2:00 A.M., and approaching Raleigh-Durham from New York; which had been a layover from London. We were landing in a storm, and the turbulence was incredible. Thunder, lightning, high wind speeds, and getting rocked to Kingdom Come every now and then was better than any amusement park ride I'd ever been on when I was a kid.

The flight attendents had even been ordered to take a seat and buckle up. I was just glad I had a window seat, but I would have been happier if I could have had a bag of popcorn and a good root beer on tap. However, this was an aeroplane; and not a movie theatre, so I was shit out of luck; not that anyone could have served me anything now anyway.

I was really enjoying the adventure and the lightshow, but a couple of passengers here and there were freaking out. At least they were only verbalising their distress, and not making a scene in the aisle. I'd been on tons of flights, and this was nothing new. Being a V.P. for an international company had its perks. I liked flying, and I got to do it maybe 10 or 12 times a year; give or take. Being well-behaved and co-operative, I never had any problems with the heightened security issues. Wearing $600.00 suits, a Rolex, always looking picture perfect, and affecting the condescending arrogance of the high powered, semi-famous businesswoman I was, never failed me.

I was getting progressively annoyed with the announcements from the cockpit. The captain reminded me of a whiney teacher in charge of a kindergarden class. His voice was as close to fingernail down a chalkboard as one could get in the range of tones.

The seat next to me was empty, but there was a light-red haired kid with jet black eyes sitting in the chair beyond that. He was the most gorgeous piece of jail bait I'd ever laid eyes on, but we hadn't said one word to each other. In fact, he hadn't said one word, period. He was engrossed in a thick tome in some foreign language that I'd never seen before, as I found out from the times I'd had to use the loo.

He's simply shaken his head when a flight attendent came by with anything, not even giving her the opportunity to ask if he wanted anything; and he'd wave his hand to shoo her away. I wasn't even sure if he could talk, and I wasn't going to ask or start anything. Being I was sort of well known, and had a reputation to maintain; I needed no unfounded rumours to be started because I had a conversation with some underage brat. In reality, I ended up being rather intolerant of conversations with under 25's, these days. Especially the American and English ones. How vacuous can a person get? I suspected there was no limit, from what I read in the news. The 'real' news known as alternative news, as opposed to CNN; and all that government controlled garbage (A recurring sentiment, I know. For a REASON, of course.). The younger generations had become intellectual deficient I knew, not only according to those news reports; but from what I saw in day to day personal experience.

I closed my eyes and smiled when we had the worst 'shake-down' in the flight so far. I thought if anyone had been standing in the aisle, they would have hit the floor, and maybe ended up ten feet down that aisle.

The kid finally said something. "You seem to be enjoying this. Elspeth Brody?" What a beautiful accent he had. Irish. I'd been there enough times to identify it. Though my name was Scottish, I was all American. I'd had enough exposure to regional dialects in the British Isles and beyond to identify quite a few.

"Yes, to both," I said.

"I've read about you and seen your picture on the cover Business Week and on the web. Quite an honour to be sitting next to the software queen. I was a bit intimidated, so I didn't want to disturb you."

A precocious one with a brain. I looked at him. I just had to say it. "And my reputation of being a snoot?"

"To be perfectly honest, yes."

I looked out the window to hide the fact I was struggling not to laugh. I think I liked this kid. When I had full control of myself, I said, "It's a well deserved reputation. I am a snoot. I'm an intellectual snob who doesn't tolerate those of lesser knowledge or cognitive ability very well. They bore me. I prefer the company of books to people, for the most part. I was never really much of a social creature. Is your book Gaelic?"

"Astute observation. It's a collection of myths even preceding the arrival of Cesair."

Oh, I was such a show off. "Who was denied access to the ark, arrived in the flood spared Ireland before the rains started, married Fintan; one of 3 men who came with Cesair's other 49 ladies, who couldn't handle being a stud to 50 ladies after the other two men died, and turned himself into a salmon; leaving the other ladies alone to die off."

"Impressive."

"Thank you," I said. "And I find your knowledge of the Gaelic language impressive."

"It's my first. Due to the nature of my existence, I've had to learn quite a few languages."

