Chapter 7 - Dreamscapes and Magics

Chapter 7 - Dreamscapes and Magics
:.The poem Prif Gyuarch Taliessin asks "Lleu and Gwydion / Will they perform magics?", while in the same corpus, the poem Kadeir Cerridwen relates many familiar traditions concerning Gwydion, including his creating of a woman out of flowers and his bringing of the pigs from the south.:
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Emlyn awoke once more in Jethro's guest room, feeling well
indeed and having slept the entire night through--a rarity for her. She would be heading back today...but she thought she'd  best leave her dear old Pancho in their care here, as Jack intended. She could always ride one of Daryl's horses about if need arose.
She allowed herself the luxury of lying abed awhile. She felt invigorated and renewed...how good this trip had turned out, after such an awkward beginning. Newly inspired, she made her mind up to dedicate herself to the goddess and her good workings anew. She sighed...recalling all that Daryl had told her of the hellish future world; perhaps if the goddess had remained alive in the minds and hearts of people, they would not have neglected their stewardship of mother earth and so have to suffer such torments as they had brought upon themselves.
As surely they did, she thought...now, when a preacher tells his side of supposed truth,  it is no longer forced upon one with fear of burning at the stake, or the Inquisition; people were thus free to make up their minds. And, so, how one could freely choose such an angry, vengeful and arbitrary god was certainly beyond Emlyn.
But, there were women who meekly bowed their heads and bethought themselves evil and sinful simply by being born... Insanity.
It was lucky indeed she was born, and with a brain in her head. Best make good use of it! She reached 'neath her pillow and clasped the moonstone in hand. Studying the neat silver setting, she smiled, recalling the May Fair, and her lovely Welsh laddie...Gwydion. Gypsies, eh? Possibly... She preferred not to overanalyze gifts of the goddess.
As soon as she returned to the city, she would renew her efforts for women's suffrage. It pained her that she lived in such unenlightened times...closing her eyes, she let her mind drift...images arose before her: Women, priestesses, gathered in groves and danced under a full moon, Greek women venerated the Oracle, an Egyptian queen with heavily kohled eyes and the serpent of wisdom upon her brow, placed a hand of blessing upon a young man's head...she opened her eyes. Indeed, the world has gone far into decline.
Em sat up. Well, she was here for a reason and perhaps that was it: to rectify the downward spiral into war, unbridled greed, abuse of natural resources to the point of exhaustion. Indeed in a world where women were no longer respected, much less venerated, mother nature would also be thus abused. The religions of men certainly had not made this a better world. Perhaps it was past time for a new world to begin.
                           . . . .
San Francisco. Em had arrived the day before and now found herself debarking from the trolley and heading to the library
for a new workday. Rounding the corner she spied her friend
and sister suffragist, Ms. Greer also heading up the library steps. Emlyn hailed her colleague.
  'Ah, Em! Good to see you are back! Will you be coming to the meeting tonight, then?'
 
Em began to reply her assent, but just then a horrendous noise filled the street as a motor-car of sorts descended the hill, belching smoke and scattering pedestrians in it's onslaught. Alas, it stopped before the library and seemed in no hurry to cease it's noisom din.
'Let us hurry inside!' Ms. Greer yelled, as she steered Em into the lobby, and shut the door thankfully against the
contraption's malodorous clamor. Unfortunately, just as they
heared the machine go quiet at last, what could only be it's driver, came galumphing into the lobby, stomping his way to the desk whilst tugging goggles from his wide, red face. Although Mrs. Peel was standing at the desk, the idiot began banging upon the bell repeatedly until she put a hand upon his and began speaking in low tones in a voice all were praying the halfwit could comprehend.
'Not a good sign...' Ms. Greer eyed the idiot narrowly, sighing. 'Meet our new colleague, Em.' She nodded at the soft
round redfaced man whom Mrs. Peel was now attempting to escort into her office. 'Beauregard Peters.'
'Oh, dear! Surely you jest?' Em was hoping.
'Alas, no. Not only does he now 'work' here, he is to be a...supervisor...of sorts.' Ms. Greer had a look upon her face as though she'd bit into a lemon, perhaps a basketful. Em didn't know quite what to say to that.
