"The village is not far," Miriam said.

"Lead on then," Marwolaeth said.

"What be those markings on the back of your jacket?" Miriam said.

"Oh —the tribe I belong to in the other place," Marwolaeth said.

In the village, Miriam led them to the Iron Kettle Tavern, and inside Miriam pointed out the town official, who was the Mayor, and his four companions drinking at a table.

Marwolaeth pulled out the small sword; it started pulsating a blue-green light, and that light jumped over to the table and enveloped it under a canopy of plasma, it seemed.

In a shadow and a flash, Marwolaeth, Miriam and the group from the table were standing in the middle of a present day motorcycle gang. The emblems on their jackets and vests were the same as the ones on Marwolaeth's: Heaven's Demons MC 1%. No Fear Anywhere.

"What manner of tribe are these," Miriam asked. The gang's leader, Spikes McDonald, with taboos plastered over his arms approached and studied Miriam.

"She's okay Spikes. She doesn't know nothin'" Marwolaeth said.

Spikes eyed Miriam up and down, then added, "You're going to make a fine old lady for someone!"

Spikes turned his attention to the group in the center. The Mayor screamed, "What are these! Where are we? You be before the hangman's noose for this!! I be an official member of the king's court and I'll…."

"Oh shut the hell up you idiot," Spikes said. Then added, "Don't you guys know nothing? Old Elvis the King died years ago— huh!"

Laughter became a roar from the other bikers. Some started dancing around like Mimes holding an invisible noose around their necks. Others just threw beer at the Mayor "You be swinging high for t-t-this treason!" the Mayor said.

Spikes gave a command for everyone to be quiet. All obeyed, except the Mayor who kept blabbering.

Spikes kicked the Mayor in his side then screamed: "What part of shut-up don't you understand!!"

Spikes looked up at a bright star and pointed to it. "They are our friends. The ET's or what ever you want to call them. We like to think of them as our— little-green helpers. You might say our brother that are-- out of this world. Ha, ha!

"See those Homibots belonged to our friends. You guys must have heard "Go at ov' u' thousan yars" from one of us when we was bringing back some Coke or Meth. And you clowns thought it something like—"Open Sesame" or some bull-shit like that. It's a pass word in the alien language. Gets their time-travel system going. We use it to travel back and forth in time to Wales. What you said confused the alien transport system—not enough mass of something, I don't know I'm no scientist. They have this fail-safe thing that activated to protect Marwolaeth from having her hands and feet switch or something like that. But it overpowered and damaged the Homibots beyond fixing. Believe me, our friends, the Homerinians were really pissed about that one."

"I know not what you speak off but the hangman's noose will find your necks," the Mayor said.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. You won't believe what's going to find your necks," Spikes said. Laughter roared again among the bikers.

"See our friends up there let us go into the past. That's were we cook our meth, and hide from the feds when things get too hot around here. The feds have no idea that we can hide from them by traveling into yesteryear— I just saying that. In fact, the club owns the Iron Kettle Tavern in your time. Imagine that! We have the best ale and rum anywhere because we take rum, ale and wines from today back with us! And you idiots love it!

"It was just plain -serendipity- that we ran into our new friends one night years ago. I was taken care of business one night, going to put a bullet in two ass-holes that ratted us out, had them tied up out in the desert, when a flash of light and—- before I knew it -there they stood. The little green men!

"They talked through some radio or something like one and said, 'We've been studying your tribe and believe that we can do mutual business together. You appear as the leader, is that not so?'

"After a little negotiations and a little getting our nerves settled I said: 'And that is what I always like to here: You scratch my back; I'll scratch yours.' I then had to explain that expression. They didn't have it in their translator.

"So we made a deal. I supply them humans, and they supply me with time-travel whenever I need it. I then let them have those two screaming ass-holes to show good faith.

"When we got to know them better, I asked, "Why don't you just abduct humans yourselves. I heard you guys did that for years?

"They said, 'It is too difficult and takes too much time for us to acquire the type of humans need. We have special standard and they must be followed. If is far more efficient to hire your tribe to bring us what we need. You always acquire the right species of human and fast too. You have passed our test over and over again.'"

"I guess they must have been watching us from up there somewhere, and realized that we know how to take care of business."

"What manner of thing is that?" Miriam screamed.

A disk-shaped object appeared overhead. A beam of light found the Mayor and his companions, and within a moment, they were whisked up to the craft. Spikes was talking into a radio and Miriam heard him say, "Oh, these are freebees—yeah we can get you some full-blooded Germans…Italians? No problem. How many?'

Marwolaeth looked a Miriam and finally said, "Welcome to your new family."

Miriam huddled in the corner of the dimly-lit Alehouse, terrified to make a sound. Alewife Cadwgan, had run screaming from the room the moment the fighting started. Two men lay bloodied on the floor, and the woman who called herself Marwolaeth, Death, was fighting Gorsedd, the village blacksmith, for her life.

