Chapter 28 - Halloween Awaits the Midnight Hour

Chapter 28 - Halloween Awaits the Midnight Hour

I forbid you Maidens all          
That wear gold in your hair        
  To travel to Cartehaugh            
For young Tam Lin is there


None that go by Cartehaugh
But they leave him a pledge
Either their mantles of green
Or else their maidenhead


Janet tied her kirtle green
A bit above her knee
And she's gone to Cartehaugh
As fast as go can she


But tonight is Hallowe'en
 and the faery folk do ride
Those that would their true love win
 at Miles Cross they must bide

--Tam Lin

                          . . . . .


..:It is not uncommon to hear about someone who has spent an hour dancing inside a Faerie mushroom ring discovering that a year has passed outside; or about a captive held for a week inside a Faerie mound discovering that seven years has passed when he is released; or a hero living with a Faerie maiden on a Faerie island for six months discovering that four hundred years have passed on Earth. And there is no single standard for time conversion; time in Faerieland is as mercurial as the Faeries themselves:..

                           * * * *

Emlyn sat alone in the alcove after Jeanne and Bridget had been called away. She didn't mind having a small space in which to gather her thoughts for a time. As she watched the band play and the dancers circling the floor, she recalled having sat here with Jack, back on that Midwinter's Night when the Timequake had taken her from him during the ball...and another one due soon, Daryl had warned. She wondered what Jack was up to now...



She noted a shadow approach from around the pillar. Daryl stood before her. 'May I join you?




                    

'Please.' Em smiled up at him as he took the seat beside her. She noticed then, Yvonna gaily tripping about the floor with a tall fair gentleman dressed as a hussar.
   'Yvonna is enjoying herself,' she noted.



Daryl smiled. 'Yvonna always makes certain of that. I believe she will be thus occupied for a little while...' he sighed and leaned back against the wall, crossing his knees.  'I'm glad of the chance to rest a bit.' He took out his fob watch and frowned at it. 'Midnight is but an hour away.'




'Are you still expecting--'



'Hush! Let us not speak of it...for now. Let us just say that, for Cinderella, midnight doth have it's import. Time is of the essence.' He gazed at Em searchingly.
  'Myth and legend, again. Why is it, do you suppose, Emlyn, that people are so captivated by such tales? Especially those of the disposessed hero who seeks to reclaim his, or her, rightful place and position, as a lost prince or princess, usually, hm?'




'I'm not sure...the Fall, perhaps? This 'genetic memory' you spoke of, if it's real, would be the same for us all then.' Em pondered. 'We remember, maybe, or our genes do, a former exhalted state, and we feel somehow, lost, away from it.'





Daryl regarded her. 'Indeed, Em. Just so. But do you know what the Fall was, really?'
   She shook her head. 'Perhaps not. I know different versions of what we're told it was, but what it truly signified, I don't really know.'





'For your consideration, then: physical entrapment upon a third-dimensional world, basically, is all that it is. And I do mean 'entrapment', as in; we were tricked into it, and it is a hard trap to attempt escape from. In my time, it is referred to as 'The Matrix' from a popular, ah, tale of the 21st century.'
Daryl took two ciders from a servitor with a passing tray, handing one to Em.




'But, it's all only 'a tale, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing' as everyone prefers to think of it. The Cathars and the Gnostics knew differently however: Gnosis: 'to know'-- knowledge, Em! That is the true power, the only power that can save us from the trap. The truth shall set you free.'




'And what IS truth, O Druid, wise?' Em took a sip of cider, hiding a small smile.




'I'll tell you!' Daryl let her jibe slide off his steel-plated ducksback, no stopping him... '"Know Thyself".'





'That's it?' Em raised a brow, sure there was more. There always was, with Uncle Daryl.





Daryl sighed. 'I can't tell you, Em. No one can. THAT is what you must believe, above all else: to discover your own truth and to know it, in your bones.' He nodded. 'Not to let another tell you what is so. Especially priests or the government...' he frowned as he gazed about, as if expecting an errant bishop or city councilman skulking like a poltroon....




'C'mon Daryl,' she nudged him, most un-Emlynlike, and grinned.
'How about a wee hint?'





He looked at her, eyebrows skyward. 'Alright. If you insist: keep on your toes, Em. Beware temptation. That, was our failing and our Fall from grace. Ah, the so-called 'Garden of Earthly Delights'! Don't believe it!' He gazed into his cider.
  'Such temptations are how we lost our 'wings'...'




'...Apple cider?' Em's lips still wore the ghost of a smile.





Daryl nodded, looking absurdly grave as his longish hair fell into his eyes. 'That. And...' He looked up and gazed at Yvonna as she laughed, spinning in the handsome gent's arms, as they turned about the room. '...and, other things.'
  He looked at Em then. 'I think you know what I mean. You've experienced some of the other world. Would you trade time spent there, with the sundry supposed 'charms' of this?' Em shook her head, quiet now.
  'I thought not. Because you know the difference. And, you are AWARE of a world beyond this...this, this modern world's cheap imitation of life! Life underground, no air no water; not from any natural state. A cruel mockery.' Daryl glanced again at his watch. 'But, most, are not thus aware...'




'Genetics, again, Daryl?' Em mused, trying to recall all her pieces of mind-puzzles.




'Yes, in part. Not specific genetics, Em; it's wrong to concentrate on that aspect. Your questions about your family in particular, that is why I've spoken of it much.
  'But, everyone, we all, upon this planet, are the disposessed. We ALL are the lost princes and princesses, we all seek the missing Keys to the Kingdom. Most give up and buy the accepted view of Science and Logic: The World Is Only As You See It. But, unless one believes differently, that is all one will ever see: more of the same dull, flat, mundane world...our thoughts help create our reality, our belief system. Saying one will only believe it when one sees it, only guarantees the continued failure of ever seeing, or believing.
  'Or, one could throw themselves upon the mercy of priests or 'salvation' by proxy. Amazing, that; I've always thought!' He shook his head as if in wonder.




'This is the only difference in genetics between those like ourselves, and the rest; except for some, like the Buddha, who could see beyond...Fulcanelli, Flamel...we are aided by our genetics, to know and discover as truth, the knowledge available to all. We have that built-in compass; the ability to see what is real, and what isn't. Many do not. That is why, with great knowledge, comes great responsibility; to help others, our brothers and sisters still lost, wandering, suffering, in the seemingly endless cycle of birth and rebirth.'





'Why is it so, Diego? For what purpose are we kept here?'




'One might ask, for whose purpose, Em...' Daryl leaned forward now, arms upon knees. 'You know of other realms. In some of these other realms, are beings one might say, who, although they abhor our reality, knowing it for the trap that it is,  they feed upon it. Upon us. We are food to them. Alas, Em, that is all this planet is: a huge farm.'




Emlyn didn't quite know what to make of this. 'Indeed?'




May as well just come right out with it, Daryl thought. He looked at Em sideways.
  'Yes. They feed upon our emotions, strong emotions.
They are especially enamoured of wars.' He frowned. 'Wars they love. Such intense emotions! Pain, despair, violence. And those puppets among us, engendering the wars for the puppet-masters, believe they're necessary. Even right. And these people have children! Who will in their turn, be sent off to war...
 'Convince people that the material world is the only reality and they will become maddened with fear and greed, believing that non-existence is the only 'reality' outside of scrabbling in the rat-race for more rat-room: for more bodies, making more garbage, and less air, less water. Who cares? Not the puppet-masters. They're far above all that. Who cares for the conditions of the cattle to be slaughtered for meat?'




Well, that would explain why there are always  so many...never-ending wars, Emlyn thought wearily.




'Yes. They sip up our fears, greed, anxieties, passions, pain, like the vampires that they are. That's why we are here. And they are there. They know it is a trap; third-dimensional reality. One is stuck. One is vulnerable. And, one is eager, perforce, to end that less-than-desirable state! And so folk look to others, outside themselves for comfort and escape from pain! Which leads to only more of the same...
 'And, so goes the merry-go-round... It isn't an easy thing, to stand on one's own, and to seek beyond the comfort zone for hard-won truths. Few even try.
 'Beware addiction to counterfeit pleasures, Em. Pleasure and true satisfaction are different things. You have experienced true ecstacy, Emlyn. Do not trade that knowledge for a shiny fairy trinket, glittering today, gone to dust tomorrow.'



And between today and tomorrow, would be Tonight, thought Em, her mind racing with Daryl's disclosures. Somehow, though, her thoughts kept returning to Jack.




Suddenly, Daryl leaned toward her and reached out, taking her moonstone necklace in hand. It was the only piece of jewelry she wore tonight.
..
   He looked into her eyes then. 'Jack isn't coming. Is he?'





Emlyn returned his stare, although it wasn't easy looking into that stern grey gaze.
  'No...I don't believe that he is...'




Dary turned his nose up then, letting the moonstone drop back round her neck. 'I see.'




Emlyn felt quite flustered. 'He, Jack, sent a letter to the house, ah, asking me if I'd be coming there, well, to Jethro's tonight. I suppose they were having a barn dance...' she trailed off. She felt rather as though she was caught making flimsy excuses.



'Yes?' Was Daryl's prompt. When Em stayed silent, he sighed.
'Well, nothing for it now!' He frowned then. 'So, that's where Jack is tonight...and this is the same place you saw Morgana?
--Where this barn dance is?' His eyes drilled into Em's, as if hard staring would elicit the truth from her.




'It, is...yes.' Em's turn to sigh. 'I saw Morgana and Flubber, ah, John there. When she put that spell upon him...he was...immobilized.' Emlyn was now catching some of Daryl's anxiety.
  Jack...! This was surely his fault...she tried to warn him and he seemed to ignore it all! Frankly, she'd thought that maybe he was looking forward to seeing Morgana! Em had to admit that had put her off a bit. But, for whatever reason, she had accepted his assurance that there was nothing they could do about it...




Daryl had slumped forward again, hands clasped together, elbows on knees. He glared at the party ongoing all about them.
  'A Binding Spell. Well. Nothing we can do about it, NOW.' He looked at her and frowned once more. Then slowly shook his head.




