Chapter 31 - Lost And Found

 Chapter 31

"It could be one of the battles on the Powder River." Ethan sat back and crossed his arms over his thin chest. "My grandfather was in them battles. Warriors fought the soldiers all over the Powder River country. Soldiers killed a lot of the people. Burned our lodges and took our women and children.

Grandfather said the medicine wolves was following the soldiers the whole time, dozens of wolves that made the nights hideous with their howling. Some of the soldiers got so scared, they took off, 'cause they knew them wolves was on the side of Arapahos and if the warriors didn't get their revenge, the wolves was gonna get revenge for them."

Margaret Coel
Eye of the Wolf

                                                                     

......


New research shows that people with blue eyes have a single, common ancestor. A team at the University of Copenhagen have tracked down a genetic mutation which took place 6-10,000 years ago and is the cause of the eye colour of all blue-eyed humans alive on the planet today.

"Originally, we all had brown eyes," said Professor Hans Eiberg from the Department of Cellular and Molecular Medicine. "But a genetic mutation affecting the OCA2 gene in our chromosomes resulted in the creation of a "switch," which literally "turned off" the ability to produce brown eyes."

The OCA2 gene codes for the so-called P protein, which is involved in the production of melanin, the pigment that gives colour to our hair, eyes and skin. The "switch," which is located in the gene adjacent to OCA2 does not, however, turn off the gene entirely, but rather limits its action to reducing the production of melanin in the iris -- effectively "diluting" brown eyes to blue.

Materials provided by University of Copenhagen.
Human Genetics, 2008; 123 (2): 177 DOI: 10.1007/s00439-007-0460-x

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

New evidence suggests that over 12k yrs ago the break up of a huge asteroid did hit earth causing an ice age and decimating humans and wiping out dozens of species.

Daily Mail

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

 
..::The Marquis de Blanchford also relayed that a nameless society protects the lineage of Dagobert II from further assassination. And relayed that the reason these genes were being protected was that their value came from the intermarriages of several distinguished ancient Israelites and superhuman extraterrestrials from the Sirius star system.

            (While:)

In the Celtic world, certain royal families (especially those of the Pendragons, or Head Dragons) were said to carry the Fairy Blood - that is to say, the fate or destiny of the Grail Bloodline - while the Elf Maidens of the Albi-gens were the designated guardians of the Earth, starlight and forest::..

                                                                             

------------

The cottage door flew open and Athena blew in, quite literally, bearing fall leaves with her on the wind; she turned and shouldered the heavy wooden door shut with an effort.

'Shussh!' Wolf Star padded to her side. 'He's asleep.'
He nodded to the sofa upon which Daryl rested, down for the count, apparently.

Athena's head reared back on her shoulders, apprising this new addition to her parlour. 'Well, well!' She removed her coat and hat; Wolf Star hung them on the coat rack. He then put an arm about her waist. 'The north wind comes calling from Grandmother's Land,' he said.

'And that's not all that comes calling, I see.' Athena drew a fleecy purple scarf from her neck, hanging it over her coat. 'You knew he was en route,' she continued, moving about the kitchen.

Wolf Star nodded. 'The kettle is still hot.'
 Athena took hold of a mug and added herbs, pouring the tea water. 'I will make a stew later,' she decided, adding honey to her brew. 'Do you think there's game about for a rabbit stew or perhaps a grouse?'

Wolf Star nodded. 'There will be.'
   Athena smiled then, running fingers through her long white strands. 'Thank you.' She turned to him and they kissed, then rubbed noses, wolf-like. The tall warrior  gently released her, whispering in her ear: 'Our company wakes.'

Athena peered over into the parlour detecting the glint of open eyes from the sofa. Whatever must Daryl be thinking? She smiled to herself, enjoying her secret life, about which Daryl was entirely without a clew...well, surprises for us both this day.

Wolf Star was bent over a crate in the corner, pulling forth a pair of boots. Taking a sheepskin parka from the rack, he dressed quickly, adding gloves and a cap of fur. 'I go to hunt.' He took Athena's hand and kissed it in farewell, before heading out, off into the weather.

Athena entered the parlour, moving with such grace as she did, seeming to float. She held her mug with both hands and made to sit upon the couch with Daryl, who brought his knees up so she may join him.

The two friends looked upon one another. Athena sipped her tea, and then smoothed a stray lock of dark hair from Daryl's forehead.
  'So, orphan of the storm,' she began, 'what brings you to my door?'

Daryl took her hand and kissed it, brought it to his chest and held it there. 'Athena...how good to see you.'
   His eyes closed. He lay breathing softly a while.    Finally a great sigh escaped him. 'I am now, well and truly spanceled.' He sat up against the pillows, regarding her.
   'I came here, from the City, by way of Russian steamer to Alaska, and then, I am told, from Ketchikan, by coach to a train which took us nearly to Toronto, but I escaped, taking another coach, more of a waggon, really, as close to here as I could...and hiked the rest of the way.'  

Athena frowned at Daryl's tale of his travels, wondering. 'Escape? Spanceled, you say.'

Daryl hung his head, slowly shaking it. 'I am grounded. No more may I roam the pathways of time.' He rubbed his forehead. 'My gods, but travel in this age is enough to defeat a man...and, I am banned from the mansion. And lab. I can only haunt the outskirts, like a lone wolf. Not that I miss the place at all. However --' He looked at her then, a deep sadness in his eyes. 'I am aging, now, Athena. No more timewalking; no more holding Chronos at bay.'

Athena took hold of his feet, placing them on her lap.
'And that's why you are here.'
Daryl nodded.

They sat together for a while thus, listening to the wind toss the trees about their snug shelter and the fire crackling before them. Daryl drank in the ambience like a fine wine, needing the comfort of the familiar, so lacking lately. 

                                                                             

 
He leaned back against the pillows, one hand behind his head. 'I was given the choice of abodes: either here, at the mausoleum,' he rolled his eyes at their appellation for his old mansion, 'or back in the City, at Nob Hill house. I chose the City...' He shut his eyes once more. 'I must admit, I dread the journey back across this long land, the way things are now...'

Athena took hold of his feet. 'You needn't walk, you know.'
  Daryl opened one jaundiced eye, staring her down.

Athena continued: 'Take your time. So, things have changed. Shift gears! You have plenty of money, Daryl! Why not see this country en route! Take the train. Stop wherever you like, stay a while. You are still a free agent.' She paused. 'Aren't you?' She tossed his feet over the side and stood, stretching. 'What the devil were you doing in Alaska?' She turned and began stirring coals in the fireplace.

Daryl sat up on one elbow, and realised then that he hardly knew. He nearly said: well, it wasn't my idea...but, he had certainly gone along with St.John's plans willingly enough. But, why?

'Athena, my darling...I just don't know.' He noticed her regarding him with quiet alarm. 'The thing of it is; I was, well, I was drugged, rather heavily. True, my back had attacked and I had requested a fair bit, but -- St.John kept me knocked out, even before we reached Alaska. I didn't awaken until we were on the train, mid-Saskatchewan.'

'Oh, I don't like the sound of that!' Athena poked at the fire. 'St.John...you've mentioned him before. An antiques dealer?' Athena commented.

Daryl made a sort of growl. 'That's not all he is...'
  He threw himself back on the pillows. 'Oh, my dear...in a way, it's a good thing I'm grounded. St.John is part of a, cabal of sorts, who want ME to be an agent of theirs, in a timewalk that will transport us back before the revolution, to assassinate Hamilton! Eh, that is, before he was assassinated, the last time.'
    He rubbed his eyes, and waved a hand. 'The daft bugger has some notion of stopping the Fed, by way of keeping the young nation out of the clutches of a central bank; that is, of course, the Bank of England.'

'But that would preclude the revolution!' Athena turned about, hands on hips, unbelieving. 'That was the goad; it got the colonists up in arms when they couldn't pay the English taxes.'

'It's a bloody dam mess, is what it is! St.John has no idea I've been grounded and cannot timewalk. Your idea of a meandering relaxed vacation by rail doesn't take into account the fact that I'm a wanted man. It was not easy escaping his clutches, and he has since rejoined the rest of his infernal, old boys' hellfire club, whatever they are...'

The pair of friends were silent then, thinking. Daryl sat up, and looked at his long time companion.
   'I very much like your Wolf Star,' he told her, taking hold of his mug and swishing the dregs. 'You know, I saw him, on the coach coming here...he was walking through the fields with an owl and a wolf.'

                                                                                

Athena stirred the coals round into a pile, smiling shyly. 'He's not 'my' Wolf Star...he is his own creature.'

'Athena,' Daryl began, 'I hope you might do a small sommat for me. Back at the, house, here, there is a strong box I keep in the icebox. I've certain monies and other needful things there, passport and the like, that I require for my journey. Oh, yes; I do mean to head west.' He frowned then. 'I think. I shall have to make a plan.' He handed her a small key.

