30th January

My sweet Cecelia,
My time in the seclusion of my cabin has been well spent. I’ve had many lovely long hours of rest. I have painted, composed a few verses and most importantly, I have written those long overdue missives to Mother and Father. Of course, I have kept all bu the most mundane of details of my trip so far to myself, not even daring to share them with either Teddy or Lottie.

The two of them have been having a rather gay time with our fellow passengers and just generally gadding about the place. Lottie has been shopping up quite a storm. Mind you, she does have an obscenely large trust fund, left to her by The Mogul, her once rather terrifying grandfather. Lottie was raised by him after the death of her own parents when she was quite small. Dear Lottie has such a generous heart, one quite wonders where on earth she may have inherited such a placid nature.

Oh, I have a telegram, which I received at breakfast this morning, with rather more positive news than the last. Jack will be boarding the Vulcania later this morning and making the next leg of the journey alongside me. I have much to discuss with him and he assures me that he too, has much to share. Was it really necessary to address the telegram to dollface though? The man is incorrigible! I don’t think I can bear to have him in close proximity for days at a time. Jazz talk, baby, he says. Ha! We shall see.

Elizabeth.

——————————————————————————————————————————-

Well, Cecelia,
I have returned to my cabin after a surprisingly pleasant dinner with the American. Brother dearest wished to be introduced to my companion and I endured a great number of quizzical looks from Lottie as the boys bonded. They apparently have much in common, I haven’t the faintest idea what, and appeared to be quite taken with one another. It took a rather concerted effort on my part to shoo Teddy away, and only after he’d extracted promises of drinks in the lounge after dinner.

Jack was most agreeable throughout our meal of filet mignon and seasonal vegetables, followed by apple cream pie for dessert. The ship puts on quite a spread! There was an awkwardly tender moment when he actually reached across the table to wipe a little dessert cream from my chin with his thumb. Oh, that apple pie was to die for!

Having brought Jack up to date with my tales of derring-do in his absence, it was time for me to learn precisely what he had discovered himself.
‘Charles is long gone, baby..’
‘No? Really?’ I’d answered in mock surprise.
Jack remained unamused. ‘You slay me, Lizzy. Listen, toots, if you don’t wanna know..’
‘Oh no, toots, please carry on.’ I resisted the rather peevish urge to poke my tongue out in his direction.
‘Charles is long gone. There’s just nothing. That trail has gone cold. What I did find out, was that he was definitely onto something. I turned up a dick that he’d hired, one of his reliable sources..’
‘Wait a minute. A dick?’
‘Private investigator. An unhappy one at that. Charles still owes him a few quid. The dick had news of a man known only as The Collector. This guy is gathering up your precious scrolls as we speak. Word has it that he’s paying big bucks to anyone who can get a hold of them for him. The scrolls are said to give the the bearer the powers that were originally attributed to Obas’ah, the Benevolent One. Powers of immortality, telekinesis, telepathy and the ability to command great armies, both living and dead. And much more. So far, The Collector has two of the scrolls in his possession. there are six in total. That means..’
‘There are four still out there.’
‘Hey, you’re not just a pretty face, are ya toots?’

Apart from the apparent condescension and name-calling, dinner with Jack was pleasant enough. I shall be giving him the widest possible berth while we’re confined to the ship though. Too many of these dinners and I might actually find myself in danger of liking the man. Perish the thought, Cissy!

Now, with four scrolls still at large, we’ll have our work cut out for us. We do have the one small clue of the Living Tree sigil, which neither of us were able to recognise. Perhaps our next port of call will provide us with more answers before The Collector possesses all of the scrolls and wreaks destruction on Lemuria and the rest of the globe.

Elizabeth.

dragonfly

the grove

Nestled
a jewel among monoliths
and village clamour and clang
invites us to meander
in tranquility and ancient
rite.
Lichen and moss, all
phosphorescence and cushion
adhering to
trees, tall and stout and
fallen, rotting in sweet
langour, resigned.
Soil,
sun-warmed embracing
bare feet avoiding bramble
and blackberry and
tender shoots struggle
amidst the great and mighty,
choking ferns
abundant.
Sugary
fragrance, dizzying clutches
tightly watering
the mouth in juicy
berry-laden abandon, low
boughs bending earthward in
exhausted burden.
Birds of many coloured
feathers pluck
the overripe fruit, converse
gaily and spread renewed
life and bounty
elsewhere.

