The Solitary Minstrel

Besides the sheer odds against chance, there was also the fact that, had it been just one more day, they all probably would have chalked up their meeting to some kind of bizarre April Fool’s Day prank. The very fact that they were all at Bergamont Station in Santa Monica at the same time on the same night for a very obscure art showing, invited by different friends, for the unveiling of the Celtic Unchaining. The artist, Diarmid Donovan, had used the idea of Celtic knotwork to create real-life chains in which he had imprisoned mannequins dressed as various characters from Irish mythology. The show had drawn all of them because of their interest in Celtic music. It would be Diarmid’s love of metal music that would create the alchemy that would bring them together. It was almost comical really. Vivian Witherspoon was standing at the bar getting a Bailey’s Irish Cream when Stand My Ground by Within Temptation started playing. Lost in the moment she started belting out the lyrics in her soaring alto voice. Aneurin Harper, newly arrived from Scotland in the past few days, was standing a few feet away and was immediately enchanted. As he started to walk towards her, she threw her head back and flung her arms wide, catching Aneurin’s tall glass of Glenlivet, sending it flying in the direction of the approaching towering figure of Kieran Daniels. The glass drenched his tight black tee shirt which he stripped it off with his customary good-natured laugh. Kieran’s tall muscular frame and searing good looks immediately drew the attention of Kate Mulholland whose months of sexual frustration since of the breakup with her boyfriend acted like a magnet and drew her toward him. Aneurin’s errant empty glass was snared in midflight by Jeremy Dunaway who then walked over to return it to Aneurin. As a final moment of irony Tatum Young who was the bartender for the showing witnessed the sequence of events, grabbed a handful of ice and the bottle of Glenlivet and walked to over them, taking the glass from Jeremy, dumping the ice in and poured the refill offering it to Aneurin. Suddenly the six of them found themselves staring at each other.

A more auspicious meeting would be hard to imagine.

In that moment Aneurin’s Scottish drawl as he accepted the proffered glass from Tatum and gestured to them all saying Cheers seemed to galvanize them all. Their communal laughter was almost lyrical, possessed of its own innate harmony. They quickly discovered that they were all musicians and became lost in the conversation about music and possibilities. In the blink of an eye an hour had passed and they had not moved from the spot. It was then that Aneurin decided to share his secret.

He told them all about Albion.

A week had passed before they could get together. They had all been tantalized about the little morsel that Aneurin had shared with them about his momentary glimpse of Albion. It had been an accident…he had stumbled upon a very complex sequence of notes which he played over and over, trying to refine the sound. It was only when looked up that he saw it—a hazy window like a patch of fog hovering in midair scant feet away from the couch where he sat practicing. Within it he saw the specter of a majestic castle of awesome proportions. The sight was so shocking he stopped playing, staring at the apparition. It lingered for a few seconds before it dissolved into misty oblivion.

After he told them this at the showing, they had simply stared at him like he was mad. Only then did he tell them that he had been able to replicate it a half dozen times in recent weeks and could show them all at his studio. There was an uneasy laughter that passed among them, yet he sensed that he had kindled the fires of curiosity. In the end he could tell they knew he was telling the truth—which made them all even more curious They made a date for a week hence when they would present to Aneurin’s studio in Venice.

When the appointed day arrived each of them came bearing their instruments. Jeremy brought a portable synthesizer while Kate brought her trademark Ovation electric acoustic. Kieran came lugging his standup bass as Tatum brought a set of conga drums. Vivian appeared last with her flute. They all sat quietly as Aneurin sat down on his leather couch and pull his lap harp to him. Running through in an intricate melody, he used arpeggios and glissandos to compliment the music sequence. Running through it several more times, he increased its complexity with grace notes and trills.

At the end of the fourth repetition, a small misty cloud began to form in the center of the studio. They all sat speechless as slowly within formed the soaring spires and battlements of a castle of unimaginable proportions. Vivian acted first, bringing her flute to her lips, the notes she summoned in perfect harmony with Aneurin. Suddenly the image within the cloud refined. Guards could be seen on the high battlements standing watch. Within a courtyard inside the walls all manner of people be seen dressed in myriad colorful costumes in what looked to be an outdoor fair of some kind. Kate began to fingerpick arpeggios to contrast the ones Aneurin played. Suddenly the vision pulled back and the entire castle came into view. The castle was nestled at the end of a long narrow valley flanked on all sides except in front by high mountains. Its high pointed towers possessed peculiar crystalline beacons at their apex which pulsed periodically. Tatum began beating out a tattoo on the conga and seeming almost as a counterpoint armed men on horseback could be seen entering the castle, the stride of their mounts matching the tempo of Tatum’s rhythm, crossing a drawbridge two by two as they passed underneath the portcullis. At the last Jeremy followed Kate’s arpeggios while synthesizing sounds like the flapping of wings and the crying of a distant wind. The vision quicky responded and a squadrons of dragons with human riders swooped down to land on exotic metallic perches at the back of the castle, their rider dismounting quicky to cross to a stone pavilion framed with stained glass. At this, Vivian gasped sharply and stopped playing her flute. The image quickly faded and the cloud vanished like the morning mist.

The silence was total as each of them tried to comprehend what they had seen. And just as suddenly they all began to speak at once. With a quiet laugh Aneurin held his hand up for silence. He told them first that the song could only be played once a day and was stronger at night, for what reason he could only imagine. He asked if they could all agree to convene back here tomorrow night and refine the music they played and learn more about the vision they had witnessed. Their exuberant reply told him that the fires of curiosity now burned with an incandescent flame.

After they had left he sat down on the couch and began plucking absently at his harp. Melancholy began to descend on him with its grey shroud. He absolutely hated lying them, but he dared not tell them the truth. For if what they beheld seemed born of madness, then the true nature of what they had uncovered bordered upon the realm of lunacy. Even now as he recalled the events of the past few weeks, he could scarcely believe them himself.

