Chapter 33 & 1/3rd - Of Worlds Both Lost and Found

Chapter 33 & 1/3rd - Of Worlds Both Lost and Found

.::What you experience as electricity is the 3rd-
dimensional residual of radion. Radion itself consists
of 6 types which account for the quality of and kind of
circulation in time of any 3-D phenomenon.
  These powers produce something akin to what you call
voltage and combine to create 13 lines of force and 7
types of radial plasma.
  Certain lines of force combine to create what you call
DNA or genetic material...::.

                         . . . .

.::Before the eagle can fly
Wizard must paint the morning sky
Once the eagle's in the sky
Wizard must place the stars on high
From root to crown the wizard's tree
Bears leaf and fruit to set you free::.

The Arcturus Probe
Jose' Arguelles

                        . . . .

'Ah, Rosita...with all the things a Time Lord has seen,
and everything he has lost, he must surely have bad
dreams...'

Dr. Who
                        . . . .
"Charlotte's a harlot,
She dresses in scarlet...
Mary's dressed in green.
It's Soon After Midnight,
And I've got a date
With the Faery Queen..."

Soon After Midnight
Bob Dylan - Tempest

                       * * * *

Emlyn wasn't so sure about this ball that Gwydion had
planned...she was perfectly content with his company.
It was simply her nature to commune with others in the
realm of ideas...  Alas, her Fey suitor seemed to think
this a sign that she was no longer entranced by his
affections.
  Or, perhaps it was something else...

Any road, she began to feel more in the party mood when,
upon returning to her...'bower', (--the only word she
could use to describe her chambers which were made to
seem part of arching birch trees and flowering shrubs,
with cunningly designed wooden carved chests and armoirs
secreted amongst...), she noted upon her bed, (another
carven masterpiece of dark woods which arched upwards
and somehow 'dissolved' into the tree branches above), a
luscious dark green gown which shaded to irridescent
emerald when turned in the light; with a black, cobalt
and turquoise embroidered edging about the neckline and
sleeves.
  Well, it fairly begged to be worn, somewhere, didn't
it?


                             

                         . . . .

Emerging from her bower, attired in the rich flowing
satiny emerald splendor, Emlyn followed the sounds of
flute and lute which seemed to be coming from the great
tree-lined Birch Hall.

She strode amongst small groups of the Sidhe Lords and
Ladies, also magnificiently attired, as firefly lights
flickered about them and minstrels strode throughout the
Hall, playing soft melodies of silver bell-like tones
reminiscent of star-streams...

Nodding to acquaintances and exchanging pleasantries,
she made her way to the long tables at the sides of the
hall where delectable fruits, cheeses and sweet and
savory pastries dotting delicate china and silver
platters were piled high with deliciously spiced fare.  
She helped herself to all; she had long ago decided the
risk of remaining with Gwydion would not deter her from
her hearty appetite's desideratum.

Taking a flute of the sparkling wine, she made her way
toward the middle of the Hall, where she gazed with
delighted wonder upon the soft carpet which had been
created somehow of a dark mossy cover, interlaid with a
lighter, brighter green, creating intricate patterns
upon the forest floor, like unto a ballroom's parquet
designs.
  These, however, seemed to contain strange sigils and
alchemical symbols, some seemed to be pure geometric
designs; of great intricacy and elaborate detail.
  Altogether: Spellbinding.


'I trust my humble efforts are to your liking, my Lady.'
Gwydion stood now at her elbow, one arm about her waist.
He bent near and feathered a soft kiss below her ear.
 'You look...good enough to eat.' He nipped gently at
her earlobe, elf-lights dancing merrily in his green-
grey gaze.

As always, Emlyn was filled with a warm wave of pleasure
whenever the Sidhe Lord was near to her. She noticed
that he, too, wore a dark, silverish-green ensemble:
tight trousers, high green suede heeled-boots with
silver buckles, and an emerald green embroidered mantle
of complex designs, with flowing cape near to a match
with her own gown of fay green.
  'You look a right treat yourself, my Lord...' She
smiled, sizing him up head to toe; pleased to be cheeky
with Gwydion. She then gazed about her at the lively
Hall. 'It's truly lovely. You never cease to amaze
me...' She took his hand and strode out upon the mossy
green interlaced by Keltic knotwork detail lining the
edges.

'But, pray tell me, what are some of these most unusual
and intriguing symbols portrayed here thus? They would
appear to have meaning beyond grace of design...' Em
inched around a particularly cunning set of circles
within circles, triangles and spirals interconnecting in
odd but pleasing patterns.
  'It would seem to be, like a puzzle...' she cocked her
head to the side, staring as she wove her way around,
trying to view from all angles, '...the meaning of which
seems like something I know...it's as if I've only just
forgotten...'

                        

Gwydion came behind her, encircling her with his arms
about her waist, as he smiled over her shoulder.
  'I'm well pleased that you find them intriguing!
Indeed, these circular designs you find so captivating
will come to play no small part in Terra's future. It
will be, a puzzle indeed, to the world.' He laughed
gaily, and taking her hand, spun her about neath his
arm, and clasped her to him once more. 'We only wish to
remind Terran Kelts, and all besides, that the Sidhe
have not forgotten them...'
  'But now, all await the Dance. Shall we keep them
waiting no longer, my Queen?'

Emlyn and Gwydion stepped out onto the middle of the
floor, and standing upon a central circle of designs
which mirrored the star constellations above them; at a
nod from the Sidhe Lord, the musicians now gathered
together, and began a more formal waltz that was
reminiscent of that last fateful 'Midsummer Night's
Dream' dance they had shared on Terra; yet played now
with new and fanciful variations.

Circling once about the Great Hall, Emlyn seemed to fly
in Gwydion's arms, across the enchanted and soft-as-moss
emerald design-entwined parkway; and then the graceful
as though winged Sidhe couples joined them in the dance,
round about...as they swirled in time to the fay music,
Em noted with a thrill that whichever circle-designs the
dancers waltzed upon, seemed at times to levitate with
them as the gay couples laughed with glee, and then to
set them gently down again, as they danced away...

As Em and Gwydion circled back to center, she felt
herself being lifted, and noticed that the star-circle
design beneath them was carrying them up and above the
dance floor.
  She gazed down, and managed to keep her feet, as
Gwydion smiled and the elf-lights danced with amber
abandon in his fey gaze as he pulled her close and then,
her feet leaving the carpet beneath them, she laughed as
they spun slowly in air; tiny golden firefly lights
twinkled about them, and she looked into the eyes of her
Otherworldly Lord and lover and felt herself, as always,
utterly...carried away...


                   

                          . . . .

Time...not a commodity here in the land of the Fay, such
as is parceled out upon Terra; Time, a miser and tyrant
back upon her home world, held no sway here.
  And yet, as the ball continued, Emlyn began to feel
pinpricks of her mortality in her heavy eyelids and
tiring muscles...although she didn't recall feeling
tired here before, perhaps she wasn't altogether immune
in Gwydion's kingdom, to Time's heavy hand.

She lay her head upon her Lord's shoulder, and he held
her close, moving slowly and allowing her feet to hover
above the ground, noting her weariness. The music seemed
softer now, and the lights dimmer, the couples about
them no longer as numerous...
  'Were you to consent to stay with me, to be my bride,
and to be my Queen, to remain by my side...' Gwydion
whispered in her ear, '...no bell would ever toll the
midnight hour for thee, my Lady Love...'

'Ummm...' Emlyn murmured, only snuggling into his
embrace, barely hearing his soft entreaties.
  He gently stroked her hair, and ran a finger along her
cheek.
 'I have played for you tonight, my own rendering of
your much-loved Mendelssohn's music.'

'Yess...' Em sighed, 'It's beautiful. I've always loved
his Midsummer Night's Dream...' she deigned to rouse
herself and look upon Gwydion's earnest gaze. 'It shall
ever remind me of you.'

'You speak as if our time together grew short, Lady.'
The Lord of the Twyleth Teg raised his chin and looked
down his nose upon her, his gaze narrowing. 'There is a
certain passage in this wonderful music; Opus 61, the
Andante in C sharp minor, I believe...'
  He spun Emlyn along his arm, stirring her awake
suddenly, and as he took her hand, he nodded to the
untiring fay musicians who took up the song, and Em now
was altogether on the alert as she recognized what was
otherwise known as 'The Wedding March'!

'My Lord! You would not presume--!'
 But Gwydion only smiled and drew her back to his side,
as they danced a graceful pas-de-deux. Em frowned his
way, 'I much prefer the Elfenmarsch, in G minor...'

But Gwydion said nothing, only brought her close and
concentrated all his not inconsiderable magics upon her,
his smile seeming quite arch.
 'Do you believe that I could simply let you go now? To
return to Terra only to feel the weight of 'Time's heavy
hand' upon you, as you are beginning to feel it now?'
  Suddenly Emlyn felt weary indeed; her feet now leaden
as though she had been dancing for hours without rest.
As, indeed, she had.

'I...I beg a pause, my Lord. I must rest...'
  But Gwydion held her tight.
  'You would know neither weariness or pain, ever, were
you to stay with me, my Lady, and be my Queen.' He
whispered in her ear then: 'Do you truly believe to do
as you will, here in the Court of the Magician!?'

