Editing Carl Ellis July 1928 - Diary

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25 July 1928 – Oakland, CA

So it seems I was right all along. There were more of the Children, and now they have been found.

I cannot say I am entirely pleased!

Consider: Eveling has a decades long organization dedicated to research and ponic development, of which these Children are a part. Decades! Working from the times which they gave me in their interview, I have to conclude that Rebecca is at least forty years old; and that this station in the Kentucky woods has been planning and researching since the 1880s.

What was it like, then? How did it all start, with the present Eveling Patriarch a callow young man? Why did it start? The clues are beginning to appear; and I am feeling very small.

Then, too, thanks to Franklin and company, the Eveling are undoubtedly in a turmoil now. They know what has happened, and doubtless who did it as well. The war may have just entered an open phase, and we are unprepared to care for these kids! My only hope comes from the knowledge that Eveling now has no “safeties,” no slave-Trained to fight their battles. I hope this means they will slow down and stop research for a time. I cannot guarantee it.

Consider: These six are the Children that we know about; but they are the tip of the iceberg. The first three Children were raised by Eveling then Trained, but Ester was raised by an elderly farm couple somewhere, then brought to Madisonville later. Adam was recruited from the migrant labor force. And no one knows about Rachel, so; the abduction may have slowed Eveling, but it is merely a delay. In another year they could have the beginnings of a new group in training.

Consider: The valley around Madisonville has become a hotbed of activity. Eveling is there, and the Children; Gravemaster is there; Dargan is there, with whoever and whatever he works with. Why have they all collected in this spot? Interest in one another, perhaps; but where did it start? I think SG was first, but by how much? Could this valley be connected with the Place of Birth? Watch it – o, watch it!

Consider: The greatest enigma of all, the Man in Black. Eveling did not Train the Children, did not teach them their Vows. That was the province of the Black Man, an outside expert. He oversaw their occult training; he witnessed the Vow. He took young Marth to West Virginia (another project entirely, it now seems; though connected, obviously, by interests and personnel). A tall, slim man, black haired, solid of body. Gray blue(?) eyes, angular bony face. Left-handed? Serious and cold. Long fingers, soft hands.

And he touched them; looked into their eyes; and knew hidden things about them.

Just like Farquell.

And all of the have wounds in their memories! None, except perhaps Rachel, as extensive as Julian’s; but none can remember precisely what He said at any point; or what his voice sounds like; or even his exact bearing or facial expressions or gestures, as Julian can.

Though they remember their childhoods; as Julian cannot. It was a shock for me to realize that. What makes her different? I begin to think that Julian’s amnesia was her own doing, and not exclusively His.

They say Julian used to sing.

Another name, somehow familiar: Senator Paul Kinnerly, and the Common Man Reform Association. Kinnerly was replaced by some sort of monster; the thing wore a symbol like the Black Man’s.

Do not ask questions. Do not lie. Do not make noise. Do not refuse. Obey. Obey. Obey.

And always the threat. If you behave the men will not come to take you away.

What a nightmare! These people have perverted the Vow in the only way possible: they have taken innocents and controlled every aspect of their lives in total domination; then fed them the Vow as tools to be used and thrown away. They are soldiers in the basest “neo-Farquellian” sense; they know only the Fight and self-denial. They have little concept of joy, or wonder, or any of the things they serve. Poor innocents; they embody the purest form on innocence, yet know so little of it themselves…

Avila had a ‘safe house’ at Eveling. Was he, too, involved with the Children? He must have known something of them, through Marklin, if not otherwise. Marklin knew where Julian had been put.

Avila, Stone, Eveling, Marklin, Black Man, Dargan; where does it end? What is the hierarchy – where are the connections? We know so little! And every time I look at the picture, it seems grimmer and grimmer.

Who is ‘above’ whom? At any rate, it seems clear that Eveling is at or near the bottom of the lader. Was the WVa operation an Avila ‘pet’ that drew on Eveling resources? I suspect there are many levels that remain as yet unseen.

Tony will bring the Children to our house on Saturday. What will they say when they once again meet their lost Martha? What will she say? I must prepare her; it will be difficult, I am sure, to meet these strangers who claim they know you. Will it help her? Will it jog her memory? I hope so, but I cannot predict. Whatver she shut away so long ago cannot have been small or trivial.

Good luck, my very dear. God keep you close.

Thursday, 26 July 1928 – At home –

They are due to arrive in an hour or so; I thought I would jot down these words before they come. There will likely be more later.

