Chapter 34: Coyote Dancing

 ..::Eagle spoke: Long ago, your kind and mine, created this world in accordance with the Mother's dream. It was created upon a not quite yet completely recovered physical expression of herself. Dimensions, and the filters between dimension, had not yet achieved their final steps for the balancing was not yet completed...Many times the openings between the worlds were allowed to be kept open.
   For the most part those of your race were  impatient and wanted to quickly emerge from their hovels beneath the surface of the newly forming earth. This new Fourth World, it was decided, was to be a place of free will. This condition was established in order that your kind might develop to its fullest potential without outside influence.  There had been much changing of your species, which had expressed in many forms.  This was due to work upon your embodiment by those who came from beyond the Sun::..

Robert Ghost Wolf
Winds of Change

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

"Then for a season they wandered together in the glades of Lothlorien, until it was time for him to depart.  And on the evening of Midsummer Aragorn Arathorn's son, and Arwen daughter of Elrond went to the fair hill, Cerin Amroth, in the midst of the land, and they walked unshod on the undying grass with elanor and niphredil about their feet. And there upon that hill they looked east to the Shadow and west to the Twilight, and they plighted their troth and were glad.
  "And Arwen said: 'Dark is the Shadow and yet my heart rejoices; for you, Estel shall be among the great whose valour will destroy it.'
  "But Aragorn answered 'Alas! I cannot foresee it, and how it may come to pass is hidden from me...the Shadow I utterly reject. But neither, lady, is the Twilight for me; for I a mortal, and if you will cleave to me, Evenstar, then the Twilight you must also renounce.'
  "And she stood then as still as a white tree, looking into the West, and at last she said: 'I will cleave to you, Dunadan, and turn from the Twilight. Yet there lies the land of my people and the long home of all my kin."

J.R.R. Tolkien
APPENDICES - The Lord of the Rings

                                                                                 

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

Compline was now ended, and the monks all stood and came to mingle with the visiting sisters. The lovely Lady of the Tattoos, as Daryl had dubbed her, smiled gently at the priest, Father Michael.
  'My apologies for our lateness, bon Pere,' she began, 'but we were interrupted by two errant visitors...' She moved aside, and the other sisters parted as well, to allow the two visitors to emerge from the crowd.

Father Michael's hands opened before him in a welcoming gesture. 'Brother Wolf Star! Such a stranger you have been! Welcome back, my son.'
   Wolf Star allowed the bon pere to embrace him and kiss him on both cheeks, ala Francais. 'And who braved this long journey with you?'

Llew had attempted to comb his hair over his ears as much as possible, but wee tips still emerged. Wolf Star took his arm. 'Allow me to introduce a visitor from the Otherworld, near where my sister and I were found. He is, in fact, the grandson of a great king in their world.'

'Llew Llaw Gyffes, if it please Your Grace.' And young Llew did his very best to make a deep and most humble bow.

'Ah. I see.' Father Michael did indeed. 'Well. All travelers are welcome. Even Wolf Star and Sister Cecilia were Strangers from Afar at one time.'

'Indeed,' Cecilia smiled. 'Upon meeting Llew, he did refer to me as "Lady Cyfnither" in his tongue, or Milady Cousin.'

Daryl was watching the proceedings with great interest. Apparently, Pere Michael was well acquainted with guests from Other Worlds. And other Times, perhaps?
    His gaze returned to Sister Cecilia. And remained there. The patron saint of music.  Wolf Star's younger sister, obviously.
   And...a Sister. Alas.
                                                                           

........

'And just what did you do that for?'

Shannon was, Emlyn knew, quite put-out about her nascent romantic flirtation with Llew being nipped in the proverbial bud. But it had been for her own good. And Llew's as well.

Em appeared more sangfroid that she was. 'Why came you here, Shannon? I would hope that you don't travel thus for no great reason?'

'As do I,' Athena put in. 'My poor horse is getting a henchman's workout of late.'

The three had gathered at the gatehouse after the men had left. Emlyn figured that anything she and Shannon would discuss would lie safe with Athena, who also offered sage advice on occasion.

Just now, she offered tea in lieu of advice. Let these two have it out first, she reasoned, setting the tea tray down before the fire.

Shannon grabbed a mugful and waved a dismissive hand. 'Indeed I am here with...news. And, thank you Athena.'
Her eyes went to Emlyn as though locking on target.
She briefly sketched a glance at Athena, then back at Em, eyebrows raised in inquiry.

'Let's have it then. Anything you say to me, Athena will keep to herself.' Emlyn added honey and lemon to her steaming mug. 'And, I've found her to be of great help in most matters.'

'Very well.' Shannon sat forward. 'You're not going to believe this! As you know, I've been speaking with Allyn about...things.' Again with the leaping eyebrows. Em waved her on. 'All right; well, much I've learned. For one thing, Allyn's name is actually Alain, he is of French descent.'

'This is going somewhere?' Em couldn't help but ask.