28th January

Dearest Cecelia,
I am in the gaiest of spirts today. I found my way to L’Enchanteur quite quickly upon arriving in the heart of town. I explained to her my desire to learn more of the Scrolls of Lemuria and the location of the Living Tree.
‘Ah yes, Miss Elizabeth, you are have been well-advised to seek me at this time. Please, walk this way.’

She led me down a narrow path of steps cut into the incline before us. Our way was lit by flaming torches which cast eerie shadows about our feet. We came upon a grove, the Grove of Clementia – its entrance marked by two great trees which grew toward one another in an arch-like formation. Passing beneath the trees branches, we walked among the Birds of Paradise, Olive trees, and breathed the heavy scent of Magnolia which grew within the cool, dark grove.
L’Enchanteur encouraged me to breath deeply and rhythmically to centre myself. As we walked, she explained to me that I would need to still myself if I was to locate the Living Tree.
‘So you will not show me then, Enchanter?’
‘It is not mine to show, but yours to find.’

At once we were upon an ornate stone temple, again, carved from the stone I had seen so much of here. Inside the temple I quieted my thoughts and began to examine the temple’s contents. A variety of figurines and ritual tools made of natural resources, bone, amber and the like, were laid out on smooth slabs about the place. Masks and robes hung on the walls. L’Enchanteur urged me to choos the one which most resonated with my soul. I touched each one in turn. Ram, snake, bird. Not one of them touched me, until the very last. I took the shimmering mask from its place – a shining dragonfly of Mother of Pearl.

I donned the corresponding robe and placed the mask over my face. L’Enchanteur pressed a packet of seeds into my palm.
‘Go. Meditate in the grove. Be still and let the dragonfly be your guide. Before you return to the ship, plant these, nurture them, you will reap the benefits.’
I stepped outside once more and walked to an ancient Olive tree. I sat beneath its silvery branches, closed my eyes and inhaled slowly. As I exhaled, I began to feel lighter than air, and my limbs vibrated with an energy which was not my own. I darted among the trees, swift and sure until I lit upon one at last. Here was the Living Tree, I was certain of it. It was marked by a sigil. My eyes followed the smooth contours, memorising the sigil’s form. This symbol would lead me to the one I sought.

I centred myself once more, gathering my senses together, one by one. I opened my eyes to find that I was once again beneath the Olive tree. I pushed holes into the soft peat beneath me with my bare fingers and spoke aloud.
‘Snake Goddess, you have charmed me in this place of abundance. Nature’s glory and your favour have bestowed upon me an inspiration and renewal of spirit. Take then, these seeds as a token of my gratitude.’

Armed with my newfound knowledge, I returned my robe and mask to the temple and walked toward the Vulcania with a renewed vigour.

Is this not a cause for great gaiety indeed, Cecelia?

Your

Elizabeth.

27th January

As I journey the many miles toward town, I am alone with my thoughts once again. I am no longer fearful of the forest, having traversed its paths once before and come to no harm. The sudden screeches from the brush do not jangle my nerves this time. Cleo, skin-walker, cannot stalk me, for time is on my side. Besides, she is busy indoors, tending to the needs of her villagers. They plead with her for charms which will heal them, make them fortuitous or find for them a soulmate. Madame Cleo is a good egg, turning nobody away, no matter how trivial the request. She is careful never to turn them homeward at day’s end, preferring to house them overnight instead. This is a woman who exerts great willpower over the curse which has befallen her skin-walker clan. Before the curse, the skin-walkers were able to change at will and served only to protect. This bloodlust for innocents is a symptom of the curse. I am glad to be well away in time.

