Chapter 12 - May Dazed

Chapter 12 - May Dazed

..::When shall we three meet again,
    In thunder, lightning or in rain?
    When the hurleyburley's done
    When the battle's lost and won.
    That will be ere the set of sun::..
Shakespeare
Macbeth
                    . . . .

Coyote is the most common trickster figure among the tribes
of the Southwest  In Southwestern traditions, Coyote is
sometimes helpful to humans, but at other times his impetuous
and foolish behavior causes trouble for everyone around him.
Frequently he is killed through his own recklessness, but
always comes back to life afterwards. Like other legendary
beings of the Southwest, Coyote is sometimes described as
having human form, and other times animal form. Even when he
has the form of a man, stories of the Southwest often derive
humor from Coyote's behavior resembling a dog's (eating and
sniffing at excrement, trying to mate with his family members, howling at inappropriate times, etc.)

                       . . . .
                

"You are playing Gott!"
         --
"--Somebody has to!"


Steve Martin
The Man With Two Brains

                          
                     . . . .

Dylan knew where the boys wanted to go; they often came here
nights, especially when the moon was high and full...
  With Dylan in the lead, Llew and Medraut ran through the
dark woods, Llew often leaping ahead, skipping and spinning
with glee... Medraut knew his friend could see in the dark
much better than he, and found it frustrating and rather
show-offy.
  'Would you slow up, Llew! Recall this was your idea, and I
could still be asleep at home!'

'Go back to your mum, then!' Llew laughed, then stood still,
hands on hips. 'Meddy...you know you'd rather be here, and
you wouldn't like it if we came without you!' But he waited
for his somewhat taciturn friend, whistling softly.
  'Hush!' Medraut chided him. 'We've disturbed the night
enough already. The last thing we need would be to have some
annoying adult after us now...' If it was one thing Medraut
especially hated, it was being treated like a child. He was,
and they were, going on eleven years already.
  The dog and boys slipped soundlessly now, down the forest
path...

"The woods are lovely, dark and deep..." Llew began...
"And with miles to go, I'm still asleep!" Medraut supplied
the reinvented cap to that poem, and the two smiled as they
always did, when one or the other would begin their favorite
joke.
  Indeed, the woods were lovely; the fullness of the
moonlight dappling the trees and pathway ahead, with night
sounds of things rustling or slithering through the
underbrush, and the sounds of frogs calling from a damp
amphibious otherworld.
  At last they came upon an open space; a hole in the forest
where the full moon shone down upon a tranquil Cimmerian
pond.

Dylan's nose led him deep among the rushes, putting a stop to
the frog chorus, while the two boys walked out on planks laid
atop the water, and over these they lay down upon their
stomachs, heads just above the mirrored surface below.
  In silence they watched awhile, never stirring.
 'I don't see a thing yet. 'Tis dark as the pits of Loki...'
Medraut began, who had come here on his own once, and found
that without Llew, he could never call up the visions by
himself...not yet, at least.

'Shhh...' Llew murmured, 'Just watch the moon's reflection,
let it draw you in...just make sure you don't slide into it!
That'd wake you certain...'
  Meddy sighed, and resumed his careful moonwater-gazing,
head on hands, until, finally, he believed he could see
clouds gathering in the water...glancing upward, the sky
remained a clear starry black bowl above.
  'Something's coming...' he whispered.

They concentrated their gaze, elbows touching, (they had
found that direct contact increased their clarity of vision),
and soon, the 'clouds' cleared, to reveal a most un-pondlike
scene before them:
  A tall, dark man, black hair hanging down over one eye, in
a white lab coat, was standing at a blackboard, making
notations which appeared to the boys like some sort of code
or foreign alphabet, with numbers and other figures
interspersed. A shorter, rather stout man joined him, puffing
on a cigar and the tall man made a face and waved his hands,
then the short man crushed the cigar in a bowl.


'That's your dad, Meddy. What's he up to, I wonder?' Llew
recognized the man from their many former trips here to the
scrying pond.
  Medraut sighed, 'I wish I knew. He's some sort of
scientist, that's clear.'
 'I bet he's very smart...' Llew was feeling generous, and
wanted Meddy to enjoy the trips they made here.
 'Yes.' Meddy sighed again. 'How I would love to simply talk
with him...just once, even!' The boys resumed their watch.
 'Oh, look! There's Dylan!' They watched as the earthly
physical Dylan from another time frame, trotted up to the men
in the scene before them, carrying a ball in his mouth, and
Meddy's father bent down and took it from the pup, tossing it
in the air and laughing as Dylan barked and stood on his hind
legs.
 Medraut rolled onto his side. 'I can't bear to watch
anymore...' he allowed, a bit morose now, with longing.

'Hang on...' Llew wasn't about to go anywhere. 'It's changing
now...' He watched as the lab-scene fogged, and the clouds
gathered once more. Medraut's curiosity got the better of
him, and he rolled back into position.
  When the clouds had cleared, it was dark still, but Llew
could discern trees in the water, and a bright orange spot in
a field, which soon resolved itself into a large bonfire...
  'Oh, look, Llew, it's her!'
  'Oh, where?!' Llew scrambled on his elbows farther out
above the water, causing Meddy to grasp his collar, 'Hold up!
If you fall in, it's lost! Be still! --There, you see her,
standing at a fence, it looks like, and watching the fire...'

Llew saw many things, and a great lot of folk all at some
sort of gathering. May Day, he assumed, on the mundane
plane...he followed Meddy's long finger, pointing to the
side, and he gasped low when he saw a fiery red beacon draw
his gaze, which matched the burning blaze she watched.
  'It's her...' As he recognized Emlyn's red riot of curls
and crushed flowers, his young voice caught, and he lowered
his chin in his hands, to hush himself.
  'Indeed,' Medraut agreed. 'This seems very recent...'
  Llew snorted and wiggled fingers, 'Time! What is 'time'?!'
Medraut knew that in Llew's world, there was no such thing,
and had given up on that particular linear reference having
meaning for him.

They watched as Emlyn sat with friends, drinking cider, and
laughing, and then being persuaded into the dance.
  'She moves like a faery should...' Llew observed. 'She
belongs with me, here, not there! She's simply being wasted
there~what do mundanes know, anyway?' Llew was jealous and
hurt, Meddy knew, and didn't take it personally.
  'She is very beautiful...' he told his friend, and meant
it.
  'She is good and kind...' Llew whispered, '...and that's
what makes her beautiful.'
  Medraut only sighed, knowing how true that sentiment was,
and that as physically stunning as his own mother was, with
hair just as fiery as Emlyn's, he had never considered her
beautiful.

'Oh, no...' Llew went up on his hands now, frowning at the
scene in the water. 'Oh, why does HE have to be there! Now
he'll spoil everything, as always...just watch!'
  Medraut drew his eyebrows together, staring, trying to find
what had distressed Llew so...all he saw was Llew's mother,
dancing with a young blond lad.
  'He? He who? Where?'

'My father, naturally! Or, rather, un-naturally!' Llew
pointed a shaking finger, 'There. Dancing with her...oh, if
only I could warn her! Maybe I still can--!' Llew raised
himself, near to tears...
  Medraut pulled him back down. 'You cannot, Llew--this has
happened already, in my time! There is nothing you can do
now!' He frowned at the scene. 'All I see is some silly young
puppy she's dancing with!'
  'Exactly. To throw her off, see. He'll bugger the whole
thing up, just watch...' Llew put his hand over his mouth and
made groaning growling noises. 'He always does...' is all
Meddy could make out.
  'Shh...'

The two watched as Emlyn and the blond boy suddenly winked
out of sight, no one about them the wiser.
  'You see? That's his tricks, a'right...' But he couldn't
stop himself from looking to see what happened next, as the
mists gathered once more upon their view.

The scene unclouded to reveal another dark glade, where  couples rambled through the surrounding woods and a river flowed through the deep Stygian canyons...
  They spied then, Llew's mother lying on the ground upon a
cloak, while Gwydion stood throwing rocks in the river. Even
Meddy knew him for who he was now, and, indeed, as he turned
around, he seemed to gain height and his hair shaded from
daylight to midnight.
  'See?' Llew bit his lip, much like his mother would. 'Now
he'll really bollox things up!'
  'Hush, listen!' Meddy wanted to find out how this scene
would end...

It appeared as though Emlyn was enspelled, so still she was,
like stone. Only Gwydion spoke, and held court, as was his
wont...whilst she glared at him and said not a word.
  'She's not listening to him. Good,' observed Llew. 'What is
he blathering on about? I wish he would shut up and leave...'
  Emlyn now seemed to vent her rage at Gwydion and the two
boys were taken aback to see actual sparks fly from her
mouth, her anger becoming solid in the OtherWhere.
  'Ooh, she's mad now,' Meddy remarked, 'I'd not like to be
on her bad side.'
  Llew only sighed. 'He does that to people. It's his way.'

