Chapter 21 - Heyoka Trail

                                                  

                                    

   The fire had burned down to coals.

And there, upon the sofa before the fire, lay Athena, asleep. And all along and about her lay a great mound of strange and lovely smoky grey fur which rose and fell with every soft, slow breath.

The fur slowly unwound itself and raised a wolf's head from beside Athena. Grinning, the wolf nuzzled a muzzle into Athena's hair, making her rasp rather groggily. 'Nooo...' she complained, turning her head and attempting to re-enter dreamland. But her wolfish companion put a great paw upon her shoulder and a cold nose beneath the hair upon her neck.

An eruption of arms, legs, pillows and wolf fur ensued leaving Athena tumbled from the sofa while the great wolf leapt down beside her, tail up, and grinning.
   'Uf! Happy, now?' she asked, running hands through her long silver locks.

The wolf sat before her and raised both paws to her shoulders in furry embrace. Slowly he began to shimmer...heatwaves over hot pavement. When the phenomenon ceased, a Man sat in place of Wolf.

Long salt and pepper braids hung over his shoulders. A finely made man; spare of fat, dark of skin. Lean muscles like a runner. Upon his back, chest and upper arms were finely detailed tattoos of swirls, spirals and sigils. Legs crossed, he sat before Athena, a sly smile lingered upon his lips, mahogany hands gripped her shoulders.
  'It is morning.' A deep voice, only slightly hoarse.

Athena sighed. 'That it is.' She shivered, and glanced at the exhausted fire.
Pulling her to him, they held one another gently.
  'I will make the fire,' he told her, clearing his throat he added, 'Coffee would be good.'



They put their foreheads together then, rubbing noses.
'Coffee,' she agreed, 'would be heaven.'                                                                        

                                                                         


'It is said,' Athena's ManWolf declared, 'that even the eucalyptus trees in the western territories still mourn their lost home back down the Tail End of Turtle Island. They are out of their element here. As are your people, those from across the seas.'

Athena and the ManWolf sat crosslegged upon the sofa, drinking coffee and eating fresh nut and berry scones, fragrant red apples sliced by a long hunting knife.
  'These trees, have become ghosts of their former selves. The best of them, their true spirits, remain back at their home camp, the Turtle's Tail. Everything has its place upon the Great Mother.'

Athena accepted a slice of apple from his knife.
  'This is why we feel lost here at times, without a history of our own,' she agreed, looked down, regarded apple. 'People came here escaping wars, oppression. And then they brought it with them. The oppressed became the oppressors. Orphans of the storm, they became the storm troopers they had fled.'-- Crunch.


It is so.' The ManWolf reached for the enamel coffee pot warm upon the hearth, and poured for them both.
  'And without that feeling of home, without that connection, men become as ghosts also. This is why they kill the buffalo and human beings without respect, without conscience. They have nothing within themselves, no inner...compass. They no longer know themselves. They know not who, or even what, they are. They have lost all connection with their ancestors.

'We,' he put a hand to his chest, 'may have lost our lands, but we still keep our home within us, here! We are not ghosts. We have spirit within, we have heart. We know our tribe. We know our ancestors. We know our history, and the history of this land.'

'You have great heart, mon ami.' Athena put her hand upon his knee. She sighed, and added more sticks to the fire.
  'I feel like a ghost myself, at times...coming not only from across the sea but across the sea of time as well.'

Her companion touched her cheek. 'You, have great heart, ma chere. Your spirit is strong. You have tall, strong spirits which stand behind you, guiding you, and you are in touch with them and with your ancestors. You are not a ghost.' He took her hand then, and smiled. 'It was in the Sea of Time I found you and followed you here.'

'I am glad that you did,' Athena smiled. 'You were the brightness in that dark void for me.'

He covered her hand with both of his. 'This is why I am called Wolf Star.'
                                                                  

Daryl bent to his work in the dirt.
Weeding, not his favorite garden chore, but it needed doing.  Muttering to himself all the while;
   '...St.John and his 'grubbing about for potatoes'...we'll see who feeds better; he with his overflow diet of blubber or my fresh vegetables...we'll see who wins this race...' and other recriminations he worked out as his gloved hands worked the soil, interspersed with snatches of song: '...'Tis a gift to be simple, 'tis a gift to be free...'

