16th February

Cissy,
Jack and I are afoot once more. We were delayed for a day while I recovered from a most debilitating migraine. I am recovered and so we have set out on a journey into the protected heartland of White Owl Island. We have permission to walk this way as long as we are careful not to remove anything from its natural environment. This area has recently been devastated by raging fires and is now undergoing a process of regeneration. We tread carefully, ensuring that our feet do not disturb the tender new growth.

According to our gracious hostess, L’Enchanteur, it will take us a full day to reach our destination. The day is warm and breezy, pleasant enough, and the scenery is simply breathtaking. Emerald hills undulate on either side of us. Jack and I walk at a leisurely pace through the Lol’ah Valley. We stop on occasion to take a closer look at the flora which is unique to this part of the world. Large, succulent, waxen petals turned to the sun, and the delicate, downy blossoms favoured by the bright flitting birds. We crossed the Lol’ah River at noon and began our climb toward higher ground, stopping only for a bite to eat. Pushing on, the climb became more demanding, the hills grow steeper, the ground beneath our feet, more treacherous. There are low outcrops of rock to navigate. More than once, I have required Jack’s assistance to pull me over a particularly difficult formation. We are growing ever closer now. Once we reach the Andus’at Plains we are on the last leg of our journey.

L’Enchanteur’s directions were concise and as accurate as one could hope for. As the sun leaves the sky, we can see the Plains stretching out before us. I welcome the relative ease of walking on flat terrain once more. L’Enchanteur’s hastily scribbled map can be folded away at last. I am grateful for her sound knowledge of Lemuria and its inhabitants. You will recall, Cissy, that each of us were given a gift of a walnut shell on departing for Lemuria. I have kept mine close to my person in the protective amulet about my throat. L’Enchanteur reminded me at the Potluck dinner that the walnut contains a map of the heart. Since only the pure of heart may pass into the copse where stands the Royal Tree, I aim to present the map to the Warrior who guards the way. I hope that this is enough to gain the entry I seek.

The light is beginning to fade now, Cissy, but we are here at last. The copse looms before us, the trees magnificent in both stature and girth. I gape in awe and forget for a moment the aching in my limbs. I wince with every step. Cramped and sore and in need of rest, I must bash on. We are still to locate the Warrior.

Something tells me though, that our approach has not gone unnoticed.
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..

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?