Marie did have in her veins the blood of the fairy Melusine, after all, as did her siblings and they all had a magic to them that was visible, something under the surface shining. Like moonstone. Marie too shone with it, the empress now saw that wicked underglow...although she was of course entirely devoid of beauty...she could see that those eyes of Marie's were not at all ugly. They were full of fire. And that was not nothing, the inner fire.
Lauren Groff
Matrix
......................
Maurice's clock on the mantle struck three.
Suddenly, the sky darkened. Great piles of thunderclouds rolled in over Montreal, and seemed to be drifting toward his cottage. In the distance, a low rumble of thunder began, like a giant's footsteps, slowly trundling nearer...
Alain turned behind him and gazed out the windows. 'Oncle! It looks like the mother of storms has come. Quickly too!'
Maurice, followed by Em, slowly arose and gathered at the windows as well. 'So near to the water here, it is not uncommon.' He frowned at the roiling clouds massing, purple and slate. 'So fast, though. Strange.'
Emlyn saw more than mother nature's hand in this perfidious phenomenon. However, she didn't wish to speak of the wolf then see his tail. Not here. Not now.
Shannon sat still upon the sofa, hands clasped, knuckles white. 'I care not for storms with thunder. Or the lightning.'
'Ma cherie,' Alain slid beside her, arm about her shoulders. 'Petit moineau! Ma little sparrow...stay safe with me, see?'
But Shannon felt frail as a lone lark in a windstorm against the elements bearing Thor's hammer. A Viking invasion from above, she felt this in her Irish heart...from which the mortals below stood little chance.
The clouds amassed boldly upon the cottage and Em pondered 'a storm' vs. 'to storm', deciding upon the second definition. She softly backed away from the windows. Just in time --
A fine "CRACK!" and flash of light followed by a roaring "BOOM!" shook the wee cottage to its foundation. Shannon buried her head in Alain's chest and even Maurice stepped back, eyes wide.
Emlyn was shaken, but she was also peeved. Of such antics she'd had previous experience. Maurice came to her side, and draped an arm about her, as much for his own comfort as hers. She boldly held him by his waist. And waited.
The sky darkened as though twilight. And, as if on cue, sure enough, there before them a pale light began to form, and to grow, until it became the height of a man. Yet, only an image of a man it was. In truth, it was a fey representative of the Twyleth Teg; in short, it was verily...
'-- Gwydion.' Emlyn spoke his name as though she'd been handed a box of chocolates and opened it to find only merde, as they say in Montreal.
Another blast of lightning crackled, followed by thunder; but Em had grown tired of these histrionics already. 'Why are you here?' She asked, wearily.
Gwydion looked like a very thundercloud himself, face beginning to purple with wrath. In a shaking fit he unclenched one fist and threw something akin to a necklace at Em's feet. Upon closer inspection, it proved to be a rosary.
She bent and retrieved it. 'Llew's rosary, from the abbey...' She regarded the elf lord quizzically. 'He only kept this as a souvenir, a keepsake.'
Gwydion could barely contain himself enough to speak. 'How DARE you! How dare you send MY son to that, that garrison, that fortress of heartless MURDERERS! Those, lying, merciless priests!' He spat the words which became small sparks from his tongue as his invective grew.
'YOU know better! You know how my people, OUR people were harrassed and driven underground like nothing better than a disease to be wiped out!' Em was stunned to see actual tears from Gwydion's eyes which flowed like small rivers into puddles on the floor. ' It was nothing less than genocide!'
He seemed almost to collect himself, turning away from the awestruck company for a moment, then he raised his head to the ceiling and moaned...a sound like a wounded animal. His head dropped then and he slowly shook it side to side, murmuring, '...And I thought to make you my Queen.'
He gathered himself then, pulling his purple cloak about him, raising the hood over his face and looking like bad news come to call again.
'MY son, is coming home. NOW. WITH ME!' His voice was low and threatening with the dark drone of a growl beneath. 'NEVER to return!'
One last burst of thunder, the loudest yet which shook the windows til the company feared their breaking...a great blinding flash and then, silence - like a vacuum.