Ms. Greer bent to her ear, 'He is the...ne'er do well son of a city councilman and major contributor to the library. This,' she nodded toward the office, 'is the price we must now pay for his generous donations.'
'Oh dear...indeed.' Em now had the unwelcome realization that she had not left all such foolishness and fools back in Pankhurst.
'Well, nothing for it,' Ms. Greer headed into the back rooms with Em following, 'just avoid him as much as possible, if you can.'
With this most inauspicious start to her return to work, Em girded her loins for the day and hoped that she would not have to face the likes of yet another Arnold Schadenfreud.
                            . . . .
The sun was westering behind the hills when Emlyn returned at last to Nob Hill House after a busy day's work and productive as well as enlightening and encouraging suffragist meeting.
As she entered the house, removing her hat and setting down her ever-present armload of books and pamphlets, she took one slim volume with her into the kitchen and noted with relief the teakettle still warm upon the stove.
Pouring a bracing cup of Earl Grey, she took a warm muffin from the oven, (blessing Rosa's cooking), and seating herself upon a kitchen stool, began to peruse the book in hand. She smiled, recalling her surprise whilst browsing through the books and flyers at the suffragist meeting, she had found one volume stating the author's name as 'Greer'. 'Yes, it's mine,' her friend assured her, 'I have several, actually...'
'That's wonderful!' Em enthused, 'Oh, I wish I'd time to write!
I've so much I wish to share with my sisters, with the whole world, really!'
Her colleague smiled, 'Ah, and if masses of Beauregard the Bilious out there could only hear your words of wisdom, they would, no doubt, sell their motor-cars off and donate their inheritance to the orphans and the poor!' But Ms. Greer was smiling, albeit rather ruefully.
Em blushed. 'Well, actually, I had hoped to reach some of them...the bilious, ah, right...they're the ones most in need of change.'
'And the least likely to listen.' Ms. Greer had the right of it, alas. Sighing, she continued, 'And, yes, indeed, that is why I did write most of my volumes.' She and Em took a seat as Em leafed through her friend's book. 'I came from a very upright, proper and rather religious family. Old-fashioned doesn't begin to describe them, 'medieval' more like...women do not speak unless spoken to, good only for cleaning and breeding, etc...'
'I think I rather know what you mean...my father was much the same way,' Em confessed, wishing she hadn't found cause to recall that particular 'gentleman'.
Ms. Greer smiled grimly, 'Yes, many of us do. That's why we are here,' she spread her arms, indicating the milling crowd about them, 'we lucky ones who managed to see through their brain-washing. Oh, Em, I do so hope that we may pave a path for the younger women who come after us! I hope that they may have some choices in life, to use their brains and talent like human beings, and not simply serve only as drudges or brood mares!'
'I hope so,' Em frowned. 'But there are many women who are seemingly content as such! I, myself, cannot fathom it, but, oh how I weary of constantly being asked 'When will you marry and settle down?' Can these people see nothing more to life?'
Ms. Greer laid a gentle hand upon Em's arm, 'For some, no. Not all hear the clarion's call. 'For those who have ears to hear, let them hear'--ah, you see, I can't escape my upbringing! But I can make it count for something. It did inspire me to write, and to agitate for a better world.'
                          . . . .
So deeply into her book was Em that she hadn't realized she had company.
'"Women -- Leaders for a Better Tomorrow"! Well, let us hope it may still be so.'
'Daryl! Diosa, you, I...' Em gasped, sighed, 'I didn't know you were here.' She closed her book, and endeavored to still her racing pulse.
Daryl gazed about him. 'It does look like my house...'he began.
Em blushed. 'Yes, Daryl, of course...' Em rallied her wits,
'Ah, tea, perhaps?'
'That would be lovely.'
Em poured another cup of the Earl Grey, refreshing her own, adding sugar and lemon, just as they both liked it.
Daryl took his tea and perched upon a stool himself. 'So. Been to a suffragist meeting, then?'
'Indeed!' She pushed her book down the counter toward him. 'I just discovered one of my colleagues is also a writer! Ms. Greer. We went together to the meeting.'