'Mais oui.' Shannon took a sip of tea, miffed but still game. 'He thought it would seem more 'Keltic', for the band's sake.' She looked to Athena. 'The Blackpool Bards, you see.'

'Shannon! The point, if there is one?!' Em really needed some alone time. Soon.

'Yes. Well,' Shannon continued, 'It seems, that there is, or was, a certain legend hereabouts...that is, from Massachusetts up into Quebec, and beyond, including Nova Scotia.' She paused and sipped. 'No one is truly certain exactly where, but! The legend is, that there exists a cache of buried Templar treasure  somewhere in the area. A treasure brought with them, after they were branded heretic and made outlaw, here to the New World.'

                                                                         

'Oh, Shannon, cherie, that is old news! Everyone has heard that tale!' Emlyn sat back, disappointed. 'All that Alex and Jeanne spoke of was Sir Henry Sinclair's discovery of the New World in the 12th century, long before Columbus.'

'The Chapel at Roslyn, in Scotland, is a holding of the Sinclairs, or St. Clair's.' Athena added, her voice sweet and low, meant to be soothing, 'And, it is full of Templar symbols. Scotland was one of the safer places to which they could escape, along with Portugal and the New World.'

'Yes!' Shannon nodded slowly. 'But that's not all. There is also, in old French and Brittany legends, a tale which describes the treasure; including not only jeweled swords and the like, but detailed geneologies of the Merovingians, and!' Shannon held up two fingers (ala Jean Baptiste)'-- The Holy Grail, as well!'

'This too, Alex had intimated.' Emlyn was becoming rather weary of this same old dance.

Shannon smiled then. She wasn't quite finished. She stood and went to the fireplace, putting a hand upon the heavy wooden mantle, and turned to face them.

'So you sent Llew off with Wolf Star to a monastery, you said. To save him from this Jezebel?' Shannon wasn't about to give it up easily.

Emlyn sighed, throwing her head back against the sofa.'You do not want to get involved with the Twyleth Teg. I can well understand the attraction of young Llew...but he is not a singular entity. Along with the son, you will always have the father.' Her head came forward as she stared hard at Shannon. 'Believe me, THAT, you do not want.'

'Yes, all right, it's really nothing, to me...' Shannon ran her fingers lightly along the mantle. 'However, you might be interested to know...in these old Quebec legends, (Alain's family is from Mont Real), that particular treasure, was rumoured to be secreted away in a certain well-hidden -- monastery!' Her eyebrows engaged in heroic acrobatics, '...In a great forest, somewhere in this general area!'

Emlyn looked at Athena then. They both seemed to agree that this, indeed, was news.
  'Had you ever heard of this?' Em asked Athena, who shook her head slowly.
  'I haven't.' She poured more tea. 'Nor had I any inkling that there was a monastery in the bois. In fact, I did not even know that Wolf Star had been raised by monks. The wolves, I knew about.'

Athena stood and began to gather the empty mugs upon the tray. 'However, when Wolf Star told me about being nurtured by a she-wolf, oh, yes!' She felt their unbelieving gaze upon her, 'He did indeed. Anyway, he did say that their den had been situated far back in a cave somewhere. Possibly the monastery is nearby.'
She took the tray to the kitchen.

All sat silent for a time, pondering this tale, this new assault on reason.

Athena returned. 'He also said that he'd spoken to an old medicine man who had told him that he was likely related to the First People, who had emerged from the Twilight World of the under-earth and were half human beings, and half Elder Race; those who had came from the skies to earth, after their world had been destroyed in antiquity.'

'Interesting...' Emlyn mused. 'Tales of the Twyleth Teg, the Fair Folk, are also related to this, that their kind had 'fallen' from Elsewhere and were trapped between worlds here.' She frowned in thought.
'Also, one hears tales in history of the Americas about blond or red-haired natives who were of great stature, leaving skeletons 9 feet tall and more. The Indian tribes here then avoided them and some made war against them.'

                                                                        

Shannon returned to her seat and regarded the others.
'This is especially intriguing news, with the men off to a monastery, sequestered far away in the great northwoods.'

'Indeed.' Em leaned her head upon her hand, thinking. It had seemed the perfect idea, to send wee Llew off to visit the monks with Wolf Star, surely one couldn't get up to much mischief in a monastery. But now...   'Now, I wonder...' Emlyn pondered, '...exactly what they are up to there.'

...........

Daryl slept hard that night, and dreamed deep.
  He dreamt of running fleet and strong on four legs, paws barely touching the earth, and as he ran, he knew he was not alone, another ran beside him, his mate, as swift as he, their breaths making puffs in the scintillating night air.

This was freedom. This was how he could become his true self, he now knew. He became a part of it all, under the diamond sky; Sister Moon shining her milky light above them was all they needed, their preternatural senses a-spark with subtle nuance all about them, speaking to them of forest secrets.

