'Man is a rope stretched between the animal and the
Superman--a rope over an abyss.
A dangerous crossing, a dangerous wayfaring, a dangerous
looking-back, a dangerous trembling and halting.'
--Nietzsche, Thus Spake Zarathustra
. . . .
So...there had been a pair of bards come to Caer Arianrhod;
who were in fact, Gwydion and Llew in disguise...
Emlyn read on...
..::'Tell your lady that two bards from Glamorgan are here,'
said the one who looked to be the elder...
That pleased her, and Arianrhod answered, 'Let them in.
The welcome of the gods be with them.'
...In the amusements of those days, the bards were almighty.
There were no theatres save the altars and ancient oaks where
the druids performed the symbolic rites of their Mysteries; no
song or saga save what dwelt on the lips of the bards. And
this woman of the magic loving race of Math, must have been an
artist, a lover of story and song.
A feast was made, and the bards were set by Arianrhod
herself, and all made merry. Yet from time to time, she
searched the elder bard with liquid eyes; for there was that
in him which drew her and acted as a magnet upon her gaze.
'Have I seen you elsewhere? For there is that in your look
which should be known to me...'::..
. . . .
Emlyn closed The Mabinogion with a slightly trembling hand.
She exhaled a long, shaky sigh...that chapter had been her
dream of the other evening. She especially recalled, and
inwardly recoiled, from what she had just read of Arianrhod's
perception of the Younger Bard:
'...So Llew took the harp and Gwydion sang, and his voice was
like a river of gold bearing them all away....wide-eyed,
Arianrhod sat and listened, the blue of her eyes like that of
the heavens when they first shone wondering above the world.
And the gaze of the younger bard was twin with hers in color,
wonder and joy. They might have been the same eyes, set in two
faces...'
Oh, no... Em closed her eyes and slightly shook her head in
denial. It couldn't be, surely? HOW could it possibly BE?
But, knowing that, in Gwydion's world, dance floors could
levitate, and necklaces made of the moon and stars from the
heavens could be fashioned to hang about her neck, she knew
that such things could, indeed, be so.
She bit her lip and gazed out the window, altogether feeling
the little fool she knew Daryl now bethought her... Of
course, the Sidhe Lord was not playing games. She may have
felt their time together as a fleeting flirtation, but why, oh
why, had she believed that such a one as he would not have had
a deeper and perhaps more sinister motive for his interest in
her?
Such 'Others' were interested in her mother's genetics, and
so, hers. Although perhaps not the same 'Others' Daryl had
spoken of, the Society could have been their allies. When she
had spoken of this to Gwydion, he had assured her that he and
his realm were far from such machinations.
Perhaps. But it seems, their aims were the same, even if the
methods to procure what they sought differed.
Not for the first time, did she allow the sneaking suspicion
to enter her mind, that maybe, just maybe, this was also a
major motivation behind Jack and Daryl's interest in her as
well. What at first had seemed to be an interest in her via
her timewalking scientist father, she knew also, that Daryl
had wished for her and Jack to marry. And Jack has that same
wish. She sighed again; no, correction: Jack HAD wished so.
Once...
He couldn't bear to be too close to her now; perhaps,
understandably, he may not wish to be intimate with another
woman for some time...
Emlyn felt in complete and total sympathy with this. She
doubted she would trust another man who sought her out with
'romance' on his mind; knowing now what lay behind that
convenient camouflage.
Morgana and Gwydion...couldn't be in cahoots, could they? It
seemed unlikely; she doubted Gwydion could bear such a one as
she. Indeed, how had Jack come to be so...enthralled? The
thought of the two of them so entwined made her slightly
ill...and pained her more than she would've liked to admit.
She knew he had been drugged, and enspelled...perhaps
glamoury was one of Morgana's arts. It certainly abounded in
Arthurian tales. It was, in fact, how Arthur's father, Urien,
had tricked Yrgraine into bed with him, thanks to the druid
magic of Merlin...had more such rough magick been at work when
Arthur and Morgan le Fay, together all unwitting, had come to
produce Mordred, Arthur's bane...?