It started the night of his mother’s funeral. She was the only thing that tied him to the small village of Kingussie. His father had died of pancreatic cancer when he was seven. Her sole bequest to him was a ruby ring that he knew belonged to his grandfather and a small parcel of land that sold for five thousand quid. That night he got horribly drunk and in a fit of drunken rage chipped the ruby ring on the fireplace brick. In an attempt to assuage his anger, he sat down and started playing his harp. The more he played, the more his muse seized him and the music became impossibly complex. It was not until he heard the rainfall that he looked up and saw the misty cloud hovering scant feet away. Inside he saw a solitary figure walking through rainy darkness along a lonely stretch of road. He was of middle height with long white hair worked in an elaborate French braid and a haggard face that spoke of late middle age. He wore a black leather doublet and a cape worked with intricate Celtic ornaments that blew out in the wind behind him. There was a beautiful sword that hung at his side, the engraved Celtic knotwork on the blade shining the occasional flashes of lightning. He almost seemed to stagger as he walked and Aneurin saw the spreading red stain behind his doublet. He turned suddenly looking backward and the perspective of the vision shifted and saw what he saw—the distant specter of a great castle engulfed in flames, its tall spires like candles burning brightly. What was even more fantastic what was lay before it—the massive skeleton of a great spaceship which also burned with an eldritch flame, its hull embedded deeply in the earth and its great bulk jutting upward into the sky, dwarfing the ruined castle. It was not until he turned back that Aneurin saw it reflected in another flash of lightning—the signet ruby ring on the man’s right ring finger, the chip obvious even the darkness and rain.

He jumped up from the couch, sending the harp flying across the floor. The image dissolved like wisps of vapor. His mind simply could not take in what he seen and he paced the room frenetically. Soon a deep exhaustion gripped and he lay down on the couch falling in a troubled sleep. When he awoke he convinced himself that what he had seen was a drunken hallucination. Yet in the days afterward he simply could not put it down. He simply had to try again. Tentatively and with certain apportionment of fear, he took up the harp and began working on the complicated musical strain. His fingers danced over the strings to create the elaborate melody. Slowly the misty cloud formed before him. This time, however, the scene was different. It was inside a large audience where hundreds were gathered. On the right side were ranks of knights in glistening armor, their swords raised in salute. To the left where row of tall women warriors, wild and wanton, who pounded the floor with great wooden spears. Behind them were all manner of lords and ladies cheering their approval. At the front of the chamber sat twin thrones of majestic design. Upon one sat a young elegant woman whose beauty was only surpassed by her poise and grace, her smile vibrant in welcome. In front of the other throne stood a remarkable man whose fine chiseled face and piercing eyes marked him immediately as a king, his dark hair streaked with gray. His height placed him head and shoulders above all others in the room. A sword on intricate design hung in a scabbard at his side, a bright ruby gem pulsing in its hilt. He gestured to a figure kneeling on one knee before the throne. Approaching the man with open arms, he took his arm and lifted him to a standing position, embracing him like a friend who had been absent for a long time. Aneurin could not see the man’s face, but it was not until he saw the cape with Celtic ornaments, the beautiful sword with its engraved knotwork at his side and the long grey hair worked in the French braid that he knew who it was. As the man turned and he got a close look at the haggard lined face in the full light that he knew that he was looking at himself many years from now. As he pushed the harp away, the vision melted into oblivion. Fear gripped at his heart, but after a moment’s reflection he knew now what he would have to do.

He would have to find the means to make the crossing to Albion.

His first journey was to the City of Angels. Taking the overnight train from Edinburgh to London, he thought about his choices in the past few days. There was nothing left for him in Scotland. His last relationship had faded over a year ago with a beautiful, but self-absorbed lass who was more about security than any dreams he might have. In the end the disparity between them was plainly evident. All of his family were plainer folk of the working class who did not understand how a muse might lead a man down a different path. At daybreak he found himself at Paddington Station, his worldly belongings packed into three valises along with the case for his harp. He had five hundred pounds in his wallet, his passport and another five thousand pound draft drawn on the Royal Bank of Scotland. Hiring a lorry proved exorbitant and he soon found himself standing on the Virgin Airways concourse at Heathrow. He had chosen Los Angeles as the place to fulfill his musical dreams, not only because of its well known ties to the music business, but because of a recurring dream he had about a city inhabited by angels. The flight itself was uneventful and he soon found himself in a taxi driven by a reckless Saudi driver screaming down Lincoln Boulevard. As he looked at the shabby storefronts and rundown neighborhoods, he was at first disappointed. When they crossed over into Venice with its upscale shops and carnival atmosphere did Aneurin feel like he made the right choice. He contacted an agency that found roommates and was given a list of possibilities. The first three could not be reached and he had already run up a $75 cab fare. His next choice was a flat of a woman who was an aspiring actress. When he reached her beachfront townhouse, he was greeted by a statuesque lovely named Sevilla with raven black hair, dark Hispanic eyes and a figure that was frankly awe inspiring. She met him at the door wearing a bikini which left very little to the imagination, having obviously just returned from the beach with the marvelous pungent coconut aroma of suntan lotion filling the air. He introduced himself and she was immediately enchanted by his Scottish lilt and he felt her eyes roving up and down his tall lean frame and staring into his dark green eyes. At the last she took a finger and twirled strands of his long reddish hair around it as she looked at him with an open smile, telling him the room was his. Once he had unloaded all his things and paid off the taxi, Sevilla met him in the kitchen with two glasses of red wine to toast his arrival. She had changed into a tight pair of black jeans and a purple halter top. She sheepishly told him that she had a boyfriend, a television producer, but he was very busy and she did not get to see him much. He sensed her interest, yet thought it better to keep his distance. Over the next few days she heard them arguing several times on the phone and would hear her crying softly late at night after he went to bed. Finally after he had been there a week, he came home from securing a lockout for his practice space and taking his harp over, he found Sevilla weeping copiously in her room upstairs. She gone to her boyfriend’s house to surprise him and found him in bed with another woman. He had been angry with her intrusion and not the slightest bit remorseful, offering to pay her off with a small part in an upcoming drama. Aneurin took the part of a conciliatory brother, letting Sevilla cry on his shoulder and telling her that she was well shot of him and this was probably the open door to her dreams that she had been hoping for. They drank wine for hours and talked, he about his life in Scotland and she about her life in Costa Rica. Finally they lapsed into silence where he saw the smoldering desire in her eyes and after a year with no intimacy could take it no more. He brought his lips down savagely on hers and literally ripping off her bikini mesh top. He pulled his lips away and he slid his hand down worked his hand down between her legs. Slipping his fingers inside she gasped seductively and began driving her pelvis against his hand, her cries growing more and more fierce until she arched her back, shaking and trembling with passion. He then slipped her cutoffs off and pulled her to him. Lost in complete unrelenting abandon they made love for over four hours as she cried out relentlessly, her screams become more impassioned until finally they both collapsed, spent and exhausted. She curled up in his arms, whispering endearments in Spanish in between moans of remembered passion, twitching and spasming until she finally fell asleep. The next day he awoke and found she was gone to her audition, but not without a sweet loving note about how much she enjoyed last night and that there was breakfast of waffles and eggs in the refrigerator that he could warm up in the microwave. He kept busy during the day until she got home. Her happiness was immediately apparent as she threw her arms around him, telling him she got the part. However, she turned away quickly and he sensed there was something she was not telling him. When she turned back to look at him, there was a look of deep sadness and tears in her eyes. She said she would have to go over to the director’s house to work on the lines that night. Aneurin knew immediately what that meant. He looked down, a flurry of conflicting emotions in his heart. When he looked up she was crying, her eyes imploring him to understand. She reached into her purse and pulled out two tickets to an art show in Santa Monica. She had bought them earlier, meaning for them to go together that night and she had wanted to surprise him. It was something called the Celtic Unchaining. She thought he would like it. She asked if he could go alone and she would make it up to him. Absently he nodded and turned away. She said in a small voice that she had to get ready and went up to her room. Unable to bear that she was getting ready to go to another man, he took the tickets and called a cab. That would be the night that changed everything.

