Chapter 23 - Shadow and Light

Chapter 23 - Shadow and Light

..::He asked for tidings in the land
and who that kingdom held in hand
the beggar then he answered well
and told all things that there befell
how fairies stole their queen away
ten years before in time of May
and how in exile went their king
in unknown countries wandering...::

J.R.R. Tolkien
Sir Orpheo
                     . . . .

The term 'angel derives from Greek translation of the original Hebrew 'mal'akh', later 'malaika'; which translates as 'worker' later came to mean messenger or herald, however the original meaning was: 'Shadow Side of God'.
                  . . . .

Prior to the 3rd century AD, angels themselves possessed a distinctly double nature, 'appearing as Dukes of Hell one moment and singing Hallelujahs around the celestial throne the next, without a trace of tarnish to their celestial haloes', writes Malcolm Godwin...(who) notes that angelic lore presents not 'a static and consistent mosaic' but rather 'a dynamic and constantly evolving panorama of the warring forces of Righteousness and Malevolence."

Richard Thompson
Angels and Aliens
                    . . . .

..::We are living in the time between the death of the old gods and the birth of the new::..
--Heidegger
                             * * * *


                      

'Good evening, squire! And fine robust weather we're having here!'
  Shannon dipped a light curtsy before Daryl, her eyes begging for indulgence, while her mouth betrayed a sneaking smile...

'Indeed...' Daryl's gaze lowered as he set down his tray, refusing to meet her gaze, but Emlyn detected a slight smile at the corners of his lips as well.

'I instructed Shannon, and Jeanne, to come if they had need of me, Daryl,' Em began.
   '--And only in direst need!' Added Shannon.

'So what IS this 'dire need', then?' Daryl inquired, as he dished up reheated cassoulet.

'Do have a seat, Shannon!' Emlyn brought a lap quilt and tucked it about her friend's shoulders.
  'Some hot tea, perhaps? You must be frozen!'

'Aye, tea, please!' Shannon huddled under the quilt, hugging the bowl of mushrooms to her.
  'At least it's raining not so thick as yet, thanks, Em.' She gratefully accepted the hot tea.
 
Emlyn stood hands on hips and glared at Daryl.
 'Shannon tells me that it is gone October already, Daryl!'

Daryl dished up his 'shrooms and took his wing chair, crossing his legs and looking comfortably sang-froid.
  'Already?'

Emlyn did not look at all amused. 'Daryl...this is NOT acceptable!' She clasped her hands. 'I feel I am losing months, years perhaps! -- out of my entire young life!'

'Ah!'--Daryl stabbed the air toward Em with his fork, '--there's the rub, you see! The operative word is 'young'! Do take a seat, have some tea, filla...there. Now:
  'My dear Em; there is truly nothing noble about growing old. It is painful, and many other inconvenient things as well. You should disabuse yourself of any romantic notions about rusticating by a fireside in your dotage, cara! Nothing changes! Except that one finds oneself in more poverty and pain than one is in at present.'

Emlyn frowned over her tea. 'What has this to do with losing time?'

'Everything.' Daryl pinned her with a hard look.
'The longer you remain here,--out of time, my dear!--the less you will age, of course!' He stood and went to the decanters, adding a drop of brandy to his cup. 'One day you will thank me for this.'

Emlyn sighed. Shannon looked longingly at the sparkling decanters.
  'A drop of liquid fire, my Irish colleen, to offset the chill, perhaps?' Daryl asked, with gracious smooth charm.
  'Ah, sirra, t'would be a blessing, indeed!' Shannon swallowed her tea in a gulp and held forth her cup. Daryl smilingly obliged.
  Em felt her ire rising.

'Daryl! I, I do not wish to lose such a great lot of my life, elsewhere! You presume altogether too much!' She stared into her teacup. She was still in her twenties! Was she so bloody near to wasting collapse already? Hardly.

'This...losing time, here...' Shannon ventured, 'I assume this place,' she glanced about, 'has the properties of a rath of the Tuatha de Danann, then? As when one is taken by the gentry?'


   'Exactly so, Shannon. This is a place of power, and many mysteries...' Daryl's gaze was dark and penetrating.

                           

'No! Daryl! I won't have it! Do not try to enspell Shannon in your web, here...' Em sighed heavily, weary of his well-worn games.
  'In fact, now that we're having a real discussion for a change, there are certain questions I would like answered!'

That put a momentary damper on Daryl's devious designs. He sighed deeply as well. 'If you must, Em...' His hand wafted through the air as if to clear a cloud of midges.

Shannon, meanwhile, her gaze shifting betwixt Emlyn and Daryl like watching players at badminton, settled back with her brandy and mushrooms for the duration, taking in their badinage as if it were opening night at Pankhurst Playhouse.

Em cleared her throat. She hadn't expected Daryl's abrupt acquiescence...she had had a pocketful of questions, or several pockets-full, but now...
  'Alright, then. You...I, I would like some clarification, Daryl. You seem to contradict yourself on occasion...'

'Do I?' The Annoying Uncle Daryl was back.

'You do.' Em glanced at Shannon's eager, shining face as she took all this in. 'I believe we may speak freely; Shannon knows most of my doings, and, well, she is no stranger to, ah, the strange.'
  'Very well.' (Your serve, Em...)
'Ah. Alright, then.' Em cast her mind back. 'You
told me once that Axelis was a Kelt from Kantec, a planet which had exploded eons ago.'
  'Hm. Yes, I probably did...,' answered inimical Uncle Daryl.
  Em rallied. 'But! You also said, that to name an origin of these...folk of the Otherworld, was simply to, mollify people who could not otherwise wrap their minds about any other concept.'
  'Yes, that's probably true...' answered maddening Uncle Daryl.
  'Daryl!!' Emlyn was losing her composure, as well as patience.


'Easy, Em!' Daryl put up a hand. 'My dear filla, do calm yourself. --More brandy, perhaps?'
  'Daryl!! Not that again!' Em leaned her aching head against her hand. She supposed she had asked for this...

'That would be lovely!' Shannon leaned forward, her cup extended hopefully. Daryl's gaze softened, as he smiled and rose to the occasion, but a certain gleam was in his wicked eye, Em noted. He would bear watching tonight...

'Emlyn...I am not attempting to be disingenuous.'
He brought the decanter to the tea table and poured a hefty draught for Shannon, who looked mostly recovered from her storm-tossed arrival, and rather pink and invigorated. Em did not like it much.
  'Then, please elucidate, do.' Em could be annoyingly blase' as well as he.

Daryl resumed his seat, freshening his cup, with tea this time.
  'Alright,' he sighed. 'Take yourself, for instance, Emlyn: you could be said to be a California girl, and you could also be a Kelt, or Welsh, or a librarian. And goodness only knows about your past lives...'
  'Oh! Do you know of such things, then, sirra?' Shannon's ears pricked up.
  Daryl simpered, 'Please, do call me Daryl, Shannon.'
  Shannon looked down and blushed, the hoyden, thought Em. Ah, Daryl working his magic, again...