They both looked up to find Connor standing at his side, violin in hand. 'Tis soon midnight. Would you honor us with some music, Diego?'






Daryl smiled sideways. 'Of course. Em, if you will excuse me.' He shot her a warning glance neath furrowed brows. 'You will take care!' he whispered harshly, rising. Then, taking the proferred violin, he and Connor strode off toward the bandstand.





The crowd was gathered about, talking, munching apple tarts and nutmeats, sipping ciders, laughing and generally making merry as Connor took a seat at the grand and Allyn's band tuned up behind. Daryl plucked afew strings, running the bow across, acessing the sound...




Emlyn rose and moved a little toward them, lingering on the outside of the group clustered about the dance floor. She chewed her lip in thought and tapped her nails against her cider cup, her mind rummaging about the piles of information Daryl had just dumped there, and trying to sort it all into some semblance of order; for later cross-referencing.
  She noted Yvonna, with her fair hussar at her side, standing now before Daryl, smiling. She did appreciate his music, at least.





Daryl leaned over and whispered into Connor's ear, who nodded, then gave the band the key. The lights dimmed somewhat, and Em noted Bridget had capped and doused some candles about. People began to quiet down and then, nodding, Daryl counted off.
   The flute player in the Bards began to pipe a haunting intro...




Daryl put bow to strings and then soft, yet insistent music wafted from his flying fingers as he ripped into Mendelssohn's 'Midsummer Night's Dream'...






All about, one could nearly hear a collective sigh of pleasure as Daryl and the piper soared upon the sound. It was clearly a favorite of the Druids and guests gathered here tonight. Connor was grinning hugely as he accompanied on piano, and, although the tune was more suited for an orchestra, here in this intimate venue, the music was strangely stirring.





Emlyn found herself nearly holding her breath, watching Daryl. She recalled that evening she first heard him play, back in Sonora, when he strolled into the gypsy camp and took the audience hostage with his awesome, infernal genius.

Tonight was no different. His fingers flew like lightning over the instrument...he seemed a man on fire, posessed. He was a force of nature, and somehow, something apart from the rest here. People intuited this about him, Em felt, and although all were sociable enough, folk did not feel altogether comfortable in his presence for long, she noticed.
  However, by the second movement, couples began to dance rather a waltz about the room to the incidental music. Others soon joined them and the spell eased somewhat as though the guests sought to reassure themselves that all was, in sooth, just another ordinary Hallow's Eve gathering...




Suddenly, Emlyn began to feel as though someone was watching her. And, just then, during a soft interlude, as if on cue, the clock began to strike the hour of twelve...
  She turned her head slowly, and, around the corner by the alcove, she saw him.

Her hand moved to clasp her moonstone, Gwydion's eyes noticed, and his lips did slowly smile then. Em swallowed, feeling nearly as though caught in a binding spell herself...she was only moon-struck, however.
 




Only because she knew him, intimately, she felt, was she even able to recognize him; for he seemed utterly Other than when they had met in the hills upon Beltane. Indeed, he vied with Daryl in OtherWorldliness and outshone him by half again.



Here, or perhaps Now, Tonight, at The Stroke of Midnight;
Gwydion stood like unto his namesake, the Magician Trickster-Hero and Son of Don, shining with a light all his own, and yet, as Em noted his shape against the candleabra, he appeared to cast no shadow...





Stunned still, Emlyn couldn't make a move. Gwydion, however, seemed to glide over beside her.
  'Noswaith dda,' he spoke soft and low into her ear, as he took her hand and placed within it two red roses.




...She'd not pulled a double rose
A rose but only two
When up there came young Tam Lin
Says "Lady, pull no more"




...The ballad of Tam Lin came to Em then...
Emlyn glanced down at ripe red roses. 'Diloch yn fawr, Gwydion...' she managed, then gazed up at him at last. It was her undoing...




He was regarding her with his deep green-grey gaze, alike and yet so different from Daryl's...where Daryl's eyes were usually veiled, Gwydion's spoke volumes. Volumes which would be banned from a library's shelf...





He spoke then, 'Back in Wales, on Nos Galan Gaeof, a maiden would take two roses and twine them thus...' he circled one thornless stem about the other, wrapping Emlyn's hands about them, '...and, naming one for herself and one for her sweetheart, would she then say:

"Twine, twine and intertwine,
Let this love be wholly mine.
If our hearts be kind and true,
Deeper grow our roses hue."




Emlyn looked upon her roses which, indeed, were turning a darker burgundy red.
 'Oh!' She blushed in accidental imitation.




Nos Galan Gaeof was indeed a night of mystery and magic. Well, Em, she told herself, you are here with Gwydion ap Don, perhaps. This is no barn dance, my girl...yet, despite all the careful cautions of Uncle Daryl issued just minutes before, Em felt herself being swept away with one fell swoop of Gwydion's fey cloak.




He took said cloak in hand and gestured, indicating the dance. 'May I have the honor, Lady?'




And so she was swept up as within the dark cloak of Oberon, into the masquerade and the music. As they swirled and glided around the dance floor, she regarded him and his languid look which seemed to drown her in deep pools of green and grey and russet brown...triple-irised, again, she noted...like Daryl's.




As they neared the bandstand and twirled about, Emlyn beheld Daryl's dark gaze bearing down upon her, frowning and, if possible, a sort of reddish, smoky miasma which seemed to be emanating from him...
  Surely that couldn't be good.




'What else does one do, in Wales, upon Nos Galan Gaeof?' Emlyn turned back to Gwydion and sought a safe, neutral conversation.




He smiled, playing along. 'Well, there is the November Eve bonfire, of course, called Coel Coeth. That, all Kelts enjoy throughout the Isles.
Prognostications are made. And, ever since King Cadwallo decorated his soldiers with leeks for their valor in a battle by a leek-garden, they have been held in high esteem in Wales.' He smiled at Em.
 'A girl will stick a knife among leeks at Hallowe'en, and walks backward out of the garden...she returns later to find that her future husband has picked up the knife and thrown it into the center of the leek-bed.'




'Indeed?' Em thought that unlikely somehow. She guessed you had to be there. 'Roses and leeks...well, I suppose a leek by any other name would taste as sweet.'




Gwydion laughed, as he spun her about. He held her close then, and smiled, his merry gaze drinking her in.
  'Ah..."the lunatic, the lover and the poet,"' He quoted from the play which inspired this music of the Hollow Hills and spared a glance toward the musicians. 'One of my favorites, this. How about you?'




'Oh, absolutely! The music does carry one away, somehow!' Emlyn was ready...




'And, "If music be the food of love, play on!"' Gwydion's gaze deepened, and Em felt herself falling, floating away upon it...
All else about them fell away and the others about them faded to mere vapors; Gwydion spun Emlyn off to the side, put his cheek beside hers and pulled her to him, 'I see you found my moonstone.' He looked at her once more, 'I left it for you, you know. For, come break of day, we must away...'
  They turned again and he held her close, whispering low: 'I have missed you long and long, my Lady,' his voice was low and purred in her ear, '...the nights have been cold, without you beside me..."O weary night! O, long and tedious night!"'
He smiled again, and whispered, '"...The iron tongue of midnight hath told twelve; Lovers, to bed; 'tis almost fairy time..."'




Em closed her eyes, nearly swooning in his arms... When she
again opened them, she saw the dance had ended and all stood applauding the musicians who bowed upon the stand...all but Daryl...
  Who, she saw then, was making his way through the crush of folk towards them, looking like thunder.




'Gwydion, let us go! Now!' She took his hand in hers and led him toward the back door, Daryl hot on their heels.
 The Fey Lord smiled at his victory and his eyes danced with lights as he wrapped his cloak about them both:
 '"Come my Queen, take hands with me. Now thou and I are new in amity!"' And, quoting Oberon, he fled with his Tatania from the ballroom and the heavy press of mortal flesh about them, and off into the night they sped; into the garden's maze of foliage and hedge.




'Oh, where can we go?' Em cast about her, looking for a way to escape.
  'The situation is well in hand, Lady, but hold me close and fear not. Do you go willingly with me, my Queen?' He wrapped his arms about her and spoke low into her ear, kissing her neck and folding his dark cape around them like night itself.




She looked at him and saw nothing but stars reflected in his eyes. She heard then the back door slam and could see Daryl searching about for them. 'Yes, yes! Let us away, quickly!'




And smiling a secret smile to himself, Gwydion held Emlyn close and sighed...as he exhaled; a soft, warm whirlwind commenced at their toes and traveled in waving spirals around them...

Emlyn closed her eyes, holding onto him for dear life, and felt something akin to diving in a warm pool. She chanced opening her eyes, to view a kind of glittering fog swirling, circling them both. She felt nothing beneath her feet, then; and as she looked up, she saw only the stars...pulsing, and bright, as they seemed to be traveling closer to them...





'Where do we travel?' Em's voice sounded strange to her ears, like speaking underwater, she imagined.




'We go to my keep: 'Caer Gwydion', my Queen.' His voice sounded odd also, as if down a well or echoing from within a deep cave.





'And where is that?' Em's voice warbled as though vibrating, and she noticed the stars looked thicker now, vaporous, diaphanous...




'Why, the "Castle of Gwydion", son of Don, is all the Milky Way, of course...'


                            . . . .



Daryl came tearing round the hedge, following their voices for a time, but found nothing. He could see their trace signatures there, glowing red still. On a hunch, he looked upward; thinking he saw Emlyn, alone, rising...only to behold but in a second, just trails of clouds, traveling fast and ever higher, against the wind...

                           

                             

                      

Watch AND LISTEN! TAM LIN by Fairport Convention

          http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jy3ihk205ew



                        

Chapter 27 - On The Winding Road to Hallowe'en

Chapter 27 - On The Winding Road to Hallowe'en




True Thomas lay on Huntlie Bank;
A ferlie spied he wi' his e'e;
And there he saw a ladye bricht
Come riding doun by the Eildon Tree.

Her skirt was o' the grass-green silk,
Her mantle o' the velvet fyne;
At ilk tett o' her horse's mane
Hung fifty silver bells and nine.


She took him on her milk-white steed
and carried him off to Elfhame,
till seven years were come and gane
True Thomas on earth was never seen.

