Albert Einstein
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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
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"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!'
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=n2MtEsrcTTs
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