Scarcely three days had passed since his rendezvous in Santa Monica. He had not seen Sevilla, spending most of his time at his lockout practicing and refining the musical vision. He would not come home until late. Each day there would be a beautiful poignant note left by her expressing her feelings and a wonderful meal cooked by her, only she did not come home at all. On that third day he started to make plans to move out. He knew now that his life was headed in a different direction. Finally the day after the fateful meeting at the townhouse with his newfound friends, he came home to find that Sevilla had prepared a beautiful dinner and had waited for him and finally gone to bed, leaving him a note to wake her when he came home. He sat there staring at the note, thinking that she had been in the arms of another man all week. He turned around and walked out, slamming the door behind him. He called Jeremy Dunaway, telling him that his living situation had become intolerable and could he sleep on his couch that night. Jeremy was the very picture of friendship, driving down from Malibu to pick him up and not asking about his personal problems. They stayed all night talking music and goals and Aneurin finally got to sleep in the wee hours of the morning. He stayed there for the next three days. He and Jeremy began exploring the vision, using the Aneurin’s harp and Jeremy’s keyboards to refine the vision. The learned that if they embellished the same sequence of notes with slight variations that they would get different perspectives in the vision. As they learned when all of them got together, the addition of other players brought more depth into the story. The more they experimented, the more they learned how to manipulate the vision. Try as they might though they could not expand it to more than the small introduction they had been granted. At the end of the three days Aneurin and Jeremy cleaned out his second bedroom and Aneurin made plans to move in. He then went back to pack his things. When he got there he found a note from Sevilla. She said that shooting had begun on the show, but that she would be home that night and could he wait for her. He would not be sorry. All he could think of reading her note was that he was already sorry. It was already late and he knew he would not be packed up before she got home. So he set to work and sure enough two hours later he heard the door open and her call out to him. He said nothing. She came into his room, her bright smile collapsing into a look of sorrow and resignation when she saw all the half-packed cartons and clothes strewn all of the bed. Silently she helped him pack his things, tears streaming down her face and helped him load them in her car. She took him to Jeremy’s where she kissed him tenderly and passionately, saying that if he ever changed his mind her door, and her bed, would be his for the asking. As she got in the car and drove away, he wondered what the future held. He had no way of knowing that for her it would be five months before she saw him again. For Aneurin, however, within a month he would have made the crossing to Albion where he would spend the next three years before returning to the future scant days after he had left. His first night back at Jeremy’s was when he had the dream. First he heard a woman’s melodic voice, sweet in quality, yet tormented and forlorn, crying out in the darkness. As he got deeper into the dream he realized that she was actually inside a dungeon, suspended within something that looked like curtains of light. Only then he did hear the rhythmic cadence of the light and heard the shifting sequence of music that controlled it. She was in a prison of sound. He awoke with a start to the sounds of sirens below his window. Just the usual LA madness, but he could not forget the dream. Nor the lady in it. As the day progressed his memory of the dream refined to the point where he could actually see her face within the prison of sound. She was beautiful with an angular face and high cheekbones and delicate chin, long wavy blond hair and liquid blue eyes piercing in their sadness. When Jeremy returned from his job at the sound studio, Aneurin told him about the dream. They tried to work on the melodic vision again, only this time it would not come. After an hour of trying they gave up and went off to bed. This time the dream came again, only this time it was accompanied by her voice. She sang a mournful tune which summoned the very essence of melancholy. Over and over she chanted the same complex sad litany until it was embedded in his mind. All the while he could feel her eyes on him, pleading for him to understand something. He awoke with a start to find Jeremy shaking him. He had actually been humming the lady’s song in his sleep and the window lay open in the air above his bed. This time, it was quite obvious that it was not a window. It was a door. His bed was literally coated with the ashes from the fires of the dungeon and the acrid aroma of the bitter flames permeated the air of his bedroom. Slowly the doorway closed and the mists dissipated. Jeremy looked at him questioningly. He spent the next hour telling Jeremy about the dream and the song she sang. It was Jeremy who seized upon the notion that the same song had to be sung on both sides of the window to create the door. It was then that they decided to convene the band. For that was day that they officially became a band.

For four weeks they had worked everyday on refining the vision. Everyday they would all come from their respective work gigs. They had hired a huge lockout in the same building where Jeremy had his. It was a deluxe practice space with a changing room, shower and mini kitchenette. They would arrive in staggered fashion, a small overnight bag with a change of clothes and various personal sundries. Each would shower and begin the preparation of an elaborate meal. Food was the communion which marked the end of their regular day and their ascent into the dream. They would shake off the cares of the day and fall into the cadences of joy and laughter. From there they would go their respective instruments and for hours would fall into the vision that was Albion.

