..::On the face of it, the Grail-related stories (whether of Cinderella, Robin Hood, Sleeping Beauty or Count Dracula) each hold their separate mysteries and enchantments - but it is not generally understood that they all stem from a common historical base which is rooted in the culture of the Grail Kings.
Even though some of the themes have their origins in very old lore, the majority of tales (as we know them) were newly slanted from the Dark Ages onwards - and especially from medieval times, when the Church's persecution of Grail heretics was in full swing, leading to the great inquisitions.
Among the best known of these heterodox Christians (or 'heretics') in the Middle Ages were the Cathars - the Pure Ones of the Languedoc region in southern France. And they, in line with the Dragon tradition of the
Ouroboros Ring Lords, referred to the Messianic bloodline as the Elven Race. As we shall see, the terms elf, fairy, pixie, (Pict-Sidhe), and the like were all representative of various castes within the kingly succession::..
Sir Laurence Gardner
(A personal introduction given by him at the beginning of the Ring Lords, a Lecture Presented at the Nexus
Conference - Sydney, May 1999.)
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Later that evening, after Shannon had been sent off to a bed and had recuperated somewhat, (and slept off her cider), she was returned to the company in time for a restorative dinner, after which all gathered before the parlor fire and she resumed the tale of her abduction.
'How did you know that it was St.John, though?' Em couldn't recall when Shannon had ever had chance to encounter him. She, herself, had only glimpsed the man that one evening in the Village of Sopa and Fog at St. Cat's.
'Well, Em,' Shannon began, 'it was mostly due to being introduced to the man as "St.John", with talk of nothing but antiques dealing to follow!'
Maurice had brought in (yet more) coffee and Armagnac, however, there were also cheeses and nuts, some bread and honey as well, the perfect gentleman host.
He handed snifters to Shannon and Alain.
'You mentioned 'excavations' in relation to St.John, oui?' He asked, taking a snifter to Em and joining her on the sofa.
Shannon wisely sipped coffee, leaving the brandy for later. 'Yesss...they did say that.' She frowned in thought a while. 'I wonder...' she paused, '...Kidd and St.John seemed to be positively glowing over news of his "finds". And they were sorting through an old, rather rotten looking chest, I could see nothing in it except dirt and, if you can believe it, old bones.'
Em was instantly on alert. 'Oh no. It can't be!' She had turned pale. 'I wondered why St.John would be dealing back on the west coast, if he were headed to Nova Scotia?'
Em stood and placed her brandy on the mantle piece, and began pacing.
'This entire thing? A ruse?' She was muttering to herself as she rubbed her arms as if chilled.
'What is it, cher?' Maurice sat forward, concerned.
Em turned and faced them. 'I think now that part of why St.John had taken Daryl away was to get him far from Nob Hill House! So that he could have it plundered later!' She raised a hand, '-- No, hear me out!'
She paused and took a sip of brandy. 'Athena and I had found, at Daryl's, a secret notch on the fireplace that opened a doorway to a part of the basement Daryl did not even know was there!' She gulped the rest of her drink.
'In that place, which looked like an abandoned laboratory, we found...an old trunk. A dilapidated, nasty old thing...full of dirt and old bones.' Her eyes were haunted as she regarded them. To have all these old, and very personal, skeletons in the closet (or basement), suddenly come to light was hardly something Em had reckoned upon, here and now, especially.
Her hands shook slightly as she took her empty glass to her seat beside Maurice.
'Was there anything else to this "fabulous find" of theirs?' she asked, frowning. Maurice put an arm about her shoulders in solidarity. Comforting, oui, but it also made Em tres' anxious.
'Eh, yes...' Shannon poured more coffee, for herself and Em. 'They seemed dead chuffed over a pair of odd antiques: an old shabby box and a cup...a very nice cup actually.'
'Mon Dieu!' Emlyn had taken to swearing in French now.
'That is Daryl's!' She looked at Maurice, eyes afright.
'Non, it is worse than that! Daryl was only the warden of these objects. They are very very powerful and dangerous! Daryl was nearly killed working with them, and was warned never to use them again....oh, this is bad. When Raimundo and Sebastiao find out...!'
Maurice slowly stood, frowning, and he took Emlyn's hands, lifting her to her feet. 'Will you now come with me un moment, cher? S'il vous plait?'
In a daze, Em rose and followed Maurice. 'Pardonnez nous, une moment!' Maurice addressed the others en route. 'We must have une petite privee' parley, s'il vous plait...'
Maurice led Em back to the conservatory.
He took a chair and sat her down opposite, hands on her arms still, addressing her.
'Emmeline, you must tell me now: exactly what have you and Daryl been up to? With these antiques? And with a buried body in his basement? Are you in league with some, some nefarious, diabolique cult of some kind?' He leaned closer. 'Tell me the truth now! Vrainment!'
