So, with no more, than some clothes, coin, and books, he ventured into the unknown and found himself in the pandemonium of cultures that was Rhydin. It was an archaeologist?s dream come true. Not only that, but in searching out the distance of its reaches, he came across the dejected bit of land with vineyard and house. A favorite passion of wines, it sparked his delight and imagination. A turn of hand at wine making would be just the thing, he thought. Deals made, money handed over, and he was the owner.

?It needs a name, Jolyon,? the old man, Hamish by name, spoke from behind him.

?Right you are.? He put his thoughts to it, the linguistics of possibilities whirling in his mind like bubbles in champagne. ?Markland Memories??

The snort from the old man spoke volumes to what he thought of that. Jolyon ran both hands through his brown hair. Blue eyes squinted up to the sky as he turned to more thoughts. ?Rumors Mill.?

It was a laugh and a nod. ?There you go, lad. Rumors Mill sounds fine, only we don?t have such a mill on property.?

Jolyon laughed and clapped the man on the shoulder, ?Then I guess I will have to be having one built.?

Beneath the layers of his coat and clothes, Jolyon was sweating. The pruning and tying of the vines had to be done, and he had worked up a great deal of heat in its doing. It was not, however, smart to shed the extra layers in the cold morning now. A fast chill and he would be laid up for days. So, he worked on in the warming confines of his clothes and under the bright sun giving false impression of a warm day.

?Hamish!? he called as he reached down to find he had run out ties. He had thought about it on the last one he tied, but between then and now, there had been some pruning and weed pulling, and he had forgotten.

?Aye, lad?? The old man came up from his place a few lengths down the same row but the opposite vine.

?I?m out of ties.?

?Can?t say as we have more, but might check the cellar. Could be some laying about there.?

Jolyon nodded and drew off the gloves, slapping them against his leg to get rid of some of the dirt. ?I will go see. You keep working on.?

?That I?ll do. Be careful as you go.?

In a half turn, Jolyon stopped and turned back with a worry laced grin. ?Expecting the roof to come down on me??

?Maybe.? Hamish said and went back to his work.

The reply did not instill any measure of confidence in Jolyon, who had already discovered weak boards in his newly purchased home. The place, he had been told, was no more than three years vacant, but it seemed it had much abuse in that time or had been falling apart when the previous owners left. Whatever the reason, every day Jolyon was discovering why he got such a good price on the land.

He trod the winding path up the slow rising hill to the house with half-mindful steps. Costs and figures poured through his mind, and on top of that, how he was going to pay for them. A rounded doorway of stone lead to a few steps down. He pressed against the oak door where it creaked, threatened collapse, and then pushed aside. The few more steps down, he stopped by the small table and lit a lamp to take him on to tool shelves.

It was a heavy smell in the air where empty barrels and stands looked mournful in their lines. A few upturned stones where under the strange impulse of imagination, Jolyon thought he might discover some past remnants of the people before him, only to find nothing to appease his archaeological mind. The cellar was a tomb of regrets and loss, and he was determined to breathe life back into it. That determination steeled his spine and he nodded to the words of his father. Persevere, Jolly.

There was nothing to find on the tool shelves, and not wanting to spend another coin before he had to, he moved on down the length of the room to a series of doors. Two of them he had explored, but the third had moaned something terrible against his insistent pushing, and he had left it alone to explore when the house felt safer.

While the house felt no safer than it had three weeks ago, he frowned and gave the door a mighty shove of his shoulder. ?Ouch,? he rubbed at his shoulder as the door gave way and crashed open against the wall behind it. The light in his hand seemed frightened by the dark beyond, but Jolyon took the few steps further down and looked over the room.

There were too many bottles for his surprised mind to count. Wide eyed, breath caught, he walked to the nearest bottle. The light set on a neighboring shelf, Jolyon drew out the small pruning knife from his hip and cracked the seal. Lacking a glass, removed the cork with care, prayed there was something worthy in the dark liquid and upended the bottle for a sip. It was a crude action, but necessity bartered with delicacy.

The rich flavors, deep cherry and hint of spice and bitter chocolate, it was a beautiful red wine. It was a trial to not drink more after his poor experiences at the inn with wines, but instead, he grabbed another bottle and went running from the cellar back to the field. ?Hamish! We?ve wine!?

"Snow, Hamish. Snow!" Jolyon stood among the vines and looked up at the sky and down at the ground.

"Good eye you have there, lad." Hamish grumbled as he went along the path.

Jolyon's shoulders sagged at the man's sarcasm. "Yes, thank you, Hamish. What now?"

There was no immediate reply as the old man took some time getting down on his knees and pulling at weeds now frozen into the ground. The rattle and creak of the vines in the wind and weight of snow were echoed in the man's rise from the ground. "What now?" he puffed out with the ghost of his breath rising up on the air. "We wait."

It was not what Jolyon wanted to hear. "Wait? This will kill the plants. There has to be something to do."

Hamish eyed Jolyon as if he were from another planet, which was precisely true and gained them nothing but staring at each other for some time before Hamish finally grunted out. "They aren't awake yet, lad. Let 'em sleep, and we wait." He turned and started back towards the house.

"Sleep. Wait." Jolyon hung his head. "I need a job."

The job search had not been going well, and he did not think the prospects of this morning were going to be much better. As Jolyon ate some breakfast, sharing the morning with Hamish who was quietly reading an almanac while sipping coffee, he disrupted the silence to ponder out loud, ?Maybe I should go back to Yilnai and see if I can find a grant or some research monies to support this endeavor.?

Without batting an eye, Hamish disrupted his sip and said, ?That?d be cheating, wouldn?t it??

Such a direct accusation came out of the blue and befuddled Jolyon. ?Cheating? How is that cheating??

?Not pure research when you?ve not had to struggle like the rest of the folk, apply knowledge and knowings of elsewheres to here.? The coffee sipped and his thumb turned a page as he read on with all the calm reflection of a summer lake.

?If I don?t find a job soon, Hamish, the entire research project is gone anyway, and so am I. And so, might I add, this particular job.?

?I?d find another.?

Jolyon had to chuckle, ?No doubt you would. It?s my job I need to find. So,? he gave up on eating the rest of his breakfast, knowing it would be wrapped up waiting for him when he returned. ?How do I look??

Hamish deigned to raise his eyes briefly, and then turned back to his coffee. ?Stuffy.?

?Excellent.? Jolyon nodded and gave a wave as he set out to first visit the museum.

The magnifying glass was held steady by a clamp at an angle to the artifact. Should some strange occurrence release the magnifier from its hold, there would be less chance for damage to the piece. Jolyon had been studying it for two hours. With care his gloved hands would turn the thin ceramic plate with its runic etchings on the edge every few moments so he could copy their orientation to the delicate drawings on the faceplate as well as the tiny holes. Holes that had been set with purpose and precision were the most significant signs of what this plate and its brethren in the box were: ancient astronomy devices.

Until he deciphered the writing, which he hoped would be within the next day or two, he could not be certain. Even then, he would have to determine where the plates came from by layout of the stars in the sky, and that could take years to manage without the luck of finding more detailed information. It was, he had to admit, and exciting prospect.

Jolyon sat back as he finished the plate. Its complete design on paper to the precise measurements, the dating of the materials based on basic calculations he learned at the university, and he hoped would be transferable. Some things he had to trust were not so different, such as the break down of basic elements over time. Then again, he had admitted upon the first samples taken to put through the chemical tests, he might find himself holding something that was old to another culture and yet new to him. Could elements go backwards and become newer if their time continuum was disrupted? He doubted it, but the further thought had been the dating would only say how old the item was and not if it was from the past, the future, or the present since such time fluctuations were impossible to calculate with his equipment.

To prevent giving himself a headache of theoretical possibilities, he went on as he could to discover what was possible within the parameters of the environment. The plate was packed up with the others, and he took out his pocket watch to check the time. It was nearing dinner, and he would need to clean and lock up before he went to find a place to eat. A place to eat that was close by, for his insides rumbled something fierce in the depths of his belly.

Excitement at the idea of what, or perhaps more accurately, who he might run into while searching out a new place to eat gave him his second wind. With coat in hand, keys to the lock, and pocket, he whistled a tune down the street on his search for possibility.

Jolyon had made it as far as the couch after seeing to the care of the horse. It seemed to him there was no point in going upstairs when the couch with its worn velvet, burgundy cushions was just as welcoming. That he woke with a blanket over him head had to attribute to Hamish. To confirm that waking suspicion, the clatter of a pan echoed down the empty hallway from the kitchen to the sitting room.

Rubbing hands over a face rough with three days of stubble, he sat up against his body?s plea for more sleep. A late night brought on by falling asleep at work and then needing to wake up for the drive home with a stop by the inn was sending his internal clock into frenzy. If he kept this up, he would be up all night and sleep all day. Head propped up in his hands with elbows to his knees, he sighed the realization that he would just have to give up visiting the inn.

Shrugging the blanket around to his shoulders, he shuffled into the kitchen. The tile floors sounded loud beneath his feet, but that was only because he had little by way of furniture or adornments to soften the steps. It was not nearly as loud as another clang of a pot from the kitchen.

?Afternoon, lad,? Hamish greeted with the crash of another pot. ?I was thinking I?d have to rearrange the entire kitchen before you stirred.?

?Hm,? Jolyon grunted. He looked at the kitchen and then to the window when the words of the older man struck him. ?Afternoon? How far after noon?? he asked as he scrambled to draw out his pocket watch, blinking away bleary-eyed sleep.

?An hour or so,? Hamish guessed as he started to put away his method of alarm clock.

The blanket went flying out behind Jolyon like a cape as he ran for his room, taking the stairs two and three at a time. ?I?m late for work!? he called to the walls of the near empty house. There was no time for a thorough clean up, just a wash of face and hands, not daring to look at himself close in the mirror. No one was going to see him but stones, runes, and mummies.

?Need me to saddle up the horse?? Hamish called up the stairs.

?No,? spluttered between a splash of cold water and the drying of his face. ?I will see to it.?

He stripped off his shirt and did a quick rub down of his chest and arms with the dampened towel, then a fresh shirt on, buttoning it as he galloped down the stairs and out to be on his way. Glad to be an excellent rider, he set heels to flanks and took off the first minutes at a high gallop. How could he be late on the one day his employer was coming to visit and check on the work?

The warehouse was dark except for the lamp over his work desk. The modest space on that much abused desk saved for his writing was walled by stacks of documents and books. Stretching his hand a moment against the cramp of writing so long and so quickly, but his thoughts would not be still. In a feverish demand, he wrote observations and the conclusions, drew correlations and supported them with facts, and at each moment the ink covered the paper with black writing.

