.::The Love-Talker:
The gancanagh originated in Ireland and the Hebrides Islands of Scotland although the Irish version of the gancanagh is vastly different than the Scottish. In Scotland, the geancanach element is fire and they are most active at night, and can be found around a blazing fire at your hearthside. They are considered the guardian of the home and hearth and crave the warmth of the fireplace.
In Ireland, the gancanagh is also called the love-talker. He's a debonair man who appeared in lonely glens, smoking his clay pipe. He had no shadow, birds stopped their singing in his presence, and there was an aura of mist surrounding him. He would also seduce young maidens with his enchanting voice and whispered nonsense then would promptly disappear, leaving the maiden to pine away for him. Few of his victims live for very long afterwards dying of despair and a broken heart::.
. . . .
Beware the tunes that touch your heart.
The gancanagh will play the soul
Beware sweet lass don't crave his art
He'll pierce your heart and leave a hole.
. . . .
Cupid is a knavish lad,
Thus, to make poor females mad...
--Shakespeare
A Midsummer Night's Dream
* * * *
Emlyn knew not where she was...
Mist surrounded her, all about. Such a thick fog, she could be on the waterfront back home, but, no cries of gulls or bells, no creak of boats tied to docks sounded here.
She may as well be in a cloud, she thought, rather wary of taking a step. But, whither now? She walked slowly, gingerly along, seeking...something, anything!--to get her bearings.
What was that? A shadow of something dark loomed ahead. She approached, warily...it was large and stark here in this nebulous opacity. But, it was Something, at least, and drew her on...
As she neared, it resolved itself into a Standing Stone, such as she'd seen in pictures of Stonehenge.
But this one stood alone...or did it?
Dim shapes she now could discern, possibly... She reached out and touched the cold stone Giant, to assure herself of reality, such as it seemed to be here, wherever that was.
The mist began to clear somewhat and she saw that indeed, there were other stones, like their brother here, ringed in a circle. Keeping her hand on the one, she gazed about her at them all, in quiet amazement.
Suddenly she felt a Presence, and turning, she beheld, at last!--Gwydion.
Smiling, he enfolded her in his warm cloak and immediately she felt as though bathed in a warm, envigorating pool of pleasure...he kissed her brow and
taking her hand, led her to the other side of the circle where a great stone was set atop two others, creating an arch, or gateway.
Here he stood beneath the lintel stone and held both hands out to Emlyn. 'Do you enter here, Lady, and Beyond, with me, of your own free will and wish?'
His eyes danced with elfin lights and the mist seemed to swirl about him like a live thing, as a pet cat might rub about one's legs...
Emlyn hesitated not. Taking his hands, she breathed,
'Aye. I do and will, my Lord!'
Smiling trimphant, Gwydion, called Son of Don, Lord and progenitor of the Cambrian Sidhe, kissed her hands and led her under the lintel stone, and Beyond...
. . . .
'It's only anaphasic energy...just anaphasic energy...' Jack recited to himself, over and over, rubbing the bad dreams from his aching head and trying to convince himself that what seemed to have happened--hadn't.
But it had.
He remembered, sort of, going to bed at Jethro's and
well, passing out, drunk. Which was odd, as he hadn't had much to drink...other than that couple of sips of the odd flask that weird woman had offered...
He felt rather dizzy still, as if rocking on a boat. Bleary-eyed, he sat up in bed, banging his head on a low ceiling that hadn't been there when he'd retired the night before.
That woke him up.
He WAS on a boat.
And they were at sea, by the movement of it. Bloody hell, where was he? He glanced about and found his clothes, dressed hurridly and tried to keep his bile down as he found his way out of the cabin and up the stairway to the deck above.
Glory! What the hell was this!?
He was on a yacht. All about was blue...blue skies, water. In the distance, he could discern islands, palm trees gracefully waving in the breezes. By the shading of the turquoise water he feared he was in the torrid zone, possibly somewhere in the Caribbean?
He gazed nervously about him, noting the flag the ship flew; a triange within a circle. And a Jolly Roger.
'Ahoy, matey!'
To Jack's utter fear and disgust, a familiar round pale pudgy head poked up over the side of the craft, followed by the rest of Flubber, blubber encased, sausage-like, in a wet-suit. Flopping finally, walrus-like upon the deck, he proceded to remove his swim-fins, as Jack gaped at the horrid site like a newly-caught cod.
Which he was, apparently.
He heard another breaching beside the boat, followed by another head--a dark, wet, red head;
Morgana heaved her slick sinuous body aboard, smiling like the Siren she was, and well-pleased with her catch-of-the-day: Jack.
'Hel-lo, Lover-Boy...!' She purred.
. . . .
Daryl, meanwhile, was quietly going berserk...