Julian is interested in meeting these newcomers; and a bit worried too; but I think I am more fretful than she! It is tough to explain why it was so difficult to tell her who they were. I fear that, in part, it was simply that our time here has been special; that I think of myself as the only one who truly knows her; and that I expect things to change at the meeting. Ah, well. Greed is in every man.

This is going to be fascinating!

Friday, 27 July 1928; Sometime before dinner.

The worst is over; and thing will settle down now, I hope! But it has been pretty hectic here.

The arrival of the Children did NOT produce the results I expected! No, indeed!! They came; we let them in, Julian took one look at Samuel and Rebecca; and the screaming began; and she fainted dead away.

But before she fell – my God! The pain! It filled her; it filled me; a burning white knife deep down inside…

She is alright. Or, she will be. All is quiet now,the house settled, the shouting over. But I cannot forget the silent screams. They went on and on…

She is whole again. She remembers. Everything; from the first days of her arrival, oh, so young, to the lessons, to the Promise, to the kidnap and all the rest. It is all stirred up in her now like mud from the bottom of a roiled pond brought to the surface; clear and immediate, as if new; but before and behind all of it is the memory of the Lessons; the terror; the pain.

The pain which she tried so hard to lock away.

So much terror, so much loss; and the battle of two selves, two entirely different personalities and pasts locked together into one person, and we unable to turn away or close it out. It was truly mind – and heart – breaking.

I think that, had I not been here, with her, within her to support her and me, she would not have remained sane. As it was, it was a near thing for both us, I think.

Even now, the accommodation is flimsy, though it will strengthen with time. Julian is dominant, and I am very thankful; but from time to time flashes of pure Martha will surface. She is simple, fanatic, direct; and, when she needs to be, remorseless. And she and Rebecca do not seem to like one another. Conflict of leadership, I expect.

I watched over Julian in her rooms for the remainder of the day. It was not until this omrning that she came down and actually met the others! What a strange meeting! The Children are constrained by their laws from asking any questions, though I know they must be curious.

Tony was shocked to see the Martha-traits in Julian. Alas, I fear he distrusts her now more than he ever did. We two had a discussion, which evolved into a fight – I am uncertain now what we fought about! – which ended with Tony, in good Tony fashion, grabbing his bags and leaving in a rage, exclaiming that he would never return! He took Rebecca with him. I am even now uncertain if that was a good choice, or if Tony should have taken responsibility for any of them; but it seemed a right idea at the time, an I suppose we are stuck with it now. Samuel and Ester will go with Emerson to ‘see the world’ when he goes; and the two youngest will stay here, in the quiet and the sun.

Tony called later, from town, to apologize, and J and I joined those two for dinner at the hotel. I am worried about Tony. He is so full of anger and hurt! I fear we are losing him; and I worry about what he might become.

Things were quiet for a while here; Emerson and I launched into another philosophical debate; Ester upstairs in the bath; Franklin entertaining the others in one corner of the living room.

Then Franklin decided to show them a “keen trick.” He pulled out his handcuffs and made as if to put them onto Rachel. Well! She shrieked as if her worst nightmares were after her (which they may have been!) and curled up. Adam, poor fellow, leaped up and attacked Franklin in defense of his girl. They were rolling around on the rug when I stopped them. Took the cuffs away, sent F to his room. Absurdly parental – yes – but very serious at the time!

Franklin is in his room, sulking. (I hope he feels stupid!) Samuel feels like a traitor for telling me what happened; Adam is in his room, curled up in shock for breaking his Laws; Rachel is with Julian, in a pretty bad way; and dear Ester missed it all.

I am tired. So much, all at once; and it is only beginning. Still, I think it will begin to underline the fact that the White Men will not come and take them away! Thank heavens for Emerson – he is running the household while I flounder.

Up again; I shall do a few more chores then take a rest; then spend some time with Adam. Poor lad.

Saturday, 28 July 1928; 4 PM or so

Tony is gone, Rebecca’s gone too; and already the world is beginning to change shape.

Julian does remember. Remembers everything; and with a depth and clarity that is astonishing. Unbelievable, actually; I must conclude that she has some kind of Talent or Skill that allows her such vivid recall.

An interesting note: not aonly does she remember even the things the before were blocked, the details of some of the events she recalled previously are noticeably different now! More than just blockage, then!

And again the Dark Man is center of my speculations. He and his organization. A thing of very long standing, it seems. A large faceless staff who obviously know quite a bit about what is going on; yet who have never risen to the surface either of the public’s eye or the view of the Trained. I cannot help but think that the relationship between Avila/Eveling/WVa is much more long-standing and intimate than had been supposed.

