Chapter 7: Freedom is a Two-Edged Sword

Chapter 7: Freedom is a Two-Edged Sword

"Trithemius was associated with a Sodalitas Celtica that was concerned with philosophy, astrology, Pythagorean mathematics. You see the connection? The Templars were an order whose initiates were also inspired by the wisdom of the ancient Celts: that has been widely demonstrated. Somehow Trithemius also learned the cryptographic systems used by the Templars."
Umberto Eco
Foucault's Pendulum
                      . . . .

"In the book Holy Grail Across the Atlantic, author Michael Bradley...claims that the treasure of the Cathars at Montsegur in the French Pyrenees...was besieged by the forces of Simon de Montfort and the Inquisition on March 16, 1244, but it is believed that the secret treasure escaped harm, having been spirited off by the Knights Templar."
David Hatcher Childress
A Hitchiker's Guide to Armageddon
                       . . . .
..::The Cup, the holy graal, the Cup of Babalon, WOMAN,  and the eternal force embodied in woman, the heart of nature -- dark womb of stars.
    The Sword, solar phallic emblem of the demon angel -- the beast-god that is man.
    The Crux Ansata, looped cross of life, symbol of the two combined in the creative ecstasy that is God,  and prefiguring the child that is the perfect fruit of that union.
    Here is the basic trinity::..

..::It is to woman, beautiful lost redeemer of the race whom I dare address...when you were a child, did not the wind speak to you and the sun! Did you not hear the mountain's voice, the voices of the river and the storm? Have you not heard the tidings of the stars, and the voices in the silence, ineffable?
    And you have sought companions high-hearted as yourself, and found them not, save in elusive memories in dreams and songs.
    How well you have known the stake, rack, whip, bar and chains, imprisonment, entombment in service of your 'master'.
    And was the bond fear, was it weakness, was it cowardice and inferiority? Oh, shame of man, it was none of these, it was love.
    Priest, father, husband, lover, jailer, judge, executioner, despoiler, seducer, destroyer, this has been your lover, your master, oh, woman defiled.
    Yet pity him, for he too sought love...
Now shall I speak to you of men. Men desire three things of a woman: a mother greater than themselves, a wife lesser than themselves, and a lover equal with themselves. Against
the mother they are ever in revolt, the wife they hold in contempt and the lover ever eludes them.
   Consider the husband; how he hates woman and flees (it in) himself, fearing he will slay her.
   Consider the great lover; how he grasps for love and his hands close upon nothingness.
   These are bewildered frightened children playing games against the dark. And those who wear brass and swords who strut and slay, are they not the most frightened of all? Therefore pity them. Therefore forgive them....at the mercy of his merciless intelligence. It is war, total war without quarter, between the emotions that must and the intellect that will not. Every religion in the patriarchy is a self-contradictory monstrosity!
 
(Man) has lost his mother, his wife fails him, his lover eludes him. The mystery has gone out of the temple, banished by a senile and self-sufficient council of beards.
Woman, woman, where are you? Come back, woman, come back to us again! Forgive, forget; sit in our temples, take us by the hand, kiss us on the lips, tell us that you love us, that we are not alone. Witch woman, out of the ashes of the stake, rise again!
Be cunning, oh woman, be wise, be subtle, be merciless. I have said, understand, forgive, forget. But forget not overmuch.
Trust nothing but yourself...draw the sword, the two-edged sword of freedom, and call for a man to meet you in fair combat, a man fit for your husband, fit father for your eagle brood.
Call upon him, test him by the sword, that he will be worthy of you. For you two are the archetypes of the new race::..

Marvel Whiteside 'Jack' Parsons
Freedom Is A Two-Edged Sword

                       * * * *

Emlyn moved about the kitchen; 'feeding the creatures', as Aleister had instructed. Em supposed that meant Daryl as well, as she dished up some delectables for Alice and, on her toes, delivered dinner to the housecat's 'spot' on top of the pantry cupboards, while Dylan stood hopefully on his hind legs watching every move. 'You, laddie, are not forgotten...' she assured him as she gave him his dinner and a pat.

She decided to warm up the meal in the parlor hearth rather than fire up the cookstove. Informal. Cozy.
  Gathering iron pot and skillet, quiche and rolls, she set their supper things up in the parlor and saw to the warming of it, Himself off elsewhere. Dylan soon joined her, naturally.
  'You, sir, have had yours,' Em informed him, as he looked the picture of innocence and, he hoped, famine. To no avail.
'Go lie down, now.' He did, turning about and curling up with a long-suffering sigh.

Nearly warm, thought Em, replacing a lid on the rolls. She decided to check the library before heading upstairs, and, sure enough, she could hear Daryl's voice. Who could he be speaking with? Ah, must be the telephone...

'Do you think you could get hold of a print, perhaps? Bring it with you? Ah, truly? Wonderful! Well, yes...well, why not tonight? Here, of course.  They're there already? Hmmm. Well, I'll be seeing you then. Later. Me, too. Alright. Take care...'

...Silence...

Em realized suddenly she had been evesdropping and quickly and quietly tiptoed away back into the parlor, just in time to catch Dylan testing to see how fireproof his nose was. Not very, judging by his leap backwards.
  'Dylan. OUT!' Em pointed to his Dog Door. Off he scuttled, sneezing. Em was not sympathetique'. She brought bowls and cutlery, serviettes and fruit into the parlor and dishing up her supper, sat down, book in hand, to partake of the humble but delicious country fresh fare.

'So!' Daryl entered and stood before the fire, arms akimbo. 'Here there be supper, eh?' He squatted before the skillet and removed the lid. 'Umm...it's always better the next day, isn't it?' and wasted no time in dishing up the fragrant tucker.
  'Shall we...? Wine or water, cara?' Daryl set his bowl down and headed into the kitchen. 'I'm bringing both...'
...and returned with a tray of glasses and a riesling, which he proceded to open.
  T'was then Em slid a glance sideways, and noticed not two, but three, wineglasses upon the tea table.
  Hm.