Emlyn looked at him then, somewhat alarmed. Gwydion's
smile now was grim.
  'Do not play with me, Emlyn fach! You are no silly
child captured by fairies unawares! You knew what lay
before you when you consented to come with me here to
Caer Gwydion!'

Emlyn only knew that if The Wedding March was being
played, she was being played for a fool, be this Terra
or the Milky Way.
  As the infernal music increased in volume, she spun
away from Gwydion, and as she grasped the moonstone
necklace, she ripped it free of her throat and flung it
at him;
  'There! And you know what you can do with your bloody
opus!'

Gwydion deftly caught the necklace with a smile, his
eyes flashing silver sparks, as he reached out to grasp
her hand once more, she darted aside, away from him--

--and!...found herself in the arms of Daryl Van Horn!
  'We're away!' Daryl called, and in a flash of light--
so they were!

                         . . . .

Gwydion ap Don, the Trickster-Magician Lord of the
Twyleth Teg, stared incredulous at the space recently
occupied by his vanished beloved.
  His gaze went to the floor where she'd stood scant
moments before, and he began to chuckle to himself, as
he bent and retrieved A Little Something, Emlyn had left
behind.
  'Ah. It seems I am not to be altogether denied!'
...And inspecting the Little Something, which appeared
in the amber glow of faery, like unto a petite egg or a
teardrop pearl gleaming with rainbow lights, he pocketed
the tiny treasure, and patted it with proprietorship.
  'Indeed, I shall always keep a part of you here, with
me, my sister and beloved...'


                        

                          . . . .
                     

'To bed.'
Daryl had deposited her unceremoniously into the
wonderfully mundane familiarity of the hallway at Nob
Hill House.
  He was breathing hard, she noticed. And staring at
her, frowning as though he wished to do menace unto her.

'I beg your pardon, don Diego!' Emlyn huffed; drawing
herself up like a Spanish dona, clutching at the non-
existent necklace she'd momentarily forgotten was now
'returned' to Gwydion ap Don, whom she had just barely
escaped the hairy paws of...the wolf!(--after all!)
 She shook her head once...she knew it...t'was all men
wish'd! To...do nothing but mate...even, (or perhaps,
especially--?), Sidhe Lords...

Daryl sighed and looked away from her. 'Did you wish to
remain forever with Gwydion? Or not?'

'Of course I did not! I...' Em was simply so relieved,
she didn't know what to think. 'I, don't know what to
think!' She regarded Daryl. He looked more exhausted
than lecherous.
 '...Thank you, Daryl.'

Daryl leaned against the wall, eyes bloodshot; his
entire being seemingly fraying at his seams.
  'I don't know what I should do to you...' He shook his
head, looking at his boots, hair a ragged mess.
'Upstairs with you. Sleep.'
 Emlyn wiped tears of frustration and fear and regret
from her eyes as she turned for the stairs.

Daryl looked up at her. 'I, am dead on my feet. But!'
He commanded her attention as she turned back from the
stairway, embarrassed now at having thought ill of
him...
  'But, I...I will bring us brandies.'
  Em paused frowning.
  'I'm afraid, I have some news. About Jack.'

Emlyn spun about, directly upon Daryl now.
'What of Jack!?'

Daryl's bloodshot eyes pleaded. 'Em. Please,' he shook
his head, 'I do not have the strength to carry you
upstairs...' He put a hand up.
  'I tell you what, YOU fetch the brandy and I am going
to bed. Now. You may follow if you wish to know about
Jack. And I will try my dam'dest to stay awake long
enough to tell you...' Daryl brushed past her and headed
heavily upstairs.

How old was the bugger? Emlyn pondered as she watched
him...he seemed oddly ageless. One moment utterly boyish
and the next looking as though he's seen altogether too
much of the world. Hmm, born in 2020, and it was 'now'
2076 in his reality. That would make him 56?
  Migods the man was ancient...yet supposedly one did
not age if one exceeded the speed of light, and in fact,
could go backwards in time...as did Daryl, here and now.

Jack. Emlyn took hold of herself and, making a quick
detour into the parlour for the trusty Courvoisier, she
then headed upstairs, to Daryl's room...

Pausing at the doorway, she noted only one candle lit by
his bedside, and Daryl lying upon the bed, wearing a
kimono.
  'Don't look as if you're seeing the Big Bad Wolf,
Little Red. For goddess' sake have a seat and do bring
me the snifter there's a good girl...'
  Daryl looked as though he could barely keep eyes open.
'I have been to far too many Otherwheres and Otherwhens
and to the Back of Beyond, and Back Again...'

Emlyn sighed and brought Daryl his cognac, and pulling up
a chair for herself, she sat close beside him yet not
too close, and sipped.
 'Jack.' She eyed him.

Daryl took a long swallow, then lay back upon his
pillows, one arm behind his head. He hardly knew where
to begin.
  'Jack...is alright now. He is home at Crowley House...
--However...'

'For godssake, Daryl. Just spit it out!' Em couldn't
bear this.

Daryl fixed her with his weary gaze. 'Emlyn. Would I be
here now, if I thought Jack in more dire straights than
you, just a moment ago?'
  Em swallowed. 'Please? What about him?'

'Jack, was...nearly lost to us, Emlyn.' Daryl's voice
caught; his gaze held hers, and she noticed even in the
dim candlelight, his eyes were bright. She knew things
were most serious indeed. She bit her lip to stay still.

'It was on All Hallow's Eve...' Daryl looked away,
looking pained as he blinked and swallowed. 'At your
friend's party. Morgana...drugged him and enspelled
him.' He looked back at her, his look a hard and narrow
one. 'Something you should not be altogether without
sympathy regarding.
  'He wound up on Flubber's...John's, yacht. In the
Bermudas. They, they were following the same route as
Jack's parents were, when I...I tried,' he swallowed,
looking away once more, 'I tried to turn them around in
time. But failed...'
  Daryl sat up, taking another sip of brandy. 'So. There
was Jack, Morgana and John, with, yet another!--
hurricane en route, and they were...they were--'
 

Emlyn stood then and came over to Daryl's side, a hand
upon his arm. 'Oh, Diego, please! If this is too much,
right now...he's back home. He's alright! That's the
main thing...'

Daryl turned his face from her. Emlyn, thinking ahead,
had brought the entire decanter as well, and poured them
both another shot of courage. 'Here.'

Daryl gratefully took the glass and gulped down the
firey medicine. Clearing his throat, he continued: 'It
was a maelstrom.' His voice was low and hoarse. 'I only
caught a glimpse of it, I couldn't bear it again!'
  He looked at her, eyes wild, then rubbed his forehead.
'I'd only just arrived onboard when Yeats had the
hatches open and we were close enough for him to cut the
line and grab Jack...' Daryl was leaning forward now,
panting and mumbling...

Mygods, what madness was all this...? From a party at
Jethro's...to a hurricane in Bermuda? If it wasn't for
Daryl looking fit for an asylum, she would have a rough
go believing it. Maybe she hoped it wasn't as horrible
as it sounded...from what she could make out from
Daryl's incoherent babblings...
  '...But, he's alright, you said? Jack...?'

Daryl sat, empty glass in hand in his lap, head down,
nodding.
 'I'm...so dreadfully tired...' he pleaded, looking at
her, his eyes like whirlpools themselves and taking him
down with them. He would close them and start to nod...

Mygods the poor man...first Jack, then having to rescue
her from the greedy clutches of a Sidhe Lord... Only
Daryl could have pulled that off. A Master Magician,
indeed. He was only human, however...
  Emlyn was tenderly touched by this, and his mortal
vulnerability; unlike the Sidhe who tired not, nor
feared the ravages of Time. Daryl had risked all, for
them both.

'Sleep, Diego...' She put a hand upon his shoulder, and
took the glass from Daryl as he slid like a weary stone
beneath his satin blue sheets and...promptly proceeded
to snore.

                      . . . .

Daylight Again...
'He's out back.' Aleister nodded 'round to the backyard
veranda, where Emlyn could hear a guitar softly playing.
Al smiled, hoping to reassure Em. 'He'll be glad to see
you.'
  She'd taken the train to Pankhurst the next morning
with Daryl. He'd insisted they take land transport, as
they both needed 'grounding', as he called it.

 Aleister now put two shiny red apples into her hands.
'Good Winesap.' He darted a look toward the back of the
house. 'He still plays that same song...' shaking his
head, he regarded Em. 'Pretty tune. But, I wonder...' He
shrugged, smiled suddenly, and escorted Em around back
and gave her a wink as he held the screen door open for
her.

Not knowing what to expect, Emlyn gripped her apples and
approached Jack, who seemed to be looking much the
same...
  He sat upon the wicker seat, leaning back casually
strumming his old guitar...and humming, singing softly
to himself...

She took a seat across from him, quietly, and smiled a
gentle smile at him, apples in her lap. She was not sure
how to proceed with...them. She decided to let Jack make
the first move.

Jack looked up and regarded her, his expression blank,
unchanging. She did notice his gaze appeared unnaturally
bright, and he also seemed thinner, his face more
angular. But, something else...about his eyes. They
didn't seem to see her, so much as he seemed to be
looking within himself, at a world she had not been
privy to...
  Well, that makes two of us, perhaps, she decided...