'Alright,' Em declared rather loudly, to remind them of her presence. 'So Axelis then, is all that and much more, I presume?'
  Daryl nodded.
  Helpful, that.

Emlyn was not to be put off, however. 'And--?'
 'And?' Daryl pretended to be ingenuous. Emlyn glared; he nodded, and set his tea down.
 'Yes, alright; so...what else might one 'label' our worthy Axelis, who saved Jack at great personal risk, and who has watched out for you, lo, these looong many years...'
  'Not that many, Daryl!' Em was becoming more exasperated, but didn't want to annoy Daryl into one of his sulks. She knew what he was doing though; he meant that she should be satisfied with status quo and leave well enough alone.
  Bugger that.

 'So, Daryl; exactly. And, what else?' Em was not to be put off.
 Not this time.

Daryl frowned at her, and stood then. He tossed another small log onto the fire, then turned and took the decanter back to the corner bar.
 'Very well.' He glanced with one eyebrow aloft toward Emlyn. 'You may be surprised to find that your father, Axelis, has much in common with our mutual 'friend', Gwydion.'

This was not what Emlyn wanted to hear. 'How...so?'
  Daryl began to stroll about the room, hands in pockets. Em could identify this behavior now that she had seen it in action a few times: Daryl paced when he would simply have preferred to exit the stage.
  'Ah, well, Em, it's just this, see...' Uncle Daryl's voice nearly held the edge of an Irish brogue. 'Tis much the two have in common, you might say...'
  Shannon piped up then, 'They're both of the gentry, then!'

Indeed, this was NOT at ALL what Em wished to hear.
  'You mean, my father, Axelis, was a...'
  'He had fay blood, yes. As you do, yourself. You knew this.'

                         
  'But, I assumed that it was from my mother's, my Welsh side!'
  'You have, my dear Em,' Daryl stopped, facing her now, 'THREE sides! Do you not? Your mother's, and your mundane father's, as well as Axelis'.'

Shannon appeared quite nonplussed at this. 'What does he mean, Em?'
  'Oh...' Emlyn rubbed her forehead, 'It's just that, I have two fathers. Like, ah, Merovee'...'
  'Ah.' Shannon nodded. If she understood, Em reckoned there was more to the lass than met the eye indeed. 'Triad-born, you are. I knew it!'
Shannon's eyes lit up like Beltane bonfires. 'Tis prophesied.' She nodded sagely once more.

Emlyn stared at her friend. She wished to know more of this 'prophecy', did she say? But Daryl was pacing and gesturing once more...
  '...Also, at some time, in some places, Axelis, and his ilk, were in fact, referred to as 'angels'.' Daryl let this drop like a hot potato--with wings...

'Ooooh!!' Shannon stared, all wide green eyes at Emlyn. 'Now that's Gentry!'


                          

 

  'Daryl...' Em closed her eyes, as if pained. 'If you don't wish to answer, that's fine. Don't let's go all over facetious, please...'
  To Em's surprise, Shannon remarked, 'But he isn't, Emlyn! 'Tisn't all that strange, you know. There are angels, and then there are angels, isn't that so, ah...Daryl?' She shyly spoke his name, as she demurely fluttered blond lashes.

'Quite right, me lass!' Daryl joined in the game with both feet. Em wasn't sure if she was regretting heading down this path yet or not.
  'As it is written; women should cover their heads, 'lest they be tempting the angels, isn't it so, now?' Daryl smiled Shannon's way; Shannon smirked.
  Em groaned.

'You believe I jest.' Daryl looked at Em and shook his head slowly. 'Ah, Em. I can't believe I have sorely overlooked this part of your education...'
  'Oh, Daryl...it IS late!' Em's head still ached.
She poured the last of the tea.
  'Remember, Em: YOU asked.' He glared her way.

'I would love to be educated!' Shannon bounced upon the sofa, giving Em a tentative smile.
  'And so you shall be!' Daryl raised that rabbinical finger aloft and Em knew there was no stopping him now... 
  Oy.

Strangely then, Daryl advanced upon the piano and began to gently play, intoning softly: 'Thrones, powers, principalities...'

                         
 
The ladies loaned him their ears and Emlyn decided the tune sounded much like: 'Angels We Have Heard On High', which segued into something altogether more Wagnerian and epic-sounding.
  'What is this piece, Daryl?' asked Em as she and Shannon gathered about the grand.
  'Theme from 'Star Wars', by John Williams...,' Daryl replied, which was no answer.
  'Ah.'

Daryl grinned sideways at them. 'It is an epic tale, indeed...
  'Long ago, in a galaxy, far, far away...a young man, of uncertain parentage, is embroiled in a quest, and a war, only to find that the women he loves, is his sister, and the man who destroyed her home world, and his, is his father...'

                        

'I do love such lays!' Shannon enthused. 'It sounds almost like tales of King Arthur.'
  'Or, from the Mabinogion,' Em frowned.

'Indeed. All such hero's quests have much of the same aspects...' Daryl's fingers worked magic upon the ivories, softly playing a pianissimo.
  'The interesting part in this, is that the young hero's father, who, in this tale is the Adversary, or villain; was named, Anakin. He was not always evil; he was seduced by the Dark Side, and bethought it necessary to kill, in order to save the life of his wife, and son--the hero.' Daryl wound himself up again, playing faster now.
  'The name, 'Anakin' is telling; it is much like the word, 'Anakim', who were the offspring of the Nephilim, in Judaic lore.' Daryl looked at them.
  'The Fallen Angels.'
--a pause...
  'Also,' Daryl continued, 'He became then, a 'Sith' Lord. As you may know, the sith were, of course, Keltic fay, the aos si, or the sidhe.

Shannon and Emlyn shared a glance. 'Interesting.'
  Emlyn was wondering where all this was going...she yawned, despite herself; it had been such a long night...

Daryl paused, then leaning forward over the keys, softly began a well-known score...
  'Midsummer Night's Dream!' Emlyn gasped softly.
'Oh, Daryl...' Em shook her head. 'Angels, Aliens and now the Fay! You have made a pastiche.'
  Em was not best pleased at this. Once one of her favorite pieces, this particular Mendelssohn now held some dark shadows amongst the bright notes.
Ebony, and ivory...
 

'I am feeling rather weary Daryl, my head aches... and, we must find a room here for Shannon. I insist she remain here tonight with us.' She turned to her friend. 'You will stay, won't you?'

'I would love to!' Shannon squeezed her hand. 'Thank you, Daryl, for taking me in all of a sudden-like...'
  Daryl closed the lid on the keyboard. 'Not at all, my dear. Know that you are welcome to stay as long as you like.'
  Emlyn glanced at Daryl. This was unlooked-for;
just what was he up to now?
  'I shall take her upstairs and get her settled in. Goodnight, Daryl...'

                     . . . .

'Two fathers, Em? You have been holding out on us, me girl!' Shannon remarked as they headed across the chessboard floor and up the winding stairway.