'Are we having guests, tonight, Diego?' Em enquired, all sweetness and manners with a touch of Josephina-gypsy in her honeyed voice. Wasted on Daryl, naturally.

'...Ah...' Daryl popped his cork. Then cocked an eyebrow, frowning down the hall. 'Is that the telephone? --Just a moment; pardon, cara...' and off he toddled, all manners and sweetness with a hint of Diego...

Emlyn sat rather casually intrigued. Then, why not? -- she poured a glass for herself, and resumed delving into her quiche and book. Not a bad vintage...Em wondered if it was an 18, 19, or 2025...?

'...Neither. Not with a white,' Daryl informed her as he entered the room, pouring himself a splash and seating himself in his wingchair. 'Last harvest, actually.

                                   
 'Ah, I should cook up a nice fruity beaujolaise and duck...mushrooms of course, almonds and plums.  Maybe manana, quesas'...'

'Who, is coming?' Em again.

'...Um? Oh. I believe you know her, actually...you recall, back at my estate, or Jack's rather, back east...'
  Daryl paused, listening. 'And I believe...could that be her already?' Daryl hastily forked dinner into his roll-hole, and proceded to the front door.
  'Ah! Marvellous!'

Emlyn could hear the door opening, as she smoothed her skirt and stood, curious now.

'My dear...entre'...I'll just take that, shall I...?'
  Emlyn heard Daryl's voice in the foyer and low, feminine tones answered his. She heard footsteps approach down the hallway...

'...You remember Emlyn Page, yes? Emlyn, your soror of the stacks has come to call! Athena The Librarian!' Daryl smiled, ushering in the stately lady of the long silver braids with whom Emlyn had made acquaintance not so long ago in Massachusetts...yes, Jack's birthday it had been. So much history betwixt then and now, she mused.

Whilst Emlyn and Athena became reacquainted, Em pouring a wee dram for her 'sister in the stacks', Daryl set a large wooden box inside the parlor.

'And what have we here?' Em enquired, taking a seat upon the sofa beside Athena who leaned back, eyebrows raised at Daryl, her arms draped along the sofa back.
 'It's a bit of future technology...rather like Edison's kinetoscope,' the enigmatic woman replied. 'It's called a projector.'
 She crossed her legs decked out in a coulotte-style black skirt and knee-high black boots. Emlyn was fascinated by her overall appearance and drank her in thirstily; from the tip of her netted black hat to her deep crimson blouse, a bolo tie accent, tailored short black jacket nipped at her small waist, elegant in black piping. It complemented the many long silver braids framing her finely chisled features.
  Em also noted the curious ring on Athena's left index finger: an owl fashioned in intricately worked silver, staring into Emlyn's own with enigmatic opal eyes.

'But, I forget myself...' Daryl leaned into the conversation, '...may I offer you dinner, perhaps? In all it's humble glory...?'

Athena blinked slowly, sensuously, and regarded Daryl. 'No thank you, Daryl. I have dined.' Her gaze returned to Emlyn's, with hint of a smile.

Daryl returned to his fireside chair. 'Well, this is a treat...alone with two lovely librarians. Life is good.'
He sat back, sipping his wine.

Athena, an elbow on the sofa arm, leaned her head on one hand, '...You didn't bring me here cross-country, and across hundreds of years to make nice, Daryl...what's up?'
  Em liked her pragmatism.

'Indeed,' Daryl sat forward, hands clasped. 'You...noted the arrival of Jack and Aleister, yes?' Athena nodded. Daryl sighed.
 'I am closing shop. Liquidating assets...and shutting up Nob Hill House. We all are moving...operations back east.'

Athena sat up. 'Are you indeed?' She looked at Emlyn. 'You also, are relocating to the east coast?'

Emlyn thought this over. She would be, wouldn't she, were she to throw her lot in with theirs. A California girl no more... She thought of the cold blasts of hail, storm and wind she'd experienced there. True, the on-going drought concerned her here, and sometimes the valley summers seemed interminable, but...it was home. She couldn't think of leaving Jeanne, Shannon, Allyn and the Bards...Jethro, even crazy old Homer...ah, t'was a hard decision, but...

'I, am not yet sure,' she demurred. 'I was hoping to relocate to the Sierra foothills.' She glanced at Daryl's
frowning countenance. 'I would be keeping in touch, of course, with everyone back east, and visiting often.'

Athena turned her gaze to Daryl, and sighed. 'Understood.
I needn't know all...  But, you will keep me informed, should something come up?'

Daryl nodded, head down, thinking. 'Of course. Well!' he seemed to brighten, 'We've the place to ourselves!' He stood then, and Dylan took that as his cue, wagging on approach.
  'Ah, yes...Athena the Librarian, meet Dylan of the Waves...'

Athena leaned forward smiling, and held out her hand. Dylan trotted over, sniffing a greeting.
 'He's quite the lad. About a year, or so, yes?' She petted the thrilled pup; his tail making circles, as Daryl headed to the kitchen, and returned with an old wooden chair which he set down in the middle of the floor and began shifting furniture away from the far wall.

'What we're doing here, is clearing space for the projector, to project!' Daryl explained rather badly. '...In this case, upon the wall here,' he hefted a table out of the way and muttered, '...sheets...I bet Aleister has a plain white sheet...' and took himself off upstairs.

Athena leaned toward Emlyn and in a low voice murmured, 'We'll talk. Soon.' A brief nod, and she regarded Dylan.
'Sit!' Dylan complied. 'Good boy!' Dylan leapt up!
Athena grinned. 'Oh, well. He's young...'