So-called 'Romances', these tales...yet hardly thus when such
subterfuge and sorcery were practiced upon oneself, with a
rather less-than-romantic outcome!
Why, then...had this happened to both Jack and herself, at
the same time?
This was something she wished to discuss, with Daryl, ideally;
Mr. Yeats, apparently dimensions and worlds away from them
now.
When Daryl had fled the kitchen, she'd followed, simply to
make certain he was alright... Jack had joined her, and, not
finding him handy, they had eventually ascertained he had
taken Trotsky, without even a saddle, and had galloped off...
Wherever.
Jack had seemed to withdraw within himself then, and escaped
into the basement lab below. There was much that Jack did not
wish to face about his recent trauma. She did not blame him
for his reticence... But, although pained herself by what she
now knew had come of her 'adventure', she sought answers and
information, not escape.
Em frowned, and noticed her fists clenched as she paced about
the Indigo Room. She had to admit that, should she see Gwydion
again, as she was somehow sure she would; she would do so with
clear eyes and a hard heart. Oh, what she wouldn't do to him!
If only she could...
It couldn't be 'Fate'. No. This was not fated, Em told herself
rather desperately. People are not chess-pieces of the gods.
...Are they?
. . . .
The sunset burned like a brand upon the far western
hillsides...fire on the mountain, thought Daryl as he galloped
into it's flaming confluence, wishing to burn as well; flaming
swords, and cherubim... 'O, daughter of Zion, Judah the Lion;
What's John writing, John the Revelator?...The Book of the
Seven Seals...'
Burn, burn, burn it all...
They crested the ridge and, at last, Daryl pulled up Trotsky
and sighed deep as his hard-ridden mount panted in short
bellowing breaths and Daryl felt the wet hot beast's sides
expand and contract beneath him. He hung his head and patted
Trots, earning him the snort he deserved.
Daryl dismounted, feeling regret that he'd ridden good Trotsky
at such a devilish pace. He let him graze, sorry that there
wasn't water near. Another dry year...
Running. Running, far and fast as he could.
Trotsky snorted, shaking his wet neck, and showering Daryl in
horse sweat, letting him know exactly who was doing the actual
running.
I been trying to get as far away
from myself, as I can
Some things are too hot to touch,
The human mind can only stand so much
You just can't win, with a losing hand...
He sighed, thinking of the old Dylan tune.
Daryl plopped down in the dry wild grasses topping the hills
with a silver coat. Some green underneath, he noted, frowning.
But, not enough. Not nearly enough.
He gently tugged upon a grass stem, pulling forth the new
growth and tasted it's sweetness; so much sweeter for it's
small swift succulence.
Trots cruised the hilltop, nose to business, ignoring Daryl,
as he should...Daryl knew he deserved no less.
He'd known this may happen; might have been happening, yet
he...? Refused to believe it? What possible excuse was there
for his half-trying to resolve matters? He ought to have,
what? ...Forcibly taken both Jack and Emlyn to the
Massachusetts estate, and damn their bleatings about personal
rights and habeas corpus?
He'd known others who had grown up during the Bush Reich and
great Reign of Terror...few knew then, the terror had come
from his own country, such as it was; autonomy little known
for the lie it was back then; the NWO a fact in all but name
only. The aim and the result of it all resulted in the
abolition of citizen's rights, the world domination of the
Corporatocracy and open establishment of a perpetual war-based
economy.
'Inter Arma Enim Silent Leges,'
--Cicero: 'In Time of War, The Law Falls Silent'.
He was loath to stoop to such gestapo tactics himself. But,
might it have staved off this, catastrophe...?
--Really?
Don't let the sun catch you cryin'
Cryin' at my front door...
Don't let the sun catch you lyin'...
Bits and snatches of old songs rambled through Daryl's brain
uncalled for as he stared at the seething setting sun. A
musician's occupational hazard...sometimes the dam'd lyrics
kept him awake nights; it was why he had taken up zazen and
learned to shut off his internal dialogue.