So much had it changed in the past four weeks. They refined the vision first of Lyonesse, the long jagged valley surrounded by mountains. It was nearly 50 miles long, its tall mountains holding back the ocean on either side to create the subterranean valley. It would not be until three weeks had passed that they discovered that the same song played in the lower bass octaves corresponded to an earlier point in Albion’s history. When they played the song at the very lowest octave, they saw the very formation of the land of Lyonesse. A meteor, streaking out of the northern sky at a very low angle, struck right at the edge of the land and ocean, gouging out a long scar in the ocean floor while thrusting the mountains on either side before coming to a rest in a deep crater surrounded on three sides by tall mountains. As they came gradually up the octaves, they witnessed an accelerated skeletal history of Albion. They watched as primitive peoples began to wander into the valley, at first building simple tent-like structures. Soon graduating to more complex wooden halls, they ventured further down the valley where the stands of fir and elm grew more densely on the mountain sides. Besides the pool fed by a monumental waterfall, they built their first stone chapel. Finally they came to the end where the iron core of the huge asteroid lay half buried in the middle of a mile-wide crater. The raised edges of the crater became the outer earthen battlements of a rudiment fortress. Within this crude streets and alleyways began to develop as stonemasons began to lay the massive outer ramparts of a great castle. Once completed the inner fortifications became the secondary battlements of the castle within which over the subsequent decades a great city began to flourish. They watched in astonishment as the great shape of Castle Dore took shape before their very eyes. At its heart the core of fallen asteroid was reshaped by the fires of the cadre of blacksmiths into a vast circular metallic circle which would become the royal audience chambers of the King and Queen and meeting hall for the knights of Albion.

In light of this great achievement, they were doomed to frustration as they were able to make almost no headway into locating the mysterious woman of Aneurin’s dreams. Every night he was tormented by her mournful wailing within her prison of sound. Though the door to the dungeons where she was prisoner had been opened, they found no way to make the passage from present to past. Inside the dream he knew that she could hear him and see him after a fashion because she responded to him with various changes in facial expressions which ranged from flourishing hope to extreme despair. To add to his disquiet, he was now able to hear the interrogation sessions which were held daily with her unknown captor. What her inquisitioner did not know was that Aneurin was able to bolster her flagging reserves in her blistering sonic assault. He told the others in the band of this and laughingly referred to it as sheltering her spirit. Yet at night when he lay down to sleep, he found that he had to bolster himself against the assault which would come while he slept. She seemed to know that he protected her for every night when he returned in his dreams, he was met with her smile which grew every more vibrant and hopeful with each passing day. Aneurin had no way of knowing that they were only days away from an amazing breakthrough.

On a July evening charged with the midsummer thunderstorms which seemed to come more frequent during these days of global warming, they were all stripped down to the essentials of jeans and tank tops in the parched Santa Ana winds stifling heat. Kate Mulholland had been working with her B.C. Rich Storm Queen guitar and her movements had increasingly ballet-like as she swung and spun around with growing urgency. Finally, in a frenetic passion spiral, she pirouetted in an energized dance, holding the guitar above her as her fingers raced across the fretboard. In that moment, the aerial view they had of Castle Dore shifted, dropping downward towards the castle itself like a falcon swooping in upon its prey. The vision pierced the stone flooring of the high keep and continued to plunge into the depths of the great castle. As Kate continued to swing back and forth in her impassioned ballet, the vision arrived at the darkest dungeons on Castle Dore. There they saw her hanging within a shimmering curtain which pulsed with sound waves every few seconds. The vision shifted again, taking the shape of a swirling vortex which descended around the imprisoned figure. It then rebounded and spiraled back upwards, yanking the struggling woman out of the sonic prison and into the time window. With a brilliant flash, she was thrown through the window and into the unsuspecting arms of Aneurin Harper. The two were sent hurtling backward by her forward momentum to crash into the lockout wall while the rest of the band could look dumbfounded in fascination. Her startled eyes then filled with a warming generous smile and the light of recognition. She wrapped her arms lovingly around Aneurin’s neck and kissed him, first tenderly and then with ever growing passion as her tongue slipped inside his mouth. Suddenly she pulled back and let her arms drop to his shoulders. Looking into his bewildered eyes intently she spoke.

“My lord Taliesin, I have only a few moments. I know this will come as a bit of a shock. We have already met…and I will speak to you in the manner which you have taught us. You must return to Albion for our need is great. The archdruid Vandrel wages war upon us with the aid of his great dragons. We are in sore need of your aid.”

Aneurin stood stock still staring at her, his eyes mirroring a combination of fear and transfiguration. She stroked his cheek softly before she blushed brightly and spoke again.

“Please forgive my…familiarity…my lord. I know that you do not know me…yet. However, I have loved you ever since you came to us when I was a child. Your elaborate musical games and complex riddles captured my heart long ago. I can only hope that my feelings for you are… returned.”

His answer came swift and unexpected. He pulled her to him, his lips seeking hers and her passion ignited once more as her body curled seductively around his. When they pulled away, there was total silence in the room which was broken only by her urgent cry.

“Quickly, my love. The enchantment is fading and I will be summoned back to my prison. You told me to remind you of your Song Staff and your armor when next we met. They are essential weapons in your battle with Vandrel and the key to winning the support of the College of Bards. Please say you will return…”

Aneurin stammered, choking the words out.”Of course…I will…return.”

Her smile was blazing as she stroked his cheek and kissed him tenderly once more. In midkiss the time window began to break down and her form began to dissolve, pulling her away from him and backward into the time window. Aneurin was seized suddenly with a revelation.

“Your name! Please! I do not know it!”

The fear began to grip her as she began to disappear into the window.”It is Kelestra…Princess Kelestra. Please…I beg of you….”

She vanished as the window took her, collapsing into a tunnel of light which narrowed to the smallest pinpoint before disappearing altogether. Her final shouted words were like an echo on a distant wind, punctuated by the flash of nearby lightning and the crash of thunder as it rolled across the night skies of Los Angeles.

“Please save me…”

It would be two weeks before they had another breakthrough. A sense of urgency filled the studio as everyone felt as their efforts had now become nothing g less than rescue mission of Kelestra. For the entire band, her very presence established the reality of what they were doing. Every night when Aneurin went to bed she came to him in dreams, only now she was possessed of a new resolution and strength. He saw the flame of love in her eyes and his emotional communion with her grew ever stronger with each passing night. During the days he began working on what he thought she meant by the Song Staff. He had quickly surmised that she spoke of was a ribbon controller, a relic of the 20th century electronic music age. Vivian had a friend who worked at one of the large studios in special effects fashion a rudimentary design for a self-contained staff. Using wireless technology the sound was transmitted to a set of compact speakers cunningly hidden within Kevlar body armor. This was powered by separate photovoltaic arrays inlayed into the skeleton of the armor. The final touch was a helm made of the same Kevlar material which housed a wireless microphone, preamp and an array of sound filters and effects. With its infrared and night vision lens, when Aneurin tried it on for the first time, he marveled in the mirror how it made him look like a futuristic knight. This would be echoed in Vivian’s keen observation that would define things from that moment forward.