Blows to the throat and head, which had felled Brean and his brother Arawn, bounced harmlessly from Grosedd's massive and fire-toughened body. Miriam had never seen anyone fight like this She-Demon. She ducked-away from a ham-handed blow from a fist near as big as her head, spun around and kicked his knee, but he didn't fall.

Gorsedd's massive iron tankard, that he'd forged himself, lay on the floor before her, dark fresh ale trickling to the rough wooden floor. Miriam felt her fingers grasping the thick handle before her mind was even aware her hand had moved. The Blacksmith's back was to her.

It was as heavy as a newborn lamb, but Miriam had been lifting lambs all spring. The impact numbed her hands, and seemed to have no effect, at first. Gorsedd just stopped, put his hand to his head and turned toward Miriam. His puzzled look was replaced by a blank stare, as his eyes rolled-back, and his knees buckled. The floor of the Alehouse trembled with the impact of his huge body.

"Thank you, Miriam." The strange woman bent to pick-up her sword, knocked from her hand by Brean before she had a chance to completely draw it from its scabbard. "I don't know what happened. They moved so fast."

"I know what happened," Miriam answered, keeping an eye on the three men still standing, cowering behind the long table. "You came in here demanding to see the scrolls they used for their devilish games. You gave naught a thought that these are men who are unaccustomed to taking anything from a young woman such as yourself; excepting perhaps, her maidenhood. You expected them to treat you like an equal because in your eyes, you are."

"But not in theirs?"

"'Course not, silly girl. The very thought borders on sacrilege."

"Speaking of sacrilege," Marwolaeth stepped forward, sword held low and ready. She wouldn't be taken by surprise, again. "You called for me, and how was I received?"

"We called for 'ye not, witch!" It was the taller, and best-dressed of the three men who spoke.

In perfect imitation of what Miriam had told her, she quoted:

"Behold! We call upon the messenger of doom to slash with grim delight this victim you hath chosen."

The men stood in stunned silence.

"Perhaps I am the messenger of doom. Perhaps I am here to reward you as you demanded, but I must see the scrolls from which you read. I must judge your worthiness for the reward you've earned."

The two men glanced from the solitary woman standing before them, and the tall man who had spoken.

"You, what is your name?" She casually pointed her sword at the man, as if it were a soup ladle.

Though his lip trembled, his voice was clear. "I am Prydwen. The scrolls are mine, found by my father at Carywne Castle, two score years ago."

"An old Roman fortress, I presume. Place them on the table and then back away." Her sword didn't look so much like a soup ladle, now.

Inside the leather tube, were three old parchments. Miriam couldn't read, but she'd seen the Latin letters in The Bible. These scrawlings didn't look anything like them.

"Damned Plotlemy," she whispered so low that Miriam wasn't sure she even heard it. "He must have made copies when he was in charge of the Library, and given some of them to the Romans."

"Lady?"

"Best thing Julius Caesar ever did was to burn down the Library of Alexandria. We haven't seen a bona fide copy of the Necronomicon, since then. This is a Roman copy of a Greek translation of just a few pages. It was probably made during the reign of Ptolemy Philometor, one of the kings of Egypt, a few centuries before Caesar."

"You, Prydwen. Are these the only copies? You've made no others?"

"I…I couldn't, Ma'am. I tried, but the letters…the letters aren't what they seem."

"These are not normal words. Did your father ever manage to read them?"

"No, Lady. He did not. But his brother, my Uncle, did."

"There are more of these pages?"

"Aye, three more. My Uncle Heddwyn, gone now to Brú na Bóinne, in Ireland. He has the other three of the six."

"Time now for your rewards, gentlemen." With that, she turned toward Miriam, removed the broach from her cloak, and whispered: "Cover your eyes. Don't look until I tell you it's safe."

Even with her hands clasped over her eyes, Miriam could see a bright flash of light, followed by the sounds of three bodies hitting the floor.

"Not yet," she heard. "There's these three to be dealt with."

There were two more flashes, in quick succession, and then a third.

"It's okay now. You can look."

Miriam saw all six men on the floor, the last three without a mark on them.

"Are they…are they dead?"

"No child. These men are merely fools, playing with something dangerous. They will awaken with no memory of tonight, and without the scrolls, they are simply fools, once again."

"Miriam. I must go to Ireland. I'll need a guide."

"It's clear you don't understand this land or its ways, my Lady."

"My name, Miriam. What is the name of the babe you brought to the Stone?"

"The babe was Eswen. It means Strong One."

"Eswen. I like that. And Miriam, when we've dealt with the Uncle, and recovered the scrolls. There are more Stones in Ireland. And some of those, still work. If you've a mind, I can show you more of God's Creation than you can ever imagine."

