William of Montevergine (1085 - 1142) was a hermit, who, after miraculously curing a blind man, fled the crowds flocking to him by moving to the summit of a desolate mountain. After gathering a number of disciples around him, William founded the Benedictine Monastery of Montevergine.
William is portrayed in art with a wolf by his side. Legend has it that while he was in the mountains, a wolf mauled his donkey, which was his only means of transport. William solved the crisis by making the wolf his new beast of burden.
Michael Foley
Drinking With the Saints
A Sinner's Guide to a Holy Happy Hour
..........
I, Ghost Wolf, am merely the messenger. I am the Wolf. It takes a Wolf Teacher to bring the message through in this most decadent of times. This is the Coyote Moon, and the trickster is everywhere. Because one has dark skin, or light skin, or wears an Eagle Feather or a Swan Feather...it is all a matter of heart. Where is your heart? To know freedom is to allow freedom, to know the feeling of choice is to allow choice. It takes the courage of a Wolf to stand before the world and say, "Come to the Dance. I have heard the call and it is time for this Dance."
Robert Ghost Wolf
Winds of Change
.......
Daryl needed to find a hotel, quick.
He'd managed to get through the night, he and Em together on Athena's folding sofa, in chaste companionship, both too weary for anything but a goodnight kiss and sleep, (neither had expected anything more) but he was now anxious for a room of one's own; away from eyes and ears of others where he could, at long last, mercifully fall apart.
He and Athena had ridden in together on her great blue-grey star horse, of the celestial star-dappled coat, Templar-style: two on one mount. The day was fog-enveloped and seemed to muffle their movement along the trail, the fog seeping in on them, leaving them mushroom-slick with dewy chill.
She had left him at the coach-stop, wished him luck and gave him a kiss and a bag of pumpkin muffins, cheese and apples. And a thermos of hot tea, bless her. This he would have to keep to himself, a thermos being a rare sight in this timespace and no doubt an oddity of some speculation.
Daryl had noticed, however, that a great grey wolf had been shadowing them from the woods, all the ride there. But he'd kept his suspicions to himself as well.
The coach had deposited him near Lawrence, not far from Salem. Here was good a place as any, and he decided to settle upon a rooming house, nothing fancy, but clean. He'd insisted upon a ground floor room, in case leaving quickly by window became necessary...
Leaving instruction with his Quaker landlady not to be disturbed, citing exhaustion from travel, he paid for a week in advance, just to seal the deal at it were, and, finally, at long last, Daryl fell upon the bed in blissful, if stiff and sore, peace and quiet.
Alone at last. But still twitchy.
He eventually roused himself and poured some still-warm tea into the mug top, and then extracted a small brown bottle from his coat pocket. He knew he had to be alone to recover from what hell lay before him, whatever that may be.
He hadn't been too sure about what St.John had been drugging him with, possibly chloroform, judging from the chronic headache he'd had for days, as well as laudanum, but he'd had to ration what he had left so as to keep up the appearance of normalcy around others.
He wanted nothing more now than to rid himself of the drugs in his system, and that would take some time and doing. Slowly, rationing less and less day by day.
Sighing, he drank a wee bit, then corked the bottle, swallowing some tea. He knew his clothes were hanging off him now, after his long journeys and little food. Later. He could eat later.
After thrashing about the too small bed a while, Daryl gave it up. His mind raced, while his body ached with weariness. Typical; he knew how to torture Brother Ass as St.Francis so aptly named one's relationship to one's physical body. Daryl could think of some more apt descriptions.
Besides his fears of running into St.John and his merry minions, uppermost in his raging thoughts was the tale Em had related to him the evening before as they were settling down for the night; apparently her...eh, half-fey offspring, Llew, was coming to stay at Daryl's forsworn estate a while, to escape his predestiny.
So she said. So was she told. By Gwydion, the lad's fey father.
'"Tis a puzzlement,"' Daryl muttered to himself, as if he were the King of Siam. Well, the kid was welcome to it. If he could stand it there.
Oh, Daryl had read the Mabinogion. He knew of Llew's tale of woe once he falls in love with Bloudeuwedd.