They watched the scene play through to the end, Emlyn and
Gwydion arguing all the while, Emlyn's lips never ceasing to
spark; til at last, they again winked out of sight, and the
clouds gathered once more, and all faded to black...
  Dylan padded up to the lads, wagging, and lay down beside
them.  The boys sat up and Llew stroked Dylan, to comfort
himself.

'Told you he'd muck it all up! He's the King of Muck-ups!'
Llew groused, rubbing his eyes.
  'C'mon...let's head back...' Medraut stood, holding a hand
out to Llew, who grasped it and stood, stretching.
  Then Llew held up a hand to the full moon and cried,
"'Luna! Luna! Mother of Night! Queen of Tides! Hear my plea!
Dissolve all bars between us all! And bring my true love back
to me!'"


Medraut looked at Llew, studying him quietly. 'And where did
you get that from?'
  Llew grinned. 'From Him, of course. He's mad for her, you
know, my mother.' They began to retrace their steps back into
the wildwood. 'Oh, how you should hear him raging and weeping
and carrying on like a bedlamite! He wearies me to death with
his whinings...'
 'She doesn't like him much...' Meddy tentatively opined.
 'Ha. She hates his guts...' Llew looked stricken, and was
glad no one could see his tears in the darkness.

At last, boys and hound came to the place of beginning
and ending.
  'You know what should be done...' Llew began, eyeing
Medraut archly, 'It is obvious, what needs to be done...'
  'Hmmm,' his friend demurred, 'Well...I know what I think,
but what are you thinking?'

Llew took a stick and began scratching figures in the dirt.
'Here's your mother, Morgana, whom you find rather hard to
handle and know not what's to be done about...'
 '...To put it mildly...' Meddy added, knowing that Llew had
seen enough of Morgana to know how conniving, deceitful and
reckless she was. Meddy did find her quite a handful most
times.
 Llew scratched another figure beside her, '...And here's my
father. You see what an ass...well, how impossible HE is...'
Meddy nodded, a lopsided smile forming.
 Again Llew played his stick upon the ground, 'Now, here is
YOUR father!' His strokes dug deep and long into the earth.
'Quite a nice chap. Not bad-looking, if you like that type!'
  '--Hey!' Meddy punched Llew playfully.
  'And, he's smart...something rather lacking with Gwydion...
Oh, and, he likes dogs, too!' He patted Dylan who agreed with
a wag. 'Alright! Now, here...' again Llew drew deep long
lines denoting the figure of a person with long hair, '...is
my mother, Emlyn. Now, Meddy, watch carefully!'
  Medraut only rolled his eyes, but went along with his
friend's jest. 'Yes...yes...' he muttered, wryly, watching as
Llew pointed with his foot, and proceeded to rub out the
figures attributed to Morgana and Gwydion, '...Leaving
only...who, then?'
  'Ah, let me think...' Meddy made a play of putting chin in
hand, 'Hm. That leaves us with your mother, Emlyn, along with
my father, Jack.'
  'You see? Perfect!' Llew smiled.

                         

                       . . . .

San Francisco. Sunset.
Daryl decided he was done...he and Athena had cataloged and
packed up the shoppe; all that was left to do was to crate
select items for delivery, which Manuel would see to, before
he and Rosa joined them back east.
  'Here's the list of addresses, and dates for delivery.
We'll see you when we see you, but hopefully in just a week
or so...' He patted Galahad, and embraced Manuel goodbye. The
carriage rattled off over the hill and into the sunset...

'Any other final farewells?' Athena queried, appearing at his
elbow, and looking rather worn about the edges.
  Daryl regarded her, 'No. No farewell is ever final.' He
smiled, putting an arm about her shoulder, then sighed,
 '--Almost.'
  Athena knew how he missed his brother Drake, and Sarah.
'In another lifetime, perhaps...' she assured him, smiling,
as she put her arm about his waist and shutting the door,
they took a last glance around.
  'It looks so...empty, now. Devoid of life, not just full of
space.' Daryl regarded his treasures as imbued with a kind of
vitality of their own. And, indeed, some of them had rather
pointedly demonstrated that fact...

'Well, I suppose...we're off then!' Daryl attempted an
enthusiasm he didn't feel. He bent to pick up a box he had
carefully wrapped, and held closely.
  'Is that...It?' she inquired, eyebrow raised, as she took a
cautious step back.
  'It is.' Daryl bent his head over the box, but raised his
eyes to her, slyly. He blinked slowly, then looked upon it,
caressing it hesitantly. 'You needn't fear, it is quiet now.'
  'Let's go, then. It has been a long...week?' Athena
guessed, tossing her braids over her shoulder.
  Daryl nodded, 'Nearly so. Very well. We go!' And, echoing
Gwydion, unbeknownst to him, Daryl held out a hand to Athena,
and they winked out, much as the Sidhe Lord and Emlyn had
done...

                        . . . .

Emlyn, meanwhile, awoke rather late the next day after a
night of restless, dream-addled sleep. She cracked open an
eyelid, feeling tired...what a night...! Laying a hand over
her eyes to block the light, she sighed, and stretched her
legs; ulf, sore, from dancing, she supposed...
  Well, she had to get up sometime. Swinging her legs off the
bed, she slowly sat up and scratched her hair madly, sending
lingering traces of flowers flying.
  She couldn't seem to awaken today! Such a riot of dreams last
night...she frowned, trying to remember all that had happened
the evening before.

Shuffling to the water pitcher, she poured herself a glass
and drank, then washed her face and began brushing out her
hair, tangled with crushed flowers still, bits of jasmine
like dreams and memories, left on her pillow.


                    

  Hm...she could remember the ceremony in the meadow by the
river, and the children about the May Pole...she recalled
Jeanne giving the blessing, and handing the Beltane fire to
the King Stag, and all following into the village...
  The ceilidh then, and dancing with Sean, and Jethro, and
others, and...that blond boy, what was his name again?
Jeremy? No, Gerald. That was it, Gerald-of-Wales...
                     

Em's arm ceased to move, and the hairbrush hit the floor as
her knees gave way and she sat back upon the bed.
  No, oh no...there was no Gerald-of-Wales. There never had
been.
  It was simply Gwydion. And only Gwydion. There never had
been any blond boy. It was all a trick.
  Of course.


                     

Emlyn shut her eyes and shuddered. Her head fell into her
hands and she slowly shook her head...he'd done it again!
How could she have been so stupid?
  But, no. She was beginning to see, now, that this was
something no amount of caution, or watchfulness, or vigilance
or guards, could prevent from happening; not if Gwydion
willed otherwise!
                

 

Emlyn wasn't about to give in to despair. She steeled
herself, and got up, and got dressed, plaiting her hair. No,
he had not won this one. She did have 'magics' of her
own...or a workable facsimile.
  She went to her wardrobe and reaching into a skirt pocket,
withdrew the transport device that Daryl had given her.Good.
She still had it, and remembered how it worked. She took a
deep breath, let it out.

Alright; she would tell Mrs. Murphy that she had to leave
quickly, on some pretext or other, and make her departure
quietly. She was loath to leave Jeanne and Shannon so soon,
but, hopefully, somehow, she could return before long, with
some better knowledge or reinforcements.  One thing she knew
for sure and certain; she had to be away from here, as
quickly as may be.

                          . . . .

It was early afternoon when Emlyn had worked out a plausible
excuse to give to her landlady, and after much protestations
from Mrs. Murphy, Em had insisted upon giving her two months'
rent in advance to keep the room for her.

'I'm sorry indeed, to hear of your Uncle Daryl's injury! Fell
off his horse, you say? Well, it's a bit of luck you ran into
your cousin last night, then!' Mrs. Murphy frowned slightly,
wondering what in the name of St. Bride was really going
on...but she played the role requested, and pocketed the
cash. She also watched as Emlyn headed back upstairs, then
dashed out the back door and headed up the road to Jeanne's,
as quick as may be... 

And so it was then, Emlyn got together what small things she
wished to bring along and nervously kept worrying the device
she now had stowed in her skirt pocket.  Alright: time to go;
and with her mandolin safely in case and strapped over her
shoulder, she then grasped her valise, took out the device,
and began to press upon a certain indentation on one end,
envisioning the Massachusetts house...
  ...all about her grew rather hazy, and she felt a slight
spinning sensation, when suddenly her bedroom door flew open
and Shannon and Jeanne rushed to her side! They each took
hold of her arms, and, before she could stop or even think
what to do--
  --the Triad found themselves in Massachusetts!
  And, it was raining...

                          . . . .

