..::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--"
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.
. . . .
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