                         . . . .


"Another power all Faeries share is glamour, the magic of illusion, whereby they can make people see whatever they wish them to see, or not see whatever they do not wish them to see. The aristocrats can create whole kingdoms with this power, whereas the smallest rustics can at least become invisible. Shape-shifting is also based on this power, and most Faeries have the ability to transform themselves into any form they desire, or to make themselves appear as tiny or as huge as they wish."

                       . . . .

..:Fri brichta ban ocus goband ocus druad.

Against the spells of women, of smiths and magicians:..



                          * * * *
                 
                           

Daryl sat back, and took a breath:
'Mitochondrial DNA regulates your cells. And all of your mitochondrial DNA is inherited from your mother's lineage.
They dictate cell's actions; when to divide, change, die, and
which genes are switched off or on in every cell. They provide fuel for establishing new neural networks. The source of energy which powers your life is the feminine life force, derived from your mother's family tree."




Daryl was in fine and loquacious form en route to the Leeks'. Emlyn and Rosa hung on every word, whilst Yvonna stifled a yawn behind a lace-gloved hand and stared out the window...
  'Da, da...Diego dahlink, must you hold science class on All Hallow's Eve? I thought we are going to a paah-tay.' Her lovely blue eyes managed to look bored and glassy behind the makeup.




Daryl took her hand and kissed it. 'My apologies, my contessa...it shall not happen again! And, as we are now arrived, I'm certain you shall find something here to pique your interest.' He winked at the girls and all turned to gaze out the windows as the carriage pulled up before the Leek House.

 
                           

They were not the first to arrive, but among the early guests still. Manuel drove away as Daryl escorted Yvonna, while Emlyn and Rosa linked arms together and followed, up the stairway and to the door where Connor stood awaiting them, his face a wide grin which matched the jack-o-lanterns scattered about the veranda. He looked natty in his Irish plaid kilt and handsome black jacket with silver double- breasted buttons.





'Ah, merry meet and welcome! We are soon to dine! This way, then!' And he escorted the party within, taking cloaks and hats and ushering all into the parlor. 'Bridget!' He called to his  lady who bustled out, looking very Queen of Elfhame in a delightful silver gown, her hair piled high about a headpiece of silver which looked rather like tree branches winding about a full moon.





'I adore your costume, Bridget!' Emlyn was impressed. And glad she hadn't chosen the silver gown of Yvonna's. 'And, you do know Yvonna, and Rosa, yes?' She did, in fact, all the guests were more or less known to one another from celebrations past. Em heard a soft plink of banjo in the corner and yes, as she guessed, there was Sophie, looking more chipper than last year certainly and even in a costume of sorts.




'I see you dressed up,' Em smiled at her as Sophie made room for her to sit, grinning back. She had deigned to wear a red dress and had fashioned a pair of red horns for her head.
  'Well, I couldn't very well be wearing a halo now, could I?' Sophie smirked, touching her horns and taking a sip of cider. 'Oh, that's all behind me now; I keep my hands in my own pockets, but, still...'
   Em grinned and hugged her wee friend. 'There'll be more musicians later. Just wait, Sophie, you'll hear some wonderful new songs tonight...' Emlyn knew that Allyn's band o'bards would center upon Celtic tunes for the evening. She couldn't wait...




Dinner was a jolly affair and Emlyn was pleased the Leeks had asked Sophie as well, who kept up with the conversations without a problem. Indeed, one of the elder druids had roped her into a long discussion regarding the merits of Bram Stoker's work...





Emlyn was enjoying herself. However, with Daryl paying proper attention to Yvonna, his date, Em felt somewhat bereft without Jack.  Oh, Allyn and the lads, as well as Jeanne and Shannon would be here later, but...well, Em supposed she had been partly at fault. She hadn't actually invited Jack.



                          . . . .
                       



The hoedown was in full swing long before the witching hour.
  It was quite a sight to see devils paired with angels, hobos dancing with queens, Cleopatra waltzing with a tall cowboy...
  'If we could get the Bosses to dance with Labor, that'd be something,' Aleister lighted a cigarillo as he took a break whilst Diana stepped out and about the floor with Homer; she in red dress and horns as well, while Homer had horns of another sort, upon a Viking helmet, while he'd rustled up a fur pelt of some unidentifiable creature to toss over his overalls, just as his ancestors had surely worn once upon a mythical time.





Jack also took a break, but mostly from playing with the band. He hadn't felt much like dancing without Emlyn, and in fact, found himself missing her. Thinking again, that perhaps he should have called, he finally gave up on her showing.
He sighed, 'Not gonna happen.'




'No,' Al agreed; he knew that Jack was awaiting Em in vain. 'You know, there are plenty of nice gals about, just dying for a turn around the floor, young man...'




'Yeah. Suppose.' The night was rather lingering, Jack decided. Maybe he could just turn in here...although sleep would be hard to find anywhere within a mile of the place.




'And who could this be?' Aleister pricked up his horns as a woman began circling the dance floor paired with a rather shorter gentleman, both masked; she in scarlet, her red hair done up in intricate braids about her head, with a masque of red feathers and beads, while he was in green velvet with a green derby and a plain green mask. He also wore a strange large red moustache making him appear rather like a bilious walrus.




'Can't imagine. Quite the pairs of opposites out there tonight though,' Jack allowed, not very interested still. 'I just think I'll head outside for some fresh air, Al.' And
away he took himself off into the darkness.





Jack leaned against the old oak tree and stared at the stars feeling sorry for himself. Although he knew he shouldn't...things were never easy between Emlyn and himself.
He should be used to that by now.





'Much cooler out here!' A low throaty feminine voice remarked at his side suddenly. The Lady in Red stood there, fanning herself with a black lace fan.

                     

  'Ah! How do you do, ma'am, eh, miss?' Jack nodded to the lady, hidden behind her masque. 'Enjoying the party?'




The woman regarded him briefly. 'I am now.' She fanned faster. 'I am rather thirsty, though, after all that dancing!'




Jack knew a cue when he heard one. 'I could just get us some cider, if you like...'





'Ah! But I've something much better, right here!' She fished out a flat silver flask from her pockets. She unstoppered the cork and took a dainty sip, passing it to Jack. 'It's made from many herbal distillations, rather like Benedictine...an old family recipe. Try some?'





               

'Don't mind if I do,' Jack, ever willing, tried a sip. Then another. 'That's tasty.' He sipped once more. 'Hard to figure out exactly what would be in it...' He handed the flask over.




'I would tell you the recipe...but then I would have to kill you...' she purred, as she corked it and sheathed it within the folds of her gown. 'Subir le charme de quelqu'un...' she whispered in his ear, then melted away into the night...


                              . . . .


Meanwhile, back at the Leeks'...Emlyn was both charmed and charming.

  With the arrival of Jeanne, Shannon and Allyn and the rest of the Blackpool Bards, the party was begun in earnest and the bards even invited Sophie to sit in on banjo, to her delight. The songs all were old and so akin to American folk songs that she followed chord changes easily and let them do the singing.




And, in Celtic music, there was no wanting for songs with tales of the Fay and witches and full moon nights filled with stardust and fairydust, kidnappings under the hillsides and young men and women gone astray for a year and a day...



"As moonlight fell upon the hill,
 the mist rolled grey and red
There was in every hollow 'neath,
 a hundred Twlwth Teg
Bwcca; Pwcca; Bwganod all shimmered as a dream
Hoblin; Goblin; Boobach dance in flowing robes of green

Hear me calling, hear me calling, calling my loves

Arise come home, the living stones at night are drawing in
Before the dawn the day was born their breath is on the wind
The dogs of darkness on the road beneath the glimmering spheres
The Cwn Annwn, the hounds of death with white and blood tipped ears

Hear me calling ....

I'll follow you, I'll follow you, I'll lead you all around
In and out and back again, the other way around..."


WATCH AND LISTEN! BLUEHORSES!! click link below:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_89Bux2ukwo

''Calling My Loves', was one of Emlyn's favorite tunes by -Bluehorses, a Welsh band, and she was eager to dance, even with Connor... Jack had taught the song to Allyn at the equinox festival, she knew. Oh, Jack...why was it never easy between them?




Emlyn sat the next one out, and looked about for her friends:
Shannon was on the dance floor, as usual, but she found  Jeanne in an alcove, talking with Bridget.

 


'Ah, Emlyn fach, do join us!' Bridget called her over and moved aside for her on the seat. 'We were just speaking of the fate of Pagan Celtic Goddesses after Padriac and his christoforos attempted amalgamation in the name of conquering the old gods.
  'Indeed, t'was what became of my namesake, the Goddess Brigid. Brigid was written into Christian belief by the monastic scribes. And so she keeps her place as the daughter of The Dagda of the Tuatha DÈ Danann.
  'So, celebrated still, is she, in the pagan Gaelic festival of Imbolg on 1st February. And she also pulls a double shift, as Saint Brigid in the Roman Catholic Church whose feast day falls on the same date.'





'She is a hard worker, that Bridget!' Jeanne nodded. 'Indeed, wasn't she also a smithy goddess? She also has a triple aspect, does she not?' Jeanne winked at Em.






                  

Bridget smiled at the two women. 'She has many aspects and is indeed seen all about the fair isles...St. Bride is referred to as "the Shepherdess of the flocks" and St. Brigid, Mary of the Gael. Specially associated with the 6th-century St. Brigid, and near Dun I, is The Well of Eternal Youth. And, indeed, the Hebrides simply means ëThe Islands of Bride or Brigidí.
  'And, Jeanne: ancient Celtic myths speak of Brigid visiting Iona at midnight on the summer solstice. It is said that she blesses the waters of this little pool so that they carry healing for those who seek renewal. Pilgrims often wash their faces in this well or sip from its waters as a way of seeking new beginnings in their lives and world.'




The three sat and sipped cider a moment digesting all Bridget had said. Emlyn felt she had been speaking straight to her; she needed a renewal, and a new start in life.
  'Celtic New Year begins tonight,' she said, 'for me, it will be a new beginning as well.'