"In your own words, Eswen…Lead On!"

Eva stood in the lobby of the visitor's center in Wenvoe Wales, staring at the pair of meter-high skeletons on display.

"There were three of them originally," said the curator, coming up behind her. "The third is on display at University." The fifty-something man offered his hand to the woman in greeting. "Jeffery Lyons at your service."

"Eva Vaughan."

"I was told you'd be coming in."

"Were you able to find something then?"

"With the information you sent me, and after due searching, I believe it's possible you are a descendent of Edward Vaughan – or in Welsh form, Iorwerth Fychan. I don't usually meet with genealogy seekers, but your case intrigued me. I believe you may have a connection with this very display, in fact."

"I'd love to hear more, Mr. Lyons. Please – lead on."

The curator led her to a small library near the back of the center, to a leather-bound book - perhaps one foot by 20 inches high. He put on white cotton gloves, and began turning the pages. "In 1327 Iorwerth Fychan was present at the siege of Caerphilly Castle. You can see it here - Iorwerth Fychan's name, in both Welsh and English."

"Fascinating!" exclaimed Eva, bending over the page.

"The interesting part is still forthcoming, I assure you." He pulled out a drawer from a flat chest in the corner, placing some loose, vellum papers on the table. "It appears that Iorwerth was the ancestor of two women, Miriam Fychan and Marwolaeth Fychan. On this page it says that Marwolaeth seemed to grow from a baby into a woman in one dreadful night."

"I don't understand."

"I don't blame you," smiled Jeffery. "In the 1300s Wales was hit with four harvest failures and a sheep disease called Rinderpast – which took a terrible toll on the herds. In just three generations, the population of Wales slipped from 300,000 to fewer than 200,000."

"Why are you telling me this?"

"Miriam seems to have done the unthinkable." The curator pointed to the text. "On the evening of the 13th of June in the year of our Lord, 1378, the woman Miriam Fychan took an infant girl to the Cairn in Tinkinswood, to the stone of Vanishing, to make her disappear." Jeffery looked at Eva. "The text continues here – but much of it is illegible – there's something about three fairies – ergo the skeletons out front."

"Amazing."

He drew out another page from the stack. "In the early morning hours, two women of the clan Fychan walked into towne from the direction of the Cairn. The younger woman shouted in the voice of a thousand devils as she came. 'I have been summoned from the Void, having crossed the eternal Gulf with my fairies, to seek vengeance upon those men who sent me into the outer blackness. Goat of a thousand eyes, thou unnamed but always present, come forth through the space between the stars and serve me now!'"

"I don't believe in that sort of thing," whispered Eva.

"The Church of England did – enough to have a Bishop write it down so the warning tale would never be forgotten. There was a young priest inside the church who gives his testimony on this page. He calls it the night of a thousand screams. Upon being awakened from a deep sleep, I heard the wind begin to howl and roar, with thunder pealing from the sky with such violence that I thought perhaps my Lord Jesus was returning to claim his own, so I swung wide the church door. Instead, I saw a woman - with a sword lifted to the stars - being carried towards the town on a sea of vile spirits blacker than the densest of inks. The darkest of these minions raced into the square, rattling the doors of townspeople as though to tear them off their hinges. There was a woman with her – Miriam whom I knew – and these women Fychan were followed by a horror as tall as a mountain that seemed to stumble as it came, obviously not being common to this world. As the townspeople hid and shook within their meager homes, a few elders were pulled from their homes by the beast's tentacles that grasped the men, breaking them in half before trampling them beneath its weight, pieces of their bodies being absorbed into the horror's slimy mass. The massacre continued by the savage beast as if its hunger for blood-soaked flesh would never be satisfied. Finally, I beheld the woman herself, with glowing eyes, sword in hand vowing to return when the stars once again aligned. She was then pulled by the monster into a rift as the heavens flashed red with forks of lightning."

The quiet man stepped away from the pages and looked at Eva.

"Am I the descendent of this death woman?"

The curator chuckled slightly. "No, no – Miriam, the Aunt, went on to have six children of her own – some of the descendents migrating to Canada – from which your line comes."

"Could I have a copy of the text?"

"I'll send it to you digitally – just leave your email address. Perhaps you'd like to visit the megalith on your way out of town?"

"In fact, I found it myself on my way in. I got lost and simply chanced upon it."

"Well, I'm pleased to have finally met a Fychan woman – I can sense your strength and resolve. Miriam would have been proud – and the sword-wielding Marwolaeth as well."

As Eva was leaving the visitor's center, she passed once again through the display area, stopping a moment before the small skeletons. "Well done, loyal friends, well done," she whispered before stepping out the door.

The sword that hung around Marwolaeth's waist began to ring in a piercing, high-pitched tone, vibrating as her hand touched its hilt. She fingered the pommel in anticipation.