'I'll get it for you. Anything else?' She bent to take his empty mug. 'More coffee, maybe? I'm making scones...'

'That would be divine, cara. Coffee, yes. I need to awaken.' Daryl thought a moment. 'Perhaps my guitar? I'm thinking I might go in disguise.'
  'A wandering minstrel?' Athena grinned.
  'Terpsicore and Lorelei beware!' Daryl sighed, and half-smiled back. 'Music will take my mind off of other things I dare not think about.'

......

Emlyn stared about her at the cold walls of Daryl's mansion 'back east'. Too much marble, she thought, shivering. This would work great in California! Those Romans knew how to keep cool in summer...insane here in Massachusetts.

She hoped young Llew was made of tougher stuff than she.
She'd worn her warmest clothes, but still felt she was freezing. Why did bloody Gwydion choose NOW, with fall and winter coming on, to leave the poor lad here in this mausoleum!

She stomped upstairs to rummage about the closets and find another coat, even a blanket to wear...she'd get a fire or two going...take care of basics. She'd come to simply check out the place, see what needed doing before it was ready to welcome a new guest.

Shrugging into a parka of Daryl's, she also found a woolen hat, and now, she recalled what she must do: The Library!

Daryl's 'study' as he called it; when last here, she'd taken it over and made it her own snug refuge from the rest of the house. Yeats had done the same when here, and she'd improved on his arrangements. She made her way back downstairs.

Libraries...always a fine refuge against the world.

Shutting the double doors against the frozen marble without, she sighed as her eyes took in the walls of books about her. They were insulation, too, of sorts, against the cold. This will do nicely, she decided, relieved to have some welcoming space for her...for young Llew.

She made up a fire in the large stone fireplace and turned her backside to the nascent flames, feeling herself slowly defrost. She smiled to recall how Rosa and Manuel would always flee from here as soon as they were able, back to Nob Hill House, complaining of 'cold bones'. Indeed, she agreed.

She removed the bulky parka, and headed up the spiral stairway to the loft above, where Yeats had appropriated the daybed and made a great cosy nest amongst the surrounding volumes. 'This isn't so bad,' she told herself, easily falling into the isolationist habit of talking to oneself.

So comfy was she now, that she removed the knit cap and went to the bed, just to see if it was still as comfortable as she recalled...aah, it was indeed. She told herself she'd just stretch out for a bit, as she pulled the patchwork star quilt about her and lay down for a wee rest...

                                                                          

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


'Two fine hares!' Wolf Star proudly held out his hunter's bounty to Athena. 'Not only meat for dinner, but a pair of warm mittens maybe.'

'Wonderful!' Athena was pleased. She lay the rabbits on her large cutting board-topped table and hugged the hunter. 'Now go get yourself warm.'

Daryl strode into the kitchen. 'I can do the skinning. I've had some practise.' He looked at Athena. 'You'll have your gloves.'

'We'll leave it to you, then,' Wolf Star nodded assent, but remained standing by. 'You should know: there is chimney smoke coming from the Big House. Someone is there.'

He had the attention of both Daryl and Athena then.
Daryl slowly shook his head, sharpening the big knife.
'That, should not be,' his eyes sought Athena's. 'If Manuel were here, he'd let you know, yes?'

'Manuel was just here, this morning,' she replied. 'I can go and see who it is.' She looked at Wolf Star. 'You'll accompany me?' He nodded.

Daryl sighed. 'I wish I could go, you know this.' He washed his hands vigorously. 'It's...probably just Em.'

'Right.' Athena wondered how things were now with those two. Both volatile types; things were often prone to eruptions with them.

'I'll start the stew. It'll be ready for you.' Daryl assumed a sangfroid front. 'It's soon dark...' His eyes went to the windows, noting the light going fast now in fall. 'You both take care.'

.......

Emlyn surprised herself by waking up. She certainly hadn't planned on sleeping now! She noticed the room had gone nearly dark and the fire was going out. She was just about to arise when she thought she detected a presence nearby. Someone else here?!

She remained still and silent, her heart beating in her
ears. She couldn't stand not knowing. She risked moving her head up enough to see...a tall shape, a shadow outlined against the fading ambient light.
-- A very, very tall shape.

'What are you doing here, daughter?'

-- Axelis!
Emlyn sat up, running fingers through her disheveled locks. 'Axelis, you gave me a start!' She regarded his immense figure. 'What are YOU doing here?' She countered.

He sighed. 'You simply can't call me father, can you.' It was a statement. 'I think you know why I'm here. Why are you becoming involved with the Twyleth Teg again? Therein lies nought but confusion and chaos!'

Em was startled by a new revelation. She wondered if Axelis knew he was a...well, a grandfather?! Of a half-faery child.

Axelis sighed again and sat upon the bed beside her.
'Of course I know! I know the fey require earth-human blood to re-invigor their species. But, daughter, you forget that you are NOT earth-human! Not entirely. Perhaps Gwydion missed that little bit of information.'
Axelis' features seemed carved into a permanent frown now, she noticed. Not encouraging.

She knew she could hardly plead ignorance, that she'd been kidnapped, etc. She knew, and he knew, that she'd gone willingly.

Just then, Emlyn and Axelis became aware of the slam of the front door, voices and movements in the outer hallway. 'Someone's here!' She looked at Axelis in alarm.

He stood and began to run down the stairway, surprisingly light for such a vast being. Emlyn followed only a step slower.

'-- it seems to be coming from the library chimney...'
Em relaxed, recognising Athena's voice.

 Another voice answered, deeper. A man's voice she did not know. Footsteps approached the study doors. She found Axelis waiting against the wall, ready to confront, or attack, the intruders. As she joined him, she saw that he seemed to have also registered Athena's voice now and relaxed a bit.

'It's all right! It's Athena,' she told him, opening the double doors.

It was hard to say who was more surprised: Axelis by Wolf Star, or Wolf Star by Axelis. Athena took charge of the situation in a trice.
  'Axelis, please meet Wolf Star. Wolf Star, meet Axelis, an old friend.'

At the designation of 'old friend', Axelis stiffened somewhat. He then rallied and bowed with ataraxian aplomb, and said, 'A pleasure.'

Wolf Star stood unmoved, except to bow his head slightly.
 'A star shines on our meeting.' He kept gazing upward at Axelis, taking in the great height of him.

'And,' Athena continued, putting one hand upon Em's shoulder, 'here is my dear friend, Emlyn; Em, please meet Wolf Star.'

'Greetings, Wolf Star.' Emlyn dipped a small curtsy his way.
In reply, he took Em's hand.
'Boozhoo, Nishiime,' he said to her, nodding.

Athena looked surprised, then smiled. 'In Ojibwa, this means "greetings, little  sister".'

                                                                          
                                                                           

 

 

Wolf Star nearly smiled then, releasing Em's hand.

'Well! It is certainly cold in this old pile!' Athena exclaimed. 'Why do we not all come to the gatehouse for dinner? Daryl is making rabbit stew, freshly bagged by Wolf Star.'

Wolf Star turned and began to smoor the remains of the fire while the others started to file into the hallway.
  'Daryl is here?' Emlyn asked, wondering. She noted his parka she'd tossed on the sofa. He may need this, she decided, shrugged it on.

'He showed up late this afternoon.' Athena told her. 'Ah, that's right -- a moment while I grab something for him. I'll meet you all at the front door...Daryl will be glad to see you, Em.'

Em wasn't so sure about that.

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

It was a dinner party like no other.

There was Athena hosting her three male 'friends'; Daryl, Wolf Star and Axelis who were, Em rightly suspected, much more than just friends. (In the case of Axelis, mucho mas.) And then she, herself, Emlyn, the daughter of Axelis, and the former novia of Daryl. The only one in attendance who was fairly free of entanglements was Wolf Star, who retained an air of calm acceptance about himself. Emlyn rather envied him.

Nevertheless, it became quite the merry feast. Daryl had indeed made a delicious rabbit stew and some cheese and onion biscuits as well. Emlyn threw together a green salad and there was pumpkin pie for dessert.

'Coffee anyone? Shall we adjourn to the parlour, then?' Athena and Em brought in extra chairs and a small table, setting baskets of nuts and apples amongst the guests.

Wolf Star brought in more wood and built up the parlour fire, whilst everyone settled and sipped coffee and brandy or, like Axelis and Wolf Star, herbal tea.

'Daryl...I feel so badly knowing all you went through, just after I'd left the City!' Em was saying. 'I never trusted that St.John.'

'Well,' Daryl stirred honey into his coffee, 'I certainly never did trust him, either, but...I have to admit, at the time, the thought of simply ~ sailing off into the sunset ~ rather appealed to me.' He hefted his feet up upon the hearthside. 'I had no idea what I was in for. You know I can no longer travel the roads of time. I guess I was tired of feeling so...hobbled.'