'And what of this 'prophecy', then?' Emlyn replied. 'This is the first I have heard of it.'

'Apparently we have some catching up to do.' Shannon smiled.

                              . . . .

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bxhrgCyl6Og
Andrzej Kucybała /Darth Vader/ - conductor,
Stanisław Moniuszko School of Music Symphony Orchestra in Bielsko Biała, Poland,
Star Wars Theme.
John Williams.

Chapter 22 - "Confusion now hath made his masterpiece"

Chapter 22 - "Confusion now hath made his masterpiece"
                --Shakespeare

So Orpheus did for his owne bride,
So I unto my selfe alone will sing,
The woods shall to me answer and my Eccho ring


Edmund  Spenser

..::Steward, now to my words give ear!
If thy king, Orfeo , were here,
and had in wilderness full long
suffered great hardship sore and strong,
had won his queen by his own hand
out of the deeps of fairy land::..

J.R.R. Tolkien
Sir Orfeo

                            * * * *


All was quiet then.
Emlyn sat rigid, hands clasped, looking down, afraid of what Daryl could be thinking...did he think she was fantasizing all this? That was her chief worry...she certainly didn't want his ego taking charge; to believe that she desired him in some mad fashion...

For Daryl's part...he had stopped his pacing and stood now before the French doors, gazing out at the skies beyond, and frowning.
  'Getting darker...could be another storm brewing.' He looked down then, and turned toward Emlyn,  flashing a brief glance her way; 'I...believe I shall head for the kitchen, and begin dinner preparations. It will get dark soon tonight...'
  And off he sped.


Em breathed a great sigh of relief after he'd gone.  She stood and came back to the table, began slowly going though the masses of photos, clippings, lobby cards and playbills.

Well, at least he wasn't, ah, upset by her disclosure. Perhaps he didn't know what to think...that was no doubt true. Where were they now, however? How did their relationship stand between them? What, indeed, was the nature of it-- in it's entirety?
  Apparently, she would have to wait to find out.
             
She found several more images of Daryl-as-Otherman, as she thought of 'them'; he and his younger, itinerate self. 
  These she took with her to the sofa and sat before the dying fire perusing carefully, with no one looking over her shoulder...
 

Strange, how his image brought it all back to her: the few, glorious instances that she could recall being together with...him.  She couldn't bring herself to call him Daryl.
  "Diego", perhaps; Em sighed, thinking that would do for now. Diego, would be her Otherman. Daryl, meanwhile...should stay firmly where Em wished to put him, which was: anywhere other than Otherwhere!

She frowned, clasping a well-worn, dog-eared photo before her. Daryl, her 'guardian', belonged here, where he had always been, the way he had always been...(well, perhaps not 'always': Em did not care to recall her first meeting with him at the gypsy camp when he had kidnapped her.)
  Em believed he had changed since then, had believed it was just an act Daryl had staged, consummate actor that he was.

It was probably true...since then, in all this time, he had proven himself to be, (mostly) trustworthy and of noble intent. Mostly.
Except where using others to get his way was concerned. (The Cup...) Or kidnapping people.
Or his semi-legal attainment and selling of antiques filched from timewalks...
  Em sighed again. Well, so Daryl was an honest thief. That was probably her best assessment of his character.

                          

Still, he had certainly put himself in harm's way to do right by her, and Jack, and others. She ought to give the man the benefit of the doubt...
meanwhile...
  She glanced at the poster for Orpheus once more.

                          
Em guiltily feasted her eyes upon Diego's half-dressed form before her, clad only in a toga, a sash draped decoratively over one well-muscled shoulder, violin in hand, his head bent over, gazing meditatively downward, dark long locks curling over his forehead.

She recalled then the Orpheus play that Morgana (Marguerite) had performed, which she and Alice (and the Captain and Alejandro) had uncomfortably viewed in San Francisco, lo these many years hence. Morgana had certainly made note of Daryl in his past production; had perhaps been in it herself! Oh, no: not as Eurydice, Em hoped.

Emlyn felt suddenly ill...with the image of her own beloved Diego before her, to imagine he, as he was then, with Morgana--! It didn't bear thinking of...Em swallowed, forcing her mind away from the morass of sketchy scenes which swam unbidden into her consciousness.
  She couldn't bear it...
 


                               

 

 

She tidied up the photos and papers and slipped them back into their folder on the table. Then she took her leave of the library, just as the first low rumble of thunder was heard...
  ...A harbinger of things to come?

                   . . . .


Emlyn found Daryl, as promised, in the kitchen,
apparently finishing up. He had just popped something into the oven and was rising, wiping his hands on a tea towel.
  Seeing Em before him, he carefully blanked his features and resorted to small talk once more.
  'A mushroom cassoulet. It will be warming.' He glanced out of the windows. 'I do believe the storm is nearly upon us...' He then began to uncork a bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon. 'Everything is taken care of here. Why don't you set the table?'

Happy to be of service and busy doing something, Emlyn obliged, grateful that Daryl was trying to make things appear routine and normal for them both.
  However, it wasn't often, she had to admit, as she set out the silverware, that she and Daryl, just the two of them, ever had a formal 'sit-down' dinner together. Well, it would be nice for a change, she supposed, especially with a storm on the way.

After the table was set to her satisfaction, she built a fire in the parlor, as it was becoming quite chilly rather quickly. And, yes, darker.
  She glanced at the grandfather clock, surprised to see that it was only late afternoon. Although evening came earlier now, it was the storm ushering in a presumptive twilight that lent a somber cast to the rooms so soon.

Em idly wondered when it was now...what day, or even month... She heard the wind begin to blow all about the windows now, heard it whistling in the chimneys...
  Well, let there be light, then! She took the tall silver candlesticks and setting them upon the table, lighted the candles in an effort to shed a cheerful glow to their dinner.

                      

She was admiring her table when Daryl entered then, carrying the wine and a basket of rolls.
  'Looks lovely, thank you, filla.' His gaze went to the French doors at the north end of the room.
'Yes, it is soon upon us!' He smiled softly for a moment, thinking fondly of his beloved storms.
'If Athena wishes to join us, she will, I'm sure...if not, we'll have enough to eat for awhile, just we two.'
  Em looked down, biting her lip. She needed something to distract the focus away from 'just we two'...

'Have a seat, Em. I can bring in the meal, not so much really...'
He turned about, humming to himself, and soon returned with a hot covered dish which smelled divine, followed with a salad.
  'Mushroom season...they're all about, now,' Daryl said as he helped himself to the cassoulet. 'I'll show you the best foraging places some day.'


                          

'I do adore wild mushrooms, thank you Daryl.' She nearly called him 'Diego' and stopped herself. No more of that...she felt herself blushing. Quick, change the subject!
  'Have you heard anything from Jack, or even Aleister?' Ah, safe territory...

'No...that's odd, isn't it?' Daryl mused, mid-forkful, 'I thought we would have heard from them by now. I wonder what Real Time, it is?' He began
buttering rolls and passing salad and didn't really seem to be too concerned about Time. One becomes inured, Em guessed, to living life Out Of Time.