Jack nodded her way then, acknowledging her presence at
last, but he still played on, singing quietly. Any other
woman might have been offended, but, as a musician, Em
thought perhaps she should simply sit still, and
listen...

Jack looked at his fretboard then, and nodding the time,
he began a new tune, somewhat louder now, his foot
tapping out the rhythm, as he strummed a strong song; a
pretty tune, and Em found her own foot tapping along...

 G                    F                       C
'Got out of town on a boat goin' to southern islands
            G   F                   C
Sailing a reach before a followin' sea
 G                        F             C         
She was makin' for the trades on the outside,
           G         F           C
And the downhill run to Papeete Bay
          G              F               C 
Off the wind on this heading lie the Marquesas
          G               C           C      Am    G
We got eighty feet of the waterline, nicely making way
        G           F                C     
In a noisy bar in Avalon I tried to call you,'
 (...Jack looked up into Emlyn's eyes then, his gaze
focused her way...)
            G               F            C        Am   G
'But on a midnight watch I realized why twice you ran
away--'
 (--And Jack nodded at Emlyn then, before breaking out
into the chorus:)

F                C         F       G
'Think about how many times I have fallen
  F            C         F             G
Spirits are using me, larger voices callin'
 F                   C            F          G   
What heaven brought you and me cannot be forgotten...

              C  F         G
I have been around the world,
   C               F      G
lookin' for that woman, girl
      C          F    G
Who knows love can endure--

                 G  F  C                  G  F  C
And you know it will    And you know it will...'

The tune was so beautiful in it's simplicity, and the
lyrics meant something to Jack, and to her as well, she
must admit...Em found unexpected tears forming in her
eyes...
  Jack sang on:

'When you see the Southern Cross for the first time
You understand now why you came this way
'Cause the truth you might be runnin' from is so small
But it's as big as the promise,
the promise of a coming day,
So I'm sailing for tomorrow, my dreams are a dyin'
                                        
'And my love is an anchor tied to you,
tied with a silver chain,
I have my ship and all her flags are a flyin'
She is all that I have left, and music is her name...'

Jack picked out another chorus then, not singing, and
gave it a flamenco-style flourish; his black head hung
over his guitar; the familiar forelock falling in his
eyes, and Em found it hard to keep her tears back,
biting her lip...she let them fall upon the apples in
her lap and swallowed.
  A beautiful song...but so fraught with meaning for the
two of them, it was painful. But exquisite...she
couldn't bear for it to end...
  Jack picked up singing the next verse then:

'So we cheated and we lied and we tested,
And we never failed to fail,
it was the easiest thing to do--'
  He looked at Em then. Really looked at her for the
first time...and sang on..

'You will survive being bested                
But somebody fine will come along and try
to make me forget about loving you...
In the Southern Cross...'

Jack emphasized the final chords, and had changed the
words slightly, which Emlyn was not aware of...

Jack sighed, and began to softly pick out a different
tune; Em attempted to recover herself, and fished out
her hanky from a pocket, blowing her nose with a most
unladylike honk, and wiped her eyes.
  'That's...the most lovely song I've ever heard!' she
warbled, her voice failing her, as she sniffed,
blinking. She pocketed her kerchief.
  'Have you...ever seen the Southern Cross, Jack?' She
asked, testing the waters, as it were...

He didn't look up, merely played on.
'I have. Long, long ago...'

So they sat together then, as the chill of afternoon
began to creep in, the sun heading further down the blue
vaulted sky above them. Emlyn looked about her at
Winter, now come to the ranch...she'd last seen
California in the fall, autumn leaves surrounding.
  Bare bones of sycamore now stood stark against the
skyline.

'You brought us apples from Avalon, Em?' Jack startled her out of her reverie then, and she saw he'd set his guitar aside and
was looking her way.

She smiled then, and offered one to Jack,
'Yes. Would you care for one?'


                          

Jack leaned forward, reaching for the shiny red fruit.
Their hands touched, and a long warm finger of Jack's
gently stroked hers briefly, as he took the apple from
her.
  'Good to have you back, Em.'

Emlyn sighed at last.
'It's so good to have you home, Jack!' She blinked,
trying to keep back new tears. She sniffed.
'Yes. It's good to be back. At long last.'

                      . . . .

WATCH! AND LISTEN! Crosby, Stills and Nash:
 Southern Cross:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iuLBhxZUkmU

Chapter 33 - Pinpricks of Eternity

Chapter 33 - Pinpricks of Eternity


..::Welcome hither, as is the spring to th'earth;
    And hath he too exposed this paragon to the
    fearful useage (At least ungentle)
    of the dreadful Neptune...::
                     
The Winter's Tale
William Shakespeare

                          . . . .

.::Set like a jewel in the sea of Sirens
   Atlantis by Antares ruled
   Rides crystal waves
   That set the blazing sun atremble::.

Jose' Arguelles
The Arcturus Probe

                    *  *  *  *

Yeats and Daryl stood over Jack, who now lay abed in a private healing chamber, having been delivered at last from the starship's med unit where he'd undergone laser, and other, surgeries, ministrations, repairs, tests and survelliance for the past few hours.

'He's...alright now?' Daryl's voice wavered, unused to brevity, and expressing care, perhaps. Hard to feel for others that which was unknown to himself, however, and
this Yeats understood about the man; he, Daryl, had lived alone and as an island his entire life long. His brother, Drake, had tried to cast Jack in that mold as well. And so, this had been Daryl's mission; to free Jack from a solitary life of frozen emotion and robotic relflexes. Like his own...

Yeats inhaled. 'He will be. Resiliant lad, always, Jack.' He put a tentative hand upon Daryl's shoulder.
'We caught him just in time...'

Daryl wheeled away from Yeats, dropping into a handy seat, head in hands...then sat back, shaking his head.
'When I think of what might have...to see it all, happening again!'
  Yeats knew Daryl couldn't help but replay the awful scenes past of his failed rescue attempt of Jack's parents from the very same horror that Morgana and Flubber had just sought to reprise.

'How could you know?' Yeats was firm, but gentle.
'You're a sane man. One cannot always see the future. None of us think like the unbalanced, and, perhaps obsessed...'

Posessed, more like...Daryl thought to himself. He stared at his nephew's limp form, bruised and battered with vicious black and blue welts. The cuts and gashes had been lasered and closed, healing now. And although his internal injuries had been seen to, still much time was needed for Nature to heal his wounds.

'He's a strong young man; he'll heal,' Yeats reiterated. 'But it will take time. Jack's lucky the Van Horns have such hard heads.'
  Daryl ventured a side glance to Yeats at that jibe.
Undaunted, Yeats continued, 'Amazing he was only concussed. But, being so near the malignant Crystal...well, that will take some healing time as well. According to Thelene, it's influence can...alter, realign, the etheric/electric body and meridians. Rough magic, indeed. But here, Jack is in good hands. Back home, any mundane medicine would likely be useless to him.'

Daryl sat as if stunned, and strangely silent. He had been thus since his arrival onboard.
  Yeats took a long look at Jack, and knowing he would likely not awaken for many hours yet, put a gentle hand upon Daryl once more.
  'Come. Jack needs rest, and we've done all we can at present. There are other matters which require our attention.'

Obediently, Daryl rose and followed Yeats out, not taking eyes from Jack until the door sealed behind them.
  Walking through the corridors of the immense ship, Daryl at last took notice of where they now were...and tried to recall how he'd come to be here.

He had found himself arrived here, after bidding farewell to Emlyn's friends; removed suddenly from Nob Hill House, only to discover his whereabouts, deposited seemingly, in the midst of controlled chaos with Yeats before him, yelling to follow him to the hatches below, as he had just effected Jack's timely rescue; other than that, he'd barely had a chance to realize the basics of who and what; never mind the how, of now.

                   

As they rounded about the curving hallways, Daryl noted the exposed sloping struts betwixt sections which appeared to be of polished copper with odd rune-like characters etched upon them. At last Yeats halted and pressed a door chime. They then entered a spacious room with one long curving window showing only grey and white cloud beyond, with occasional patches of blue.
  The control panels, screens and hovering  holoprojections were all familiar to Daryl, but the old-style look of the tables and curving couches bordering the sides of the ship, gave him pause.

'This...is an old ship?' He enquired.

At that, the sealed door opened and Axelis entered, filling the space. 
  'An old ship, indeed! Fa'ilte and welcome, Daryl Van Horn.'


                         

Daryl made a slight bow. 'My thanks to you and your ship for the timely rescue of my...of Jack.' And, although he had found himself in otherworlds and with beings unknown to the mundane plane, Daryl had rarely interacted in Real Time, or in full consciousness with such beings. He found himself trembling slightly.

'Have a seat, old man...' Yeats took his arm and guided him to one of the curving couches, taking a seat as well. Meanwhile, Axelis had moved over to the wall panels and touched a screen, producing a hot mug of warm liquid. This he handed to Daryl.
  'This may help with your acclimatization.' 

Daryl drank, and his tremors ceased immediately; a warm feeling of well-being washed over him.
  'This...is amazing! I feel, ah, very well.'

