Chapter 13 - Into The Twilight

Chapter 13 - Into The Twilight
.:We halted before the huge silver gate I remembered...and once more the magic barrier swung silently wide for us and we passed through, into Dun Aengus.
  We went not to...the majestic hall with silver walls and golden roof and the crystal throne whence Nudd, King of the Sidhe, disposed his majesty...but to a smaller chamber no less fair...
  'It is not every Kelt would feel safe to fare and feed in the halls of the Sidhe.'
   '...More fools they, then. Am I to insult the law of the coire ainsec, which is the same under the hill as upon the land...'
   'Well spoken, Lord Taliesin,'...She came in unattended: Seli, the queen, wife to Nudd ap Llyr, mother to Gwyn...she was no whit changed from when I had last beheld her, what, twenty years since, had it been?
   'Have you never wondered, Taliesin, that you were born so late after your sibs?...The rest of your sibs are children of Medeni and your father; but you are of Gwyddno and your mother's begetting...your mother was no Kelt, she was a woman of Earth.'
  Birogue was speaking again, 'Your father, Talyn, went on the very last of the secret voyages Kelts made back to Earth, the immram-tuathal. Kelts had been returning to Earth on rare occasions...'
  'But not without bringing away a few more souls as brave as they,' said Seli. 'When they came to Earth they made contact with certain Terrans they kenned from afar. Terrans whose natural gifts had run along the same track as your own. And they were not afraid! Nay, they were glad, and they told the visitors, to all their sorrow, how it was then on Earth, that they themselves were beset by war.:
                  --Patricia Kennealy Morrison
                  --The Oak Above the Kings
                             * * * *
"The three principal endeavors of a Bard:
One is to learn and collect sciences.
The second is to teach.
And the third is to make peace
And to put an end to all injury;
For to do contrary to these things
Is not usual or becoming to a Bard."
~THE TRIADS OF BRITAIN
                             * * * *
"Beware the bearers of false gifts and their broken promises. Much pain but still time. There is good out there. We oppose deception."
--Message in a crop formation found on a farm in the UK, August 2002.
                          . . . .
No one said a word. For some time.
All sat, as if stunned. Indeed it had been an evening for dazed bewilderment and wonder.
'When...did you discover this?' Yeats' tone implied that Daryl's knowledge should have been made known long before now....apparently, Daryl's invective had slid smoothly off him. Perhaps Yeats, in his long and varied experience, had been called a fool before.
Daryl sat glowering darkly before him. At last, in a low husky rumble, he allowed, 'I suspected as much, for some time, but--! I was not certain, until last night.' He closed his eyes and leaned his head back wearily.
Yeats had risen and strolled to the mantle. He rummaged about in Aleister's humidor, extrating a cigarillo. Firing up a finger, he touched it to the tip and inhaled deeply.
Em sat as if watching a play, knowing Yeats had just reclaimed his role of authority.
  'And how, exactly...' He bore down upon Daryl with full force of his gimlet gaze, '...did you manage that?'
Eventually Daryl raised his head and regarded the man. 'I spoke with him. With Axelis.'
Yeats exhaled, making a grimace, 'The League, again.'
He flicked his ash dismissively. 'And how, pray, did you contact him?'
Daryl simply looked at Yeats, saying nothing.
'HOW, did you contact the League?' Yeats pressed on.
Daryl smiled. 'Oh, 'how does one contact the League?' The dangerous renegades everyone is so concerned about?
Yes, I imagine that information would be quite the feather in your pointy hat, wouldn't it now?'
Em was facinated by all this byplay. It was the best entertainment she'd witnessed in some time. It nearly distracted her from the surprising revelations of the evening...some of which she could tell her survival reflexes had erected hasty walls about, not wishing for access just yet. Or perhaps ever.
It was Jack who broke up this contest of wills, (or egos);
'Daryl...for my sake, and for Emlyn's...' he sighed, exasperated, '...we, we have just had some rather nasty shocks tonight, a bit much, I'm thinking. But, I know I won't be allowed to rest until we have a clearer picture here...or why disclose any of this at all?' He regarded his uncle with a pained and heavy look.