'Oooh, would you listen to that wind--?' Emlyn put her fork down, leaning forward as her eyes darted to the parlor where the wind could be heard whistling down the fireplace. She shivered slightly.
  'Have some wine, filla. It will warm you.' Daryl poured a refill for them both.

Emlyn drank the dark red wine which, in the lowering light, now appeared like ebony in her glass. She fancied she could hear distant thunder growing louder. 'Sounds like another big storm, don't you think?--Oh!'
  Em jumped as the first real 'boom!' of thunder cracked near the house.
                       

                               

 

 

Daryl smiled at her discomfiture. 'Easy, Em. This house was built for storms!' He sat back, eyes closed and intoned: '"The roaring of the wind is my wife and the stars through the windowpane are my children."' He opened his eyes to proclaim: 'Keats,' looking well-satisfied.

Another, louder 'BOOM!!' sounded.
And the lights went out. Except for Em's candles.



  'Your 'wife' sounds rather...tempestuous,' she remarked.
  'Indeed,' Daryl had to agree. 'Are we about finished here? Let us head to the fire and the parlor, we can clean up later, eh? I'll bring the wine...'

                   . . . .


                   


Emlyn shut the double doors behind them, whilst Daryl built up the fire as much as he dared.
 'I don't want to make much of a real blaze, not in this wind.' He replaced the poker and took the wing chair nearest the fireplace. 'This should do for now. I'll feed it regularly and it should burn steady enough.'

                         

Meanwhile Emlyn was going about the parlor, lighting candles. Although she was the only one who ever used them, Daryl deigned to keep them about wherever Em had placed them, for her convenience.
  'There! Much better. We're nearly cozy in here now...' Taking her glass, she situated herself across from Daryl, whom, she noted, was gazing speculatively her way, eyelids half-closed.
  '"O Wild West Wind, thou breath of Autumn's being..."' Daryl murmured. He opened his mouth again, but Em beat him to it with a quick, neat:  '--Shelley.'
  'Eh, precisely...' Daryl conceded, a dry smile
attempting to spread.

Em obeyed a sudden urge and roused herself, heading into the corner near the piano. She found her mandolin and brought it to the fire with her.
  'Out of tune, a bit...' She began fiddling with the tuning pegs.

Daryl then stood, and went to the walnut bar in the corner and began fiddling with the decanters.
'Brandy, cher?' he inquired, pouring.
  'Oh, just a tad, gracias...' She had to hold her tongue to keep from calling him 'Diego', now.

They sat companionably enough, listening to Em's musical noodling, the crackling fire and the wails of the wild wind as the candles flickered about the room, casting dancing dark shadows upon the walnut wainscoting surrounding.
  Emlyn finally tuned up as best she could, and began to pluck out 'Liberty Bell'.
  'This, and 'Red River Valley',' Em complained, 'are two of the hardest to commit to memory...'

'If only you would practice, cara...' Daryl handed her snifter to her, with rather more than the requested 'tad'.
 'It would all come to you with barely a thought...' He returned to hover about the fireplace, arm draped over the mantle piece.

Emlyn studied him for a time, wondering about that, and where was Anara's portrait? Back at Nob Hill House, she supposed; then decided to toss caution to the not-insignificant winds howling about them.
  'May I ask something of you, Daryl?'
  Daryl, all unknowning, nodded assent.
  Em switched to chords then, sounding hopefully, somewhat like 'Dublin Jack'...
  'Have you, and Anara, ever had...physical relations? Intimate, physical relations?'

Daryl nearly lost his snifter. He managed to swallow his sip, then pinched his nose.
  'I think I got cognac up my sinuses...'
  He shot Emlyn a hard glance then blinked. Walked over to the decanter and poured himself a hefty refill.

Em continued to softly play, waiting...
  At last Daryl sighed, pacing the room. He went to the windows, twitching the drapery aside. 'Getting rather harsh, out there now...' he mused, then turned to look at Em, his thumb tapping against the glass he held.
  'No, Emlyn. To answer your question: Never.'

Em was relieved. 'Neither have I. That is, ever experienced any actual intimate, physical relations with my Otherworldly Significant Other.'
  She switched to 'Crooked Jack', then paused, held out her glass for a refill. Daryl eventually noted this and brought round the decanter.

After pouring, Daryl sauntered about the room, tapping his glass.
  '"For I have been faithful to thee, Cynara, in my fashion..."' he muttered.

'I wonder...In fact, I wonder...' Daryl stopped before the fire, and faced the room with his head cocked sideways, staring dreamily at nothing.
 'I wonder, if, perhaps, that is, or was, the problem...' He said this last so softly, Em was not certain she had heard correctly.

'Yes? How so, Daryl?' Emlyn wanted to know.

He sighed, then sat at last. 'I...we...were always, as you have also experienced, in a different state of being, whenever we were together. And, although we touched, and kissed, and...felt emotion more deeply than I have ever felt before or since...' he sighed again, '...never have I ever been able to come anywhere near that experience here in the physical world...this, particular, dimension...in whatever time. Perhaps only you, Em, and maybe Yeats, could know whereof I speak.'

Emlyn thought, Oh, yes, indeed; I do know whereof you do speak. Oh, that 'whereof'. That loaded question; that promise of tomorrow that never comes...
  'Yes, Daryl,' she sighed, 'I do know. And you are absolutely right!' She shook her head, 'I despair of marriage, since there is certainly nothing, here, you know, to compare! We have been, how would you say, 'spoiled', for mundane reality!'

                                 

 

Daryl smiled a sad smile. 'Just don't call it 'The Real World'. Because it isn't, you know. This--' he spread his arms wide, '--is nothing like the Real World, which is theirs. I, at least, prefer to believe so.'

'Most assuredly!' Em agreed, interrupting her playing to partake of the brandy. 'Oh, I would so rather be there than here! Anytime! If only we could go there now!'
  Daryl smiled and raised his eyebrows skyward.
'It doesn't work that way. Alas. Believe me, Em, I have tried...everything. But time has nothing to do with their world, and it is a prison guard holding the key, to ours...' He sat back, crossed his legs and, leaning his head upon a hand, quoth:
'But then, "the course of true love never did run smooth".'

'Perhaps, "Then you must speak of one who loved not wisely but too well". That's us, in a nutshell, Daryl.' Em nodded at her guardian. 'You are not disappointed, are you?'

Daryl looked only bemused. 'Whatever for?'

'I know...that you had hopes for Jack and myself...' Em softly answered. 'I did too, for a time. And I still love him, dearly, you know.
  'But, I...Oh, Daryl...you know I felt so much less for Gwydion than I do for Jack. It was a mistake; I thought he, Gwydion, felt as I; that it was just a bit of May Day Madness...but, it wasn't. Not for Gwydion.
  'But I never wished to hurt Jack. And I certainly never wished to cause you, or anyone, really, any inconvenience.'