It was now some time past All Hallows Eve, and he had done what damage control he could; telling Connor, Bridget and Rosa and Yvanna, Shannon and Jeanne, and all else encluding the library, that Emlyn was fine, she had simply met up with an old friend and had been convinced to leave with them and stay with them some while.
...Almost not quite a lie.
He'd the devil's own time of keeping himself in check, however, and not showing his growing panic.
'It's Yeat's fault...if he hadn't dissolved the Order, we'd not have this total Chaos!' Daryl sat, elbows on his desk, hands in his wild hair, trying to get a grip on himself.
Why, why, why...he asked all the gods, why me?
I'm utterly unsuited to this task! I can barely keep my wits together just minding my own business, much less trying to keep the world spinning in the proper direction! He knew he wasn't making sense. It just wasn't in his nature to take on all this...responsibility for others. Goddess knows he'd had hard enough time just keeping his own wee world together, much less assuming the care and tutelage of young Jack and Emlyn. Why had he done it? He sighed.
He knew why.
He'd come to care for them, hadn't he? No longer an island and law unto himself, he had to admit. He'd hoped simply to impart some pithy cosmic truths to the acolytes and hand over the baton and be upon his merry way.
It hadn't happened thus.
Oh, where was Yeats, anyway?
If he was with the League now, it was quite beyond Daryl's meager powers to contact them. They were like the Sidhe: don't call us, we'll call you.
Fine. For THEM...
Daryl rubbed his forehead, now in a permanent crease of worry-lines. Alright. So Samhain's come and gone. He knew, as far as Emlyn was concerned, that his best bet would be to bide his time, (hah!--in a pig's eye, he could...), and to wait until Midwinter Solstice and sun-standing.
Yes? And, what then?
Then...he would at least try...something. Make his move. That gave him, let's see, a bit less than two months to wait. And plan.
Much could happen in two months. Especially in the Otherworld, where mere months here could be years, decades, with the Sidhe.
Daryl's elbows slid from under him and his head fell slowly upon his desk, it's hard coolness momentarily welcome. He sighed.
A soft knock at the study doors. Daryl slowly raised his head. 'Entre'...'
Rosa peered into the room. 'Visitors, don Diego. Emlyn's friends. From the party?' Rosa tried not to show her surprise at Daryl's wild hair and bloodshot eyes but her expression told all.
Daryl ran hands through his elf-locks and nodded. 'Si, si...send them into the parlor and,' he sighed again, 'we'll all have tea...'
....
Somewhat presentable, or at least looking a rather saner madman, Daryl entered the parlor to find not only Jeanne and Shannon but Allyn as well.
'Buenos tardes,' Daryl nodded, adjusting his cuffs.
'To what do I owe the honor of this unexpected visit?' He gestured them all back to their seats, as Rosa entered and deposited the tea tray, poured for all and made her practiced, quiet exit.
Jeanne spoke first, 'Please excuse our rather sudden appearance here, Senor Rivera, but, we have news. It concerns your nephew, Jack.'
'What? What have you heard!?' Daryl rounded upon them,
'Please?' he amended, getting hold of himself. No, it can't be, he thought...
Jeanne was clasping her hands in her lap so tightly her knuckles showed white. 'Jethro just told Allyn. It seems Jack has gone missing. Since the Halloween party.'
Daryl sank into his armchair. It was just as he'd feared then. He looked then at Allyn.
'Tell me. All that you know.'
Allyn recounted Jethro's tale then, beginning with Jack retiring to his usual guest room and then, he was gone
--in the middle of the night and without a word to anyone.
'Even Aleister may not know,' Allyn supplied, 'he had left the party with his lady friend, Diana. May even still be there...'
Jeanne was gazing intently at Allyn as he spoke. 'True, it may not be cause for alarm,' she turned then to Daryl, 'if not but for appearance at Jethro's party, of the two folk Em had warned us of, when we were all at the equinox festival.'
Trouble in spades. I knew it! Daryl told himself, lips tight, hands grasping his armrests a match for Jeanne's white knuckles.
'I see.' Daryl feared he did.
'It's just that,' Shannon spoke at last, who had been restive in Em's Spanish chair which Daryl had recently moved from Ye Old Shoppe into the parlor, 'Jethro had mentioned that someone said they'd seen Jack earlier outside with a redhaired, masked woman.' Shannon squirred about as though seated upon an anthill. Suddenly, up she spang:
'Ach! I can't bear another minute in this chair!' she exclaimed, staring at it as though offended. She came to herself then. 'Sorry!' her hands went to her mouth.
She inched slowly across the room from The Chair.
'It's...seen things. Been places.' Shannon's eyes sought eveyone's there. She sighed. 'Sorry.'
Daryl had stood, meanwhile. 'Here, my dear! Do take my seat,' he gestured to his fireside armchair.
'Rather a sensitive, are you, then?' Meanwhile, he nodded to Allyn and together they hefted the chair out.