“You are a truly a knight and bard of Albion, Aneurin…I christen you the Magnetic Minstrel.”

They all stared at her for a long moment. They had all been too busy with other matters to think of a name for the band. Suddenly the silence was broken by a robotic laughter. It was Aneurin adjusting the tonal filters on the sonic helm. They all fell into raucous laughter. The name stuck. That day the band became Magnetic Minstrel.

It would be a week later that Tatum would be in the Bodhi Tree Bookstore looking for a book on organic cooking when he met Valentina Prokolova. Newly arrived from her native Ukraine, Tatum was immediately struck by her beautiful, finely chiseled face, luscious tendrils of raven hair and her liquid blue eyes. What he soon discovered was Valentina’s immense gift for fantasy illustration as well as her penchant for storytelling. After their second date, he began to tell her about the band he was in. This would prove to be a fateful choice.

He brought her to the next practice and she watched spellbound as they opened the door to Albion. She began to sketching madly as they kept the vision opened. She made dozens of preliminary sketches before the portal closed. It became quickly evident that she was now a part of their quirky troupe. She was quite obviously drawn to Tatum’s surfer charm and tousled blond hair. She moved in with him and began working on a complex set of drawings of Castle Dore and the entire Vale of Lyonesse. Once she was done with these, she bought an airbrush and compressor. Working from her sketches, she painted 4 elaborate backdrops which she then brought into the practice studio to adorn its bare walls. The first was a north facing view that would look down the long valley towards what would eventually become England. On the east and west facing falls were the high mountains that reared up on either side of the valley to hold back the ocean. Finally, on the south facing view, was the great Castle Dore as it rested within the meteor crater nestled against the high mountains at its back. This was to set the stage for the next breakthrough in the journey to Albion.

When the band came to the lockout for the next practice session, they marveled at Valentina’s vision and meticulous attention to detail. The Vale of Lyonesse surrounded them as they took up their instruments. They were unprepared for what would happen next. When the Kate strummed the opening chords of the Psalm and Vivian answered with her violin, the artistic background shifted suddenly and became insubstantial for a moment. As Jeremy added a symphonic accompaniment on his synthesizer, it quickly snapped back into focus and sharpened into a sharply defined reality.

They were actually standing in the Vale of Lyonesse.

They were inside a small ampitheater which had been literally cut from the mountainside itself. It was shaped like a heart with row of chiseled seats at its upper end. All along the edges of the theater were white crystalline standing stones which pulsed every few moments with some form of power that seemed to radiate from the very ground itself. The mouth of the ampitheater opened into a wide sweeping vista of the Vale of Lyonesse. To the right they saw the long vale wedged between jagged crags of mountains that held back the sea. To the left was the end of the vale and its high reaching row of three peaks. In front of it stood the majestic Castle Dore. Seated in the very center of a huge asteroid crater spanning nearly half a league across, the impact zone marked the outer battlement of the vast citadel. Spellbound for a moment they failed to realize that they had stopped playing, staring in awe at the spectacle that had opened up before them.

Suddenly they heard the lifted voices of a choir. The great crystals began to pulse in time with the voices and they all turned to see the ampitheater now filled with hundreds of souls, all their voices raised in the complex harmonies. In front of them stood a tall elegant woman in a white samite robe, her face framed by long fine strands of burnished red hair. As she began to walk towards them, Jeremy noticed her luminous green eyes. There was something oddly familiar about those eyes. Her smile was gracious as she walked up to them with her arms spread wide. Her voice was like liquid honey as she spoke.

“My Lord Taliesin, you are most well met. Please allow me to provide introduction after the speech you have taught us. I am Deidre Dawnwalker, First Chant of the Phoenix Clan. I bind you welcome on your first journey to Albion. We have eagerly awaited this day. I have much to share with you, however , there is one thing I must tell you before all else.”

She turned taking Aneurin’s hands in hers, her smile growing with love.”It is a great honor to greet you, my Lord, for I am your great great granddaughter by Princess Kelestra. I would give me such joy to embrace you as my kinsman.”

Jeremy watched as Aneurin’s eyes filled with wonder and he stroked her cheek, brushing back errant locks of red hair. Only then did he remember…of course….the eyes! They were his. Aneurin embraced her in a warm hug and Jeremy could see the tears welling up in her eyes. It would be moments before he would pull away and he would also see tears in Aneurin’s eyes as well.

“You are my…great..great…granddaughter, Deidre? I visited here that long ago?”

“Yes, my lord, and not for the first time. Your journeys from the future are very erratic and are not sequential. The sequence seems to be derived from the events about which you will witness and compose. This is your first journey and you will compose the ballads of the Solitary Minstrel. It is how you will meet Princess Kelestra. You will return in the events which will make up the tales of the Two Lovers. Your next composition will be of the Three Queens and then the Four Realms. More than that I cannot say…for you have expressly forbidden revealing too much that might change the course of events in subsequent journeys. “

It was Jeremy who recognized the paradox.”If you are Kelestra’s great, great granddaughter, then we have overshot the mark considerably. “

Deidre turned to Jeremy and her eyes grew wide with appreciation. “Indeed…that is very true. You have arrived in the Golden Age of Albion where Emperor Arcturus Pendragon and Empress Gwenhwyvar Greatdreamer rule in the name of Avalon. The time of Emperor Lyre and his daughter Princess Kelestra is some 800 years past. “

She stepped forward and took Jeremy’s hand. “And you would be his favored companion, Jeremy Dunaway. How often he has spoken of you. I had hoped I would find favor in your eyes.”

She stood for a moment very frankly looking at him before speaking.”You will forgive me, Lord Jeremy. My mother was one of the Farseekers Guild as were many of the women of my clan before me including Kelestra. They are quite…shameless…in their pursuits and I must shamelessly say that I have some of the blood in my veins. It is with great difficulty that I turn away from you that will not see the passions you have awakened.”