I grow weary as the sun beats relentlessly upon my reddening skin. My shirt is beginning to cling damply to my back and I slap at persistent mosquitoes, as thirsty for my blood as Cleo was several nights ago. I drink from my canteen and nibble upon the cornbread, dried meat and biscuits that Cleo insisted I take upon my departure. I will be in town much sooner if I continue on without rest, though my calf muscles are screaming and my feet are blistering inside my boots. I am grateful that my route has taken a downward turn.

I squint skyward at the thrum of a bi-plane which flies lower than it should. It splutters and for a moment I fear I will bear witness to its plunge to earth, but no, the engine recovers. Perhaps it is to land nearby? I know that the SSVulcania is expecting to take more passengers onboard during our time on the Island of the Temple People.

I have walked for hours now, pondering and daydreaming, writing poetry in my head. I simply cannot wait to be back in my cabin, writing again. Perhaps I shall paint a little too?

I am at the edge of town now. The road is slippery underfoot. Did it rain in my absence? If so, the weather appears not to have dampened the celebratory atmosphere of the place. Now, to L’Enchanteur..

26th January

Cecelia,
Madame Cleo has made me most comfortable these past few days. The cottage feels like a safe haven, although there are many curios to be found within its walls. Madame appears to be a collector of sorts. The shelves which line her walls haphazardly are cluttered with dusty, lidless jars whose contents range from molten lava, to curling smoke, various animal sounds and feathers which hover as though in perpetual flight. The rooms are illuminated at intervals by light which bursts from sustones placed aboutthr room. These rays fade to a warm glow before the whole process repeats itself again. In my peripheral vision, I see that Madame Cleo is gauging my reaction to her curious living arrangements. I am in awe and I tell her so.

‘Ah, tis nothing, child. Me Mother was a Galley Witch and her mother before her too. I guess I have some of the magic that she had.’ She laughs as she says it. I’m quite sure I haven’t the foggiest idea of what she is talking about. Galley Witch? She tells me that ‘it’s like a Kitchen Witch with a little more spice, you know?’ She chuckles again. Madame is toying with me, but I do not mind, until she admits in a most ominous manner.

‘You are protected by a powerful charm. I could have collected you the evening before last, but you were too fast for the fading light.’

‘Your eyes..’

‘Yes, girl, I am not to be quibbled with out of doors once the sun has left the sky. It is how me people came to work for the Benevolent One. We are an ancient family of skin-walkers, chosen above all others to protect the scrolls in his possession. By day, I am a harmless old witch. People come to me for a cure for what’s ailing them. Courage to those who happen upon me as the night draws in for I am cursed to hunt again and again until the sun is risen once more. It is to be this way until the scrolls have found their way home again.’

Well, Cecelia, this is all proving to be rather more than I had intended for my time aboard this cruise ship. Damn Jack and his dreadful scrolls! I’m not sure I have the gumption to continue in this manner.

I am to stay for one more night at Madame Cleo’s. She will rouse me at daybreak and send me on my way. I am to return to tow to attend the Sementivae Seed Festival. Once there, I am to seek out L’Enchanteur. She is to show me the way to the Living Tree. Oh, the riddles, Cecelia! I’m all for the odd puzzle here and there with which to while away the hours, but all this gallavanting about the countryside has me in a bit of a tither. And what of this Great Evil? Madame was loathe to be more explicit lest she alarm me unnecessarily. The evil is one who wishes to possess the scrolls for his own ends. What possible significance can a few pieces of musty parchment have in this day and age? Surely no-one believes this poppycock? Oh, sister, I don’t know what to believe. Have I taken leave of my senses?

I shall be quite glad to return to the ship for a few days of respite. I have correspondence from Mother and Father which is long overdue for a reply.

Elizabeth.

23rd January – later

How unaccustomed to this late afternoon heat, I am. I feel positively wretched. I am filthy and my legs ache for want of a short rest, but I dare not, for fear I might fall into a deep and lasting sleep. If I am to make it before darkness descends, I must crack on at this very pace, Cecelia.

The sounds which enevelop me on all sides do rattle me so. Some, such as the cries of the large parrot-like birds which parry and thrust overhead are quite pleasing to the ear and do hearten me as I walk. Others, however, fill me with an uncommon dread for they howl and keen as though tortured. This beast is on foot and I’m certain that it grow ever closer to me.