No trace remained of the Lord of the Twyleth Teg. No puddles of tears, no rosary, either...although small shards sparkled where it had burst into bits. No one said a word, but the skies slowly seemed to clear and were returned to that of a late afternoon on a typical autumn day.
Shannon raised her head from Alain's chest while he straightened up and swallowed several times. Maurice, to his credit, was still standing beside Emlyn, his eyes wide and gaze still rooted to her, marvelling.
'It would seem...that you are acquainted with this, visitor,' he said at last, recovering a soupcon of sangfroid.
Em regarded him in turn, glad that he'd weathered that particular storm. 'Oh, Maurice, would that I was not.'
.............
Birds in flight. Starlings, swallows, whatever they were, moving in precision, swooping together up and up then down and across the meadow, and up again; Daryl watched and wondered how they managed that trick of perfection in formation.
His gaze went to his brothers at the abbey then, bending to their tasks in the garden and he compared them with the birds of the air. A bible verse came to him, that they would be looked after, like the lilies of the field.
Daryl had been working with the abbot all morning on the ledgers and accounts books. He actually preferred kitchen tasks, gardening or even plowing, but his back never seemed to heal sufficiently to suit him to such work for long. So after some long dull hours, he was dismissed to take a break outdoors in the fresh fall air scented with dry grasses and fallen leaves.
He watched the monks at work from outside the garden's rock wall. As was fitting; Daryl remained outside looking in, although the men referred to him as 'brother' or frere Daryl, he never truly became a novice, much less a monk.
Yet he had been allowed to stay on some months now. Healing his ravaged body and hoping mind and spirit would follow. Although he had found and enjoyed a certain inner peace, it always seemed as though his true self, the deepest part of him, was always apart and watching, as he went through the motions of monastic life. Watching and waiting, perhaps.
Daryl's attention was taken by a lark lurking in the maple tree above him and as he listened to his free songs, he felt a stirring within. Music. Perhaps that was what he had been missing.
Oh, he had enjoyed and been enraptured by the monk's chanting and choruses of song during the Hours. But...there was music and there was music. Bach was not the only genius of classical composers.
Daryl smiled at the lark above him. He tilted his head to the dappled sunlight between the branches and few stray leaves left this late fall afternoon, shading his eyes and trying to locate the winged cantor. But the singer remained hidden. The Song was All.
And Daryl knew that it was time to take his leave.
...............
Shannon withdrew from Alain's embrace and stood, smoothing her skirts. 'I may be but a country girl, but I know what I know, and it's time I was bound for home.' She gave Emlyn a hard look. 'There's trouble afoot. I feel it in my bones.'
Alain was on his feet and took her hand. 'I'll stand beside you, cher. My place is with you, as you well know.'
Shannon smiled. 'Aye, well...sometimes women's work is called for, you ken?' She arose on her toes and kissed him. 'But you may travel wi'me.' She addressed Em then. 'You coming or no?'
Maurice mentally shook himself and held Em by the arms, gazing at her. 'It would seem you are needed elsewhere, cherie.' He smiled. 'If only to take care of that poor lad who has that unfortunate for a father!' He slowly shook his head. 'And all you did for him! Sent him to a monastery to abide a while with the brothers, and see the rosary they gave him as a keepsake now lies shattered!'
He hugged Em to him, then kissed her forehead. 'You did well, what you tried to do for that lad, Lou, was it?'
Em hardly knew how to answer. 'Ah, well, Llew, as in Llewellyn, in the Welsh.' Oh, she wished nothing good for Gwydion, except that he would treat Llew gently in the days to come. 'Perhaps I should return home a while, and take stock...'
'Of course.' Maurice had some thinking to do of his own.
And Em decided she would let him think what he will. For now.
....................
And so it was somewhat of a surprise for her to find Jethro awaiting Alain at Mrs. Murphy's upon their return. 'Well if it isn't the wandering minstrel and company!'
'Good to see you, too,' Alain replied. 'What news?'
'We've work for you, pays well also, if you don't mind getting your violinist phalanges dirty.' Jethro took a bite of pear from Murphy's Orchards.
Alain was cautious. 'How dirty?' He frowned, knowing Jethro.