She turned to go and Jeremy caught her hand. Pulling her back to him, he slipped his arms under hers, pulling her close. This dissolved any pretext of control and she hungrily brought her lips down upon his, his mouth moving sensually as her tongue savored his in an unabashedly erotic display. She suddenly broke away and fled a few steps, casting her face and eyes down.

“Forgive me, Lord Taliesin, my passions get the better of me. I will….I will take you to the Audience Chamber where the emperor and empress await your arrival. You will greet the First Voice of the Phoenix Clan who has requested a private audience with you before taking you to the Celestory where the Bardic College stand at your command. “

She turned to run back a few steps, a girlish smile on her face, to embrace Jeremy once more, standing on her tiptoes to whisper in his ear.”Leave the door to your chamber unlocked tonight, my lord, and I shall warm your bed tonight.”

Then she turned quickly to the others gesturing to a wide stairway to the left that descended down to the Vale below.”We must adjourn to the Bardic College. The Phoenix Clan will keep the doorway open for you, so need not worry that your journey will be interrupted.”

With a parting whimsical smile at Jeremy, she was off down the stairwell. Jeremy turned to see Aneurin looking at him with his arms crossed and a paternal frown on his face.

“What? Are you gonna flame me because your great, great granddaughter is attracted to me?”

Aneurin’s reply was frosty.”You have no idea how much that creeps me out.”

It was Kate who came up and lay her hand on Jeremy’s shoulder.”Don’t pay any attention to Miles Standish here…I thought that was damn hot! I didn’t know you had it in you!”

When Aneurin shot her a withering stare, Vivian came up behind tapping him on the other shoulder, shaking her head.”Need I remind you of how you acted with Kelestra? Give them their moment, Aneurin.”

Aneurin nodded absently and Kate and Vivian each took one of Aneurin’s arm and together they descended the stairwell. Slowly it curved in a gentle downward spiral. They marveled at the smooth burnished stone that seemed to have been shaped by some unimaginable flame. Along its walls were intricate designs of spirals and Celtic knotwork. The steps looked like they have been cut with a mathematical precision, following the sweeping arc of the walls they coursed down to the vale below. All the time they heard the raised voices of the Phoenix Clan channeled down the narrow passage as they kept the doorway in time open.

When they reached the bottom of the spiral stone stairwell, they found that it open on the edge of the vast meteor crater. Here the lip of the crater had been chiseled away so that a narrow passage led onto the smooth metal floor of the crater. The metallic surface was etched with the same spirals and Celtic knotwork. Aneurin gestured to the others as walked onto the open metallic plateau traversing its shimmering surface. The designs were fantastically intricate spreading cross nearly a half mile of the asteroid. When they had walked a few hundred feet, they left the jagged crags of the mountains and out onto the main part of the crater. Only then did they see it.

The looming magnificence of Castle Dore.

The sheer size of its sprawling edifice dwarfed them, its multiple great stone spires reaching so high up into the sky that they were actually above the tips of the mountains, serving as watchtowers along the long narrow chasm of the vale and light houses with a pulsating crystal which shown every few minutes to guide the galleys of Albion into safe harbor at the end of the vale. The outer bulwark of the castle was thick stone which had been quarried in great stone blocks and set in place. Aneurin was captivated by the meticulous wonder of its creation.

His attention was suddenly drawn aware as a squadron of dragons flew into view over the castle. They called to each other in raspy growling cries as they circled to land on perches at the western end of the castle just above them. The dragon riders dismounted and climbed down the ladder from the perch to walk a sort distance where boars were roasting over an open flame. Grabbing the huge side of meat, they then climbed onto steps at the base of the dragon perches and held them aloft. The dragons then seized the boar meat like tasty morsels, downing them in one gulp with a bellow of flame and a satisfied growl afterwards.

Climbing down from the stairs, the riders then removed their helms, walking towards a small turret at the edge of the dragon rookery. The full glare of the sunlight the scaly nature of their skin became evident as the sun shown on its polished surface.

“They are not human!”exclaimed Vivian.

“Indeed, the Dragonborn are mostly human, part dragon,”said Deidre,”they are shapeshifters. Watch for a moment…”

Indeed as they walked the serpentine cobblestoning of their skin shifted in a soft smooth sheen of normal skin. The reptilian heads gave away to the chiseled elegance of striking warriors.

“It is a legacy from the lost city of Atlantis. We have been able to discover its ruins under the ocean and many of the wonders of Albion have been scavenged from its archives. These legacies are both a boon and a curse as you will soon discover.”

Deidre then led them across the metallic surface to a drawbridge and portcullis which lifted and they crossed into the castle proper. They entered a market square where dozens of stalls were arrayed around a fountain with a great stone obelisk at its center. As they crossed the square many people saw Aneurin’s Kevlar armor and fell to one knee. As people turned and saw their progress through the square, more and more paid homage to their passage. Aneurin turned to Deidre with a raised eyebrow.

“Your armor marks you, Lord Taliesin. That together with your Song Staff are the heralds of your office and your exploits. You are the creator of the Bardic College and your adventures are the mainstay of minstrels across a thousand years. There is not a soul in the whole of Albion that does not know and revere your name.”

It was Jeremy who broke the reverent moment with a sardonic smile.”They obviously don’t know you like we do.”

The group laughed and Kate clapped Aneurin on the back lovingly.”Don’t take it personal, gumba.”

Aneurin just shook his head.”All I have to do is consider the source.”

Jeremy turned to see Deidre looking mortified.”Please, Lord Jeremy—“

He walked up and kissed her tenderly.”Can we dispense with the Lord thing…it feels..weird. How about just Jeremy.”

Deidre returned his kiss and swept an errant curly golden lock from his face.”So be it, Jeremy. I understand the informal…intimacy…that exists between all of you.”

She turned to the others.”However, we are all about to enter the audience chambers of Avalon, seat of Albion. Lord Taliesin is a figure which is the underpinning of the Empire. There he is like a guardian angel that has appears in our darkest hours. Indeed his blood is mingled with the Emperors of Albion since his union with Princess Kelestra. He must be treated with reverence due his station.”

Jeremy smiled, placing his hands on her shoulders.”And so we shall, Deidre. For in Albion we are his companions. That would be correct?”