Axelis spoke: 'We call it: 'ataraxia'. We have found that visitors are more relaxed by the familiarity of the warm cup...I could, of course, merely touch your forehead and all would be...very well.' He nearly smiled then, and seemed to be enjoying a private joke.

Undaunted, feeling more himself, Daryl rallied. 'An old ship, you say?'

'She is.' Axelis straightened, seeming even taller than his, what--8 feet or so?--and gazed out the stunning porthole. 'It is not ours, per se, but loaned to us for a time. It is an ancient Pleiadian war-ship. Our long-chogaidh!'

Daryl was awestruck at this news. Knowing the Pleiadians to be long regarded as a peaceful race, it must be ancient indeed.

Axelis smiled then. 'Yes. 'Time out of mind,' you would say, the aeons past when last this War-wolf saw action.' He deigned then to lower his formidable presence into a seat alongside the two men.
  'The League has many friends. And few enemies.'
  His gimlet gaze scanned Daryl as with xray vision.

Daryl felt rather naked under the tall Elder Kelt's scrutiny, but decided to drink deeply of the becalming ataraxia, knowing that he hadn't much choice of action in this particular here-and-now.

And, too, he was suddenly aware he was sitting with his beloved Anara's paterfamilias. As Jack might be, someday, were he with Emlyn...and if Axelis were indeed, their father.
  So, were the couples to marry, would that make Jack his brother-in-law as well as his nephew? Naturally, that was not an option for himself, or Anara, Daryl knew.
  Still...all was rather boggling to the mind. Good thing his body gave not a ratspatoot at the moment.

'Again, our thanks. It was nothing short of a miracle you found Jack when you did.' Keep on the good side of the eight-foot giant with the warship, thought Daryl.
  Come to think on it; probably for the best he would not wind up with an eight-foot tall father-in-law with a warship...

Axelis smiled that small smile once more, and nodded.   'Indeed,' he replied, startling Daryl back into his mug for a moment, wondering if his thoughts had been heard.
  'Our good Yeats here, you must thank for that. He, together with Thelene, sent us the warning.'

'...And, Anara, who alerted us.' Yeats added, as he looked at Daryl; who noted Yeats seemed quite serene and at home in this ultramundane environment. Perhaps he'd also imbibed a dram or twa of ye olde anorexia as well...? But, what was that about--?
  'Anara...is she...?' Daryl sat forward, eager now, his gaze searching.

But Axelis was shaking his head. 'Not on a warship! Thelene, sometimes will visit here, but not our Anara. She must remain where all is safe and secure; far beyond such rents in the Order of things...' He stood then.
  'As to those who were the perpetrators of this... unexpected detour in our travels, "they have sown the wind, and they shall reap the whirlwind".' He nodded to them. 'My duties call me to the bridge. Rest easy, now. Here, you are in good hands.'

Daryl still felt becalmed, but his whirling mind betrayed that peaceful patina. In particular, he couldn't stop thinking of this talk of a 'warship',
and all that might mean.
  'So, this is an ancient Pleiadian warship.' It wasn't a question. It was a most uneasy and glaring fact of their current situation.

Yeats, strangely, smiled at that.
  'Axelis makes much of his 'War-Wolf' and 'warship', true. However...' Yeats stood and turned about, looking out the massive porthole. 'However, it is mostly just for 'show' and a red herring...as well as bait.
  'To flush out certain other parties, and to give them pause, as it were.' He looked down at Daryl then. 'As a magician, you should know about sleight of hand.'

Watch what I wave about over there, and look not at the
palmed card here. I see. Daryl felt somewhat mollified at this. However...
  'I'm not sure how happy I am to think of Jack--as well as we, ourselves!--as worms on the hook here!'

'Jack will not be here long. Neither will we.' Yeats began to pace along the curved window. 'Axelis offered this singular ship for Jack's rescue, only at Thelene's behest.' Yeats ran a hand through his wild, white mane.
  '...It isn't easy to explain in so many words, but...
the crystals used aboard ship, are of the same matrix as the Atlantean Crystal. It is one of the very few ways in which such a near approach to the malignant thing could be made, without being sucked into its hypno-magnetized alternate-universe grid-cage.'

You said a mouthfull, thought Daryl. But he only asked, 'Is that where...John and Morgana are, then?'

Yeats ceased pacing. 'One hopes not...I'd not wish that karma-in-action on a cockroach. Although, I suppose it is possible. Most likely they went, ah, elsewhere to their reward...'

Reaping the whirlwind, thought Daryl. Odd of old Axelis to quote the Bible. Then...perhaps not, he decided, recalling the Nephilim.
  'Axelis...his ship and crew, have done us a great service, then. Truly, a Herculean task.'

Yeats smiled. 'Axelis is rather Herculean himself, yes?'

Daryl couldn't argue with that...in any tongue.
  Then he thought of Axelis' daughter, Anara; the love of his life. He hardly felt her equal upon any scale.
  But Maat weighs the balance. Perhaps it was soon to tip into a new and favorable direction.

                      . . . .

Daryl found himself waking in another sleeping chamber, much like Jack's and spartan, still aboard ship. He recalled then that Yeats had insisted he rest; although he had been plagued by worries about Emlyn's fate, now that Jack was rescued and appeared to be recuperating safely enough here...

Stretching, he had to admit he felt more the thing; fast and furious interdimensional flights and shifting frequencies had a disorienting effect upon 3-D corporeal human-kind. Flexing arms and legs, Daryl thought: yep, still in the material body. A quick shower, and see how Jack was faring were first on his agenda. Maybe a wee cuppa and sommat in his stomach...still living in the material world, as George Harrison once noted, then.

He found Yeats in Jack's room, and saw that Jack's color seemed much improved and the marks on his body were nearly healed.
  Daryl sighed, relieved. 'He looks much better than yesterday.'

Yeats looked at Daryl quizzically, but only nodded. 'Physically, he is much improved. We are still maintaining a close watch upon his other, more delicate systems and how the healing goes there.' He looked at Daryl.
 'How are you? Rested up somewhat?'
  Daryl smiled a wintry smile, nodding.
 'Let's get something into you, then. Tea and some real sustenance, eh?' He took Daryl's arm and steered him to the door. 'Now that you are more rested, we can talk in earnest. Don't worry,' Yeats noted Daryl's concerned gaze still locked upon Jack, 'there will be plenty of time for you to see Jack. He will benefit most by rest, now.'

Back to the familiar room with the viewing porthole, Yeats punched in an order for tea for them both, fruit and, at Daryl's request, mushroom and vegetable quiche
with kelp seasoning, and a bowl of hot miso soup with wakame. He felt protein, saline and iodine-deprived.

Delivered pronto, hot, into the receiving station, Daryl sat at the counter gazing out the wide window and set to.

'Not bad, for ship's galley fare, eh?' Yeats teased. Daryl knew this was a ship like unto no other; and he could feel his body's hungry cells soaking up the proteins and nouishing vitamins and minerals.
  'Much better. I felt in need of grounding.' He sipped his gunpowder tea. 'Indeed. I feel a new man aready. But truly, Jack will be alright, won't he? The crystal did no...permanent damage?'

Yeats stood at the porthole, hands in pockets, gazing outside. Still in cloud-cover, Daryl knew that they were, effectively, cloaked besides.


                          

  'No. Certainly no damage. However...' he paused, still not looking at Daryl, '...there may be...certain, ah, changes, in Jack.
  'You, we all here, were not in the crystal's vicinity long, however you must admit you feel much more disorientation than is usual for just timewalking, or dimension-hopping, yes?'

Daryl nodded, frowning. 'Yes. What do you mean by 'changes' in Jack?' He was no longer hungry.


Yeats sighed, and sat upon the couch curving alongside the walls of the room. 'Actually, we aren't completely sure as yet. 'Jack appears to be...travelling.' He put a hand up, to forestall Daryl's rising panic, as Daryl had himself risen, and was now looming over Yeats for a change.
  'Don't hover so. He's fine. Do have a seat, Daryl, and I shall explain...'

Daryl grabbed the teapot and his cup and took them to the wall-table beside the couch, poured and sat, knowing Yeats would get around to The Point sometime seeming aeons from now...
  'I'm all ears.' Daryl challenged.

'Jack's traveling-body does appear to 'check in' from time to time with his physical self. So, there is no permanent severing of the cord. But, it is a bit of a mystery where he goes...and what he brings back...' Yeats rubbed a finger over his chin in thought.
  'We will know more with Thelene's report, soon.'

'What do you mean?' Daryl's hands were not as steady as they had been a minute ago, Yeats noticed. Steady on, old man...
  

'Well...he does wake on occasion and speak. But sometimes, we can't decipher what he is saying, or what language he speaks.  At times, true, he does speak English, but it all seems rather...technical; although what exactly it relates to is a bit of a mystery. Also, he doesn't seem to focus on his physical surroundings; even eyes-open, he doesn't see us, or react to stimulus about him. Yet.'

'I thought you said he would be alright!' Daryl demanded, although his eyes pleaded with Yeats.