Daryl returned triumphant, sheet in hand. 'Alright, and just pin it here, like so...' he smoothed out wrinkles, as Athena rose to help.
  'I'm rather amazed, still...that you could come by an actual 16mm print of this!' Daryl admitted, as they returned to the fireside. He took a sip of wine and regarded Em.   'Athena is an afficianado of film. You see, in our time, much like the printed page--film, and photography, are 'outdated'...everything went digital. Ah, that is, images were stored in a different format.'

'I am, an anachronism...' Athena smiled like a petted cat.
'Always have been, really.' She stretched her boots out before her and sighed. '...I revel in it, actually...'

'...And so you should...' Daryl lifted the box onto the chair and opened the latches on the sides. 'Ah, been awhile...perhaps you should do the honors, cara...'


                            

Athena smiled and walked over to her 'projector'.
 'Been awhile indeed! Have you ever operated one of these?' Daryl scooted a chair over beside the machine for Athena, who sat, taking a large dull silver metal disc from out of a drawer under the box and opening it.
  Inside was an odd thin, round sort of wheel, which she expertly slipped into a notch upon the upper arm of the contraption, and threaded a long strand of what Emlyn supposed to be the film, through a series of loops and catches onto another large, empty wheel below the upper one.
  'Alrighty, then!' She motioned to Daryl. 'Whenever you're ready! Although...' she paused, crossing a knee, 'Frankly, a movie isn't a movie...without popcorn.'

'Popcorn!' Daryl gestured, empty-handed, 'You are absolutely right! Mission aborted!' He strode into the kitchen and began slamming cupboards.
 Meanwhile, Athena rolled her eyes and went to the bag she'd brought with her, extracting a see-through sack of golden kernels, which she brought, mercifully, to Daryl; Emlyn and Dylan following on her heels...
  Athena shook her kernel sack at Daryl, who seemed much relieved.

'If we build up the fire in the parlor,' Em ventured, 'it should get hot enough for popping. I believe there's just the skillet and lid, here...and, Daryl, there's corn oil on the counter...'
  With all pitching in, soon a merry popping was loosened in the parlor, Dylan going wild, barking and leaping about in all the excitement of this Old Fashioned Popcorn And Movie Night...

                          
                         . . . .

'...Just a candle, I think, would be best. And, here's an electric torch should you need it, Captain...' Daryl saluted Athena, handing her the light, then turned to shut off the electric lamps.

Emlyn and Daryl moved the sofa slightly sideways and Em beckoned to Athena: 'Won't you join us here, Athena?'

'Thank you, no...I must be ever-ready to make any adjustments, so I'll just stay beside ole Zelda here...'
she patted the ugly brown machine. '...you wouldn't believe what machinations and near-magic was required to get this onery beast to operate on a battery pack!'

'A Rare Beast Indeed,' agreed Daryl, motioning Dylan back to his dogbed. 'You've wine and popcorn enough for awhile then?' Athena nodded. 'Well, then, without further ado--'

'WAIT!' Emlyn held up a hand, 'One moment, please!' She laughed shortly, '--That is, well, aren't you going to tell me what the film is about? Has it a title at all?'

Daryl and Athena regarded one another, a knowing look upon their mutual mugs.
  'It's titled: 'The Da Vinci Code', answered Athena.

                         

'And, what is it about, then?'

Daryl looked at Em, and blew out the candle. 'You'll see.'

Athena flipped a switch, and the noisy old beast ground into "action!" Nothing was heard but the quiet ticking of film through the projector, the fire burning brightly, the crackling old speaker churning out the opening overture and the crunch of popcorn as the wheels and reels turned, spinning a story upon the sheet-screen, and, through machinations or magic, or both, bringing to life another world and another Time...whatever that was, to the captive audience in the parlor; taken away from their everyday and into a virtual, alternate reality and then delivered safely upon return. A nice change from time travel and not quite so unreliable. 
                            . . . .

'Intermission...!' Announced Athena, shutting down Zelda after an hour or so, whilst Daryl lighted candles.

Emlyn turned regarding the machine, and indeed, the wheels seemed to have traded places with their respective loads.
Athena replaced the empty 'reel' as she called it, atop, with a full one. Part two, Em decided.

'So...what do you make of it all, then?' asked Daryl, as he
strode to the fire, adding a log or two.

Emlyn didn't know what to say! Her senses bombarded with so much Light! Color! Action!--she could barely think at all! She stood and stretched.
  'Frankly, I don't know what to think! I could barely keep up with the story, I am so...gobsmacked by your modern world!' She shook her head. 'All those awful motorcars! Are there really so many?'

'There were. Before they ate the world. Much like the dinosaurs, from which they're fueled. A fit ending, don't you think, Athena my dear?' Daryl supplied.
  Athena merely huffed, putting her reel back in it's cannister. 'I'll rewind, later...'

'Ah, if only we could...just rewind it all...' Daryl opened another bottle of wine, refreshing their glasses, whilst Emlyn appeared with a tray of cheeses, nuts and mandarines.
  'Gracias, rica, just here is fine...' he studied his own glass a moment. 'I suppose that's what we were all trying to do here...rewind the time-reel, go back to the beginning and
start anew. But, as you see, just where it began, is rather
an enigma.'

'Indeed.' Emlyn frowned, sipping. 'I shall need some time to, ah, process all these...' she waved her hand about, '...new impressions...'

Daryl turned to Athena, handing her a walnut meat. 'Do stay with us, tonight, cara? There is a house full of rooms, and
we would so delight in having your company,' his eyebrow indicated Em then, who nodded.
  'We would, indeed, Athena! We haven't had time to get properly acquainted, really...do stay on.' Em was indeed curious about her librio-soror and what she had to tell her in private away from Daryl, as well as grilling them both about all she had been bombarded with in the film.

Athena sipped slowly and regarded her glass. 'You do have a decent cellar, I'll admit...' Smiling, she acquiesced then,
'You've talked me into it.' The lady could not suppress a yawn then, however. 'I am rather too comfortable to go far at present, I fear.'

