Chapter 9 - Gods of the Sky

Chapter 9 - Gods of the Sky
'For the children of Dôn were certainly gods of the sky.  Their names are writ large in heaven.  The glittering W which we call "Cassiopeia's Chair" was to our Celtic ancestors Llys Dôn, or "Dôn's Court";  our "Northern Crown" was Caer Arianrod, the "Castle of Arianrod", Dôn's daughter;  while the "Milky Way" was the "Castle of Gwydion", Dôn's son.'
" . . . The manuscript is entitled 'The Magical Stone of Tara', and it states: 'one evening Conn of the Hundred Battles repaired at sunrise to the Ri Raith at Tara, accompanied by his three druids, Mael, Bloc and Bluicne, and his three poets, Ethain, Corb and Cesaire; for he was accustomed every day to repair to this place with the same company, for the purpose of watching the stars, so that no hostile aerial beings should descend upon Ireland unknown to him."
                        . . . .
Having made his pronouncement, Yeats then scanned those seated before him, cleared his throat and quietly said,'We shall talk later...' and took his exit upstairs.
Everyone stared in utter bewilderment.
'Well. No birthday celebration is complete without the jolly
japes of Yeats...' Aleister observed wryly, standing and fetching a brandy. 'Anyone care to join me?'
Jack and Daryl both signalled assent, whilst Em opted out. She wished to keep her faculties sharp tonight; not often did she have both Jack and Daryl together in one place and sharing information rather than insults. 'I do believe I shall have another coffee, though...'
 Al escorted her into the kitchen.
When they returned with a fresh pot of coffee Frenchly-pressed, they found Jack picking out tunes upon his birthday mandolin whilst Daryl paced slowly before the fireplace muttering, '...Maducas, maducas...'
'Well,' Emlyn began, 'It takes much maducas to grow a field of daffodils.'
'Indeed...' Daryl ceased pacing and turned to them, '...actually, one might take 'maducas' from the Welsh prince who discovered America: Madoc, sometimes spelled
'Madawc'...could Latinize that into 'Madawcus', ah, more or less...'
'Ah, yes..."'Ware Madawcus the Gladiator for he wouldst smite thee with his noxious vapor!"' Jack knew Uncle Daryl could go on so; sometimes he forgot to provide much-needed comic relief. 'How would that come to mean ah, horsepucky, then?' asked Jack with a grin.
'Well you may ask...' Daryl took a seat, 'not many believe the legend of Madoc. Hence...?'
'Ah, as in 'that's just a bunch of Madoc-cas,' eh?' Al was getting in the spirit. In more ways than one.
'Hm. Possibly the legend of Madoc came to be known as, 'alot of bull', one might say. There are many legends that are connected to Madoc. Some say he stopped in Mexico and thus the tale of Quetzalcoatl was born...'
'Mucho toro...' Al supplied as he upon snifter did sedulously sip.
'Ah, the Feathered Serpent! Kukulkan,' Em offered, interested now, 'He did come from over the seas, a bearded white man with red hair...but whence comes the feathered serpent?'
'Ah, but think, filla: the Welsh Dragon! A reptile, with wings! His wee forked tongue is plainly seen...' Daryl winked.
'Of course, if they carried banners or standards, I can see it all...' Em paused, regarding her cold coffee.
'But, if I may inquire, how does your family relate to the Welsh then? I thought the Mandan tribe had been decimated by smallpox.'
'They were, mostly. Also, being so different; fair-complected, light eyes, red and blond hair, beards...they were chased out by neighboring tribes, especially the Cherokee, always fleeing northward. Some, of course, were assimilated into other tribes. In our case, the Arikara.' Daryl answered, leaning back in his chair and making himself comfortable for a lecture, 'I managed to trace our family lineage, on father's side, back to a Dutch ancestor with  ties to an Arikara shaman who had a Mandan wife.'
'You did?' Jack stopped playing, '...I can't imagine how...it was so long ago...' he narrowed his gaze at his enigmatic uncle.
Not quite answering, Daryl continued, '...Also, the legend of the Fountain of Youth, thought to be in the southeast, is somehow connected with Madoc!' Daryl smiled a slow slinky smile, 'As is the tale of King Arthur.'