His mate nipped at him, a love bite about the ruff around his strong neck, and he growled in answer, nosing her off her feet and they rolled and gamboled in the soft ferns and grasses; he played gently and let her dominate him, he rolled over, belly up as he pawed at her. Then he was up and over her, jaws between her neck and shoulders, as he lay hard upon her, and they lay together then, sides heaving as they drank in the night and knew that they were safe here, in their own territory, as they were meant to be.
  As he was meant to be.

                                                                  

........

Bells. Again.
  Suddenly Daryl was hearing bells. Why?
  He opened his eyes. The bells! He frowned. Who let Quasimodo loose?

Daryl groaned, seeing the morning light barely breaking through the wee window set in the stone walls. Such a fabulous dream he'd had...something very wild and free. He breathed deeply, expecting to smell  rain-fresh fields, but no, just the scent of cold stone. Yet, he had to admit there was also a not unwelcome whiff of yeasty brewing, as well as baking bread...

He arose slowly. Diosa, but he was stiff and sore!
Every part of his body ached or was scratched up by thorns and branches, even an ankle was wrapped up around some bruising. His last dose of laudanum must have finally worn off...he'd gotten through yesterday fairly well, but now...now, was a different story.
  And yet -- last night, he knew he had run like the wind.

That thought faded fast however, as Daryl sat up groaning. He wondered where his clothes, and coat were. And where the little brown bottle was? He half-shook his head; no, now was a good time to just tough it out, get it out of his system.
  Any movement was 10 kinds of hell, though.

He looked about him. Maybe Brother Sebastian had more willow bark tea at least. Or perhaps grew poppies in a greenhouse?

--'Yee-ikes!' Daryl started, as a large black missle landed beside him. Purring. And kneading the blankets.
  'Melchizedek.' The cat raised his grinning green eyes to Daryl's.
   He gingerly put out a hand and stroked the soft ebony fur, sending the purr into a deeper octave.

'Beware of making friends with Melchizedek.' Brother Sebastian appeared, no doubt summoned by Daryl's yelp. 'You may wind up finding him on your doorstep one day. How are you this morning?'

                                                                                  

'Eh, some better, some worse. Head doesn't hurt as much, but the rest of me seems to have been beaten with an ugly stick.' Diosa be thanked there were no mirrors here. 'Is there any of that willow bark left?'

Sebastian smiled. 'There is. Join me in the lab?'

Daryl slipped into his robe and cowl, sandals, and slowly, creakily limped into the outer room. It appeared to be something of a laboratory, galley and herbal drying room; plants hung from rafters above while Daryl identified a couple of small copper stills amongst the rambling assortment of chemist paraphernalia.

He took a seat out of the way whilst Sebastian boiled water for tea. The monk then came over and seated himself before Daryl, taking hold of his bruised and bandaged ankle, hefting it onto his knees.
  He gently felt about the ankle, noticing the wincing Daryl couldn't help. 'Still quite sore?' Daryl nodded.
'It should stay wrapped for a while, a week at least.' He nodded to a corner where various sticks were propped. 'Should you have need, there are canes available.'

Daryl hoped it wouldn't come to that. 'I'll be all right.' He paused. 'I dreamed of running, last night. Running fast, on four legs.'

Brother Sebastian stood, taking up the boiling kettle and pouring hot water into a large mug. 'Indeed?' He asked, setting a clay disc atop the mug, to keep in the warmth.
   'Yes. It was quite a shock to awaken to find myself with only one and a half good legs.'
   Sebastian smiled briefly, handing Daryl the tea.
  'I met Wolf Star only recently, through a mutual friend,' Daryl continued. 'It seems he is well-acquainted with the brothers here. And the sisters.' Daryl attempted a small sip.

Brother Sebastian sighed, and resumed his seat by Daryl. 'Yes. He and Sister Cecilia were found by us.
As small children, many years ago now. I was not here then, but all know the story. Wolf Star went his own way in the world, but Cecilia stayed, and became a Sister, in our sister community, at the nunnery of St.Agnes, nearby.'

Daryl sipped his tea, running his hands over the smooth stones in the wall. 'They're all so smooth. River rocks?'

'That's correct.' Brother Sebastian nodded. 'This place was built with stones from Wolf Creek, which is more of a river, now. I am guessing you came up the waterway from the south, which runs into Wolf Creek. Had you approached from the north, you wouldn't have gotten so...torn up.'

Daryl smiled ruefully. 'I was trying to outrun a bear.'

'Ha!' Sebastian slapped his thighs as he stood. 'Well! That explains it! It's a good thing you got away, that's the main thing.'

'I'm off to my chores.' He regarded Daryl closely. 'Come on into the kitchen for something to eat when you're ready. You've missed the morning meal, but there's always bread, cheese and eggs. St.Agnes boasts some of the most delicious sheep cheeses, and they keep hens as well. Our habits have been woven from their wool. We, in turn, keep an apiary, and supply the honey and mead. And beer of course, we grow our own hops and barley. We keep the Lord's creatures, and they keep us, cultivate the land and share its bounty.'

                                                                          

'It sounds like heaven on earth...' Daryl's gaze was far away. He broke from his reverie and looked up at Brother Sebastian. 'I enjoyed Compline last evening.
The ceremony, the chanting. And the sisters joining in were a delight.'

