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...


                            . . . .









                            . . . .