'Oh!' Em sat up straight now, 'Do tell, Daryl! Agua Florida and Arthur too.'
'If one accepts Uther Pendragon as the progenitor, then Madoc was descended through Arthur. I have charts of ancient geneaological trees, if you would care to peruse them, filla...' Daryl mentioned casually.
All were quiet momentarily, then Jack began to pick out another lilting, keltic reel on the mandolin.
Emlyn lay her head against the sofa and listened...'And they say the Feathered Serpent will return again, just as they say Arthur Pendragon shall return...'
'Mandan...the name could derive from Mannawyddan of the Mabiogion,' Aleister offered.
'Oh, aye,' Daryl swirled the amber liquor in his snifter, 'and marvelous strange tales those are, but the Tuatha de Danann's are stranger by far...' Daryl drank off his brandy.
Emlyn's head swam with all this news...Arthur! Really...to think that somehow she could be distantly related to Arthur Pendragon, (if indeed he existed), strange news and yet; it might explain how her life had been so entwined with magic and mysteries--timewalkers, mowing devvils, druids, and disappearing 'gypsies'...
'...It is said that the meaning formerly given to Tuatha De Danann was “the men of science who were gods,” danann being here connected with dan, “knowledge," Daryl had continued his musings, 'and, according to legend, when the Tuatha De' landed in Ireland, they arrived from the sky on a ship of dark clouds on the eve of Beltane.' Daryl fixed Em with a knowing look. 'They brought with them the stone of destiny called Lia Fail, which was placed on Tara and used to choose who would be crowned king of Eire.' He paused and produced another quarter from thin air, began to rotate it about his knuckles once more, 'Arthur C. Clarke said, "Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic."'
Jack paused in his playing. 'That's right...there were legends of them coming from 'above' in ships of mist...most odd.'
'Yesss...' Daryl eyed them all over his glass, '...and one
tale is told thus:
 "God suffered them, though He restrained them
 they landed with horror, with lofty deed,
 in their cloud of mighty combat of spectres,
 upon a mountain of Conmaicne of Connacht.
 Without distinction to descerning Ireland,
 Without ships, a ruthless course,
 the truth was not known beneath the sky of stars,
 whether they were of heaven or of earth" '
Daryl paused in thought, his gaze seemed to follow up the stairway taken by Yeats.
'Most intriguing, Daryl.' Emlyn was wondering where all this was going. She was not sure if she wished to find out entirely. She needed answers, but she feared that indeed truth may be stranger than fiction... 'But that is Irish myth, not Welsh.'
'Ah. 'Tis all Keltic, lass. The Welsh equivalents are the legends of Don and the Children of Don. Don/Danu; 'tis all the goddess and her works.' Daryl the Bard reveled in ensnaring the attention of his captive audience, 'And, there are bits and pieces of history attesting to some truth of legend...that adds the spice that makes the tales so tasty.'
Em pondered a moment, refilling her cup. 'But how did the Sky Gods become dwellers underground? How did the Tuatha De' Danann become the Sidhe-folk of the hollow hills?'
Daryl sighed. 'A complicated tale, perhaps half in truth, states that a battle was fought by the Tuatha Dé Danann against an invasion of Milesians from Iberia; they encountered three of the Tuatha De' goddesses, one of whom, Eiru, was the goddess Eire was named after...this battle they lost to the invaders, however, and when it came time to divide the land, the portion underground was granted to the Tuatha De' Danann.'
Unconsciously, Em's hand had strayed to her moonstone and she was surprised to find herself holding it. She flicked a quick glance in Jack's direction, but he was busy tuning the mandolin. Quickly, she stowed away the 'evidence'...
'It's interesting...how much of the old tales all sound like family histories, really...' Daryl lay his head against the chair and stretched his legs before him, '...you know, even the old Greek and Roman myths seem to be just an airing of the Laundry of the Gods! So-and-so did such-and-such to a brother or wife or nephew and well, who are those judges who label one thing myth and the other religion!? Might not these have been real beings?'     