But, sometimes, his vigilance waned and he made a misstep.
Gods help him, but he could be all too human, at times.
...Something he could never forgive himself for.
He watched Trots wandering the mesa and allowed his thoughts
to roam free where he hadn't dared before now. Could it be?
Could the ultimate horror have happened, despite all his
safeguards? He knew Morgana and John were about...why hadn't
alarms sounded loud and long in his better self? Why, why,
why...
He could go on like this indefinitely he knew.
But, whatever it was, was now done.
Suddenly, Daryl realized exactly how Yeats must have felt when
he gave over the Order at last. And had left, in the Crystal
Ship, with his Lady.
Daryl finally came to feel, deeply within where it might not
pass unnoticed, that he couldn't control events or the lives
of others, no matter his best intentions or how hard he tried
to do so.
He wasn't responsible for seeing that the world kept turning.
This was a new and astonishing idea for Daryl; realizing that
he, in fact, was not Atlas.
The sun settled behind a cloud bank covering the lower Buttes,
while their tops poked out above, looking like islands in the
mist.
Daryl looked about for Trots and gave a short sharp whistle.
Trots looked up, betraying his whereabouts with the jingle of
his bridle.
'Getting on towards dusk, old hoss,' Daryl slowly sauntered
the horse's way, and murmuring promises of apples and grain to
come, amidst apologies for their mad ride across the hills, he
swung up on Trotsky's wet back and urged him homeward.
The world would continue to turn as it would; will he, nil he,
thought Daryl. He, alone was not responsible for the outcome
of the Game.
Diosa be thanked for that, he sighed.
. . . .
Jack sat before the computer calling up several different
screens as he compared and cross-referenced information from a
wide variety of sources. Somewhat surprisingly, he also had a
piano keyboard jacked into the system along with an audiometer
and spectroscopes.
Jack 1 was troubled within, but managed to keep a lid on it
all by compartmentalization. The New Jack, (Jack 2.0), wasn't
bothered in the least and was, in fact, fascinated with some
new-old info that was most intriguing to say the least...
'Sounds...notes...keywords, all genetically codified
frequencies...modified DNA containing programmed syntax to
react to modulated impulses...changes in genetic
code...reacting to a new dynamic sequence, by securing the
schematic hologram of a particular code and re-transmitting it
to another...'
Jack 2.0 tapped out equations and then, Jack 1 took over,
and got up from the table and went over to the old blackboard
in the corner and erased it, beginning again with the
equations on 'hard (blackboard) copy'.
'There...that's better.' Jack 1 stood back from the board
and regarded his work, nodding. He went to the piano keyboard
then and ran his long nimble fingers down the keys in a
succession of melodious, bell-like notes. These he jotted down
on pages of blank sheet music.
And so Daryl found him thus; as he entered the lab, he was
somewhat surprised to find Jack so cavalierly at work with the
computers, and playing music.
'Heigh ho, what have we here, then, Jack?'
Jack glanced up, and smiled slightly, acknowledging his uncle.
'Ah. Daryl.' He cast an eye about, 'This may interest you...I
am endeavoring to compose music that will alter, stimulate and
enhance DNA patterning...see here...'
Daryl casually approached the workbench and studied the lines
of music noted there, walked to the blackboard and stood, arms
crossed before his chest, regarding it. 'Hmm...' He stepped up
to the board and taking the chalk, made a small notation under
Jack's. 'This, also, may help.'
Jack considered the notation and nodded. 'I see. Yes.' He
looked at his uncle. 'You could help me with this. You are the
musician.'
Daryl gave a wry grin then, and sat himself upon one of the
work stools. 'Perhaps. But, a scientist, a geneticist, I am
not.' He nodded at the blackboard, 'but, it is a worthy
endeavor, I'll grant you. Of course, all classical music of
any regard does exactly that: Bach, in particular...Mozart,
Brahms, Beethoven...'