'A bit of mining, but nothing like lead or coal. It's out of our caves.' Jethro smiled wide.
'Ugaah...' Alain turned away, knowing about The Caves.
'Oh come now, would you prefer being a pauper to a prince? 'Tis but a bit of guano, it washes off...'
'Alors, the Prince of Merde, then?' Alain was not convinced.
'Jethro, are you mining the bat caves again? Thought you had shut those up.' Emlyn knew about the guano mines, to her disgust. She rinsed off pears and set them in a bowl.
'Oh, well, here's Em, then!' Jethro made a leg and a sweeping bow. 'Back from Nob Hill, eh? To mingle with the shire folk?' He could never resist a dig at Emlyn all the while they'd grown up together. 'I've often wondered if that's 'Knob Hill', with a "K"...'
Shannon waved her hand and took a pear. 'Ooh, that stuff smells to high heaven...I'll have to scrub you with lye soap on your return!'
'...A promise or a threat, cherie?' Alain queried, grinning. She threw a pear at him, which he deftly caught. He sighed. 'How much?'
As Jethro took him aside to discuss business, Em and Shannon did likewise. 'I must check back at the shop soon,' Shannon said, taking a pear. 'But I am curious why bat guano is suddenly in demand, ye ken?'
Emlyn did ken, then. 'No. It couldn't be...'
The lads returned from the pantry with Jethro looking truimphant and Alain resigned.
'You're off to the Bat Caves, are ye now.' Shannon meant it as a statement.
Alain smiled sheepishly. 'I cannot say no to the money, cherie. It certainly pays more than free ale at the ceilidh.'
Em was on the alert. 'I see. And who is this mysterious benefactor so greedy for guano?'
'I hear a song in there somewhere,' Jethro looked above, dreamily...'Yes, well if you must know, our patron is none other than our own Jeanne's husband, Mr. Kidd.'
'I knew it!' Em and Shannon said, together, frowning. 'And just what does Kidd think he'll be doing with it?' Em fired at him.
'He's nay using it for his bloody garden!' Shannon continued.
The men were somewhat taken aback by this sudden volley. 'Hold up!' Jethro put up a hand. 'What's got into you two? I know he's not your favorite person, but what have you against him, really?'
Em took a step nearer him. 'Used to be, he wasn't YOUR favorite, either. What's changed since? Filthy lucre in hand, your hand?'
'What if it is?' Jethro wasn't having it. 'Maybe I'm not the only one to sell out, Miss Knob Hill!'
'Wait, now, just a fair minute...' Shannon stepped betwixt the two, arms out. 'Let's think on this, rational like. Maybe the lads don't know, and don't care, they just want a fair day's pay for fair work, is it not?' The lads nodded, Jethro still fuming, arms crossed.
'Emlyn, back off a wee bit, now, lass.' Shannon urged. 'We want to know what's up with all this, yes? Alright then. We already have two fine men on the job, who have eyes and ears at the ready, aye? We have only to let them do the work, get the pay AND find out what for!'
'Ma cherie, you suspect nothing good in this business?' Alain at least had the idea.
Shannon took his arm. 'Mon cher, you should know that Kidd is no one to trust. Oui?' Alain knew all too well...having lost Jeanne to Kidd.
Jethro sighed, taking a seat. 'Alright. It's true that it contains saltpeter...' he looked up. 'And, add a little sulphur and charcoal, and guano goes boom...'
'Exactly!' Em replied.
'Okay, okay...' Jethro leaned back in his seat. 'We'll be your spies, then. But I can't afford to lose this job! It's paying more in a few weeks than I'd make all year...'
Em didn't press. She knew that Jethro was all the farm had to keep it going now. 'That's all we ask.' She kissed the top of his dark curls. 'I'm sorry. It's just that, that man I find ever more infuriating!'
Jethro looked up at her, taking her hand. 'I always admired your hasty temper, cinnamon head.'
Em was tempted to squash a pear on his pate but she patted it instead. Which, to Jethro, was nearly as bad; he was always up for a good wrestle...
...............................CLICK below to listen
Tangled Up In Blue: bob dylan
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YwSZvHqf9qM