Em was near tears. It certainly sounded that way, she realised...no wonder poor Maurice was unsure about her, the pagan, up to who knew what...
'Oh, Maurice...' her eyes filled up, she couldn't help it. 'Non, nothing like that.' (but was it really?) 'We, that is, Daryl, his trade is dealing in antiques. And he had come upon certain, items, that were, eh...they had certain properties attached to them...' -- To say the least.
Maurice sat back. 'They were most probably possessed,' he stated darkly. 'Or cursed at best.'
'That's what I thought as well, that they'd been cursed somehow...' Em remembered back to her first experience of the Cup, with Daryl and Yeats; reliving the Cathar lifetime in which Yeats as a Soldier of the Cross, had taken the heretic Daryl's head, after they had safely hidden the Cup.
'But, no, we aren't part of any cult...' At least that's not how she would name it. 'We have attended meetings, with some Portuguese friends who also deal in antiques, whom, we believed, might better understand the properties of these objects, and help us deal with them. It was they who warned us to keep them safe and never use them.'
Em didn't want to think about that.
Maurice released her hands and leaned his head upon his hand, elbow on table, regarding this new side of "Emmeline". She was becoming an enigma. A help or hindrance? He did wonder...
'Cheri...' he began, '...I don't quite know what to do with you.'
Em bit her lip as tears, unbidden, began to course down her cheeks. She slowly shook her head. 'I, certainly did not wish to cause any trouble for you. I don't know why such...' she waved a hand, indicating "such", 'odd things seem to gravitate my way...'
-- Maurice handed her a hanky. Monogrammed...she dried her tears and blinked away, embarrassed.
'I want to assure you, though,' she continued, 'that neither I, nor Daryl, or, truly, any friends of ours, would ever be involved in anything dangerous or, as you say, diabolical.' At least, not to their knowledge. But, she knew she was stretching that a bit when it came to Daryl; ever setting foot over that cliff, Le Mat, The Fool..
However, Em realised had very little experience dealing with Catholics. Surely he wasn't thinking she would be doing deals at a crossroads at midnight...
'Hm.' Maurice wanted to believe her. He wanted it very much. In truth, he had sequestered himself away from it all in his own little world for many months now, and he had found it refreshing to see his young nephew Alain and Em; she had passed all his 'tests' well -- the chess game, the rides in the country, and the last: her attendance at mass with him.
He had even spoken with Fr.Francis at Bonsecours about her. Le bon pere had seemed to find la mademoiselle perfectly charming...
Well, we will see, then.
'Emmeline.' He gave a small shake of his head. 'In spite of my reservations, I...' he sighed, 'I do not wish to send you away, never to see you again.' He locked his gaze with hers. 'But if ever I find that you are not truthful with me --'
Em knew that Maurice was a person not to trifle with.
'Maurice, please believe that I would never be anything other than completely honest with you!' She put a hand on his, her eyes pleading. 'I know we have only recently met, but, I, too, would not wish to be sent away. Please, cher.'
It had been long and long that anyone had called him 'dear.' He knew that emotions could get the better of his reason at times, but he hoped this was not one of them.
'Oui. All right, then,' he sighed. 'Let us return to the others, non?'
Was he being a complete fool, though? He wondered...
..............
They entered the parlor finding the young couple at play. Alain and Shannon had flipped the chess board and were playing checkers on the other side.
'Oh, diosa!' Shannon swore an oath to the goddess. 'How do you expect me to win when you keep taking my men?'
Alain merely chuckled.
Em meanwhile, was aghast that Shannon would invoke the goddess. Em knew she was capable of invoking a hel-- that is, a heck of a lot more. Diosa, she thought; if she gets the anti-Pope bit in her teeth, she's capable of tearing down the Church stone by stone...Oh, please, not here, not now...
Shannon regarded Em and Maurice, asking, 'So. What did you and Athena do when you found that, old chest?'
Em resumed her seat upon the sofa. 'Eh...Athena thought that it may have been part of a Masonic ritual.' her eyes went to Maurice who gave nothing away. 'She called it the "Room of Reflection".
Alain also, was watching Maurice, who stated, 'Oui. That is possible. Bones, a skull, perhaps, are part of the ritual. One meditates upon one's mortality. It is a helpful idea to keep in mind. To aid one in remaining upon the Good Red Road, as our Natives call it...' With that, Maurice stared hard at Em, who was surprised at Maurice's reference to native customs.
'Oncle is Metis,' Alain said to Shannon. 'His mother, ma grandmere, was Iroquois and Cree.'
'Truly, Maurice?' Em asked. He nodded, silent. She continued, 'I also, am part Cherokee, on my mother's side.'