One elbow on the desk helped prop up his head, fingers gripping his hair. It was not the work for which he was to be paid, but some of the artifacts and texts found supported his theory. Alliances and betrayals, arrivals and dismissals, disappearances and reappearances, they all worked towards his main theory: a population dwelling in chaos reverts to the most base parts of their nature. They fail to seek self improvement and seek only comforts of the basic nature.

It did correlate strongly, he felt, to that ancient fellow Maslow?s theory, but what better venue to provide a most reliable experiment than in a place that is inherently incapable of providing anything beyond the first level. Other philosophies, not only in Maslow?s own home world but others as well, argued against such a hierarchy, but Jolyon was determined to run the experiment and make his observations in this most bizarre of places.

It would be invaluable to his own work in analyzing the possible reasons for deteriorations or advancements of a society. Struggles against different reasoning or experiences across vastly different worlds could be set aside if he could, at last, make a bid to confirm the basic humanoid impulses.

The crucial thing to analyze first was if pockets of advancement made impact on the world at large. Places that encouraged self improvement and enlightenment such as research centers, schools, and theatres had any influence at all in counter to the environment at large. Jolyon would present this first step to the contacts he had back home, and see what they would say.

A thrill of excitement at the prospect kept his hand moving across the page, past its ache, to fulfill the requirements of the presentation.

Jolyon woke to a warmer morning that went to an increasingly warmer day. Well, at least in comparison to previous days. Influenced by the sun and the warmth, he decided to spend the day learning at Hamish?s side more about the vines and taking a much needed break from all the research at the warehouse and on his own project for the Markland University. True, he had not been approved for the grant as yet, but with the display of the tablet and his already collected notes, he was very confident that the directors were impressed and the grant was as good as approved.

After time among the vines, checking the leaves and the roots as well as the newly planted rose bushes at the ends, Jolyon and Hamish were enjoying their noon meal in the kitchen. The mean leaned on the counters to relax since chairs were still not in evidence in the kitchen. Sandwiches were the meal and eaten in accompaniment by glasses of sparkling grape juice. It was not wine, but it was a well made beverage after all.

?I?m telling ya, lad,? Hamish was having a good joke at making Jolyon blush, ?she had ones the size of--?

A knock at the door, while unexpected, at least saved Jolyon from hearing the further description of the woman from Hamish?s past?s assets. Wiping his mouth of any crumbs or sauce from the sandwich, Jolyon went to answer the door.

?Good day, Dr. Gardiner,? the man grinned and walked inside with a valise and a briefcase to be followed by another man with two suitcases and a third with one whom Jolyon at least recognized.

?Well, umm, yes, good day, Mister..?? Jolyon queried, his face angled more towards Matthias, Dr. Matthias Grient, than the stranger to whom he was speaking.

The man set down his valise and offered a hand, ?Dr. Jonas Matthews, a pleasure to meet you. I tell you we had a time getting here. Your notes were not misleading when you said streets just up move or vanish all together.? His round face went even rounder when he grinned to his companion. ?We had quite the time, wouldn?t you say, Sam??

?Dr. Samuel Ralven, Dr. Gardiner, and a pleasure to meet you as well.? The other man offered his hand in kind and nodded to his companion, though his thin, sallow face did not seem able to smile or it might crack along the lines of his wrinkled skin.

?But here we are at least, thank goodness.? Dr. Matthews went on as bubbly as the sparkling grape juice Jolyon had left in the kitchen.

?Yes,? Jolyon was still trying to catch up with their appearance on his doorstep, ?and to what do I owe this visit??

?Ah, well, yes, best to get right to it, then, eh?? Dr. Matthews was starting to look uncomfortable because his smile became a bit more frozen. ?The directors of Markland University school of social sciences has granted the proposal the necessary funding.?

Jolyon smiled and laughed, shaking each man?s hand in turn. ?Excellent, excellent news.?

?No, Jolly,? Matthias broke into the young man?s enthusiasm, ?They granted it to Drs. Matthews and Ralven.?

Over the week, Jolyon kept much to himself and did not venture to see any of the few acquaintances he had formed in the past weeks. He was no kind of company now. When he ventured to the inn it was to put off the return to his invaded home and have a glass of bourbon. Bizarre things still happened all around him, trying to stir him into discovery and the joy he usually felt in learning about a new culture. Three days a week he spent at the warehouse, transcribing, deciphering, and cleaning what artifacts were there. He sank deep into its sanctuary of secrets and mysteries and did not come out until his back ached and eyes watered with weariness.

Matthias had returned to Markland to report Drs. Matthews and Ralven settled in Rhydin and being assisted by Jolyon in the previous notes. Jolyon, point of fact, was doing the best he could to be polite, logical, and helpful on the two days he set aside for the scholars to pick his brain at what they had seen. Ralven seemed aristocratically uncaring that he had been granted the project instead of Jolyon, and his reserve was only more amplified by his partner?s vigorous and lengthy exultations of the latest findings and comparisons to Jolyon?s work, which, Dr. Matthews always felt compelled to point out was ?good for a first try.?

The other two days in the vineyards was his balm and his succor, but even they, with their quiet, slow changes could not hold the promise of something for which he must stand and fight. There would be other vineyards in other places. It was on such a day, he walked the rows, fingers reached out to touch the woody tangle of the vines along their lines and posts to check for soft spots eaten into the core by bugs or fungi. It was a fine day, the weather warming, and Hamish was not far off grunting or grumbling about one of his most recent favorite topics: either their unwanted guests or the state of the soil.

A mild smile caressed the corners of Jolyon?s mouth, and he looked back to the plants with a jibe sent to Hamish. ?No,? he offered with sarcasm touching light to his words, ?I don?t think burying them out here will improve anything, except maybe your temper, but that?s a far chance to take.?

The clot of dirt hit him square in the back of the head. ?Ow,? Jolyon rubbed where the chunk, about the size of his palm, had pelted him, ?was that necessary??

?Yes!? Hamish called from his row over, where he was knelt on the ground and seeing to some ornery weeds. ?It is your home. You paid for it. Tell ?em to get out.?

?It isn?t that easy, Hamish. I still have a life and a career back home that I have to keep in mind and foster.? Jolyon walked to stand across the way of the vines from the old man. ?I can?t burn my bridges just because one thing didn?t go my way. I?ve lost grants before.? Twice had it happened. Bitterly, though, he argued with himself that both those times before he had not had to foster those that were awarded the grant in his place or give up his work or findings to them.

Hamish sneered, ?Seems to me you got a choice to make then. Pack up and get on with that life or make one here.?

Jolyon did not like that choice, and also felt it an unfair one. ?That is a false choice, Hamish, and not the only one. What I need to pack up is the sour grapes I?m carrying around over losing that grant and get on with what I came here to do.?

?Came here to learn about cultures and explore the business of wine, didn?t ya lad?? Hamish shuffled on his knees sideways like an absurd crab.

Leaning down, Jolyon plucked at a blade of grass, fingers firm around its base to tug the offending root free and tossed it to join the small pile Hamish had collected on a cloth to be set into the mulching pile. ?Aye, learn all around, and I suppose one viewpoint is as good as another. I might just have to fund my own way through this exploration.?

Hamish stopped what he was doing and nodded. ?I?d say that?s just what you?re doing.?

"Dr. Matthews, I appreciate that this is not an ideal situation, but this is my home, of which I am working to keep in my possession and I purchased with my own funds. I simply am not set up for, nor intend to be, the boarding house for visiting academics." Jolyon was doing his best to not lose his temper.

The two elderly professors were sitting upon his patio, sipping what they exclaimed as an excellent vintage of brandy, and enjoying the weather. Their conversation had brought Jolyon time again from his review of the accounts. Hair gripped tight, his pen ticked off the lines to make sure he had not missed an expense or, more importantly, an income. When he heard Dr. Matthews voice drift in one of the open windows with a hearty laugh, "I declare this is a fine place, eh? We are certainly living the life now that we know such wounds are so easily remedied."

That had been the final straw, the poor pen snapped between his fingers. Better the pen then the men's necks, and better still that by the time Jolyon went out to confront them he had cooled his temper and thought of a persuasive argument.

It had failed, though, and the professors took affront to his suggestion that they would be closer and more suitably accomodated in town. It was a sensible suggestion, but it would also mean the professors using some of the grant or their own personal money to support them while they were researching.

But by this time, Jolyon could care less. He had realized that night at the wedding, in no uncertain terms, that he had to make his own way. Whether he stayed here or not, he at least had a year to see out. There were other things to research here and other universities back home. Or, he thought, he could become independent and sell his findings to the highest bidder.

Most of all, he wanted his home, his dream of the vineyard that he worked and supported back. That meant his guests had to go. "You have until the end of next week to find a suitable residence for your needs. You are welcome to gripe and grumble as loud as you wish when I leave in the hour." He needed to get away from their cold looks for awhile, and Beltane was as good an excuse as any, particularly since it was not too far from Rumors Mill. Jolyon was careful, however, not to mention he was going to a local celebration, or he would be certain to have them tagging along.

Leaving Matthews sputtering and Ralven quietly accepting, Jolyon went upstairs to get ready. Something comfortable, he thought, would be best. A nice pair of slacks and a green shirt, sleeves rolled slightly and two top buttons kept undone. It was, he felt, time to see to his business here, and some of that, was blending in to the surroundings.

It had been an exceptional good several days. Each time he visited the inn, there was some new perspective to add to the growing amount of information he was collecting. The leather folder rarely left behind, he always had it with him, even if he did not always use it. He did not want to be caught without paper again as he had that one time.

The house was pleasantly his once more, and the funds now being spent on fewer frivolities, was being put towards the improvements of the house and land. Walls once crumbling or stained had been plastered and painted. Gas lamp fixtures, the few in the home limited to chandeliers in the billiard's room, the formal dining, and the entryway, were checked and refurbished. The inside of the home was in full working and safe condition, and Jolyon now turned his funds and his attention to the outside of the home.

Not content to leave the work entirely to those he contracted, he took up chisel and brush to lend a hand on days when the mood struck him. Days such as this day when it was cool and cloudy but no threat of rain. He could work long hours with the others, learned of their lives in casual conversation, and helped bring the house just that much more towards complete.

Hamish came out to call the day to a halt and let Jolyon know dinner was ready. "Thank you, Hamish." Jolyon beamed a smile and clapped the elder man on the shoulder as they walked back into the house as the work crew left. "Been a very fine day."

"Ach, yeah, I'll be agreeing with you there. Fine day all around. Vines are showing their promise and the house is a fair prospect once again" Hamish poured out two glasses of wine. "You've done a fine thing here, lad."

Jolyon could hear the 'but' caught just behind the man's teeth. He did not ask to hear it. Instead he took the compliment as it stood. "Thank you, Hamish. It means a lot to me that you approve."