Why has it not been supposed? We have been misled: deliberately distracted from the truth by a master chess player. And the misty windown of time obscures so many things that unless we begin to dig – dig seriously and deeply – we shall be overwhelmed by ignorance!

The Man himself – the black Prince, the Evil Twin of fairy tales. Tall, slender, thinnish features but a sturdy athletic frame, black hair, pale skin. Long hands, slender features. Dresses in black and white, with a fancy watch and that Symbol on the fob. His hands are well cared for, but heavily scarred just the same. Long jagged scars like claw marks run up the backs and into the sleeves; and more fine hair thin lines that run across the knuckles and joints of the fingers – as if they had been sectioned and replaced in some distant past. His voice is deep and strong, resonant with power and compassion totally out of keeping with his otherwise stiff, cold demeanor. When he is alone with her, or not closely observed, he is gentle, tender, his actions and stance suggesting great compassion. It is difficult to tell how much he is being false or patronizing – for he is so masterful that his every word is intrinsically believed. Such power! Such charisma! In so many ways, I believe in this man. It is as if he contained wihin him the essence and understanding of the Path; and still chose the dark road! But why? I would love to believe that he was somehow at war with himself, that the difference between his stance and overt activity and the apparent compassion in his eyes and voice represents an internal conflict; but the man has been busy for an awfully long time. It cannot be more than wishful thinking on my part.

He frightens her, deeply and viscerally; yet his demeanor towards her is gentle, vaguely loving as if to a favored pet or small child.

An odd accent – like Spanish but with odd lilts and emphasis; as if an archaic tongue learned native when young and never wholly shaken. I am reminded of an ancient monastery in the mountains of Spain, and a man who fell into the darkness long before his time …

He did consider her valuable. To himself, and to others. A Butterfly, he called her. Why a butterfly? Knew all about her, they did! All the future as well … And THEY GAVE HER AWAY! Julian was thrown into the hands of the “peasantry” DELIBERATELY! Why? To save trouble? Or to hid something more valuable? The other Children, perhaps? Or the Eveling connection? Or the Avila connection? (Must remember to look deeply into the WVa site for history. Paper chases have helped before! The site most likely has a shorter and more visible trail than Madisonville’s.)

Point and point and point and point and point … A sudden vision comes to me, strange and evanescent like a dream. Twisted, strange … butterflies and peasants … a peculiar twinned dance through centuries.

I wonder what it means? Almost; I dare not speculate.

And he is so strong!

Marklin is another case. Poor soul, twisted and full of anger and hatred … why? What has turned him so against his own faith and family?

Who were his parent, anyway?

We have a couple of leads now … Marklin himself, of course; and possibly this Doctor Kent, if we can find him; and now, thanks to Emerson’s teachings, we can possibly touch upon two of the WVa project staff who worked with Julian.

I have learned many things these past few months. One of them is this: that the Vow is not a thing of the Fight. It is not a “chosen tool”; it is a way of life, a state of being. The Light exists, but within, not without; and it is a state of grace of illumination, that must grow within each of us if it is to be.

This means several things.

It means that the ‘restrictions’ and ‘punishments’ meted out to those who have spoken the Promise but not lived by it are not truly that at all, but merely expressions of the pain and stresses felt by an organism forced to strive against itself.

It means this, and more: It means that we are alone.

The Light is a state of grace and understanding, but it is not a deity. It exists within us, as it does within all living things. It guides us to peace and love and harmony … but it cannot know what we do not, for it is not a mind.

We are the intellect of the Light. The Light does not fight, we do. It is a Purpose but not a Power. Oh, it has power, but it is not itself a Power. You see.

If there are plans to be made, we must make them. If tools are to be devised and used, we muse devise and use them. We are the ones who fight the Fight, we and the Dark. The Light is our goal and our greatest bastion; but it represents a means and an end, not a strategy for victory.

The Unity partakes naturally of the Light, true; but it is diffuse and undirected. All that we do, we must be responsible for; and we can expect no help from God.

Forgive me if I ramble; but I am in a rambling mood.

It is strange having the Children here. They are quiet, yes, and unobtrusive in the extreme; but the house feels different with them in it. It is as if they fill it more, and leave echoes when they pass. A whisper of sound, a discarded item, a flash of movement on a far-off laugh. The Children rarely laugh.

We make our own ghosts, I think. Everything touches, and is touched … and the traces remain.