'Aye, they are indeed.' A real smile from Sebastian this time. 'We are practising together for celebration on All Saints Day soon. We are always happy to have you join us. The sisters will be there with us again later today.'

'I shall be there.' Daryl couldn't wait.

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

Daryl knew he hadn't been able to get much information from Brother Sebastian just by dropping loaded hints.
He'd inquired about the kitchen, but the monks working there had informed him that Wolf Star was staying with his sister, Sister Cecilia, at St.Agnes's.

Daryl took his apple, cheese and bread along with a water bag, outside with him.

He wandered from the kitchen into a walled herb garden, close by the vegetable patch. Good idea, he thought, to plant the herbs and vegetables close to the kitchen. He noticed that the large rock wall he'd encountered on the fateful stormy night of his arrival, stretched all about the monastery, and St. Agnes's as well, he imagined. Also necessary for keeping out deer and other marauders. Like bear.
And wolf.

Daryl limped around, attempting to get a look at St. Agnes's. It must be within seeing distance, he reasoned, as he alternately bit into apple, cheese and rye roll. It was good cheese. There must be sheep about somewhere...

St.Agnes, he knew, was patroness of young girls, victims of rape, virgins, and even of the Girl Scouts.
She was famous for her purity and choosing a life of dedication to le bon Dieu, refusing to marry.

                                                                     

No wonder Daryl was infatuated. Forbidden fruit, the tasting of which never did turn out well. Daryl told himself he would merely worship from afar.
  But, he didn't believe himself, knowing his track record.

...........

Somehow, Daryl had managed to fall asleep again late that afternoon. He'd returned to the small bed in the infirmary, after limping about the grounds to no avail; too many tall trees about where the fields hadn't been cleared for cultivation. He'd try to circumnavigate the place again later; but putting too much stress on his ankle was causing it to throb painfully.

To his chagrin, it was twilight when he awoke. Bells again...then the sound of chant caught his ear. Softly it stole through the walled corridors, calling him.

He was missing it! Up he rose and smoothed his habit as best he could, slipped sandals on, and limped hurriedly to chapel...

..“Let my prayer rise like incense before you, O Lord! The lifting up of my hands like an evening offering!”
The monks chanted, as the priest swung the incense in censer before them.

Daryl took a seat in the rear, near to where the sisters soon would be, he'd hoped. He recognised that it wasn't as late as he'd thought, only Vespers now, not Compline yet. The darkness without heralded another storm. Still, he had hopes.

Once more, with bowed head, he drifted off into a meditative state, entranced by the drone of Latin, like the drone of bees the monks kept...recalling his dream of the night before, running free and wild under the silvered moon, and felt himself falling into a deep reverie...

And, again, just as before, Daryl came to himself upon hearing the lilt of the nun's sweet singing:


Tomorrow shall be my dancing day;
I would my true love did so chance
To see the legend of my play,
To call my true love to my dance;

Sing, oh! my love, oh! my love, my love, my love,
This have I done for my true love

Then was I born of a virgin pure,
Of her I took fleshly substance
Thus was I knit to man's nature
To call my true love to my dance.

Sing, oh! my love, oh! my love, my love, my love,
This have I done for my true love...

........                                                                       

Oh, sublime sweetness! Daryl's eyes became misty. His gaze remained riveted upon Sister Cecilia in the front row. His throat was tight as he became transported by the old sweet hymn...Tomorrow Shall Be My Dancing Day.

He swallowed and attempted to sing along with the monks as they traded verses with the sisters, and then all joined together under Brother Louis' direction.

Such a hymn they'd chosen! Daryl was astonished by the power of its simplicity. Brother Louis knew what he was doing, it seemed; he did not turn the lovely old hymn into a jig by speeding it up, but allowed it to flow softly, and by stretching out the chorus of, 'Oh, my love, my lovvve...' it became an entreaty of the Lover for the Beloved. Plaintive and longing. It was utterly sublime. Rumi would have loved it, Daryl thought.

He sighed then, Daryl did, his heart full. However, he soon felt the weight of a hard gaze upon him. He noticed Wolf Star, staring at him, frowning. He knew the man had been watching him. Daryl had wished to speak with him earlier, to meet Llew then, and tell them how he'd found this place by accident.

What must he be thinking, Wolf Star, brother of the sweet Cecilia? Had she, the wolf, become now the Lamb?
And what thought he of Daryl, then? That Daryl had wolfish designs upon her, a pure and dedicated soul, under the protection of St.Agnes, defender of virgins?

Daryl had once again woven quite a tangled knot about himself. He wondered if even Holy Mother Mary could unravel this one...
                                                                         

................
CLICK BELOW TO LISTEN!

Robert Shaw Chorale

Tomorrow Will Be My Dancing Day

Chapter 33: Dona Nobis Pacem

 'It's a pretty village, isn't it?' said Paul.
'What's it called again?'