Suddenly, a neighboring cat leapt over the fence, landing beside Daryl.
  'Well!' He started. 'I've seen you before, puss! You could help keep the birds out, couldn't you, then?' He took off a glove and held out a hand. The ginger tabby took a tentative sniff, unimpressed, but allowed Daryl to stroke his head, and stretched out his neck when he received some cat-massage neath chin. 'Not a bad puss, are you, old tom? Maybe I could get a cat, now that I'm...here.'
  Here: not only where but when, he bethought, and not for the last time.

Homebound. Earthbound. Timelocked. Grounded.

Sighing, Daryl removed the other glove and slowly stood. Or tried to...
  'Aah! Ah-ah-ah!' He made it only part way up to his full
6-foot and more before he knew he was in trouble. The cat, sensing this, had disappeared. Lucky cat...Daryl wished he could as well.

'Oh, gods...' He tried to sit back down. A squeak of pain escaped him.


'I-cannot-stay-like-this!' he muttered between clenched teeth, caught betwixt sit-or-stand.
  'Just do it!' he ordered, and threw himself erect with a will...
  '--Ullmp!' The pain caught him in its inexorable grip like a red-hot vise squelching raw nerve ends. Tears unbidden streamed down his face. He dare not move. Sweat mixed with tears and he soon began to pant.


'Diego, hola? Que es?' Manuel called, as he approached from the stable. Daryl couldn't move. He tried to call out a: 'Help!' -- but it became strangled.

Luckily Manuel knew something had Diego in its grasp.
  'Hold on...'
Striding up to his employer and friend, Manuel nodded.
  'The back again, is it? Alright. Can you walk, move at all?'

Daryl's eyes pleaded. He opened his mouth to answer, tried to move again --
then his face went white and his eyes rolled up into their sockets. Daryl went down like a 6 foot sack of potatoes...Manuel caught him halfway.
                                                                

.........

Daryl found himself upon the sofa in the parlor when he came to. Manuel, used to these episodes, had him sitting partially up against pillows; a heated flaxseed pillow was pressed against his lower back.

'How is it now?' Manuel was sitting in the wingchair, reading.

Daryl wasn't sure. He tried a deep inhale. Caught his breath. That hurt.
But, '-- Better,' he allowed. 'Thanks.'

Manuel came over to him. 'Okay where you are?'
Daryl nodded.
  'Alright.' Manuel knew if Daryl wasn't talking much, that indeed, things were very, very wrong. 'I have a soup started on the stove. Water is hot for tea. How about some valerian?
Help you sleep, maybe.'
Daryl closed his eyes. Again, he nodded.

Manuel returned with a hot covered mug.
'I'll just set this here.' Daryl noticed then the tea trolley wheeled up beside him. 'Ring this,' Manuel touched a small bell, 'if you need me. I'll be around.' He gazed down at Daryl frowning, thinking that Daryl always fared poorly without Emlyn about.

Daryl was trying to speak, he whispered, '--Top shelf, medicine chest, white bottle.'
Manuel was off.

Just kill me now, Daryl was thinking...oh to be gone from this battered old shell...was he only 58? Surely it'd been centuries...

Manuel clattered down the stairs. He had an armful of bottles. 'Here!--' he set down the white bottle, 'it is. And some others, just to make sure. Muscle relaxers may help, although I understand it is a pinched nerve end. Take whatever you need, mi amigo. I'll be here. But I don't want to try to move you upstairs to bed.'

Daryl shot an alarmed look at Manuel: No-don't-move-me writ large upon his face.
   'Not to worry,' Manuel assured him. 'I'll just be in the kitchen. And, oh! -- Rosa is returning manana! Just in time, eh? So...ring if you need me. I'll bring in some lunch when it's ready, no?'
Daryl nodded, groping for the bottles...

Uncorking the laudanum, Daryl drank. And drank again.
-- Enough. He lay back, panting, desperate for release.
                                                                            

Sometime later, Emlyn appeared, violin case and valise in hand. Stuffing her mobile unit in a skirt pocket, she glanced about her from the front porch of Nob Hill House. Everything looked exactly as before. This seemed rather amazing to her, considering how much had changed...elsewhere.

She hesitated but a moment, then reached to the doorknob and let herself in.
She thought it odd that the door was unlocked. So quiet! She shut the door. 'Hola?' she called tentatively.
No answer.


'...Something smells good,' she allowed as she wandered into the kitchen. She noted a soup on the stove, but no sign of Rosa's baking...still in Los Angeles, it seemed.