'Actually...yes. He's fine. Probably, more than fine...' Yeats flicked an odd glance Daryl's way.
  'He seems...in many ways, to be much improved, beyond the norm.' he sighed, 'Even at Jack's young age, there should be some cell damage, slowing of certain systems and synapses...but no. All repaired, like new. He appears to be physically the same age, but it is as though...he inhabits an entirely new physical body.'

Daryl's frown deepened. '...Like a, clone?'

Yeats frowned as well. 'Strictly speaking, yes. However, we don't believe that is the case, in actuality. No worries there. It is the 'primordial' Jack, just, 'new and improved'...'

Madison Avenue sales slogans did not reassure Daryl. He was about to challenge Yeats, when the door chimed.
  'Enter,' Yeats called.

                       

The door slid open soundlessly, revealing Thelene at the threshold, in all her Otherworldly glory; she appeared, to their eyes, to be bathed in a glow from within, making her skin appear translucent.
  Both men stood, out of respect; but also pulled, Daryl felt, by a need to bask in her natural luminosity, as if by simply being in her presence, they themselves would absorb and reflect such Light as she.

'Thelene...' Yeats took her hand and led her within. He held her hand with both of his and they gazed a while into one another's eyes. Yeats tore his sight from hers at last.
 'Ah, you know Daryl, naturally.'

'My Lady...' Daryl offered a small bow her way.

'Daryl...' Thelene nodded to him, and sat. 'Do be seated gentlemen. I shan't be long.'
  She fixed him with her steady silver gaze. 'Due to certain...changes of late, Axelis has requested that I explain more of our mission to you now; as you, Daryl, may have harbored some...misconceptions, regarding the League and our presence amongst your people.'

Yeats sat beside Thelene upon the couch, while Daryl took the seat on the other side of the small table.
  'I am eager for any words you may have to impart, my Lady.'
  Daryl found his heart rate increasing and tried not to tremble as he had in Axelis' presence. He had, of course, interacted with Thelene and others of the Sidhe, but, never in full beta consciousness. He wondered if a bit of that ataraxia was perhaps handy...

Intuitively, Thelene smiled, and lay a hand upon Daryl's arm. He felt awash suddenly by a warm wave of relaxation.
  'There. I'm not so awful, now, am I?' Thelene teased.

'Quite the opposite, my Lady...' Daryl merely sat, quiet and still for a change.

Thelene glanced at Yeats and they locked eyes a moment.
  'That is well, then,' she replied, regarding Daryl once more. 'For I have news of some import.' Daryl nodded for her to continue.

'This...disclosure comes about somewhat sooner than planned, mostly due to the, transition, having now taken place with young Jack.'
  The calmness Daryl had felt was quickly vanishing.
  'You mean, the effect of the crystal...?'

'Yes.' Thelene sighed softly, and sat back against the couch. 'Do still thyself Daryl...' she held his gaze with her own and he did feel himself relaxed once more.   'It isn't bad news! Quite the opposite...so you must take hold of yourself, and just listen.' She waited, holding his gaze with her own until Daryl's breathing slowed and his facial muscles showed less strain.


'Very well, then. As you may realize, there is a Universal Code, if you will, whereby developing cultures
are to be left strictly alone, to evolve at their own pace without intercession of others. A Law of Non-Interference.'
   Daryl nodded slightly.

'This is all well and good, for the most part. However, for us, the Tuatha de Danann, who, along with Axelis' folk, the Kelts of lost Kantek; in short, we who are, in part, the ancestors of your people...it goes hard for us to watch our children become so abused and enslaved as they are now upon your world. Trapped, in a seemingly never-ending cycle of ignorance and lies, and imprisoned in this slow hell for countless aeons...while we were made to watch, and do nothing.
  'This, naturally, makes us heart-sore, and we suffer with you. But, it was decided no longer do we merely watch and wait and wring our hands in grief...especially when the entire planet's existence seemed to now be at stake!
  'And, so, we, much against the wishes of the High Council, and others, had implemented a Plan, which, strictly speaking does not go against the mandates of Non-Interference. However,' Thelene emphasized her words with consequence, 'This Plan, long in the making, should ultimately free your world.'

Daryl could grasp this somewhat, however, he couldn't help but ask: 'What has this to do with Jack?'

'Patience. Still much needed upon your world...' Thelene smiled softly, however. 'I was just coming to that, young one.' She blinked at Daryl and momentarily he saw elf-lights dance in the corners of her silver-reflective gaze.
  'Our Plan, then, was to add our own genetically-enhanced material, to your own. As we are the progenitors of the Keltic race, you were of our own make and making, as it were, and our altogether salubrious 'upgrades' should be absorbed and assimilated quite naturally and without rejection or resistance by the host subject.
  'No, Daryl,' she shook her head, holding up a slim white hand, seeing Daryl shift and begin another inquiry, 'recombinant DNA it isn't. We are the same species, recall. We are merely more evolved. Some many thousands of years ahead of your people...but of the same basic 'stock', as you would say.'

'The reasoning behind this bold move, was to further your peoples' evolution somewhat, so that you could be able at least, to see The Great Trap set upon your world, and to avoid it, thereby granting your release and escape from what, elsewhere, is known as 'The Prison Planet'. You can see, what others cannot at this point. Most are simply willing sheep, to follow their leaders to their useless slaughter...to die as they have lived, like beasts used only to enrich the privileged few.'

'A built-in bullshit-detector,' supplied Yeats, crudely, but helpfully...


Daryl was frowning and nodded slightly. 'Yes, I have long thought as much. And, attempted to pass the word along, to those with ears to hear, as they say...  It always was utterly amazing to me, how others could blithely go along with whatever the government or society deemed the norm, or even, what was 'best', when it seemed so obviously, glaringly wrong and even dangerous to the point of total world-annihilation!'
 'It was even more apparent especially in America, where it was said, 'Fascism would come wrapped in a flag and carrying a cross--'; one might add: 'and a gun.' You could make the people do anything at all, or not do anything!--simply by hiding it neath these handy cloaks. As long as people can kill one another with their weapons of choice, and fall upon their knees to an agreed-upon savior whilst waving a flag, all was well with my countrymen.
  'And, when the PTB made it impossible for any but the very wealthy to be educated, it became child's play to bombard the masses with screeching pundits filling folk with fear that what they loved most, more than their own children, would be taken from them: their beloved weapons to kill one another. Mass insanity, sanctioned and bankrolled by the wealthy behind their bunker doors...and it worked, beautifully. Leaving us...' Daryl sighed wearily, '...where we now are...underground, in a virtual world, devoid of air and water, atmosphere irreversibly toxic with poisons...'

Thelene looked with compassion upon Daryl, allowing his outburst, as he so obviously needed to vent. She flicked a eye toward Yeats, who spoke then.
  'True, the Others have had more than a hand in the affairs of the world, and for many thousands of years.
And, thanks to the treaty between your country and the Others, They Own You! You abide in what is now their territory! A Devil's Bargain, that!
  'But the patriarchy and corporatocracy are poised to fall soon, as the planet has at last come nearly to the end of its ability to host the lifeforms upon it.
  'The Others had whispered grand and glorious words of power; all to be had, if the PTB would only join them in their despoilment...which they merrily did.
  'What they did not realize, however, that the Others wished the world for themselves alone, and that their earthly minions would be summarily dealt with: to dust; along with the rest. Satraps are rarely magnanimous, in the End...they merely had lesser tyrants do their dirty work for them, before dispatching their little lick-spittals to the hells they so readily deserved...'

Thelene put a warning hand upon Yeats' arm then, with a slight shake of her head. 'No one forced anyone. Ever.'
She regarded Daryl once more.
  'A free-will universe it remains. However, without education, a people bound by ignorance cannot evolve out of chains they are unable to perceive.'  She folded her hands upon her lap.
  'We merely helped our folk to become aware of what lay beyond the veils, somewhat. Helped them, to help themselves.'

Daryl knew all that she was imparting, however...there were questions, still.
  'Surely, not only the Keltic progenitors are concerned about their people on my world...? And, if the Others have so much of the planet in a stranglehold?'

Thelene smiled a real smile at last. 'Yes! Exactly! Now you see where the formation of the League began! We found other allies in our quest to free the people of Terra...and, we all were labeled 'renegades',thus!' She nodded.
  'The Pleiadian 'renegades', had a hand long ago in the genetics of many Native American tribes; in North, South and Central America, Asia and elsewhere. Sirian brotherhoods oversaw the development of much of Africa and beyond...the list is lengthy one. All, share our quest for your ultimate freedom from tyranny All, exist in what is, to most in your world, an alternate reality or dimension. All, are your ancestors.  All, are part of the League.'

Daryl cleared his throat. 'And...as to Jack, my Lady?'

Thelene leaned to Daryl, hand upon his arm once again. And, again, Daryl settled into calmness. She smiled.
  'All is well with our Jack. He is, of course, one of our star-seeds. Like yourself.' She nodded.
  'You see, the dormant strands of his DNA were programmed at birth; programmed with a time-release sequence of transition, to activate, slowly, and 'naturally' as possible, incrementally. Results of this were noticeable in his high IQ, and inherent proclivities in the sciences...' Thelene trailed off...