Like a craggy rock of earth, aged with slow wisdom, Hamish gave a nod and rubbed his jaw. "Well, eh, that I do, yeah. Only, you're still a young man, yet, and I suspect you have a need to be spending time with some your age."

"Well, I do the best I can, though I don't go asking people's ages, Hamish, it is considered rude still, I think. But I venture out," Jolyon smiled. "I am content, and if its lonely I get, I will go back to Markland for a time. You do well enough without me, I should think."

With that, the man laughed and took up the fork to start on the meal of home cooked lasagna, "Too right, there, lad, but only for a time. You still need to pay the bills and my wages."

Jolyon laughed and nodded, "Don't worry. I have a lot more to discover here, and a years yet to see this vineyard through one season at least. You'll have your wages."

The men shared grins, food, and tales of the day like years made friends, father and son, boss and employee, but not once did there lay another uncomfortable moment that night between them.

High Summer in Yransea had been the experience of a lifetime, but the hints of Harvest Festival had peaked Jolyon's interest. He was not so bold as to angle for an invitation. Still, he hoped that one would be extended all the same.

Not only that, but a Harvest Festival in Rhydin as well. That, he thought, would be an excellent opportunity for the dichotomy at the heart of his theory -- a singular culture compared to a multicultural celebration. The perfect opportunity had come at last if he could just manage that Yransea invitation.

Aside from that notion which plagued him as he worked the ripening fields of vines, was the thought of giving a vine harvest party of his own. The house was complete, his funds now growing once again due to the unending work of the warehouse, and the grapes were showing their plump promise. In a few weeks, it would be time to harvest and set the motion of making his first wine. A lightening strike of thrilled anticipation jolted across his back and down his arms.

Jolyon knew he smiled almost all the time now. So much of his planning was coming to a head and all around the same time.

"Lad, you'll be needing to hire on some hands to bring in this harvest. I don't suppose you've got any in mind."

Looking to Hamish, his straw hat tilted back against the sun's warmth showing the flesh flushed with work, Jolyon shrugged. "No, I can't say as I do. I suppose a few signs posted will do the trick."

A grunt and sour look, Hamish said, "You will want to be careful about that. Don't want the dregs of the land troubling your vines."

"We'll be selective, and I have a contact that might be able to help." Jolyon plucked on grape from its cluster and chewed on it. "It is almost time."

"Aye," Hamish chuckled, "that it is."

"I was thinking of having a grape harvest party the last day of harvesting." Jolyon looked askance at the old man. He hoped Hamish would approve, but was not sure why he needed it.

The reaction of a bright smile and hands clapped together was not what he had expected. Hamish gave a chin wobbling nod, "Oh, that's just the right thing, lad. I'll have some of my friends in, you do as well, and we'll make a right to do just like the old days. Ahh, I'll be needing to plan the food!" He bustled off with a hop to his step like a man half his age, whistling a tune between chuckles.

Jolyon stood there dumbfounded with the taste of a not yet ripe grape tickling his jaw.

Jolyon was tired. It was a good, worthy sort of tired that reached deep into the body but did not tarnish the will. The expansive paper culminating all he had learned in the first year of living in Rhydin was done in the greatest sense of the word. Now, it was the detailing, editing, support work to be done.

The near completion encouraged him to work late into the night. The coming of spring with its plans of reclaiming more of the vineyard consumed his daylight hours. The weather was still cold. Too cold to do more than cut away and weed the long corridors of vines that fluttered leaves like old paper in the winds.

Another cough seized his lungs that he released into his shoulder. Hamish looked up from his work a few feet down. "Not getting sick are ya, lad?"

"No," Jolyon gave a smile, "just tired."

The older man guffawed, "Aye, I'd be sayin' you are. When did you finally douse that lantern last night?"

With a sheepish sort of half smile, Jolyon shrugged, "When I woke with my head on the desk and dangerously close to drooling on my work."

Another roar of laughter, "Oh, that would have been right grand to happen. You need sleep, lad, make no mistake." He grunted as he hacked at a particularly onerous bramble.

They were in a new section of the vineyard where the encroachers had taken deep root around the old vines slumbering deep. It was hard, heat building work, and Jolyon could feel the sweat build up. As tempting as it was to remove his coat, he was no fool. It would simply be asking to become truly sick. "I will rest in a few days. The paper is nearly done, and I will send it back to my sister for her last notes on it, and if she finds nothing, she will send it on."

It was only another grunt to be heard, though no weed was the cause. Jolyon closed his eyes just a moment to banish away the weary burn. He thought it just a moment, but a shake of his shoulder brought him up out of an unexpected nap.

"We're done for this day, lad. Get some rest. Go on now. You pay my wages, but I know the limits of a man. I was once young, and yes, even the young have limits. Go now." He gave a nudge to urge Jolyon to his feet.

"Very well, just a nap before lunch. Wake me when it is time, hm?"

And while Hamish agreed, he also lied, and let Jolyon sleep longer until his coughing, so severe, woke him.

Forcing himself to leave the inn early the night before, Jolyon had arrived at his home and gone straight to finishing up the paper. Tied in a leather traveling pouch and long with a letter to his sister, Jolyon set it on the foyer table. He knew Hamish would see to it.

All the tension slipped out of him, and he felt as beaten as a rug. Each step back up to his room was a struggle. A portion of his mind long to take a long, hot soak. With a self deprecating chuckle-cough, he realized if he indulged in that soak he would end up drowning. As it was, he flopped crosswise on his bed a few hours past the middle of the night.

Hamish did not wake him for breakfast nor for lunch, and Jolyon slept on. His eyes would flutter open to the light or a sound from outside. The thought to get up would rise and fall back into the oblivion of sleep once again. So, it was not until late afternoon that Hamish grunted his way up the stairs and stirred the young scholar.

A gentle shake to a shoulder. "Come on now, lad. It's time to wake. Need to get you cleaned up, food in ya, and wits about ya before the event tonight."

Nothing was stirring Jolyon until his mind processed the words "event tonight." Jolting upward, banging his heel against the baseboard, Jolyon cried out, "What time is it?"

"Be still. Ach, there's time yet. I wouldn't let you be late, lad."

The reassuring words as well as the angle of the light hitting the vineyards calmed Jolyon down and he flopped on his back again, reaching down to his drawn up leg to rub at the heel. "Ow," he murmured.

"Food first. Got a nice shrimp caprese. Fresh shrimp in today."

His stomach was eager, rumbling encouragement to his feet. Jolyon shuffled down the chilly corridors to the enticing aroma drifting from the kitchen. With food in him, sleep reviving him, and the coming bath, Jolyon was feeling much himself again. At a bawdy joke from Hamish brought out a bashful laugh sans cough.

"You have to actually pull on the weed for it to come out, aye?" Hamish stood over Jolyon's shoulder look down at where the younger man had been sitting, unmoving, for several minutes.

The directive broke into Jolyon's locomotive of thoughts. "Hmm? Oh, yeah," he chuckled and started back to work. "Yes, I know, Hamish."

"Lot of things on your mind? Thought with the paper done and on its way, you'd be focusing more on the vines and getting them prepared for the spring." Hamish grumped a bit as he went a few yards down the line to pick his place of work. The hitch in his gait more pronounced as the day drew on.

Luncheon had already passed. It not being a day to tutor Lirssa and having no further errands to run into town, Jolyon had promised it would be a day fully given to the vines. It was still cool, but the sun kept making its warm caresses over his back when the clouds allowed, and even without a jacket, he was comfortable.

"No papers, but just other things. Young Lirssa, my pupil, mentioned yesterday about not knowing what to do when a boy liked her, and I found myself completely unable to aid her."

Hamish did not even try to hide his chuckle. "That surprised ye, did it?"

With a roll of his eyes, and tossing a clump of weed at the man, "Not for the reasons you think." His fingers dug around the dirt, more getting beneath his short nails. Weeds were slender things, their leaves breaking easily, but it was the root that needed to be removed without doing damage to the vine root.

"It is just," he began again as they two men worked, "I see too many outcomes, I think, having done what I do for so long. I don't want to encourage something, particularly at her young age, that she may not be able to handle."

"I thought you said this Lirssa was a bright thing."

With a wobble of his head, Jolyon half admitted to that. "Well, yes, in most aspects. She tells me stories of her childhood that certainly raise the hairs on the back of my neck at times, so I can't say she's much of an innocent either. Still, one's first relationship is difficult, and I am not sure she is even interested. Maybe she will break his heart."

A clump of dirt hit him in the head. "What was that for?"

Hamish had such a frown that every wrinkle in his face was exposed. "Are you talking about Lirssa or yourself."

"Lirssa," Jolyon felt certain, at least for the moment. "I have had relationships before, thank you."

"Aye, so I've learned. Each one making you build that wall of yours, so everyone is a dear friend and not much more."

"Dig in the dirt, Hamish, not my life, if you would please." Jolyon moved down more from his place along the row to work another patch. Hamish had hit too close to the mark. Living with the old man for over a year, Jolyon realized he had been letting down his guard too much.

Over a year. It hit him like a blow to his back. He stopped his work and looked up and down the long line of rustling grapevine leaves. He had made the vineyard work, if just in a small way. He had taken on a life here that now had added complications.

Maybe it was time to move on.

With the weather continuing to play merry hob with their plans, Jolyon and Hamish had focused on dredging the pond, clearing out some of the clotting weeds, and work on establishing the pump in case the summer proved dry. The work was hard on the back and the legs, but it felt good. By midday, Jolyon had worked up a sweat beneath his layers of clothes. A dark scruff from the absence of a morning shave itched, but at least it did not sting. Not like his finger.

Another thrust of the post-hole shovel and Jolyon winced, looking at his bandaged finger. He had cleaned and bound it once he returned from the asylum. Signs of continued bleeding with a yellow blotch as well leaked through the bandage.

"Goin' to get that seen to then, eh?" Hamish leaned on the upturned handles of the shovel.

"If it does not improve today, yes I will." Jolyon shook his hand as if to shake away the pain and he looked over the pond. "Tomorrow we will take on the other half before we finish the pump?"

Hamish frowned and shook his head. "Nah, I think I saw a nesting in there. Don't want to disrupt them. It is clear enough for what we need. I wouldn't be recommending the drinking of it for humans, but the vines will do just fine if it comes to that."

The old man rubbed at his hip. "Glad you came back early, lad. Best thing we did going to see that doctor. I feel a goodly bit better."

With a chuckle, Jolyon got back to work. The chuckle transformed into a grunt with the effort of digging the pump hole deeper. "Yes, well, it was not by choice that I came back earlier, but I am glad you are feeling better. Now, the doctor said to take it easy. Those medications help a little with the pain and to restrengthen the bones. It does not make you invincible."

"Ach, so you say. Feel ten years younger, I do." He dared a skipping sort of hop, then chuckled. "But you say it wasn't by choice, eh?"