A bit like Daryl's own tragedy, after he was consumed by the fires of ecstasy in excelsius of Anara; she of the flame-red hair and ice-cold heart, leaving him abandoned to the petite and now seemingly pale and utterly mundane and therefore, completely useless 'charms' of the all-too-depressingly human female companions here; left, like him, alone upon this ever-spinning planet of still-evolving dizzy apes. (Or mermaids, if Tales of Emlyn could be believed).
'Aaaagh!' Daryl sat up, causing his head to nearly explode with the pain. He rested a cold hand upon his forehead and breathed as gently as possible. Each exhale caused more pain in head. This new lesson in mortality was becoming more trouble than it was worth.
Not for the last time, he found himself wishing that Anara had simply blasted him into the netherworld, already.
Daryl gave up on sleep. He rebooted himself, (put on boots), and grabbed his coat. Off into the great beyond, past Mrs. Hornblower's Rooming House, he ventured.
(Or so Daryl had named her. He figured she'd been a sea captain's wife, from the brass telescope, barometer, sea scapes, and other nautical paraphernalia about the house as well. Also, she sported a fine pair of kipper lips, which Daryl was sure the captain had appreciated.)
Daryl sighed, staring out the window at the grey day with fishy musings. Perhaps some lobster stew would not go amiss. Good food, if he could keep it down, and perhaps a thick dark beer, if he could find it, might see him on his way off to Dreamland. Tonight. Hopefully. At some point.
If all goes well.
..............
Emlyn was off, duty bound, through the crunch and swish of fall leaves, heading back to The Mausoleum. Truly, that was the only name for it.
Everyone had exited from Athena's when she'd awakened. She'd found the teakettle still hot upon the cookstove, as well as fruit, muffins and a note from Daryl:
Off adventuring. I plan to head west soon. It was good to see you again. Take care, querida.
Love, D.
Hmm...
Emlyn knew from experience that Daryl loved her best from afar. And she, him? Quite possibly.
Although not looking forward to entering the...big house, as Wolf Star called it, she knew that she must. She wondered when, and how and where, exactly, she might find Llew...?
'The only way out is through,' she murmured to herself. Was that not Robert Frost? She was becoming rather absent-minded of late. This reminded her of Daryl; mon poor cherie...he had become so thin and haggard, his eyes looked haunted and had great dark rings about them.
Damn that St.John! What was going on with him, and with Alex and Jeanne's machinations? 'One bloody crisis at a time, girl,' she reminded herself.
And, no time like the present. May as well tackle all that cold marble now and get it over with.
.......
Nearly noon and the sun was making inroads on the fog. Emlyn steeled herself and entered through the front door, still mindful of the Rule: time walkers always abide by rules of propriety and good manners. In other words, knock first, or enter by the doorway. Do not surprise people by popping in on them unawares. Unless that was one's intention.
Hm. Not quite as freezing in here as she'd expected. Well, back to the library and make sure Llew would be comfortable there. Perhaps bring an extra pillow and comforter...
This she did, and opened the library doors. She found, then, that she was not alone.
A man unknown to her, with longish auburn hair, popped his head over the railing of the loft above.
'Oh. Hello.' He said.
'Hello?' Emlyn was nonplussed to say the least. Well, needn't wonder any longer when she'd run into Llew. Still holding the bedclothes to her, she walked slowly to the spiral staircase.
She stopped at the bottom and gazed up at the...man standing there. Somehow she'd expected a lad, still. Someone not quite so tall, so...grown up.
'Here, allow me...' Llew descended the stairs, light steps of his half-fey feet making no noise and relieved Em of her burden. He ventured a small smile then. 'We...have met before, you know.'
'Yes.' Emlyn barely recalled how Gwydion and Llew had tricked her into giving him arms and a naming.
Not something she'd wanted to remember. She coughed slightly, trying not to choke. 'You, have changed much, since then.'
A half-smile from Llew, as he turned and climbed up. She followed, slowly. Reaching the loft above, they faced one another. 'You still look just the same,' he told her, his grey-blue-green-hazel eyes seeming to change color when she tried to focus on him.
This made her rather dizzy and self-conscious in the small space. 'I brought you more bedding. It does become rather chill in this old place. And winter is coming.'