'That's always good, Em. But first, let us honor that which has gone before,' and Bridget stood then. 'Soon, it is time to commune with the ancestors, and to seek their counsel for the coming year...'


                           . . . .


Those who wished repaired slowly outdoors to the garden in back of the house, where the big cauldron stood on it's tripod over the coals of the fire. Another, larger fire burned in the brick fireplace upon the patio, decorated round about with jack-o-lanterns, corn rigs and Bridget's Crosses; and there were kept also large kettles of hot cider and mulled wine for folk to gather near and keep warm meanwhile.




Emlyn noted Sophie was at the head of the line this night for her curiosity was great regarding her heritage, being an orphan. Em knew that she had had an aunt once, however, when very young, who had died, but long ago she had at least discovered she was of Jewish descent.
   Rosa was in line with her, and Em found it curious to see the sophisticated Yvonna also lined up with Daryl. Although Madame scoffed at most things she deemed 'impractical', Em knew she also had a deep rather mystical bent, which surprised them occasionally.




Emlyn listened to the beat of the drum and the soft piping of the wooden recorder as they waited in line, speaking softly or just silently musing, as was she.
   All of Bridget's talk of Triple Goddess, and the history of the matriarchal culture and dieties, both male and female, the Celtic Stag King and the Maid of the Greenwood; usurped by the bloodthirsty male religions came back to Em as she stood pondering.




Something about that, and Daryl's talk earlier regarding the matrilinear cell stucture of genes, ran wild round  Emlyn's mindscape, whilst she tried to catch the bits of information and somehow fit them altogether into a complete view...of, Something. It meant Something important, Em knew. If only she could see the whole picture...



Suddenly she found herself at The Cauldron of the Ancestors.
Again, as before, she could see nothing but the swirling oily liquid making rainbows of color on the surface, cloudy patches beneath...




                   

   ....And then, she thought she could see men walking through woodlands along a river's edge. They seemed to be a band of men, hot, sweating and slapping at flies, and they met up with another group of men at the river, with odd oval boats which looked to be made of wood bound with animal skins...
   The vision focused upon one tall man, stern faced, a long straight nose, black hair and a grey searching gaze...
 




The scene changed...
It seemed at first to be the same woodland and the same river view, but there were modern houses about now. She saw a woman at a window who looked like pictures of her mother; who was staring outside, then shut the curtain, and began to run about, locking doors, running downstairs into a basement, and
moving a large chest, opening a small doorway behind it, and
then bending to head within the opening...




And then, the ocean. This was completely different. Figures were walking down the beach toward her...small forms and behind, taller ones. She had a good feeling about these as yet indistinct folk...and as they neared, she could recognize Anara in front, with Thelene and Mr. Yeats, and Axelis in the rear. He was smiling and seemed to be beckoning to her...




Then, darkness. That was all. Emlyn moved away...

                          . . . .


Jack, meanwhile, was beginning to feel, well, drunk.
He hadn't had alot of cider, or jack...not when he wanted to play well. Could have been that liquor the masqued woman had given him, but he'd had only a couple sips. Strong stuff...
   He yawned and staggered into the house. Well, it was getting late and he'd felt ready to turn in rather a while ago, so, why not...




He wandered past stray folks sitting talking, a soft guitar played somewhere; 'Heya, Cousin Jack!' and, 'Heythere, Jack Horner!' a couple of the boys called out...he just smiled and nodded and waved to all, and continued down the rambling hallway to his usual guest room and flopped on the bed. Wuf! What a night!
  'Like Jack Horner...inna corner...don' go nowhere, whaddo I care...your kizzes are worth waitin' for...' he sang to himself, 'Ain't mizbehavin'...savin'...'
  --Suddenly he felt rather dizzy and saw odd shapes when he closed his eyes...what was in that stuff? Best sleep it off, Jack, he told himself, barely getting his boots off before he was out like a light.




Jack was dreaming...he must be...he felt overly warm, and something was in his hair...he groaned and tried to roll away, but he seemed to be held by something.
  'L'amour ne ce raisonne pas...' Love knows no reason? Where did that come from? Now he could discern a voice swimming up into his conscious mind...speaking French.
   Surely he was dreaming still...? Something, felt like cold fingers, dragged through his hair...he tried to shake his head, frowned. Was someone here? 'Emmm...?' his voice sounded muffled, his mouth wouldn't work right. 'Emlyn?' He tried to move an arm, light a candle, but he was held down. Now he figured it out: something, or someone, was atop of him.
...Did one of the hounds get in here...?




'La nuit tous les chats sount grit,'
-- All cats are grey in the dark? What the hell?
  Cool fingers slid down his hot cheek, down his neck, opened his shirt buttons...sliding underneath...ah, that felt good, coolness...he moaned as the weight on him shifted and his shirt was slipped off. Ah, cooler. That was better. He tried to open his eyes, but they seemed almost weighted down.




'Non, non, mon cher,' the cool fingers were back, soothing his fevered brow. Soft perfumed kisses danced gently upon his eyelids, cheek, his mouth.
 He groaned...'Emmm...c'mere...' He rolled on his side, put out an arm and grasped cool silky satin...dream or no, it was a good one...




'Oui, mon cheri...' The satin slipped from his grasp, and was heard falling to the floor, as the cool fingers continued their journey trailing along his chest, splayed over his stomach, making him chuckle as they tickled, then lower, helping him out of his jeans...first the belt went, then slow unbuttoning...pants and shorts hit the floor as well.





Now a cool, silky limb snaked along Jack's naked legs, a foot encircled his ankle and gently felt along his calf, whilst
cold arms strangely scented with some strong herbal smell, wrapped about his shoulders and the long fingers began stroking his arms...dragging long nails behind...
  It was a good dream, wasn't it...?



'Oui, cheri, only a dream, but the best you shall ever have. It's all a play, just a play and the best is when we jouer avec la feu...play with the fire, non?' The purring voice was whispering at his ear, and a warm tongue licked it...making him think of grey cats...
...all the same in the dark...licking...




The cat was licking his lips now, kissing him, eating him up like a bowl of cream...the cool fingers stroked up his arms, and down his chest, to his hips and beyond...a silky strong thigh inserted itself between his legs and as the big cat curled herself about him, he felt a soft cool breast upon his, and he began to dream in earnest...



Hungry now, the cat's hot tongue thrust into his mouth and snaked about, while the cool fingers played with the fire below...Jack groaned as the big cat climbed upon him and the cold arms held him fast. He thought surely his skin was steaming... The cat fastened her mouth upon his, and held him tight as she growled, making Jack think of the old tales of cats sucking the breath out of children...

'Vogue la gale're!' The cat groaned in his ear.
 What, Jack wondered...row the galley?




The kisses recommenced, wilder--licking, biting his lips, his ear, all down his neck...and the tantalizing fingertips stroked softly, and clasped him tight. Man alive!...this was the oddest dream in French he'd ever had. But actions spoke louder than words...and, in the dark, in the deep night, in the pause between worlds which was Hallowe'en...Jack began to row...


                            . . . .









                            . . . .

Chapter 26 - Quesas, quesas, quesas...

Chapter 26 - Quesas, quesas, quesas...
                         . . . .
The Morrigan means, ‘Phantom Queen.’ Viewed  as one of the destructive aspects of the Triple Goddess.  Her other forms are Badhbh, which means ‘Frenzy,’ and Nemhain, which means ‘Crow or Raven.’  The Morrigan appears as a singular being as both a war goddess and enchantress with prophetic powers,
comparable to Circe, Kali or a female version of Loki.
  She would act charming to heroes when in fact she was intent upon their undoing.
                            . . . .
"Heavens defend me from that Welsh fairy,
Lest he transform me to a piece of cheese!”
Shakespeare's: Merry Wives of Windsor
                                     
                         *  *  *  *

Emlyn found herself still catching up on her birthday, weeks later, like. One thing had led to another and it was the 30th suddenly, and again, she was with friends celebrating All Hallows Season, their mutual birthdays, and Celtic New Year's.
 Tomorrow being All Hallow's Ev'en. Hallowe'en. Samhain.
--At Last...!


Emlyn couldn't help her wee self. It had been quite the solar return...this past year had been a year of changes and passages, in many ways. It took long and long to catch up with oneself, she was discovering.

Howsomever, in the midst of all this activity, she would suddenly, at times, find herself standing quite still.
It was most strange...she'd always either been on the old work schedule/routine, or...? She couldn't recall any other. But lately...it was rather incredible; to find a moment without duty or demands of work. Yes, most odd, indeed.
  She rather liked it. She sighed. Closest she'd been to la Villa Encantada.


And, she was actually becoming excited.
This year's Samhain she felt inclined toward honoring Dia de los Muertos and bringing the remembrances of ancestors.
   She'd also heard from Jeanne and Shannon; they were en route, and: Allyn's Merrie Band o'Bards were hired on by the Leeks for the evening's entertainment and dancing.
(Perhaps Em had put in a word, true). So, for the Cornish, 'Allantide' would abide with the Leeks, indeed.


She'd recently received a letter from Jack however, wherein he'd hoped that she would 'make it out here to Jethro's Danish Welsh Greek Amphitheatre, for their Halloween Hoedown!' Well!
  Em thought about that. No mention of, 'I'll gladly meet you at the station and we'll away to the most magical night of the year...!'
  No.
Just: she could 'make it out there'.
   Hm. She may have been born after 1860, but she wasn't born yesterday...


And so, as custom did dance trippingly, so did Em follow the tune, and find herself meeting up with some old druid pals at a well-known eatery in midtown; where, all agreed, the best cornmeal crust pies were to be found, and well worth the wait.
 It was warm, crowded, dark and delicious. The company found a corner booth and ordered libations.


'...I'd like to, I truly would, Emlyn fach, but, the City, is a long road. If, however, the druids back home decide to make the trip, I may show yet, we'll see...' Clare took the conversation inside with them as they settled in to the companionable clamor.


'Yes, San Francisco is becoming home now.' Em allowed. 'Well, for time being, at least...I have to make a choice sometime. Too much work otherwise, trying to live in two places! But, the amphitheatre was a great success, you know!'
  She had to give the lads that. Not that she hadn't helped as well!
  'I'd head on, but, I've already made plans in the City with the Leeks. It's the Welsh in me, can't pass up the Leeks!' This gave them a larf all round.
  'You're always welcome at Nob Hill House! Now or any other time,' she told her friends.
  'So, Thomas the Rhymer, what be your plans this Nos Galan Gaeaf?'