Daryl picked up the little book and studied it intently within.
'Why is it that people find it so hard to simply let others be? Just, be themselves!' Em wrung her hands, exasperated.
'Why must everyone conform to some notion of what is deemed proper if it is, in reality, anything but!? Oh...sometimes I simply become so...frustrated...'
Daryl lifted his gaze to hers. 'Sounds a very healthy observation, but...bit of a rough day?'
Em sighed, then sipping her tea, she proceeded to tell her guardian the more sordid details of her day; the horrors of Beauregard Peters figuring prominently in her recitation. 'An utter wastrel, hasn't the brains gods gave geese, and utterly ignorant of that fact, yet bursting with arrogance and secure in his belief that he knows everything and the rest of the world exists only to serve him!' Em released the stranglehold upon her napkin and smoothed it upon her lap. 'I wish that the cruel dunces of the world hadn't so much wealth and power!'
A bark of laughter escaped Daryl. 'Ah, Em! You are not alone in that. "Each generation wastes a little more of the future with greed and lust for riches," said a very wise man, Don Marquis.'
'Was he an elder statesman? Someone of your century?'
Daryl chuckled. 'Ah, no Em. He was a cartoonist and humorist, I suppose rather like Mark Twain. A 20th century personage.'
Em sipped her tea and thought for a moment. 'Back in ancient times, the fool had the ear of the king, and could say to him things his counselors could not.'
'Sometimes. And, sometimes, it cost him his head.'
'True.' Em stood, clearing the tea things. 'Speaking of which, how goes la Revolucion?' Em had learned that Daryl would not speak in detail of this. For her safety or to keep his plans quiet, either or both...
Daryl, leaning against the wall turned his hand over and back,
'Asi, asi...,' and shook his head slightly. 'The battle, at present, looks inconsistent. A good thing I know the ultimate outcome.' He took the dishes from Em and set them in the sink.
'Come. Let us sit in the parlor awhile. You only just got home. If you'll allow, let me serve you, senorita!' Daryl bowed low. 'Go. Take a seat. I'll bring us something...' He nodded toward the parlor.
Em smiled, grateful for the offer, and took herself inside. Sitting upon the sofa, sighing, she took her shoes off and put her feet up, plumping the pillow behind her. It was good indeed to simply lie back a moment!
She was just making inroads upon her 'Women-Leaders...' book when Daryl entered, trays in hand and began setting out a  cold supper for them.
'Some hard cheeses, nuts, cherries and plums from the south, thanks to Rosa, no doubt!' He set these down expertly, continuing: 'Sourdough bread, roquefort, cold cooked asparagus, artichoke hearts, olives, and cold chicken...' he bent over his task, towel over his arm ala cafe noir. 'A lemon tart for dessert!' he informed her, as he took the seat across  from her and bit his lower lip; bending over to open a light golden riesling, his hair catching stray tints of sunrays.
'Basta, por favor!' Em chuckled, sitting up, 'I won't know how to behave once I awaken from this dream...oh, to be able to sit down after work and have glorious food placed before one!' Em
took the wine Daryl offered. 'Gracias, Diego!' He nodded and clinked his glass to hers, then began cutting the chicken.
'Ah...' Em took an asparagus stalk and sip of wine, '...this must be what it is like to be a man...' For, indeed, Em did usually help Rosa in the kitchen evenings, with either cooking or cleanup.
Em slowly noted what seemed to be a sortof choking sound coming from Daryl's direction, then she realized he was trying to disguise laughter whilst his shoulders shook as he made a mess of carving the chicken.
'What? Did I just make a joke?' Em inquired, yawning behind her hand, as she took a plateful of the cornucopia spread before her.
'My dear...'Daryl spared her a glance, 'Just which sex does one find strewn about the battlefields in the aftermath of the empire's quest for honor and/or glory? How many female miners do you know working the mines for pittance and dying of black lung disease? Ah, Em...'tis'nt all cakes and ale, being a male.' Daryl actually smiled at Em, handing over sliced chicken to her plate.