'Yes! Exactly...' Jack resumed some of his old enthusiasm, to
Daryl's surprise and relief. 'Certain symphonies that I found
particularly sublime, I noted also contain a type of tonal
variation that stimulates select hormonal secretions...' he
paused, and glanced up at Daryl, who was studying him
seriously. 'Sounds, as energy waves are interpreted by our
limbic system, which feeds into the emotions; we feel music,
not just hear it, or should, ideally...the vagus nerve then
acts as a conduit from the brain's limbic system to the body's
nervous system...' He noticed Daryl eyeing him intently.
'...but we can go over this more, later.' Jack paused, then
ran a hand through his unruly hair. 'When do you leave for the
east coast?'
Daryl sighed and stood, pacing slowly about the lab, 'Ah.
Hadn't actually decided upon a specific date, as yet. Why?' He
regarded Jack curiously. 'Would you like to come?'
Jack glanced about the makeshift basement laboratory. 'The lab
back there is decidedly more upscale, to say the least. I
could certainly make good use of the equipment...' Jack 2.0
was excited about all that, while Jack 1 knew that, deep down,
he felt much safer at the Massachusetts estate. Absolute
seclusion and isolation beckoned like a lighthouse to safe
harbor.
Perhaps Daryl intuited that was Jack's primary concern.
'Of course, it sounds perfect. Well, then...' Daryl made some
quick mental calculations, '...probably, I am thinking, oh,
how does sometime during the first week of next month sound?
That's, ah, my! How Time does fly...only a few days left of
February now...' Daryl was always staggered by the fast
flowing sands of Time.
Jack was frowning, thinking, but nodding. 'Yes, yes, I think
that's doable. I should be able to tie up things here by
then.' He looked up at Daryl, 'I doubt if Aleister is coming,
though. He likes it here...I'm happy for him, but I could use
his medical expertise... Well, he'll just have to tear himself
away for the occasional visit back east, then.'
Jack took over Daryl's vacated seat. 'I need someone to take
care of this place while I decide what I shall do,
eventually...' Jack let that thought trickle out, having only
just now considered any future-think.
Daryl was inwardly leaping with joy at Jack's about-face
regarding the Estate, but kept it well hidden, not wishing to
scare him off. 'Ah! Well, then, good. I'll just leave you to
it here, then; I have some calls to make...' he smiled at his
nephew and headed back upstairs, relieved to find Jack
suddenly so amenable, and whistling, even! Daryl looked back
over his shoulder to see Jack noodling about the keyboard and
happily involved in his projects. He told himself not to hope
for too much, but still, this was a major improvement!
As Daryl exited the lab, he saw Aleister heading his way.
'How is he?' Al asked, concerned.
'Better! Much improved, I'd say.' Daryl exhaled, shrugged. 'He
says he wishes to go with me, back east this time. A new
project, and he wants to use the lab...'
Aleister's brows inched upwards. 'That is good news! A new
project, eh? Do you think he would mind if I...?' His gaze
went to the lab door.
'Not at all,' Daryl motioned him inside, 'in fact, he was
somewhat worried about leaving you here. You do wish to stay
on here?'
'Oh, yes,' Al chuckled, 'That's a cert. But, I'd not mind
checking in with you both, from time to time if I may...?'
Daryl smiled, nodding, as Aleister made to shut the door
behind him.
I think perhaps I'll cook up something special for dinner, a
small celebration is in order, perhaps, Daryl told himself as
he headed kitchenward daring brave, new culinary horizons
. . . .
'How goes it, Jack?' Aleister sauntered over to inspect the
blackboard, noting Jack busily scribbling something into a
notebook before him on the worktable.
'Ah, Al! Good man. I was just thinking about you...'
Aleister approached the bench. 'Interesting readings...' He
leaned over the spectroscopes.
Jack sat back and sighed, 'I believe I've found a way to
upgrade and improve humankind.'
'About bloody time, too...' Al agreed, taking a seat hard by.