'Of course, Jack, you're right...' Daryl leaned forward, taking up his empty mug. He sat it down again, noting however that Aleister was up and off into the kitchen.
He clasped his hands before him, glad that they were no longer shaking.
  'I...don't know much more than what was just now revealed. Naturally, I cannot access the League anytime I wish--it was sheer luck or timing I found Axelis and in a situation favorable for communication. And it's rather...' he grimaced, '...difficult, trying to decypher the information given.' He looked at Emlyn. 'You know what that's like! The next day, one thinks one experienced simply a dream, and sorting through the fleeting scenes of the night before can be confusing...'
Emlyn realized then that she did, indeed, know of what Daryl had related, and yes, it was just so... She was also, here, with the others and under their scrutiny, aware that she and Daryl shared a common link in that experience. And this had set them apart, somewhat, from the rest. At least that was the mood she gleaned from the rest of the room.
Aleister returned with a tray and pitcher of ice-water. Setting it upon the tea table, he informed them,
'Tea is brewing...kava I think is best,' and took his seat rather apart from 'ringside'. Em realized then that Aleister was taking on Alice's old persona, of smoothing over rough spots. She was wearily grateful for that. But then she recalled the old Doc Parsons and wondered if there would be something in the tea besides this 'kava' he mentioned...
Daryl poured ice water and drank deeply. 'What would you like to know?'
Jack enquired: 'Well, to begin...Daryl, truly? You knew all this, about the schools? When did you find out?'
Daryl ran a hand through his wild hair, sighing as he leaned back, 'Early on, although not soon enough for my taste...when my suspicions were confirmed, I was out of there. Ah, sixteen, I believe I was...' he stretched his legs out, crossing them before him, '...so, the damage had been done. Physically, at least. I managed to overcome much of the...indoctrination, however, with certain disciplines: meditation, self-hypnosis...'
'I, I have done the same myself...' Jack admitted, 'it was when I studied in Japan, just after school...instinctively I knew I'd been...changed, somehow, and I wanted, well, I wanted my Self back. I tried to reprogram myself I suppose.'
'That was wise, and the best method you could have chosen; I only wish I could have been of more help,' Daryl nodded. 'But, Drake, however, stayed the course and became altogether their creature. I'm sorry, Jack, but, the brother I grew up with, your father, was not the same person I had known. I missed him, the brother I once knew...'
  Daryl slowly shook his head, '...he acquired prejudices and bias; and displayed the resultant ugly side of eugenics--a certain trumped-up superiority over others, a fear, loathing of certain races, made manifest in ridicule...'
Aleister returned then with another tray wheeled in on a cart, the kava, she presumed. 'Kava. Gentle, relaxing.' He poured a cup for himself. 'Needed.' And repaired to his seat.
Em took it upon herself to pour for all. Even if the good doctor had 'doctored' the brew, she felt ready for such by now... '"It is the small man who must feel superior by cutting the heads off of others",' she pronounced. '...Confucius, I think.'
'Too true! You've hit it on the head, my dear,' Daryl nodded. 'People who feel secure within themselves are accepting of others, wish to share, find commonalities, and enjoy diversity. The human race is sadly lacking in
security, obviously.' He drank deeply of his kava. 'And that will be their downfall.'
Jack was frowning. 'But if Drake hated non-whites, how did he end up with my mother, Sarah, a Jewess?'
Daryl glanced at his nephew, then down. 'Your mother, a very lovely woman. And, their family had changed their surname upon coming to the states from Russia.'
'You're saying, she 'didn't look Jewish', is that it?' Jack asked in a huff.
Daryl nodded. 'Drake found out, only afterwards: after she had you, Jack. Discussing your parentage and family roots, she confessed at last.' He once more clasped his hands before him, as if to hold onto himself. 'He was beside himself, she later told me, he flew into an absolute rage.'