'Thank you.' He nodded a brief sort of bow to her, taking the blankets. 'I really don't feel the cold as do you. But I'm not as unfeeling as my father.'
Now there was a loaded statement, thought Em.
'I shall probably need them though, when winter comes, through the long nights.' Llew allowed.
Em was feeling dizzy again. 'I must, really...excuse me...' She swallowed her anxiety and tried not to shake as she sat upon the bed.
'Are you chilled now?' Llew was indeed, not as unfeeling as his father, she saw. He sat beside her, taking her hands and blew his warm faery breath upon them, smelling slightly of cinnamon.
Suddenly, warm wet tears began to flow unbidden down Em's cold cheeks.
'Oh, Llew. I'm so sorry,' she sputtered, hands groping about her pocket for a handkerchief. 'I so worried about you and wanted to, to be a part of your life, all this long while...'
Llew looked upon her as though she were the child and he the parent. He took a hanky from his sleeve, bearing the scent of rosemary, and dabbed her eyes.
'It's true, I'm quite grown now. But, you know, time isn't the same in the Otherworld. There is no time there. You, that is, human kind, brought time Here with you.'
Emlyn dried her eyes with the scented kerchief and suddenly this truth hit hard and was revealed to her like an epiphany.
.........
Daryl was just finishing his lobster bisque and crisp sourdough roll, watching the busy street outside the cafe window as he polished off a fine bock beer, with sediment of brewing still visible in the bottom. He sighed. He was feeling more human than he'd felt in days, (weeks? He wasn't sure).
Gods what a long, strange ride this has been, he bethought to himself. Watching the good folk of Lawrence go about their business along the street made him feel somehow part of the human family again, no longer captive of some madman's plot, a pawn and nothing more.
His shoulders relaxed from the tight bunch-up round his neck and his fingers unclenched. His stomach relaxed somewhat from the knot it had been in ever since this insanity had begun. He began to take slow deep breaths.
He shut his eyes a moment. Could he really allow himself to relax now? How he hoped so...
His eyes opened. He found himself studying a couple of men seated at a table in a tavern across the street. They seemed to be dressed like seafaring men visiting the town; pea coats, toques, bearded. Their eyes were on the table before them. What could they...then, Daryl noticed what drew their attention: chess pieces, upon the board.
Suddenly, as if feeling his eyes upon them, they both looked up and locked stares with Daryl.
Daryl's stomach reknotted itself and his fists clenched tight. This match was not yet over. He recognised these men from the Russian steamer.
Quickly leaving enough to cover meal and tip, Daryl simply up and barged through the kitchen behind the counter, ignoring the protests of the waitstaff and cooks and out the back door he flew as if the hounds of hell were after him...
As, perhaps they were.
...............
'And, this Wolf Star, you say? He is an actual Red Indian?' Llew walked backward through the autumn leaves, hands in pockets like any lad, addressing Emlyn who followed him down the trail to the gatehouse. After having given him the tour of the, mausoleum, she bethought it behooved her to introduce ah, Llew, to Athena and Wolf Star, his nearest and only neighbors.
'He is that,' and more, thought Em. Although just exactly what, was sommat beyond her presently. She'd enough to deal with in the tall, gangly personage of this auburn-haired half-faery "child".
He'd accepted a parka of Daryl's and fit his fay feet into some boots, but insisted he needed nothing more. He wasn't used to such cumbersome accoutrements as warm clothes, boots and such. He'd acquiesed merely to please Em. Having someone about to 'mother' him was a novelty of sorts, which he enjoyed. For now.
'In fact...' Em's gaze narrowed beyond Llew. 'If I'm not very much mistaken, this may be Athena and Wolf Star now.'
Llew whirled about-face.
For, indeed, heading their way appeared two figures, each holding something aloft. Upon closer study, one could confirm the presence of large birds perched upon the figure's forearms.
'Halloo! We were just coming to meet you.' Emlyn's gaze was locked onto the kestral gripping Athena's arm and the snowy owl which Wolf Star held, its yellow eyes studying her in turn.
After introductions were made, Wolf Star nodded to Athena and she hefted her kestrel skyward. She flew straight and high into the upper reaches and then soared aloft, wings stilled, catching the wind.