'Avoiding crossroads at midnight, stiles, cutty black sows,  graveyards and mausoleums,' was Tom's cryptic reply.

Emlyn recited:
'"A cutty black sow
On every stile
Spinning and carding
Every Allhallows' Eve"'

'That's the one.' Thomas nodded, unfolding a parchment wrapped about a square of chocolate, and broke it into three pieces. Each took a piece and let it melt smoothly upon the tongue.
'Your tongue will dance trippingly now.' Tom informed them.


'Diloch!' Em thanked him for sharing of the sacrament, the sacred herb-infused chocolate used for skrying this time of year, or simply for merry-making and celebration. Em did use it for all. But she had hoped for a special connection this year, either with her Triad or, perhaps, as Daryl had foretold, if the Sidhe did indeed ride out upon a rade again...and if Gwydion were there, she might just save him a dance...or twa.
 

She fell into recitation once more--
 (She blamed her tripping tongue:)
'"But as it fell out on last Hallowe'en
When the Seely Court was ridin' by
The queen lighted down on a gowan bank
Not far from the tree where I wont to lye..."'


Clare looked up at her then, 'Are you expecting a visit from the Gentry this year, Em?'


'More hoping than expecting let us say. I may...you know, just make a space of welcoming...just in case they do Ride...' Em was becoming flushed, she felt. Goodness, it was warm in here...


Thomas and Clare exchanged glances. Tom spoke up, 'Well,  I wouldn't doubt then, that they do show...and, you may as well now know, that however prepared you are, you surmise, you may find yourself still quite taken by surprise...'

                                . . . .

Emlyn was still thinking on this the next day when she was preparing her pumpkin breads for the feast that night at the Leek's...let's see...some with nutmeats and some without, (she hoped that Clare would show), and added just a bit of vanilla, molasses and ginger, nutmeg and cloves...that did the trick. And, popping the loaves into the oven, she washed up and removed her apron. Now, what was next on her to-do list for the evening's preparation prior to celebration?


'You know I don't mind cooking with the calabasitas...' Rosa stood, hands on hips, surveying 'her' kitchen. Em smiled; she and Daryl had sworn to her that they would deal with the
pumpkins, fearing she might flee...but Rosa actually loved them. And there weren't so many of them this year...(so far).


'I know, Rosita...' Em put an arm about her shoulders. 'We just wanted to make sure we wouldn't scare you off!' She squeezed her friend in a quick hug. 'You are coming tonight, aren't you?'


'Oh, you bet your boots!' Rosa grinned, taking a seat upon a counter stool. 'I may even dress up!'


'Wonderful! I'd love to help you, if you like!' Em was always thrilled with costuming.



'I am going as Senorita Calavera. You may help paint my face, if you like. And, come November, we'll make sugar skulls.' She regarded Em,  'Are you going in costume as well?'


Em wasn't sure...perhaps she would mix things up abit, not having anything particular in mind. 'I don't know. I think I shall just play about and see what I come up with. If you have any suggestions, let me know...'


Rosa nodded. 'We'll search the closets,' her eyes traveled upstairs, 'and see what we can unearth later, si?'

                          . . . .

Later found them both upstairs with all about them nearly completely covered by clothing; dresses, skirts, petticoats, scarves, shawls, shoes, hats, everything everywhere on anything not moving...


'This lace shawl would complement that dress, thus...' Em held it up to Rosa who turned about before the mirror, frowning....
  'I don't know, Em...it is quite enough, already, don't you think?'
  Em draped the black lace over Rosa's shoulders and ran her finger along the fringe. 'It suits you so well, though, see? And how beautifully it flows...you know you love to dance, Rosa!'


Rosa just smiled. 'We'll see. Alright then! I'm done! And just look at this place! Oh, Em...and what have you decided upon?' She shook her head, gathering up scarves and hats.
'Anything?'
   'Oh, leave it, Rosa...I'll put this all back. I'm still...deciding.  Just come get me when you're ready for your makeup!' Em ushered Rosa out the door, making sure she took the shawl, and that she would spend more time just getting ready for tonight, and not working.


Well, what would she decide upon? Em rarely bought clothes...she hadn't time or inclination. Her money went upon books, sheet music, travel... She gazed about at the women's wear here offered, wondering how or why Daryl had so much in the way of ladies clothing. She smiled slightly; none of it looked likely to fit him...so that wee idiosyncrasy was out. She supposed it had all just been here at the house...along with her mother's cameo...


Em had looked around for other jewelery and hadn't really found much. Daryl had saved that cameo for her then, somehow. She put such enigmas out of her mind for the nonce, and tried to find something suitable...something she could easily dance in, neither too hot or too cold...she sighed; she was starting to sound like Goldilocks.


A knock sounded at the door. 'Come!' Em called, expecting Rosa back again.
  Daryl poked his head around the door frame. 'Hola!'

'Daryl!' Em was dressed, but she still was rather discomfited but his sudden appearance.


'You are expecting maybe Tam Lin?'  Daryl sidled into the room. 'What happened here?' He surveyed the hurricane-tossed room. 'Looks like hobgoblins were tearing through the closet! Bit early still...'


Em bit her lip; she had to agree...'Well, Rosa found just the dress and shawl, and hat, she thought would do well for her, but I'm still rather, undecided...'


'Ah. Well, Yvonna did suggest that you might wish to look at a couple of things...just a moment...'
  Daryl disappeared back round the door and was heard rustling up something.  Soon enough, he was back, and holding
onto a couple of lengthy gowns; these he spread out on the pile already covering the bed, one silver and one a sort of blueish-black.


'Hmmm...' Emlyn approached tentatively...that's right, Yvonna was coming with Daryl tonight. Good of her to think of me, but oh, I'd have to take up the hemline on any of her things, on the off chance they may fit...


'These are not Yvonna's,' Daryl informed her, in answer to that thought.


Em cast a quick glance his way. Daryl shoved a pile over, making room for himself on the bed. Her eyes strayed back to the gowns...though the silver dress was lovely, she found herself drawn to the blue-black...it was a black satin, actually, but when it moved, one could detect a gorgeous electic blue rather under or alongside of it.
  'This is beautiful material!' she breathed, as she held it up. 'It just may fit!'


'Well!' Daryl popped up like a jack-in-the-box, 'I'll just be off then. We're having a late supper first with the Leeks, and then staying on, helping with whatever needs doing before the festivities...so, be ready to leave here by 7ish, alright? Let Rosa know...' and closing the door, he took his leave.


Well! This just may do nicely, Em held the gown to her and decided that Uncle Daryl's sudden appearances weren't all to be feared. She put an ear to the door just the same, making sure of retreating footsteps, before she began to undress and to try on life in the blue-black gown...
                              . . . .

'"...She was a vision...in old Spanish lace...!"' Daryl sang, as Rosa swam into view, (no other words for it), in her dark lace confection... Diego took her in his arms and spun her about, as Rosa flicked open her lace fan, and lowered her lashes coquettishly, looking strangely seductive for a skeleton woman...they danced a round or two as they hummed a tune, '...south of the border...in old Mexico!'

                

'Emelyn fach!' Daryl called upstairs,'"I was nearly kept waiting!"' Daryl harumphed his best Sun-King, as he stood with Rosa on one arm, himself looking darkly dashing in black velvet; all very 1890's...in short, behind the times, yet quaintly genteel.

'Oh, do forgive me, 'Louie', mon cher!' Emlyn appeared at the top of the stairway, and fair to catch the eye of the fay,
in midnight blue, was she.
   Her hair she had left to fly free in a tangle of braids mixed with scarlet curls and ribbands of purple and crimson; and as she moved down the stairs in the black dress which became electric blue with every step, like stormcloud lightning; Diego knew that she, and tonight, were both far beyond his control...


'La Belle Dame Sans Merci...'
Daryl took Emlyn's hand as she swept down the stairs.

                      

'Not that bad, surely, Diego!' Em regarded him. He was looking exceptionally...non-avuncular, tonight. And when did he become so blond? His locks gleamed in the firelight against the absorbing velvet black. He seemed to be rather Hamlet Prince of Denmark tonight. Em was disconcerted momentarily; Daryl the shape-shifter. "Il a le diable au corps," indeed, she thought...


Daryl rallied to. 'Well. We're away then! Manuel has the carriage ready, and Yvonna is expecting us soon. Shall we, ladies?' Daryl slung back his cape and offered an arm to each and they were away in sooth, upon that most magical of midnight blue satin evenings...
                        . . . .
                    

Afternoon in the Sierra Foothills meanwhile, found Jack helping Homer fill the big bucket-tub with cider, as they poured it near enough to the top, but with enough room not to splash too much out whilst folk bobbed for apples within.


'There. That'll make 'em come a-runnin'...' Homer allowed as he plopped in several apples and set them floating about. 'No one will care whether they snag an apple or just a mouthfull of cider...'


Jack grinned, as he pushed his forelock out of his eyes, thinking that there were some about who would do just that, anyhow.
  But, heck, it had been a long hot summer and the first Harvest Hoedown had gone off without a hitch, and the boys had even made a little cash off of their party, which was all to the good. Jack had been busy working on Crowley Place and was feeling ready for a little relaxation and celebration for a change.


As was Aleister, who was already making inroads upon the apple pie and jack, teasing Diana with his pitchfork...
(a small red one he'd made as a prop only for his Old Nick costume, who in Al's mind, wore a top hat and tails--the hat having red horns and the tails had a red pointy one thrusting out between them: 'May as well look like a banker, or politician if you want to play the devil,' he wisely noted.)


Local musicians only, made up the party tonight, and they were staying close by the house and barnyard where the bonfire was to be lighted after sunset; the amphitheatre too far away and too cold for after-dark celebrations this time of year.
  And so it was a smallish hoedown tonight, by Equinox standards; about the size of their regular barn dances. Although it would no doubt become more popular as the evening wore on...