'No, perhaps not...' Em accepted his offer, with a 'gracias', and bent to her supper. 'But!' she punctuated with her fork, 'It is still preferable to having no rights to vote, to inherit, to practice law or medicine...basic human rights, Daryl!' She stabbed her asparagus forcefully. 'Women are people, not property of some male...' Em thought back to earlier in the day, wondering if Beauregard had any sisters...
imagine being an elder sister to that...utter fool, to put it politely, and being passed over for a place in the family business or simply as heir, in favor of the Idiot. She crunched her nuts, becoming warm under the collar, then decided that any one in the Peters family couldn't be all that bright anyway, even with the added plus of being female.
Daryl put up a hand, 'Pax, Josephina, filla! I'm on your side, remember! Surely you know that! It is the imbalance of that nature; man and machine versus nature herself, which has brought about the grim conditions of decay without hope for renewal, entropy: the consequences of ignorance and greed gone out of control...' he stared down, making a grimace and shaking his head. 'Civilization, so called, Em, has not arrived on planet earth as yet. We are much too barbarous still.' He sighed, 'Like cave dwellers, only now with fingers on the button...'
'Fingers on the button?' Em enquired, puzzled.
'You wouldn't understand, Em. Be glad of that.' Daryl looked tired, then.
'Well, I appreciate having supper served,' she reached out and put a warm hand upon Daryl's arm. 'Thank you.'
Daryl looked up at last, through his dark brown hair hanging over one eye. 'Da nada,' he smiled slowly...then reached out in turn, and took hold of the moonstone pendant Emlyn now wore, having found a silver chain for it upon her return. His gaze narrowed as he eyed it, raising an enquiring eyebrow as he
released it into Em's hand. 'Moonstone. New?'
'Ah, yes,' Em grasped the pendant, endeavoring not to blush. 'I...was away for awhile. I actually did as you suggested, Daryl,' Em paused, taking a sip of the cool wine, 'I headed back to Pankhurst, intending to pick up Pancho there, and then to embark on a trip into the foothills, researching the Welsh settlers there.'
'Indeed?' Daryl leaned back in his chair, sipping his vino. 'And did you have any luck?'
'Oh, yes...and, no!' Em smiled, and told Daryl of her ill-timed visit to Crowley House and finding no one home. 'It was deserted, locked up, and all the animals gone as well!' She shook her head, 'I was rather at a loss, until I learned that they had all repaired back to your estate in Massachusetts, and had the horses boarded meanwhile at my friend's ranch in the hills...'
Daryl frowned. 'Hm. They must intend to be away for some while then.'
'It, would seem so...they left so suddenly, without word...'Em bit her lip, feeling odd...knowing she and Jack had parted under less than happy circumstance. She saw Daryl at times as a prospective father-in-law; one who had just had his son jilted at the altar. It hadn't happened that way of course, but still, she felt scrutinized under Daryl's gray gaze.
'Anyway,' she made an effort to keep things light, 'I got a ride up to my friends' place and, after doing some work there with them, got my friend, Jethro, with whom I've grown up, to take us for a trail ride up into the hills thereabouts.' she looked at Daryl, making sure he understood that she was not
making sheep's eyes at Jethro with Jack gone...she thought then of Jack and Sugar. Um hum. Two can play that game.
'Ah. And, were you able to locate any Welshmen?' Daryl's lips bordered upon a sideways smile.
Em bit the inside of her cheek. She'd certainly done rather more than simply locate a Welshman. Well, she needn't disclose all...
'Oh, Daryl, it was...truly an odd trip...' there were, in fact, some things she would welcome Daryl's input regarding...
'How so?'
'Well, to begin...' Em set her plate down and sat forward, recalling...'When I left Crowley Place, there was the strangest
marking in the yard...I could swear it hadn't been there the night before...'Daryl motioned Em to continue, pouring more wine for them both. 'Well, it was a circle, just a plain, wide
perfect circle, as though a large--very large!--heavy pie pan had sat upon the grass all night! What do you make of that?'
Daryl was stroking the side of his wineglass in thought. 'Not there the previous evening? As though it came in the night? And no tracks to or from?'