The light is less now, Cissy, though the heat of the day does not dissipate. I am nearing my destination and take heart that I shall soon be upon the cottage of Cleo Catsis. Oh, but I am afraid! I imagine that I see the occasional flash of yellow from time to time. It cannot be. I cannot allow myself such folly as to believe in the phantom of Harmony’s dire warning. I vary my pace, sauntering as though to give an air of nonchalance which in reality I do not possess, then hurrying promptly at each new low growl and fancied glint of hard, bright amber.
I am being stalked, Cissy, I am sure of it, and now it is twilight. The beast is just one and it quickens its stride and seems to care not that I am alerted to its presence. Cecelia, I must run! I am within steps from the porch of Ms Catsis, but the creature gains and it salivates and I hear its bloodlust and I know that I will be torn asunder beneath its powerful jaws and the sounds cease with a suddenness which chills me.

The door of the cottage opens and I am greeted thusly.

‘What took you so long, treasure?’

The dark shape in the doorway chuckles bodily. My disordered appearance amuses her. She steps toward me until she is positioned beneath the porch light, which catches in her liquid amber eyes. She is taller than any woman I have ever seen before and she possesses a graceful, feline quality. She has the appearance of one who has been running, yet is not short of breath as I am. She welcomes me into her home with the words,
‘I was expecting you, me girl. Come. I was just playing with me food as you approached. You don’t half make the racket. Come, there is plenty to eat and you look to be starved. Too skinny, too too skinny.’ She clucked in the way that Mother does when she’s fussing.

I dare not defy her for I have come such a long way. And what is behind me now, but a lingering darkness?

23rd January

Cecelia,

The sun is high in the sky now and I have been walking for almost two hours. I set out a little later than first anticipated. Breakfast was something of an occasion amongst Tristan, Bitsy and their loquacious guests. Tristan’s many stories were a delight and I found it difficult to remove myself from the table. I excused myself during a rare lull in the conversation and made my way to my room with Harmony in tow.
Harmony perched upon my bed as I gathered a few of my things together and pulled on my heavy soled walking boots. She seemed dejected at the thought of me setting out alone. My assurances failed to lift her spirits and when invited, she politely declined to accompany me.
I hugged her tightly to me and as we parted company and I was but ten steps from her, she cried after me.
‘ The one witht the amber eyes salivates for those who lose their way!’
As you can well imagine, sister, this declaration has not inspired me with confidence. I must make it to Cleo’s by nightfall if I am to remain safe.
I took a taxi through the busy streets in town, but here, the roads will only carry you so far. I have been trudging along disused tracks in a Northerly direction, tripping often as my feet become entangled in the damp undergrowth. My stomach began to complain loudly some time ago, and so I am resting and eating the cold luncheon which was prepared for me by Bitsy this morning. I am very grateful for her consideration and she has spoiled me so! She has even included my favourite chocolates and an array of petit fours!
Oh, but it is so peaceful here, I shall sit a while and absorb the

Cecelia!
I have slept for far too long! I must cross the river up ahead if I am to be at Cleo’s before the sun shifts toward evening. It is not much farther and once I am over the bridge I will have but a few miles’ walk to Cleo’s.

————————————————————————————————————————–

There. I am across the bridge, which I had half expected to be a ricketty construction of wood and knotted vines.  I was pleasantly surprised to find a rather more sturdy effort made from what appears to be a local stone. I have seen much of it about the place.
The vista which now stretches before me is quite astonishing. High-reaching trees cover the mountains almost to its peak and water cascades from a great waterfall which pools and then flows to the West. Scattered hither and yon, are towering ancient monuments of the same stone as the bridge. A perfect and delightful Utopia as far as the eye can see. I search for the path most suitable for cutting across this magnificent forest and spy a trail to my left. The path winds upward in a series of awkward twists and turns and I realise at once that these miles, though few, will prove to be a challenge to one so unused to much exercise.
It will be many hours before I can write again, Cissy. Perhaps I might compose letters to you in my thoughts, as an accompaniment with which to amuse myself and thus make the miles pass more quickly.