'It has been a long day.' Daryl rose. 'Come, cara, I'll show you to your room...Em you are still on third floor in your Indigo Room, yes? Then, Em's old room on the second floor should suit you...'
  'There are gowns and robes in the wardrobe there that should fit. Do make yourself at home!' Em called.
  Athena went to Em, then, embracing her gently.
  'Good night, little sister, til the morning. Sleep, and dream well.'

'Good night, Athena. Pleasant dreams...' Em watched them
exit up the stairway together, then repositioned the sofa back round to the fireside, and sat, munching cheese and
replaying the swift, frantic scenes she had just witness on the 'screen'.

Perhaps tomorrow, when she'd become more used to the medium of modern film, she might be able to make sense of the images. For now, the sheer novelty was enough to amaze her into numbness.
  But, odd images flashed before her, troubling in their mysterious familiarity...for they were, familiar to her, naturally; Em having studied some alchemy; Fulcanelli, Pythagoras, Cagliostro...da Vinci.

And the sound! Such a cacophany! What music there was came through so very clear and strong that it was nearly painful to the ears. But, oh! --so very stirring to the senses! You could enslave a population with that sound!
  Em considered this...to bombard folk with such a barrage of sound, light, images...this could be used as a force of propaganda, brainwashing, even...perhaps that was how and why modern man could not escape the chains heaped heavier upon him...maybe he didn't even notice until it was too late to escape...so fascinated was he with all this...virtual reality, he allowed the real world, the natural world which had nurtured him for aeons, to crumble to nothing.

'Ah yes, Em...exactly...'
Daryl was back.

'Oh, Daryl...what have you done to me now?' Emlyn shook her head, smiling, though.
  'I apologize, cara.' His hand rested upon the wine, then hesitated. 'A tisane, I think. Care for kava?' Em nodded.
  Taking the wine and glasses into the pantry, Daryl reappeared some time later with tea and mugs, setting them on the tea table. He then seated himself on the other end of the sofa from Emlyn, and poured for them both.

'It was, I admit, rather a bit much for you to take in, all at once. But, I thought, with the film, which you're familiar with somewhat, it might not be such a jarring, alien medium to present to you something of what the world had become, before the End.'

'"FINI"-- truly, Daryl?' Em took the proferred warm mug.

Daryl sat back, crossing his legs and sighing, 'Ah, no...not quite. Or I wouldn't be here, and Jack, Aleister, Yeats, would not be trying so hard to effect changes.' He sipped the hot herbal brew.
  'When was this film, ah, made? What year, do you know?'

'Before my Time...although not so long ago. Around the turn of the century, I believe.'
 'I can see why you brought that film! Surely it alone must have caused a revolution! I can imagine how it must have changed things then!' Em's eyes were bright.

Daryl sighed, closing his eyes.
'It did not.' Seeing Emlyn's incredulous glance, he continued, 'Oh, directly after it opened, there was a brief flurry of discontent from Mother Church, of course...but, no, Em...it all went away and was conveniently forgotten. Many, many 'earth-shattering' films were made, about such Inconvenient Truths, but folk are so, as you quickly surmised, enveloped by a constant barrage of films, internet feeds, billboards, advertising slogans, screaming political pundits, quadrophonics, violent games and sports, sex for sale, glittering toys to consume, consume, and toss into the overflowing landfills the next day; that was the world of the common man.
  And all but the very rich are denied access to an education, so the common folk are utterly enthralled by bright, shiny things...like children. And, so, like them, easily led. And imprisoned.'

'Like Hansel and Gretel, in the wicked witch's Gingerbread House...' Em mused. 'So...how to escape the witch's oven then?'

'Some did not...' Daryl whispered, thinking of Auschwitz...
he sighed again. 'It is said that if you slowly heat a pot of water with a frog inside, the frog won't notice that he is being cooked until it's too late. Modern man did not even notice much of anything, having to work several jobs just to survive while the 1% of the population lived in demonic luxury on the labor of the poor.
  'So, no education, exhaustion from hard labor, no health insurance, which kept folk bankrupt, and phamaceuticals were prescribed for every ill; add to this, the constant bombardment of so-called media entertainments, and that was the pot that cooked the frog. No resistance. All that was needed, was to put the lid on and call it done.'

'You sound as if the rich were consuming the poor. 'Eat the Rich' Jack once told me was his slogan at school...since there was little else left. But I suppose they were in their steel bunkers or something similar...' Emlyn surmised.


                                        

Daryl said nothing awhile, a hand tracing his lips, frowning into the fire. 'You know...'Jack' isn't really our lad's name.'
  Where did this come from, Em wondered? 'No?'

'No. It was Jonathan. But, I began calling him 'Jack' and he liked it. Before he was sent off to school, he and I were friends of sorts. And soon he insisted everyone call him Jack, and it stuck.'

Daryl sat up, and refilled their tea mugs. 'I called him Jack after a sortof hero of mine, someone they'd call an 'anti-hero' in films. A scientist who invented the first solid fuel rocket. He was a brilliant, inspired being, who was the father of our modern space program.' He regarded Emlyn seriously, 'We have been to the moon, walked upon it, and have landed robots on Mars, Emlyn. And, in part, it was all brought about through the genius, or receptivity, of Jack Parsons.'

Emlyn pondered all this. So many revelations tonight! Well, when she thought she'd be missing these 'late night studies' with Daryl, was this really what she meant? This was indeed a night of...excessive input. How did Jack put it--'too much information!'
  'I, ah...'she cleared her throat, hardly knowing what to say, '...so, was Jack his real name?'

Daryl smiled then. 'No. He did go by 'John' until, ultimately, 'Jack' took over. But his real first name was 'Marvel', as was his father's. And a marvel he was.'
Daryl stood then, came round and poked the fire.