Jolyon thought over the strange arrival of Gaerwyn to escort him from the ship to an inn instead of Seansloe. That oddity followed by two days later asked to return to Yransea. Jolyon was not a fool, typically, and knew something gravely wrong was happening. Gaerwyn had been forthright but abrupt in his explanation of why, and Jolyon had left without further inquiries. He had no desire to put Sylvia in danger.

So, he was back in Rhydin. Back to wondering just what he was to do with himself next here in the place where observations continued to yield nuggets of possibility and lingering became another danger all together.

"I should wash up and get ready to meet with my student," he said moving to gather up the tools of their work. "Staying out longer?"

"Aye, that I am. I have some things I can finish here with you mooning about. Go on now and make yourself useful to someone." The old man gave a facetious scolding.

"Right," Jolyon chuckled but turned and whispered, "useful to someone."

A great deal of help had come Jolyon's way, more than he had expected, since Hamish's stroke and subsequent coma. Mason had joined him in the vineyards the day before along with some other fellows sent by Rena. With the extra help, the new half acre of vines had been reclaimed from its years left to the woes of nature. Surprisingly, over half the vines were viable still, if weary from dormancy and lack of care.

Serena and Rena had shared the vigil over Hamish, which lent Jolyon piece of mind that no matter what happened, if Hamish left or returned, it would not happen unnoticed and unknown.

Jolyon still slept at the clinic in the chair by Hamish's side. He would twitch awake at noises or breathing that seemed different. So it was in the bright early morning when a tone droned like a siren in his ear, he was already partly awake though he did not know why instantly. The half second to full wakefulness told him all he needed to know as the doctors and nurses rushed in and pushed him out of the room.

Hamish was gone.

Serena had promised to bring him breakfast, but he knew he was going to be poor company that morning. He felt poor company for even himself. The old standard of his family - persevere - came to the fore. He would work. He would be able to work, settle details, make his body move and his mind think.

He debated leaving a note for Serena and felt the cad in even thinking it. Instead, he waited and though it was like talking through a fog or dream, his mind already trying to move to details and past emotion, he thanked her for her consideration, promised to see her soon, and left, not even letting the young woman get a word in edgewise.

As he signed away papers at the clinic and then walked to the villa, he thought of what Hamish would want done. Jolyon had seen monuments to men of the past crumble into nothingness, mementos and poems feather into dust -- and he was no poet to start. In the end, he decided to return Hamish to where he first found him. He would be buried among the vines. They would be his monument for as long as the vines would last.

I'm empty and aching and I don't know why...
-"America", Paul Simon


The house was quiet. Jolyon walked through its silence. The groan of the stairs and click of the dogs' nails on the tiles did not make up for the sounds of others in the building. Sylvia and the children had left after breakfast. They had another home to return to and take care of full of people and activity.

Grey ashes sat in the firepit like quasiformed clay in the wash of rain outside the kitchen window looking out on the patio. It was odd to be alone so much. At the university there were the students and his peers, the campus pub, and the yard bristling with life so that when he had gone back to his flat it was to rest or write. Excavation sites had people breathing, laughing, crying just canvas walls away. He was never alone there, even in the darkness of cloudy nights, he knew others were just a call away.

Beltane had been an interesting prospect. He had looked forward to it, and was delighted by the surprise of additional guests to his home at the close of his time there. The celebration itself had been wonderful to view, but he had felt much like he had last year -- outside looking in, buffeted around at cheers and calls like an empty vessel caught on a wind.

He sipped the coffee and rubbed at his unshaven chin. The children had woken long before his choice of time that morning, but it had been a cheerful sound to hear upon the waking. It felt for a moment like his parents' home at holiday time with his nephews and nieces bright and lively in the morning.

The months last year, day in and day out at the warehouse, must have drained out of him the ability to be alone. Or maybe it was because even at the end of those long days with only artifacts to whisper their secrets to him, there was Hamish at the house -- a soul to speak to -- he knew was waiting.

"Come on then," he smiled down at the dogs and set aside his coffee mug that would probably stain from being forgotten for a day. He pulled on the canvas poncho to protect himself from the weather. The dogs perked up ears and wagged tails as he walked to the back door. "Time to check on the vines."

"Welcome, welcome," Jolyon smiled as he opened the door to the small villa for his brother, Dr. Kaylen Gardiner. "Let me get your case upstairs and we will have a glass of wine and you can tell me all the news."

Dr. Kaylen Gardiner was two and a half years younger than his elder brother, Jolyon, but for all that, he looked quite the settled man. A fine dark mustache was neatly groomed above lips that were generous but often in a straight line. His rich brown hair was neat and of the fashion in High Glens township in Markland. The clothes were impeccably tailored and shoes would have had a high gleam to them but for the remains of mud and dirt from his climbing out of the portal cave where he arrived. "Good, good, a glass of wine will warm my bones. You said that journey was cold, but by damn, I did not think you meant that cold! I shall not be bringing Jenny or the children though, I can assure you that."

Jolyon smiled over at his brother and nodded as he went up the spiral staircase and into the guest room he had cleaned so late the night before. "No, I do not think a journey as that would do them well."

"Shame, though, as I know little Jolly would love to visit his uncle, or have his uncle visit him more often." A flash of blue eyes, his several shades darker than his elder brother's eyes, favoring their grandfather. Much of Kaylen favored their grandfather, and the only thing Jolyon had gotten from him was the will to persevere.

Not about to rise to the bait of his visiting more often, or more likely his return, Jolyon set the case down and waited while Kaylen stripped of his jacket, hat, cane, and uncuffed his shirt cuffs. It was more symoblic of relaxation than true relaxation. Kaylen had come with a purpose.

With a motion to the door, Jolyon stepped past to lead down to the study where he poured them both a glass of wine fermented and produced in the style of port, but not from that region. "How is the practice, Kaylen?" He offered over the glass as his brother stretched out on a chair.

"Fine, fine. Suitable to keep my wife in the manner to which she is accustomed but not break my back, what?" He chuckled and gave silent toast to that idea before sipping. "I should imagine with what I saw as we drove through town that there are many physicians here doing a booming business."

Taking a seat of his own, Jolyon nodded with a wobble of his head. "I think every business is brisk. So many own their own and yet never lack of customers. In fact, one of the clinics in town is having a charity ball to raise funding for upgrades and expansion."

"A ball is it? Damn, Jolly, you should have told me. I brought nothing suitable at all, and you're a sight too tall for me to borrow anything, though I doubt you have much more than that gray thing you drag with you everywhere." His chuckle had the same meaty roll as their father's.

"Yes, quite right. I should, I suppose, expand my wardrobe as I do tend several theatre functions and parties here, not unlike mother and father's busy social circle at home, but I am spending tonight with my visiting family."

"Not at all, not at all. I am bound to be asleep at some ghastly early hour. You should go."

A sip of the wine kept the bitterness of that offer away, and he smiled, "But I only have that old gray to wear you do not like. I would hate to embarrass you."

"Nonsense." Kaylen eyed his brother shrewdly as if the man had a disease that needed naming. "Laeyna was right. Something's eating at you. I know you like a good social whirl better than the next so you can observe the interactions, and I should think this night's event prime territory, so to speak. You never can get enough of it and go searching for and wide seeking it out. What's the matter then, eh?"

"I forgot how much you talk, Kaylen." Jolyon jested, not at all in the mood to let his brother poke and prod at his life like there was some illness to discover. "Come on, if you are so full of chatter, let me show you the vineyard, bring the wine with you."

Jolyon could tell that Kaylen was not done with his interrogation, but played along and joined his elder brother in a stroll over the grounds, letting it also become a conversational stroll of mutual acquaintances back home and memories of childhood.

Kaylen's visit had been quite brief as Jolyon had expected. His younger brother had made his quick assessment of the situation, said his peace, and returned to his life. In much the same way, Jolyon had done his best to return to his life as well, or the one he was building, but the week had been somewhat challenging.

As he sat in the Rhydin Library among the chaotic randomness of the books, which rather suited the city in its fashion, Jolyon reflected on some of those challenges. Lirssa, Serena, Rena, Mira, Sylvia, Eva -- he was not oblivious to the trend of names ending in 'A' and noted in a margin of his ledger to make a study of it at a later date -- Mason, and the string of interviewees.

Lirssa, he hoped, was a situation settled, though it did trouble him that he had heard less of her family. The thought that came to the front as the most reasonable, though heart breaking, explanation was they had moved and Lirssa had remained stubbornly behind. However, it was not like Lirssa to keep such things secret, so until she said something, he would think merely things in that quarter were as they had been.

What had become more troubling was the idea that Serena was going to run a scam against the young lady, though he preferred to think of it as an experiment. To play with the girl's emotions did not sit well with him, but he would allow it to go on -- only so far.

A turn of the page of a book before him, one of several laid open to pages of particular interest to his point of studies that day: mythological ocean creatures across cultures. It had been one of his least knowledgeable areas, but there had been too many odd phrases from Serena. Things that rang distant bells like reef markers in a fog, vague and not certain. He hoped that refreshing his mind would ease the nagging feeling he should recognize something.

With a roll of his shoulders and a tilt of his head, he felt the tension of a long held position curved over the books release. The pocketwatch was clicked open to view. He had an hour left before he had to return to Rumor's Mill for any further interviews that might arrive that day.

That day was to be the last of them, he had decided. He would remove the postings that evening on his walk back into town. There had been a few that would be able enough, though finding one suitable to his particular quirks was merely going to take time and experience. Trial periods would be best set.

Rena's aid of Byron had been extremely helpful, particularly that morning when he had realized he had forgotten to purchase tea in the Marketplace the day previous. Still, there in the tea tin was a fresh parcel of tea along with some bananas and apples in the basket. It made for a cheerful breakfast that sent him into town with a contented feeling.

It had not gone without notice that Rena was continually doing him favors, and he was feeling quite remiss in returning the kindnesses. That was something he had full intention of remedying and soon.

Pocketwatch back to its place in his waistcoat, he closed a few of the books and set them at the end of the table to be collected later by the library attendants. One he kept open and flipped through to another section for further notes, but his thoughts wandered to Mason, whom he believed was to have his examination that day. He did hope Eva was with the fellow, who for all his burly defiance of company, should not face uncertainties alone.

He closed his ledger with more energy than he intended and out from it flew the newspaper clipping of the excavation Kaylen had left behind. Jolyon picked it up and glanced over the words once more. It took effort, like removing a thorn from a foot, to fold that page and toss it in a nearby waste bin. Even then he stared at the waste bin for a time.

With resigned sigh, he turned to pack up his things and return to the villa. There were interviews to be handled, so he hoped, and land to be walked. There were still things to do.

"Welcome home, Jolyon," Alastair greeted as he swung open the door and did not hide his surprise at the state of his employer's clothes and person. "Did you come straight from the site?"