Em nodded, curling her feet up 'neath her on the sofa.'Did you, hear anything during the night? No?' Daryl pursed his lips, 'How about dreams?'
Em shut her eyes, remembering. Yes, she had dreamed of him again, whoever he was, her dream-lover! How odd to find that they really did exist! And, she had recurring dreams of him...fortunately!
'Em?' Daryl prodded.
'Oh, yes...I, ah...' on one hand, she felt oddly protective of her private dreamtime with...him, whoever he was...but, perhaps Daryl had had the same experience, with Anara. Truly, he was the only other person she knew, with whom she might attempt to share this experience. 'Daryl...'her gaze drifted up to the mantlepiece and the portrait which hung over it, '...when, how did you come to know of, Anara?'
Daryl's gaze suddenly became rivited upon her. He also looked slightly sad as well. 'Oh, Em...' he looked away, putting a hand to his head. Em wondered if she had done wrong-- asking about Anara...but Daryl looked up at the portrait and arose, walked to the fireplace, and gazed at his beloved.
He hung his head then, staring at his boots. 'It was long, long ago...'
'Daryl, you needn't...if it's too painful...' Em began.
Her guardian put up a hand, then rested it upon the mantle. 'No, not at all, I simply...' he shook his head, 'Em, it is both the most amazing, beautiful, ecstatic meeting I have ever experienced in my long and varied lifetime, and as such, it is also the most painful, heart-wrenching and frustrating, as well...being without her!
 'I would not wish it upon another, in some ways. And, I most certainly would not wish it upon you, in particular.' His gaze met hers then.
'Would you rather have foregone the experience?'Em challenged.
'Never.' Their gazes locked a moment.
'If,' he continued, 'if this portends another similiar circumstance for you, I can only offer my ear to you, whenever you have need, as well as my...congratulations and sincere condolences...' he looked away, seemingly out the window at nothing. Eventually, he cleared his throat and returned to his chair, taking up his wine.
 'But I haven't answered your question...Em, cara, if you have met someone, in the same way that Anara and I have met, you would know it. You would be filled with that incomparable meeting, utterly consumed by it, and nothing, my dear, I fear, nothing, will ever compare to it. Nothing, ever again, has the power to even come close.' He drank deeply.
Em stared at the floor. It was still rather confusing, but, just a dream, was it not? A recurring dream, though, like her 'dreams' of Anara, and Thelene and Axelis...which were not dreams at all, so it seemed. She sighed.'Apparently, Daryl, I have done just that.'
Daryl stared at the rug, and began leisurely shaking his head, a slow smile spreading across his face. 'Ah, Em, for that, I ...I'm so very sorry!' And Daryl began to laugh low.
Emlyn was frustrated with the man now. 'It's only been a couple of times...I think.' She furrowed her brow, trying to recall...'It's, just dreams, anyway! It's rather confusing, but, oh, what I do recall!...' she just shook her head, knowing there were no words for such an all-consuming experience, unlike anything on this earth.
Daryl eyed her sideways, still with a lopsided half-smile, 'Yes, I believe you have, after all. Well. Jack certainly doesn't stand a chance now! No, no, Em,' he motioned her not to fret,' I certainly don't hold you responsible for Jack's unhappiness or his good fortune, either. He is his own man, now.' Daryl paused, brooding upon thoughts of Jack, for a moment. 'And, yes, this sounds like early days yet of your...encounters. Who knows, how long you may have them, how often, or even, if you will meet again? It will take time to sort through it all, as I have done...it is, yes, most confusing and rather, disruptive, in the beginning.' Daryl ran a hand across his forehead, rubbing his eyes. 'Only falling prey to the Fay and spending a space of no-time within the realm of the Sidhe, could compare at all...'
Em looked up, still clasping her moonstone. She licked her lips, her mouth dry suddenly. 'Water...I'm so thirsty...' She leaned forward and poured her wineglass full of clear water.
She drank deeply, unsure now. Well, so it seems that her dream lover was other than of the Gentry, at least. But, what of her Maying with Gwydion? Well, in for a penny...
'Daryl?' she ventured.