'Hmm,' Daryl intoned. 'That's, ah...well, pray don't fash yourself, Emlyn.' He looked as if he was near to blushing. 'Jack is his own man. It's all...water under the bridge now, and another lifetime ago...' He made a banishing gesture with his free hand.
 'I propose we begin anew. Fresh. Without any preconceptions about one another.'

'That won't be easy, Daryl.' Em didn't want to let him off so breezily. 'But, I will try.' She set her glass down and took up the mando once more.
  'What is it, about them, and their reality, Daryl? What is it that makes it all so...so much more real, than this world? To awaken here, after being there, it is painful.'

'It is that,' Daryl agreed. 'But, at least you won't feel so completely alone, here. You can talk to me. And Athena. She knows of Anara, and the Otherworld.' He sighed.
  'The loneliness can be difficult...there is certainly no other male, besides Yeats, with whom I could speak to of this. Imagine the reaction of the boys down at the pub, were you to tell them that you've just had the most sensual, ecstatic experience of your life with a woman, and you never actually had sex...'

Emlyn ceased her 'Be My Rambling Woman', and sighed. She grasped her brandy glass carefully. 'Yes, it isn't something univers'ly understood...' (Em decided this was decidedly her last glass of spirits tonight.)
  Her thoughts trailed off...yes, that was all fine and dandy for Mr: "I've Had Years of All This Already".  But for Em...she HADn't had years of That, YET, thank you very much..! And while, yes; it was so, that she frankly adored her Otherwhere Man, Diego, --well, the rascal simply was never around when a girl needed him, was he now? Em found her elbow bending all on its own...

Her brow knitted as she tried to recall the song: 'Lucky Break', and strummed a few chords experimentally. Her gaze travelled to the figure of Daryl, taking in the cut of his jib; as he leaned casually against the mantle and stared into the flames. What did he see there--Anara?

Em blinked several times, trying to focus. In the dark, no electric lights, just firelight... with Daryl's darker hair, the years fell from his features and suddenly Emlyn found herself staring at Diego. Caspian. Otherwhere Man.

                          

  Her stomach lurched and she felt she was falling...
  --Perhaps she was.

                      . . . .


'Alright now, cara?'
  Emlyn opened her eyes. What the--? Daryl was bending over her. He straightened.
 'You fell over. Onto the floor.' He helped her sit up. 'Gently, now...I think we've had enough cognac, perhaps, yes? Ah, surely Wicked Uncle Daryl is to blame...' He frowned. 'Some tea, perhaps.'

She felt her throbbing head. 'My head hurts. Oh, Diego, no more brandy, por favor...' Damn, thought Em; don't call him that! That's what got you into trouble. That and cognac. Damn Daryl...

He stood, making the sofa stir and jostling Emlyn's sore head. 'You should eat something, you hardly had a thing at dinner.' He frowned at her, concerned. 'You shouldn't let, all this...conjecture, let's say, trouble you so.' He turned, and nodded, 'I'll bring you a plate...'

Get a grip, Em, as Jack would say. Emlyn forced herself to sit up. Wuf, too much brandy, on top of all that...what was all that, anyway?
  A hallucination, perhaps. And, well, what if? What if Daryl's younger self was ah, fraternizing with her Otherwhere self...she should wish them well and get on with her own life, so called, here.
  Such as it was.
  Hmmm...

Something had been knocking on the door to her subconscious however. She couldn't get certain songs out of her mind...Irish reels, mostly. She'd tried to remember them enough to play them tonight.   Some were Shannon's favorites, in fact.

Suddenly Emlyn caught a glimpse of Shannon's face; she was saying something to her, as if trying to get her attention...
  That was it! Em realized through the haze, someone; obviously Shannon, was. The artefact--!

Emlyn rose slowly, she felt alright, but wondered why had she fallen over? It was a bit of a mystery. She probably did need to eat something...all that brandy, absurd!

Her head cleared with every step upstairs, and as she gained her room she felt certain that Shannon was trying to reach her for some reason.
She located the artefact, still in the pocket of her old skirt from Sonora, and sped back downstairs with it. For some reason, she wanted Daryl to be there when she did this. Why hide?

He was still busy in the kitchen, but Em felt she couldn't wait any longer--what to do? She tried simply holding the thing and concentrating on Shannon; her eyes closed and she willed herself to feel her there, detect her fresh summer scent of dry grasses, hear her lilting young voice...
  'Sure'n tis about time, me girl! I've been callin' and callin'!'



  --T'was Shannon, herself. Bright as a button and lively as the devil in springtime.


Emlyn gazed at the space before her now occupied by her frisky, feisty friend.
 'Shannon!' She flung out her arms, receiving her accidental guest. 'It is so good to see you!'

Shannon was bouncing on her toes as was her wont when she was overfull of eager energy. 'I had to see you, Em! Jeanne, Mrs. Murphy, Jethro and I have all been so worried about you!'
  Em held Shannon at arm's length. 'But I'm fine!
Ah, Jack is at Aleister's, they ought to have told Jethro I was here...'
  'Well, Em, it's just that, you see, here it is October, and Mrs. Murphy can't hold your room indefinitely...'
 

'--What!?' Em couldn't believe that. 'No, it cannot be! But, it was just gone Lughnasa, a day ago, or so...?'

At that juncture, Daryl decided to re-enter the parlor, stage left. He was carrying a tray loaded full of leftovers and other snacks, but when he beheld Shannon was suddenly come upon his parlor mid-evening, unannounced, he was discomfited enough to display a brief pause whilst he took in the change of scene.


 One eyebrow lifted then, and he inquired:
 'Would you care for some mushrooms?'

                  

                        

                           . . . .


Orphee aux Enfers [ Orpheus in The Underworld ] - Offenbach

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JmXYwuBmOuU

 Chapter 21 - Madness Most Discreet

..::Yea, all the time, because the dance was long:
I have been faithful to thee, Cynara! in my
fashion.
I cried for madder music and for stronger wine,
But when the feast is finished and the lamps
expire,
Then falls thy shadow, Cynara! the night is thine;
And I am desolate and sick of an old passion,
Yea, hungry for the lips of my desire:
I have been faithful to thee, Cynara! in my
fashion::

Ernest Christopher Dowson

                        . . . .

Love is a smoke raised with the fume of sighs;
 Being purged, a fire sparkling in lovers' eyes;
 Being vex'd a sea nourish'd with lovers' tears:
 What is it else? a madness most discreet,
 A choking gall and a preserving sweet.
Shakespeare
(Romeo and Juliet, 1.1)
                       . . . .

Emlyn slept soundly until the next morning when
she heard the front door close solidly with a
thump.  She peeked over the quilt and blinked,
surprised to be waking at the gatehouse. As if to
confirm this fact, Athena entered the parlor, tea
tray in hand.
  'Ready for some tea?' She set the tea things
upon the old chest whilst Em ran a hand through
her sleep-disheveled hair and yawned widely behind
her hand.
  'Thank you, Athena.' She sat up, pulling the
quilt about her shoulders. 'Yes, oddly enough, I
did sleep...' She took the hot mug of the black
strong-scented brew, and inhaled gratefully.
'But how are you today? Shoulder not too sore I
hope...' Em mumbled this last bit into her mug as
she sipped, flicking a glance Athena's way.