Her smile matched his.”Indeed. And your conduct must mirror this fact. I cannot overemphasize his importance. For it is said that he was here at its beginning and foretold that he will be there at its end.”

Suddenly unbidden the memory returned to Aneurin of that dark night the first time he had ever played the Psalm. The burning castle…the crashed spaceship…the figure that he knew to be a much older version of himself that stumbled away from the scene mortally wounded. All the color must have drained out of his face as Deidre came up to him, her face mirroring her concern.

“Lord Taliesin, you are pale as a ghost. Have you had some sort of a vision? Or perhaps a remembrance of something you have seen in your…travels?”

Regaining his composure he smiled wanely.”Just so…on both accounts. Yet we are awaited so..if you please…let us make our grand entrance.”

Together they walked forward until a royal guard escort joined them, surrounding them on all sides. The great doors into the main audience chambers of Castle Dore swung open widely to admit them. They crossed through the foyer into the nave of the castle. Once they had crossed the threshold, the royal guard took up station on their flank and an honor guard stood at the ready. Their swords were drawn in salutation, forming a canopy of steel through which they walked slowly. On both sides of the hall were tiers of courtiers, nobility and peers who stood silently to mark their passage. At the end of the hall upon a dais of stone, twin thrones of white oak and dark ash rose majestically upon which sat the emperor and empress of Albion.

The emperor stood first, his regal bearing , dark hair and beard tinged with grey together with his stance marked his station, taking several steps down the dais to await them as they completed their processional. The empress then stood, his long flaxen tresses falling to her waist as her hazel eyes burned brightly. She stepped forward with fluid grace to take the emperor’s hand as she descended the final steps to join him. As Aneurin and the others came forward to stand before the emperor and empress, he could not help see the emperor’s powerful gaze and the sultry power and beauty of the empress--surely this must be Arcturus and Gwenhwyvar.

Arcturus spoke first.“Well met, Lord Taliesin, we are blessed by your presence. How may we be of service?”

When Aneurin started to speak, Lady Gwenhwyvar spoke up.“My lord, I believe that Lord Taliesin will need an audience with the First Voice.”

Arcturus nodded.“Of course, my lady. Lord Craftine will be able to speak to the needs of the Silverbrow.”

As Aneurin struggled to take it all in, a sage looking gentleman of elder years and platinum shoulder length hair stepped forward. He carried a intricately crafted staff that seemed to mimic the staff that Aneurin bore. In his other hand was a burgundy leather cylinder bearing golden embossed runes on it. His demeanor was at once measured and succinct.

“My Lord Taliesin, I am Craftine, First Voice of the Phoenix Clan, Primary Chorus of the College of Bards. We are the custodians of that which you were instrumental in forging. Since it is foretold that this is your first...voyage....to Albion with your companions, I would like to offer any assistance in the magnificent nature of your creation.”

“All right, wait a minute!“Aneurin hissed,“I need some time to think!”

Gwenhwyvar spoke quietly in a calm tone with a soothing smile.“Of course, Lord Taliesin. We will show your companions to their quarters and Lord Craftine will be at your disposal to answer any questions.”

With a loving nod to her husband who gave her a reassuring smile, she gestured to the First Voice.“Lord Craftine?”

Smiling, he nodded knowingly.“As you wish, my lady. My Lord Taliesin, if you will accompany me to the Celestory, your companions will be shown to their quarters.”

Aneurin nodded numbly to the others.“You guys okay with this?”

It was Jeremy who stepped forward, laying a hand on his shoulder.“No worries, brother. I do believe we are among friends....no matter how....strange...this all appears.”

Aneurin managed a wane smile, turning to Lord Craftine.“Lead the way.”

Arcturus bowed to him.“We will talk more later, Silverbrow.”

Aneurin nodded absently as he followed Craftine out of the hall. They walked silently through the connecting passages until the First Voice open a great door and they were suddenly stepped outside on the battlements. Aneurin was presented with a breathtaking view of the long vale of Lyonesse. Stretching out as far as the eye could see, the valley was a beautiful sanctuary. On both sides, mountains rose sharply from the floor majestically. some covered in lush vegetation, other stark and black like great grey fangs of some angry beast. Along the vale were forests, grasslands, rivers and lakes stretching out to the distant horizon. Everywhere, the valley teemed with life, both human and animal, and the sounds of living swam up to fill his ears. As he drank in the spectacular landscape, Craftine came to his side.

“None of this would have been possible without you. my lord.”

Aneurin turned to face the elder man.“You will forgive me, Lord Craftine, if I find that hard to believe. I have only been drafted into this....reality....in the past several months. I am still trying to make sense of something that has existed for a thousand years. Something which every one says I am the principal architect.”

Craftine’s gaze softened.“It is true, my lord. Although the truth of matters must be extremely hard to grasp. You have been the captain of Albion’s future since the beginning and have guided its ship through dark and turbulent seas. If you will accompany me to the Celestory, there are gifts awaiting you that make this easier to understand and which were prepared by your command.”

Aneurin arched his eyebrow.“My command?”

Craftine’s smile was almost whimsical.“Yes, my lord. Many have existed for centuries awaiting just this moment.”

Aneurin sighed heavily.“I guess there is no postponing the inevitable. Lead on.”

They continued along the battlements until they came to a great tower, one of more than a dozen which seemed to stretch around the walls of Castle Dore. Craftine opened an immense oaken door on wrought iron hinges and together they stepped inside. His nostrils were immediately assailed by the overwhelming smell of ink and paper. The rooms were filled with men dressed like priests who sat at elaborate drawing tables apparently copying manuscripts. All along the walls of the chamber were shelves filled with scrolls of every imaginable size and description. At the compass points, the walls were inset with great stained glass windows, each featuring an elaborate illuminated document and beneath a scribe seemingly hard at work to create it. When they saw the two of them, work immediately ceased and they scrambled to a hasty attention. Aneurin quickly noticed that they were all staring at him with undisguised reverence.

“This is the Scriptorium, my lord, where all vital documents and histories are transcribed by the amanuenses for the historical record. All records have been kept her for nearly 700 years since your command during the reign of Emperor Geminicus. Here is where we have kept those gifts that you ordered to be created.”

Gesturing to a tall lean man who appeared to be the lead scribe, Craftine gestured to a storage vault at the end of the chamber.“Cawley, if you would fetch the parcels for the Silverbrow from the Repository.”