Emlyn had felt compelled during dinner, to reveal her own problems with others who wished to use her timewalking abilities for their own nefarious machinations.
   'It's odd that we both, suddenly, find ourselves in nearly the same predicament at the same time, Daryl.'

They held each other's gaze a moment; thinking.
  'Yes, isn't it...' Daryl mused. 'Both St.John and this descendent of Kidd's, and now, Jeanne, are lusting after Bonnie Prince Charlie to rule again; to remake America and Canada, presumably, into a New Scotland.'

'There's a connection, Daryl.' Em stated. 'Has to be.'

Daryl ran his fingers through his hair, scratched his head, and stood. He began pacing. 'It's all sheer madness! All this plotting and talk of assassinations...it is piling iniquities upon injustice...'

'"The soul of a murderer is blind."' Wolf Star spoke up.

Daryl stared, his eyes narrowing. 'Albert Camus.' He said, and stopped his pacing. 'You walk the time trails as well, Wolf Star.'

                                                                  

 'Athena and I met on the time trail,' Wolf Star confirmed, nodding to Athena, who smiled. 'Here's another for you:. "The national vice is waste." -- Henry Miller.' Wolf Star was well-read. 'From a native perspective, everything the white man has done is insane. Wasteful.
   'Why murder for sport? Kill all the buffalo just to let them rot? There is something in the white man that is fundamentally different from the native, and ultimately self-destructive.' His gaze went to Axelis then, who shifted somewhat uncomfortably.
   'This intrinsic difference, compounded by too much travel from their own native lands, has sent them all 'round the bend' as you might say. They are not grounded. All up in the head. Sin corazon, is the true meaning.

The entire company sat stunned. Save Athena, who barely managed to hide her smile behind her coffee mug.

At last, Axelis sighed. 'He speaks truth.' His gaze went around the room, catching the eyes of all. 'At one time, back in 'pre-history' as you term it, everyone on this planet was native. And all had brown eyes.'

'Then came the Visitors,' Athena revealed.

Axelis nodded. 'Yes. Not so many, at first. But after the first voyagers, there came others. And more genetic tinkering with the Cromagnon; whose brains are much larger than your homosapien cranium. But, other, more important strands of DNA were disconnected, leaving the current species less able to discern, simply because they were unable to be aware of these subtle realms any longer.         'Nowadays men suffer from this 'brain fever' more than women, who have more of a genetic propensity for intuitive thought than men. And this is why men kill and waste buffalo, pollute the air and water, and build bombs that would destroy the planet, along with them all.' His frown was fierce. 'IF, if it were not for us, 'interfering' with your missile launches.'

Wolf Star nodded. He added, 'You must know this word: Wetiko. Or Windigo. It is a malevolent and greedy spirit that enters into those who are open to that kind of evil.

                                                                        

 

'This manifests as a madness, that in future times, becomes viewed as a positive thing: to 'grab all you can' only for oneself. "Greed is good!" -- was that not the saying?
   'We natives care for the entire tribe, the whole band, the young, the old. The animals. The plants and planet. The circle. All are important. None more than another. We know, if we do not, we all will fail. The white brothers have no feeling for this truth. They believe themselves to be great because their brain has concocted a Final Solution killing machine. They fancy themselves brilliant. Like in Atlantis. They have no idea they cannot intuit the obvious: the Wetiko has whispered this madness in their mind. The Wetiko has hold of them and will destroy them all in the end.'

. . . . . .


Emlyn and Daryl were left sitting upon the sofa together after Axelis had taken his leave and Athena and Wolf Star had adjourned upstairs to the loft. Daryl stood and added a couple of good-sized logs to the fire.
    
'That should last through the night.' He told her as he resumed his seat at one end of the old sofa, sighing.
 
Em lay her head back and stretched. 'It's soo comfortable here now...'
  Daryl regarded her from his corner of the couch. It was a comfort zone. This place, the company, the ambient smells of savory cooking, the spicy scent of teas, the wood fire burning old orchard wood...it exuded home and hearth...


'This folds out you know. Why not share a space with me here? You needn't go anywhere tonight...' He looked down, not wanting her to see his eyes, should she decline.

'I, I shouldn't, really...' Emlyn began, but she was thinking, why not? 'Wellll...I just might. I don't feel like moving at all. It has been a busy few days.' She finished her coffee. 'But, later. I'm comfy, but, not really tired yet.'

'Some cognac?' Daryl leaned forward and tipped out the amber liquid from his flask. 'Just because one has been kidnapped, it doesn't follow that one needs must be bereft of comforts...'

'Indeed, indeed...' Emlyn accepted the snifter. 'Cheers! Salud! Em clacked her glass to his. 'So like you to carry Courvoisier in a flask...' She shook her head, smiling. 'That was an excellent ragout de lapin, Daryl. A real native feast.'

The two companions sat together in silence a while, listening to the sounds of the old cottage and getting a new feel for one another.

'Hm. That Wolf Star...he is something.' Daryl locked his gaze to hers. 'I have a feeling he may be as ancient and as singular, in his way, as Axelis.' He sipped his drink, pondering all they'd heard tonight. 'There's more to him than one would, or perhaps could, imagine.'

'Our many-layered friends...' Em mused. 'They keep surprising me, that's certain.' Her eyes flickered over Daryl briefly, including him in that statement. 'He called me 'little sister'...I wonder how he knew I had Cherokee blood?'

'I wonder if he really is Ojibway, or just fluent in many languages...one thing is certain, he knows much more than he lets on. And meeting Athena on the 'time trails'?' Daryl sipped his brandy slowly. 'A little tete-a-tete with her is soon called for.'

Em had been frowning at the fire during Daryl's discourse. 'I keep wondering about Axelis showing up as soon as I'd taken the time trail east...there is something I must discuss with you, Daryl, but it can wait until morning.'

'Good.' Daryl lifted his long legs and began to take off his boots. 'Been a long, long day...' Boots were removed to the hearthside, and he leaned back against the couch.

'I keep thinking back, though...these strange beings, such as Axelis, these giants of old, keep showing up around here in ancient burial mounds and digs. Many dating to 10k BC and older...
  'There are records in every country and in all of the old legends, of a cataclysm which happened around that time, wiping out the mastodons, saber tooth tigers and such,  causing massive flooding, and an ice age. In every land, there were legends of great floods recorded.'

'Yes,' Em added, 'and at about that same time, this being, whoever it was, arrived with blue eyes and that particular new branch of humans was suddenly on the scene.'

                                                                      

 Daryl leaned forward, pouring them another tot of cognac. 'Exactly, ma chere'. And, there is another legend, of a 'comet' breaking up and large chunks battering the earth, which caused the cataclysm...'

'I have heard, also,' Em chimed in, 'in old Celtic legends, that the Celtic race came from a planet called Kantec, which exploded, and pieces of it rained down upon the earth. A race of giant beings were also rumored to have lived there.'

Daryl caught her eye then. 'A race of giant blue-eyed Celts like Axelis? Perhaps they were refugees...from Kantec.'

Em shrugged, a 'maybe' gesture. Daryl continued: 'You know, the Indians here in North America, at least, refer to themselves as 'the human beings'. The Lani Lanappe, who came to the east after Lassen blew, seeking new lands, referred to themselves as 'the real people', or 'the human beings.'

'To differentiate themselves from those who were...not?' Em wondered, swirling her drink. 'There were giants on the earth in those far-off days, they say. Rumors of 9 and 12 foot skeletons have been found, buried with pearls and copper crowns.'

'Yes. Fair-skinned mummies with red and golden hair. Some of these were rumored to live around Lassen, and in Nevada.' Daryl knew of these. 'Some with double rows of teeth.'

'Human-like, yet not human...' Em mused. She yawned behind her hand. 'Fascinating, but, I think I could sleep now.'
   'Well, we can discuss all this manana, si, cara?' Daryl inquired. Em nodded.


   'So, what will you do now, Daryl?' Em curled her feet underneath her on the couch. 'You cannot walk the time trails, as you said.'

'Not sure. I am locked into the life of Nob Hill House now.' He sighed. 'I've told Athena, I'll be traveling, mostly by rail, back west. In disguise, somewhat.' He swirled the golden liquor in his glass. 'But, not just yet. I think I might take a room in town. It was 12 kinds of hell getting here this far. Although I need to be away from St.John's reach, there is some business I might attend to whilst here.'

'Indeed?' Em inquired. 'Something you can share?'

'Well...' He drawled, 'I plan to look for a new violin. Well, a new, old violin, really. And New York at this time would be a fine place to find a 'find'.' He grinned lopsidedly. 'But first, maybe treat myself to a real Yankee lobster dinner and some fado on the coast.'

'Sounds good Daryl. Here's to music, and a new life, oui?' Em held out her glass.
'I'll drink to that.' Daryl toasted.
And they did.