She turned and headed into the parlor. She went to the grand in the corner and lay the violin case down upon the bench.
She set down her valise as well, then went to the curtains which had been drawn shut.
  'So dark in here...' she murmured as she opened them. The house seemed changed somehow since she'd been here last. But, all appeared as it had been...she glanced about her.

'Oh!' She breathed. She espied Daryl then, pale and laid out upon the sofa, a tea tray of medicines at his side.
  'Diosa, whatever has happened now...?' She wondered as she sidled softly over to him.

Gazing down at her friend, former fiance' and purveyor of pain and pleasure combined, she shook her head.
  'You simply go to pieces without me, don't you, old thing?'
She whispered to him, noting that he seemed dead to the world, not having heard her moving about.

She knelt beside him on the rug.
  'Diego, mi amor, what have you done to yourself now?'
She bit her lip, wanting to touch him, but dare not. He seemed so still...she noticed him breathing, but very softly, slowly. She took the bottle of laudanum and saw it was empty.

Well, he wouldn't be laid out like this for no reason...no, this wasn't like Daryl. Ever a man of action, finding him upon a couch mid-day was like seeing snow in August...whatever had happened here?

...............

'Just this morning. It is his back. Again.' Manuel was ever a man of few words. But his countenance spoke for him. Em could see worry written bold upon his features as he entered the parlour.

She sighed. 'I'll stay here a while, Manuel. If you have other jobs to see to?'

He managed a small smile. 'Of course. Gracias, Emlyn. He will be glad to see you when he wakes.' He sighed in turn. 'He has never been one for malingering. Diego is a man on fire...you cannot keep him down long.'
  He bent to the tea table and examined the white bottle.
'He may need more. I'll bring some back from the chemist. And lay in some food for later. Rosa will be back sometime tomorrow...and a good thing, too.'

Em took Manuel's hand. 'Gracias. I hate seeing him like this! And I'm so glad you are here.'
  'Of course.' He smiled and put his other hand over hers. 'He is my friend.' He paused but a moment. 'You know he saved my life. Rosa's as well.'


This was news to Emlyn. 'No I did not know this! Oh, Manuel!'
  He patted her hand. 'Many years ago now. A story for sometime later, si?' And taking the bottle, Manuel left upon his errands of mercy.

Emlyn moved one of the wingchairs closer to the sofa so that she may keep an eye upon Daryl. She hardly knew what to think now...obviously Diego needed her here. For now, at least.


'I live to serve.' Em murmured, but of course it was more than that. It pained her to see Diego thus; his enormous ego could oft times be unbearable, but when he was reduced to mortality like all the rest of us, it simply seemed the planets had whirled off their orbit and the world had somehow gone sky-crooked.
  'And so you are mortal man after all, mon amor...'

Emlyn knew not when, but merciful sleep overtook her at some point.
                                                                         

.........

It was quite sometime thereafter that Daryl roused at last from his troubled dreamland. Morpheus had done good work however and he felt less pain and confusion. Still, he wasn't anxious to test himself just yet. Small, slow movements...

He managed to roll to his side, and then he saw Emlyn, fast asleep in the chair beside him.
  This was not altogether the welcome sight it could have been, at some earlier point in time perhaps. But now...he did not care for any more witnesses to his imminent deterioration.

His head rolled  back and he shut his eyes. Damnation...
  He now knew how Dorian Grey felt. Somewhat.

Unbidden, a small tear rolled down the corner of his cheek.
None of that shite; he rubbed it out. But there was no denying it: now that he was out of the time slip-stream, he would begin to age like any mortal man. Any many long years of owing the piper would have to be paid -- in spades.

He threw an arm over his eyes. Didn't even want to consider what all; organs, tendons and such, might be gearing up to throw a monkey wrench into his inner clockworks. And who opened the bloody drapes in here, anyway?

He sighed. One good thing: at least Em had moved out. His deterioration could proceed apace without her here in a ringside seat to witness it all.

An old saying slipped sideways onto his mindscape. Something...was it Kipling, perhaps? -- something about old lions being at their fiercest when they become old, they know their time is soon upon them, and wish to go down fighting.

Daryl decided then he would prefer to be an old lion rather than an old turtle on its back, legs in the air, helpless, as he was now.

'Cara? Diego? Are you awake?' Her voice.
Her voice cut into him like a knife...

He cleared his voice. 'Si, Josephina. I'm here. I'm fine now...'