With a curt nod, the scribe hurried to the vault where he returned with a several parcels wrapped in tanned pale animal hides and tied with cords of hemp. Aneurin looked down to see that they were stamped with some kind of wax seal of a harper seated at his harper. He quickly realized that the stamp must be his own. When he looked up, he saw Craftine staring at him patiently.

“It is indeed the emblem of your office, my lord Taliesin. It is not known what they contain, only that you ordered each of the volume struck and recorded each time that you returned to Albion.”

Aneurin grasped each of the parcels by their tethered cords and with a nod to the scribes who then immediately returned to their work, he followed Craftine from the Scriptorium. They retraced their steps along the battlements until they turned to the keep of Castle Dore. Crossing the market square, they came to one of the lesser turrets of the castle and through an arched doorway where they ascended a circular stairwell that followed the contour of the turret. There, they came to a hallway that connected it with the upper ramparts of the citadel. Along that corridor were a row of doors at which stood an imperial guard. Upon seeing this, Aneurin turned to Craftine with an eyebrow arched in suspicion.

“My lord Taliesin, it is a matter of safety. Attempts have been made on your life in the past and the emperor has commanded an imperial guard whenever you or any of your companions are in residence.”

Aneurin look at the elder man sharply.“You mean there have been other....companions?”

For the first time, Craftine seemed uncomfortable, almost blushing when he answered.“Yes, my lord, although none from your time. Mostly they were women of an obviously.....intimate...acquaintance.”

Aneurin looked down in an attempt to hide the huge grin on his face. Softening, he clapped Craftine on the shoulder.“Your discretion is admirable, Craftine. Which room is mine that I may indulge in some rest, a meal and chance to look over my...legacy?”

Craftine seemed almost relieved at the reprieve and led Aneurin to a door at the end of the corridor. The imperial guard snapped to attention, one reached for the elaborate bolt to open the door. Craftine ushered him into a small cozy chamber. A wooden plank table stood against a far wall with a low bench. In the corner was a brazier which seemed to not have been used recently. A cotton mattress looking disturbingly modern in design sat near the door with a chest carved in Celtic chains at its foot. Tapestries adorned the walls and there was a writing desk and wooden stool in a small alcove in the other side of the room. At the far corner was a small secluded entry which looked like a makeshift bathroom of sorts.

“These are your chambers, Lord Taliesin. While they remained untouched for nearly a century since your last visit to Albion, they have been cleaned weekly in the advent of your return. ”

Almost to punctuate this point, there was a knock at the door and retainers entered with food which they laid out on the table. There were hunks of assorted cheeses, apple scones, steaming mutton stew, bread pudding and bowl of sliced pears. He had forgotten that it had been almost a day since he eaten. Another laid out a fresh change of clothes on the bed and bowed before she left. Craftine waited patiently throughout until they were the only ones remaining in the chamber before he discreetly coughed slightly.

“Will be anything else, Lord Taliesin?”

Aneurin thought for a moment before it came to him.“Yes, as a matter of fact. Why am I also called Taliesin Silverbrow?”

Craftine returned a slightly puzzled look.“I am not sure of its creation, my lord. It was a name which you apparently chose as your epithet in your earliest days in Albion. When you were introduced to Emperor Bootes at the creation of the Empire, it is the name that you gave. No one in Albion knows your otherworldly name.”

Suddenly tired, Aneurin sat down on the bench in front of the table.“You have been very gracious, Craftine. I will unfortunately need to call on you further in the upcoming days.”

The elder bard bowed gracefully.“I am at your command, my lord.”

At with that, he was gone.

Aneurin turned to the table and began eating ravenously. As he ate, he untied the bindings on the parcels to reveal two stacks of bound journals bounded in leather. Opening up the first journal, he found a beautifully illustrated frontispiece and illuminated title page proclaiming The Solitary Minstrel. Suddenly, the words of Deidre Dawnwalker upon their arrival in Albion arose in his mind. This is your first journey and you will compose the ballads of the Solitary Minstrel. He leafed through the pages of the journals as he chewed thoughtfully on a apple scone. The pages were highlighted with striking ink illustrations and illuminations for each new chapter of colored inks as well as silver and gold, obviously the work of the Scriptorium. When he came to the middle of the journal, a folded piece of parchment fell out onto the table. Picking it up, he opened it to find a penned letter written in his own handwriting.

I remember how confused you are at this moment. Suffice to say that this is all real. You are in Albion at Castle Dore. This is not a dream. You will soon acclimate to all of this, however, this first passage is going to be a bit rough. I wrote this note at the very end of my....our....last passage to Albion. These ten journals are meant to guide you through what will be the next 30 years of your.... our....life. There is no easy way to break this news, but I know you already suspect from the scant information you already seen within the Psalms that this is truly the work of a lifetime. Yet I can tell you that it will be enriching beyond belief and the sad end which you have witnessed is many years away and you have time to come an acceptance of this fact and make peace with it. I know I did. Know also that what you do here in Albion is tantamount to the survival of the human race...for the enemies of Albion are beyond imagining and the fate of Mankind hangs on the choices you make. No pressure...right? Know in the end that if you follow the course set out in the journals that all will end well. Perhaps this is not the course you might have chosen for your ....our....life, yet you will translate your adventures into a titanic success in the future and in the process prepare the world for what is to come. I know not the final fate of Albion at this writing, only suspect that from what I know, it will not be a kind one. Please help me to make all of this come about. I have truly grown to love these people and all the magic that Albion has engendered.

He let the note fall from his hand onto the table. The enormity of what he had read settled on his shoulders like the weight of the world. Now he knew why these people held him in such high esteem. The bleak angel of doubt spread its dark wings over his heart and he lain his elbows on the table and rest his head in his hands. How was he ever going to do this? Tears flowed down his cheeks to fall upon the leather volumes. As he watched the droplets stained the dark leather, he was suddenly gifted with a revelation that the journals provided. They were the proof of his success. They were what brought him to this moment. He remembered the other words uttered by Deidre Dawnwalker on their arrival.

It is how you will meet Princess Kelestra.

Pulling the steaming bowl of mutton stew forward, he ladled a generous portion onto the bread pudding and took a hearty portion of the mixture on a flat spoon. Bringing the spoon to his lips, he rejoiced in its heady flavor. Hope banished the bleak angel with its luminescence as he took another bite and opened the journal to the first page and began reading.