Jack whistled as he went about lighting the torches around the house and barn. Jethro and Homer had decided to keep these up year-round, or at least until the rains came in earnest.
  Finished with this task, he heard the music commence and folks begin to shout and whoop and the stomping of many boots as they took to the floor and swung their partners...he grabbed his guitar from the porch and headed on into the barn. Orpheus, lyre in hand.

                     

                        

And it was a sight! He and Al and Jethro had rigged up some spooky decor' round about, with spiderwebs and gargantuan 'spiders', hanging from the loft. There was even a (stuffed) witch on a broom on high, and ghosts everywhere, of course.
Laughing little boys were chasing little squealing girls about with small toy 'spiders' hanging from a thread that Al had fixed up round about the tables for 'effect'...which seemed to be working, Jack smiled to himself.

Hayrigs and corn dollies and apple wreathes rounded out the festive furnishings for the evening and everyone had brought something for potluck. The tables were overflowing with casseroles, soups, breads, pies, cookies and cakes, fruit and naturally enough. everywhere the ubiquitous pumpkins like politicians scenting bribes...(hollow inside as well).
  Speaking of: Sugar was overseeing some youngsters at work on hollowing out Jack-o-lanterns and Jack was glad she'd reprised her Peter Pan outfit...showed off her lovely legs a treat, he decided.


As he climbed up on the stage and made some last tunings on his strings, he wondered briefly why Emlyn hadn't answered his invitation, or even called. He hadn't heard from her since her birthday some weeks ago, which was great fun although he hadn't stayed the night...it just seemed rather awkward at Daryl's house. And somehow, different, from back in Mass, which Jack thought of more as 'his' place.

It wasn't like her to miss a chance to make music with friends...although, it was Halloween, of course, he knew all it meant to Em.
Still, he would miss her sweet clear voice...

Incredibly, he had hopes that Em would eventually come around --not only tonight, but to set up house with him...somewhere. But, until she did, he simply couldn't sleep with her under the watchful frown of Daryl in His House on Nob Hill. He knew Daryl felt that the two of them should marry.
  He knew better than to bring that up with Em. Again.
  Still...he wondered if perhaps he should have. Brought it up, again.
And, maybe he should have stayed the night, too.
 Quesas...

                           . . . .

Chapter 25 - ...Of Calabasas and Genes,

Chapter 25 - ...Of Calabasas and Genes,
             and Angels Without Wings...              
"...I recall Tati saying once that the Other Kingdom might spoil us for life in our own world because nothing could match up to it.
'Where is the portal? How can I find it?'
Tadeusz's teeth gleamed in the moonlight. 'There is a price,' he said, 'Do not forget that...no greater than you can afford, Jena...'
'If I decide to go, how would I get over? Where would I go?'
'If you would cross over, call to me, and I will take you there.' His voice wrapped about me like a soft cloak.
'Call to you, how?'
'Ah, that is a simple matter. You need only want me, Jena, and I will come to you. I am not bound by man's fences nor fetters--no need of door or keys of spells or incantations. I will hear your call in the pulsing of the blood, in the urgent hammering of the heart.' He stroked my cheek with the back of his hand; it sent a shiver through me..."
--Wildwood Dancing
--Juliet Marillier
                      . . . .

Nos Galen Gaea'
Bwbach ar bob camfa
On Allhallows' Eve   
A bogie on every stile...
--Welsh, from Cardiganshire

                       * * * *

Emlyn woke rather late, it was a Saturday. She'd been up late the evening before, reading. She had finished the Hobbit, at last, and found it altogether enjoyable. Jack had mentioned a sequel which she found herself now most desirous of.

 She found her ankle felt a little better, although swollen still, and she had to admit; she had rather waited up for Daryl, in hopes of his return.  It had been past midnight when she retired; and, no Daryl. She knew then that he probably was still 'catching up' with Yvonna... Well, she wished them both joy of one another. It was nothing to do with her, she told herself...


As she gingerly descended the stairway she heard two things:
the Grandfather Clock striking 11 a.m., and the sound of a violin coming from the study...ah! Daryl was here now and all was well. Or, what passed for it in their world.


Emlyn couldn't quite catch the tune, it must be of some modern mode unknown to her, or to anyone else in this time period. She moved on into the kitchen where evidence of Rosa's industry met Em most agreeably in the appearance of carrot muffins and hot water for tea...




She hadn't long to wait for Daryl's entree', which was accompanied by his humming a tuneful ditty, as he blustered about, refilling the kettle. 'Ah! Bore da, Em! How is the ankle mending?'


'Much better, Daryl! Thank you. Only slightly swollen...' She was dying to know what he had been up to in the Shoppe, and if he had been 'at the Cup', as it were...she truly hoped he would stay away from the thing. But she kept all such ponderings to herself. For the moment.


'Nice day,' Daryl deigned to spare a glance out the window. 'Fog seems to be moving on. Be clear and sunny by the afternoon, I think.' He took a seat on a stool across the kitchen from her and chewed a muffin thoughtfully, staring at Emlyn. 'Perhaps...we should take a drive.'


'Oh? Where to?' Em thought that an excellent idea. If they were off together she would have his ear, uninterrupted.


Daryl arose, answering the kettle's whistle. He poured hot water into his French Press for coffee. 'It seems hard to believe, but...it must have been just this time of year,  we were off for calabasas to bedevil Rosa with for months on end!'


'Oh my. You're right, Diego, so we were...' Em sipped her tea. 'It seems so long ago...' Indeed, it was hard to believe...she had been just arrived then from la Villa Encantada. How much things had changed...


'Well, what do you say?' Daryl poked about the pantry, opening cupboards, 'A picnic at the shore? We'll try to keep the calabasas to a minimum this time, or Rosa shan't let us in the door...'
   And so, Em prepared picnic things for an outing as Daryl put the coach together and hitched Galahad for the drive. He then came in the back door, asking, 'Ready?'

He found Emlyn amidst several pair of boots and shoes, face rather flushed and not appearing to be ready it seemed.
'Ooh...I didn't think it had swollen this much! I can't find a shoe to fit, and forget the boots...'


'Indeed...' Daryl pondered the situation a moment. 'Just, wait here!' He pounded up the stairway and Em heard him rummaging in the upper hall closet. He returned with a soft stretching sort of slipper, and kneeling, managed to slip it over Emlyn's swollen stockinged foot.
  'Amazing! It rather stretches to fit the size...it's perfect! It's not my foot itself that's too big, but the surrounding area...' Em stood, 'Thank you, Daryl. I don't think this is any shoe I could find in this century, however.'

'Let us not dwell on that!' He helped her gather together bags and baskets and they loaded all in the coach then Daryl assisted Em onto the driver's seat.
'Your Pumpkin Coach awaits, Cinderella!' Said he, with a mock bow.

                          . . . .

And, so it was that they found themselves reprising the Pumpkin Expedition in the landau of the year previous; however, Daryl decided to drive, with Emlyn on the seat beside him this time. 'You can always ride in back, if you wish to rest later,' he'd told her, but she actually liked the view from 'on high' in the driver's seat, and sometimes took the lines herself.

It was a fine day, by the time they took to the coast road, the fog was lifting and a wan sun began to warm the autumn chill.
  'It looks glorious this time of year! I'm glad you suggested an outing, Diego; one doesn't really notice the change of seasons until one gets out of the City.'
Emlyn continued to exclaim over every yellow and red leaf she saw en route.
  'I heard your violin this morning. I didn't recognize the tune, however...'


'No wonder there, Em; it's a 20th century country song called, 'Don't It Make Your Brown Eyes Blue'...meaning 'blue' as in, 'feeling low-down', 'got the blues', you know.' Daryl kept Galahad to a stately walk, not wishing to tire his favorite this side of the border.


'I'm familiar with the blues, just,' Em replied, 'thanks to Alice, and Jack. Are you feeling blue, Diego?'


'Not at all.' he shied a glance her way, and smiled crookedly. 'It's just...something that stuck in my head after doing research on heredity. I believe I've mentioned that once, everyone on this planet had brown eyes, then, in 2008, research revealed that people with blue eyes have a single common ancestor. Scientists tracked down a genetic mutation that leads to blue eyes.
   'Apparently, the mutation may have arisen in a singlar individual in or around the Black Sea region 6,000–10,000 years ago during the Neolithic revolution. A genetic mutation affecting the OCA2 gene in our chromosomes resulted in the creation of a 'switch,' which literally 'turned off' the ability to produce brown eyes. The switch limits the action of a certain gene, which reduces the production of melanin in the iris. In effect, the turned-down switch diluted brown eyes to blue. If the OCA2 gene had been completely shut down, our hair, eyes and skin would be melanin-less, a condition known as albinism.'


Ah, Uncle Daryl was waxing heuristic already. Well, she wished to find answers to questions. Hopefully, he was actually going somewhere with all this...
   'That's fascinating Daryl...so, blue-eyed people had a common ancestor, who suddenly appeared with this suppressor gene? That seems most odd. Rather like the sudden appearance of Cro-Magnon over Neanderthal.'



Daryl was studying Em intently. '"Suppressor gene", Emlyn, yes, exactly.' He wondered how much young Em knew already, and how much he should divulge. He also wondered if she had interacted with Anara of late...but that was his own selfish interest. She, Anara, had rather absented herself recently, in his experience.


Em gazed back at Daryl, studying his eyes, which seemed to be back to their usual silver-gray in the sunlight. 'I wonder what that could mean...?' Em mused. 'Doesn't it seem rather odd, that such things could suddenly occur? It rather flies in the face of evolution.'


Daryl sighed. 'Yes, Em, it does.' He decided to leave it at that, at least for now. 'Ah!' He nodded off to their left, 'I'm seeing orange! Shall we stop?'

             

He pulled the coach into the drive of the pumpkin patch and Emlyn happily retrieved her bags and a basket as they strode through the fields, Em having to rather rein in her natural enthusiasm to match her limping limb, as she perused the patch. She stuck with two smallish pumpkins, and some squashes, deciding that would be plenty, as they still had apples enough from Homer's.
  Daryl, however, had, as before, gone around the back of the barn with the pumpkin man, and was returning now with jars of cider and jack...
  'Ready?' He enquired, as they loaded all within.