Chapter 11 - Supernatural Solicitation

Chapter 11 - Supernatural Solicitation


But, 'tis strange:
And oftentimes, to win us to our harm,
The instruments of darkness tell us truths,
Win us with honest trifles, to betray's
In deepest consequence.

This supernatural soliciting
Cannot be ill, cannot be good...

Shakespeare
Macbeth

                        * * * *


The only sound which could be heard then was the rushing
river about the Triad.
  Jeanne and Shannon both were stunned to silence, whilst
Emlyn attempted to pull herself together after the
revelation she'd just made to her friends.

At last, Jeanne gave Shannon a pleading, meaningful look;
Shannon looked chagrined and down, not speaking for a change.
Jeanne put a tentative gentle hand upon Em's shoulder.
  'Our dear girl, come here to me...'
  Em did, and held onto Jeanne as though she would become
swept away otherwise, and finally gave way to all the crazed
emotions she'd bottled up for so long...

Shannon couldn't bear seeing someone distraught, (even when
it was she, herself, who had caused the distress), and hugged
Emlyn from the other side, and put her head against Em's.
  'I'm such a goose, Em...you know that I can't keep me big
mout' shut!  Oh, please...just beat me black and blue and
paint me all over scarlet! I swear I'll stay that way all
through May Day, and deserve worse!'

Em couldn't help but laugh at this, and sat up straight,
blowing her nose once more. 'You promise?' She asked Shannon,
which got them all laughing.

Whilst Em washed her face in the river and rebraided her
hair, the others watched her carefully. 'Better...?' Jeanne
inquired, patting her arm. Em nodded.
  'Alright. This is rather serious, my dear Cambria!' Jeanne
began, 'Please, I realize it is painful for you, and no doubt
confusing...but, we just might be able to help. How, did you
ah, discover all...this?'

Emlyn took herself to task then, and haltingly recounted her
'dream' of Llew, and of Gwydion's visit to Diego. She could
not yet bring herself to speak of Jack's calamitous
conundrum.

'"Llew", you say...' Jeanne frowned, thinking hard. 'It is
clearly a re-enactment of the Mabigoni: Gwydion tricks his
half-sister, Arianrhod, into giving him a child, after she
refuses to do so and share the kingdom with him. Welsh
heritage was handed down through the matriarchal lineage
then; and brothers would foster their sister's children,
uncles would claim their nephews, as heirs.'

Em still stared down at the river's passing, 'Yes...I had
thought of that myself. Gwydion had stolen A Little Something
that Arianrhod had 'dropped', after she had failed King
Math's virginity test...he kept it in a chest, and watched
over it, and made magics upon it, and eventually the boy,
Llew, was somehow made from all that.'

'And, ever the fay are seeking the strength of mortal blood
to mix with theirs, to revitalize their clan and people,'
Shannon added.
  'Yes, but it's certainly no excuse for being so underhanded
and tricky about it! That Gwydion!' Jeanne fumed on her
friend's behalf, 'You'd think he would learn something new
after several centuries!'

'I never wish to see him again!' Emlyn was adamant, all
traces of tears now gone. 'And, I've...not even been able to
bear to think of it at all...nor to admit that, it could all
be true...? I can't bear to think that it may be! What if it
is so? I cannot leave a child with Gwydion! What if...' Em
swallowed, '...what if it is true? What can I do about it?
How do I find Llew? How can I bring him back?' She shook her
head slowly, 'What powers do I have, against the Lord of the
Sidhe?'


                             

'Gwydion wouldn't vaporize the child's mother!' Shannon
stated, outraged. ('Would he?' she whispered to Jeanne, who
hushed her).
  'He certainly made Arianrhod's life hellish...' Emlyn
mused. 'Although...she did nothing but refuse him, and refuse
to see, or name, or accept Llew then. I wonder...oh, it
simply makes my head ache to think of it all!' Em flopped
back down, shielding her eyes with her hand.

'This is certainly turning into a very different sort of May
Day celebration...let us think!' Jeanne held a warning finger
up. 'For one thing, we must be on guard; you, Emlyn,
especially! It is well done that you told us all. Now mayhap
we can take the defensive.' She nodded, ' And no one is to
let you out of sight til May First is well past. We need not
give details, but I will pass the word on amongst Allyn and
the Bards, and soon all will know to keep watch upon you, Em.
You'll be safe enough with us, we'll make sure and certain of
it!'
                           
                         . . . .

May Eve dawned clear and bright, as usual, in Northern
California where the palm tree meets the pine...
  Emlyn soon found herself in the 'wee glen' along the
riverbanks her friends had shown to her the day before; which
now was sporting a freshly debarked May Pole with ribbands,
and the Goddess's faithful gathered about to pay homage to
the many blessings of Mother Earth and sing in the new season
of growth and fertility.

Surprisingly, Em had found Jethro and Allyn at Mrs. Murphy's
door that morning, attired in green and bowing, ready to
escort her to the ceremonial ground.
  'Jeanne sends her greetings, and her trusty guard!' Jethro
and Allyn stood at mock 'atten-tion!' and saluted Emlyn,
earning a grin from her. They then each offered an arm, as
they strode off together. 'She and Shannon were at the site
early, making wreaths and crowns and such...'

Emlyn was smiling at their casual attitude and japes, but she
actually was most grateful that her friends had taken her
plight seriously, and also, it seemed, were being cautious
without unduely exposing Emlyn's troubles in detail.

It was well into afternoon by the time all had gathered
together, young and old, nymphs, maids, crones, lads and
granddads, as well as an odd assortment of creatures: the
ubiquitous dogs ran and frisked, barking, but those townsfolk
who celebrated had brought their rams and ewes, or cock and
hens, or even the odd billy and nanny goat. Ah. Well, the
goddess and her consort were to be busy with their fertility
blessings today, it seemed.

                           

Em soon located her Triad sisters seated beneath a large oak,
putting finishing touches on May Crowns and bestowing same
upon small girls who squealed delightedly and brought them
wildflower bouquets in return.
  'And what do the lads get then?' She inquired, sitting
beside them, and inspecting the various flower wreaths.

Jeanne nodded across to the other side of the May Pole where
men all dressed in various shades of emerald, jade and sage,
played jack-o-the-green, and wove ivy and evergreen crowns
with the odd jasmine blossom here and there, for the lads.
  'Ah! Very good. But something still seems to be missing...'
Em teased, but she sincerely wondered all the same...

Shannon grinned. 'The Bonfire is hiding in plain sight!' She
took up a flower crown of gardenias and jasmine twined with
ivy and ribbands and set it atop Emlyn's riot of scarlet
braids and curls, securing it. 'We're having it in town, on
the green, next to The Bear. It's something we have done
before on occasions when we have the ceilidh there, after...'
Shannon studied her, adjusting the crown of bellefleurs,
'...we'll all proceed there after ceremony here.'

Jeanne was watching her, she noted. 'Alright, Em?'
  Emlyn nodded. 'Fine. Very well, in fact.' She gazed at the
most ordinary country fair scene about her; kids, dogs,
chickens, bleating sheep, music and laughter, and felt secure
and safe enough, far from sly designs of Otherwordly folk.
'But thank you for the 'escort'!'
'We're on the job!' Shannon saluted her.

The day waxed warm indeed as Em and the girls strode about
the grounds, meeting folk and chatting, listening to impromtu
musical rounds, stopping to eat fruit tarts dripping juices
and leaving their fingers red, and generally exchanging good
will and good wishes to all...at last, though, as the sun
began to head into the west...

'Ah, Jeanne! 'Tis near time,' Shannon nodded across Jeanne's
shoulder, and all looked toward the May Pole to see a
procession of little girls tossing flowers as they emerged
skipping, from the wood, singing, 'Buds in May, Buds in May!'
followed by lads who sowed grain and flower seeds all about
them, chanting 'Heigh! Ho! Grain Will Grow!'. When they
reached the May Pole, a Jack o'the Green got them started
round it, in and out and over and through, and as the
musicians gathered and sang 'The Lusty Month Of May', so the
Pole was decorated and held fast by industrious wee hands.

                        
'Aye! Indeed, 'tis time, now sure...' and Jeanne, Shannon and
Emlyn headed to the Pole, where the kids and folk stood in a
circle about it, whilst more folk were gathering with them;
the music then stopped, and drummers came to the fore,
beginning a rhythm of 'bumm, bumm, bum-bum-ba-dum,' and all
came together, then,  making two lines from the wood to the May
Pole, creating an aisle.

Emlyn suddenly discerned a great racket coming from amongst
the trees, and a horn was sounded, as the drummers stopped
drumming. Soon, the great stretching antlers of a stag
appeared in the shadows of the tree limbs, and a tall well-
built man beneath the stag's head-dress stepped into the
clearing, tossing his head, while the horn blew thrice. He
leaped and stomped and wheeled about, as little girls ran and
and squealed, then crept back.


