..::The clearest sign that in Arianrhod we have
the old matriarchal Triple Goddess or White
Goddess, lies in her giving her son Llew Llaw a
name and a set of arms. In patriarchal society it
is always the father who gives both; Llew Llaw
has no father at all, in the Romance, and must
remain anonymous until his mother is tricked into
making a man of him::..
Robert Graves
The White Goddess
. . . .
...(And so it was, that Gwydion and Llew came to
Castle Arianrhod disguised as bards and begged
audience with the Lady; this was granted, and a
feast was made...)
..::So Llew took harp and Gwydion sang, and his
voice was like a river of gold bearing them all
away...Old things he made new, dim relics of
time's twilight, over which he threw the bright
colors of sunrise.
For there is nothing that is not old, and there
is nothing that is not new, since all are parts
of the vast order of What Must Be, in which only
the poet, whose work it is to try to utter the
dreams in the deep unchanging heart of man,
sometimes hears, fainter and farther off than any
echo, the rhythm of some ancient, mighty song.
All sat and listened like creatures becalmed by
magic...when the song was ended Arianrhod laughed
and clapped her hands and gave the singer the
gold chain from about her own throat. The she
asked him questions about that tale and history,
and others and they debated together...and the
company marked that on their faces was such a
glow and excitement and intensity of life as come
to most only when they are a little drunken, or
when their bodies are lost in the ecstasy of
love::..
Evangeline Walton
The Island of the Mighty
'Oh, Daryl...oh, no you don't!' Emlyn stood
suddenly, glaring down at Daryl's magical
machinations.
Shannon stared straight ahead, still enraptured
by The Cup. Daryl raised an eyebrow at Emlyn, but
merely sighed, and whipped the velvet cover from
his specious sleeve and draped it over the
offending object.
'There. Happy now?' He asked, sitting back in his
seat once more. He knew that Emlyn's protest
would only serve to goad Shannon more down that
yellow brick road, and before the day was out,
they'd be off the see the Wizard...
'Oh, Em!' Shannon's blond head whipped about as
she stared, incredulous, at Em's outburst.
'What is wrong? Why...what is the problem?
--Such a marvellous thing...'
Em heaved a short sigh. 'Oh, 'tis marvellous
madness, indeed. Oh, Daryl...I give up.' She sat.
'I thought you had learned something from
Athena's near-collapse, as well as your own!'
She turned to Shannon, taking her hand. 'Do not
go there, sister.' She shot Daryl a hard look.
'It, it can take you places where you may not
wish to go. Possibly cause great harm to you, as
well!'
'Emlyn.' Daryl pierced her with his cold grey
gaze. 'I am still here to tell the tale. Athena
is fine. It is merely a journey; it is not going
to eat your soul...'
'How do you know?' Em shot back.
Daryl didn't.
Still...
'We survived, just fine.'
The two sat quietly fuming at one another whilst
Shannon gazed at both, wondering what could be so
dangerous about a cup...a beautiful, old and
wond'rous cup, to be sure...
'Eh, so...what DOES it do, then?' She asked
again.
Daryl stood. He leant a serious scowl to his
features and strode from them, again to the
window and raked a hand through his hair and gave
every appearance of grave and earnest
contemplation...he stood there long; seemingly
he'd forgotten the others were even in the room.
Shannon, meanwhile, turned to Emlyn, who merely
sat, quietly steaming.
'Whatever is the matter, Em?'
'This, this Thing!' She spoke as if t'were a
serpent about to strike, 'It's unnatural. And
dangerous. Daryl, you know this!'
Daryl gave no sign of knowing any such thing.
'It flung us both into the past, and Daryl lost
his fool head! Quite literally, I assure you!'
Emlyn put her hands over her eyes and rubbed
hard, sighing.
'And when Athena and I, were convinced to try
it again with him, she suffered an arrow wound to
the shoulder...'
'She, this Athena, is it? How fares she now?'
Shannon inquired, frowning at the Cup-Under-
Cover.
'She is well enough. Once we are returned, and
recovered, there seems to be no lasting after-
effect, 'tis true. But, oh, in the meanwhile..!'
'Who is this Athena?' Shannon quested on.
'She is, a friend. A fellow librarian.' Em
wished to keep things as simple as possible.
'Ah. So, she is more, eh, 'qualified', is it?
--for such a venture, rather than an unlettered
Irish lass such as myself...?'