With a well humored laugh, Jolly nodded. "I admit I did. It is actually a miracle I am here at all." He stepped inside as he continued the explanation for his present state. Still wearing his excavation clothes, the dungarees had a still fresh coat of dirt and dust to their won khaki color. His jaw had a good four days of growth upon it without any sign of care to trim or control it. The satchel he set in the foyer was not so abused as the one he took into the study, continuing his conversation by pitching his voice.

"If it had not been for the site manager, I would have still been out there cleaning away the dust and dirt from the specimens. It was absolutely fascinating." He set the satchel down with care and opened it, starting to draw out cloth wrapped bundles. "They have allowed me to bring three pieces back with me so I might examine the glyphs further. It is quite close to Baersinian, but they have never been known to have traveled so far north upon the continent. Of course, the lines are much smoother, a few more curves to the figures, and-"

Alastair, even in his few days of spending time with Jolyon could see where this was going. "Sir, I am sure it is all very fascinating, but you do have the special event tonight, and from the state of things, several washings and shavings to get to the point of attending. Plus, no doubt you need something in your stomach."

Jolly looked up from where he had begun to unwrap one of the bundles. "Hmm? Oh, by the-- yes, yes, of course." It was as if he had to release a child to the care of another, but release the bundle he did. Once it was out of his hands, he was sharp on the mark to get up to his room.

"It will take a few moments for the water to heat, sir, as I have men coming to look at the pipings once more. I believe the heating system has lost some of its efficiency. It won't be more than a day or two. In the meantime, Arcelia has started on a meal when we saw you approach. I will bring up a tray directly."

On the route to his room upstairs, Jolyon had been taking a cursory look about to see if things were in order and what, if any, changes had been made. The miracle of it all was it looked exactly as he had left it except a good sight cleaner. The hallway sideboard practically gleamed with the polish, not a speck of dust to mar its mahogany surface. "I see you and Arcelia have been quite busy, Alastair. Have you found the arrangements satisfactory?"

"Quite, sir. I think it has been near decades since my wife and I have been able to sit upon a porch enjoying a glass of lemonade and looking upon such a beautiful vista. If doubt one could anticipate a more perfect retirement for me."

That drew Jolly up short. He turned in the middle of his room instead of heading for the bath. Alastair continued past to that bath and began to draw the water. "Hold now, Alastair, I can tend my own bath, but I hope you do not take the term retirement too close to heart. You may find the summer and harvest time despoiling this serenity you have discovered."

A gravelly but warm chuckle chopped its way out of the man's throat. "Oh, make no mistake, I intend to work as best I can for the rest of my days, Jolyon. Only now, I am part of something, and I can at the end of my day, look out upon a field I have helped cultivate into something fine."

That was something Jolyon could perfectly understand. He clapped the man on the shoulder and then turned about. In doing so he caught his reflection in the looking glass. "Blast, I do look like the very mongrel, don't I? Right then, to battle upon my visage and let us not see if I can look a dash more respectable at the end."

By the time the clock ticked around to the hour of his departure, Jolyon was in fact looking exceptionally dashing even for a man wearing his well used suit for evening engagements. The invitation that Katarina Smith had sent as a special favor, though Jolly was hard pressed to understand just why, was in his pocket and he was on his way.

The evening's entertainments were a series of dances, perfection unto themselves, and a broad range of styles that should have made at least several of the variety of dignitaries and society leaders most pleased. The array of guests was almost overwhelming, but Jolyon managed to speak on matters of interest to most of the attendees, those on-world and off, due to his fortunate knack of cultural studies. It was a winning evening, and he had to admit by the end of it, he did own Miss Smith a debt of gratitude. No less than four parties had been interested in touring his vineyard and hopes of tasting the second year's labors when the time came. Two more requested his aid in learning more about ancient heirlooms kept in their family so long as to forgotten its origins.

Cards exchanged, the evening a success, Jolyon returned to his home too late to do more than dispense of his restricting clothing and drop into the comfort of his bed for sleep that bordered on the sleep of the dead it was so deep. Morning would come and pass to afternoon before he was up to greet the world once more.

Jolyon sat hunched over his desk in the study of the villa. The little note that had arrived yesterday was in hand once again. Lirssa gave no explanation, no one ever did, but promised to be back to her regular schedule of lessons. That was all. It was, he admitted, enough to ease some of the tension from his mind. What had been a continual throbbing at the back of his skull, like rocks continually grinding together, had softened into a more manageable twinge from time to time.

The note was set into the corner of his desk. He would have to prepare a lesson plan for tomorrow, and that brought a smile that split the scraggle of over a week's growth of beard. He would work on that later. Right now, he felt in the right frame of mind to put his thoughts to the artifacts. The meanings of the glyphs just out of reach.

Alastair paused as he passed by the open doors of the study and saw his employer with a smile intent upon his work. "Sunny day, Jolyon?" The weather outside was overcast, as had been the habit for weeks on end now, but it was the most subtle way he could think to ask how things were with the young man.

Blinking upwards from his delicate work of brushing away debris from the frail carvings, Jolyon peered at the man beyond the door. With a slight brightening of that smile, he considered the status quo of his friendship with Serena, the trouble she no doubt was in, the recovery of Lirssa, though her whereabouts and what she had been up to was still a mystery, the disturbing health of Mason, and so much else. Things were moving though, and he could only hope sometime in the coming days and weeks, he would be of help. So, he nodded. "Quite sunny, Alastair." Bending to his work again, he murmured, "Quite sunny, indeed."

Jolyon heard the soft tick tock of the clock on the shelf. It stood stalwart along with books and artifacts, its newness out of place and its precision unquestioned. It was evening. Jolyon did not know that from any view of a window, for the study had no windows. Light from the hallway was a low burning lamp left by Alastair for when Jolyon went to bed ? if he went to bed. It was night because he felt anxious. It was near the hour when Serena said she would be taking the potion, when he could not aid a friend.

The piece of pottery was slowly forming a more complete picture. He did not actually place the pieces one to another for fear of damage, but he lay them coin width?s apart in order to see the broken picture. There were several pieces left to place, unsure of their exact order in the greater design, and he had stared at one piece for several minutes. Conversations both near past and far past kept churning up his attention to his work. The words from Serena had been so close, an affirmation of something he had denied, to what had been spoken to him before.

?I will not have it, Dr. Gardiner. What kind of life would you give my daughter? Always off on some dig or out with savages studying their lives while she lingers here alone? Are you considering her at all?? Colonel Westlief?s mustache bristled above pursed lips.

Jolyon, youthful still and full of his bravado as men his age are wont to be, rebutted. ?Honoria and I love each other, sir. I will provide for her. I have a position with the University that will only improve, my research provides an excellent income and I am gone less days a year than you sir on your campaigns!?

?Jolly,? Honoria whimpered. She had never seen her father and her love come to such strong words of offense. Tears watered crystal blue eyes and threatened to spill down lightly freckled cheeks.

Cut to the quick by her voice speaking his name with such pain, Jolyon reached out to her, only for her to draw away. ?Honoria??

But Colonel Westlief spoke for his daughter instead. ?Honoria has prospects and possibilities on her own account. She is highly respected in the League and can go far. Now,? the colonel straightened his uniform jacket that he always wore even in retirement and stood, ?I will allow you to make your goodbyes.? With the certainty that he had won out, he turned smartly for the door and strode out.

Jolyon felt undone, his insides as piecemeal as artifacts he found crushed beneath decades of earth. He looked to Honoria who kept distance from him. ?Jolly, I simply don?t know anymore. You don?t really,? she struggled for the words, ?fit in any neat place. You are not a doctor of medicine to be at home and sharing cups of tea as we talk of our day. I love speaking with you and hearing your adventures, but I cannot deal with you, father, and the League all at once. I have to do this for me, not for you.?

The clock chimed again, and the words echoed once more. A different face, a different situation, but still the words clang and washed together.

?I know how I feel about Tucker. Tucker fits into a nice, neat place in my life. You do not. I enjoy being with you. Staying here has been amazing. Talking to you is incredibly comforting but... I cannot deal with it all at once. I am making a huge decision and I want to make it clear to myself that I am doing it for me, not for you.?

He never fit anyone?s life. He never fit in any living person?s life. It was a ridiculous notion that he believed he might fit in this place where every culture , age, and era jostled into each other. That dystopia might be his place to belong, but still he did not. Perhaps the dead and decaying were the only things he understood and understood him. It was the only place he did belong.

The pottery puzzle arranged before him and he moved one palm sized triangle to an outer edge, tired eyes moving over the glyphs that swam and contorted and inspired. With a hard blink and rub of heels of his hands to the burning eyes, he rearranged the pieces once more, forcing the glyphs to go pattern vertically instead of horizontally.

There it was. Through the night he worked to draw out possible interpretations. Weariness became a heavy cloak he wore. Dawn came without his knowing until Alastair arrived with a cup of tea and some jam and bread. Only then did he stop. He had a promise to keep.

"Would you pick me up late Monday morning?" Her words were soft but swollen with hope.

"Monday morning late. I will be there." He answered solemnly.

Alastair and Arcelia had struggled to get Jolyon to his bed in the room upstairs. Slow had been their progress but successful. When deep night drifted away to the coming dawn, Arcelia sat by the young man's bed. She was reluctant to do so, but after several hours of his eyes still there unseeing the world around him, no light changing the size of his pupils, she closed the eyes, their summer sky blue slim rings around great rounds of black. His breathing improved, deepening though there were times when it quickened only to still again as if a nightmare grasped him for a fleeting moment and then released.

Alastair went about the business of the house, accepting the arriving notices, letters, and packages. One small package in particular had a return address of Jolyon's home world. The address that of the University. Wiping more dirt from his hands, Alastair opened the accompanying note. It held warm words of greeting, thanks to Dr. Gardiner for his efforts, and the slim reference to the packages contents: another shard of pottery.

It took a prodigious amount of will not to hurl the package out into the fields. Instead, dutifully, hopefully, he took it to the study to set alongside its arranged companions. The books still lay open to their pages. With an anticipatory feel, the study seemed to wait for Jolyon's return. Alastair closed the door on that feeling and walked upstairs to see if anything had changed in Jolyon's condition. He knew there had not, or Arcelia would have let him know immediately. Still, he wanted to check all the same.

Arcelia turned to the arrival of her husband. "I will prepare lunch soon. I am sorry. I lost track of time thinking."

He set a hand on her shoulder, a light squeeze of sympathy. "Nah, nah, never you mind about that. I can see to what I need. You be sure to take some meal, too."

With a deep sigh, her shoulder rose under his tender touch, and then fell again. "I was wondering if I should write to his university or to Serena. Perhaps they could discover a remedy for his condition?"