                      

She took Daryl's hand in hers. 'Now, Daryl...after Jack came in close contact with the Atlantean crystal, it seems to have...sped up the process. All of his once-dormant DNA strands have been activated, suddenly.' She patted his hand. 'It is something like a spontaneous kundalini-activation, of the yogis and yoginis.
 'And it is, ultimately, a good thing. And, well for Jack that we are here, to aid his acclimatization to this new way of being and perceiving. He is, perhaps, closer to our frequencies now, than to your own.'

Daryl's frown deepened. 'What does this mean, Thelene. It is worrying, all...this...'

'Jack will be fine,' Yeats sat forward, hands clasped. 'He...is still the same young man you knew. And, then some. However, he will be needing some time and space to realign himself with his new...abilities.'

'Which is why, we have kept him here with us this long,' Thelene continued. 'Now that we know what has transpired, we can better guide him, and give him all he may need, while he is...processing the changes.'

'Soon, however,' Yeats added, 'Jack will be able to return to Crowley Place. It will also help him to heal; being back on Terra firma and in familiar surroundings.
I have informed Dr. Parsons of what has transpired, and we, of course, will be nearby in case of need.'

Daryl nodded, seeing more of the big picture now. Although he himself, needed time to process it all, as well...     However, now with Jack back on the road to recovery, although somewhat rocky, perhaps he now would be able to turn his attention to his other problem: Emlyn.

'Ah, yes...' Thelene smile was rather rueful. 'We are aware of Emlyn's journeying... But, Gwydion is her distant kinsmen, Daryl! However distant, the Twyleth Teg still are much closer blood-kin to Emlyn than we. And, so, we would not presume to intrude into such private affairs. But, I do understand your...anxiety over her welfare.
  'Gwydion is...as he is. He will not injure Emlyn, never fear. And, I believe this adventure will give her much to think on in days to come.'

Days to come...Daryl realized now that he'd no idea of the Time spent here.
  'How long...? Ah, that is...in Terran, 3-D terms, When will I be, now, upon my return?'

'Ah, well...' Yeats looked at a non-existent watch absent from his wrist. 'I believe that, should you wish to take your leave of us, you will find yourself returned to Nob Hill, soon in time for the Winter Solstice.'

                        . . . .

WATCH!!AND LISTEN: WOODEN SHIPS -- CROSBY/STILLS/NASH

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_2e2kC-geMI
WOODEN SHIPS
  Intro :  D  A  G  Em  Am7
  Em                        Am7      
Fmaj7
  If you smile at me I will understand
 Em                                              
      Am7  Fmaj7 Em
 Cause that is something everybody everwhere does
in the same language
  Em                                      
       Am7   Fmaj7
  I can see by you coat my friend you're
from the other side
  Em                                      
       Am7     Fmaj7
  There's just one thing I've got to know
can you tell me please
  Em        Am7
  Who won?
  Em
  Hey can I have some of your purple
berries
  Am7                           Em
  Yes I've been eating them for six or
seven weeks now
              Am7       Fmaj7            
Em          Am7
  Haven't got sick once, probably keep us
both alive
 D A G   Em                        G  A D
  Wooden ships on the water very free
      Em                            G    
A  D
  And easy you know the way it's supposed
to be
  Em                             G   A  D
  Silver people on the shoreline let us be
                Cmaj7         Em7    Am7
Em Am7
  Talkin' `bout very free and easy
 D A G   Em                    G     A   D
  Horror grips us as we watch you die
      Em                           G A    
  D
  And all we can do is echo you're
anguished cry
  Em                 G  A     D
  Stare as all human feelings die
         Cmaj7             Em7     Am7 Em
Am7
  We are leaving you don't need us
 D A G Em                    G  A   D
  Go take a sister then by the hand
      Em                      G  A    D
  And lead her away from this foreign land
  Em                      G     A D
  Far away where we might laugh again
         Cmaj7             Em7   Am7
  We are leaving you don't need
            Em7        Am7 ...
  You don't need us                      

Chapter 32 - I Must Away, Love
Ariel to Prospero -
'...the King's ship, in the deep nook, where once thou call'st me up at midnight to fetch dew from the still-vexed Bermoothes...'

Prospero to Ariel -
'...Hast thou forgot the foul witch Sycorax?
...This blue-eyed Hag was hither brought with child...'
-Shakespeare
-'The Tempest'
                      . . . .


    
'You may be a schmatt guy, but you are still the veriest fool.'
  Flubber squinted down at Jack, grimacing around his pipe stem. Jack, meanwhile had been so rocked by this supposed 'news' that he hadn't realized how rocked he was, along with the rest of the boat.

'Quiet!' Morgana raised a hand, as she headed into the pilot house and turned up the radio.

Flubber spun a 180 and found himself facing a dark and threatening skyscape upon the horizon. The boat was rocking in earnest now.  
  'Come on, John! You've got to turn me loose! If a hurricane's coming, we could all die out here!' Jack nodded at the gathering storm. 'I can help.'

Flubber just stared at the black and steadily building stormclouds, saying nothing. The wind began to flog the sails...

'Just tell me this,' Jack said, 'Which side are we on? East or west of the islands?'

John at last dragged his gaze back to Jack. 'The Atlantic, of course...' He finally began to tack back. 'That's where we want to head, Jack...'

'No. Get out of the path of it, John! I've been in hurricanes, man; you can't even stand up!' Jack knew they were doomed; Flubber and Morgana mad as hatters.     'You'll never outrun it, John...they can travel 15 to 25 knots or more--up to 800 miles wide...and the swells...' Jack couldn't hear NOAA, but he could see the storm gaining on them and felt the wind whipping him, lashed as he was to the mast, like a sacrifice to the Sirens...which he was, he now guessed; or to one in particular.
 'Reef the sails, John! Please! Let me loose, and I'll do whatever you say, just let me help!'

'"Winds gusting to 40 knots!"' Morgana yelled from the cabin, echoing NOAA warnings.

'Alright! Alright!' John yelled, and, at last, thankfully, unlocked the cuff on Jack and cut the ropes from his legs. 'Reef that bad boy and then just do like I say, alright?' Jack noticed then the Luger John had pointed at his guts. 'Don't forget who's the captain here. A memory lapse would be fatal.'

Jack said nothing but got to work hauling and securing sails now flapping angrily in the wild wind, while John attempted to steer the ship.
 '"Winds increasing to 55 knots! Swells reported upwards of 10 meters!"' Morgana reported, doing little else, until she looked up at said swells now nearly half that, and promptly vomited like a big dog...

'"Blow, winds, and crack your cheeks! rage! blow!!"' Flubber yelled, completely bughouse.

                       

The storm was upon them.
Jack was glad he couldn't hear the meshugga dementoid now for the roar of the wind and sea. Morgana was on her knees, hugging the doorframe of the pilot house and retching fairly constant now.
  He slowly pulled his way along a rope he'd secured, inching closer to John.
 'Come about, man! We can still get away from the worst of it!' --Maybe, thought Jack. But heading directly into it was psychotic.

Flubber stood his ground, gun jammed in his belt, and grimaced.
  The sound was unbelievable; waves washed over the sides of the yacht, drenching them both. Huge swells, white with foam like mad dogs, broadsided the craft, making it shudder.
  'Come about!' Jack held on to the mast, but barely; thinking all had turned to shite.  But, looking up, the storm was nothing compared to what he now saw before them, and where they seemed to be headed; inescapably. Utterly. And fatally...

A dark hole had opened up out of the ocean, an unseeing eye that swept the sea around it in tight, inexorable spirals; a giant whirlpool, the mother of all whirlpools, the Whirlpool of the Gods...and into It's hungry maw was where their little craft was surely headed.

                               
                            . . . .

'Atlantis?'
Emlyn thought on this; she'd read Ignatius Donnelly. Even Samuel Butler's 'Erewhon'. And other fancies...
  But, the Sidhe were long-lived, and so their memories and histories must perforce edge near the World's Beginnings. Still...


                        

 

 

'You are doubtful, I ken.' Gwydion smiled. 'Ah, "fair Atlantis" --in the beginning, perhaps. Yet, not so fair by the end of it all.' He kept Gwen to a brisk walk
along the leaf-strewn pathways of gold and crimson.
  'As in this future time of which you have spoken, so too, was Atlantis corrupted and, in the end, destroyed by the hubris of men; believing themselves above and apart from those they deemed 'below' them, encluding the planet itself. A great and terrible mistake, that. As Mother Earth will ever remind mankind.'

More and more like Daryl, is this Sidhe Lord, Em couldn't help but think. Is it all in my own mind then?--what I perceive as 'reality'?

'Somewhat, perhaps...' Gwydion leaned about to catch her eye, knowing she knew what he knew, which was what she was thinking.

'Indeed, IF, and a grand IF that be!--If humankind might ever align itself upon fair and equal terms with their bretheren, and naturally and most importantly, with their other and better 'halves': their sorors!--perhaps they may at last realize their true natures and the attendant boons that would entail. Then they would know the Earth as a living, intelligent and Great Being Herself, as are all upon it. They would become Aware, and the very stones would speak to them, teaching them secrets and mysteries long forgotten...'