Returning, Daryl stood by the fireplace, regarding Shannon. 'Do you need a brandy?'
'Well...' Shannon demurred.
'She's fine,' Jeanne replied for her, as Shannon made a wry face. 'So, that's the long and short of then. Thought you should know...' She set down her tea. 'Odd things happen around this time of year.' She gazed at Daryl searchingly, as though wondering what all to disclose, and what not, taking his measure.
Daryl regarded them, wondering the same. 'Aye. They do.' He ran a hand across his aching forehead, 'Well, thank you all for the information...'
'But, we came here to be of help, you see!' Shannon stood then, facing Daryl. 'Or, at least to offer any assistance you may wish!'
Daryl was silent a moment, looking at their young, eager faces.
'Thank you all, so much. Truly, I appreciate your efforts...'
'Shannon has Seen something, with regards to Jack.'
Jeanne decided to show their hand at last. 'She has had a bruadar come upon her.' Jeanne nodded at the girl.
'The taibhsearachd, Far-Sight, has Shannon.'
'Ah.' Daryl paused, eyeing Shannon intently. 'My tapadh leat, then. Please, continue.' Obviously, the girl had a certain sensitivity, he had to admit.
Shannon looked nervous. 'You understand, when I See these taibhs, it is like unto viewing only a puzzle piece of a scene. Exact details are not entirely shown...' She glanced at Jeanne, who smiled encouragement.
Daryl nodded, knowing of what she spoke. 'I see. Pray, continue.'
Shannon took a deep breath, and shut her eyes. 'He's on a boat somewhere. Far from here. I ken...warmth, humidity, fair breezes.' She paused, sighing.
'There seem to be islands nearby, with palm trees...the water about them looks jewel-like, a pale green-blue...'
Daryl's gaze soon turned to a dark frown and he was clenching his fists. But said nothing to interrupt the girl's tale.
Shannon frowned slightly as well. 'He isn't alone. There are two with him. I believe they may be those Emlyn warned us of...a fat balding man and a tall, red-haired woman seem to be the only ones commanding the yacht.' She opened her eyes. 'I have no good feelings for these two. They...to say they are duplicitous is only the least of their venality.'
'What of Jack? How fares he? Is he...hurt?' Daryl pleaded with his eyes. The rest of him looked ready to kill.
'He seems alright, physically.' Shannon shook her head,
'Anymore, I cannot tell at present.'
Daryl sank down upon the sofa beside Jeanne. He ran a hand through his hair, his hands shaking. With rage, she discerned. 'You know where he may be, then?' She softly inquired.
Daryl seemed about to cave... He slumped forward, elbows on knees and took his head in his hands.
'First, Emlyn...now this...'
The three visitors looked at one another. Jeanne spoke softly, 'What of Emlyn, then?'
Daryl sighed and straightened. He bit his lip, blinking at them. Decided that they knew as much as he, perhaps more, and there was need no longer to shield the truth.
'She...is not "visiting a friend," as I said...she...is gone with the Fay.'
To his bewilderment, all seemed to relax somewhat.
'Ah, is that all?' Jeanne looked relieved.
'Is that ALL!?' Daryl couldn't believe it. He gestured with his hand in the air, 'She's, she's been spirited away...who knows where?...by Gwydion ap Don, or thus he has styled himself! Gone--from under our nose!' He looked both pained and angered, and somewhat hopeless.
'THAT Gwydion?' Shannon's eyes were wide. 'Well!' She regarded Jeanne and a certain understanding passed between the two. 'There is more to our Cambria than we first imagined, then, eh?'
Jeanne noted Daryl's distress, however, and put a soft hand upon his arm. 'Dinna fash yourself, don Diego! It is all part of her dan. 'Tis fated.'
Shannon came and sat on the other side of Daryl, 'She's quite alright, you know. I would have surely known otherwise. And--' Shannon closed her eyes once more, 'She will return.' She opened them. 'Soon. I know not when, to the day, though...'
Daryl merely stared unbelieving at the two women. 'I...thank you for your words of comfort, but...' he shook his head. 'She is my ward. I am her guardian, and, I failed at my first duty: to keep her safe.' He clasped his hands again.
'But, you're right. There are more urgent matters to attend to, now I know she's ...taken care of in a manner of speaking...' Daryl, however, was not one to trust Gwydion the Trickster-Magician Sidhe Lord. Whatever some wee Irish witch-trainee may say...but Jack. Jack was a different matter.
'I'm sorry, but I haven't time to lose. I believe Jack is in great peril, and I must try to help him.' Daryl stood, hoping that the others would interpret this as dismissal.
Jeanne nodded to the others and they stood as well.
'You know where he is, then?'
'I believe I do. I fear...he is in the Bermuda Triangle.' He looked away, steel in his grey gaze.
'The Devil's Triangle.'
. . . .
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