"He seems to be in no danger as yet. Let's not jump our jurisdiction. It is a matter not to be shared lightly. We were entrusted with his private life. Let us maintain that as long as we..." His voice trailed as Jolyon moved his hand across the bedding.

Wind swept barren plains. Meadows of high grass dancing in harmony with the breeze. Dunes high as mountains and crushing in their grainy weight. The deep sea churning above him and then so far below from the view of a mountaintop. Nothingness. He was alone hearing whispers of thunder in the distance. He felt like a filament, light and insubstantial, without purpose or ability to stop floating. The voices never neared though their power could be sensed everywhere. Questioning hung upon the air like jasmine softly scenting. The jasmine scent grew stronger and then it was gone.

Pain in his head sharp and cruel lashed against him. His skin prickled and then he felt beneath his tender skin the soft touch of cloth. He moved his hand across. Bright images in his mind so real as to drown his senses faded into hazy picture negatives, without depth or substance. He was aware of his body once more and tried to move it further only to be kept in place and a voice, a familiar voice -- Arcelia -- spoke, "Stay there, Jolyon."

Stay there. He did. He did for the rest of the day and only in the hours of night did he rise, shuffle in his bedclothes to look at the artifact and open the package waiting there. The delicate shard rolled from its protective cloth into his hand. He had not thought to put on the cloth gloves. The symbol on the square piece that fit in the center of his palm was that of the crossed hammers upon a fulcrum. Diligence. Intention. Willpower. Balance. Upon them the feather. Softness. Silence. Stealth. He had spoken that which should not be without intention to follow. The dry laugh barked out and he sat hard in his chair, the shard in its place with the others, and he stared at his folly.

Jolyon checked his appearance in the looking glass once more. He had shaven again, the suit had not changed; therefore, he was forced to employ the same trick as before to make himself more presentable. Rena was, he was assured by previous experiences, going to look exceptionally well. With the missing cufflinks, long lost out on the patio or into the dirt -- perhaps some magpie had selected them for its own treasure -- he was going to have to have Arcelia stitch his cuffs closed.

A few worries had been resolved; the paper on the artifact, as well as its warning, had been heeded and he had been compensated for his work - if not the effect of it - enough to see to the continued wages of the staff, the needs of the household, and the purchase of the tickets for that night.

Lirssa had shown up again. She had looked haggard and empty handed. Though she claimed she had just forgotten the books being so busy with things, Jolyon had not been completely convinced. Books, he resolved were replaceable, at least the ones he had let her borrow, but she was not. The lesson had continued without further question about her materials, though she had promised at the end she would have them by the next lesson, which due to their bizarre schedules was settled on a week later instead of the day after next.

It was, he determined, to be an enjoyable evening shared without the strains of work or other matters. Matters he did not let his mind drown him into dwelling on. "Arcelia!" he called.

The door opened much more swiftly than he had anticipated. "I was just on my way to see you, Jolly. This arrived for you." She smiled and handed him the package. She stood there, giving him no privacy. Perhaps she was concerned it was another artifact from the university that he might blunder and send himself into another seizure.

Looking over the box, it did not have the usual style of wrapping that would be from the university, he withdrew the note first to read. Without much attention, he held up and shook one wrist. "If you would be so kind, Arcelia, to stitch my cuffs?" His concern for his cuffs was overtaken by the simple and yet worrisome statement of the letter.

"Of course, Jolly," she drew out the threaded needle she had prepared for just this moment. The look on his face must have drawn some concern. "Are you well?"

With a shake of his head that countered his reassuring words, "Yes, yes, just perplexed," he opened the package to reveal the cuff links.

Arcelia smiled. "Well, how lovely. From your family then? I suppose you don't need this anymore." Tucking the needle back upon her collar like a strange brooch.

"No, from," he could not say it but lifted up the note. The upper fold prevented the two lines from being read, but the signature was quite clear. "No, I still have need of your kind attention, please." He set the note down along with the open box upon the bureau.

Absolutely no word or movement came from the lady near him. Turning to face her straight on, he lifted both arms and shook the flopping cuffs. "If you would, please?"

Jolyon had often wondered what a volcano looked like just prior to eruption. He had heard of such feelings in the air, the sounds and smells, but never had he actually witnessed a volcano before it spewed heat, ash, and gas into the air. It must be something of what Arcelia looked like at that moment.

"I most certainly will not." Her face flushed with indignation. "You have perfectly good, no, I say extremely nice cuff links right there, and you are going to use them, my lad. Just what do you think you are? Martyr? I swear, you get the most foolhardy notions in your brain, and I thought you a clever man. Cleverly stupid. Now you get yourself dressed and don't keep your companion for this evening waiting." That was all she directed at him, but the continued grumbling as she turned away and went down the steps meant that her poor husband, Alistair, was going to hear a full measure of what she had to say as well.

Jolyon had a peculiar feeling of being quite handedly stuck between Scylla and Charybdis. He looked to the cuff links again, and with a sigh, but determined to discuss the matter with the sender at another time, he placed them in his cuffs. The color of the pearl did do well to assist in brightening his gray evening suit.

"There will be a night at the theatre, I am certain, that will not have such difficulties in going...someday." He ridiculed himself for somehow letting his interests and fancies run wild. Tomorrow, he determined, he would organize a plan to set it all right.

It had been many years since Jolyon had taken on projects so extensive in their scope as to require more space than his desk provided. Now he had two such projects, and both with weightier consequences than whether a paper was approved by peers or not. People?s lives were at stack, and whether he succeeded or not, the effort had to be made for that glimmer of a chance.

The study had taken on a papier-m?ch? look, and to most who stood at its threshold it looked a mess. Footpaths between open books, papers, and artwork (mostly copies from books by faded photographs) spiraled around the room. If one could look down from above, they would have seen a pattern similar to that inside a conch shell.

The inner spirals were dedicated to the myths, legends, and art of mermaids and their kin. The outer shell of paperwork showed delicate rubbings of vases and columns depicting Muses from Roman and Greek culture in conjunction with those books and papers that touched upon similar beings across the multiverse. Each piece connected to another in some way, some small hint to changes in beliefs or affirmation of long lost rumors. Jolyon walked their paths in meditation on their truths and meanings. Somewhere among all these words of eons past and future, there were answers.

Crouching down beside one book, its words a translation he had done himself from the original Ueladine text, he re-read the passage he had left open. The ritual of rebirth of the Ueladine people moving from child to adult was a stomach turning one. He was glad he had not been compelled to watch it, as the Ueladinese that dwelled in their land during his visit had long cast away ancient rituals such as that. It was not the specifics of the ritual which kept haunting his mind, but the symbols used in it: the bone knife, the salt, metal bowl, and the sap of the bersis tree.

These symbols took him back around the spiral, a strange crab like walk as he went to the myth of the Golden Key. It was a large book and he had left it open to the first time the ritual is mentioned and its elements to perform it. Humors of the human body in mixture with herbal pigments, among other things, and its outcome turned to dreadful use. Still, there was no indication that it was a particular race of person, only its neighboring book had that mention. There was a race of people able to transplant a flesh and blood being into an alternate physical state, though in this case a two dimensional plane of existence not precisely a painting.

None of anything quite held the answers he was looking for in either search. They all hinted at something further on. What was the next step? What was it that tied them together? Beyond the theory of a universal conscious which all creatures tap into for their primal understandings, there was something he was missing.

?Jolyon,? Arcelia called from the doorway. She dare not step inside. When Jolyon did not answer nor look up, she stomped her foot. ?Jolyon!?

Blinking upward from his study, he frowned slightly as if his cook and housekeeper?s presence was completely out of place. ?Yes??

?Your sister has sent word. She is coming for a visit.? Arcelia paused only a moment, something of a trait for the dramatic. ?Tomorrow.?

?Blast.?

(The Golden Key refers in part to a book by that same name by authors Melanie Rawn, Kate Elliot, and Jennifer Roberson. It is not my original thought nor more is Jolyon referring to Alice in Wonderland or other texts as part of mythology)

The wall faded away from around the picture. Hands linked, gowns blowing in the wind, the women danced. They were frozen in perfect time. But then they began to move. A small curve of blue sea in the background opened up into darkness. The rend began to grow and consume the picture. The dancers feared the encroaching tear, running pale faced to the frame and pushing at the limitation of their world.

Jolyon stepped forward and reached to try and keep the hole from growing. He placed papers that came into his hands against it and they fell through. Nothing kept the hole from growing. His pen came to hand and he tried to draw, lamely, an imperfect door from the frame, but too late. The picture was tattered shreds. Nothing existed but the frame, golden.

He looked down and saw the sea, blood red sea, drawn like an old scalloped painting, undulating beneath his feet in rhythm with his heart. It rose higher, but he could not start swimming. His feet were lead weights unable to move. He tried to reason his options. There had to be something.

Blast. He thought. I'm asleep.

He blinked awake, hand to his mouth for fear drool had damaged the text that had been his most uncomfortable pillow. No evidence of the drool was to be found. His eyes burned and shoulders and back ached. A stretch set off a series of disgruntled twinges to his muscles. Scrunching his eyes up as he blinked and pulled out the pocket watch to see the time. The mantel clock was too far away for tired eyes in the poor lighting of a dim lamp.

"An hour?" He scowled and clicked the watch shut once more. Eyes, body, mind, whatever had been the culprit, had stolen an hour from his research. Perhaps he should have gone to bed, but there were scythes hanging over peoples necks and he was finding himself to be as effectual in their causes as a feather is to a hungry wolf's meal. Evidence that something useful had been there, but no longer.

Maybe, he had to admit, there were no answers. It wasn't like this world revolved around logic in any shape or form. Everything he knew was placed on a wheel of reason and sent twenty degrees in another direction for consideration. People might react the same in emotions, for the most part, but the uncanny and improbable was impossible to apply his reasoning to. He had to think differently.

So then, if the answer was not to be found in pictures, books, myths, legends, or other instruments of his trade, then it had to be found in the experience.

Going to be difficult to convince others of that, but right then he gave in to his need for sleep and closed the book on his desk as he rose. When he had rested he would review and replace the spiral of information on the floor with new and different possibilities. He did not think in a box. He thought in a curve.

Jolyon had recovered in his time in Yransea. Health renewed even in the moments he stole away to search the Baroness's extensive library. It had revealed little, as most of her texts from other worlds were held in Yearling Brook, and those he had already scavenged through. That meant he had spent less time studying than anticipated, which did him well in many quarters, not the least of which was able to spend time with Serena and his host and her family.

However, that renewed health did not last. Within the week he was tired once more. Tired like he had never been before. The cough of sleep deprivation came on much more swiftly. He drank more coffee, went out less, and it came to a grinding halt when one night he sat at a table in the library, reading over his notes once more and a drop of blood dripped to into a perfect round upon the paper.