                         

The drummers commenced a roll, and then again the same
cadence sounded, as the Great Stag stood still, gazing into
the wood.

  A rustling was heard, and the sound of a flute calling,
like a bird to it's mate, and once more the drummers were
hushed.
  Upon a white mare, the May Queen appeared in all her
flower-crowned glory, carrying a large bouquet of wildflowers
of all colors. Two jacks came forth and held her horse,
whilst she was helped from the mare's back, a vision in
gossamer cream colored muslin in accent to her long black
hair which fell to her waist, braided, be-ribboned and be-
flowered as a faery, and as she approached the King Stag, she
held out a gardenia to him.

                          

 This he accepted, and they embraced, as the crowd called
out,
'All Hail the Queen of May! All Hail the King Stag! Long may
they reign!'
                       

  At this, a piper stepped forth and began to play, as the
May Queen and Stag King walked down the aisle and the folk
blessed them with flowers tossed their way, and when they
reached the May Pole, they stood on either side of it, and
stretched out their arms and held hands around it.

Jeanne then stepped forth and in the ruddy light of growing
sunset, she spoke:
  'Tonight, the God emerges from the forest. He is known by
many names --
 he is Pan, Herne, Cernunnos, the Green Man. He is the God of
the Glen and Dale.
 Tonight is the night he will chase and capture the maiden.
 She is the Queen of the May, Aphrodite, Venus, Cerridwen.
 She is the Goddess of fields and flowers, she is Mother
Earth herself.'

Jeanne walked around the couple about the Pole, and lighted a
sage wand and wafted smoke about them, then took salt from a
dish and sprinkled it about their feet. She then took a
pitcher, and poured wine in a circle around them, and, at
last, accepted a burning torch from Allyn, and held this high
as she circled them once more:
  'Beltane is here! It is a time when the earth is fertile
and full.
 Long ago, our ancestors planted their fields at Beltane.
 The fields that lay fallow for months are now warm and
waiting.
 The soil that was dormant for the winter now begs us to
plant our seeds.
 The earth is awakening and ripe, and this is a season of
love and passion.
 It is a season of new beginnings...by earth, air, fire and
water, so we are blessed by Her and Her Beloved Consort. So
mote it be.'

The drummers commenced a roll again, and ceased:
 'Let the Hunt Begin!' Jeanne called, as all began to cheer,
and the women called in tremelos, and the men whooped and
yodeled and sang and, in Shannon's words, began with 'the
Rejoicin'...

The Stag King was helped to remove his head dress, and he
bent to kiss the May Queen, to the cheers and whoops of all,
and he took the burning brand from Jeanne and held it high,
as he held his Queen's hand and led the folk into the town
and the Bonfire on the Green.

                             

                              . . . .

Emlyn and her triad sisters followed, finding quite a
gathering of townsfolk there on the green already, seated
about wooden tables and benches scattered about the lawn,
some standing about the great wood pile some little distance
away from the Bear's Den.

She watched as the King lighted the bonfire and all the crowd
cheered, as Allyn and the Bards, including now Jethro, had
meanwhile taken up a space upon the outdoor deck surrounding
'The Bear', (as locals referred to their watering hole), and
began to play a mean rendition of 'Lord of the Dance'...

Shannon naturally popped up and away into the revels, and
Emlyn and Jeanne soon found themselves surrounded by gents
begging a dance. Emlyn insisted that Jeanne 'be off with
yourself!', and assured her she would stay right where she
was at the table, in full sight of her and the Band o' Bards.
Jeanne looked doubtful, until Uncle Sean appeared with
ciders, and took a seat beside Emlyn.
  'Go on wi' ye, lass!' Sean shooed Jeanne off into the
dancing. 'Ah. And a toast to summer, then, lassie, eh?' Sean
clinked mugs with Em, and they sat and sipped companionably,
watching the whirling dancers and the players, while the
stars came out shyly above them, betwixt the oak branches
studded about the green...

                           

Emlyn was feeling more calm and relaxed now; this small
country gathering seemed rather a far cry from the eldritch
atmosphere and eerie half-light of Faery...
  With her friends all about her, and hidden in the high
hills surrounding her now, she felt fairly safe from any
interruptions in her bucolic, homely ambience. Indeed, when
they'd finished their mugs, and Sean requested a dance, she
felt up for it now, and took his arm in a sprightly swing
'round the floor...

...As the bonfire burned lower, more fuel was added, just
enough to keep it going a while longer, as some had already
headed homeward. There was less of a riot of bodies, although
still a goodly crowd; the children had been taken home along
with most of the livestock, and it was now the adult's turn
at play.

Shannon and Jeanne had returned to Em's table, as the Bards
were taking a break whilst local musicians took up a casual
jam together in their stead. Jethro and Allyn joined them
with ciders all 'round, and they watched as Mrs. Murphy and
Uncle Sean glided about in a slow waltz to the tune of
'Wildwood Flower'...

'Alright, Em?' Jethro asked her, as he spilled a bag of
roasted peanuts upon the table for all to munch. Emlyn took
up a nut and nodded.
  'I'm good! And you look fine up there with the Bards,
Jethro! You have been learning some new tunes, I see!'
  Jethro grinned, 'A few!' he popped in a nut and crunched,
'It's a good crowd! I'm glad I came. I had thought at first
that there wouldn't be many folk up here! But, they must have
come for miles around...'
  'You're staying with Allyn, then?' Em knew he wouldn't be
driving all the long road back tonight.
  Jethro winked at her. 'We'll see! May Eve tonight, Em!' And
he squeezed her shoulder as he finished off his cider and
grabbed both Shannon's hand and another girl's, and began to
swing them both about. Em knew she didn't have to worry about
Jethro being lonely tonight. Jeanne and Allyn took advantage
of the band's recess, to have a close waltz together
themselves...

                      

As the evening progressed, she even felt relaxed enough to
join in a dance or two with some of the local lads, though
she knew them not, they seemed to be here with friends who
appeared to be acquainted with folk there she did know.
  Some had moved inside as the moon rose high in the midnight
sky, but as long as the bonfire burned, Emlyn enjoyed being
out on the deck and under the stars. She moved off to the
side and leaned upon the railing, watching the fire and
enjoying the music, charting the moon's passage...



                      

'A dance, milady?' Inquired a young voice, and Em turned to
see a jack-o-the-green bowing low before her. He appeared
quite young and innocent, thought she, his blond head
catching the moonlight, so she smiled as she took his hand
and they stepped into a country tune known as 'Are You
Missing Me?'

He seemed to be quite light on his feet as they swung round
about, in and through the others on the floor; and when the
tune ended, and he offered a cider, Em nodded her assent.
  He told her his name was Gerald, and he lived 'nearby.'
Emlyn merely gave hers as 'Em.'
 'But I've not seen you around town,' he drank deeply. 'I
certainly would have noticed.'

But, Emlyn was far from being affected by flattery from a man
any more. 'I'm visiting friends.'
  'Aye...I've noticed you wi' Jeanne and the Bards...have you
a man, then?'
  Cheeky lad, thought Em, hiding a smile. He's rather brash
for a young pup. 'I do not. And, I don't fancy one, either.'

The Lad sat back, wiping the cider foam from his mouth. 'Ah.
I like a challenge!' He smiled at her, then turned away. 'I'm
happy simply to bask in your company, milady...'
 He stood then, holding out his hand, 'Shall we walk?'

                       . . . .

Em had demurred, but when he insisted that they merely stroll
round the bonfire once, for luck, she saw that Jethro was
standing by the fireside, his arms about a brunette lass, she
felt she should be safe enough if she stayed in the
firelight.

As they strolled slowly round, Gerald would toss sweet-
scented herbs into the fire, 'for luck,' he said. 'An old
Welsh custom here.'
  Em was on the alert. 'Ah. Gerald-of-Wales, is it?'
  But the lad only laughed lightly. 'Aye, 'tis so. And by
your red hair, you're a Scot, sure, or Irish,' he declared.
  But Emlyn just smiled and said nought.
 'Ah now. A woman of mystery...'
 But Em spoke up, 'Not many blondes of Welsh descent, are
there?'
 'Ah, no,' answered Gerald, tossing his herbs, as he stood
and inhaled the scent, 'German on my dad's side. But the
Welsh do chart descent through the matriarchal line...'

Again, Emlyn stiffened, not liking where this conversation
was leading. 'We should return to the dance, I think...'
  But Gerald had stopped, and turned her to him, 'You look so
lovely with the moonlight in your hair...'
  Emlyn shook her head, staring at the ground. But when she
raised her eyes, it was not blond Gerald there with her,
hand-in-hand, but a tall dark figure shrouded in a hooded
cloak.
 'We go,' he said, and as he raised his cloak, Em saw within
it's shadow, all the stars in the wide sky wheeling about the
heavens...