She came and gently sat beside him, taking his hand.
  'I heartily doubt that, cher.' She kissed his forehead, smiling. 'Again with your fantastic tales.'

Diego smiled. And sighed. Within minutes, Morpheus showed him mercy and sleep took him once more.
                                                                            

                                                                                         

...........................

'It's snowing again.'

Athena stood at the cottage window, gazing out at the gently falling flakes fat as goose down. A slight shiver ran down her chakras.

Wolf Star crept behind her and put an arm about her.
'A good day for hunting. Snow hides. And when you burrow down, hides your scent as well.'

She turned to him then.
  'For whom do you hunt, my Wolf?'

He smiled and took her hand.
  'I have my tribe, and my pack. And you.' His forehead touched hers. 'I know not when, but I will return. I may have venison. And we will share your fire once more.'

'Does your tribe know...who, what you are?' Athena was ever one to speak her mind.

'I am...outside of my tribe. But they know who I am. They accept my gifts. But, I am, hunh...somewhat like you. In between, here and there. So I am considered, ah, different. Do you know of the heyoka or coyote trail? I have spirit helpers, and others. Some, others do not see. Only me. So, I follow my tribe. Watch over them. Help when I can. But I do not share their fire at night.Some tribes have problems with shapeshifters. Usually, I sleep with the pack.'

'You are accepted there?'

'Um. More so than by human beings. But, I am still considered a lone wolf. An uncle, if you will. Accepted. But still apart.'

Athena sighed. 'Yes. Much like me.'

'You, and I. Both the same.' Wolf Star put a warm hand upon her heart, 'In here.'

'That is where it matters.' She put her hand on his. 'Must you leave so soon? I never know when you will return...'

He smiled. 'Ah. Perhaps I do not need to leave just now.'
He led her back to the fire, and made a nest of the pillows still strewn over the rug, and they soon forgot about the snow, and tribes and packs and time and others, and all the world outside...

                                                                         

.......
CLICK BELOW TO LISTEN:
Walela: Warrior

Chapter 20 - Midwinter Songs

"Leave the pain behind and let your life be your own again. There is a place where all time is now, and the choices are simple and always your own. Wolves have no kings."

Robin Hobb

.............

..::The wolves Geri and Freki were the Norse god Odin's faithful pets who were reputed to be "of good omen."
In the Lay of Hyndla, the völva (witch) Hyndla rides a wolf, and to Baldr's funeral, the Giantess Hyrrokin arrived on a wolf.

........


Wolves are the witches of the animal world.

Katherine Rundell

............


Morning came. It was unlike any Emlyn had hitherto experienced. Upon opening her eyes, she was momentarily disoriented, then recalled where she was.
  The light was different. Brighter, whiter.
 

Arising, she went to the window.
  White...everywhere. All was snow-coated overnight.
'...Glory,' she breathed. Wrapping herself in a quilt, she edged into her shoes and headed downstairs.
                                                                                                                                                                   

'Egad, it's freezing,' she mumbled, shuffling about the kitchen. Need to get the old woodstove up and sparking before she could even think.
   'Complete madness, this...quite possibly catching pneumonia here,' and other murmurings were uttered in little puffs of breath which Em could see before her in the frigid morning air.
   'Tea, tea, tea,' she chanted as she filled the kettle with shaking hands, then hugged the old stove against herself as it heated. 'Ahh, mi amigo, si, muy caliente...'
   Speaking Spanish helped her forget the chill as she urged the great iron monster to life.


Eventually it did flame on and it didn't take long before the kitchen became comfortable enough. With her first sip of hot tea, Em's shoulders relaxed and she finally found the stove too hot to hold, reluctantly moving away somewhat.


'Fantastic,' she breathed, edging to the window and gazing at the great shining, pure white sheeting which covered all.
   '"In the bleak mid-winter, frosty wind made moan,'" Emlyn quoted  Rossetti, thinking she'd the right of it, indeed.
   '-- And howl,' she added, recalling the wolfish song of the evening before. Hm. Yes. It's out there the Great White.


Feeling quite warmed now, Em couldn't wait to head outdoors into the Great White Cold. She'd just take a peek out now and see how things stood.
  To the front door she went and unlatching, opened it just enough to poke her nose out...
  ' -- Yeeeooow!'
    The door slammed shut.


'Oooh, no no no...,' Emlyn scurried back to the stove.
More tea and some hot breakfast were uppermost in her mind now. Later, perhaps that dim sun would show his face more.
   'I'm not coming out until you do,' she told him.