'Oh, Shannon, it's not at all like that! Oh,
Daryl, see what a mess you've made, like always!'
Em fumed. To no avail.
'I?' Daryl turned round at last. 'All I have done
is present an item or two for Shannon's viewing
pleasure.'
'I did manage a glimpse of it, before Emlyn
insisted it be hid from my vulgar, plebeian
gaze...' Shannon huffed, arms and legs crossed
now, one leg swinging away in measured beats
marking her rising ire.
'Oh, fine! Fine!' Emlyn stood now, arms akimbo
and addressed Daryl, 'Have it your way, you
always do! However! I insist before we...journey,
that we take some precautions this time!'
Daryl's eyebrow rose inquiringly. 'Such as?'
'I don't know...! One never knows! But let us
each take whatever we may with us, just in case.'
Em frowned, wondering what exactly could she use,
really; heading somewhere, some When, she knew
not.
'So be it!' Daryl knew he'd won this round. 'Off
you go, and 'prepare'; we shall meet back here
later tonight, then. After dinner.'
'Come, Shannon, please...' Emlyn held out her
hand. 'I will endeavor to explain, alright? And I
apologize if I made you feel like anything other
than the goddess you are!'
Shannon, quick to rile, but even quicker to
forgive, smiled and took Em's hand.
'May we use your bath, Daryl?' Em inquired,
winking at Shannon.
Daryl waved a dismissive hand. 'As you wish, mi
casa es su casa, mi amigas...I'll be expecting
you for dinner, and you can help in the kitchen
as well...' He was bent over his books once more,
not looking up as they exited the library and
left him to his foxy plots.
As he heard the doors shut behind them, Daryl
smiled to himself and sighed.
'Indeed, 'tis as Beaumarchais said,
"...Craftiness is better than learnedness."'
He gave The Cup a tentative pat.
. . . .
Twilight time...
Heavenly shades of night were falling, as Emlyn
and Shannon dressed after their spa sojourn in
Daryl's great and glorious Japanese bath.
Each had given the other well-earned and past-due
massage; Shannon insisted on rounding hers off
with the dubious pleasure of having Em gently
beat her with the many fringed cane stalks that
Daryl kept for just such invigorating
flagellations.
Em had foregone having Shannon inflict her with
the same treatment, (even though she knew her
Triad-sister had been reassured by Em's many and
various apologies for having given her the wrong
impression that she had thought less of Shannon
than she did Athena); she still didn't trust her
wee friend not to have a bit of fun with ye old
flail at Em's expense...
'So, how are we to 'prepare' for this, ah,
journey, then?' Shannon queried, back in Emlyn's
bedroom now, as she pulled on her boots, glad she
had come with her coat and hat as well now.
Emlyn had no idea. She looked at Shannon. Despite
her youth, the girl was certainly no shrinking
violet. Bit of a thunderstorm in her own right,
that lass.
'Somehow, I think you'll be alright.' Em sighed.
'Not knowing what to expect, it's hard to know
what to bring. However...'
She reached into a drawer and brought out the
little double-edged knife she used for herb-
gathering. It had a sheath, and this she affixed
to her belt.
She paused a moment as she contemplated her
closet, then reached into her old Sonoran skirt
pockets and brought forth the Artefact. This she
left wrapped up in it's silk, and slipped into
her pocket.
'Just as added protection, however...' Back into
the closet she dived and, in her skirt's other
pocket, she found Josephina's bottle of essential
oils.
'We should make a circle, and a protection
spell. And we shall both anoint with this.'
She opened the bottle and breathed in the
scent; which filled her, as it always did, with
memories of magic and mystery and music of scenes
past, and the warmth and laughter that she
recalled of the gypsy princess who had so
selflessly given a stranger so much.
Shannon bent to the bottle and shared a sniff.
'Oh, diosa!' She closed her eyes. 'That is heaven
in a bottle! Where did you get it? What is it?'
'Gypsy magic,' Em answered, smiling.
. . . .
Feeling much more relaxed and Prepared, the two
Triad-sisters headed down the curving stairway
and toward the kitchen. Em could hear Daryl, the
great brigand, singing away, as he slung pots and
pans about, well-satisfied with his subterfuge.
'"Back, baby...back in Ti-iiime! Wanna go back;
when you were mine...peaches in the summertime,
apples in the fall, if I can't have you all the
time, I don't want none at all...back, baby..."'