Suddenly, the ground began to rumble and quake. Marwolaeth spoke pulling the angelic sword from its sheath, "It's too late, Miriam! We stand and fight or die!"

Boulders began to fall as the mountainside split into. Flames leapt out from crevasses newly formed in the rocks licking the stones in every direction.

The women gasped as they observed shadowy figures emerging from the breach. Foul smelling beasts, winged creatures with hideous, translucent, dark gray skin walked into the night air, cinders blowing off their glowing phosphorescent bodies as they emanated from the chasms where they were held captive. The beasts were tall measuring ten feet in height with a wingspread of fifty yards or more.

"Back!" Marwolaeth cried unto the oncoming horde with sword raised above her head, whose blade now transformed into four feet of pure light, slightly blinding the minions as they poured from the abyss. "Know your place and go back or…"

"Is The Most High sending a woman to speak for him?" Mortacci spoke towering over the prophetess in a derisive tone.

He was the strongest of the immortals, a race forged by the union of angels and mortal women when the earth was new; now sealed these millennia in the dark chasms near the Earth's core. It was the Lord Himself who sentenced the sons of angels to this fate. Their angelic fathers had taken women from the children of men for their pleasure and were cursed for their transgression. The angels who sired them were commended into Lucifer's charge.

Mortacci taunted Marwolaeth in a low, vile voice; "You have not the power, prophetess to forbid the sons of angels from taking their rightful place as rulers of the earth."

As she began to speak, she noticed a light exploding once again in the night sky. The object appeared for a moment to streak across the heavens like a shooting star then transfigured behind the two women taking the form of an angel clothed in light.

"Xio'rethiel, archangel of The Lord God," Marwolaeth gasped, as she knelt, feeling his strong hand against her shoulder blade.

"Arise daughter of God, you have been prepared for this very night," the archangel spoke, endowing Marwolaeth with confidence and stillness of spirit. "And you too were chosen Miriam, servant of the Most High," the angel added. Miriam pondered his words.

Repulsed by the light of the archangel's form, the mutant offspring flew into the night thundering the sky with the sound of their wings.

The minions descended swiftly on the first village along their path, ripping apart the flesh of the men who ran from them in terror. These were the men who had worshipped the very same creatures unknowingly and had taken the infant from Miriam's arms only an hour earlier.

With haste, the archangel translated himself and the two women to the village in the wake of the sons of angel's destruction.

As the legions blanketed the night sky, the Spirit of the Lord spoke through Xio'rethiel to Miriam saying, "Beloved daughter, commit your heart to me."

Miriam remained still and spoke into the air, "Aye my Lord as you command, I am yours!"

Marwolaeth raised her sword toward the sky and shouted, "You are forbidden access you vile creatures of damnation! It is The Lord who forbids you; yes the Lord is His name! Back to the fiery depths you go until your time of judgement is at hand!"

Unexpectedly, she struck the ground with her sword of light and as she did, the earth began to crack open causing a terrible quake.

The archangel lifted the two women high into the air so they could watch the battle unfold in safety beneath them.

Miriam, being held firmly in the angel's arm shouted into the night, "Ye messengers of destruction, I stay your wings in the name of The Lord!"

As she spoke, the horde of evil offspring began plummeting toward the earth, as the Lord's angelic host appeared, binding them as they fell. The angels escorted the swarm that only a moment ago blanketed the skies into the newly formed canyon in the Earth made by Marwolaeth's sword. The fumes from the pit engulfed the sons of angels as if reaching out for them with dark hands of smoke, pulling them inside. Straightaway, the opening in the ground sealed itself by hands unseen.

Once the opening was sealed, the archangel translated himself and the women back to the place where it had all began. The opening in the mountainside had been entombed by the falling rock, sealing the sons of angels within unto the time of perdition. The vanishing stone now lay in ruins.

The Lord commanded Xio'rethiel to set around the barricaded entrance a garrison of invisible sentinels who had been given flaming swords, which turned every direction to bar the evil ones from again enter the natural plane.

Wenvoe Wales

March 27th, 2013

Burbain's Tavern On a Busy Wednesday Afternoon

"How are you going to celebrate the holiday of Xio'rethiel's deliverance?" McGeevis Burbain the tavern keeper inquired of one of his waitresses.

"Yeah, isn't the holiday about the day the archangel saved the world from destruction? It's pretty much a myth," John O'Malley declared, who was one of the tavern's regular patrons.

"I'd like to hear her take on it," McGeevis said to his pretty dark haired barmaid as she walked over to him while counting her tips.

Miriam placed a tray of empty glasses down, smiling first at her new boss, then at Marwolaeth, who was pouring a pint for O'Malley. She slowly glanced upwards with joy in her expressive face and said, "We all have our own way of honoring that day! As for me, I will never forget it!"