..........

That was sooner rather than later, as it happened.


First, Em had managed to scrounge up some heavy dungarees of Daryl's which she tied about her waist with a rope, as belts were all too large for her, then rolled up the hems enough to walk. She also located a thermal undershirt and a heavy sweater of his that would suffice. Staying warm was the main idea, and this was hardly Main Street.


She wore her own boots. A stocking cap and a woolen scarf completed her snow suit, and Emlyn made another attempt to open the door. Edging it wider a bit at a time, she at last managed to squeeze outside, feeling rather like a stuffed scarecrow.

The sun was a welcome spot of pale butter yellow.  She gazed about, a wide grin upon her face.
   Everything looked so pristine and pure without a mark of bird, beast or man. Em wondered how far away the wolves were. They sounded rather far, than near. But they moved like the wind.

Emlyn recalled there was a lake somewhere near the great dark forest. 'The Schwarzwald,' she whispered to herself, not wanting to make any loud sounds, to blend in with the quiet world around her, trying to breathe softly.
  She headed toward the lake.

Entering the great wood of mostly conifer, it was darker, colder. But the sun was growing brighter and soon shot beams of gold through the spaces amongst the boughs and branches. It wasn't all evergreens she found, as she penetrated deeper within the forest, but stands of birch gathered together, denuded and picturesque, white on white. Pine and fir, some spruce, curly-barked beech she found, too, and alder. Snow hadn't covered all inside the wood, and patches of bare pine mulch showed a sort of path. This she followed.


She heard birds about, and occasionally caught a flash of red here and there. Hoping she might actually see a real cardinal, her first, she tried to follow these flickers of red, but found them too fast for her.
    Ahead she spied a broad swathe of sunlight and hoping for a clearing, she stepped up her pace to find, more snow, yes, but also a nice view of the remembered lake, looking fast frozen now, like a mirror of ice. A gathering of birch trees ringed it on this side.
    She recalled the howls in the evening. She could see all the wolves congregated here, circling the lake reflecting the moon...
                                                                 

   Turning from the path, she trundled through the snow drifts down to the lake, lifting her knees high to get through the brush and fallen logs, then she felt herself going down and down into rabbit and gopher holes unseen, but she pushed on and at last found herself lakeside.  Emlyn was desperately wishing she had her old ice skates with her now!


Nicely open to the sun here, Em rested a moment, enjoying the wan warmth on her face as she looked about her. Birds chirped and flitted about the frozen reeds along the shoreline. No red feathers showed themselves as yet, however.
  Moving along the bank, Em crunched her way, seeking signs. And finding them.


Paw prints. Rather large ones. Paw prints were edged around a hole in the lake ice.
  Emlyn stopped and looked about her. Proof positive: she was not alone.


Perhaps she should have brought Daryl's rifle after all, she thought belatedly.
  They were much closer than she'd first thought.
  She gingerly drew nearer to the prints, however, studying them. They weren't very fresh, snow had nearly covered them.
But they were visible enough. Still, only one wolf was here, it seemed. Not wolves, plural. Not yet...
                                                                      
                                                                                                  

She shivered then. And bethought that she'd had enough of adventuring for now.  Although she
had her mobile unit at the ready, and knew it would have her out of any danger in a second, still,
that was only if she could see it coming...
     She turned and began heading back the way she had come, back to the kitchen and the wonders of warmth.
     She was nearly through the Schwarzwald, when she stopped, listening. She seemed to be hearing something heading through the brush farther down and to her right...
  She ducked down behind a fallen snow-covered log.


Willing herself to silence, she slowly poked her head up. There was something. Or, someone?
   Much taller than a wolf it was:  Emlyn spied a dark figure
moving through the trees, followed by another, slightly shorter.
People' But, who? She knew only of Athena, or Manuel, possibly.
Although, Athena had intimated that she had 'friends' who would miss her here.


Still, something kept Em in hiding. She watched as the two figures stopped briefly, then the smaller form took the lead, the taller following. As they moved off, Emlyn slowly stood, staying quiet as she could, watching.


The smaller person in front moved like Athena, but they were still too far away, and in too much shadow, for Em to be certain. Coming up behind, the larger appeared to be male, but although certainly tall, it was not at all like the seven-feet-and-more that made up Axelis.