'There's more?' One eyebrow shot heavenward, but the smile disappeared.
Em considered her pendant. 'Well...' sighing, 'it was May Day...' she flicked her gaze upward to see how Daryl was taking it all, '...and, we somehow became lost, my friend, Jethro and I...until...we saw bonfires in the distance, around dusk, and it was most fortunate indeed, as night was closing in quickly.'
'Uh-huh,' Daryl was looking most serious now.
'Yes. Well, when we approached the fires, it seemed rather like just a country gathering of fellow pagans, gathered to celebrate Mayday...feasting, making music, dancing about the fires...' Daryl was now silent. 'Um, there was toward midnight, a fascinating display with bonfire lighting from a catapult! And then...'
'--a catapult.' Daryl narrowed his gaze.
'Yes, actually. It flung a lighted peat bale into a huge bonfire and set it alight, to start the Mayday celebrations...'
'I see.' Daryl was quiet now. Maybe he did see. Maybe...he had heard enough.
Em cleared her throat, drinking more water. 'But, the oddest thing was, when we awoke the next morning, everything, and everyone, was gone! No tents, bonfires, nothing! Just our horses and gear left.
 'And, yes, there had been Welsh folk there, they were speaking Welsh, and shared their meat and drink with us, and Gwydion left this moonstone...it was the only evidence of their passing...'
Daryl sat up now. 'Gwydion, you say? '
Em said nothing, feeling well and truly 'caught out' now. She merely stared out the window at the waxing moon and fingered her necklace.
'Do you know of the legendary Gwydion? He figures prominently in Welsh mythology.'
Em bestirred herself. 'I do not. Pray tell?'
Daryl crossed his long legs and settled back in his seat. 'Gwydion ap Don was, or is, a magician, hero and trickster. His name can be translated as 'born of trees.' Indeed, in the Battle of the Trees, he enchants the trees and sedges to rise up against the forces of Annwn, the Welsh Otherworld.' Daryl paused in his recitation, pouring more wine. 'There are many
tales of Gwydion, and his nephew Llew Llaw Gyffes. It was rumoured he was, in fact, descended from the Sidhefolk. Also,
Caer Wydion, the castle of Gwydion, was the traditional Welsh name for the Milky Way.'
Em was fascinated. 'How do you know so much about Gwydion?' She recalled then that Daryl was an erstwhile magician. Playwright. Antiques dealer. Revolutionary. Timewalker. Etcetera, etcetera.
Daryl chuckled softly. 'I actually penned a short play based on the Mabinogi. It focused on Gwydion and his brother, as well as his nephew, and well...the tale is a long one, condensed for the play; it was done long ago...but, suffice it to say, I played Gwydion, naturally...'
Em was now quite agog with this news. 'I...I'm quite, I don't know what to say, or think! This is all rather...amazing news...'
'Yes, Em, it is. I am as gobsmacked by your news as are you with my own!' Daryl frowned once more. 'I wonder what all this portends. Ah, sometimes...' he stretched forth his legs and crossed them at the ankles, sighing, '...sometimes I think that indeed the gods are moving us poor mortals about the cosmic chessboard, all to some purpose we may not yet comprehend... Perhaps we are only characters in a play penned by some celestial playwright...'
Emlyn wondered at that. So many coincidences, synchronicities, and all happenstance? Or dictated by the placement of the stars on May Day? Or orchestrated indeed by the gods themselves, whoever, whatever they were?
'...the audience did not appreciate my pigs, however...' Daryl, chin on chest was mumbling to himself.
'--Pigs you say?' Em could never tell if Daryl was joking or not, but she had to know, in spite of herself.
'Yes.' Daryl spared a short glance her way, then went back to brooding. 'Gwydion, the trickster, magician, hero, conjures a woman from flowers and brings forth the pigs, from the south...'
His play--Em decided he was on about, he somehow commanded a batallion of pigs it seemed. 'Real pigs, Daryl?'
'Oh, aye. Of course!' Another quick glance. 'Pigs. Very intelligent creatures. Alas, not usually housebroken...'
Cosmic playwrights...still, one had to watch where one stepped. Time would tell, perhaps...
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