'He was also a magician. A modern day alchemist. But, more than that, so much more...back in the 1950's it was just after a great war, a war of greater abominations than I'd want for you to know...just now, anyway...but back then, people were so relieved that it was over, all they wanted was some semblance of a normal life; a decent job, home, family...and, as it happens with men, when they haven't a foreign invader to attack, they begin to attack their brothers. McCarthyism...something I also hope you never experience...although you can relate it to your strike-breakers and those spouting anti-union slogans nowadays.'

'I see. And I do understand that much, Daryl.' Em remonstrated.
  'Of course you do, cara...I do not doubt it.' Daryl leaned upon the mantle and continued, 'There were, in Los Angeles then, many in the film industry who were sympathetic to the socialist cause. Jack Parsons was also, a socialist, a Marxist, a magician, and a scientist. And ah, yes, he was a Libra, like yourself, Em; born October 2, 1919.'

'Oh dear...I shall be an old lady then!' Em smiled, as did Daryl.
  'Yes, you should look him up, perhaps! He was truly a brother in spirit with us though, Em. He ever tried to balance the scales between the working poor and the rich bosses, between elements in chemistry, and, most importantly, between male and female.

'He was a fierce defender of women's rights. He knew the importance of women's role in keeping balance on the earth, and how the ills of modern life were caused by the degradation of the status of women, the lack of acknowledgement and respect for women, and how this would reflect upon how people treat their Mother Earth.'

'He sounds divine...was he handsome?' Em couldn't wait to know.




                                 

 

 

 'He was devilishly handsome! Tall, dark, with a knowing, impish smile... He had no lack of female company. But, he was ever searching for his soror, his soul-mate, and he found her, a beautiful redhaired woman who shared his vision and his dreams...' Daryl's voice lowered, trailed off...
'...He was fond of redheads...there was even a band of musicians who titled themselves: 'Parson's Redheads.''

'Indeed?' Emlyn was beginning to feel she had indeed, been born too soon!
  'No, no...Em, never think that! And, well, we do have our Jack, don't we? He is not altogether such a bad sort...needs to work through some...things...' Daryl sighed once more.

Em stood, coming round to Daryl's side. She put a hand upon his arm and gazed into the fire as well. 'You know I love Jack, I truly do, Daryl.'
 He looked at her then, she met his gaze. 'But I cannot live with him. He needed me, too much. I could tell he needs to stand on his own more. Perhaps...once he finds his feet again, as it were, he'll be more...grounded in his own self.'

Daryl smiled a half-smile and patted her hand. 'True. No one can be someone else's all-in-all, how well I know! One must be complete, and comfortable, and content by oneself alone, before one is ready for any relationship with another, be it friend or something else. Otherwise, as it has been noted, there will always be someone doing the kissing, while someone else, is merely being kissed.'

'You are a wise man, O druid Daryl.' Em stifled a yawn, 'but I believe I have had more than enough to ponder for tonight! I'm for bed and my indigo cave...' She tilted upon her toes and kissed Daryl on the cheek.
  'Goodnight, Diego. And, thank you. For everything. For being You.'

                         . . . .

Chapter 6 - Gods of Eden

Chapter 6 - Gods of Eden


..::Merlin's part as the 'genetic engineer' is touched upon in Gareth Knight's The Secret Tradition in Arthurian Legend:
 "Merlin's aim was the selection and interbreeding of a particular bloodline that would be the basis for founding an
aristocratic line of priest-kings after the old Atlantean model. The particular qualities of blood would be such as
to make available a refined type of clairvoyance that would enable easier contact between a ruling family or class and the inner plane guides behind nation.
 This is the basis for the conception of the 'sang real' - the royal blood of the Holy Grail. At a much later date it too held a higher individualised form as the attainment of individual conscious expression of the inmost spiritual powers in the physical body."::..

..::In the dawning days of the epoch man was much less individualized than he is now...some of the methods instituted by Merlin would be deemed impractical, perhaps immoral if practiced nowadays...in those days, so did genetics and selective breeding play an important part in government and the social order. This was particularly important in an epoch when man was more group minded and open to inner plane influences. Those who could best guide the destiny of their tribe and clan were perhaps not the most intellectual or the most physically strong but those who would be the most readily receptive to teachings of a higher order of consciousness from the inner planes. Thus, certain bloodlines had a natural clairvoyance which was an important corollary of power and vision::..
Gareth Knight
the Secret Tradition in Arthurian Legend

                         * * * *

Emlyn returned from her trip to town, having borrowed Aleister's bicycle, and was feeling more centered after making plans and gathering supplies for her trip...
  For she had decided, then, that she would be heading out of town soon. First, she'd head to Jethro and Homer's, as they would tease her terribly if she'd left them out of her plans, ('out of the loop' as Jack would call it); and to sound them out about where to move, outside of Pankhurst. She wished to head north and east, nearer to Jeanne and Shannon and their tribe. But where, exactly, she hadn't decided. She would bring maps...

She entered through the back porch and found Daryl busy in the kitchen. She inhaled appreciatively: '...Gingerbread, Daryl?'
  'Indeed...!' Daryl slid the delectable dessert out of the oven. '...Baked potatoes, mushroom and spinach quiche, and herb and onion rolls...' Daryl paused, taking a sip of wine.
'I hope you're hungry.'

                         . . . .

Much later that evening, the company gathered round the fire in the parlor, the weather having turned inclement at last, and a few patters of rain could be heard 'gainst the windowpane.
  'Thought I'd never hear the sound of rain again!' Aleister sighed as he stood staring out the windows at the deepening dusk, welcome dark clouds moving in over the horizon.

'It has been missed...' Daryl agreed, taking a seat in the wingchair and propping his feet on the ottoman. 'I had hoped to escape drought by timewalking back to here and now.' At Emlyn's upraised brow he added, 'Drought rather an ongoing fact in my time.'

'How do you manage to feed folk?' Em enquired, pouring a tisane.

Daryl paused, then said, '...You don't want to know. Mostly 'recycled', ah,...things...'