Uncle Daryl seemed to be in his cups already, observed a relatively sober Emlyn. 'Still, one would hope one's uncle wouldn't turn one into a frog just because he had a bad day at the forge or was attacked by giant whatsomevers...'
Just then the grandfather clock struck midnight.
'Ah! The Witching Hour!' Aleister exclaimed. 'One more to go, Jack!'
'Yes, that's right. I'm not here yet.' Jack took a seat next to Em and propped his mandolin against the sofa's pillows. 'I wonder where I was before I was here...?' He spared a glance toward Daryl.
'Well, don't look at me!' Uncle Daryl blustered, 'I haven't ALL the answers. Not quite...' he finished off his brandy.
'One thing puzzles me...' Emlyn probed, '...did Arthur Pendragon have any children, or no? In the tale...'
'...Oh, bugger the tale! I assume you refer to Malory!' Daryl was rather vexed, 'He was but a romantic poet! Or gave it a go, sommat... Anyway, Em, sorry, but to answer your query, no one knows for sure, about any of this, but, whether he had issue or not--which I'm sure he did, if only by-blows, as they say...Mordred of curse, er, course' Daryl smiled sideways, 'but, he certainly had relatives.'
Jack had meanwhile taken up the mando again and struck up a jaunty tune: '"Oooh, What Are We Going To Do With Uncle Arfur?...A Bleedin' Stallion Is--Uncle Arfur!"' he sang with a Cockney lilt.
Em was beset by a giggle fit, whilst Aleister nearly choked on his cognac laughing.
'Oh, you may well larf,' Daryl shook his head...but he was smiling.
'The piano is in tune,' Jack said, nodding towards the grand, polished and gleaming, the mahogany so dark as to appear black in the shimmering firelight.
Daryl said nothing, but after a moment, rose and betook himself over to the great beast which sat, silent and waiting. He flung imaginary tails out behind him as he seated himself, then raised the lid. Jack ceased his picking while Daryl warmed up a bit and then settled into Mendelssohn.
'A Midsummer Night's Dream...perfect...' Emlyn breathed, drinking in the ringing tune as close to the song of a lark on the evening breeze as man could effect.
'Downright Puckish,' Al agreed, taking a seat at last.
Em leaned her head upon Jack's shoulder and closed her eyes, letting the song carry her away into the land of faerie and fay down along the winding road leading ever on and on ...what an odd little ball this planet earth, so full of myth and mystery... One really never knew what could happen next, she'd discovered. With all the strangeness in her own life, how could she discount the tales of others?
Jack leaned his own head upon hers and listened to the tune in his own way. To him, the music carried questions, a teasing tale of half-truths and glimpses in shadows of mist-wrapped apparitions. Jack wondered what he knew anymore and why he even assumed he knew anything at all...hadn't someone said, 'an expert is someone who knows more and more about less and less'?
                             . . . .
Much softer than midnight chimed the hour of one a.m. 'Happy Birthday, Jack,' Em looked up at Jack and gave him a birthday kiss upon the lips.
He smiled down at her.
'That it is! Well, I made it another year, then!'
As Daryl softly played the last closing notes, he folded down the piano lid and now they could hear soft snores coming from Aleister, sitting with chin on chest.
Daryl arose from the piano. '"No voice; but oh! the silence sank like music on my heart."' He bent to Aleister, nudging his shoulder gently.
'Eh, ah...Coleridge!  Too right!' Al opened one eye and grinned up at him, 'thought me dead to the world, didn't you?' Al yawned mightily.
'Come: to bed with us both...' Daryl helped Aleister up then turned to Jack, 'Happy Birthday, Jack. And, thank you for having me here with you all tonight; no, don't get up on our account!' He put a hand out upon Jack's shoulder. 'Goodnight Jack, Em.' He gestured Al up the stairs ahead of him, 'For "what hath night to do with sleep?"' He winked at them both over his shoulder as he tossed Jack a quarter; then taking hold of Aleister, navigated the stairway to the Land of Nod for them both.
Jack watched them make their way upstairs, then put his arm about the sofa behind Em. He looked closely at the quarter his uncle had lobbed to him.
'It's a double-header!' he grinned down at Em, who smiled back.
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