Jack ignored his glib reply, 'I'm quite serious, old man.
DNA repatterning...specifically, rebooting the system to get
all the strands online, as it were...'
'Hmm...' Aleister took up a batch of papers and began
studying them. 'It looks...well, very, ah...innovative...' Al
frowned, unable to reconcile Jack's notes with anything
familiar to him.
'Indeed.' Jack popped up again and began searching through the
file cabinets. 'Aleister...you know, I'm thinking of heading
back east when Daryl leaves.'
'Yes, he mentioned something of the sort, just now.'
'That alright with you?' Jack turned to catch Al's eye, 'I
thought, you know, that with Diana here and all, you wouldn't
mind staying on for awhile?'
'Absolutely! Not a problem at all, Jack! I'd be happy to look
after things here, as long as you like.' Aleister rubbed his
goatee in thought, 'I suppose we are free agents now, eh?
Takes a bit of getting used to...'
Jack paused at this, gazing at nothing, thinking. 'Yes. That's
so.' He began rummaging again, 'I'm glad, really. I have an
idea...' He shut one drawer, opened another. 'Al? Before we
leave, could I get you to do some, ah, procedures for me? It's
just been awhile since I've had a recent physical...I need
current data for my notes.'
'Not a bad idea. In fact, before you go, I'd like to give
everyone a good going-over! Daryl, Emlyn as well. It's
something I've been rather remiss in doing; getting updated
specifics regarding everyone's physical status...'
Aleister took out his datebook and made some notes. 'Soon as
possible, I'll have you all in here for a look-see...'
'Excellent, Al. I was rather curious about Emlyn...if her
tests would show any recent genetic changes...' Jack mused,
retrieving a samples file and shutting the drawer.
'By the way, do you still have her blood sample?' He asked,
taking a sample from the folder he'd just retrieved and
holding it to the light.
'...Ideally, stem cells would work best...' he murmured.
'Eh? Emlyn's blood sample?' Al pondered this, 'Ah! Back when
she was still 'Emmeline', eh?' He stood and headed back to the
refrigeration unit. 'Yes, it's still here. Good for some very
basic analysis, I suppose. One needs a fresh sample, of
course...' Aleister rooted about inside the unit, eventually
bringing up the requested sample, holding it up, and squinting
at it.
'Yes, this is it! Ah, so long ago, then...' he brought it
over to Jack. 'Here you are. What do you need it for?' Al
frowned curiously at Jack.
Jack took the proferred vial and holding a dropper, took a
small bit of the red viscous liquid, then applied it to the
glass and slid it under the scope. 'Just, you know,
curious...' Jack bent over the sample, adjusting the lense.
'You know how weightlessness in space has an effect upon human physiology?'
Jack asked, still bent over his work.
'Um, yes...' Al still couldn't quite grok where Jack could be
heading with all this.
'Well, I know that my own blood, and other tests, may show
signs of zero G effects...loss of red blood cells, decrease in blood volume, electrolyte imbalances... Perhaps Daryl's as well...' He turned ultraviolet light on the sample, adding luminol. 'Dim the lights, would you,
Al?'
Aleister turned the dimmer switch down to a soft glow, and
noted the blood glowing as well under the altered spectrum
lighting. 'Do you suspect that Emlyn, has been in a zero G
environment as well?' This was something Al couldn't quite
fathom.
'Possibly. Yes. I do.' Jack straightened.
'We'll need a fresh sample, to compare to this one.'
This gave Aleister pause, rather. Just what sort of 'new
project' was Jack working on here? While not alarming of
itself; still it was odd that Jack suddenly was so interested
in Emlyn's physiology...and genetics, perhaps?
Aleister no longer felt so sure about blithely elaborating
upon easy access to this information. Perhaps...he should put
a word in Daryl's ear regarding keeping an eye on the lad,
especially concerning his work back at the lab there.
He sighed, thinking, ''Ah, where is the life which late I
led'...?'
. . . .
