.:In the Welsh story of Taliesin, the witch Ceridwen prepares in her cauldron a magic brew which, after a year's boiling, will yield 3 blessed drops. Whoever swallows these will know all the secrets of the past, the present and the future...the drops fly from the cauldron and fall on the finger of Gwion Bach, the boy who helped tend the cauldron's fire. He puts his finger in his mouth, the drops were hot!
And then, realizing the danger, he flees.
As Ceridwen sets out in pursuit, Gwion transforms himself
successively into a hare, a fish, a bird, and a grain of wheat; she give chase in appropriate form, a greyhound, an otter, a hawk and a hen, and in this last, swallows the grain of wheat and in the fulness of time, Gwion Bach is reborn of her as the bard and wizard, Taliesin.
The child Taliesin, in a poem replying to the king's question as to who he is and whence he has come, presents himself as a ubiquitous presence which has witnessed the history of the world and will endure to the end; the blessed drops merely quickened his awareness of his true self.
'I have been Teacher to all Christendom,
I shall be on the face of the earth until Doom,
And it is not known what my flesh is, whether flesh or fish.'
He remains an enigma still; in one poem he claims to have been created by Gwydion, in another, he was in the Court of Don before Gwydion was born.
He declares he was not made of mother and father but created of nine things and from water from the Ninth Wave.:
* * * *
Sunset. Emlyn awoke, once again, this time more refreshed and not aching all over. Thank Isis it was not a work day.
Looking toward the window, she felt only relief at seeing the red-gold glow of sundown, recalling the bright painful blinding gray light of unwelcome dawn that morning.
She remembered hearing the Fay did sleep days and enliven the eventide... She bethought herself like in that; sunset was her Time, just as Autumn was her Season...
She sighed and leaned back against her pillows...perhaps she was an Old Soul, as Daryl had surmised...maybe those for whom the bright dawn and spring spoke to of joy and passion and were all a-quiver for the morning dew and larksong, were young upon this old earth, and such was new to them.
She'd presentiments before, of perhaps other lives, times, places...but never had she...lived that other life so closely; and surely not in such fearsome detail and reality. She blamed the Cup. And Daryl.
She wondered, however, as she rose and opened the curtain to watch the westering red glow, if Daryl felt the same way about things. Surely, he too was an Old Soul... She was not so sure about Jack, however. He seemed altogether too eager for mundane experience and hadn't that aura of world-weariness common to herself, and to Daryl.
Dressed now, she came out into the hallway and listened: all seemed quiet, only a soft ticking of the grandfather clock below... She padded down to Daryl's master bedroom and listened at the door. Quiet as well.
But wait, she did hear something. A low voice, someone talking. It sounded like Daryl.
She tried the door and found it unlocked. She entered, leaving the door open, and quietly approached the large low bed where Daryl lay, rolling about, all bedclothes long since tossed to the floor, and muttering in his sleep. Dreaming? Em guessed so...
'Fiche-moi la paix! Vous et vos pareil! Tartuffe!'
Oh, diosa, Em realized he was speaking French and it sounded as though he was arguing with someone...
("Leave me alone, give me peace! You and your kind! Hypocrite!")
Not good, Em decided. She did not wish for Daryl to relive the same finale as the night before...Oh dear...
Em regarded the thrashing Daryl, wondering if she'd time to round up Manuel again or if he was even about...she decided she had best act, come what may. Biting her lower lip, she stepped up to the bed, noting Daryl wore only loose silk pants, leaving his impressive torso bare.
Focus, Em...
'Je ne sais pas! Je ne sais pas!' ("I don't know! I don't know!"), Daryl raved.
Now, Em. Just do it--
She bent over Daryl and said evenly, 'Daryl!' No response. Then, louder, grabbing his arm: 'Diego! Andele! General Villa, aqui!'
Daryl sat up. A good soldier, he snapped to attention when called. He blinked at her then. 'You don't look like Villa...' He stared about him. 'Where...the blankets?'
Em bent, picking up the bedclothes, tossed them onto Daryl.
'You have been talking in your sleep. I thought I should look in on you. Oh, Daryl,' she sat on the end of the bed, 'Will you ever be able to rest?'
Daryl looked exhausted. He slumped over his bedsheets...(navy blue satin Em couldn't help but note), shaking his head. 'I don't know...eventually, I suppose.' His mind ran to thoughts of his pipe...
Emlyn sighed. '"What are we going to do with Uncle Daryl?"'
she softly sang from the popular 'Uncle Arthur' musical hall ditty.