Elizabeth.

22nd January

Dearest Cecelia,
I have suffered a poor night’s sleep. My head is filled with the remnants of disturbing dreams. Still, I must bash on, old girl. There is precious little time left before I next meet with Jack. With luck I shall have some news for him on his return.
Whilst sitting down to breakfast this morning, a discussion ensued as to my intentions whilst here on the island. I did not disclose too much, although ex-pats Tristan and his wife Bitsy, owners of this establishment, appear to be trustworthy enough, one can never be too careful. My generous hosts have pointed me in the direction of the strangely named Cleo ‘Catseye’ Catsis. I am told I will know her on sight. I can well imagine.
Tristan is quite the history buff, it would seem.  He has provided me with the bare bones of local legend which will offer me food for thought as I make my way to the mountain dwelling belonging to Cleo. According to folklore, there are believed to be six Scrolls of Lemuria in all. Originally, the six were in the possession of a Lemurian ruler known as Obas’ah the Benevolent. The ruler was wise and generous and Lemuria prospered under his rule. Legend tells that he reigned for hundreds of years and that his reign ceased only when he met with the Ultimate Betrayal. The great King had two sons who would inherit the Archipelago of Lemurian Isles and rule as one when he deemed them worthy. The youngest of his sons, Lok’at was not wise as his father was wise, nor was he generous of spirit. He fought incessantly with his older brother, Mic’ah who was as selfless as his brother was cruel. One night Lok’at crept silently into Mic’ah’s room and slay him as he slept.
Obas’ah the Benevolent could not bear the pain of loss and vowed that Lok’at would never inherit the Archipelago. He cast his son to the East, where he was imprisoned amongst the Desert People and scattered the scrolls where his son would not find them.

Now, dear Cecelia, my hosts remain undecided as to whether or not these legends are descended from truth or simply fireside stories which have been told so often that they have become truth. Of course, Lemurians would have us believe the former, as the legend adds colour to the rich tapestry of their culture.
Catseye Cleo will be able to furnish me with more details. She claims to be a direct descendant of one who once served in the palace during the reign of the Great and Benevolent Obas’ah. Onward then, to the North and Cleo Catsis. I shall return to The Sandpiper and my charming hosts soon enough.

Yours, as ever

Elizabeth.

21st January

Cecelia,
I am happily ensconced in an armchair before the fireplace in the sitting room of The Sandpiper. It is a quaint place, surrounded on all sides by verandahs and nestled in amongst beautiful gardens, a fruit orchard, vegetable and herb garden, and grape arbor, though it is not yet the season for grapes. I shall take myself for a stroll around these picturesque grounds before departing in the morning.
I am lulled by the warmth which emanates from the fire, and the dulcet tones of another guest, who sings mournfully as her guitar positively weeps beneath her fingertips. She has introduced herself as Harmony, though she assures me that this is not the name she was given while at her mother’s breast. Harmony has a wildness to her countenance, which draws me to her. She is here to sing the songs of Lemurian travellers and that which resides deep within them. She has sung my song to a familiar tune before I have even uttered little more than my name. It is a song of searching, of blossoming and a heart’s deception.
In the glass garden aboard the Vulcania, I had encountered visions of similar substance. The room had fallen away until I was standing before a magnificent labyrinth. I followed the path along many turns until I reached the centre, where stood a stone tablet. Upon this tablet lay a crudely carved effigy of Charles! I felt at once afraid and ran blindly in the direction I had come. I was soon lost and feeling rather wretched, whereupon I stopped to cast about for signs of an exit. I espied nothing but the waxen petals of a single magnolia which I gathered to my breast. I closed my eyes briefly and breathed deeply of the flower’s fragrance. At once I felt a rush of cool air about my face. I opened my eyes in haste, to find myself returned to the safety of the glass garden.
I shall think no more on these sorcerous developments tonight. I have a long and possibly arduous journey before me tomorrow. It is time that I bid sweet Harmony goodnight and leave her to her elegies.

Elizabeth.