..::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!'
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.
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