'Three Pines,' Gamache replied.

'Because of them?' He pointed to the 3 tall pine trees at the end of the village green.

'Yes. It's an old code. 3 pine trees planted together means safety. It was used as a signal centuries ago. It marked a sanctuary.'

Louise Penny
The Hangman

 ...................

"We do not want to merely see Beauty...we want something else which can hardly be put into words --
to be united with the beauty we see, to pass into it, to receive it into ourselves, to bathe in it, to become part of it. That is why we have peopled air and earth and water with gods and goddesses and nymphs and elves."

Lewis saw this unquenchable longing as a sure sign that no part of the created world, and thus no aspect of our experience, is capable of fulfilling humankind. We are dominated by a homelessness, and yet by a keen sense of what "home" means.

Colin Duriez
Tolkien and C.S. Lewis - The Gift of Friendship

..........

The Miracle of the Wolf

..::According to all the sources, including the earliest source, "Legenda de vita et obitu sancti Guilielmi Confessoris et heremitae", all of which are close to Catholicism, Guilielmi performed many miracles. The best-known miracle was and still is the "Miracle of the Wolf" (1591). Because this, he is often depicted in company with a "domesticated" wolf, even in the monastery of Montevergine::..

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

 ..::If only you knew how powerful you truly were. If only you knew from whence you came and that the wisdom is there for the asking. You are without limitation. You are beyond where fear can even conceive to follow. Fear is the necromancer that is within each of us, the part of us that doubts the very existence of the Great Spirit force. The Ghost Dance is the song of the Wind, its call shall be heard across the land.  Every tree, every bird that flies, and every scent that fills the air will speak its message.  It is time for the Children of the Sun to Arise::..

Robert Ghost Wolf - Winds of Change
                                                                     

..........

Daryl awoke. He knew not where.

His eyes glanced about him, but moving his head was still a challenge. It ached. Along with everything else.
   He saw nothing more than walls of stone on one side of him, and another wall of wood on the other. Light edged in softly from beyond that wall. A flickering light of fire or candle.

It was cool within these walls, but under blankets and sheepskin it was warm enough. Daryl closed his eyes with relief, drinking in the warmth, and pulled covers closer about him. Such a mercy to be warm at last!

As he lay, trying not to think about anything much, he realised he heard something far off in the distance, yet seeming to come from within these walls...a sound of music.

Song, or chant it was. The beauty of it, the gentle cadence upon his weary nerves soothed him. So softly sung, it seemed to disappear at times, and then return, like waves upon a shore.

Am I dead and hearing choirs of the Angeles? Daryl sighed softly. He hoped so. He was so tired, and hurt. He would lie here, forever, if only he could.
He knew a great thirst though, and endeavored to lift himself up in search of water.

'Ah, you are awake.' A voice from the outer room found him. The voice was followed by the cowl'd and robed figure he'd known from the gate. Death himself.
Death smiled genially.

'I think so,' Daryl croaked, as he tried to sit up, groaning. 'I rather wish I wasn't, though...' He gasped as Death reached under his arms and pulled him gamely into a sitting position.
   Water was poured into an earthenware mug and offered him. 'Can you grasp this?' Death inquired cordially.

Daryl did, and drank thirstily. 'Ah...thank you.' He attempted a focused eye upon his attendant. 'I...am not dead?'

'No,' Death answered, shaking his head slowly with a small smile.

'Then who are you? What is this place?' Daryl put a cool hand to his head, closed his eyes and lay back against the stone wall. He tried a deep breath but soon broke into a coughing fit.

The voice had retreated to the outer room. Daryl heard the sound of water pouring and then smelled a not unwelcome scent of warm herbs.
  'Here, drink this.' Death offered a cup. 'It is willow bark and camomile, a bit of licorice root, for that cough. And honey.'

Daryl drank gratefully. Indeed the hot herbal drink seemed to seep into his starved cells so that he drank it all down with gusto.

Death took a seat beside him.
  'I am Brother Sebastian.' (Ah, not Death then. Daryl was relieved and only slightly disappointed.)'You are in the monastery of St.William of Montevergine.'

'The Wolf Saint?' Daryl asked.
'You know of him?' Sebastian was pleased.
'Only the...legend.' Daryl was most puzzled. 'We are   not in Italy?'
'Alas, no. It would be much warmer, indeed.' Brother Sebastian was nothing if not pithy. 'You are still in Massachusetts, although rather far north. We are not far from New Hampshire. St.William of the North, one might say.'

How the...heck did I get this far north? Daryl's mind reeled with this enigmatic information.

'It is time for some garden work. Many herbs are raised here that are used in our medicines. I will check on you later.' Brother Sebastian stood. 'Ring if you need anything.' He nodded to the bedside table where a brass bell reposed.
  Daryl eyed it with vague horror. Bells right now would be quite beyond his aching head.
  'I am just fine here. Thank you, Brother Sebastian.'

Daryl listened to the footfalls of the gentle brother echo softly down the hallway, and sighed. His brain refused to question or even focus on anything. All anxiety and fevered haste seemed to have been beaten out of him.