Daryl crooned as he stirred together his
mushrooms, garlic and green onion, adding a
splash of white wine.
'Smells wonderful! What are we making?' Shannon
asked, ready as always for Whatever May Come.
'We are making...a mess, obviously,' Em began
clearing space and scrubbing up after Daryl's
drips.
'But that's not all!' Daryl's eyebrows rose in
mock amazement. He directed Emlyn to the big soup
pot. 'Get the pasta going in that, if you please.
And Shannon...' He tossed bags of asparagus and
shrimp her way, '...rinse these off, and then
take a glass for yourselves of this...' He handed
the rest of the wine to Shannon then. His first
mistake...
'"Leibfraumilch",' Shannon read the label.
'Milk from the breast of a loving woman,' Daryl
assured her, with a wink.
Shannon grinned and poured. Em sighed; but she
set to with her pot and pasta.
. . . .
Dinner was an informal affair, they sat at the
small white wooden kitchen table and ate
contentedly and most companionably. Emlyn was
feeling rather more relaxed now after her soak,
massage, wine and good food.
'Excellent, as always Daryl. How you make such
delicious fare with such simple ingredients
always amazes me.'
Shannon took a forkfull, 'Ummm...lemon, wine,
basil...and a great lot of garlic! It's truly a
delight, Daryl, thank you!'
Daryl bowed his head. 'I live to serve...' He
intoned, all chivalry and courtesy, the brat,
thought Em. She saw him playing up to Shannon as
he had tried such tricks on her, before they had
come to know one another better.
She knew Shannon was rather a crafty lass
though, and she could not only see through Daryl
but act the role given as well.
'So. What should we know about this, ah, journey
we are about to take, then?' Shannon asked, as
she accepted another drop of wine Daryl passed
around.
'We can't really know until we are off. The Cup
has ideas of It's own,' Daryl affirmed
enigmatically. 'But, I think that this will be a
very singular jaunt with our Irish colleen here;
I think I may say, in fact, that our Cup seems to
resonate most strongly to Keltic blood.'
Shannon seemed altogether enthralled by this;
however Emlyn had heard such blarney before and
insisted upon taking exception:
'I'm not so sure of all this, this rather elite
stance of preferential treatment--by an inanimate
object, no less!--given to bloodlines, Daryl! It
smacks of the aristocratic haut monde and some,
some utterly false sense of superiority on your
part!' Em had worked herself up again. 'It quite
offends my Marxist convictions.'
Daryl and Shannon regarded Emlyn a while, in
silence. Daryl, then, with half-closed eyes,
sighed, and poured more wine.
'Do have some wine, cara. I would never dream
of trying to make you into an aristocrat or
insist that you open a bank tonight.'
Shannon giggled.
Enough wine, for tonight, Em decided. But she
accepted this, last, glass. And what exactly had
uncle meant by her unworthiness of aristocracy?
Can't have it both ways, she told herself; and
drank some wine.
'My dear girl,' Daryl began in a dry tone, 'the
very masses of common folk that you champion,
would, you know, be the first at YOUR door with
torches and pitchforks to see you burned at the
stake for what you believe and do!' His eyes bore
into her like knives.
wasn't going to let the evening deteriorate into
an argument.
'Come, we're all friends here! There is
certainly some truth to the fact, Em, you must
admit, that we Kelts do have such gifts, you
might say, as second sight, for instance!'
'Thank you, Shannon.' Daryl inclined his head
once more, then looked at Em, his hand gesturing
toward the 'Irish colleen', eyebrows on high.
Em knew she was beaten tonight. 'Yes. Yes,
alright. But if we're going to do this thing, let
us remain somewhat sober! Enough wine.'
'Quite right.' Daryl stood, taking plates to the
sink. He held the chair out for Shannon, as
guest.
'Shall we, then?'
. . . .
Seated now before the library hearthside, Daryl
claimed the middle seat on the sofa, as before.
He inhaled, and stretched forth his hand first,
taking hold of the Cup.
Em and Shannon could hear it begin to hum.
He nodded then to Shannon, hoping that Emlyn
would be more inclined to follow them than to opt
out. The young girl grasped the handle closest to
her, and the Cup began to sing...
Both Daryl and Shannon were enspelled now,
staring at the Cup which seemed to brighten, to
grow and pulsate as the vibration and sound
increased...
Emlyn knew she had to.
Reaching forward, she clasped the last handle,
and the Cup breathed...
. . . .
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