                                                                                                                 

LISTEN! CLICK BELOW FOR LINK:  John Trudell - Rich Man's War

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=y88AaSnJwqA

Chapter 30 -- Wolves and Humans: Endangered Species

 
"Wolves are really a sacred being for us," Maquinna, hereditary chief of the Ahousaht First Nation explained.
  "In our belief the wolf transforms into a killer whale.  We feel that the wolf and orca are one in the same creature. We had a story from a village here: not too long ago, we had an elder, she might of been about 110 when she passed. Her name was K'wina.

"She was sitting on her porch in Nuchalitz on Vancouver Island. It's kind of like a bay...the killer whales came in, and they went into this small harbor and there was no way out, and it's a long ways for them to go.  They have to come up to breathe...she saw them come in, and they never came back out.  

"She looked over on the beach and she noticed all of these wolves that were all wet, coming out of the water. She actually saw it, the transformation.  This would've happened maybe about seventy years ago, when she saw this. She was a young woman, maybe in her 30s when that happened.  That's what she saw.  So the killer whale and our wolf is one in the same being."

Maquinna, as told to:
David Moskowitz
Wolves in the Land of Salmon                                                       

..........


..::It was a long and terrible journey, passing beyond the midnight country of sorrow and the sun-drained wastes of solitude into the undiscovered country of Kennaquhair, whose latitude is 91 degrees north and longitude 181 degrees west.

Here, in the luminous hollow of a tree stump that had been blasted by lightning and whittled clean by the winds of knowledge, they alighted on the outstretched hands of the goddess.

Athene was invisible, or at least the Wart never remembered having seen her afterwards.  At the time he did not notice that she was invisible -- it only struck him when he woke up next morning -- because he was aware of her without seeing her.

He was aware that her unthinkable beauty was neither that of age nor of youth.  That her eyes were the only things you thought of looking at, and that to be her was terrible, whereas to be with her was the only joy...Archimedes kissed her tenderly::..

T.H. White
The Sword in the Stone

...........

..::In April 2001, it was revealed that extensive studies undertaken by the University College of London, had determined that the Basques of Spain and France are the "genetic blood brothers" of the Welsh and Irish.

When the university staff decided...to focus their attentions on the people of the Basque country, they discovered something incredible and ground breaking. The team, Professor Goldstein explained, found that "there's something quite striking about the Celtic populations in that there's not a lot of genetic variation on the Y-chromosome. The Celtic population turn out to be statistically indistinguishable from the Basques."::..

University College of London (UCL)
"Genes Link Celts to Basques", 2001

.........

..::We see how one group of people that is significantly and physically different from the rest of the population, the Basques, may have inherited their uniqueness, and their bloodline, from the...Cro Magnon, who had the honor, if that's the right term, of becoming guinea pigs of a gene-manipulating alien civilization, tens of thousands of years ago.::..

Nick Redfern
Bloodline of the Gods

----------------

'I've been waiting for you,' the Indian man said. 'Please, come in.'

Daryl shook himself inwardly, and obeyed. '-- Athena...?' he began. But the man only nodded.
  'She is out, flying the kestrel. She will return.' Daryl followed him into the parlor. 'Please, sit down.'

Daryl looked about him, half expecting the entire scene to suddenly shift on him. But he sat, at last, upon the sofa before the fire, as he had many times before. That, at least, was a familiarity.
   He realised suddenly how very tired he was.

While shrugging out of his overcoat, he felt every bone in his body ached. A soft groan escaped him as he leaned back, closing his eyes a moment.
 
'Mocha.' The Indian man set a hot mug before him. 'Coffee and cocoa. It is good, especially on a cold day.' He took a seat himself in the wing chair beside the fire, sipping his own mugful.

Daryl felt rather beat up, mentally, emotionally, physically; he'd been on the run and dodging St.John's dodgy plans for him for days...maybe longer. He'd lost all track of time.
  Feeling dopey from exhaustion, he took a long drink of mocha. And another.

'Better?' Daryl's locum tenens host almost smiled at him.
  'Oh. Much. Thank you.' Daryl nodded, rubbing his neck. He looked across the room at the man, studying him a moment.
  'I saw you. Earlier. From the coach. You were in a field with a white owl. And a large...wolf?' His statement ended with a question.

The man nodded. 'I am called Wolf Star. Wolf, is my totem.'
  'Daryl,' Daryl offered. 'I...don't know my totem.' Unless it's a cuckoo, he thought dismally to himself, taking the hot mug in his lap and leaning back against the sofa.
 'This is good.' He saluted with his mug the man before him, and drank all the mocha and shut his eyes again...bigods if he wasn't nearly asleep.

'I might just...fall over, here a while...' Daryl put his empty cup on the large antique chest before him which doubled as Athena's coffee table. Pulling his coat over him, he fell softly sideways on the couch. In a second he was out, snoring gently.
   The Indian man removed his boots, setting them upon the hearth.
-- Daryl snored on.

                                                                 

 ..........

It was early dawn when Sean Munroe's waggon turned down the lane leading into Arcadia proper and trundled into the yard of Mrs.Murphy's rooming house.  Emlyn awoke with the jouncing and noticed that Shannon and Allyn were up as well as Dylan, who handed her an apple. Once halted, they all began to unload  musical instruments, crates of apples, and sundry items of clothing, baggage and expropriated pumpkins.

Shannon approached Emlyn, handing her a small pumpkin. 'Tis enough for a wee pie, I think!' She seemed to be in better spirits this morning. 'We will be in touch! We have some heavy thinking to do.' She nodded toward Allyn, who had hefted her big pumpkin and was headed their way.

'I think we need to inform a few central individuals who may help us in this endeavor. "Fortune sides with those who dare!" We'll talk. Later! Get some sleep now, lass.' And with that, they were away, Allyn escorting Shannon off to her wee cottage behind the shop.

Emlyn took her pumpkin to where Dylan and Jethro were deep in conversation. Sean Munroe and Mrs. Murphy were already heading into the house. Em felt stiff, sore, groggy and still craving rest and sleep.

Jethro picked up his guitar and mandolin and turned to Em. 'Well, perhaps I'll be seeing you later. I'm dead on my feet, from dancing, for a change!' He gave Em a chaste kiss on her forehead. 'Nite, Em...'

'Good night, Jethro. I'll be around.' She watched him go with warm thoughts of her friend. She noticed then that Dylan had hold of his bass and had donned his jacket at last. 'Thank you for the use of your coat,' Em approached, smiling up at him. 'And a warm shoulder to lean on.'

Dylan swept a small bow before her. 'My pleasure, milady. Any time.' He placed a well-worn fedora on his head. 'I will bid thee adieu, in hopes that we may meet again.' He took her hand and turning it palm up, placed a kiss upon her tender wrist.
   '"I trim myself to the storm of time,
     I man the rudder, reef the sail,
     Right onward drive unharmed,
     the port, well worth the cruise, is near,
     and every wave is charmed."'

Em chuckled. 'A Bard, indeed, even in the early morning! A true Welshman, you are then!'

He shouldered his baggage and smiled. 'Only a bit of Emerson, paraphrased, as it were.' He leaned forward, giving Em a soft kiss upon her cheek. 'Sleep well, and may thy dreams be sweet.'

'Good night...' Em called softly after him, watching as Dylan followed Jethro into the barn. She knew they would do well enough there, the tack room doubled as comfortable extra rooming; Mrs. Murphy was not about to leave anyone bereft of bed on her watch.

'And not a Welsh fairy in sight!' Emlyn sighed with relief, as she turned and headed into the rooming house, pumpkin in hand.                                                                        

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

Strange and wandering were her dreams that night...
  A yellowish sort of fog had enveloped her. She was walking through tall grasses; autumn still, their golden heads waved in the breeze.
  She found a trail through the endless grassland, heading downward. This she followed until she could discern breakers crashing upon the shore, smell the brine on the wind, hear the calling of sea birds.

Once more, her dreams brought her to this sea and shore. There upon the beach a small campfire burned within a circle of boulders. A man sat before it upon a large log of bleached driftwood which resembled the bones of a lost and extinct giant.

Something about him seemed familiar to her as she approached.
But she couldn't quite place him, seeing him from behind.  As she closed the distance between them, she slowed her pace...
the dark hair, the set of his shoulders, the way he almost turned his face to the side, eyes glancing downward; she knew him then. She halted.

'Gwydion. Why are you here?' Emlyn couldn't even trust her dreams anymore.
  'Emlyn. Cariad.' Gwydion slowly turned and stood in one flowing movement. 'You came.'
  'Had I a choice?' She frowned as she slowly approached, not at all liking this unforeseen rendezvous.

The Welsh wizard made a sweeping gesture that was a half-bow. 'I am not here to argue, or coerce you. Please, sit.'
   Sighing, Emlyn took a seat upon the pale log beside him. 'Well?' She asked.