Later. Later he could think. Just now, he would not question whatever fates had brought him here. He only knew that here, perhaps, he could rest and heal.
-- Imagine that.
   Daryl did. And slept.
                                                                             

..............  


'Someone is coming from the Estate.' Athena had a quick eye. She called to the others who all turned their gaze past the fields toward the Mausoleum to view a woman striding hard their way.

Fair of face and form she was, with long blond hair blowing like ripened wheat in the autumn winds.   'Diosa!' Em exclaimed. 'Sure if it isn't Shannon!' What the devil could this mean?

Em began walking to meet her, Llew following in her trail.
  'So! You found your mobile unit then? Or came you by broomstick?' A more inconvenient time wee Shannon couldn't have picked if she tried.

'Where'n the divvil have you been?!' Shannon stood at attention, hands on hips when they'd come close enough to harangue. She then took notice of Llew -- and notice again, her face a mask of shock and awe.
  'And just whoo might this be?' Or, perhaps what, she wondered.

'Shannon,' Emlyn answered, trying to remain calm, collected, and politely on top of it all, 'I would like you to meet Llew Llaw Gyffes, son of Gwydion, son of Math ap Mathonwy, Chief Bard, Druid and King of Wales...and myself. Llew, this is my dear friend Shannon Fitzgerald.'

Llew made a leg and a proper bow, sweeping an arm before him. 'Milady Fitzgerald...'

Shannon's eyes went wide as saucers as they  blinked repeatedly and glommed onto Llew, especially about the ears. 'I...' She stared unbelieving at Em.
  'I, am pleased to make your acquaintance...Llew Llaw Gyffes.' She managed a small curtsy only slightly wavering. 'Please call me Shannon.' Her eyes went back to Em, accusingly.

'And I am Llew, if it please milady.' Llew smiled and held out an arm. 'Might I escort thee?'

Shannon's alarm melted to butter as she unctuously took Llew's arm and began to sway her hips as they, (with Em trailing behind, rolling her eyes), made their way back to where Athena and Wolf Star were waiting with their raptors.

Emlyn could see what was coming, as she gazed narrowly at the chummy couple before her, seeing the Courtship of Gywdion and Emlyn being brazenly repeated in the tilt of the young folks heads together and in such charming words from wee Llew's clever tongue that he surely got from his wicked father...the girlish giggles coming from dear friend Shannon quite turned her stomach.
  Em knew something had to be done. And fast.

                                                              

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

One fine late autumn day, after a night of storms, an odd sight was seen, or might have been seen, by anyone about to view it. However, there were only birds and chipmunks, fox and deer, creatures that crept and swam and flew about their business.

A large white owl was one of these. He flew above the strange pair who were mounted together upon a star horse, borrowed for the journey. What he saw were his friend, the native man with long black and grey braids, who sat before a younger male with hair like sunset and ears like very few others. Native, he wasn't.
   The owl noticed that the young one seemed to be there and then not; to phase out of time and space and back again. But only the owl could see this, with his nocturnal, amber and otherworldly sight.

'This is exciting for me,' said Llew, who gazed about and upward, watching the owl's flight as it paced them. 'I have never spent much time with the Druids, although I have been curious about their teachings. There exists a sort of college of Bardic knowledge which teaches all manner of mysteries...the language of trees and of the stars, of music and geometry, and the healing arts...I have learned much from my father, but it would be fine to learn from many scholars from other isles.'

Wolf Star handed the water sack around to Llew.
'Drink. You need to stay hydrated, and to eat more while you are in this world. It will help to keep your spirit from flying away home.'

Llew drank from the sack but made a face. It was water, but not as clear and clean as he'd been used to. This liquid seemed heavy and full of silt to him. But he knew he must comply if he wished to stay grounded.

'Do you stay in touch with these monks very often, Wolf Star?' Llew handed the water over.

'Not very.' Wolf Star hitched up the sack and handed Llew some dried fruit leather, snacking on a piece himself.  'They do live far from Athena's neck of the woods. But you will still stay safe there; it is within the boundaries of the firmament that Daryl has placed over us.'

'This Dary-el must be a very great magician.' Llew took tiny bites of the apricot leather. 'Is he Elohim, I wonder? I've noticed their kind all seem to have names ending with an El; Micha-el, Rapha-el...'

Wolf Star smiled. How interesting, to be from another world. As he, himself was. 'No, Daryl is human, a man like any other. The only difference is that he has refused to believe it.'

'Oh.' Llew chewed on that as well, shifting about. 'I think I am becoming heavier here already. My rump feels as though I've been sitting on rocks and not the soft fur of a horse. No offense to thee...' He smoothed and patted the horse's starry rear.

 'We are soon there. The monasteries lie just over that next ridge.' Wolf Star  pointed ahead to an outcropping of large boulders atop a tree covered hill.

'There are two different monasteries then?' Llew leaned dangerously sideways in effort to achieve a better view in anticipation. To him, it looked like hours away yet.
  Wolf Star nodded. 'You will see.'