                         . . . .

Emlyn opened her eyes...to find herself by the riverside. She
was lying upon a green wool cloak spread upon the grass,
while a tall dark man stood facing the water, occasionally
lobbing small stones.
  Em had a sinking feeling she knew who he was.

'"And who are you, my pretty fair maid? Who are you, me
honey?"' the man sang the opening line from 'As I Roved Out',
and as he slowly turned, his blond hair changed to black,
until, facing her, stood Gwydion ap Don, lord of the Twyleth
Teg.
AKA--Her nemesis.

                       

Emlyn was not afraid. She was enraged.
She turned her face from him and said nothing, trying to keep
herself from shaking in her anger. Gwydion lowered himself
and sat down beside her. 'Hate us a little, do you now?' he
whispered, strangely echoing Daryl, when he'd abducted her
from the gypsy camp.

Gwydion looked down as well, merely sighing. 'Emlyn...if only
you would hear me out...'
 'And what bloody other choice do I have?!' She spat the
words at him.

Gwydion held up both hands, 'I'm not holding you here. I
wish, only to parlay.'
  Emlyn sat like a stone, betraying no emotion, and silent as
a statue.


'Very well. If you won't speak, then I shall.' He sighed
again, and leaned back next to Emlyn, against a tree trunk.

For a time they sat there, listening to the river and the
quiet of the wood, which was not silent, but reflected scarce
movements of birds or other rustling creatures, small and
large. Emlyn saw the shadows of women and men passing from
tree to tree as well, and could discern the music and
celebration away on the not so distant green. She supposed
she could up and run, but knew not how far she would get.
May as well let this play out how it will...

At last, Gwydion stirred, and in a low voice, asked, 'Do you
know why the Sidhe do take earth humans back to their hills
with them, to mate?'
  Emlyn did not break her silence, but she did turn to look
at Gwydion at last, allowing him to view her cold disdain.
His features lost their steely hardness and melted to nearly
a shadow of hurt.
 'You do not know how it pains me to see you thus; thinking
me less than a worm now, and how you would love to grind me
'neath your heel...oh, yes, I see all that, and more, in your
eyes. I did not wish to come to you thus, disguised and in
trickery. But I knew you would not see me otherwise.'

'That is one thing you have the right of.' Em whispered,
looking away.
 'Emlyn.' Gwydion looked down, pulling a grass stem and
nervously peeling away the leaves. He sighed once more, 'I
was nearly at my wit's end, hoping against hope to be able to
find an earthly woman of my lineage, with whom I might be
compatible. You have no idea, for how long I had searched for
such a one...'

Emlyn frowned, wondering at that. 'How could that possibly
be? You, who can fashion a child from air, it would seem?!'
  'Not so.' Gwydion shook his head, tossing the bare grass
stem, 'I needed your essence to imbibe, and imbue the
aethers. I needed, you. And we needs must mate together, in
fire, in passion, in heat...in love.' He slid down and put
his arms behind his head, not looking at her. 'There is more
than meets the eye, to what makes a childe. Especially a
faery childe...'

Em sniffed a 'humph', at that, but did not argue.
  'I am the last of my line, Emlyn. I am also...the last of
your line as well. Tis not merely a tale out of old legends;
Emlyn. Your heritage is from the kings of Wales, and of the
Old Blood, even if your ancestor, Madoc, was born on the
wrong side of the bedsheet, he still had the blood of our
true kindred. Mine, and yours. Fay and the half-Fay.'

Emlyn was only half-listening to this line of blather and
blarney. Perhaps if she let him talk, he would run out of hot
air at some point...but, simply being near the man galled
her.
  'And so you tricked me, 'Gerald of Wales'! Always with
deceit and trickery!' Em snorted, 'Why, did you not just talk
with me, as you are now, when it's too late? Why did you not
simply ASK me, giving me some germ of respect?'

Silence fell about them then. Even the tiny sounds of the
night seemed to die. Finally, he spoke:
  'You might have said, 'No.''

Emlyn stifled a mad urge to laugh aloud. She bit her lip
instead, shaking her head slowly.
  Gwydion gave a short sigh, but stilled himself, and
remained as he was, watching the sky.
 'I couldn't take that chance. There was too much at stake.
And, Emlyn, you were my last, and only hope.' He was quiet
for a space, then, 'The earth is dying. And, with the earth,
so go my folk. We are tied together, the planet and my kind;
not like your people, who are of the stars and to the stars
they return. No; although of the Celestial Kingdom, like the
elementals and devas, my folk are of the earth itself, we
fashion and are fashioned by, the rivers and trees and all
the flowers of spring and green lushness that is now
threatened dire.
  'I love you dearly my lady; more than any I can recall and
my memory runs time out of mind. But even more, I love this
earth mother upon whose breast we now lie; and I would give
all for Her...even if it meant losing the only one I could
love.'
          
                  

              

Em was having none of it. 'Bah! You treated me abominably. I
can never forgive you, Gwydion. You are as dead to me.' Emlyn
looked at him casually, then continued, 'But if it is true,
that you have somehow made a childe out of the essence of us
both, a real, true childe, of bones and blood?'
  Gwydion looked over at her, blinked slowly and nodded.
 'Then the childe should not suffer for the parent's
follies.'

'Agreed!' Gwydion rolled over onto his elbow and propped his
head, watching her intently. 'You have seen him...Llew...he
and I came to you, as roving players...he's a fine lad, Em.
He has your coloring; hair a darker auburn, though, but he
has your lovely eyes like the blue of midnight...'
  'Stop!' Em put a hand up, 'I'll not hear your empty
flattery. It sickens me.'

Gwydion looked down and began to pull up grasses again. 'I
cannot blame you...women of modern times differ much from the
maids I once knew...'
  '--Oh, yes! I have heard of 'all the girls' you have
spirited off to your...lair!'
  At that, his eyes rolled round to the sky and back, 'Emlyn.
What is between us, has nothing to do with the frolics of
young puppies...and, you were virgin not, when you came with
me, of your own free will, remember? I did ask your consent.'


He fell onto his back once more, 'I care not for other
lovers. None of that matters, neither your past or mine.'
 (That's what you think, thought Em.)
'All that matters, is that the Sidhe still survive upon the
earth, and that the Goddess and Her Consort are alive, and
magic is still afoot!' He rested a hand upon his forehead.

                             

 'But, who knows for how much longer...? Time and tide bring
changes. The Sidhe are long-lived, but our numbers dwindle,
and a hale and hearty species we never have been, dwelling
between here and there, as we do. I only gave aid to a dying
planet, and a dying race...pledged to Her above all, heart and soul.'

Emlyn said nothing, thinking Gwydion had no heart and she
very much doubted the soul part as well...but her anger had
ebbed to a dull ache and all she wanted now was her bed back
at Mrs. Murphy's--her bed, to herself, alone. And peace and
dreamless sleep...

'"I'll come to thee by the moonlight, though hell should bar
the way..."... Was the last thing she heard...Gwydion's voice
low in her ear, his herb and cider-scented breath soft
against her skin, as his fingers lightly traced along her
cheek--

--and she then found herself back at the bonfire, standing
alone, as she had wished. She blinked.
  'How's the evening going for you, Em?' Jethro and his lady
smiled at her, 'I think we're winding things down, now, ' he
indicated the Bear, and Em noted the Bards packing up their
instruments. 'Jeanne was asking after you...'

Em managed a smile, and wandered back onto the deck in a
daze. She found Jeanne and the others, and when Mrs. Murphy
and Sean offered to walk back to the house with her, she
gladly accepted and wished all a good night and blessed be...

In a quiet daze, Em meandered back to the house, and, dazed
still, she undressed for bed, and slipped beneath the sheets.
But she leaned up, and raised the curtain aside, to gaze out
at the moon, going down now, to bed with the rest.
Emlyn was too benumbed to think anymore.

But, 'I'll come to thee by the moonlight...',
echoed in her mind, as she lay her weary bones down at last
and allowed the night to quiet her erratic heartbeat and to
take her mind far and away from the mad dream she had just
experienced, fearing it was altogether something Otherthan...

                   

  

                         . . . .

Chapter 10 - Heart Like A Feather

Chapter 10 - Heart Like A Feather


..::What we call the soul, the Maidu named heart. The
northern valley people believe that a person's heart
lingers near the body for several days. It then journeys to
every spot which the living person had visited, retracing
each of his steps and reenacting every deed performed in
life. This accomplished, the spirit seeks a mysterious cavern
in the Marysville Buttes, where for the first time it eats
spirit food and is washed. From the Marysville Buttes the
spirit ascends to the sky land, flower land, or spirit land,
as it is variously called.
The hill residents tell of the same journey traveled by the
dead. But these reach the abounding sky land - "valley above"
- by going east along the path of the sun, instead of to the
Marysville Buttes::..