Em decided ignorance was bliss, in this, and changed the subject. 'No wonder you enjoy cooking with real food... The dinner was fabulous as always, Daryl! I shall miss your cooking...'
  Ah, well. She knew everyone had an idea she was off soon...

'Yes, well! As you've probably heard, Jack and I will be heading back east together, then.'
  Daryl took a tisane as well; 'I'll be closing Nob Hill House for a time. Manuel and Rosa, I hope will come with us...but that's up to them.'

What was all this, then? 'You're...leaving?' asked Emlyn, not entirely unruffled.

'Ah, yes, Emlyn; thought you knew, rather...' Jack entered, eating gingerbread, and took tea as well. 'I'm keen to get started on my music therapy program, and the lab back east is really the best place to work.'

Emlyn noticed Daryl eyeing her then: 'We thought YOU were planning a move, soon.' He cocked an accusing finger her way.


'Ah, yes, well, I AM; however, I don't know when or where as yet.' Em attempted to cover her discomposure, adding lemon to her tea. 'I had thought somewhere in the foothills, nearer Jeanne and Shannon. I'm heading off, ah, soon, to speak with Jethro and Homer first.'

'Not a problem! I'll be here, still, Emlyn...indefinitely, I suppose,' Aleister turned about from the window and flicked a glance decanter-ward. Advancing upon his old friend, he uncorked it and poured some fortification in his glass.  'Naturally, you're staying on here as long as you wish, you and Pancho!'

Em sipped her tea, hoping to hide her blush; she had bethought she'd been the advance guard but apparently her cards had been trumped before she'd a chance to play them...there was rather a difference in thinking one was leaving one's friends one moment and then finding in the next, oneself had been left.
  'When will you be leaving then, Jack?' she asked, brightly, (she hoped.)

Jack sat on the other side of the sofa from Emlyn. 'Not...sure, yet really. When, do you think we'll be ready, Daryl? I'd rather like to get started as soon as possible...'

'Ah, well...' Daryl demurred, 'I'll not be ready to close up shop quite so soon...there are orders pending...much to be done before the house is closed as well.' He steepled his hands before him. 'Of course, you may always head out ahead of me, Jack! In fact, that might be preferable...' Daryl had decided that the sooner Jack was out and away from any possible meddlings of Morgana's the better.

'Of course,' Jack nodded. 'I think I shall. Perhaps...ah, well, why not tomorrow? Yes...I think I'll plan on it...'
  He seemed as eager to be away as Daryl had hoped. 'Ah...possibly, though, Al, would you mind if I consulted you on certain medical aspects of my R&D? And, that physical, I suppose, would have to be soon, then... Why don't you come with? I mean, if you aren't busy here--just for a couple of days.. I could have that physical and all I need for base pair sequencing...'  Jack and Al fell into a congenial discussion of departure plans.

Once more, Emlyn felt bereft. Not only Jack, but Daryl, and now, Aleister, gone as well. Oddly, she felt Daryl's absence more acutely.
...No more late nights round the parlor fire, like this, discussing mysteries of the ages...? Suddenly the odd 'ramblings' of Uncle Daryl seemed like pearls of wisdom cast adrift, which she had let slip through her fingers, and now...?
  Well, she would be with her Triad, which was what she wanted, wasn't it?  It was. But she didn't want to lose Jack and Daryl, either. Especially Daryl, she hated to admit.
  'You...won't be coming back, then? Even, to run the shop?' She asked tentatively.

Daryl waited a moment or two before answering. Perhaps he divined what Em had been thinking, feeling. 'Ah. The shop, no; I'll send cards round to let my clients know...I often go away on protracted buying trips. They're used to that.' He noted a sort of chill settle about Emlyn.
  'But, we'll certainly be back here from time to time! And, of course, you may visit, whenever you like!' He paused, drank off his tea, and added softly: 'You...may come with us, naturally, to stay on, if you wish.'

Emlyn found herself somewhere between tears and anger: mad at herself for foolishly feeling left behind (when she had been planning to leave them!), hurt and angry that Daryl's offer had injured her pride. Silly, all that.
  'Thank you Daryl. But, how would I...do that?'

'Ah. Well, you have the artefact! That should do the trick.'
Em stared uncomprehendingly, never having unraveled the secret workings of her father's mysterious artefact; when it did work, it seemed to do so rather of it's own volition.
  'But, we'll give you a mobile transport unit, as well. Ah, with instructions.' Daryl smiled at last.

'That would be appreciated, Daryl.' Emlyn replied, thinking: to say the least!



                             

                              . . . .

The next day was a busy one as Jack and all went about their moving tasks with industrious vigor... Some of the laboratory below was packed up, but other than that, Jack left much of his rooms and library as they were. He was ready to be off by the afternoon.
  'I'll be back, you know. I'll just be working at this project rather intently so I know I'll be spending most of my time there for awhile...'

Emlyn assured Jack that it was all fine with her, and to simply take care of himself...  It was all rather odd, how things stood between them now. So much left not only unsaid, but both of them hardly daring to even think of so many things...

'Right-o!' Aleister hefted his medical kit and afew boxed items from the lab. 'I think I'm ready!' He turned to Emlyn and Daryl, 'I'll be giving you both your physicals on return!
Just get Jack settled in, then we'll start on some of his preliminary research. I should be back in a couple of days.'      He nodded to Em, 'You have your keys; gate, barn, front and back door? Good. Well, say hello to Jethro and Homer for me, but don't forget I'll be expecting you back here soon! Let's see, what else, now...? Feed the creatures whilst I'm gone. I'll see you both soon then! ...Ready, Jack?'