Em thought she might try to catch them up, but just as she was about to make her move, suddenly, the taller figure was eclipsed by a stand of fir trees...and later emerged as something else altogether:
  It was much shorter now. Although slightly shorter than Athena, its back came rather above her waist. A large broad head, with shorter ears than a coyote, with a thick white coat of fine fur, it followed along after Athena, looking quite amiable, yet fantastically outre': a wolf in place of a man!


Emlyn's mouth went dry. She couldn't swallow; she could barely think. No, she wouldn't think...
  It did not bear thinking of.
But, no one else came out of the trees. Athena, and The Wolf, moved together in line, one after the other, out into the park, and then turned to head toward the gatehouse.
At last, Em shook herself a bit, shivered, really, and moved off, returning to her path through the woods and home, with much on her mind.



What, exactly, had she just seen here? What other secrets did Athena keep? Em knew she had a way with creatures and kept the odd wounded ones, nursing them back to health and wholeness. 
   Axelis had been the oddest of her companions thus far. Em pondered on that word a moment, the etymology which rendered 'com' or 'with' and 'pan' or 'bread' = a companion, someone  with whom one shares bread.
       Wolves would share bread, only if there wasn't meat, Em knew. But, a man-wolf? What of these?
   Emlyn wondered about bringing a rifle, now. It isn't murder to shoot an animal, but...perhaps this being was more of a 'who' than a 'what'.
                                                                      

 Always interesting, Athena had said, about the weather here.

  'And that ain't all!' Em shook her head as she slogged onward, glad, for once, to see the house at last.

Emlyn had returned to the kitchen and built up the fire in the woodstove, making tea. This she took with her, pot and all, into the library.


Good, she thought; wood and kindling awaited by the fireplace. Manuel's welcome touches became evident to her now that she was here on her own...the Lady of the Manor, if she wished. She didn't.


Sighing, she stared about her, hands on hips. This enormous house, grand though it was, was a white elephant, in both size and practicality.
  Em began work on her second fire of the day, building up this one to last a while. She poured tea, and sipped as she strode about the room. Glancing upward, she espied the loft.
   -- And! Yeats' day bed! 'Of course!' Emlyn had an idea.


'I'll simply move everything down to the library...and sleep, live, move and have my being, right here.'
   It seemed a perfect solution. 'Naturally, I'll have to exit to cook, or bathe, but otherwise, I can function quite well in the library...' Indeed, Em had easily fallen into the habit so beloved of old bachelor uncles and other glad lunatics, shut-ins and guests on permanent vacation in the Bastille... talking to herself, inanimate objects, plants and animals, and for no reason at all.

'Let's just give this bed a test rest first...' She scampered up the spiral stairway to the loft, enjoying the view from above.
    'It's perfect.' Her gaze roamed about the floor below; books from floor to ceiling and wall-to-wall. The ideal place to lodge a librarian, indeed.                                                           
                                                            



 Sitting upon the bed, she let herself fall back onto the pillows. Not bad. Could be a bit more firm, for support. Em sighed, and imagined herself going quietly, peacefully mad here...
  'Could be worse fates.'
Suppose the piano will have to stay where it is, she mused, sitting up, elbows on the wooden railing bordering the loft.

'Can always bring mandolin and guitar up here, though.'

She studied the titles surrounding her here; presumably Yeats' and Daryl's favorites of the moment. Much to do with the Knights Templar, and the Cathars; Em knew why Daryl was obsessed with these, she was curious about their past lives as well.
    Books on Ley Lines; the 'dragon' lines of electromagnetism that ran along water courses and such that dowsers followed. Knightly orders and books on heraldry and Scottish clans and tartans. Hmmm...
     To Emlyn's delight, there were also well-used books on Myths and Legends of Olde Europe, Fairy Tales and such. Herbologies, Culpepper's and others, and books on birding and wild edibles of local field and forest.


Soon Emlyn laid hands upon a book which gradually laid hold of her as well, about the goddesses and spirits of the Baltic countries, called a rusalka:
   'The Rusalki live in the depths of the rivers,
    but in the month of May, in the morning at sunrise,
    they come out from there, naked,
    and dance in the rye fields with their pestles and sing.'

                                                                             

  And, wouldn't you just know it, again Emlyn found the story of the vila or vilies, Anglesized as 'willies', as in: 'just being in that place gave me the willies!'
And in that place where the 'willies' danced, they took off their wings, their white chemises and the ivy twined about them, and swam and sang and danced together, as, unbeknownst to them, a shepherd watched, enraptured.