"My heart is like a Feather
 And my spirits are dancing"
--Abigail Adams
                       . . . .


                         

                        . . . .

The day was cool and cloudy, (thankfully, thought Emlyn), as
she and Sean headed up the mountain at last. She rode with
him on the driver's seat, with Pancho tied behind the wagon;
her 'essentials' (including, naturally, her mandolin packed
ever-so-carefully within her trunk), stored snugly amongst
Sean's tools, cargo and dowsing paraphernalia in the old
wooden wagon.

She had stayed on a few days at Jethro's and had made careful
study of Sean's dowsing techniques whilst he searched and
marked and double-checked his 'strikes', as he called the
instances when the rods would suddenly drag his arms down to
the ground when he found a likely water source.
  They couldn't stay for the actual sinking of the new well,
however, as Emlyn was anxious to be off and had much to
attend to with her move. Also, it was nearing May Day.

Sean had found a room for her in the interim, at Mrs.
Murphy's boarding house not far from where Jeanne resided.
So she was bringing enough with her to stay on for a time
whilst perusing the purview of her new locale.

Em's spirits lifted as they headed up and over hill and dale,
green hullocks turning to gold now in the heat of the spring
sun, and finally came to a high valley encircled by thickly
wooded hills with mountains beyond. The day became hot and
after they stopped and rested in the shade a few times, they
at last passed the large lava landmarks of the Black Buttes
in the west.

                          

One more rest stop and then, as the sun headed into the
Pacific, Em spied an interesting rise far in the distance
which seemed to grow separate of the others and had a flat
top that reminded her of the scenery she'd seen down south en
route to Mexico.
  'That's an interesting point there, Sean...with the flat
top,' she shielded her eyes from the setting sun.
  'Aye. That's Mesa Mountain. The local tribes regard it, and
the Buttes as sacred places, where the high spirits reside.
The Maidu call them the 'kakini'. There are waterfalls, and
caves there, too.' Sean replied matter-of-factly.

''Kakini'', Em repeated, trying it out. '...Like the San
Francisco Peaks in Arizona, where the katchinas live...'


Sean nodded. 'And beyond there, up the hills, lies Cherokee.'
  Emlyn remembered that name.'Cherokee? Really? We are that
close?' She recalled hearing about the Welsh miners who
populated that area.
  Sean grinned at her, 'Not that close, really. It would take
another day to get up there. But, we're closer to Cherokee
than Pankhurst now, forr surre...'

Thank the goddess for that, Em thought, tired now, and her
numb posterior told her that they had come many a mile,
indeed. As it took the better part of a day simply to get to
Jethro's from Pankhurst, her head swam trying to calculate
the mileage they'd covered from there. All she wanted now was
a bed and something to gnaw on. She would contact Jeanne
manana...


It was full dark by the time they climbed over the last rise
and could discern twinkling lights below in the little hamlet
of Malta, surrounded by acres of olive orchards.
  'I didn't realize you have electrical lighting here. I
figured it would be considered too small a village to warrant
it.'

'Ooh, we're not altogether rustics herre, you know...' Sean
casually replied, unoffended, '...even Thomas Edison had a
hand in the mining and hydraulics at Cherokee, you know. And
neighboring toons are still mining, so they needed the power.
And, they had the gold to make it so. Or, did.' Sean guided
the wagon into the 'toon' proper. 'Most of the big mining
operations are winding doon now...aboot leached all the
yellow out of the hills, they have.'

Em was nodding by now and all-but zombiefied by the long
hours on the road. But Sean at last pulled his sure and
steady steed up to the hitching post of a big house on the
edge of town.

  
So dark it was now, and Emlyn so exhausted, that she barely
noted her surroundings, but numbly unloaded her bags and
stumbled up the front steps of Mrs. Murphy's, Sean in the
lead with her trunk balanced on one stooped shoulder.

'Would that be yourself, Sean Munroe?' came a woman's hearty 
voice from somewhere within the house.
  'Aye, it's us, a'right...' Sean set down the trunk with a
thump, and earned himself one from Mrs. Murphy's wooden
spoon, as she hove into view from the kitchen, a tall woman
with apron wrapped 'round her formidable bulk, showing flour
marks, Em noted, hopefully sniffing the scent of baking.

'And you'll not be a'waking the tenants with your clangorous
thunderin'!' Mrs. Murphy turned to Emlyn then, 'And this is
our new border, I'm thinking! Well! Miss Page, do come in!
Sure and you're near to dropping!' She turned and ducked back
around the kitchen corner, 'Seamus! Would you be getting the
lady's things up the stairs now?! Be quick about it, lad!'
She took Em's arm and hustled her into the kitchen without
further ado, whilst Sean headed back outside to water his
horse. 'I'll turn your pony out into the pasture, lass, you
relax, noo...'



'It's a washup and sommat to eat, then bed for you, I'll
wager, eh? Poor thing, she looks like to fade away before me
eyes! Did you not stop on the road to rest at'all, man?' She
seemed not to notice the absence of The Man, but bustled
about and put bowls and cutlery on the table, commenting on
this and that all the while.

And so, giving Emlyn no pause to blink or say a how d'you
do?, her new landlady showed her into the washroom behind the
kitchen whilst Sean came in and washed up at the sink and
took a seat at the long wooden table lined with benches, not
chairs, and helped himself to fresh scones, lamb stew and
potatoes, of course. A tall lanky lad entered through a back
porch and smiling at Em, he touched his cap, and with a
'Ma'am,' he set to hauling her effects upstairs.

Sean paused in his scone-hole-stuffing to take out his pocket
watch and remark, 'Just after 9 o'the clock! Not bad,
consid'rin' we got on the road after 9 this morn...'

Mrs. Murphy regarded him from on high, hands on hips to rival
a Percheron's. 'Aye...and that's all men do t'ink of, just
goin' down the road, quick as can be, lookin' neither left
nor right!'  Sean opened his mouth to protest, recalling many fine rest stops en route, but, he thought: scones, and thought better
of it and dished up more stew instead.

'We made it in remarkable time, truly, Sean, thank you,'
Emlyn at last got a word in and approached her hostess, 'I'm
so pleased to meet you at last, Mrs. Murphy! I've heard
nothing but fine things about you and your establishment.'

Mrs. Murphy wiped her hands on her apron and pushing her
gray-brown locks back into her bun, held out a meaty warm
hand.
 'And pleased to meet you, dear, I'm sure,' she replied with
a firm shake. 'Now. Sit yourself down and help your famished
self to what humble fare we offer. I managed to save some of
the stew from supper, and baked fresh scones...letsee, here's
buth'er and jam...I make my own, you see, so it's always
fresh and tasty...won some ribbons at the fair, too, so I
have, not to be braggin' on't...'

Emlyn smiled at Sean as he gave her a grin and a wink, then
as Mrs. Murphy chattered on regarding the house rules and
such, she busied herself with supper til she felt as though
she would fall face-first asleep into her stew bowl.
  'The lass is all-in. Here, let me help you to your room,
Emlyn, you're like to fall over!' Mrs. Murphy helped her off
the bench, but Em shook her head, patting the landlady's hand
assuringly, 'No, no, Mrs. Murphy, pray don't bother! I'm
quite able. It's the first door on the left side of the hall,
isn't it?'

Mrs. Murphy insisted upon taking Em upstairs, so bidding Sean
goodnight, thank you, fare thee well, and see you soon, Em
found herself facing a much-longed-for bed at last. Murmuring
assents and acknowledgements of the admirable comfort of her
room, which she noted very little of except the bed before
her with it's siren's song, at last Em gratefully shut and
locked her door and barely managed to strip down to her
chemise and crawl beneath the cool welcome sheets...

                          . . . .

Emlyn opened her eyes the next day and wondered where she
was. Briefly. White curtains billowed about a half-opened
window and she could hear birds singing spring songs to aid
the blossomings. She arose and tried to stand and sat back
down with an 'Aahgh!' --Sore. Sore all over from yesterday's
long cramped trek. After stretching awhile, she gingerly got
herself together.

Her 'wee' room was just that; plain and simple, very basic; a
wardrobe, small dresser and a night table beside the single
bed, which was covered with a neat patchwork crazy quilt. Em
smiled as she smoothed it, pleased by the whimsical designs.
She washed up with the pitcher of water and basin atop the
dresser, shook out a light cotton dress and braided her hair,
then decided she was sufficiently presentable and headed down
the stairs, after locking her door behind her, following the
smell of baking below, which was calling her name.