If it were possible for the Twyleth Teg to age, Em thought she detected this in the lines of care about Gwydion's face as well as the wings of grey that swept above his ears.
  'Yes. I have been worried of late, it's true.' Gwydion spoke softly, as he resumed his seat and stared out at the sea, barely visible in the golden fog all about them.

'How does this concern me?' Emlyn feared the worst. It usually was, with him.
  'It's about Llew.' He looked at her then. 'You must have some care for the lad. He is, nearly 16 of your years now. Soon, he will be a man.'

'How time flies in the Other World,' Em stated flatly.
  'Indeed.' Gwydion began sifting sand through his fingers, watching the tan and silver streams glisten as they fell.
'There is...something I must tell you. We will speak together now as equals. As if I were more human, and as if you were more...otherworldly.' He glanced her way.

'All right.' Em decided it was easier, quicker to simply go along to get along before this meeting could end.

  'In your world, you have ever created the gods in your image. Oh, yes. Not the other way round.' Gwydion grimaced and dusted the sand from his fingers. 'Yes. You create thought-forms, and the more "faith" and "belief" you emote before them, the stronger and more solid these gods become. Do you follow?'

Emlyn did, oddly enough.
  'Yes, I have actually thought something along those lines myself. Archetypes, they are.'

'Just so.' Gwydion sat up, gazing out to sea once more. 'You create your reality much more than you people realise; in your thoughts, in your words, you make your world. And, sometimes, over the years, decades, centuries, if they should last so long, these tales of the gods become legend and even scripture.' He sighed, and put a hand to his forehead. 'We are, in fact, your slaves.'                                                                         

Em laughed. She couldn't help herself. 'Oh? Somehow it seemed rather the opposite. To us.'

Gwydion said nothing. For a change. It didn't last.
  'Let us walk,' he said at last, and stood, holding a hand to her.
  Emlyn figured she had to see this charade to its end. She took his hand and allowed him to pull her up. He gazed into her eyes briefly, the first he had truly acknowledged her.
Then he looked back out to sea and let her hand go free. They began walking.

'There is such a legend, which features Llew,' he began, 'at about the age he is now, he becomes involved with a being, a girl, Blodeuwedd. I fashion for him from flowers, the loveliest creature on the sweet earth, to fall in love with. This he does. She, on the other hand, betrays him and together with her paramour, whom she favors above our dear Llew, does him to death in a rather horrible fashion.'

Emlyn ceased her walk. 'But that is terrible! Surely this does not have to be!'

Gwydion halted beside her. He turned and stared at her. 'It does. It is. It is Legend.'
  Em could not fathom this. 'But, the old gods are rarely thought of nowadays. This, old tale, and the power of it, have waned, though!'

'You've not read your Mabinogion.' Then Gwydion, oddly, began to laugh. 'Oh, to be free to be thus! To be able to do as one wilt...' He stared at the sand, slowly shaking his head. 'No Emlyn. It will be so. It is already happening. I can do nothing to stop it. It is not my Role, you see. I, have been writ otherwise.' He put a hand upon her arm. 'However, an outside agent, someone in your world, might influence legend into resolving a different outcome.'

Emlyn gazed about her. Was this true? Oh, why was she suddenly called upon to untangle so many Things of Emergent Import from all quarters?
  'Of course...if I can help, I will.' Emlyn regretted her words as soon as she said them. 'I don't see how I could not but try. I do care for Llew and only wish that, I could have had more...influence.'

'You have more influence than you know.' Gwydion narrowed his gaze at her, looking through her, as it were. 'You have access, shall we say, to a certain Sanctuary. There, even the Twyleth Teg may remain out of the way of Legend.'

Truly? Em could not imagine what 'sanctuary' she could offer.
  'I still don't see --'
   Gwydion interrupted: '-- You are still in touch with your, friend, Van Horn, yes?'
  'Daryl?' Em was surprised. She knew Gwydion knew of Daryl; it had been from under Daryl's very nose that he had spirited her away that fateful Winter Solstice Ball so many years ago.

'Indeed. I was, in my Role. As with many other things.' Gwydion mouth was set tight. 'The large estate in the eastern province of Massachusetts? You have access there?'
  Ah. THAT "Sanctuary".
 'Well, yes, I do. But Daryl is still the owner and keeper of the keys, as it were. The entire matter would be up to him, not  me.'

'Whatever is necessary, it must be done,' said the god-slave in that same imperious manner he'd always had. Gwydion suddenly took her arms and addressed her fully. 'It is a place of refuge from time. For Llew's sake, don't let this tale become the death of him! You needn't be there. Simply allow him to stay there, safe. Emlyn, his fate is in your hands. Please.'

He looked at his wit's end with this, Em thought. Well, if all it meant was to allow the lad access to the old place, surely that wasn't such a trial to bear.
  'How long?' She asked.
  'How long, what?' Gwydion frowned.
  Em sighed. Gods: they were truly sans clue sometimes. 'How long must Llew stay hidden?'

She saw his shoulders relax and he sighed softly. 'Thank you, cariad. It is a grand favour you do us.  I will keep watch on things in the Otherworld. Our streams of time run divergent. I will let you both know when everything is safe for his return.'

He didn't know when, she realised. Well, it was the least she could do, she supposed. 'All right. But this is all rather sudden! You must give me time. I do not know where Daryl is, I have to see to things first...'

'You will have the time you need.' Gwydion smiled then. He was a handsome god-slave, still, she had to admit. He bent and kissed her forehead. 'Look for me!' He held out his arms and then began to spin round and round, causing a whirlwind about him...soon he was disappeared.
   Emlyn then saw the mist begin to thicken about her and when she was enfogged completely, she felt herself begin to fall, slowly...

An abrupt jerk brought her awake in bed.
  She sat up, rubbing her forehead. She remembered her dream, all too well. She knew that hoping it was Only A Dream was futile.
  So much for her relaxing return to the countryside.

 CLICK BELOW TO LISTEN!  Robin Williamson's                                                                       
Gwydion's Song to Lleu

 by Emerald Rose
------------

Chapter 29 - A Call to Arms

Shadowing means to have such a light touch, such a light tread, that one can move freely through the forest, observing without being observed.

A wolf shadows anyone or anything that passes through her territory.  It is her way of gathering information. It is the equivalent of manifesting and then becoming like smoke, and then manifesting again.

Wolves can move ever so softly.  The sound they make is in the manner of los angeles timidos, the shyest angels. First they fall back and shadow...Then, all of a sudden, they appear ahead, peeking half-face with one golden eye from behind a tree.  Abruptly, the wolf turns and vanishes in a blur of white ruff and plumed tail, only to backtrack and pop up behind...that is shadowing.

Clarissa Pinkola Estes, Ph.D.
Women Who Run With the Wolves

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

The Indian came closer, his arms and legs seeming almost jointless. 'Shapeshifter,' he whispered. 'Please tell me your secret.' 
   To calm the man, Bob sat firmly down on his haunches.

'Think what it would mean to my people, shapeshifter.' The Indian squatted before Bob, his hands open and pleading. 'We Indians could change into wolves, foxes and deer, and we could go back into the forest!'

Bob was ashamed of himself when the notion of simply trotting off flashed through his mind. Bob could not say why, but his deepest instincts, wolf and human, were telling him to do this, to leave and run into the wild.


He did run, farther and farther...toward afternoon it began to snow. He ran as much toward the wilderness as he did from his family and former life.

He heard the flakes hiss on the hemlock boughs, felt them snap cold on his nose. As he ran the world changed from the last of autumn to the first of winter, and all memories, all desires, were covered with a kindness of snow. There was something in his soul that was urging him north.

He mounted a ridge. From here there was a view for miles. The St. Lawrence glimmered in the northern distance a jagged tumble of ice. Far to the south rose the Adirondacks.

And right there, at the end of Ontario Street stood a big black timber wolf. No doubt about it, they'd come down from Canada because the winter had been so hard.

Bob was torn, his heart ached, and when a wolf's heart aches, he is as inspired as when he is joyful or lonely, and he howls, forming with his tongue and lips the music of The Wild.

Whitley Strieber
The Wild

- - - - - - - -

                                                                            

 Daryl stood in the fall-leaf-mounded fields and gazed with jaundiced eye upon the grand grey pile beyond, which resembled nothing so much as a rather gaudy mausoleum to him now; or perhaps a great squatting toad cast in concrete and stone.

'What manner of ego-maniacal madman and pompous ass created that monstrosity?' Daryl murmured to himself, feeling like smacking himself upside the head as he did so, for indeed, he had been that very madman.

Daryl was arrived at last, back on native soil...thinking to himself that at least he had some Indian blood, and so felt at home here in the states as well as across the border in Grandmother's Land.
  'To hell with the bloody borders of white men,' he said to himself, thinking: 'bloody' being the operative word here.

Massachusetts. Home, of sorts...only sometimes. Never now.