Jack smiled, showing a ghost of his old self, and to the surprise of all, stepped forward and bussed Em on the cheek. She blushed and, taking hold of his shoulders, returned the same...
 Aleister never missed a kiss either if he could help it, and then, releasing Em, they saluted, looking rather Laurel and Hardylike, thought Daryl, and, off they were--!
  'They're away...' Emlyn stared at empty space where Jack and the Doctor had been.
  'So they are.' Daryl sighed, hands in pockets. 'Well. So. Just we two here, now, it seems...'
  Yes, thought Emlyn; 'So it seems.'

                      . . . .

'...there dwell in the skye many kinds of beings; some they are good, some they work evil; they do not much harm but deceive the folk; many a man in dream they do oft delude, and many a fair maiden through their craft childeth anon, and many a good man's child they beguile through magic.
  And thus was Merlin begot...'

                        

 

So said Layamon, who reported Merlin's mother was a daughter of Conaan, king of one third of Wales, who, at the age of fifteen dreamed asleep often, of 'a fair full knight arrayed in gold...'
 
Emlyn closed her book on Arthurian Legends and Tales of the Knights of the Round Table, and sighed. A maiden has to watch out for the coming of Knight, indeed. Why did she have to be Welsh? Was that her problem?
  She smiled ruefully. Of course not...it was simply her particular problem. If she'd been Native American, she'd have the blessings/( or curse?) of katchinas, if she was African, the orishas, or Japanese, the kami.
  What had happened to Merlin's mother, could have been the same story for what could have, possibly, happened to her...

We poor bloody humans, at the mercy of...hm...what, exactly? Perhaps it was ourselves. Em knew she wasn't entirely blameless. She knew Gwydion to be Otherworldly; and that was his chief attraction. Jack surely could not have...done what was done, with Morgana, without some knowledge of the thing. We were not altogether babes in the wild wood...

But still...it was hardly something one could discuss with one's friends or mentors. At least Emlyn had Jack and Daryl and Aleister, and Jeanne and Shannon; although she wasn't sure how they would take this latest 'news'...Em wasn't so sure she was dealing with it very well, herself. Basically, she tried to shunt it off into the basement of her mind; hidden behind the wine cellar and dug into some well-concealed corner, perhaps...

Merlin's mother, Emlyn's mother, Seren...and Emlyn...had they all been thus 'visited' by Otherworldly mates?
  Em pondered upon this awhile...and what of herself? She had always been so busy, actively engaged in pursuing her passions, that she really hadn't given much thought to marriage and children...would she one day find that she had been so busy, all that had passed her by? And so, what then?
  Logically, Em deduced that if indeed, she had been thus occupied, then she certainly wouldn't have had time or energy or inclination to have a family! She would have been too consumed by her passions and pursuits to notice...and that wasn't such a bad thing, was it?

It was not. And she wasn't exactly alone, although she now felt that she had HAD Jack, Al and Daryl...who were now deserting her. And who knew if/when/where she might find Jeanne and Shannon? She sighed once more, and, leaving her book on the veranda, got up and strolled over to the pasture, pulling up some of the new green shoots of grasses en route.

As usual, her dear old Pancho nickered at her and ambled over, accepting the juicy new greens from Em, who had many gentle pats and high praise for him, just for being Pancho, apparently, and '...such a good, good boy who would never leave his sweet Em now would he, no? He has a good thing here, so he does...' Em crooned to him and gave him a dusty pat, as she gazed about the grounds. 'You could use a brush-up, mi amigo...'

Spring already. She took in the blossoming pink fruit trees and the odd daffodil, making her think of the homeland of her ancestors, which she had never set first foot upon... Ah, perhaps someday.
  Then, she recalled...St. David's Day, this. March the lst.

                        . . . .

Nearing sunset, Emlyn finished grooming her dusty Pancho, made sleek enough until next time, and at last returned indoors. She washed up and drying her hands, wandered into the parlor where she found Daryl seated on the carpet before the fire. Usually a fire wasn't required this early but it had been a greyish flat in-between sort of day threatening rain.
  He sat leaning against the sofa, thumbing through a large book spread upon the rug beside him.

'What is this?' Emlyn enquired, coming to stand beside Daryl.
   'An Atlas of the World...interesting how they named it for the god holding up the entire works, eh?' Daryl gave her a wry look, then continued his perusal of province, parish and purlieu.
   '...Looks to be, France, eh?' Em sat down on the sofa behind Daryl. 'Supposedly, I had a past life in France...'
   'Indeed?' Daryl shot her an upward glance, then returned to his study. '...Marie Antoinette? Jeanne d'Arc?'

'No. I don't know. I've never seen it myself.' She paused for a bit of fire-gazing, 'I have seen bits of past lives, in Japan, and also in Libya.'

'Libya!?' Odd that, thought Daryl. 'Not Egypt? You don't fancy yourself as Cleo, then?'

'...Hardly.' Em blanked her features. 'I loved it there...the desert...the wind...spoke to me.' She sighed, staring into nothingness. 'But, ah, what was I saying? No, I do not see this French lifetime that others do.  Apparently, I'm not leading le revolution.'

'Aristo?' Daryl smirked.

'Possibly. Je ne sais pas.' Em shied away from the subject. Possibly the Cathar connection...speaking of...
  'What are you seeking in France?'

'Have you any French blood, by chance?' Daryl asked, not glancing up.

'A bit. According to my grandmother, who was an Oakes. I don't know details..'

Daryl did glance up then. 'Hmmm. Interesting...'

Emlyn leaned back and studied Daryl closely then. 'You aren't...thinking about...The Cup. Are you, Daryl?'
--Please, no.

'Ah, no. Not specifically...' He leaned back against the sofa and tilted his head against the seat. 'I do have a shop full of antiques I have to deal with suddenly! Preferably, to off-load expeditiously. Rather a lot to think about...'