Traces of breakfast come and gone greeted her in the kitchen
as she entered and found the room oddly empty. Peeking out
the big window she saw the sun was rather high already and
feared she had over-slept.
   Poking about, however, she found tea, with kettle on the
stove still warm, and so made a mug for herself, and found
scones in the oven. Perfect. As she munched, she could hear
Mrs. Murphy calling to some yard chickens as she gathered
eggs.
   Thus far, Em decided she had made a good move. This notion
was confirmed when she suddenly heard a familiar voice hail
her landlady. Jeanne was here!

Em flew out the back door and rushed up to her sister-in-
spirit and gave her a hug, 'Oh, Jeanne!'
  'Well, and I'm glad to see you, too!' Jeanne laughed, 'Let
me get my breath, girl!'

'I see you found the scones, a'right!' Mrs. Murphy reached
over and dabbed a spot of blackberry jam from Em's cheek.
Everyone had a chuckle then as the landlady ushered them to
wicker seats on the front porch, then she disappeared inside.

'I've been wondering about you!' Jeanne took her hands, 'What
all has been going on, anyway? We've heard so little, and
your, ah, Senor Rivera...was most worried about you...and
Jack,' she added, looking concerned.

Emlyn sat back and looked away a moment, biting her lip. She
needed to tell her friends about her current predicament, and
what she feared may have happened, but...here in the bright
light of day, in such a mundane setting, tales of Sidhe lords
bespelling one, meetings with ancestors from the beyond the stars
and suddenly discovering that one has a half-faery son without ever having given birth, seemed frightfully out of place amongst the scratching, clucking  hens and sounds of Mrs. Murphy singing Who T'rew the Overalls in Mrs. Murphy's Chowder' in the kitchen...



                               

'I will, and must, tell you all...' she began looking at her
hands clasped tightly in her lap, '...but, not just now.' She
looked up at Jeanne, her eyes pleading and appearing rather
confused still.
  'Of course...' Jeanne patted her arm and sat back in her
chair, '...you've had a long journey and are still getting
settled! I'm just so relieved to find you well. Shannon will
be stopping by later. And Uncle Sean, of course.'

'Uncle Sean?' Em asked, eyes wide, 'Not, Sean Munroe?'

'Yes, of course! He's my uncle, on my mother's side. She was
of the Monroe clan before she married into the McKinnons. I'm
a Scot through and through!'
  Before Em had a chance to digest this, Jeanne held up a
hand, 'Hark! Methinks that's the wagon now!'

Sure enough, as Em stood she could see coming up the road,
first Sean's good horse and then his fiery red head appeared
approaching over the hill like it's own blazing sunrise, with
the smaller sun of Shannon's golden head beside him, but
before Sean could pull up to the house, Shannon leapt lightly
from the wagon like an elf and ran up to greet them.

'So here you are, then!' She hugged Em and Jeanne both at
once, bouncing all the while, 'And about time it is, too!'
  Em realized then, how much she had missed this closeness
with her celtic sisters, and felt chagrin for having traded
their company of late for the strange and sensuous sorceries
of Gwydion's realm...

Mrs. Murphy reappeared from within the house as Sean joined
them on the porch, taking a loaded tray from her despite her
protestations, and set before them a country lunch of deviled
eggs, brown bread and 'buth'er', with fruits and cheeses and
the ubiquitous teapot.




                           

  As the party settled about the feast, Sean looked up from
pouring tea to find Em shaking her finger at him, 'You never
told me you were Jeanne's uncle, Sean! After all this time!'

Sean just grinned, well-pleased with himself, as Mrs. Murphy
laughed and called him the 'devil's own handyman, sure!'
  'And, you, Jeanne!' Em continued, 'You never told me you
could dowse!'
  'Everyone can dowse!' Shannon replied, cutting up apple
slices for all, 'Some people just don't know it.'
  'Tis so,' Jeanne affirmed, 'and we'll show you how.'
  'Aye,' Sean agreed, sitting back and buttering a scone,
'even our Matilda here...', he nodded to Mrs. Murphy, who
blushed, her apple cheeks becoming even redder.
  'Ohh...it was just a matter of a lost broach, 'tis all...'
she seemed shy suddenly, 'I found it with the pendulum.
Was'na like locating water for wells and such.' She brushed
crumbs from her skirt as if to say, that's that. But Emlyn
looked at her, and at Sean, and wondered if perhaps they were
more than friends.

After lunch and a chat, Sean offered to help Mrs. Murphy fix
a hole in her barn roof, and they took off on their errand,
after Emlyn offered to take in the tea things and tidy up.
  'We'll have a wee walk,' said Jeanne, after they put the
kitchen to rights. 'I'm so glad you are here! We've much to
show you...and, 'tis May Day soon, you know!'
  'Tomorrow is May Eve!' Shannon began to bounce on her heels
again, propelled by impending excitement, 'And after the
ceremony, there's the ceilidh here at the Bear's Den.'

'"Bear's Den", eh?' Emlyn asked, as they donned straw hats
and proceeded together around the yard and through the gate,
off into the wildwood. 'Friendly bears?'

'They're...very friendly...' Shannon began, but Jeanne nudged
her and unfolded a burlap bag from her skirt pocket, 'We're
looking for fennel today. Good in salads...' and shot
Shannon a warning glance, unnoticed by Em, who was gazing all
about her at the lushness of the countryside in spring.

'It's smells so fine up here, among the pine...' Em smiled,
'I should write a song...' She felt much lighter, freer here,
far from the city's bustle, crowds and noise. 'I have missed
the country life.' She shook her head, 'There's been such a
whirlwind of activity all about me of late...I really need
this, this...oasis.'

'Well, it has it's drawbacks too, as you will find, whenever
you have to wait for weeks for a package to be delivered, or
drive 10 miles to pick one up,' Jeanne sighed, 'but, I
wouldn't trade it for the world. Ah, I smell licorice!' And
the girls began to pick the lime green new feathery shoots of
fennel growing wild.



                              

  'Wild grapes, figs, almonds...though bitter, most of
them...' Shannon ticked off the fruits of nature's local
bounty, '...but, sure'n it's not a bad place to live. And
wait til summer, and blackberries!'

'Wuf! Surely summer's already here!' Em took her hat off and
wiped her wet forehead, fanning herself.
  'Come on! Let's to the river, then!' Shannon leaped about
like a fawn before them and skipped down the trail, leading
them off the main path to a wandering deer track which led
down the hillside.  Soon Em could discern the rushing rapids,
as they came within sight of the Plumas River.


Shannon was taking her shoes off and tucking up her skirts
when they came upon her.
  'Don't be wandering into the currents, girl! I'm not
fishing you out like a drowned rat!' Jeanne warned her.
  Shannon waved her off and waded alongside the bank. 'It's
fine here, old woman...come on in, you two; 'tisn't as
through we'll be flung over the falls!'

Indeed, the water seemed still and quiet enough close to the
banks, and soon all three were knee-deep in it, and splashing
like sprites in the springtime. Which they were.




                          

  'It must be 10 degrees cooler here!' Em climbed up on a
flat rock in the river's midst, and leaned back in the shade,
dangling her legs in the water. Jeanne and Shannon soon
joined her, and they all lay down, heads touching and looking
from above like the Triad they were.

'So. We'll be meeting up for the ceremony at Jeanne's
tomorrow noon. Then we proceed to The Meadows. After ceremony
is done, then the celebration!' Shannon swung her feet,
flinging water wide, 'And we'll be celebrating all throughout
May Day as well, and on into the night!'

'The ceremony, and the blessing of the goddess and her
consort is the main thing,' The Crone admonished the Nymph,
feeling it her duty.
  'Oh, aye,' Shannon splashed harder, 'but the goddess loves
to see her folk happy and rejoicin' in her blessings! 'Tis
how the crops are made to grow, just as birds sing in the
blossoming, so we make a joyful noise...isn't it so, Emlyn?'

The Maiden 'Hmmm'd' her assent, but seemed rather pensive.
'All should be given equal due: the ceremony and the
rejoicing, after.'
  'Spoken like a true Libran! You should be in politics!'
Jeanne laughed, and sent a mighty splash the others' way,
setting off a splash-fest amongst the three.
 'Rejoicin'...' Shannon whispered to Em.


Once they had settled back down, Emlyn put her hat over her
face and felt relaxed enough, surrounded by riversong, bird
calls and warm spring sun, that she was nearly drifting into
a light doze...when she felt Shannon nudge her, 'So. Emlyn.
You must tell us where you have been. What happened after the
Hallows Eve Ball? You know we came all the way to San
Francisco seeking you, and Jack!'