                                                                         

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

Daryl slept long and hard. He had been dreaming of a baker kneading bread; hands busily kneading, kneading, molding the loaf and kneading again...
 -- 'Ow!' Daryl awoke.

He awoke to the sound of purring.
A fine large black cat with slitted eyes of green sat upon his belly, kneading it with furry paw and claw.
   'Well, hello!' Daryl looked down at his bed mate
who surely was the one who'd drawn blood from belly. 'And well pleased you are at that.' Daryl frowned, smiling.

                                                                                    

'Ach, I see you've met Melchizedek!' Brother Sebastian appeared at his bed side, lifting the giant cat from Daryl, who breathed much easier now.

'Basta, you great beast! The man doesn't need more wounds from you.' The monk let the cat slip like streaming velvet from his hands to the floor where the cat trotted off on errands of his own. Probably seeking more blood, thought Daryl.

'Melchizedek is a mouse's worst nightmare. I hope he wasn't yours as well. You're looking much better.'  Brother Sebastian took Daryl's pulse.'How are you feeling?'

'I think I'll live. Hadn't been so sure earlier.' Daryl coughed. 'I could eat something, I think.' He looked about for his clothes.

Sebastian handed Daryl a cowl'd robe, much like his own. 'Your clothes, what's left of them, are being cleaned. This should fit you meanwhile, and there are sandals.'

When in Rome, Daryl half-smiled, thinking that little saying quite dead on, as he eased gingerly into the robe. Not scratchy as he'd thought, it was actually quite soft and also warmer than it looked, though a union suit underneath wouldn't go amiss.
These brothers are a tough lot and used to the northeastern chill, as Californicated Daryl no longer was.

'After dinner, you are welcome to come share Compline with us.'

We'll see, thought Daryl, food and drink being uppermost in his immediate plans. However...as he followed along the stone hallway behind Brother Sebastian, it came to him how serendipidous it was; this place of refuge he'd just happened upon in the middle of nowhere. Hidden away in the deep forest, no one knowing he was here.
  Not such a bad setting for a man who did not wish to be found.

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

'As it is the fourth day of October, the feast day of Saint Francis of Assisi, today's reading will honor our humble brother Francesco, who, although he was the founder of the Franciscan order, refused to be ordained a priest, and remained a deacon though out his remarkable life.'

Daryl was deep in his stew, which was delicious. A fine thick brown stew, laden with garden vegetables and a bit of meat, which he guessed was rabbit, as it reminded him of his own lapin stew he'd made at Athena's...so long ago now. Crusty dark bread with rosemary accompanied, freshly baked, and was also nothing less than divine, as was fitting.

He found he also rather enjoyed being read to during the meal. It gave one something to hear other than the chewing of a couple of dozen assorted monks arranged about him upon long benches on either side of the great dark oaken table before them.

'We all know the story...' continued the orating brother, who lifted an arm to the right of him, drawing attention to the painting on the wall, Daryl now noticed, of St.Francis of Gubbio, bending over Brother Wolf, and making the sign of the cross over him, '...of how Brother Francis convinced the townspeople to feed the wolf, so that he would leave their livestock alone. And so the creature did.
   'How many men have been made to feel they must become wolves to survive? To take what they need by theft or force? If only we were truly our brothers' keepers, and took care of one another, no one need go hungry or want for shelter.'

                                                                                   

Daryl noted then, a few of the monks shifted curious eyes his way. Hm. Did he resemble such a man, a ravenous wolf beneath his lambs-wool habit?

'And here, our own St.William,' the orator lifted his left arm, to the other painting which faced St. Francis. 'Again, with his own humbled wolf, who surely had attacked William's poor donkey, only out of hunger. "Beasts" we name them, but it is only men who would kill not out of necessity for survival, but due to their own failings as men.
  'Our gentle beasts: the donkey, the horse, the dog, sheep and goat, all live to simply get along in the world, and are pleased to serve mankind, if treated gently and with respect due to a fellow creature of le bon Dieu...'

Daryl was impressed. He'd never heard more gentle words spoken from a pulpit, certainly not in the hellfire-and-brimstone preaching he'd suffered through in whatever Protestant church he'd been dragged to as a child.

That church would never have hung portraits of saints with wolves over their dining hall... The orating brother's slight accent he now recognised, with that "Le Bon Dieu". Well, we are close to the French Canadian Great White North here. A bit too close, he worried. But, still...it was safer here than any where within a hundred miles, not to mention kilometers.

A couple of young men, novices, Daryl presumed, came with trays and removed the empty bowls, leaving fresh pitchers of water along the long table.

'As it is the feast day of Brother Francis, we will have our petite celebration, non?' The orating monk smiled, looking Daryl thought, rather like his own imagined version of Friar Tuck, hands clasped above his rather well-padded middle, and eyes crinkled to slits over his smile. 'Brother Bernardo tells me that the new barrels of beer are ready to be sampled.'