At first, he did not even recognize it for what it was. Red had fallen from where? He lifted his gaze to the library ceiling. It was then he felt the drip slide down to rest upon his lip. Patting down his pockets, he found a handkerchief and drew it to his nose, using the tail end to wipe up the spot upon the notebook. His sister had always said he needed bold signs to tell him what to do, and evidently his body was sending a very clear message.

It was time for a break, and he allowed himself one -- briefly.

It was difficult to leave the library, but determined to take the break well, he left all his books and notes there in the trust of the attendants, and walked towards the Inn and its supporting cluster of buildings. There would be dueling that night. He could go there.

The night weighed heavily on him as he kept his head tilted back slightly and tending his bloody nose. It was clear at least. Very few clouds and in them nothing to hint of rain. Starlight whispered of eons in the past and in the future. The mingling of everything and nothing. It made him feel so small, insignificant, as if he needed it upon his continual feelings of ineptitude.

On the walk towards the dueling, thought over the conversation he had with Rena the night before. The thoughts of possible, if not solutions, new avenues to explore to help Mason with his Muse. Foremost, Jolyon wanted to speak to the man about a proposition of buying more time.

It was a wild idea born of supposition and conjecture, not fact. There were few facts he had gathered so far. Rena had spoken of the painting, its author, he had spoken of its twist upon the Red Riding Hood fairy tale, and then he thought of another fairy tale. A different time all together, but the thought of a painting and its impact, the Golden Key, it all made him wonder if possibly they could buy some time with a misdirection. If they could not fight fire with proverbial fire.

The handkerchief was drawn away as he turned the street. The bleeding had slowed. He dabbed at his nose to find it free of any more blood, and went on to get a drink, to watch a friend duel, walk his sweetheart home, and then return to study -- and the continual hope he would find an answer.

Tucker made his way pensively down the roadway to Jolyon?s home, Rumors Mill. He didn?t know the man very well; mostly spoke to him a few times in the Inn about Serena but as far as he could discern, Jolyon was a straight shooter; a gentleman. This is exactly what was causing Tucker?s anxious mood. He was used to getting the answer he wanted by simply asking for it. It was his military nature. No double talk, no going around the barn the long way, just simply answering the question asked. Perhaps this was part of his failings with Eva. Shaking that thought from his head, he continued on, eyes on the front door of Jolyon?s home.

The land was actually quite beautiful. The sprawling nature of the vineyards made him think of his own farm and the ornamental trees he grew there. There was something to be said about the character of a man who wishes to grow something; to nurture something to its fullest potential. Perhaps he and Jolyon were more alike than he had thought. And therefore, perhaps, this request he wanted to make of him would not be that difficult. Even still, Tucker?s mind was racing with different ways of exactly ?how? to get the information from Jolyon that he wanted; not only about Mason, but about Serena as well.

And unfortunately, his time was up. Before Perceval knew it, he was standing at Jolyon?s front door. He wanted to buy himself some time; to pace back and forth in front of the door and think this out. Tucker had wanted answers so badly that he hadn?t taken the time to really figure out how to get them. But now his time was up. If Jolyon was watching him he didn?t want to come off as insecure or apprehensive.

Tucker took a deep breath, raised his hand to the door and knocked.

?Jolyon? It?s Perceval.?

Upon entering, Tucker immediately noticed the indisposed look on Joylyon?s face. He had to think a moment until it finally registered. Of course. The Harvest party. Damn it all. Perceval internally berated himself for having troubled Jolyon so close to the festival time. He was no doubt deep in preparation. This bothered him the entire time he was led through the house and into the billiard room. He watched Jolyon move to a table and with a decanter, then look back to him.

?I?ll take whatever you?ve got.? The answer was more of an aside in order to get to the matter at hand.

Tucker leaned on one end of the billiard table opposite Jolyon, and looked him in the eye with a determined brow. He felt the bumpers of the table flex as he clenched them. Perceval paused, and then straightened, standing tall again. He had to relax or this wasn?t going to go well at all.

?Jolyon, I need you to tell me everything you know about Eva?s partner. I need you to tell me everything you know about Mason.?

Placing his hands on his hips, he began to pace, his eyes were on the floor as he moved back and forth. He had to do something to release his tension. He needed this information. He needed it before he made a decision on how to move forward.

?You probably know that Eva and I were?.close. We saw a lot of each other for a while and well, things took certain turns here and there and we decided that our relationship was?? he tried to choose his words carefully. ??hazardous.? He nodded to himself, deciding that that had been the best word for it. At least the best word he could come up with right now.

?Now Eva and Mason are together. They look happy. Really, really happy.? Tucker paused in midstep to look back to Jolyon?s eyes, showing his sincerity. ?I don?t want to change that, Jolyon. I?m not some crazy ex-boyfriend trying to tear a relationship apart out of guilt or jealousy or?whatever. I?ve done my damndest to stay out of their lives. I come to work at the Inn, I take drink orders, I go back home.? He moved his hands back and forth one at a time as he described the current pattern of his life.

Now he began to pace again, staring at the floor. ?But recently, something?s happened. I need to make a decision that will affect them both, but I need information first. I need to know what the hell is going on.? This last was said out of desperation upon a troubled brow.

Finally, he stopped his pacing. His initial argument had been made. He hoped it was enough for Jolyon. Taking a stance at the billiard table once more, he looked to Jolyon.

?Please tell me. What do you know of Mason??

Tucker reached out and took the bourbon from his hand as Jolyon began to speak. He listened, quietly, doing his best not to let his emotions tip his hand. The more Jolyon spoke, though, the more Tucker knew that he was someone to be trusted. The mere fact that he was willing to guard secrets and not betray the confidence Eva and Mason had put into him told him all he needed to know. It told him that Jolyon could be trusted with his secret as well.

Sighing, Perceval set the bourbon on a nearby table and sat in the closest chair he could find. He collected his thoughts quickly, and then spoke.

?I can?t talk to Mason about this. It would be too dangerous.? Leaning forward in the chair, he continued.

?About a month ago, I was visited twice, once a week while on my shift by a woman. She told me her name was Leah, but I?m positive that she is this??Muse? that I?ve heard Eva speaking to others about.? Tucker had winced when he said her name. The thought of her made him feel almost nauseous, just as if she was standing there with him.

?She spoke of Eva and Mason. But it was nothing more than to be sure that I knew them. That I knew Eva. As if she knew who I was simply because of information from them?..I don?t know.? Tucker paused long enough to shake his head, frustrated. Finally he stood again and began pacing once more.

?So this Muse?.she gave me something.? Reaching deep into his pocket, Tucker produced a black orb. It was small, about the size of a peach seed. He held it between his thumb and forefinger and stood across from Jolyon, the billiard table between them. ?Remember my asking you about Image Orbs, Jolyon? Whether or not they lie?? Extending the orb out for Jolyon to see, he continued.

?This. This is what happened, Jolyon. I?m going to give you this orb. I want you to sit down and focus on it. Watch closely the image that plays out for you, and then you tell me what to do? You would have been right where I am; asking about Mason.?

Tucker continued, he was very clear, very resolved in his words. ?Eva?s life is at stake and I can?t sit around much longer. The decision I have to make, Jolyon? It?s whether or not to kill Mason.?

Perceval lowered his arm and rolled the orb across the length of the billiard table toward Jolyon.

Tucker nodded his head in agreement as he listened to Jolyon. In a way, he was happy to be relieved of the decision on how to proceed with this matter, though it still worried him, talking to Mason about these images.

Mason could lie; tell them that the image is fake?that it never happened. He could get up and leave and find Eva and murder her. Unacceptable. On the other hand, he may reveal that the image was false and be more open with, well, whatever the hell was going on with this ?Muse?. Then there was the thought that Mason could listen to Jolyon about the orb, and immediately kill him to keep his secret. Tucker was going to be with Jolyon when he spoke with Mason. There were no two ways about that.

?Hold onto it long as you need.? Waving a hand at the orb. I?ve watched the damned thing over a hundred times.? Perceval plucked his bourbon off the table and finally took a long drink from it. The pacing, however, continued.

?Jolyon. First off, I?m coming with you. I know Eva is away right now at her family?s farm?.? Tucker paused. Jolyon would be curious about how he knew that and this was no time to be deceptive. If he wanted to gain Jolyon?s trust, he?d better be straight with him.

Perceval stopped in mid pace and turned to face him. ?I?ve been living in a vacant apartment across from Mason and Eva for the past month; ever since I got this orb. I?ve needed to stay close. I couldn?t?..? he paused, trying to make it all sound like he wasn?t crazy. ??I had to be sure that nothing would happen to her.? If not before, it would be more clear to Jolyon now how worn Tucker appeared from constantly watching Mason and Eva?s home. The darkness under his eyes, the poor shaving job, the wrinkled clothing would all be more obvious and telltale.

?They seem so happy, Jolyon.? Tucker shook his head thinking of it. ?She?s so happy with him. I want what that orb is showing us to be false. I hurt her once. If I have to hurt her again by taking Mason away from her??? he trailed off, staring down at the floor as he spoke until he finally caught himself.

Quickly regaining his composure, he looked back to Jolyon. ?But regardless of when we do this, I need to know more. I can?t go into this blind, Jolyon, I need to be prepared.? Tucker took that ominous lean on the billiard table again. He didn?t mean it to come off that way. Perceval?s size and mass seemed to be out of touch sometimes with the man that was inside.

?You spoke of Mason being ?bound? in some way? ?Undesired controls?? Tell me, please, what do you know about him??

Harvest had been completed. It had been completed by the sweat and labor of too few hands, but what Jolyon had been able to afford. The party had been a most worthy celebration, even if he had been called away. Jolyon did not want to think on that. It had been a bitter moment in an otherwise pleasant evening. Success had been in that party, relief as well.

Now he strode the lines of barrels with Alistair at his side. The cellar had been perfectly constructed, so Hamish said and Alistair concurred. Perhaps there was some magic in it, but neither man had mentioned it. Better not to bring it up himself for fear of stirring his own curious discomfort with the possibility in his steward.

Row upon row of barrels waited, silent in their work. The process made no noise. There was no clank of hammers to construct something out of something else. No incantations or use of hands. Nature had its way of doing things, and with only the slight nudge from his side, she would see it done.

That was not the same to be said for relationships or the other, private tasks to which he had set himself. There was still the meeting to be had with Tucker, Mason, and Eva. Serena had mentioned wanting to be there, and Jolyon had not liked the idea. Three passionate and anxious people in a room was going to be bad enough for him to handle. To add Serena was an additional pressure he did not look forward to.

"What a mess," he murmured.

"Sorry?" Alistair looked around the floor, seeking out the mentioned mess.

"Oh, no, sorry. My mind was wandering. Right then, all looks well, would you not agree?" Jolyon smiled, perhaps more confident than necessary, but there was another task he had set for himself. It was one he was not quite sure he should be doing. It made him nervous the very thought of it, and yet the not acting also made him nervous.