Wolf Star stood with his owl, stroking it's winter colored breast with a feather. He noticed Llew's eyes glued to himself and the bird.
'I use the feather to touch him, so that the special dander and oils on his feathers remains pristine. Otherwise, his flight would suffer.'
'He is magnificient!' Llew was clearly enjoying this visit to his Otherworld, which was our own.
'Would you care to hold him?' Wolf Star proffered his bird.
Llew's eyes went wide, as he held out his arm, which Wolf Star draped with a swatch of leather from his pouch. He then deposited the great white bird upon Llew.
'Oh! He is heavier than I'd thought.' Llew was enthralled. The bird seemed placid enough, and even closed his eyes, after ruffling his feathers a bit.
'He was up all night,' Wolf Star murmured.
'Birds have hollow bones. This aids their flight,' Athena turned round watching her kestral swoop and soar, whose attention was now trained on the ground, eyeing a field mouse, perhaps.
Wolf Star held out his arm and Llew returned his owl.
'Are you truly a Red Indian?' The faery lad inquired with ingenuous glee.
'Oh, Llew!' Em was feeling her first pangs of offspring-based embarrassment.
Wolf Star smiled a strange half smile. 'Quite possibly,' he answered. He murmured a word to the owl, which spread its wide wings and took flight.
Llew was oblivious to the social mores of humans. He grinned wide as his eyes scanned the skies, watching enrapt the birds in flight.
Then he turned back to Wolf Star. 'Where were you born then? Were you raised in an Indian Camp?'
Emlyn managed a strangled moan, putting a hand on Llew's arm and shaking her head. 'We don't -- you can't just --' she softly sputtered.
But Wolf Star answered gamely enough, 'I don't recall where I was born, or how I came to this earth. In part, I was raised by wolves. And monks.'
This seemed to be news to all.
'Monks.' Llew frowned in thought. 'Like the Orders of Druids.'
'Exactly,' smiled Wolf Star.
Oh, bless his little heathen heart, thought Em, smiling. How else would a Welsh faery think of monks?
'And wolves? Truly? Real wolves!?' Llew had found a new obsession in Wolf Star.
'Real wolves.' Wolf Star smiled wide, and his canine teeth seemed long and white indeed. Llew studied him closely with cheerful intensity.
'And the monks?'
A high pitched whistle from Wolf Star cut through the atmosphere, and both birds checked their flight and began to circle slowly back down.
'They are not far from here, actually. About twenty miles or so, as the owl flies.'
'You live a very interesting life, sir.' Llew decided.
'Yes.' Wolf Star, a being of few words. And a secret sackfull of phenomenal and extraordinary experience, it seemed.
........
On the run, again.
Daryl was furious at himself. Why, o why, had he forgotten who he was? Such a temptation, to fall into the trap of thinking oneself like any other man on the street. A man who could eat bread and drink beer without worry over Russian thugs, the holy graals of madmen and the machinations of incendiary miscreants.
'"...That I'd wings of a dove, I might fly away and be at rest."' Daryl puffed to himself, as he flew as best he could upon booted feet, far, farther into the woods, leading away from the gatehouse and estate, which lay
in the opposite direction. The last thing he wanted was to drag his dangers back to Emlyn and Athena.
He'd little idea of this part of the forest. Although he had journeyed about his lands and estate, there were fields afar in Massachusettes indeed, in these days of times past. Thick were the woods about him, having known little of hatchet and machete.
He'd fled along narrow deer trails for some hours now, as best he could manage, after a quick stop at the boarding house and tossing essentials into his duffle, which he wore as a makeshift backpack, sliding a shoulder into each handle.
'"And miles to go before I sleep"...' he grumbled to himself.
Autumn it was, and getting colder, Daryl noticed, when he'd slowed a bit. With an eye on the wan sun which hid behind foggy clouds, he also noted that the days were also becoming shorter. He guessed he had about 3 or 4 more hours left of daylight.
Still, he felt more secure here surrounded by thick forest than he would have had he attempted travel by any means about the crowded world of men. He'd slept rough before, it wasn't anything he feared unduly. A campfire and his warm coat, he'd survive.