He had disembarked from the nearest coach stop, and had decided to hike the remaining distance to his old stomping grounds and, more importantly, to the gatehouse and Athena.

He wasn't disobeying orders to stay out of the old mansion house he'd once built in a manic fit of hubris and poor taste. He had no wish to go near the place, much less within it -- too many memories, too much like bad dreams to him now.

He turned his back on the great hulk of a folly, and let his boots take him cross country, past the still lake, alive with creatures small and great; dragon and damselflies danced over the water, redwing blackbirds and the odd loon traded calls. This, he thought, is the real treasure: the wild lands.
                                                                                 

Daryl was thus relieved to have escaped from St.John's political machinations and the stress of forced travel, (Daryl was loath to admit having been a victim of 'abduction'.) He was becoming giddy despite or because of his long hours on the road.

Gad, but what a relief it was to be free! Out in the woods, hearing bird song...free of people and crowds, loud voices and argument. Squirrels chittering and chasing each other seemed the loudest contingent in the forest. Squirrels he could handle.


As he moseyed onward, the trees closed about him giving him the feeling of a blanket of protection. He welcomed the dark woods; his friends pine and spruce, alder, maple, cottonwood, hemlock and birch. He felt a regular coureur de bois.
                                                                     

He watched his booted feet pad along the trail mulched with evergreen needles and was beginning to feel anchored in his body again at last. He paused, eyes closed, and breathed in the intoxicating scent of fall leaves and forest floor. Utter bliss. He sighed softly and resumed his hike.

Good boots, a settled stomach, knees and hips that still worked well enough; indeed he had all he needed within. When his back was not attacking him, true. Still, to hell with the world of men and machines! For a good long while, he hoped.
  '"What would the world be once bereft of wet and wildness?"' Daryl quoth G.M. Hopkins to himself, as he leaned over and found a just-right walking stick to aid him on his hike.

As he traveled onward he hoped, too, that Athena was home. If not, he could sleep in the stable overnight. Perhaps even run into Manuel there, checking on the horses. Wouldn't be the first time he'd resorted to a hay and horse blanket bed. Probably not his last.
  The man with the mansion on the hill, felt no qualms about sharing a horse blanket in the hay. 'Good enough for Jesus!' he snorted with a laugh.


As much as he enjoyed a walk in the woods, he did notice, suddenly, that the birds were oddly quiet, even the nutty squirrels had settled down to silence.
   He stopped a moment, checked behind him. It wasn't a feeling of being watched, exactly, but he didn't feel like whistling.

He turned and resumed his stroll a ways, then whipped quickly about.
  Ah. Was that the fleeting brush of a white tail? Behind that tree? Daryl gazed slowly around him. Were it a deer, the birds et al would not silence their song.

Daryl picked up his pace; laissez faire meandering no longer suited him. Surely he would be at the gatehouse soon...

Could have been a wolf, he finally decided. He wasn't unduly concerned; usually a lone wolf on patrol would not attack a man in the full flush of a warm fall day. Daryl had noticed deer, and the brush of a fox tail as he hiked; the woods were not lacking in other than human meat. Not now. Were it a wolf pack in winter, well, that was something else again. But a curious wolf was someone Daryl didn't mind sharing the woods with.
 -- Briefly.
................
                                                          

 Shannon looked at Emlyn, her eyes sympathetic, yet mixed with exasperation. 'How the divvil did you get intoxicated? 'Tis but apple cider!'
  She took Em by the arm, hauling her upstanding.

Emlyn ran a hand over her forehead, lifted high her chin and addressed Shannon in her best lady-of-the-manor-ese:
  'I, do not drink!' She informed her. 'Much.'
She frowned. 'It's gotten away from me, somehow...all that cider since noon...not used to it...bit tipsy is all.'

'No doubt they planned it, aye,' Shannon declared, scenting conspiracy. 'Let's get ya awa' from here, luv.'

'How?' Emlyn inquired, stopping.

'You'll be coming along w'us, the Bards and me. Plenty of room in the waggon. We'll get ya home to Missus Murphy's, nivver ya fear...'

'No, Shannon,' Em slowly shook her head. 'I must have a reason to be, ah...exiting with you. It would seem odd, after such fine hospitality on the Kidd's part, not to be staying. We don't want to offend Jeanne.' She slowed up. 'And, they may get suspicious.'

'Right...' Shannon swiveled her head, gazing about them. 'Unless -- ah, there he is!' She grabbed hold of Em and hustled her along. 'Did ya not notice the fine Welsh bass player with the Bards now? Dylan, he is. Come meet him!'
                                                                                

'Aye...' Emlyn had noticed, but she'd been rather too anxious and worried to think much on it. 'Oh, I'm hardly in a state to be meeting a new man!'
  Especially after seeing ghosts of Welsh faeries past.

Shannon ignored this. 'As far as the Kidds know, you and Dylan are now quite matey. That's the reason for your desertion! All's fair in love...'

Shannon took Emlyn behind the stage where the Bards enjoyed their own wee break area and a cider cask, all theirs as well, compliments of lord of the manor and misrule, Alex Kidd. There they hid out while Shannon apprised Allyn of their plan and the reason for it.
 
She also sent Dylan over to see to Em.
  'Would you like some cold water, lass?'

Emlyn sat on the back of the stage, leaning against the barn wall and was near to dozing when she was aware of someone beside her. 'Oh! Ta, thank you, ah, Dylan, is it?'

'Dylan of the Waves, that's me.' He smiled and sat beside her, handing her a cold jar.

Em returned his smile, and sipped.
  'Emlyn.' She shook his hand and looked up in study of  him now, taking time to take in her new 'friend'.

A fine Welshman indeed, she decided; dark curls ringed his face, which seemed to have had more miles of smiles etched upon his features than frowns. Light hazel eyes that crinkled at the corners. He seemed a bit older than the rest of the Bards, perhaps mid-to-late 30's or so?

'So, did you enjoy the ceilidh, then?' Dylan asked, seating himself beside her.

'Very much. Is it over already?' Em thought she must have dozed off longer than she'd earlier surmised.
  Dylan nodded. 'We're all packed up. Be heading out soon. Did you bring a shawl? It may get cool in the open waggon.'

Em truly could not recall. Jeanne had hurried her off so fast, it had been more of an abduction. 'I don't believe I do,' she frowned.

Dylan shed himself of his jacket, settling it over her shoulders. 'Fear not, for I am a gentleman and can help to keep us both warm if I may sit with you, traveling home.'
   He slipped an arm about her shoulders as well.
  'Jethro and I will be staying the night in Arcadia.'

Emlyn was delighted at how things were working out. She had not foreseen such a fine and serendipitous ending to such a mad, confounding day...
  'That would be lovely,' she allowed.
                                                                         

  Shannon approached then, carrying a large pumpkin and set it down. 'Don't let me forget that!' She smiled, hands on hips. 'Jeanne said we're all free to take home the punkins, they've a bumper crop. She and Alex have returned to the house...so, Em, ready to beard the lion in his den?'

Emlyn hauled herself upwards, noting then how very tired she was now, having been running on adrenaline and nerves all night. 'Bears in den… Let's get this over with and be off. I am ready to drop!'  Em was actually. Losing altitude.

'I'm right here with you.' Shannon took her arm. 'We'll be back directly!' She called to Dylan over her shoulder, 'Meet up at the waggon.'
  Dylan nodded, and hefted her pumpkin.

Shannon took Emlyn back toward the house, noticing less folk here with the hour no doubt becoming quite late.   'Tis nearly three in the a.m.' Shannon yawned, tired as well.
   Emlyn held onto Shannon's arm with both hands.  

“….The Hour of the Wolf,' she intoned, as if prophesying.

'Oh, let us hope not! We've enough to think about.' Shannon slowed as they approached the veranda. 'I've an idea...let's just go quietly about the place and see what we can see first, eh?'

Em shrugged herself into Dylan's tweed jacket, liking the scent of it; like wild forest wind and a bit of wood smoke. She crouched low behind Shannon as they crept along the veranda, listening and peeking into windows, making a circuit of the house.

They came at last onto the large French windows and Em grasped Shannon's skirt to slow her.
  'Easy here,' she whispered. I can hear them all talking inside. Let's try to find out what's going on.'

She sidled closer to Shannon and they knelt upon the porch boards and leaned in as close as they dared to the open doors.
                                                                           

Emlyn risked a peek inside and was astounded at what she beheld:
   Alex was standing at his 'great muckle table' addressing a group of the local landowners and a few  politicians and businessmen from Pankhurst and environs, Jeanne sitting at his side in rapt attention.

They all were attired with gold sashes worn diagonally across the chest, embroidered with tiny royal blue fleur de lis and with a white rosette pinned at the top. Alex was waxing fervent, waving arms and fists. Aright distraction, thought Em.