                                                                           

The young lads returned then, laden with trays of even larger pitchers, (of the promised new beer Daryl hoped), as well as plates of nuts, cheeses and apples.
  'Let us give thanks unto le bon Dieu, Brother Bernado and all the brewer confreres who have worked so diligently upon the perfecting of this year's harvest.'

All bowed their shorn pates, fringed with what hair they had, and the orator began a prayer of thanksgiving in dulcet Latin tones, as Daryl, though wolf he may be within, bowed his heretical head and joined the brothers in humble gratitude.

After all the mugs were filled with with the dark, rather thick beer, sediment swirling to the bottom,  the brothers cracked nuts and offered cheese around the well-worn table, polished to a shine over all the deep cuts and scratches, scarred by countless hours of wear and tear by legions of hungry monks.

Then, to Darly's surprise, the orator, a brother Louis, he found, raised his mug in a toast, and then began to sing. En Francais, and Latin. Louis' clear tenor rang out, joined here and there by other Franco-American brothers in various voices. Those who kneweth not the linguistics, either hummed along or contented themselves in sampling the excellent, and no doubt home-made cheeses, and of course, more beer.

                                                                              

The feast was indeed a holy haven of happy  humble men in habits, until the bell tower began to chime the seven o'clock hour. Monks then quickly and quietly finished off their cups and set all leftovers upon trays, which were whisked off by the novices and all began to file into the chapel.

'Compline, mon cher invalide...' Brother Louis was at Daryl's side, taking his arm. 'You will digest your dinner and bien biere much better when you sit with us together under the benevolent gaze of le bon Dieu, Maker of all things, including our bon hommes here, and your own good self, non?'

Daryl found he could not argue, not in the steel grip of Brother Louis, as he was hustled off to chapel. Weren't the 'bon hommes' or 'good men' how the old Cathars referred to themselves? Curious...
 
In his wildest dreams, Daryl had never imagined, when he'd left Athena in the forest, that he would wind up in a monk's habit, in a monastery hidden in a wilderness, drinking home-brewed beer and praying to 'le bon Dieu', surrounded by men who had renounced the world about them.
   In his present circumstances, he actually wondered if that was not such a bad way to spend his time...for a while.

........

The chapel was lit by candlelight, as was most of the monastery, Daryl was discovering. It also added needed heat as well, in this mostly stone edifice. Their gentle light was rather welcome to his battered brain and easy on the eyes for one who had, perhaps, seen altogether too much of late.

Brother Louis disengaged Daryl and proceeded to the right of the pulpit. He also acted as the musical director, Daryl had learned. He was hoping to hear something like the chants and hymns he'd caught upon waking that morning.

From the rear of the minster, the priest entered bearing a hyssop wand with which he sprinkled the monks, and Daryl, with holy water. Daryl couldn't help feeling a bit of excitement, rather like how one feels in anticipation of a ballet or opera.
 -- Introit...

Drama and mystery. As a ceremonial magician, Daryl knew these intentions well. It was a sort of mystery school, was it not? Just because it wasn't entirely a mystery, and open to those who would so choose it, did not alter the intent; to present and engender a meditative and altered state of consciousness. Especially in ye olde Latin Mass.

                                                                             

'...Aspergus me...' chanted the priest, sprinkling all as he proceeded to the altar.

'Domine hyssopo, et mundabor: lavabis me...' the monks chanted in response, in unison, the antiphon in the old Latin way which delighted Daryl, pagan though he be.

He knew a bit of this chant, from knowledge gleaned far back in the attics of his memory, secreted in those ancient Greek and Latin texts wherein he'd also studied the Kaballah alongside the Alexandrian Mysteries of Egypt.

'Thou shalt sprinkle me Lord, with hyssop, and I shall be cleansed; thou shalt wash me and I shall be made whiter than snow.'

Daryl closed his eyes, drinking in the waves of sound, murmuring along when memory sparked, and he soon found himself in a meditative state...

He awoke to a sudden rising of voices lifting together about him: 'Kyrie eleison...Christe eleison...Kyrie eleison...'

The priest lifted his hands. 'Gloria in excelsis Deo.' He then sat. Brother Louis then stood and held up his arms, nodding; and a great culmination of voices rose together and Daryl was taken by surprise when he heard feminine sounds of alto and soprano as well!

He turned his head to the rear of the church and saw a dozen or so nuns, all gathered together there amongst the candles, incense and monks, and singing along in their high, clear voices.

'Ex in terra pax hominibus bonae voluntatis. Laudamus te, Benedicimus te...'

Daryl was quite transported. He was, in fact, becoming rather fond of this place. (And glad he hadn't skipped Compline, as he'd been considering.)
From whence had these sisters appeared?
   Mysterious ways, indeed...

As he studied the nuns grouped at the rear of the nave, he couldn't help but notice one who stood out among the others...owing to the facial tattoos upon her lovely brown skin. She reminded him of something, or rather, someone -- Wolf Star.
                                                                                         

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

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Ghost Dance
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