Athena was shaking her head as she took her tea
and sat opposite Em on the sofa. 'I can't believe
I went through with another of Daryl's mad
schemes...' She looked over at Em.
  'I should have heeded your warning. You were
right. We're in over our heads with...that.' She
nodded to where the Cup had been lurking.

'Gone, with Daryl, I presume?' Em asked.
'Oh, yes.' Athena raised her long legs, resting
them on the couch beside Emlyn. 'He probably woke
you as he left...'

Em thought this would be a good chance to have a
nice long chat with Athena, but that worthy lady
had other ideas...
  'You haven't actually seen all of the gatehouse,
have you?'
  Emlyn allowed as she hadn't, taking another
tasty slice of apple-carrot-nut bread. 'The bath
is just around that corner, if you'd like. Later,
I'll take you on a tour.'
  That might just be the ticket Em needed to
become a bit more intimately acquainted with her
new friend and extemporaneous hostess. 'A bath
sounds divine...'

                         . . . .                  
                 
'...And then, there is the loft, of course...'
Athena was leading Emlyn upstairs, having covered
the downstairs area of the gatehouse tour.
  Em followed, entranced. How lovely all the
knotty pinewood complemented the decor... Athena
was indeed a lucky ex-librarian to have found
favor with Daryl.

The door to the loft bedroom was open and Emlyn
was rather astonished at the size. It didn't seem
so large from the inside.
  Athena appeared to be reading her mind 'This
room overhangs the porch, giving it more space
than you'd think, seen from the inside.'

Emlyn moved slowly about the homey space,
relishing the pleasing golden glow of the polished
blond walls and ceiling, from which a large-bladed
fan depended. Handy in warm weather, she conceded,
if ever this place was beset by so outrageous a
chimera as a sunny day.

'It's all such a delight, truly, Athena.' She ran
a light hand over a corner escritoire, positioned
near a pair of windows to catch the light. 'I love
your style; both elegant and comfortable. Oh!' Em
bent to better espy a framed photograph on the
desk.
  'Yes. That's us, believe it or not!' Athena
smiled, and picked up the photo, then handed it to
Emlyn.

Em stared at the picture. It was in color,
although somewhat faded. 'When...? How old was
Daryl here?'
  The photo she held showed an indoor scene of
rows of stuffed bookcases, scattered tables and
desks; a library most assuredly. Behind the desk
was a tall woman, gorgeous even in a most
business-like navy suit with a white, lacy high-
collared blouse. Her light blond hair was piled in
a chignon about her head with stray wisps
accenting her wonderful bone structure. Liquid,
soft, smoldering eyes and a dark crimson mouth
completed the visage of a young Athena. As a woman
in her mid-thirties, perhaps. Em always envied
tall, elegant women...she had been, as they say, a
raving beauty, indeed.
 

Em's gaze traveled to the lanky young lad posed
beside Athena, making much of an open-mouthed
smile and wide 'Look'it Me!' eyes; longish,
unkempt black hair in a wild nimbus about his
face, as he doffed a top hat and held a poster
proclaiming: "Daryl Van Horn--Magician!"--
and the date for an upcoming children's program at
the library.

'Oh, diosa...' Athena 'hmm'd', trying to recall,
'...I believe he was still in high school then. He
was 18, perhaps? Things were...not so bad yet.
Comparatively.' She sighed, smiled. 'I'm so glad I
kept this picture.' She looked at the old photo
with the proud gaze of a mentor for their
protege, and laughed lightly.
  'I thought he looked like Prince Caspian in
this...' She stood back and cocked her head. 'His
hair was much darker then. But, the resemblance is
still there.'

                 

Emlyn took the picture over to the window for
better light. As she gazed intently upon the young
Daryl before her, she had to agree. 'Yess...I see
what you mean.' She stared frowning at the
likeness betwixt this Daryl and the movie version
of Caspian...
'They are very alike.'

  Then it hit her--like a shot.
  Not realizing what she was doing, Em let herself
flop, seated, upon Athena's bed and simply stared,
wide-eyed at the photo.
  'Oh, my...'

'Em? What is it?' Athena sat gently beside her.

'Oh!' Em looked at Athena as if she'd forgotten
the woman was even there. 'I, ah...nothing. I
just, ah...I really should be getting along! Oh,
here I'm just taking up your time, and, oh...' Em
rose and shakily returned the picture to it's
place on the desk and put her hands to her flushed
cheeks as she turned to leave the room.
  'I simply should be going! I've lost track of
time and here we've presumed upon your hospitality
since yesterday!' Em rattled on as she hastened
downstairs.


'Thank you for everything, Athena!' She bundled
herself into her raincoat and hat as Athena caught
up to her, folding her arms about herself as she
watched Emlyn's perplexing behavior, quietly
bemused.

Em turned to face her friend. 'You are sure you're
feeling quite alright, now?' She was still
concerned about Athena's 'adventure' of the
previous evening, she glanced at where the Cup had
stood.
  Athena looked rather confused, but she assured
Emlyn she felt well enough. 'I'm sure I'll be
fine. Shan't be going anywhere! And, Em: You're
never an imposition, my dear! You know you are
welcome here anytime.' She took Em's arms, then
gave her a hug. 'ANY time. Alright?'
  Emlyn nodded, and smiled briefly, then bid
Athena a last farewell and shut the gatehouse door
behind her.

                        . . . .

Emlyn trudged through the wet pathway back to the
big house, her mind humming with bewildering
conjecture...
  It couldn't be...could it?

...It certainly looked like it. Or, rather, he,
Daryl-the-Younger, certainly looked like...HIM--
  He; the mysterious personage with whom Em had
met on those all-too-rare occasions in the
Otherworld...how long ago, now? Em bit her lip,
shaking her head.
  All too long. But she would never, ever forget
him, whoever he was. And she would know him
anywhere.
Em frowned at this thought.
  So...how was it that she hadn't recognized him,
in Daryl?

She recalled she had spoken of Him to Daryl, and
they had more or less agreed that her Significant
Other, as Daryl had put it, was the male
personification, for Em, of Daryl's Anara. What
Anara was to Daryl, with that deep, all-consuming
passion, was what He, Em's Significant Other, had
been to her.

Anara, who was Emlyn's Future Self, sister-self.
Supposedly, half-sister, in fact; if Axelis was
their father.
  So...what was Daryl? Can one's future or past
self timewalk in other worlds, have other lives
one doesn't know of? And, what was the
significance of her Significant Otherworldly
Other? Was there a relationship between the two?

Em rubbed her forehead as if to wipe the frown
away. This was all too mind-boggling...she had a
hard enough time with Time and time travel as it
was...

What could all this mean? Surely, Daryl was not
her, ah, Significant Other, in his youth? How
could that be? Oh, she knew that these future
timewalkers seemed to be able to bend and stretch
and, how did Daryl put it?--"phase" time, here and
there somehow, so that one world could run
parallel to another...