Shannon crept to the open doors and held up a hand, listening. Em hovered over her shoulder intent upon Alex's rousing rhetoric.

'We stand at the brink of a new tomorrow and a new world, ours for the taking of it, if we but dare!' He would have chewed scenery if he but had haddock. He gazed about the table with hawk-like intensity, cliché like and piratesque, focused upon his prey.
  'For is not this New World, OUR world, eh? Did not the Sinclair discover this land of ours long before that laggard Columbus? We can join with our brothers to the north, and together create a true Nova Scotia, a New Scots Land! No longer under the thumb of antiquated British laws, rules and custom! And our relations back in our motherland in Scotland, will flock to our shores, far beyond the reach of British royals and such nonsense; knowing that here, HERE! -- is true freedom, liberty and equality, which is our birthright, at last!
  '"Man was born free and he is everywhere in chains!"' He shouted; the crowd of fired-up Jacobites roared assent.

Shannon turned round to Em, and rolled her eyes. She'd seen and heard enough already. Silently, grabbing Em's arm, she lead her away. They snuck back down the porch and only when they were hastening back to the barn did they dare to even breathe. It reeked of ego even here.

'Good goddess, save us!' Shannon waved an arm. 'The blighted wee bugger is quoting Rousseau of all things! 'Tis much worse than I thought...'

Emlyn did not know what to think. It all seemed so unreal. Were they truly planning an uprising? She pulled Dylan's jacket tight about her and counted herself lucky to be escaping into the night.
   Being close with Jeanne now could get tricky for them. And dangerous. She thought of all that weaponry that Alex kept here. She'd no doubt that he had the ways and means to see this uprising to its bloody end.
   Whatever that was.

Did he even know?

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

'Home at last.'
    Daryl paused as the gatehouse finally came into view.
He realised how true that felt to him now; Athena's wee cottage had always seemed more like a home to him than, that other.

Sunset here in the fall, maples glowing a radiant crimson, a more perfect setting one could not imagine. Daryl sighed deeply. He felt happy, and sad at once. It seemed like an age since he'd been here sharing tea and a chat with his Athena. For it was that way with him; she was his dear friend and they belonged to one another, always. He would never forsake her, and he hoped that she felt the same.

Gods but he'd forgotten how much he loved that sacred circle of an old friendship. Few indeed could he count on thus; few who knew his past, their shared past, and all the trials they'd weathered together.

He hurried this last leg of the long journey, hoping so that she'd be home. He would wait for her, naturally, if not. But he was so in need of her presence, to reassure himself that the goddess was in her heaven and all was right with their small world...

Standing at last outside her wooden door, thick as half a tree trunk, he rapped upon it and stood back, feeling a giddiness of anticipation like butterflies in his stomach.

Nothing was heard for some time, he turned about, noting that the sun was nearly set and Venus risen, and raised his hand to rap again, when suddenly the door opened to reveal:
-- a half-naked tattooed man with long braids to his waist!
                                                                                 

Daryl was dumbfounded, to say the least.

.........
CLICK BELOW TO LISTEN!
Wha’ll be King but Cherlie?

Chapter 28 - Free At Last?

The intuitive mind is a sacred gift and the rational mind is a faithful servant. We have created a society that honors the servant and has forgotten the gift.

Albert Einstein

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

Many native traditions held clowns and tricksters as essential to any contact with the sacred...Humans had to have tricksters within the most sacred ceremonies for fear that they forget the sacred comes through upset, reversal, surprise. The trickster in most native traditions is essential to creation, to birth.

Byrd Gibbens

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

"Nicolas Gode, Jean de Saint Pere and a servant, Jacques Noel, were murdered and decapitated by the sauvages...The sauvages took the head of Saint Pere because he had beautiful hair.

"A few days later, we were told that the hairless head was following the sauvages and was talking to them! This head was saying, 'you believe you hurt us, but you sent us to paradise instead!'

"Other people insisted that the head could really talk and that the sauvages saw it more than once."

Les escrits de Mere Bourgeoys
Congregation Notre Dame de Montreal
(Autobiography: St Margeurite Bourgeoys)

...........

The owl of Minerva only takes flight as dusk begins to fall.

GWF Hegel
Philosophy of Right
                                                                                     

                                                                                                                                       

A couple more days into their trip, and Daryl had noticed more signs of city life and less eternal stretches of farm and ranch land. He found St.John in the dining car, as usual, and explained to him that he had a great headache and wished only to lie down and sleep a while back in his bunk at the sleepers.

'No more, eh, medication, now!' St.John warned. 'We are nearly come to our destination. A few hours or so more, is all.'

Assuring his comrade captor that he'd need only a few winks, Daryl went in back of the train and after speaking to the conductor, (en Francaise, to which the man replied in kind), had learned that Manitoba was long gone and indeed, they were now nearly through Ontario and heading toward Quebec!

Daryl had to shake off his lethargy and quickly kick his somnolent brain matter into action.

Luckily they hadn't yet reached the capitol although Ottowa was fast approaching. After inquiring whether there was a stop prior to Ottowa, he was informed that, oui, there was a junction at North Bay where the lines connected and many would be departing south for Toronto.
   Here, Daryl decided, would be his departure point as well. Where to apres' North Bay, he'd no idea...but that, he felt, was his least worry at the moment. Making a break for it, was his only thought.
-- IF, indeed, he could.

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

'Music! -- maestro,  please!'

Alexander stepped down from the makeshift stage in the big Clydesdale barn, (well-pleased and well-lubricated), as he'd announced the Bards, (with whom everyone was already well-acquainted), and taking Jeanne's hand, swung her merrily onto the 'dance floor' which had been swept nearly clean of hay for the festivities.

Festive it seemed indeed; corn dollies decorated the corners and big wooden beams above, pumpkins and sunflowers, gourds and apples abounded with profusion throughout the barn, grounds and 'hoose'.

And naturally, where there were apples, there was also apple cider; hard cider for the adults, and also the nefarious applejack, which had somehow snuck onto the scene...
  Bobbing for apples was ongoing, popular with the younger crowd, as was popping corn, pumpkin carving, and young boys chasing little girls with tossed horse biscuits, leading to the girls firing volleys of their own after fashioning makeshift slingshots from their stockings. Fun for the whole family...
                                                                     

But most of the action was now at the big barn where music and dance held center court.
  Emlyn had taken her turn at a jig or twa, but was keeping watch out for Shannon, who had not yet made an appearance. She had been told that yes, Shannon was indeed here, or there, somewhere, Em looked...but the slippery celt had yet to be found.

Finally, when the Bards at last took a wee cider break, Em returned to the barn to find Shannon at last, head to head in deep discussion with Allyn, the Bard's fiddle, guitar and mando player and Jeanne's former sweetheart...

She was making her way toward them when she found herself blocked by the formidable form of her old friend, Jethro, who was also backing the Bards on guitar.
   'Could this be a ghost? Or only Emlyn?' He asked, one eyebrow raised in enquiry.

Em smiled and hugged Jethro, feeling that old comfort of his warm embrace.
   'It's good to see you, too,' she began, 'I know, I have been rather invisible of late.'
   'Only a few years...' Jethro sighed. 'But, let me guess: you've been busy.'
                                                                   

This was not a new topic for them, she knew. But, life goes on, with and without.
   'I have. How is Jack then, and Homer? I haven't seen them here.'
   'They are both..."busy".' Jethro replied dryly. Em glared. Jethro sighed again. 'And where is your, ah, friend, Daryl?'

Em had no idea. She hoped he was safe at home at Nob Hill House.
   'I, suppose he is in the City. I haven't seen him, in, some time.' She hoped that would be the end of it. She looked around her.    'Quite the party...' She deftly dodged a flying horse biscuit, and smiled up at Jethro. 'Do you know Alexander well, then?'

Jethro shot her an odd look. 'I? I know the man not. I am merely the hired entertainment.' He frowned down at her. 'Plenty of where-with-all, he seems to have, though.' He gazed about the barn in all its spacious opulence.
  'Sean has had some dealings with him. Fetching this or that new bit of furniture, or statue, treasure, trinket or prize...' Jethro's voice was dripping some tell-tale sour grapes, bethought Em. He seemed to draw himself up tall then and asked, 'So! What brings you down from Nob Hill, then?'

'Actually,' Em answered cooly, 'I am back at Mrs. Murphy's now. I just recently caught up with Shannon, and Jeanne.' It was now Em's turn to frown.'I only just discovered that Jeanne was newly married.' She watched as Jeanne and Alex were chatting up folk Em recognised as local landowners about. 'Things...seemed to have happened rather fast.'

A 'humph' and a sniff from Jethro, then, 'Allyn would agree.' He nodded, to where Allyn and Shannon were seated upon a hay bale together in rear of the 'stage'.
  'But, it seems that he and Shannon have sommat in common now.'