Jack had no idea of any of this. He'd always assumed that his parents had, well, rather known all about one another; when he had been at home, all was civil and subdued, if rather chilly and formal. His mother had been kind and affectionate to him, but only when his father was absent...
Daryl continued, 'After you were a year or so old, Drake began spending more time away from home; the import/export business was now in full swing, and that gave him the excuse to be on the road constantly. I, also, was travelling most of the time, although, in spite of Drake's orders that I stay the hell away, I did look in on the both of you from time to time...' he crossed a boot over one knee, '...although, by then, I was spending much of my time in Central, South America, and Mexico...' he at last regarded Yeats, '...it was there, I became entangled with the League.'
 He sighed, 'After my initial run-in with them, I gave up the itinerat life and returned to New York, went to a 'real' college, where I met Al, John and others, and began writing and producing plays. The rest you know.'
'Not quite.' Yeats pointed his smoke at Daryl.
'You've had other congress with the League. Let us not gloss that over.'
'That was rather later, and only due to John's machinations...'
'Oh? And you were simply an innocent bystander--again?' Yeats tone dripped sarcasm like acid rain.
'No,' Daryl's carefully measured tone bespoke great forced control, 'But Morgana rather was, or so I thought. Ah, good intentions pave the road to hell... I believed I was
keeping an eye on things to save her from John's crazy schemes.' He looked hard at Yeats. 'My cautious care was not enough. He disappeared her. Or so I believed then.'
'So it was John's mucking about with time travel that brought you back into contact with the League, then?' Yeats kept at the man. 'John and Morgana...are they in with them?'
'"In with them"!' Daryl spat, 'Yeats, you make it sound as if they are card carriers! "...Are you now, or have you ever been...?" Faugh!' he snorted, 'One doesn't 'join' up with the League and sign in blood, despite your provincial notions of things!' he paused, then, 'No, I've never seen them with either the League, or...the Others.'
'Others?' Em asked. She recalled hearing that term before, the 'Others' had something to do with genetic tinkering also.
No one said anything for the nonce. Then Daryl, seeing that things couldn't get much worse, decided, what the hell?
 'Yes, the Others. This was the...faction...that your father, Englebretson, and the Society, aligned themselves with, much to the despair of many. He, and they, had these notions of Aryan superiority. He, and they, had plotted to make you their 'Golden Girl', Em. You were to be a prototype for a new breed of superior human.'
Emlyn felt rather faint. She leaned her head against her hand.
 Jack had resumed his seat beside her and put an arm about her shoulder. Here was a true sister, he felt; someone who had been put through the same maelstrom in her youth as he, and he wished to prove a brother and friend to her, now more than ever.
But Uncle Daryl spoke then:
'I'm sorry, filla, I...would have told you, all in good time,'he looked up, regarding Yeats with malevolence,'but not after a long, exhausting evening of bandying about one bitter truth after another!' Daryl looked like he wished to grind Yeats' long, imposing form down to dust, glaring at him with undisguised venom.
At that, Aleister cleared his throat. leaning in from the sidelines, 'As your physician, Emlyn, and your friend, I think it best we leave things at this juncture for now!' He regarded all, even Yeats, not without his own authority, 'It has indeed been a long and trying evening!'
(...And when that 'tea' hits, they'll not be able to make sense of a sentence anyway, he thought), and he congratulated himself on his practical, albeit heavy- handed, method of wrapping up such volatile congeries.
Jack stood, offering a hand to Em: 'Agreed. Emlyn and I, at least, are off to bed. But, this is far from over!' He regarded Daryl. Then, helping Em up, who nodded her 'Buenos noches,' to all, leaned on Jack and took his arm in both of hers, Daryl noted with satisfaction, as they made their way upstairs.
Daryl stood.
'"A fine mess you've gotten us into now, Stanley,"' He muttered at Yeats as he betook himself off to his room in their wake.
'Ah. Rather...' Aleister nodded, as he slunk out behind Daryl.
Yeats stood alone beside the fire, and flicked his dead butt into the dying embers.
                        . . . .