Emlyn was silent for some while, pondering: the pyramids, and Stonehenge. Someone, some Time had such knowledge, obviously.
  As she breathed in the clear, sweet air about them, scented with the damp earth and leaves, she felt she was but upon an Island of the natural world, while all about her, men carved great jagged gashes into the heart of mother earth, there to wrench forth her minerals to create more machines; for enrichment of the few and to the exhaustion of the factory workers...green growing things trampled and uprooted, leaving only a vast empire of steel and iron, choked with smoke and poison...a vision of hell, it was...

'Daryl, my guardian, would say that people are only driven to prejudice by fear. Fear of not having enough; fear of the foreign usurper,' Em mused aloud.

'Yes,' sighed Gwydion, 'Fear brought about by stark ignorance...those who know, sayeth not, while those who knoweth nought, speak both loud and long. Ignorance, alas, begets only more and more ignorance. And ultimate violence. So goes your world.'

Em stiffened. 'And, to us then, our due? If others know better, why say they not, then?'

'"I danced upon the Sabbath, and was hung upon a Tree..."' Gwydion sang. 'There are those who know. And knowing what was done to those had gone before, who also knew, they kept their silence, and so, their heads.'

Em sighed in her turn. She bethought then of Daryl, and what had become of him, as a Cathar...and One who Knew...couldn't argue with that. 'Is there never hope for my world?'

'There is always hope, my Lady Love.' Gwydion squeezed her waist to him, and kissed her hair. 'But, I see that the graces of Caer Gwydion are no match for your fevered brain. You are a singular one, now! Most are utterly enchanted by my realm! You would bring your world with you, to rub elbows 'til most raw and chapped, against mine here! I had hoped to entrance you, and to give you some pleasure, beauty and peace...'

'I am enraptured, My Lord...or I'd not have remained with you so long in this place...' Em smiled to herself; to be 'reassuring' the Lord of the Sidhe!   'Still, I feel we are but within the eye of the hurricane here, whilst frenzied winds do rage all about us...'

'That will never do!' Gwydion purred in her ear, as his hand went from Emlyn's waist to her hair, and stroked her long elf-locked mane of scarlet, down to her thigh, and ran a hand along it, shocking her senses.
  'You have been too long in my company alone, perhaps...Oh, yes! Though it pains me, I see I cannot be your All-in-All; even I, the Lord of the Cambrian Sidhe, the Twyleth Teg, must seek beyond myself to keep my Lady best-pleased...
  'I have it: we shall have a ball, to-night! A costume ball! And there will be such music, drink and dancing as never you have dreamed!'

And declaring thus, Gwydion nudged his fair Gwen into a gallop that took them fast, far and beyond all thought or care of mundane things.

                        . . . .
..::I must away Love
 I can no longer tarry
 The morning Tempest
 I have to cross--
 I will be guided
 Without a star, now
 Into the arms that
 I love the best::..
-I Must Away, Love
-Halali

                         . . . .

Ferdinand:
Though the seas threaten,
They are merciful
I have cursed them without cause.
Shakespeare's 'The Tempest'

                        *  *  *  *

Jack had managed to get Morgana, who had fainted, clipped into a harness, noting that water had drenched all computers; radar and electronics fried. Amazed that Flubber kept an old VHF radio, he put his ear upon the speaker and was somehow able to get a weak signal from Maritime Radio on the old dinosaur, for all the good that would do them now... Emerging from the cockpit, Jack was knocked to his knees by another frothing mountain of water...

When he could see again, he was wishing he couldn't: they had lost all control of the craft and were caught in the maelstrom now, circling ever-nearer the great Mouth of the Monster which swallowed all in it's path... Flubber had lashed himself to the helm; not that it did any good, the rudder busted long since.
  The daft idjit had at last been bashed senseless and flopped about like a ragdoll. Jack had realized long before, that Flubber had relieved him of all he'd had on him, encluding his homing device, which was now rendered inoperable, if not washed overboard.

Jack now secured a line to himself and the cockpit, and as the boat neared the awesome Black Hole, he shook his head thinking that he'd never expected to go this way; enemies all around, and without even a friend to speak a farewell to. He hung his head and decided to forgive them all...his father, Daryl, even freaking Flubber and Morgana...he didn't want any chains holding him to this mortal coil...he raised his head, his salty tears  blending with the ocean drenching him.
  Ah, Emlyn...if she only knew his last thoughts were of her...

                           
                           . . . .

--'Jack!' He thought he heard a voice calling in the wind. He must be addled...
  'JACK!!' He did hear something! Louder, more insistent. He suddenly felt arms reach out grasping his, cutting the rope which held him onboard. He felt himself being hauled upward--

--into the arms of Yeats!
  'Good gods, man! I can't turn my back for a minute, can I?' Yeats, now drenched by Jack, smiled grimly at him.

Jack hadn't time or energy to register anything else; he looked down, just in time to see the yacht sail spinning into the abominable Black Maw and become swallowed out of sight...
  He vaguely noted an opening in the bottom of a craft above them and himself being heaved inside by Yeats.
  His battered body and senses were at last at the end of his reserves though, and as he lay on the floor of the craft in a pool of seawater, his eyes went up into his head as his eyelids fluttered, and Jack's racing brain was stilled awhile, at long last.

Mr. Yeats leaned back on his elbows, panting and soaked to the bone;
 'You're welcome,' he said.

                           . . . .

WATCH Halali-- I Must Away, Love
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=I2KgbgGzL2A

Chapter 31 - Dreams of Futures Past

Chapter 31 - Dreams of Futures Past

Sly Old Reynardine

One evening as I rambled among the leaves so green
 I overheard a young woman converse with Reynardine
 Her hair was black, her eyes were blue, her lips as red as wine
 And he smiled to gaze upon her did that sly old Reynardine
 She said, “Kind sir, be civil, my company forsake
 For in my own opinion I fear you are some rake”
 “Oh no,” he said, “no rake am I, brought up in Venus train
 But I'm seeking for concealment all along the lonesome plain
 Your beauty so enticed me I could not pass it by
 So it's with my gun I'll guard you along the mountains high
 And if by chance you should look for me perhaps you'll not me find
 For I'll be in my castle, inquire for Reynardine"
 Sun went dark, she followed him, his teeth did brightly shine
 And he led her over the mountains did that sly old Reynardine

--Traditional

                        

                       * * * *
'Tell me more...'
Emlyn lay upon a green bower, in a evergreen glade; surrounded by ferns and flowers. Her couch itself was soft as a featherbed and spread with richly woven tapestries and pillows in shades of deep greens, blues, turquoise and burgundy, shot with threads of gold.
 Soft music stirred gently upon the air of harp and lute while the warm lustre of small amber lamps encircled them with a rosy glow. Breezes carried the scent of cinnamon and pine.

Gwydion carried two earthenware cups to her side and setting them upon a low table, sat beside her and smiled...absently stroking the scarlet locks straying about her shoulders.

'Tell me more of home. Of Wales, in ages past...'

He handed one of the cups to her, pottery brown with a gold and cobalt glaze; small spirals encircling the bowl. She looked at him, then took the cup.
 'Must I 'ware of faery drink?' she asked with a wry smile.

'Only if you believe so.' His warm hand curved about hers upon the cup. 'But, speak you of 'home',' his gaze took in the glade about them. 'Could this not be your home, my Lady?'

'It could be, easily,' she sipped daintily, '...perhaps too easily.'

'Ah. How so?' Gwydion leaned back upon one elbow, taking up his cup in turn.

Emlyn sighed gently. 'I don't believe that it is my calling in life, to take my ease here. Not yet.'

Gwydion nodded. They drank of the golden wine scented with jasmin and tasting of clear mountain springs; a tang of citrus and honey.
 'Home, say you. Our true home, the home of the Celts, is long gone, you know. Ages upon ages past.'

Em was surprised to hear that; apparently what Daryl had said about a lost planet, now the asteroid belt, was true then. Gwydion looked deep in her eyes and nodded. 'Just so.' His gaze dropped and he drank of his wine.

Inhaling, he met her eyes once more and smiled.
'So, then. We all gather about the big bonfire, the Coel Coeth, which blazes through the night, and when the last spark is finally out, folk call out: 'The Cutty Black Sow take the hindmost!' and all take to their heels for home...'

'Ah. That's where 'devil take the hindmost' comes from then.' she grinned. 'In the colonies, we lose our roots so easily...one forgets where things originated.'

Gwydion nodded. 'That is what bedevils, if you will, your new country, indeed. Folk have not that rootedness to the land, you see. And so they feel free to defile; to decimate the buffalo, to over-graze their herds, to deforest the hills to erosion, to poison the land and water in their du lust for gold...' His green eyes blazed near-gold then as his gaze bore down upon her.

Em met his gaze, and agreed with her eyes.
'"Du",' she said, '...'dark' is it?'

'Black, indeed.' Gwydion meant business. But Em was up for a challenge.
  '...I, was warned against you, yourself, you know...' Here the Sidhe Lord smiled once more, well-pleased at that.
  'Indeed?'

'Aye.' She set down her cup. '"Gwydion the Trickster, the Magician", I was told. And, of course, one is cautioned against the Fay in general. And...' she decided to go out on that far-reaching limb, '...it is said there are even stranger beings of Otherworlds.'