He looked up at her then and smiled. 'I'll be alright. Thank you, Emlyn...' he gazed about, 'What is the time? Is it raining, or evening?' he frowned at the dark blinds over the window.
'Just gone sunset. I just awoke myself. I did get some sleep.' She stood, clasping her hands, job done here. 'Refresh yourself, and come down to dinner. Good food, some wine, you'll sleep at last, later tonight, I think, yes?' Em stood, shot him a smile, then looked concerned, started to add something more, then did not. 'I'll see you downstairs...'
Daryl ran both hands through his disheveled hair, saying nothing. Gods but his head felt like exploding... It beat not having one, however...
. . . .
'Well, we're really no closer to our goal, here, Al...' Jack admitted, 'and frankly I don't think we will be anytime soon, either. Timeslips have something to do with matters beyond our control, and everything to do with the control of someone, or something else.'
Aleister had to agree. 'It certainly looks that way more and more,' he was on Jack's heels heading up from the lab, 'and, frankly, well, Jack...as fine and interesting as your party was, I'm missing Pankhurst...'
He came around Jack, as the younger man locked up the basement stronghold. 'I'll set this on lockdown, then,' he punched in a code and the panel lights turned red. 'There, that's it.' He smiled at Al, '...I wonder though, if you would be missing old Pankhurst if Diana wasn't there..'
Al grinned, 'Guilty as charged...it has been nearly a month, or more now.' The two entered into the kitchen and Jack opened the back door to admit a leaping, quivering Dylan into their midst. 'I think Dylan's ready to head back, as well!'
'I know Alice is,' Al patted his growing boy, who began to chew his shoes, 'No, Dylan, I'll be needing those awhile yet, here!' He tossed a rawhide bone into the hallway which Dylan sprang after like a jackrabbit, and trotted back with it, dropping it at Al's feet, all a-wag. 'Alice is out of her comfort zone here still. She's rarely stirred from her basket the whole time...'
Jack put an iron skillet on the burner and stretched his lanky form. 'I admit I'm ready! First thing tomorrow, then...I just feel like dinner and bed tonight. Omlets alright?'
Al just nodded, tugging on the bone with Dylan who was learning to growl.
'I can't wait to see the amphitheatre!'
Jack was more upbeat now, with the decision to abandon his uncle's vast manor house. 'And, it'll be good to get back in the saddle again. I miss Trotsky like you miss Diana...'
Al snorted. 'Right.' He shook his head, 'I'd turn you in myself, if you did!'
Jack grinned, grabbing a bottle of olive oil. 'It was good to see Em, if only for a short while..Why don't you chop something, Al? I know you can do it, old boy! Grease that elbow and get crackin'...' Jack did just that himself with several large brown eggs.
Aleister hauled himself up and set to with onion, mushrooms, spinach and tomato. 'Must admit, I never miss leaving this place somehow...at least ole Daryl agreed to give you a hand here, occasionally. Better than nothing, eh?'
Jack made some growling sort of noises and began whisking eggs with dried herbs and a dash of tobasco and worchestershire. 'I suppose...' He looked up suddenly. 'Did you hear something?'
'Daryl already?' Al looked around.
'I doubt it, sincerely...' Jack dried his hands and went to the door. Opening it, he beheld a oddly smiling Yeats.
'And a fine good evening to you, Jack!' he declared merrily.
. . . .
'Ah, Mr. Yeats! Please, do come in! It's nearly dinner.'
'Thank you, Jack!' Yeats entered nearly bouncing on his toes. 'But, can't stay! I'm off soon...' Dylan arrived to greet Yeats, of whom he was curiously fond, and even more strange, quite well-behaved about. He sat at Yeats' feet, and their tall Head deigned to bend over and pat him with gusto. 'Such a fine lad aren't you now, aye, mushmushmush, laddie...' and oddly, Yeats made much of him.
Jack knew Yeats to be also fond of the pup but he had never witnessed him becoming 'mushy' with him before.
Hmm...
Aleister joined them in the foyer. 'Off again as soon arrived, Mr. Yeats?'
'Indeed, Aleister! And I hope the both of you lads are well! A fine day, indeed!' Yeats looked about, smiling at all and nothing.
Jack and Al looked at one another as though Yeats had just entered with a flowerpot of geraniums on his head and singing 'A Sailor's Life', falsetto.
'Well, so it is, ah, was...' Jack had no idea what had come over their usually sober and morose Head. 'Ah, Al and I have just come from the lab, and decided that there's nothing more we can do here. The Timeslips are beyond our ken, rather, so it's back home for us soon.'