Even at night I can feel them, or so it seems; in the creak of timbers, the sigh of the wind outside, the tiny motions of the air in a sleeping house. We are four, now, not two, it says. It changes things.

What do they think of us, I wonder? Adam, so silent and moody most of the time, who walks and walks outside and scarcely says hello? In his heart of hearts, does he like us? Despise us for being what we are? Or are we merely a new set of owners, jailers without keys to be obeyed without thought or feeling? And Rachel: poor dear, scared of the birds and of the open sky. Are we so terrible that there is no way to reach her? Quietly, quietly …

We must not distance ourselves from these Children. We must find a way to touch both of them – to extend a hand, as it were, and pull them out of their private Hells.

So much to do, and we only two. Have we TIME?

I wish that there were more laughter.

Monday, 30 July 1928; 11:30 AM

The morning chores are done and it is time for a little quiet thought. We still have no real idea of the pattern our lives will fall into in the next week or two…

Julian is with Rachel again. Adam is moping in the orchard. I went out to speak to him a little while ago, but he was resentfully withdrawn; and I could think of nothing to say that would reach him. How familiar he seems … and how far away!

New letter from Miriam in the morning mail … at last. I still am uncertain just why, but I cannot help but be impressed by the depth of my own admiration for her. We hold far too many secrets between us yet; yet even so, in every word I find peace and personal solace. It is her serenity perhaps that does it; even in her letters the feeling shines through; I see in memory the calm, vaguely sad acceptance of her smile, and I relax.

She sends me news, good and bad. The November babe will be a boy, and thus even more unsuited to the Lady. Miriam says the foundry is furious, railing against the father and the fates in megalomaniacal splendor – but that she may yet be appeased, convinced to wait rather than try investiture.

Hope so, for the baby’s sake.

Wonder who the father is? Avriam? Marklin? As always her latest letter fills me with more questions than I could ever ask her. Most are forbidden by the rules of the game we play. What do they know Marklin? Gravemaster? How old must the Godchild be before she may be Invested?

This last may prove significant: Miriam believes she may herself again be with child. If so, the looks right – the child will be due in early April.

Does this mean we have to worry? What happens if the Lady is freed? Can she be freed into a babe? And does the One’s mind and memory make a difference?

Even though I remain convinced that the Lady is not a Darkling creature, I am still very wary of her; I can have no idea of Her goals and motives save that they are wild, childishly selfish, with no knowledge of restraint. Her power is so great that I could not hope to oppose Her, were She freed; and so I wonder about the April babe. Might we need to expect the Lady come May? Do we rather get a few years of growing, during which She could not come even if we needed Her? What?

It is to my continuing sorrow that, although I wish I could offer alliance to these beleaguered people in good faith, my only valuable offering might have to be Julian. Then, too, the Foundry’s attitudes on the superiority of the Chosen over the rest of humanity do not give me much hope for any negotiations anyway.

Besides: My lady is NOT for sale!!!!

I wonder … is Gravemaster right, about the Lady and the First Fathers? Is there a way to release her from her island without the sacrifice of a Chalice to be filled by Her?

If so, and we could learn the method – THEN I would have something truly of value to offer the Families in an alliance!

Should one be needed. Of course.

If it were possible to know … I believe I may have found a way to discover the answer – but, as all such things must be, it is fraught with peril.

To return, through life and life and life, to the time of the First Fathers, to watch and learn as the Gift and the method was given – is it possible? Could the Observer learn, as the Observed did?

A long path and difficult, even for Julian; even if the lives do follow the taint; even if she can see into a man in that way. Six lives? Seven? Ten? Three hundred years is a long time.

And at the end of the Road is the Lady Herself in all her strength. Could Julian look upon Her, and remain sane?

Another possibility – shorter but more perilous – Gravemaster: First Father Gannsley.

If we can perfect Julian’s memory-recall,
If we can learn to use it on others,
If we can persuade G to explore with us,
If we can survive G’s Pact with Something,
If we can reach the memories that preced it,
If we can stay sane through G’s madness,
Then we again face the Lady firsthand. And this time through one who has had direct contact with Her on the Island

I cannot know. It is worthwhile speculating; but the road is long even before we may begin; and Julian has more say in this than I.

In the meantime there are many other memories which we can explore safely, both mine and hers. Her earliest childhood. My vision at the Roth’s, and both meetings there. Both sides of the Lady’s attack in London. Julian at work as a general. And others.

Perhaps we shall start today.





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