anymore, or they don't touch?' Em was becoming alarmed.
'For awhile, people danced, but very very few would attempt the old style of dancing
while touching.'
'There is music still?'
Daryl closed his eyes, a pained look on his face. 'Music...has a way of reflecting
society as a whole. In Mozart's time...well, you can hear the beauty present in his
works. And his sister's! Ah, if only women had rights back then! But, in our time, the
music, if you could call it that, reflects the mode of the day...which is rage and
despair. It was called, in the beginning, 'rap' music, which was actually based on
reggae, a wonderful style of music from Jamaica...but modern rap did away with melody
and it all became a type of declaiming rants to a beat.'
'No melody. Just rhythm?'
'Yes. And it was exciting at first, and empowering. But then, as things worsened, it
was reflected in the rap, and then all one could hear, blasted throughout the cities,
were curse words and
anger and hate...'
'All over? Everywhere? Even if children and grandmothers can hear?' Em was aghast.
'Oh, yes. It doesn't matter. People do not matter, in my time. People, are a
liability. Collateral damage...' Daryl sat up, disgusted with the topic.  He took the
rabbit and pulled off a leg, handing it to Em. 'Dinner is served.'
Em had nearly lost her appetite with information overload. But, it had been a long
ride and she was famished. The rabbit was delicious. 'Thank you, Daryl. Goddess, who
knew rabbit could taste so remarkable!' She chewed, musing awhile. 'So, is the old
music gone then?'
'Oh, no...people still listen to classical music, and other types. But...with
electronics, the world became much smaller. What became popular in one area, would
soon overrun and engulf the rest of the world, and rap became the world-view. It was
reflected in fashion, speech, manners,
or lack thereof. Only the rich, the privileged
few, had access to anything else. Mass-marketing shoveled whatever was popular down
the throats of the masses. Not that all rap is bad...it served a purpose at the time.
You might even like some of it...'
'I rather doubt it...' Em reached for more rabbit.
'I think you might like an antique rap song by Ice Tea called 'Big Gun'--it's about
women's rights. "She walks softly and carries a big gun...,"'Daryl smiled sideways at
her.
Em's eyebrows lifted but she made no comment. They ate companionably together while
Emmeline thought over all Daryl had told her. She couldn't imagine a world without
water, air, edibles, birdsong, or music. 'Actually, it sounds like hell,'
she decided.
'Yes.' By george, she's got it, Daryl agreed, gazing narrowly at the silhouette of
Popo in the distance, black against a purple sky. This would be their first night out,
alone, here. He wondered about that.
He had good cause to wonder. Reached over, checked his rifle. Then
felt about for his saddlepack.
Sighing heavily, Daryl opened his canteen, took a hefty pull.
'Cider?' he asked, passing to Emmeline.
Em focused her gaze on Daryl, looking as though she needed a wee sommat. 'Ach! It's
hard.' she grimaced, blinked. Took another drink. 'But...good. It's gypsy cider.'
Daryl grinned and shared a bit more. 'That it 'tis, indeed, senorita.'
'Were you up late with your brothers then?' Em stared off into the distance,
ruminating upon Popo's shadow in the dark.
'Si.' Daryl was hand-rolling some sort of cigarillo. He licked the paper and wrapped
it up neatly, put it in his mouth, stared hard at Popo as if in challenge. Then
dropped his gaze. Popo won, apparently. 'Actually, I didn't get much sleep. I never
do, around here...' He took a twig and lighted the tip in the fire, applied it to the
aromatic cigarillo.
'Don't think about it,' Em said.
Daryl blew a roiling cloud of smoke into the vacuum of night. 'Eh? Think about what,
nena?'
'Any of it. About Jack...' she gazed hard into the deepening evening, sighing. 'About
the future...' she flicked a glance quickly his way and back. Shook her head. 'I can't
imagine taking on such a responsibility.'
Daryl passed the canteen. 'Such as?'
Emmelina wiped the mouth with her skirt, drank. Laughed softly. 'Trying to control
Time! Are you mad?' Took another drink, handed it back to Daryl, who, to his credit,
was grinning. 'Do you really think you can rule Chronos, like a minor godling?'
'Ah, but think on the Titans. Sons and daughters of exiled,
 forgotten gods. Godlings, if you prefer...' he nodded, handing her the cigarillo.
'Hmm...' Em regarded it. Jethro smoked these. She took a light puff. 'Maybe they were
exiled for a reason.' She narrowed her gaze, returned it.'Maybe, in fact, they were
overstepping their bounds.'
Daryl took the smoking cigarillo, studied it. 'Bounds. Who is deciding the game? What
celestial referee?'
'I always liked Maat,' declared Em, lying back onto her saddle, her hand behind her
head, staring at the stars. 'The Egyptian goddess who weighs one's heart on the
balance, against the feather. Her diadem held a feather,' she turned, looked at Daryl.
'Yes I know Maat. She is Justice, in the Tarot.'
'She is Libra.' Em rolled back to her stargazing post. She noticed the stars seemed
especially bright tonight. And pulsating.
'So, you simply... Timejumped? Are you a time refugee, Daryl?' Em cast her eyes his
way.
Daryl frowned, looking at his cigarillo, now unlit. 'What a singularly inquisitive
filly you are, Miss Page.' He stoked the fire up once again with new wood. Took
another twig and lighted it.
'Are you referring to moi as some sortof barnyard animal, Senor Rivera?' Emmelina was
feeling rather...light all of a sudden. Interesting cider Daryl's gypsies made...
'Fillies do have long noses that can get them into trouble if they don't keep them
where they belong...' Daryl inhaled deeply.
Ah, so that was it...Emmelina felt she had him now. She snuggled beneath her serape
and coat, and turned toward the fire, lying upon her sheepskin. Daryl was a refugee,
an escapee, it you like. He sought amnesty in another century. Jack as well, no doubt.
Em figured it would probably have been illegal. That would account for some of these
'glitches';a black market time apparatus...but she had the Real Thing. Well, she would
have done the same herself, if it was half as horrendous as Daryl made it out to be.
Hard to fathom. But, like Lewis Carroll Em was beginning to believe 10 impossible
things before breakfast nowadays.
And a good thing too. Things were about to become rather even more impossible.
It helps to stay in practice.