Yeats was nodding, hands in pockets, 'Aye, aye, so it 'tis...a fine idea...'
The 'lads' just looked at one another. Usually Yeats was not so amenable.
He looked at them seriously for a moment, 'Before I go, however, 'tis true the Timeslips are out of our hands, entirely! But it's all to the good.' He glanced about one last time, 'Well, so I'm off!'
The tall Yeats replaced his hat on his head at a jaunty angle and headed for the door, 'Oh, and, by the way, you probably won't be seeing me again, lads. The Order is hereby dissolved! Well! Toodle-oo!' He made to close the door after himself.
'--Wait! Ah, Mr. Yeats! What, Why? What is all this about?'
Jack wondered if Yeats was actually headed:
Around The Bend...
'It's all about Love, me lads! That is ever and anon what it has always been about!' And he shut the door.
Jack and Al gaped after him.
At last, Jack turned to Al and said, '"Toodle-oo?"'
. . . .
Sunset...
The ocean waves seemed to be breaking soft and quiet upon the shore, now. Somehow, at close of day, the waves approached more gently, as if ready for a rest after hammering the coastline during their daily 'shift'.
Shorebirds were all quiet and a slender crescent moon was rising shyly like a stand-in debuting her first lead performance;
the full moon abed with a headache from a surfeit of nocturnal revelry past...
Yeats was there, hat in hand, and that was all, for, what more could he possibly need? He had his Thelene at last...
He'd arrived early to their rendezvous, and sat now upon a large boulder overlooking the jetty. Sure and she would soon be arrived...
Now that this time had come he'd long dreamed of, it seemed quite unreal to him somehow.
But, there she was, at last! She came walking through Ariel's Bridge, the old jutting rock face which had been worn through with a great gaping hole in it's middle...it was rumored to be good luck, and a blessing upon couples who passed through together...for Shane, it heralded a Dream Come True.
For so she was...tall and lithe, her thick tresses piled high upon her regal head, her slender neck pale in the waning light...Yeats felt himself to be the luckiest of men upon this night to have such a belly full of butterflies and chills up the spine; all past troubles dissolving with her approach...
'You're late,' he smiled, rising to greet her.
'Never, my love,' she returned his smile, gazing up at him, and took his hand in hers.
He enfolded Thelene in his warm embrace and all care and differences between them melted like snowflakes falling on hotsprings...they kissed under the winking new stars and held one another long and close...
'...Such a fool have I been, Thelene, to have wasted all our time together with petty squabbles, out of daft a'rdan!'
'"Pride" again, Shane Rowland!'She looked at him, then buried her face in his warm chest. '"Oh, what fools these mortals be!"' she smiled, quoting Puck.
He threw back his head and laughed, amazed he still knew how; a low and hearty belly-laugh. Thelene looked at him, 'I like you better laughing than arguing.'
'So do I.' He agreed.
'--Look!' Thelene pointed into the west, where, out of the setting sun, it seemed, Shane caught the glint of reflected light upon a surface...it resolved itself into the outlines of...something, but all one could tell of it, was a certain shimmering as it moved through the sky above the waves...one could still view the red sunset through it, but it was as though part of the sunset was moving as well, and headed their way...
'Is that It?' Asked Shane, his voice as full of wonder as a child's on Midwinter's Morn aghast at presents 'neath the Yule tree. If so, it was much larger than he had imagined. Indeed, he had little idea of just what could be imagined of something transparent.
It held a certain luminosity of itself, however, and as it came to hover silently above them, it glowed even brighter with a blueish sheen about the edges.
'Fa'ilte,' came a deep voice which seemed to resound within their mind, giving good greeting of welcome in Gaelic, and Yeats recognized the voice of Axelis:
'Fa'ilte, to our long-chogaidh!'
In another moment, Shane felt his feet leave the ground, as he held Thelene's hand on their skyward journey into the belly of the Crystal Ship. He would have been the happiest of men then, if not for that one last greeting, for Yeats recognised the Irish for 'War-Ship.'
* * * *
.:...the Supernatural Mistress entices the Hero to a...world where he is sometimes instructed by a kinsman on his way to the perilous terrain of the bride...in the adventures of Conle, he is consumed by longing after seeing the beautiful fairy woman and hearing her song about 'This Plain of Delights' and when she appears, he springs into her Ship of Glass, and 'from that day forward, they were never seen again.':.
--from Celtic Heritage
--Alwyn Rees and Brinley Rees
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