'They make a good pair, I think,' Shannon said, soto vocce, to Alain, who agreed. 'I think so, too,' he said, grinning at the older couple, who were flushing red upon the sofa under scrutiny.
'All right, then, let us have it!' Maurice announced suddenly. 'You must tell of how you do it; how do you travel...so --?' He waved a hand in inquiry.
Alain was surprised at this. 'You have not told him?'
He asked Em.
'I have. But, I haven't shown him.' She reached within her skirt pocket. 'Here. It is a mobile emitter. It opens the...time portal.' She placed the innocuous looking metal object upon the table before them. She sighed. 'Shannon has one also.' She paused. 'You still do have it, yes?'
'I do,' she replied, 'it is safe at home. But I...I really don't want the responsibility.'
'I'll take it, then.' Em decided. She regarded Maurice. 'So...if all that was only a part of this Masonic ritual, then why were St.John and Kidd so interested?'
'That's the fly in the ointment, non?' Maurice rubbed his chin in thought. 'Obviously, it is something much more. I think...' he paused, frowning, '...that these are very special bones, perhaps. Someone in particular.'
He turned to Em. 'You say there was a laboratory in this basement as well, where you found them?'
Em nodded, not wanting to go there at all. Thoughts of her father, the terrestrial one, hovered menacingly in mind.
Maurice slowly shook his head. 'Non. C'est mal-' he paused. 'Em, this is not good. You also said that Daryl did not know of this room, or the secret passage?'
'Of that I'm quite certain.' Em was adamant. 'He seemed utterly befuddled when Athena and I told him of it. Even when he knew of it, apart from one quick visit with us, he did not go there again.'
Oh, please do not quiz me about Nob Hill House! Em was anxious that M. know nothing about her father the mad scientist; that'd be the 10-ton straw that breaks this budding relationship's back...
But Maurice's mind was churning, trying to tie up disparate ends that were threatening to turn this impromptu coffee klatch into a Mad Hatter's Tea Party.
Gathering up the remainder of the nosh onto a tray he queried, 'Just who was that rather ginger-haired fellow you spoke to outside of the cafe, Emmeline? The one who brought news of Shannon? Eh...how did he know?'
Oh, diosa! Emlyn froze, wondering what could she say?
Not only did she come packing a mad scientist father, (one of them: and oh, Madonna, please keep Axelis out of this!), but also a half-fey SON...how to explain that one?
Em's rather 'colorful', 'adventurous' past was catching up with her...her chickens were coming home to roost; only hers were peacocks and dodos and cuckoos...
and they all had just landed here, in rather Catholic Montreal, of all places. Oy.
Before she could think of something innocuous to say, Shannon piped up with: 'Oh! And that's another thing!'
-- Em shot her a wide-eyed look and chanced a small head shake, mouthing: 'NO!'
-- But Shannon had a tale to tell: 'Our boy Llew had been shadowing me! I hadn't even been aware of it, until I'd catch glimpses of him, in Arcadia, at the shop, here and there, just out the corner of my eye, you know...but, in the end, it was a good thing; he let you know what had happened.'
'Ooh, that lad!' Em couldn't help exclaiming. 'I shall deal with him as well, when I get back...'
Maurice looked confused, understandably.
'Just how many people have these mobile units? I am beginning to think the world is full of timewalkers!'
Shannon The Mouth carried on unreservedly:
'Oh, Llew comes by his travels naturally...the fey are adept at that sort of thing. He gets it from his faery father.'
Oh dear goddess, I am undone...Emlyn thought, crumpled. I should have left Shannon with the mad people.
But, to her surprise, Maurice took this newest bit of outre' folly with relative equanimity.
'Ah.' He glanced at Alain. 'C'est fey. Titania and Oberon, non?' He even smiled at Em. 'Even St.Joan, Jeanne d'Arc, she traffiked with the faeries. During her trials, when she was asked if she would denounce the faery, she refused. She would not lie! Oui, French children are tres' intressant in the Shining Ones. As are all children, everywhere, non?'
Emlyn began to relax, relieved at Maurice's casual acceptance of things fey. Well, indeed, were not many of children's faery tales French in origin? "Beauty and the Beast", for instance? Her gaze went to Maurice, poor lamb. Between the two of them, she was the one feeling rather beastly at the moment. Perhaps she should have examined the 'why' of that feeling more in depth; a passing thought that ought to have taken root.
And then, Alain spoke up: 'Llew is of the Welsh tribes. The Twyleth Teg. They are related to Em as well.'
Em gazed at Alain, horrified. He was smiling! The wee booger!
'I, oh, Maurice!' She began, 'I can explain...'
'Yes.' Maurice was not smiling. 'It would seem you have some explaining to do.'
-- It was going to be a very long night...
.............
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