'Quite,' said Em, as he helped her back onto the driver's seat. 'It's a good job we are sitting up here, Diego, the passenger seats are filling up already, not to mention the floor!'


'We'll see if we can't lighten the load soon. Keep an eye out for a good place to picnic!' And turning about, waving to Peter Pumpkin, as his patch was dubbed, they were back on the coast road, heading south.


For some miles they had been the only travelers once past the City, but now they saw a cart approaching from the other direction. 'My stars! It looks like the Leeks!'
Em declared. And it was!
  Connor and Bridget soon hove into view, and, like themselves, Connor drove, whilst his good wife sat beside him up front.
  The Nob Hill neighbors pulled up alongside one another and exchanged greetings, news of the purlieu and current goings-on. 'We will be seeing you at Samhain, now!' Bridget commented decisively.


'Well...' Daryl demurred, but Emlyn was quicker:
'Oh, most assuredly! I would not miss it! You will come, of course, Daryl!' Em gave him no time to protest, 'Oh, and if I may, I wish to bring along a couple of friends?--Shannon Fitzgerald and Jeanne MacKinnon; oh, you would love to meet them both, I know! It was they who have been acquainting me with Celtic lore and legends, you see!'


Connor and Bridget assured her it would be most agreeable if she would bring her young friends, 'And we won't allow you to absent yourself from the biggest celebration of the year, now, Daryl!' Connor bore down upon Uncle and eventually forced his reluctant acquiescence.
  At last, after Daryl offered a tasting to Connor of 'Peter's' jack, and instructing him on the directions there, the two parties took their leave and Daryl and Em were soon back on route.


Daryl drove in uncharacteristic silence awhile.
'Something amiss, Diego?' Em enquired.


'Well, rather, yes! I mean, must you ask, Emlyn?' Daryl replied, 'Are you forgetting already what happened at the harvest festival? I thought you were worried about Morgana and John?' He shook his head slowly. 'I can't believe your insouciance!'


'Daryl. Really.' Em couldn't help but smile; she just couldn't be pleased, could she? First she'd felt Jack was not taking things seriously enough, and now she was dismayed that Daryl actually was...she sighed.
  'I...rather agree with you, on one hand, but on the other, I also think that Jack has a valid point in that:
what could we possibly DO, Daryl? I mean, do we simply hole up at home, not, not LIVING, just waiting out our days in fear?'


Daryl remained tight-lipped, driving on mechanically.
He slowed then. 'Does that eucalyptus grove look familiar?' He turned about in his seat. 'Yes, I think so! The road is somewhat overgrown now, but, isn't this where we stopped last time?'
  Em looked about her, yes, it could be the place...'Let's not get stuck here, though, Daryl...maybe we should get out and lead Galahad on...'


This was, indeed, The Place.
Galahad was unhitched and hobbled near, whilst Em again spread their picnic blanket before the large bone-colored driftwood log, and was placing her pumpkins upon the corners when Daryl appeared at her side, smiling strangely.

'Seeing you, with those pumpkins in hand, I feel I must be your Fairy Godfather,' he remarked.
   'If Fairy Godfathers kidnap their charges!' Em quietly informed him, sitting, and she began to unpack their lunch;
turkey sandwiches with avocado and tomato, grapes and figs,
chocolate brownies and a wedge of swiss cheese.


'They do, in fact,' Daryl informed her, taking a seat upon the log. 'Surely Em, you know from fairies and kidnappings!'
He nonchalantly bent forward and snagged a sandwich, and unstopping the lid to the cider, handed it to Em, who ignored it, and with just the hint of a raised eyebrow, Daryl sat it before her.
   'There is in fact, a whole tradition of kidnappings, especially during weddings, entirely staged as part of the ritual, you see, in many Celtic countries. They are meant to portray, or echo, if you will, the myths of the gods and goddesses, Emlyn fach. It's all rather Homeric...'


'Homeric', my Aunt Fanny, thought Em, but she merely ate her grapes and gazed out to sea.


Daryl sat chewing his sandwich contemplatively...diosa, but it had been a year since they'd arrived...and, in all that time, he'd been but tip-toeing about some Revelations he'd decided must be imparted to Emlyn. And so it goes, for a year and a day later...perhaps it was now Time, and, indeed, long past.

Emlyn was removing her shoes and stockings, Daryl tried not to notice, but when she also unpinned her hair and shook it out, he couldn't help but comment:
   'Ever wonder why it is written in the bible that women should cover their heads in church, lest it tempt the Angels?'


'I can only imagine that there must be some lustful, importunant Angels about...'


'There are.'


         

Emlyn glanced up at Daryl who was not smiling. He regarded her narrowly. 'And the Sons of Heaven looked down upon the Daughters of the Earth, and found them fair...' He poured out some apple cider into two cups, handing one to Em. 'And, so there were Giants upon the earth in those days, the Nephilim.'


'Yes,' Em mused, 'I had wondered about that. It all sounds rather mythic, si?' Em sipped some cider and took out her sandwich.


Daryl slid down the log and landed on the blanket next to Em. 'Si.' He looked at her, and grinned, then cut the cheese into slices and took some grapes for himself, staring out at the seascape and noting fog threatening.
   'So?' Em regarded him soberly, 'What of these Sons of Heaven then? Who were they? Or, should I ask, who ARE they?'



'Yes, actually, you should...' Daryl sighed, popping a grape in his mouth. '...for they indeed, ARE, still. And, this being a free-will universe; As Above, So Below; there are to be found both negative and positive beings, as we would term them, or more accurately, service-to-self, vs. service-to-others, or the greedy black knights vs. the chivarous white knights...although it's hard to tell one from the other, at times. Such is their art. One need only consider religious and political arenas...'


Em struggled to keep up. 'So...would this enclude the Tuatha de Danaan?'


Daryl sighed. A tough subject...'Yes, and no...'


  'Oh, Daryl...you can be so instructive, to the point where you are obstructive.'


Daryl smiled. 'I'm just trying for accuracy, here, Emlyn fach...'he paused for cider. 'The Tuatha de arrived from 'the heavens' indeed, then were run to ground, and below, into the Hollow Hills.
   'They have acted, on the whole, as mostly white knights for the Celtic peoples; and indeed, were their progenitors. Although they came 'from the heavens', they soon became more like the elementals, guardians of the natural world, and fierce defenders of their new Realm, the Sidhe.'


'But the others, are they the ones you term the 'Others', then, Daryl?' Em linked the two.


'Quite possibly, probably, yes on that,' Daryl allowed.
'The Annunaki...a very old race of beings...were probably the first to instigate genetic tampering of the indigenous, brown-eyed populace of planet earth.'


'So...they were not, the 'good guys'?' Em asked, confused.


'Their tinkerings were for the most part, only for the enrichment of themselves, to create a slave race to mine for gold, although they did teach the people of the region of Sumer, or Persia the agricultural arts, cuniform writing, animal husbandry and the like, leaving the mythos of Ur and Gilgamesh.'


'So, these were the Sons of Heaven, who, coupled with the daughters of earth to create the Nephilim, then?' Em hoped  she was following alright.


'Quite.' Daryl finished his apples, going for the figs and grapes. 'And, once that dyke was breached, it sort of opened the floodgates, and other 'Sons of Heaven' followed in kind, and the great experiment commenced, creating the potpourri of peoples and races now prevalent.'


Experiment. Nice. But, daughter of her father, Em was used to that, indeed.
  'But from whence did they all come?' Em pondered. 'And...if the original inhabitants were brown-eyed, does that mean...' Emlyn looked at him beseechingly, '...does it mean that blue-eyed people are...the inheritors of the genes of the Black Knights?'


Daryl smiled and spoke softly, 'No, Em, it doesn't. Obviously, changes were made. But, the Others, the Annunaki, weren't the only races making changes. Other 'Sons of Heaven' so to speak, also came, and added their own DNA, their own gene patterns, and some, were meant to cancel out the changes implanted by the Annunaki, or the Others.'


Em struggled to keep up once more. 'It's rather confusing.'
She sipped at the cider. 'So, the Wars in Heaven, came to earth and the battleground here, was humankind? Sounds nefarious, Diego...can this actually be true?'


Daryl sighed. By Jove, she had it at last. 'Yes, Em, dead on, there.' He drew spirals in the sand. 'Planet earth is the chessboard, and we all are pawns, even the kings and queens, so-called.'
   The Only Game In Town, thought Daryl.

There was a particular race, gifted with superior genetics, who could rise to great heights in all the arts and sciences, and, the reason being, that they had been 'implanted' so to speak, with a suppressor gene, which could block the genetic mutations of the Others. Their race was meant to become the Father of Many Nations, but, the Others, doing damage-control, turned that all about and this particular race, mostly through the dogma of religion, bethought themselves special in the sense that they wished to keep their line 'pure', and so were barred from intermarrying outside of their tribe...'


'The Jewish tribes!' Em exclaimed.


'Exactly so...' Daryl frowned, recalling his brother Drake's
mad condemnation of his wife, Sarah, upon discovering her Jewish ancestry. 'In later years, not so far ahead from our time here now, a great war will center around the attempt to completely exterminate the Jewish race. Genocide. A great evil.' Daryl picked up a stone and tossed it at an overly-curious seagull. 'It is said, in fact, that, there may have been someone, killed in these pogroms, who had the wherewithall to help the people of earth to be free of the planet, to develop interstellar travel, and to colonize space. If this person had not been exterminated, possibly, we would not now be left with the decayed and dying planet we have inherited in my time.'


