..::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?'
. . . .
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