'--Shannon!' Jeanne sat up, 'We agreed not to bother Emlyn
until she was ready to tell us!'

'Speaking of bother?! T'was no small feat going all the way
to the City to find what had become of her
disappearing...bustle!' Shannon had begun to splash mightily
once more. 'I couldn't sleep for the portents I kept
getting!'

Jeanne gave her a last hard look, then lay back down sighing.
Shannon merely continued to splash, somewhat less furiously.
Emlyn knew she owed her friends at least some explanation...
  She sighed and came out from under her hat, 'Oh, it isn't
that I don't want to tell you both, everything! I've wanted
to so very much. And it's not been easy, having to keep it to
myself.
 'But...it's so complicated, and, and somewhat
unbelievable...I hardly know where to start and you may just
think me mad...' Em blurted out enough to get their
curiosity aroused to boiling point. But where does one begin?
My ex-fiancé was seduced by a witch, with whom he now has a son,
and barely escaped becoming shark bait at best or dematerialized by an Atlantean crystal at worst, I was enspelled by a faery lord and now have a half-fey son of my own, and, let's see, what did I leave out? Oh, my sister in a future life is actually myself and our father is from another star system?

'Try us!' Shannon sat up now, all attention. 'Em: as I said,
I haven't been sleeping nights, seeing the strange worlds you
have walked in of late, not to mention Jack's scenarios...'

Em looked at her youngest sister, knowing of her prescience.
'Alright. I'll try. But, just some basic facts, as it is a
lengthy tale and will take some time in the telling of it
all...'
  'I'll be here all weekend!' Shannon smiled like a cat,
winking at Jeanne.

Emlyn sighed then, and rolled onto her side, staring at the
river flowing by, letting it take her back in time, nearly a
year since it all began, really, the events leading up to 
All Hallow's Eve and her...disappearance.
  'Alright, then. But, please reserve any judgments. You
know that Jack and I are friends, but once we might have been
more. Anyway, it wasn't working out for us, not as such. And
so, Jack was at Jethro's during Hallowe'en, as you know from
Allyn...'

'...And we were all at the Leek's, yes, Em. And we all saw
you flying out the back door, arm in arm with the Sidhe Lord,
and Diego on your tail, fit to be tied!' Shannon supplied,
unasked; which earned her a kick from Jeanne, 'Ow! Well, I'm
only telling what we know already!'

Emlyn only lay on her back once more and fanned herself with
her hat, 'Mayhap you should tell me what you know, and spare
me the telling! For I can assure you, it would spare me much
grief in the remembering...'
  Jeanne shot a look of reproach at Shannon, 'You see!' she
hissed, and Shannon bit her lip, looking down. 'Well...it
could not have all been so bad, surely?' she asked.

'No...no, it wasn't...at all,' she sighed, 'in fact, it was
glorious!' She trailed her hand in the water and splashed.
'And I forgot...everything else; the time, Jack, my home, my
friends...' Em frowned, trying to recall. She hadn't actually
attempted to think of her sojourn among the Sidhe. She had
simply wanted to forget. But now...
  'But, that isn't quite true. I did remember. But, somehow,
it seemed like another lifetime ago, and utterly irrelevant.
I wished to stay there, always.' She turned and looked at her
sister acolytes. 'And I might have done so...if, if Gwydion
hadn't shown his true intentions...'

'Ooh, Em! I'm truly sorry for my being pushy!' Shannon put a
hand on her shoulder, 'You know I'm leaping without looking
sometimes! I don't mean to cause you any pain...and that
Gwydion! Oh, after all the girls he has spirited away, I'm
just glad you got away from him and showed him you aren't just
another of his doxies!'
  'Shannon!' Jeanne sat up, thundering, 'What I shall do to
you later, you do not want to want to know!' She closed her
eyes, got hold of herself and turned to a stunned Emlyn,
'Don't listen to her ravings! You know how the child
exaggerates!'

But Emlyn scarcely heard her at all. Echoing in her mind were
the words: 'all the girls' that Gwydion had taken away with
him, and 'his doxies'...oh, goddess...surely she was the
biggest fool...and to think she deserted Jack when he was
most in need. That was unforgiveable.

'Now you've set her to weeping! A fine welcome you've made
here, Shannon Fitzgerald! Remind me to tie you up before you
cause a national disaster!' Jeanne put her arms about Em's
shoulders and glared axes and daggers at Shannon.

'No, no...'tisn't Shannon's fault...she speaks only truth!
How could I not have realized?' Em sniffled and blew her
nose. 'Of course I'm not the only poor girl he's ensnared and
tried to force into marriage...'

'Marriage?!' Jeanne and Shannon both exclaimed, eyes wide.
They looked at one another. 'You, he...' Jeanne began,
'...ah, did you say 'marriage'?' The two girls were quite
flummoxed.

'Oh, he wouldn't let up on it! I told him I was not
interested...that I may come back, someday, but I had things
to do back in the, ah, on the mundane plane...but, even if I
ever returned to him, I would certainly never be anyone's
wife, worldly or otherwise.' Em looked down, folding her
kerchief, '...Not that it did me any good. He had his way,
and got what he wanted...' She looked up then, steely and
dry-eyed once more.

'He got what he wanted...?' Jeanne began, 'What do you mean,
girl? Are you the wife of the Sidhe Lord, or no?' She looked
blankly at Shannon, 'Good Goddess, we've the Queen of Elfhame
here!'
  Shannon was, for once, speechless.

Em said nothing for a moment, her eyes closed. Then, a quiet,
'No.' She opened her eyes, 'I did not marry Gwydion. I
returned his necklace, and...and then...suddenly Diego was
there!
  'From out of nowhere, seemingly! And he caught me up and
away.' Em's expression seemed far away, '....and somehow...we were returned here.' Em's features became pained. 'And I've repaid him for that brave, merciful deed, with nothing but sorrow...' Em sniffed, '...and Jack, oh, what have I done to Jack...?'

Looking confused, the other two comforted Em with soft words
and gentle touch, yet they wished to somehow make sense of
Em's ramblings...
  'Dinna ye fash yourself, lass...' Jeanne remonstrated,
'...it's just that, well!' She glanced at Shannon who was
still gobsmacked, 'Truly we have never heard of Gwydion ever
asking any to be his wife! The Sidhe do take girls, or boys,
but they're usually back after an evening!' She patted Em's
shoulder, offering her hanky, as Em's was now sodden. 'But,
why does this pain you so, my sweet?'

Em said nothing for some time; her featured contorted in
wretchedness. Then, '...He, he worked a spell, somehow...'
she whispered.
  The women were quiet and still, waiting. '--Yes...?' Jeanne
prodded at last.
  'I...I'm not sure...but...' she raised her tear-streaked
visage and looked at them with undisguised misery, '...but,
he may have, somehow...been able to fashion, a, a Childe,
between us...' Em grabbed Jeanne's hanky and hid her face
behind it, turning away.

                              . . . .

Massachusetts House, early evening.
Jack and Aleister were seated in the parlor, relaxing after a
long day in the lab. Alice was curled up on the windowsill
bird watching, while Dylan slept at their feet, his legs and
tail twitching, uttering soft 'wufs' in his dreams.
 'Dylan's chasing squirrels, I bet!' Aleister remarked,
lighting a cigaro by the fireplace.

Jack smiled down at the pup, grown into a gangly adolescent
now. 'Everyone assumes that. But who knows what errand he's
on, in whatever world dogs inhabit on the astral plane?'

                           . . . .

'Dylan! Come on, boy! We haven't much time!'

Dylan looked up to find his Boy calling him. It was time to
go. He loved it when he had others to hunt and run with Here,
and came with his Boy, known as Llew, whenever he could.

'That's a good laddie!' Llew petted Dylan and they frisked
and rolled about awhile in play, 'That's enough, now!' He
stood up, and pushed his auburn locks from his eyes, 'We have
to find someone! C'mon, laddie! We're on the Hunt!'
And away they ran...
                       . . . .

'Medruat!' Llew called, 'Medruat! Med-dy! Come on, we're
waiting!' Llew looked at Dylan, who stood wagging his tail.
'You fetch him, then. He's not coming to me!'

Dylan padded over to the dark haired lad soundly sleeping,
and began to lick his face. Violet-blue eyes flew open neath
long black lashes and 'Meddy' smiled at Dylan.
  'Let's go, Medraut! 'Tis late!' Llew paced anxiously, as
the young lad joined him, playfully shoving his friend.
  'I was sleeping sound!' He admonished Llew.
  Llew grinned down at the large lump beneath the bedcovers,
black hair spilled over the pillow in all directions, the
body softly snoring.
  'You still are!' He told Medraut, and they laughed as
they flew away into the night's revels.


                             

                       

                       . . . .