"Yes, yes," Alistair nodded and looked over his notes from the samples they had taken. "I would say well in hand. We should be on schedule for the bottling as planned. Leaving those four barrels there for the reserve. They are going to be fine wines." No lack of pride in that man's smile either.

"Right, and you have done wonderful work. Arcelia's efforts praised fully at the party, but not let me shirk in my duties as your employer. You both deserve some time free. Perhaps visit your family?"

A wiggle of brows finally settled low over his eyes. Alistair was not a simpleton. "It is not that I do not appreciate the offer, Jolyon, but you have never required that you offer us time off before? You quite clearly stated early on if we wanted to take trips, we only need inform you with sufficient amount of time. I recall this clearly because Arcelia and I found it very funny that you considered two days sufficient amount of time, whereas my last employer required two weeks."

This was not going to be as easy as he had hoped. "Yes, well, you have not taken any time away, and you both deserve it. I have put you through a great deal and with things well in hand, you may not get this opportunity again any time soon."

That set the man to thinking. "Arcelia had been mentioning wanting to see the north lands, visit that Mount Yasuo area."

"Excellent, excellent!" Jolyon clapped the man on the back as they walked from the cellar into the cool of winter whispered autumn. "No time like the present. You leave in a day or two that will give you a full two weeks for the journey there, spend some time, and the journey back."

There was no response from the man as they made their way into the house. He was thoughtful with a slight smile. Jolyon had a very similar smile, but he was nervous. Alone with Serena in the house. He wondered if his moral compass somehow was broken.

"No change at all?" Laeyna leaned heavily on the counter.

"None, no change in temperature." Kaylen frowned and scratched at his mustache. "Heat and cold had no effect, not even to its motility." He arched a brow at Jolyon.

That had been a near thing. The inky liquid seemed to be eager to crawl up the siphon tube towards his stoppering thumb. It had been a near thing, but once he drew away, it had gone into the tubes and beakers and dropped onto the slides. "The only evidence of blood cell structure were the few red blood cells that were likely the victim's." Jolyon felt his frustration rising.

His was not the only one. Laeyna threw down her pencil and kicked at the counter base. Kaylen scowled at Jolyon. "Well, you've convinced me it isn't just ink at least." The venom sharp.

A biting reply caught on the tip of his tongue, and Jolyon took in a deep breath. "I think we need to step outside and get some air. Let us think through the next step."

The siblings all shared glances, but they did so, stepping out of the lab. Laeyna locked it behind them and they continued out of the building to the green where they stood and looked up at the winter sky with its bumbling gray clouds. Jolyon could see the deep steady breaths the others were taking in the puff of condensation from their noses and mouths. None of them had put on their coats, but the cold air felt good. It helped to cool tempers that had been flaring.

"That was odd," Laeyna breathed out and looked to Jolyon. "I have no idea why I was so angry. It isn't like I've not had frustrating mysteries in front of me before."

Kaylen's agreeing nod shared his own mystification. Rubbing at his mouth, Jolyon sighed. "I think we may have come face to face with our first real magic."

"Normally I would say there has to be an explanation, but in this case, we have not found it yet." Kaylen sighed. "So, what next? You say there is a new victim?"

Jolyon nodded. Tucker had gotten some on his arm and it would not leave. "Yes. We know it has an affinity for flesh. That much we have observed."

"And not as much for plantlife, though a little." Laeyna added.

"I need to know how to get rid of it without harming a hosting body." Jolyon frowned. He frowned because he knew what they needed to do and from the looks on the others' faces, they did as well.

"I'll see what I can get at the morgue, Jolyon. It will be a few days at the least." Kaylen answered.

Jolyon nodded that they return inside to discuss the finer details. There were still those who found the practice of testing on bodies of the deceased horrifying, even in the academic community. That doctors did it in practice to help learn the human body was just barely accepted, which is why Kaylen was the only one who would have access to the morgue and the unidentifiables collected for use by the medical schools.

Once they were locked back in the lab, Jolyon answered. "I will return next weekend, just for an evening then. Destroy what we have worked with so far. I will take the syringe back and lock it back up. At least there, if something goes wrong, it won't be free in a world completely unprepared for it. Burn it, I was told. Heat may not change its temperature, but evidently it does not like direct flame."

With gloves in place, they collected the test tubes, slides and beakers, set them in a bin in the seclusion duct and set it to flame. Jolyon watched it burn and hoped they found another way to be rid of the ink from flesh than burning or hacking into it.

"Gloves at all times," Laeyna scowled as she walked around to the other side of the body.

Kaylen pulled gloves on and stood next to his brother. Dismay coated his voice as he spoke in a hush. "Just where is it you've gone to dwell, Jolly, that has such things as this?"

There was no answer to give his brother. There was nothing to say that would capture all that Rhydin was or could be. It was infinite possibility and that was terrifying enough. "I think we can skip some initial options that are likely to do more harm to the host than to the liquid." Jolyon began observing the ink swirls on the chest and the drifting drop of ink along the arm.

"It seems to be searching," Laenya observed, her hand drew near to indicate the waywardness. As she did, the drop curled about towards her. As if touched by flame, she snapped her hand away. "Did you see that?"

"I don't think it likes the dead." Kaylen offered. "Would much prefer the living."

Jolyon puzzled through what they had noted and observed. "We did not give it much of a choice when we plunged it into the veins."

"Possibly." His brother hedged his agreement as he walked over to a row of plants. "Any of these you can spare, Laeyna?"

"The one on the windowsill is not part of the experiment. I used it earlier. What do you have in mind? We know it barely shows affinity for plant life."

Kaylen brought the entire plant over. "Careful," Jolyon warned as his brother set the plant near the trembling drop of ink. It began to slither across the cadaver towards the plant delivered plant only to stop and slow once more. "It was your hand, Kaylen, it wanted."

"Picky little blighter." Kaylen muttered. "Can't have my hand," he scolded the ink.

Laeyna and Jolyon exchanged glances, frustrated with a tinge of amusement in their looks. "I don't think it is actually sentient, Kaylen." Laeyna sighed, feeling her frustration rising. Considering their earlier experience, they were all very aware of their emotions.

Watching her take a deep breath, Jolyon took one as well. "So, let's lay this out. It prefers living to dead,"

"Don't we all?" Kaylen groused.

Again, Jolyon decided not to remark on that. In Rhydin, there were several who had chosen a sort of death instead of life. It was no longer an absolute for him. "It breeds anger, mobile on its own, can stir brief impulses in muscle - "

"- as if it needs the cadaver to be alive. It also went to the heart and from there the chest was its choice to display its creation. Why?"

"I think that has to do with something else entirely, which is why I needed you to draw it Laeyna. Something, I am afraid I cannot share at this point. I know you both understand such confidentialities."

"A patient, Jolly?" Kaylen's sour expression deepened beneath his moustache.

"Client, more like. Now, then chemical seems unlikely. I need the host to be as undamaged as possible. Completely preferable."

The three siblings stood around the corpse with its dark swirling companion in silence. Thoughts bandied about and discarded individually. Jolyon feared they had come to an impasse. This was beyond their abilities. They were not familiar with the magical in the mysteries of life. There were always scientific reasons in their world. And yet this thing had not come from their world and it defied their reason.

"I will be back. Do not do anything while I am gone." Laeyna announced into the silence. Her look brooked no refusal or argument, and once both her brothers nodded, she left the room.

Kaylen turned away from the door once it shut and looked at Jolyon. "I don't like this world you've found yourself in, Jolly. Look, I know you're the big brother, and I know you have always had your own way of doing things. You have defied Father ever since you could. But this thing...if this is the everyday where you are now? It isn't worth it. You need to come home. There's risk and rebellion enough here without such monstrosity."

The words were meant well. Jolyon knew it was because his brother cared, but the ink, the research, it was not about rebellion or risk. It was about people he had come to think of as friends. It was trying to do some good with his abilities other than just finding the latest ruin and fascinating tidbit of the past. "Kaylen, I appreciate what you are saying, but it isn't that."

Laeyna returned with a her hands cradling a small, pink nosed white haired rat. "It needs flesh, right? Alive flesh so it would seem, and I am not about to risk a human." Her eyes looked questioningly at Jolyon.

"Yes, let us see what happens."

Laeyna put the rat in a wire cage. It was a small wire wrapping meant for plants to grow over, but it would do for what they needed. "Right then," she sighed and crossed over to the squirming drop, turning the cage so the rat was enclosed with the drop.

A trail as direct as the curve of the arm allowed, the ink neared the rat. Fear, confusion, the rat sniffed around, scurrying one way and then the other. It had very little room to move. The tail swiped against the ink, and that was it. The ink clung, groped its way up the tail and against the grain of the fur.

"By the..." Kaylen near gagged as the drop sped on to the mouth and sunk inside.

"Burn it. Burn it now!" Jolyon hated the command. Hated what he had to do, but feared getting near it.

"No! I won't --" Laeyna snapped and reached for one of the scalpels they had used earlier, thrusting it through the wire cage at the rat, piercing it. "Now," she added a chemical into the cage as Kaylen grabbed a striker and snapped flame to the fur.

The rat went up in a putrid miasma of flesh, fur, and chemical, and the drop burned with it.

All three looked at each other, then the chest of the cadaver. "Burn it," Jolyon murmured and there were nods around. They had as close an answer as they were willing to get.

There is a distinct sound when the heart cracks, and an even more curiously painful sound when it breaks. When Jolyon told Serena about Tucker, he had hoped she would understand. He knew she would be angry, but as he had kept his word with her and others, what had drawn her to him, he thought she would understand his promise to Tucker.

He had been wrong. It was not the first time he had been wrong about how much he thought someone cared for him. The familiar crack teetered on the break when she had said she would not return from her walk that night. There would be more than a hollow feeling inside him, the entire house would feel that way. She had come to stay with him only a short while ago, and yet the house was a cavern with her absence.

The study was his cage to prowl and brood. The notes from the desk, Tucker's predicament, Jolyon suddenly realized he didn't care. He had cared because Tucker meant something to Serena. With her gone and the broken word, the man who he gave that promise to as good as gone, Jolyon vented his anger at himself on the notebook and books.

A snarl and he swept the papers from the desk sending them flying all over the study. Books dropped with a thud, cracking spines and bending pages. Everything was so fragile, and he had failed again.

With a turn about, he stared at the door, the shadow of Serena there, walking away, turned from him cut him deep. He had wanted to stop her, but couldn't make himself do it. She wanted air. She wanted to think. He could not be selfish and fight her need for that, and in the end, he heard the word "No," from her mouth echoing in his ears.

He sat roughly on the floor, fingers gripping his hair, and he wept.