Gwydion crossed his knees and folded his hands about them, oddly reminding her of Uncle Daryl. She banished the memory...
  'Indeed there are, Lady. Many.' He looked up and about them. 'We are safe from their reach. They do not quest here.' He paused, frowning abit, thinking.
  '...However, they do, quest upon your world; and, now that the Way has been Breached from your side, you have aligned yourself more with their frequencies.'

...Sounding more like Daryl all the time, Em thought.
  'You did ask,' he told her, again binding her gaze to his. At last he looked elsewhere, and sighed.
  'Tis a free-will universe and like will attract like. Is it any real shock to find rievers and raiders seeking prey upon a planet of same?'

So, Daryl was right...Em was not pleased to realize.
She frowned. 'I'm still...much confounded by this...
So, what are we to do, then?'

'Be yourself.' His eyes studied hers, golden lights dancing within. No one had ever gripped her with a gaze as did Gwydion. 'I know your soul and spirit, cariad, and it would not allow you to do other than good.'
  Em looked down, blushing. But he touched her chin with his finger, bringing her head to rights. 'My wee cig oen...' he smiled.

'What is that?' asked Em tentatively.
  '"Lamb", he stroked her cheek, '...so soft...'

'Does that make you a wolf, then?' she dared sass the Sidhe.

It fazed not Gwydion, who then took her in his arms and eased himself down upon her bower. 'Nay...tis a Llew, am I, a Lion...made thus, to lie down with the Lamb...'

                       . . . .

Emlyn and Gwydion walked through the morning mists of the grounds of Caer Gwydion; the sun high as they slept late (whatever was late or early here, though, seemed arbitrary and capricious, Em noted...sometimes they were abed as the stars rose with the moon just after sunset, and then asleep again by noon, only to rise with the dusk and walk, sing, dance throughout the long evenings; which may end with a seeming sunrise and then, finding yet another starry night hard on its heels...

Emlyn was not the least discomfited by these chancy capers of sun and moon...here the day was not so bright, the colors not so glaring to the eyes; while the evenings were, contrary-wise, not as dim; indeed, pale colors glowed softly as if lighted from within, and one could stroll through a wood easily as if t'were daylight, a seeming Twilight ever accompanied the moon's regnancy.

Gwydion paused as the wood opened onto a meadow, and whistled thrice, sounding more like a bird's call than a man's. A thunder of hooves announced the approach of a white stallion, gold mane flying...just as in tales of old, thought Em, quite giddy with delight.

'Shaa, shuh-shuh...' Gwydion whispered to the faery steed, stroking his grand head, and producing a green apple from his pocket, handed it to Em, who offered it to the lordly beast, which was received with dainty gusto.

'He's magnificent!' Emlyn stroked his elegant features, as the fey creature breathed in her scent and then she turned up her chin and nose-to-nose with him, they exchanged breaths. Just as would a mundane equine would do, then he snorted and shook his head, and began to graze at their feet.
 'I have seldom, if ever, seen such a horse, of such a rare color, or type...' Larger than an Arabian, but with the sculpted, dish-face of that breed, yet somewhat like unto the Andalusian; they of the long, lusterous mane and tail. Small hooves on slender, but muscular legs, with feathered fetlocks which seemed almost like...feathers.

'Nor will you see any like, anywhere but Here. He is a faery horse.' His eyes danced merrily. 'I call him Gwyn, of course.'

Of course, thought Em, patting the sleek neck. 'Gwyn, meaning 'white, shining'...' Em knew that much, and more: she also bethought of Gwyn ap Nudd --"fair/white son of Nudd"--the abductor of the maiden Creiddylad after her elopement with Gwythr ap Greidawl, a long-time rival of his. He helped Culhwch hunt the boar Twrch Trwyth, and in later legends he was king of the "fair folk", the Tylwyth Teg.


Gwydion laughed. 'Ah, that Gwyn, indeed. The father of us all, well...of many, let us say! He was ever the one for abducting maidens fair. But, here...'
  He cupped his hands and made a stirrup, helping Em up on the stallion's back. 'I can see you two are friends already...' Grabbing a handful of mane, he hoisted himself up behind her and took firm hold of her waist.

Bending about her over the stallion's great neck, he then whispered, 'Let us fly!' And fly they did, Mercury-like, Gwyn needing little encouragment to take to his feathered heels...

                     . . . .

                          

Later, as they walked with the great horse sedately by the flowing river, (Which was named 'Dee', also; like unto it's worldly sister in Wales, Em learned), Gwydion pulled up their mount allowing him to graze; he slid from the faery steed's back then, and reached up to help Emlyn down beside him.

They strolled along, Gwyn following, (not something many unbridled mundane steeds would do, thought Em), and Emlyn breathed in the warm fall air scented with brown leaves and grasses, noting with pleasure that although the breezes blew here, and the leaves fell, the trees themselves were never denuded. It had always made Em rather sad to see the last of autumn...

Gwydion spun her round into his arms as he leant back upon a mossy rock. He kissed her neck, saying, 'Here you may never want for lack of leaves, in all their fine fall rainments...'

Emlyn smiled, and fingered the moonstone about her neck. She wondered, for the first time, how long she had been here. She'd given little thought to those she'd left behind, or indeed, of anything but Here and Now. Surely, she'd been here only a day or twa...

Gwydion was silent. He gazed beyond her, sighing, and pulled her to him. He rested his chin upon her crimson head. 'A ceiniog for your thoughts, Lady...'

Em sighed in turn. 'I...I just realized I haven't thought of anything or anyone back home, since I've been here...'

Gwydion frowned, looking at her then. 'I thought this was 'home' to you now.'

Emlyn bit her lip, thinking. It wasn't easy to focus here... 'It is. I hope, in fact, someday, that it may be my home, for good and all.'

'But, not yet?'

Em looked down at the leafy carpet beneath their feet, swishing the colors together with her toe, like a painter mixing her palette.
  'I have some friends, back...back in California, who have journey'd through Time.'

Gwydion smiled. 'Indeed? The Van Horns, you're speaking of?'

'You know them!?' Em looked at him, aghast.

'Not personally, no...' Gwydion took her hand and they sat upon the large mossy stones scattered about.
'It was Daryl Van Horn, was it not, who was so ferociously intent upon us, the night we left?'

Em sighed shortly. 'Yes, it was he. Anyway,' she endeavored to return to the topic at hand, 'they came bearing ill tidings of the future. They returned, I believe, to try to alter that course somehow.'

'Ah. I see. Men of vision.' Gwydion pulled a grass-stem and chewed upon it, musing. 'Tis a tricky contrivance, that. Time.'

'Contrivance?'

'Aye, just so. To fool the folk into linear thinking.
Once, all knew time to be circular, you see, not an unnaturally straight line from beginning to end. In the cycle of the seasons, the Mother makes this plain to all, with eyes to see.'


'That's just it, my Lord, people don't see! Especially in their time. And, I must admit, that in the city, I lose touch with the natural rhythm of nature...' Emlyn looked troubled. 'I would wish that there was something I could do...'

Gwydion looked intently upon her. His hand went to her hair...she had left it long, making small braids randomly about. Elf-locks, he bethought.
  'You are so much like Seren, your mother.'

Emlyn studied him now, intent. 'You knew my mother?'

'Of course. We are kin. As are you and I, my darling dear. Cariad...' he put a hand upon her shoulder. 'Not close kin! But, all Kelts are kin to the Sidhe, who came there, to your world, from the stars, as was told in your legends of the Tuatha de Danann.   And, as you have the Welsh blood of your mother, so too, have you ours.' He kissed her hand softly.
  'And, as the Sons and Daughters of Don are the progenitors and guardians of the Welsh, so am I, your guardian, blood-brother, and lover. Husband, if you would have me. Stay, Lady...and be my Queen...'

Emlyn felt rocked to her core. She was moved beyond measure. This was all she could ever wish! But, it would mean leaving the battleground below, and it made her heart-sore. She choked back a sob, thinking that tears had no place in this world beyond travail.

'Ah. There, now...druan a chi!' Gwydion held her close, rocking her slowly, and began a slow waltz with her, as he hummed a quiet tune, familiar and yet not...
  'What does that mean?' Em sniffed.
  He kissed the top of her head. 'It means sommat like, 'you poor wee thing!' Isn't that how we comfort one another? Tis not so different here...'

They stayed thus awhile, as Em got over her fit of sentimentality, as she bethought it, strangely melancholy suddenly. She felt a cold breath of air upon the back of her neck then, and Gwyn raised his head, snuffing the wind. She felt a Presentiment. And she thought then of Jack.

Gwydion was no fool, he. 'Hmm. Well, think on things some while then. I'm not going anywhere, you know!' He smiled, then became serious. 'It is an odd place, this new country you have adopted, Lady...some say, that it has called to it the souls of those lost beneath the Great Wave.'

'What is this?' Em looked up at him, as they ceased their dance. 'Do you mean the tale of Noah's Ark?'

'Nay, Lady. Long, long ago; ages before the god of the Hebrews came with his fire and brimstone...' He called Gwen to him and they mounted, heading back to Caer Gwydion. The Lord of the Sidhe sighed deeply. 'For 'tis Olde Atlantis, of which I speak...'

                       . . . .