But, he knew now, his back might not. His back would make him miserable for days thereafter.
Can't think about that now, he told himself. If he wasn't on the lam from desperados, he'd have enjoyed this walk in the woods...autumn was on the run though, and the forest floor thick with leaves. Some red maple still flew their proud colors while ahead he could hear hollow knocking of a woodpecker on a barren tree.
He slowed his pace and tried to think positively. It wasn't impossible that he might come upon a trapper's cabin or such. Oh, for a fine wood fire...
Daryl suddenly stopped short. What was that? He thought he'd heard something akin to a growling sort of snuffle just now.
Oh, gods -- to hell and gone with all nature and her blasted creatures! His bucolic notions of flora and fauna fled from him in a blink.
Where there may be trappers, there may be fur to trap. Fur on hoof and paw and claw. And fang...
Just stay here, silent, unmoving; that's your best bet, he told himself.
The low growl sounded again, closer. Daryl swiveled his head as silently as possible, narrowing his gaze to see...oh, glory, there he is: a brown bear nosing along another trail and coming ever closer...
The hell with it -- Daryl took to his heels like a scalded cat and barreled through the woods heedless of any direction except AWAY!
.............
Dark now. And Daryl was tired and miserable and lost in the woods. He had also lost the bear, but the woods were thick and he couldn't see much before him. He knew he needed to make camp soon. But all he seemed able to do was slog up and down deep gullies thick with brush.
'Hounded by thugs, threatened by bear, lost, hungry and eaten by bugs, ripped by thorns...what else could go wrong...' He groused. As he tripped and slid down a steep ravine which ended at a small creek. He sat a moment, cursing his lot, ('I had to ask.').
He took a moment to fill his water sack and drank thirstily. 'Well, surely things can't get worse.'
It started to rain just as Daryl began to slog along the creek.
Figuring that the stream should come out...somewhere, perhaps near a larger body of water with a clearing thereabouts, Daryl could at least follow the waterway in the dark.
He felt himself becoming numb. His body ached so much he couldn't feel it anymore. His feet were wet through. And cold. His head hung down like an old drafthorse at the end of his road, and occasionally a small sound like a wheezy moan escaped him. He'd also developed a stitch in one side.
He dared not take any more 'medicine' fearing he was so exhausted he would simply fall over and sleep himself into a stupor and die of exposure. He had to keep moving, blood pumping...
A low rumble of thunder sounded above, not far. He'd hoped the rain would slacken, not get worse. He kept going, each breath a wheeze.
Rolling thunder followed him, and suddenly a flash of lightning split the night sky outlining the trees and bracken close round him, but also...what looked like his hoped-for clearing up ahead.
And, what seemed to be a structure of some sort beyond? It looked to be rather massive though. Surely not. What great edifice would be built out here in the midst of nowhere?
Whatever it was, Daryl picked up his pace, heading for the building and wheezing like a bellows now. He was close upon it when another lightning flash lit the scene before him.
-- It was a castle.
Or thus it seemed. Staring at it like a yokel, Daryl held his aching side and wheezed rhythmically in disbelief. He felt like he was in one of those old black and white horror films Athena loved so well, with thunderstorms and angry villagers attacking the haunted castle, the villainous monster raving within...
Daryl was beyond caring. He cast his gaze over the structure of stone, put a hand upon the side of it and followed what proved to be a long wall around the taller buildings within. Eventually he reached the gates, a pair of large wooden doors, locked naturally, so Daryl began to pound upon them, silently begging for someone to hear and open...
He kept pounding on and on, and after some minutes his knocks grew weaker. 'Please, please...' he gasped to himself, clawing at the door handle as his knees started to buckle.
To his dull amazement, the door suddenly opened. A tall dark figure, pale of feature and covered in a black cowl and robe stood before him. It looked to Daryl then like Death personified. All it needed was a scythe.
...Death played chess, wasn't it? Or Battleship? Daryl's mind was fast melting in the rain.
'I...sanctuary...' was all Daryl could manage as he began to crumple, but was caught in the strong arms of Death and hauled silently inside the gates.
............
CLICK BELOW TO LISTEN!
Robbie Robertson - Broken Arrow
No comments:
Post a Comment