"Latin, Greek, Arabic and Spanish; for me. I can mostly read French, but I don't speak it too well."

"Arabic helps to read Gibran Kahlil Gibran in his his native tongue," he said. "My favourite Lebonese philosopher, and the Arabic translations are much more beautiful."

"I wholeheartedly agree." I think I was falling in love. Oh, what a mind. "And reading Vergil Maro in English just doesn't cut it."

"Vergil! I forgot to introduce myself. Please accept my apologies. Vergil Xanon at your service. Xanon with an 'X'."

"A Latin name for an Irish lad? How incongruous." I said, with a raised eyebrow and a smirk.

Vergil about lost it. He doubled over in silent laughter, and I don't think he could stop for about 3 minutes, or so. When he finally controlled himself, he said, "I am so sorry about my reaction to your statement, but that is a very long story; and you shall know it soon enough."

"I haven't been listening to the weeny voice of the cockpit, but I don't think we have time for a long story. We should be landing shortly."

"I wrote a book, and the subject of my name and why it is what it is; is covered. I can give you a copy before we part." He pointed to a bag in front of him.

"You wrote a book?" I was now even more astounded by this kid. Writing a book was one thing I hadn't done. . .yet. I'd do that after I retired. . .maybe.

"Aye. I bared my soul in 'The Xanon Chronicles'. It gets kind of silly sometimes, but with the company I keep; there was no helping that."

"Can I see it?"

He opened the bag. It was a multi-volume set of paperbacks in a black cardboard box.
There were five books. Vergil said, "The last book is a collection of poetry. It's not all mine, but it goes to-gether. I had help with 'Warren', too. Mr. Colfax did a little editing after I was done, but hey. It told his story, so he had that right."

"This is quite a project for a youngster like you."

"I'm older than I look."

The front of the cardboard box was black, and had the title spead out between the top and sides of two crossed claymores, and there was an Omega under the claymores. When I looked at the titles, I found there were two books to each volume. "'Life With Thanatos'? This is real?"

"It's real. Me thinks we should be landing now."

I looked out the window. To me, it looked like we were in the middle of a thick cloud. We were slowing, though. It didn't feel like we were landing. There were no bumpidy-bumps, but we were slowing.

I became aware there was no noise. The plane came to a halt shortly, and it was as smooth as a car coasting to a stop. It was all wrong, for being so right. The second we were stopped, Vergil said, "We can disembark now."

"But we weren't given instructions from. . ."

Vergil interrupted me. "It doesn't matter. In fact, you can leave the collection of books on the seat. I have another copy at home that you might enjoy more. A single volume bound in leather, gilt in silver and written on parchment." He stood up, and left the tome he'd been reading on the seat.

When I stood up, I found the plane to be empty. "What's going on?" I was a bit alarmed.

Vergil smiled at me, and I swear I never saw such an angelic looking face in all of my life. "You didn't survive the plane ride. Nobody did. The storm increased to hurricane level, the plane did a crash-landing and it went up in flames. The name of Vergil Xanon was given to me by one of my loves who couldn't remember my real name, but she thought the Xanon name fit; and it kind of stuck, on and off. I use it for a while when someone I take on knows my real name"

"What is your real name?"

"Donn Ui'Midir."

"Irish death god!"

"Aye. Now shall we get out of this illusion, and on to my island?"

"Sure. How long can I stay?" I asked.

"As long as you like."

"And where do I go after?"

"Where ever you want."

We walked to the plane's exit, the stairs were attached, we walked down them, and the plane disappeared. There was a super heavy fog where I could barely see the end of my nose, and it lifted when Vergil. . .I mean Donn waved his hand. I was in the most beautiful garden I ever saw in my life. . .er. . .death, or should I say, 'existence'?

I was ecstatic. "I think I'll stay for a while."

"Fine. Let's go to the castle, set you in front of a nice warm fire;, and you can start on that book."

"I'd like that very much."

"I know. Your mind is mine."

If he was going to cater me like this, that was fine by me.

LINK TO THE REST OF THE COLLECTION:
http://allmyshortstories.blogspot.com/