Em knew it had been, yet another, blow to Daryl...everything that had happened with Jack, and with her as well. 'Daryl, I...if I can help at all, please don't hesitate to ask! I, can be an excellent, ah, secretary! I'm truly not in any great rush to move.' Em leaned forward, elbows on knees.
  'Please allow me to offer my services, however I can help! And, what are we to do about closing Nob Hill House? You are keeping it, aren't you?'
  Suddenly the dike had been breached and a wall of enquiries came spilling over onto Daryl's head, bent over the atlas in the firelight...it had gotten darker, his hair, and longer now, Em noticed. He hadn't been in Mexico in some time. Winter, still...Daryl was a summer blond.


He was staring at Emlyn as though she'd suddenly sprouted horns. 'Well! What woke you?' He laughed short and sharp, then sighed. 'Ahhh...sure. You can help me catalog items, how's that?'

'What?' Emlyn suddenly rallied. What had she just said? She'd been watching the firelight and Daryl...ah, gods; had she just volunteered to help him move? Truly?

Daryl was nodding. 'We'll need to update the files on stock.
And, you can contact clients. Maybe I should have an auction...private, naturally...' he closed his eyes and lay his head against the cushions.

Em smiled and ventured, 'Tisane, Daryl? Or a glass of wine, perhaps?'
  Still keeping his eyes closed, Daryl said, 'Surprise me.'
Em would. She placed her hand lightly upon Daryl's forehead and stroked it gently, before leaving. He popped an eye open then and regarded her curiously, before sighing and returning to his atlas.

Em emerged some time later bearing a tray laden with a coffee press and cups, and slices of gingerbread. 'I believe I'll actually take a bit of brandy with my coffee. Daryl?' Em enquired, uncharacteristically.
 'Ah...certainly, gracias, Josephina...' Daryl's head remained bent over his studies, as Em approached with their brandies.
'Diego?', she offered.
   'Muchas gracias, cara...' Daryl smiled and looked at Emlyn, taking his snifter. 'Salud!' He toasted and they clinked drinks together. 'So, we're having dessert before dinner, eh?
Well, why not...'

'Yes. Well, there's plenty of leftovers from last night, no need to cook. I plan to simply graze as I feel up for it...we needn't stand on ceremony here, just between us comrades, si?'
Em took a slice of the spicy, cool gingerbread.

'Indeed.' Daryl set down his glass and poured coffee for them both. 'I have been doing some research on that time period and certain areas of France, however, having to do with, ah, the Crusades. Do you know how the Order of the Garter came by that title for their sect?'
  Em shook her head, smiling.
  'No? Well, supposedly, now this was back when chivalry was all the rage, as it were, during a ball at Calais, the Countess of Salisbury's garter slipped from her leg during the dancing, whereupon folk who noticed were snickering at her. The garter was retrieved by the king, who returned it to her, exclaiming, "Honi soit qui mal y pense," ("Shamed be the person who thinks evil of it."), the phrase that has become the motto of the Order.'

'Ah. How very chivalrous, indeed! And who was king then?' Emlyn was pleased by how the day had turned 'round; she and Daryl sharing dessert and coffee by the fire, telling tales of days of old when knights were bold...

'King Edward III laid claim to the French throne then...mid-1300's, I believe...' Daryl frowned then, becoming pensive.

'So that explains how an English chivalrous order came to have a French motto. They were always either fighting one another or someone else back then...as now, I suppose. Will men ever tire of war?'

'Hm. A fair question. For myself, I can't answer...I am only a man apart, and always have been. My brethren on this planet are as much of a mystery to me as to you, Emlyn...' Daryl drank his coffee, refilled the cup and set his brandy glass atop the warm coffee mug to heat.
  'Interesting crossroads then and there, the Crusades, no pun intended! The Templars started the first modern banking system, ostensibly to aid travelers, pilgrims to the holy land, to safeguard their valuables...the first checks, IOU's, that sort of thing, which led to paper money, inflation, the whole tangled, well-woven web we now have...' Daryl sighed.

'However...chivalry, is not just a romantic trifle! It was, in fact, a turning point which aided, somewhat, in bringing back the Old Religion, the matriarchy, veneration of the Goddess, only it was done underground, rather; with the Black Madonna, Sophia...
  'The Celtic Church differed much from the world of the Roman Catholics. Their monasteries admitted both men and women, for one thing. Co-ed, as it were...and allowed the women to administer certain rites...much frowned upon by the mother church in Rome.'


                           

'It's St. David's Day...today...' Emlyn mused aloud.

'Ah! So it is! How very apropos! To St. David! Iechyd da!' And Daryl clicked his cognac to Em's once more.
 'Iechyd da!' Em responded. 'And, so, St. Patrick's Day soon then as well...March seems to be quite the month for honoring Celtic saints.'

'March 11th, the Templar Grandmaster, Jacque de Molay, was burned at the stake...' Daryl never let a good time spoil his aptitude for delivering blows of staggering news.
 'And bloody 'Saint' Padriac wasn't even Irish! He was Roman, captured by Irish pirates!... St. Columba, now there was a saint...actually did some good for folk.'

'He had a hand in the abbey at Iona, did he not?' Em recalled.
Then she sighed and said, '"Shame to whoever thinks evil of the Goddess, or of women!"--that is an excellent choice of motto, I think.'

'Aye, Columba did have a seat at Iona,' Daryl nodded, 'to the return of the Goddess, bless Her!' Daryl toasted toward the window and the sunset without, then was quiet for a moment, his head hanging down as he perused his maps.
  Em noticed how long his dark brown hair had become as it slid forward, showing the nape of his neck...not really thinking, she gently lay her hand upon his head, and, not moving, Daryl remained still.

The last of the setting sun sank beneath the cloud cover then, and an orange ray of light fell upon them both; Emlyn giving a benediction of sorts upon Daryl...all was quiet, not even the fire sparked a sound...



                              

And then, the grandfather clock began to chime the hour. The sun fell behind the tree line, and the fire began to spark and pop once more.
  Em sighed and raised her hand.
  'I...believe I'll just...find some dinner for us, yes?'

                        . . . .