It simply made her head hurt. What she wanted to
do, was to find some other photographs, back at
the house, of Daryl at about that same time
period.
 
And then, what?
Well...that was the question, wasn't it?

Oh...she needed, a time out. A rather strangled
chuckle escaped her as she bulled her way through
wet grass and tree limbs...a time out from Time,
altogether! That's what she wanted.


                      

But she needed answers to this latest mystery.
Paper, pen...maybe she could diagram the whole
shebang into some sort of sensible, comprehensive
order.
That idea only made her laugh some more.

Could Daryl, as a timewalker, come to her in two
different, parallel timelines/worlds? 'Now'
supposedly, (whenever 'now' was?), as well as in
the Otherworld, as a much younger version of
himself?
 

In Athena's photo, he was quite young. Although a
tall lad, he seemed rather coltish, still; gangly.
Daryl had certainly filled-out well...(she rubbed
her forehead again; erase that thought)--but even
her...Otherman, (she didn't even know his name.
Maybe for a reason, eh?), did not look quite so
young as the teenager in Athena's frame.

He, her Otherman, seemed to be about her own age,
on the few, glorious times that they had met;
perhaps mid-or-late twenties. Or even early
thirties, perhaps. Tall, dark brown hair, much
darker than Daryl's now. Broad shouldered...but
really, she hadn't noticed his looks so much as
the feeling she'd had when they were together.
Electric. Comfortably energizing. All-enveloping,
like a warm, velvet cloak...
  ...and when they were in each other's arms,
dancing, melting into one another, one becoming
the other, as if finding a missing part of oneself
thought lost, after a thousand years apart...oh,
she would never, could never forget.

                      
 

In the Otherworld, that was what was of primary
importance. A feeling could contain an entire
world...it certainly was something Emlyn would
always know and recognize.
  How odd, to connect him, with Daryl. Or, even
some part of Daryl...as she was a part of Anara?
 
Daryl certainly didn't appear to be aware of any
of this; if his younger self was adventuring about
in another timeline with Em, he was wholly
ignorant of the fact, she believed.
  She hoped...
  Diosa, the volatile vicissitudes of time
travel...

Em broke through the woods to behold the mansion
and the surrounding grounds. There it was. And
Daryl within.
Emlyn guessed that the Time had come. This was one
oddity that she would be unable to ignore. And she
certainly had to figure out what was going on, now
that she'd been confronted with this newest twist
in the wacky world of timewalking.
  Bloody Prince Caspian. Who knew?

                       . . . .


                   

Emlyn found the house to be fairly quiet and
peaceful; seemingly, Daryl was occupied somewhere
within. The study, perhaps, or his third floor
rooms?  She poked her head in the parlor and
kitchen--no one.  Farther down the hallway then,
she listened at the library doors and opened them
quietly.
  Ah. There he was. In Yeats' crows nest.

Em entered and softly shut the doors behind her.
Well, to find those photos and go through them,
she'd have to have Daryl's help locating them. She
recalled seeing those old clippings from the
albums Jack had fished out of somewhere, but they
were not in the best of shape, and the pictures
were not close-ups; she doubted they would be of
any help.
  But how to broach such a subject? When in doubt,
wing it...

Daryl was writing at the table, espresso machine
still steaming hard by. He didn't look up as she
crested the loft.
  'There is coffee, if you like...' He finished
whatever he was copying and closed the books
before him. 'Athena alright?'

Em gave a short sigh. 'Well enough.' She and Daryl
gazed at one another a while, silently.
   'As am I. And yourself, Daryl?' Em poured a
small demitasse. Odd, now that he's before me, he
simply seems as he always is, just as Uncle Daryl.
Hm. Wicked Uncle Daryl...

Daryl leaned his head to hand, and sipped his
mugful of rocket fuel. 'Still kicking. Doing a
spot of research...' He seemed about to elaborate
then said nothing. Em knew he wanted to talk about
the Cup but feared her reprisals.

She took a seat on the day bed and casually paged
through a discarded volume. 'Athena showed me the
gatehouse. It's much larger than it seems from the
outside.'
  Daryl made 'umhmming' noises as he reopened his
book.

'Yes, especially the loft. She showed to me an old
picture of the two of you. You were quite young
and appeared to be putting on some sort of magic
show at the library?'

Daryl blinked and looked up, then flickered a
glance her way. 'So she has...I'd forgotten that
photo. So used to it, one doesn't see it anymore.'

'Have you any more pictures of the two of you from
back then?' Em thought she was being cagey.
  'I may have.' He turned slightly and frowned at
her then. 'Why?'
  'Well...just curious, I suppose. You do so look
like...like Jack, back then.' He did, somewhat, it
was true. But he was dead ringer for Mr.
Otherwhere.
Back then.

Daryl stood, stretching. 'Ah...well, maybe.' He
rubbed the back of his neck. 'Curious, eh?' He
sighed.
  'Myself, I'm not one to be looking back. Mostly
trying to forget, you know, all that has gone
before,but!' he freshened his mug with a warm-up,
'--but, there were some good times before things
went to hell.'
  He leaned upon a supporting post at the top of
the stairs, gazing out at the library beneath.
Master and commander, surveying high frequenseas. 
  'Actually, I was thinking about somethings that
may come in handy in my research...I believe that
all that stuff is stored together somewhere. Just
need to find it.'

Em cleared her throat, taking a sip. 'Jack had
showed us, long ago that is, some photo albums. 
They only contained playbills and news clippings
though. No actual photographs. They were in the
old secretary in the parlor.'
  'Were they now?' Daryl eyed her narrowly. (Why
the sudden interest? Em knew he was thinking...)
She could intuit his thoughts now, perhaps as
easily as he did hers. She also knew that he would
be flattered, as most older men would be, to show
a young lady his early representations in all his
youthful glory.
 'Well, I'll just have to have a look about and
see. Later. I'll let you know when I've found
anything.'
                        . . . .

Strangely, the weather cleared for once. Em took to
her heels then, eager to grab some sun whilst she
may...
'Gather ye rosebuds', and all that. Who knew when
another storm would engulf them unawares?
 
As she wandered about the grounds, she wondered if
the storms were somehow the means by which they
timewalked here. Always, there seemed to be a
storm brewing then.
Daryl had mentioned that storms such as tornadoes
caused certain anomalies.
 'I wondered as I wandered...'

Oh, the sun! She turned her face to it's pleasant
warmth... How deeply she appreciated it's welcome
touch now, after the cold, battering wind and rain
here on the east coast. Odd, for a California girl
who had been cursing the blazing heat and drought
for so long...
  'Long,' Em talked to herself as she strolled.
'How long is long?'
   And what day, or even month, was it now? She
had lost months before, due to timewalks.

A dark cloud scuttled across the sun and Emlyn
thought perhaps she should return to the house.
There was much yet to be sorted.
  Such as just what day, month--or year? it now
was...and who, or who all?--Daryl really was...

