.::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
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