Of course he became greedy and wished for one of them for his own, and so stole the willie's things to keep her from returning with her sisters. And so the shepherd pressed her to come home with him, and to be his wife.


'Typical,' Em sighed, turning the page. Naturally, however, a willy does not change within, simply because they are temporarily bereft of their accoutrements. Although she does bear the man's children, eventually her sacred items were restored to her, when her husband wishes to show off her dancing to his friends...

"Surely you know, Stoyan,
that a willy cannot keep house,
a willy cannot nurture children.
Seek me, Stoyan, there in the forest,
On the peaks of the Rila Mountains,
On the willies' playground,
Beside the willies' lake.'

Then she flew away.
                                                               

 'Ah, at last!' Em congratulated the rusalka, then read on: Apparently, she found, that within the Eastern Rite countries, it seemed these spirits were the girls who had died without issue, 'without becoming ancestors, themselves'.


'Utterly fantastic!' Emlyn could hardly believe her eyes. This made her relieved that she lived in the West. Imagine a world where one was considered  'worthless' for not having borne a child. Nothing was said about men who had not become fathers.


Apparently, as usual, only women were without a soul if they couldn't incubate and produce issue. How convenient that men had written up laws to sanction their Male God who made MEN in HIS image. His-story, indeed.  Em felt rather queasy to her stomach suddenly.


She did come upon, in Greece, however, a single listing of Euripides which points out Medea's conclusion:
'Three times in battle I would rather stand
 than once in childbirth.'

Good on ya, Medea, as her Aussie friends would have said. Following the asterisk, Em read the footnote below which stated the remarkable statistic that: "during World War I, more American women died in childbirth, than American men died in war."


Sobering, that. Em was brought up short to realise how Out Of Time she actually was here...and with war looming on the horizon, for those back in her own epoch.


She closed the book, The Dancing Goddesses by Elizabeth Wayland Barber, and fell back upon the bed, slightly stunned. For here, she was surrounded by Jack and Daryl's Time Lock. With books, from Out Of Time. She did not even glance at the copyright date...it was from Daryl's time, not her own.
  But here she knew that somehow this estate and surroundings were outside of Time. Where was she, then? And all outside of the designated demense, a world of absolute hell reigned...The Future.


If one were a serious student of history, however, the world had always been embroiled in one sort of hell or other; what with plagues, invasions, natural disasters and the like. It boggled the wee mind to think that this one area, was somehow immune.


'Interesting weather, indeed,' Em mused to herself, and interesting creatures here, too. Had Athena brought someone here, to offer asylum, perhaps? A creature, like herself, rescued from Time's Onslaught? 
                                                           

She needed a book on shapeshifters. Perhaps something detailing First Nations and their medicine people. Rising, she sought amongst what was available in the upper loft, surely Daryl would be curious about local tribes...


Noting the graceful artwork on the spine of one book led Emlyn to delve into some writings on wolves, at least, and how they were honored or denigrated, depending upon the area and tribal affiliations:


"Wolves were generally revered by Aboriginal Canadians that survived by hunting, but were thought little of by those that survived through agriculture. Some Alaska Natives including the Nunamiut of both northern and northwestern Alaska respected the wolf's hunting skill and tried to emulate the wolf in order to hunt successfully. First Nations such as Naskapi as well as Squamish and Lil'wat view the wolf as a daytime hunting guide.


The Naskapis believed that the caribou afterlife is guarded by giant wolves that kill careless hunters who venture too near. The Netsilik Inuit and Takanaluk-arnaluk believed that the sea-woman Nuliayuk's home was guarded by wolves.


Native Americans have long seen the wolf as an animal of power. Many tribes credit the actual creator of the earth to be a wolf. The Arikara and Ojibwe believed a wolfman spirit made the Great Plains for them and for other animals. Many tribes consider wolves to be closely related to humans.. The reason for this belief is because of the wolf’s dedication to its pack, a trait the tribes attributed with themselves."                                                                                                                                                          

Em closed the book. Running with the pack. That sounded good to her, pack ethics...far outshone human of late.
   Oddly, she found herself yawning...shouldn't be at all sleepy...it was only mid-afternoon. But, all this reading somehow, and snow slogging, and now having an actual bed in a library...set her mind to dreaming awake, and as she took up the bed quilt, wrapping it about her, she allowed herself to slide fully into Yeats' lofty library world and dreamland...
...........
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In The Bleak Midwinter : Choir of Kings College, Cambridge