                        

                       . . . .  

She was in luck. For once, Daryl actually
surprised her by doing just as he said he would.
  She found him in the library, downstairs at one
of the long tables, with boxes and papers, and
photographs strewn about, studying them closely.
With a magnifying glass, ala Holmes.

'Hola, Diego!' That got his attention.
'Josephina, filla!' He looked up and smiled her
way. 'Excellent suggestion you had, looking for
these old relics of my former life...'

Em joined him at his table, her eyes eagerly
searching for old photos. She tentatively picked
up a pile and began shuffling through. 'Hm...these
aren't so old. This looks like Nob Hill House. And
this looks like Rosa and Manuel! Whatever happened
to them, Daryl? I thought they were to join us
here...'

'Ah, yes. Well, they did try, actually.' He sighed
and sat back against his chair. 'They helped me
set up housekeeping here, move things in, and get
me settled. But they began to droop in the cold,
wet weather, you know, like orchids or any other
hothouse plant when transplanted into a hostile
environment!' He grinned. He put his hands in the
air, miming Rosa:
'San Fransisco is all the cold I can take!'

Emlyn laughed, knowing Rosa. She agreed with her
amiga's cozy-loving instincts.  'I don't blame
them.'

Daryl sighed. 'The weather here is certainly not
comfortable for those used to more southerly,
sunny climes. I told them to simply keep an eye on
Nob Hill house until I figure out what to do with
it...'

Interesting...thought Em. Perhaps there's one
place I could still stay, if ever I'm back in San
Francisco.
  'I see. Well, I shall miss them, but I
appreciate their sun worshipping ways, especially
after days of storms here.' Emlyn sat at the
table's end and sorted through more boxes.

'It's the timewalking, that causes it here, as
this area is phase-shifted...' Daryl told her, as
if that cleared up everything. 'Ah! Here are a
couple for you!'
  He handed her photos of Athena, the old library,
and himself.  They were rather long-shots though.
'They're so small, the figures. Have you any of
yourself, perhaps a school photo? Something more
of a close-up?' Em was rather embarrased to ask,
but she needed to know...

Daryl raised a wry brow and glanced at her, then
frowned. 'Hm. School photos, no. I never would
agree to them. But, ah, here--it's a close-up for
a play of mine in which I played the lead. I was
somewhat older then, though,' he handed a handbill
to Em, 'maybe mid-20's or so...'
  Emlyn took the poster. She then went into mild
shock.

'Em?' Daryl prodded, after she had simply stared
at the handbill for some minutes, saying nothing,
her eyes wide, her features seemingly paralyzed
into a mask of incredulity.
   'Emlyn?' Daryl stood, and with a finger atop
the poster, looked over it at Em. 'Are you quite
alright?'

Emlyn blinked slowly, then put the poster on the
table and her head in her hands, shaking it
slowly.

'Filla, what is it? What's the trouble?' Daryl
frowned and came round to her chair, putting a
hand on her shoulder.
  Emlyn raised her head and looked at Daryl.
  'I think we have a serious problem,' she said.

                       . . . .

                        
Em paced about the carpet, gesturing--'Alright.
Alright. I think I've about got this...' She
frowned, bit her lip and gazed at a very perplexed
Daryl.
  'Alright,' he echoed. And sat.

Em chewed her lip. 'Yes. So, you are familiar
with, ah, you know that...say, when Anara is with
you, for example...I, myself, am not aware of
this, at all!' Em stood still before Daryl. 'No.'
She shook her head and waved the notion aside.
'Never.'
  'Alright.' Daryl crossed his legs, wondering
where this was going and coming from.  It might be
here a while, whatever it was, he mused.

'Daryl...' Em at last approached the desk, and
briefly glanced at the entrancing poster lurking
thereupon. 'When Athena showed that photo to me,
the one of you, as a...young lad,' Em swallowed,
'she said she was reminded of the actor in the film
Prince Caspian.'

'I?' Daryl leaned forward, 'That I looked like
Caspian?' He laughed. 'Hardly! What a bizarre
notion...'

Emlyn stood before him, hands clasped, shaking her
head solemnly.
  'Truly?' Daryl had one warning eyebrow up. He
looked away, a dry half-grin on his face. 'Ladies,
I am...ah, flattered, I suppose...' he frowned,
'but I just do not see it.' He raised his head and
cocked it sideways. 'Why should this be a problem
suddenly?'

                   

'Daryl...I, oh this will sound too absurd...' Em
groped toward the sofa and sat, one hand upon her
forehead, rubbing away, '...but I have reason to
believe that...well, that I have, ah, seen you, in
the Otherworld, when you were much younger.'

Daryl stood then, and shoved his hands in pockets,
and edged over to the fireplace. 'MUCH younger?
How much younger? Not as a child?' He began poking
at the fire, daring it to burn.
  Em sighed,'No. As a young man. Oh, my age or
thereabouts.'

'I see.' All Daryl saw was that someone Emlyn's
age was MUCH younger, in her eyes. Well, that's as
it should be...he supposed.
 
'Eh, yes...' Em was back to biting her lip again.
'And, I also have reason to believe that, ah...we,
you and I, would meet together. Several times, in
fact.' She sat up straighter. 'Not as you are now,
you know, but, as you were, then. You see.' She
regarded Daryl closely then.
  'You have no remembrance of this, do you, Daryl?'

Daryl spun about and frowned at Em. He slowly
shook his head, but said nothing. At last, he
tossed a small branch onto the coals and began to
pace in turn. Em turned about, watching, as he
circled the library floor.

   Em looked down and spoke softly, 
'I believe that, perhaps, your younger self was
traveling in the Otherworld, perhaps in your
dreamtime. That's when I would always meet with,
well, with Whomever...I never knew his name. Just as you meet
with Anara, and I have no inkling of it.'

Daryl simply stared at Emlyn, thinking she was
right; we certainly did have a problem.
  For, unlike Em, Daryl did recall his
Otherworldly adventures as a callow youth.
However, he always believed that his assignations
had been with Anara...

Emlyn was staring, meanwhile, ensorcelled, at the
poster before her: "Orpheus Is Risen--"

                     

 

"On his mother's side he was more than mortal. He
was the son of one of the Muses and a Tracian
prince. His mother gave him the gift of music and
Thrace where he grew up fostered it. The Thracians
were the most musical of the peoples of Greece.
But Orpheus had no rival there or anywhere except
the gods alone. There was no limit to his power
when he played and sang. No one and nothing could
resist him.
  In the deep still woods upon the Thracian     
mountains
  Orpheus with his singing lyre led the trees,
  Led the wild beasts of the wilderness.
  No one under the spell of his voice could refuse
  him anything.
 He: Drew iron tears down Pluto's cheek,
 and made Hell grant what Love did seek."

Em's eyes traveled back to the visage of young
Daryl, knowing his face so well, and yet, as she
glanced at the Daryl before her, she felt as
though she was beholding a total stranger...
  Trouble, indeed.


                       

                      . . . .