'"The enemy of my enemy is my friend?"' Em inquired.
  Jethro only smiled. 'Looks like break time is about over. Cider, Em?' He took her elbow and they joined the crowd round the cider barrel. Handing her a cup, he raised his drink on high, 'To old friends,' he toasted.
  'To old friends,' she rejoined, and they drank deep.

'Well, back to work!' Jethro, oddly, bussed Em a peck on the cheek, then betook himself to the stage. She watched him go, with mixed emotions: pleasure at seeing him again, annoyance with his cynical put-downs of what he considered her and others' 'high and mighty' ways, and regret, that he still felt  he remained on the periphery always... She shook her head slowly. Damn handsome man, always was. But, after growing up alongside, she could only see him as a friend.

Enough of what used to be, she told herself. Allyn had returned, fiddle in hand, to the bandstand, and now she could catch up with Shannon, if she was quick on her feet.

-- But what was this? Em stopped short. No. Couldn't be, she assured herself.
   For what she thought she beheld, like Jethro, she hoped was only a ghost. Tall, dark hair, dressed in silver and black, a dark man, ("dubh" as the celts say), yet seeming to have a glow or aura about him; there, stalking the shadows...could it be? It was -- Gwydion.

He caught her gaze and held it briefly. Then suddenly, Dracula-like (she had seen the stage play!), he lifted his cape over himself and seemed to disappear.

Oh, this did not bode well.

It had been...years! Yes, long years since she'd even thought of the Trickster God.  She thought that she now was free at last of his influence!  At the time of their...association, she had not been aware of that particular aspect of the wizard of the Tylyth Teg. She had been ensorcelled completely. So much so, that they had (somehow) had a child together, Llew.

Emlyn had (how?) had this child without her knowledge; some physical aspect of herself had been captured by the wizard, nurtured by him, and grown into a bonnie young boy.
   This, more than anything, had hardened her heart against Gwydion.
So unfair to the lad, she had no way to even reach Llew! He lived with his 'father' in the Other World. She had, finally, simply schooled her mind to not think on this, ever.

And now, here he was, her dark nemesis...
'"To old friends'" indeed.' She could have spit.

At that point:
'Emlyn!' Shannon called, waving, as the Irish colleen leapt gracefully from the stage onto hay bales, eventually reaching Em's side with a wry grin.
   'Well met, Cambria!'
                                                                          

...........

A torrent of French swept Daryl away with the crowd which had disembarked from the train at North Bay.
  'We are resolument not in Kansas anymore...' he murmured to himself, as he tried to slouch over and obscure his height whilst scuttling, he hoped inconspicuously as possible, along with the other travelers who fanned off into streams heading for other trains, carriages, waggons...

He followed along behind a couple he'd overheard and were indeed taking the train from Toronto to Buffalo, and oui! -- there was a large carriage awaiting at the front of the depot en route south to Toronto.
                                                                  

    After arguing, en Francaise and Anglaise, with the coachman over whether room could be spared or not, with the proffer of filthy lucre finally deciding the matter, Daryl squeezed his lengthy frame into the rear of the coach at last.

Only after they made their way beyond the town proper and were firmly en route, did Daryl allow himself to relax a bit. He remained slouched in his seat however, but stretched his legs somewhat and sighed with relief.

How in the devil had he gotten to eastern Canada from his familiar digs in San Francisco? He groaned inwardly...apparently being grounded still left him at the mercy of the spirits of trans-continental travel, (the hard way), whether he liked it or no.

The coach rattled on southward, and at a convenient rest stop, Daryl emerged and changed his seating outside and up onto the rear bench which, when the weather was agreeable, and one wasn't being stalked by a mad martinet, was a much preferred roost where one could stretch out.

The travelers quickly resumed their trek and just as Daryl was beginning to relax a bit, he spied to his left, a tall man attired in buckskin and furs, who was walking along with a large dog away in the fields along the road.

By his long dark braids, Daryl assumed the man was a Native of First Nations people. Although, as he drew closer, he saw that he bore many more tattoos than was usual amongst tribes he knew. Also, his dog, now closer, had come to resemble more of a wolf.

Something else caught his eye then; something in the sky, a rather large bird of some kind. Daryl narrowed his gaze and noticed it seemed too rounded for the sleek body of a hawk, though not as large as an eagle, and it was quite pale...had to be an owl, he guessed.
                                                                             

The bird circled closer, seemingly drawn to the Indian man, who then raised his be-leathered arm and offered a haunting call...
  Gracefully, the owl floated onto the man's arm, who then stroked the bird with a large feather. A snowy owl, it seemed, though quite large.

Just as Daryl was going by, both man and owl stopped and turned to look directly at him. No, he did not imagine this; they both stared fixedly at him, remaining rooted where they stopped, until Daryl could view them no more.
  What had he just been musing upon but 'spirits of travel'?
  For some reason, the owl probably, he thought of Athena and wondered about her. Massachusetts was not that far from Toronto...

He sighed. He really, really needed to just have some time out, alone. To think. For a good long while.
-- or so he hoped.
..............

Emlyn put a good face on things and welcomed Shannon with a hug.
  'It's good to see you here.' She meant that. She needed a friend now; enemies before and behind...

'Ah, well...' Shannon sighed softly. 'It is good to see everyone. No matter where.'

Em stepped back, looking intently upon her celtic sister. 'You and Allyn, then?' Her eyes went to stage front, as the Bards took their places and began tuning up, Allyn on fiddle and Jethro as wingman on guitar. Easy on the eye, the pair of them.

'And what if it were?' A feisty flash of the old Shannon there, green eyes sparking.
    Em spoke gently.'Just so it is himself you are genuinely interested in. Jeanne, you know, really shouldn't mind.' And the lad has had enough grief, she didn't add.
   'Of course!' Shannon looked down. 'I must admit, we're both a bit raw from Jeanne, as it were...'
   Perhaps she did feel for the man, then, Em conceded.

'We have to talk.' Emlyn looked about for a quiet corner.
  'What, now?' Shannon balked, then studied Em's face, rather white and drawn. 'Oh, aye...let's take some cider with us then.'

Armed with ciders the two women exited the barn and strode over to the cooking fires where there were fewer folk.
  'This'll do,' Shannon plopped upon a hay bale and gazed at the fire now burning down to coals. 'A fine soft evenin' it 'tis...' she sighed, gazing up at the stars shining betwixt the tendrils of creeping fog, lending a haunting air to the autumn night.

'That it is,' replied Em, taking a long draught of cider. The smell of wood smoke, roasting victuals, fall leaves, apples and corn husks...mingled with the sound of celtic gypsy airs, dance and laughter upon the wind, made Emlyn wish her heart were not so blue this harvest moon.
                                                                                       

 'To Sisterhood!' Shannon's toast took her by surprise.
'Aye, to Sisterhood!' Em drank deep, but it wouldn't drive away the devil from the door.

'So, then,' Shannon nudged her. 'Why am I here with you instead of dancing my fanny free and having a time back at the barn?'

Emlyn didn't answer right away. She was staring into the fire, looking far away. Then she finished off her cider and said, 'You were right, Shannon. And wrong.' She paused, noting Shannon's "Oh, really?" look...
  'You mean...about Alexander.' Shannon confirmed.
  'Yes.' Em leaned back on her hay bale. 'As to their fanatical devotion to the church, or even Christianity, oh, you were decidedly wrong there.' She fixed Shannon with a gimlet eye. 'They've a much more dangerous mania.'

Shannon frowned. 'All right. Well? Let's have it.'
Shaking her head, Em sat up and rubbed her forehead, trying to clear her thoughts. 'It's just, this mad obsession, really!' She looked at her Triad sister.
    '-- With feinriaghladh!'
   'Home rule?' Shannon frowned harder. 'For Scotland, ya mean?'

Em couldn't sit. 'Aye, yes! And, oh, Shannon...' She began to pace, (much like Daryl, if only she could see herself), 'Shannon, do you still have the mobile unit that I gave you?'

The blank look on Shannon's face unsettled Em.
  Then Shannon stood and faced her, with a look of comprehension and fear that filled in that blank.
  'O my dear Bridget, Ceredwen and Pan!' Shannon slowly began to shake her head. 'You don't mean it! Oh the devvil take it now -- ya'll not be tellin' me that the lethchiallachs think that YOU'LL be takin' them back in time! To win one for Scutland and the wee Bunny Prince?!'

Emlyn couldn't help herself; upon hearing Shannon's brogue cranked on high with the 'Bunny' Prince, she began to laugh and then tears began to run. 'I think I'm tired, and sligth-ly hysterical...'
Em sat down.'...eh, perhaps a wee bit drunk now as well.'
   She leaned forward, hand on knee, leaning head in hand. Em gazed up at an incredulous Shannon. 'But yes, sister, that's exactly what I mean!'
                                                                         

CLICK BELOW TO LISTEN! Neil Young's Harvest Moon - Live
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=n2MtEsrcTTs