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?