Emlyn considered all this...quite a hefty heaping of conundrums for a picnic by the sea...it made a strange sort of sense to her, however. But, there was so much to grasp...
  'So...the Jews were actually meant to intermarry, and to spread the suppressor gene among all peoples, and so to thwart the designs of the Others...' she frowned, hoping to get all this sorted, '...so, what would the suppressor gene be suppressing then? '


'Well, don't be thinking Em, that all brown-eyed folk are white knights whilst having blue or other eyes denotes some alien agenda for evil! Everyone has so much mixed blood, we are, especially here in America, a nation of mutts, you might say...which makes for a hearty species. And, the tinkering has been ever on-going, so that many brown-eyed folk have their hands in the cookie jars, or city funds, whatever...and many with blue eyes are doling out meals to hobos in soup kitchens everywhere. At least until the lawmakers so called, term it illegal.
   'But, yes, still it is a handy thing to have a drop of Jewish blood in one's makeup.
  'I believe that the gene suppresses what is an actual encoding in our DNA, which predisposes humans to follow instead of lead. To give up one's autonomy, the ability to think for oneself. People give all too much power to religion and the government to think and decide for them.'


'What of the Celts, then?' Em feared to ask. 'Giants in the land in those days, and I'm thinking of Bran the Blessed!  He cut quite the wide swath, so he did...'


                

'Yes, and his Talking Head spoke on even after separated from the rest. Bran could have been Nephilim, or at least had some of that blood, indeed...there was also the tale of the missing planet, where the asteroid belt now is...before the planet was destroyed, the people there were ferried to earth and became the progenitors of the Celtic and Scandinavian races.' Daryl surmised. 'So it is said.
   'However, both bloodlines were characterized by extreme dualities; there is predisposition for either positive or negative. The Celts and the Essenes had interconnecting bloodlines, as well...' Daryl frowned too...he was recalling the scenes of Emlyn and himself in the Cathar's castle...
  'However, it is true that in the Celts, the duality itself is more pronounced, they posess more, and stronger, vital power centers.'


Daryl was nodding, 'And, truly, there's strength of oak and root and stone in the earth itself and her indigenous peoples. It is widely held by many, that if earth's folk had simply been left alone, and not genetically altered, they would have all progressed along a more natural and beneficent line; congruent with and supportive of the planet. That, is the line taken by the High Council. And, taken entirely of itself, sound reasoning.
   'Although so-called 'progress' has altered all native peoples, still, they were the last stalwarts adhering to the practices which were keeping the heart and health of Mother Earth alive and well. As much as they could, but, for the most part, in my time, those acting not with good intent toward the health and healing of the earth, seemed to gain ascendancy, to install Moloch and the worship of gold above all else...even if it killed them all, and the planet as well.'


'So...there's no going back, and there's no way to start anew, except with a new planet and a new indigenous race. We have to work with what we have...possibly, Jewish bloodlines mixed with Celtic and indigenous peoples, would be the best mix for a new and improved planet?' Em asked, trying to get herself on track.


'That would be us!' Daryl summed up, repacking their basket.


'But, you, yourself haven't Jewish blood, Daryl, or do you? And, I don't believe I do...' Em stood, shaking out the blanket.


'Really? Do you know all that for certain?' Daryl grinned at her. 'Let's take a walk.'


                          . . . .

'Keeping up alright, Emlyn fach?'
Daryl stood at the sand dune's crest, staring about, listening to the ocean's roar, as he and Galahad awaited Herself.
   Em hobbled up alongside, having made a driftwood stick her new best friend. 'I like to think I am,' she replied, inhaling deeply of the salt air. Gods how she loved the ocean...

Daryl looked down upon her, studying her face with a small grin. 'You're bloody amazing, you are,' he owned, gazing out to sea. It certainly wasn't every young 19th century female Daryl could regale with such Tales of Mystery and Imagination, who would not wish to exit his presence at a sprightly clip upon the hearing of said Tales.
  

'Well, ready for more?' He held out an arm to her.
'Why not upside, onto Sir Galahad, he would be ever so obliging...' Daryl took Em's stick and gently tapped the grey's foreleg; he responded with a deep bow, whilst Daryl
helped her up. And they were away, along the deserted stretch of beach...upon the horizon the light was just nudging sundown, it held that certain golden hue.


'I do think that the present juncture may betide a coming Timequake. Perhaps.' Daryl pondered aloud as they slowly strode the strand. 'I had hoped,' he paused and gazed up at Em, 'that I might be able to corral you, Jack and Aleister, back at Massachusetts house, where you would bide safely out of harm's reach.'


Oh, no, Daryl...not now! 'And miss Samhain!' Em was aghast.
'Not possible, Daryl. Really, that is a bit much.'


He continued to eye her, eyebrows raised. 'We'll see if you think so, still, on Nos Galan Gaeaf!' He shook his head, sighing, and picked up an abalone shell, handed it to Em, who put it in her net bag. 'That's 'Winter's Eve' in the Welsh, Emlyn fach. Well, outside of actually hogtying you all and locking you up there, I suppose I really can't save you from your folly...'

Good, Em thought. Perhaps Daryl was learning. But, it did give her pause, rather, and she was thinking it would be prudent to take extra care and keep one's eyes peeled for
trouble. She didn't much like thinking about it all.
  'Have you...been in touch with Anara of late, Diego?' she ventured.


For some moments, Daryl said nothing, just moseyed down the damp, packed sand. 'No, actually, I haven't. Not in some time.' He gazed up and outward, and noting the sun beginning to dip, checked his pocket watch. 'Have you?'


Em couldn't recall when it was she'd last interacted with her Otherworld sister. 'Ye-esss...it was I believe, weeks ago however. She told me that we all are our own saviors and to trust my instincts.'


Daryl smiled, 'Wise advice.' He pulled up Galahad and then turned them about. 'We should head back, I suppose. Be best to be home before sundown...' He patted Galahad's neck who shook the sand out of his mane. 'So...speaking of Anara, and Thelene...I believe that's where our good Yeats is now, also.'


'Ah, truly?' This was news to Em. Interesting...
Yeats had left to dwell in the Otherworld, with his Faery Queen...

'Yes. He and Thelene are...partnered, just as Anara and I. He must have finally come round to seeing the League's side...' Daryl was muttering to himself...but he spoke up then, 'The League is, one might say, an example of the White Knights in this particular play, whilst, oddly enough, the so-called High Council, of whom Thelene was a member in good standing before she defected over to the League...could be judged, in spite of themselves, as guilty for what may be possibly deemed one of history's greatest crimes.  In theory, their aims seem prudent and wise, but in actuality, their insistence upon merely doing nothing, whilst worlds crumble all about them, is unpardonable! "Neutrality aids the oppressor, not the victim! Silence encourages the tormentor, never the tormented!"'


They walked on quietly for awhile, listening to the sounds of crashing waves and seabirds, Em closed her eyes and tried to imagine herself on the Beach of her Dreams, with Anara...she smiled then, sure that Daryl was doing the same...

                       . . . .
The sun was inching ever nearer the sea by the time they were repacked and heading back to the City. Fog began to roll back in, still some miles out, but the fog creature might just catch them still, before arriving safely home...

'So,' Daryl sighed, 'I suppose we are on for Samhain at the Leeks this year...'


Emlyn suddenly recalled why she had wished to see Daryl. 'Yes, Diego! It will be fine, you'll see! There isn't to be a terribly huge crowd...' Daryl shot her a glance, eyebrow lifted in silent argument there, '...well, not as large as the Midwinter Ball...'


'...And you recall what happened there!' Daryl added.


'Yes.' Em bit her lip. Madness, that! A Timequake...and Daryl supposed another was building... Well, be that as it may, Emlyn was not going to put her life in a tiny box and bury it hidden from supposed bogies. 'But, you said, that 'tornado' had passed.'

'Perhaps.' Daryl made a face, knowing he was losing this one. No young person wished to be shut away during the holiday season...


'So!' Em continued, brightly, 'My friends, Shannon and Jeanne, you would so like them, Diego. We, we've made a Triad, you see, representing Wales, Scotland and Ireland.'

Oy, vey, thought Daryl...I'm to be responsible for an International Incident now.
'Indeed?' One eyebrow raised, the other down, knowing where this was heading.


'Yes. Quite so. Well,' Em wondered how to present the case for having her friends stay over, at Daryl's house, when she had already invited them...' They were ever so hospitable with me, and Jethro, when we visited their camp at Midsummer...I would so like it if they could attend Samhain with us...at the Leeks, and to stay, at the house here, after?'


Daryl was obviously, beaten. 'Of course!' He may as well polish up the tea service!
 'Yes, they would be most welcome. Triad, eh?'
He clicked to Galahad and shook the lines, 'Best get a trot on...shadows do lengthen...only a few weeks now until Samhain.'


'Yesss...and my birthday tonight...'Em mused to herself.


'It is?!' Daryl looked surprised. 'Well! And what have you planned then?' He knew it was her birthday, of course...


'Can you believe I'd forgotten?' Em smiled as they jogged along. 'I've been so busy...'


'Well, no matter. We'll have a quiet evening celebration at home then...' Uncle Daryl assured her.


Well, why not? thought Em. With the big to-do of Samhain looming large on the horizon, that was the celebration Em was looking forward to. A quiet supper at home, just she and Daryl might be nice...with Rosa and Manuel, naturally.


They just made it back onto Nob Hill as the evening was closing in about them; the merest splash of fuchsia showed against the horizon, and streetlamps just beginning to shed small pools of light in the foggy mist encroaching about them. 'I'll just help you in with the pumpkins, then see to our trusty Galahad...' Daryl escorted her up the front steps and setting down a large pumpkin beside the door, opened it and gestured Emlyn within...


Goodness, it was dark in here...

But not for long.
 -- Em leaped out of her skin, when Jack, Aleister, Yvonna, and Rosa and Manuel, of course, all sprang up, yelling: 'Surprise!', and turned the lights upon her surprise birthday party, apparently.


'Oh, my stars! You all just startled me out of my boots!'
Em gulped, trying to catch her breath, as Jack enfolded her in a bear-hug.

'Come on, Em...we have a wonderful supper planned, and, there's cake!' Jack escorted her into the dining room, where the long walnut table was laid with a white lace cloth and fine china; orange and red linen napkins matched well with the large pumpkin Daryl now placed upon the table as centerpiece.
  'Happy Birthday, Emlyn fach,' he said, as he put an arm about her and kissed her forehead.


Well, Daryl had been right about one thing: you just never knew what was next with these timewalking, myth-talking, adventure-stalking, pumpkin-eating friends of hers.
  She wouldn't have it any other way...

                          . . . .