For how many months
did the stonemason toil at this
archway of smooth grey stone
which looms before me at
the pinnacle of irregular steps,
a sombre facade which
belies the warm and fertile
soil hiding within. A beacon
for those whose past is a tangle
of wild and untended thoughts,
weeds which struggle to find purchase
in the starved earth, gasping for nutrients.
The way ahead is lined
with ornamental cherry trees in bloom,
the path blanketed by a layer -
paper thin petals grown heavy
with the day’s drizzle of rain,
fallen. A plaque above denotes
the generosity of one devout spirit,
eternally grateful for Her
welcoming embrace and
the stained glass Virgin bestows her
beatific smile
upon those who pass beneath
the great stone construction.
A glance to the left reveals
gossamer-winged butterflies
lighting upon turnsole,
pink and blue. Salvia divinorum,
the seer’s sage clusters
about the wheel of a rusted barrow
from which fragrant culinary herbs tumble
silvery and sweet and begging to be tasted upon
the tongue of this humble servant
striding toward Salvation.
the arch
23rd February
Dearest Cecelia,
After having the most eventful few days on White Owl Island, I am enjoying a moment or two of quietude amongst my shipmates. I have been introduced to an artistic form of meditation, a pen and ink drawing where the focus is to concentrate on putting down one stroke at a time onto finest quality drawing paper. I am yet to reach the standards of my more experienced fellow artistes on board, but I did rather enjoy myself and felt very relaxed on its completion. Much needed relaxation, I can assure you.
I suppose you might now be wondering where on earth I have chosen to hide the golden box containing the Scroll of Lemuria? Let me tell you, dear sister, I have made a rather inspired selection. You will recall my very first visit to the glass garden right here on the Vulcania? I stepped back in time to be confronted by the most terrible of memories. I had held the sea shell to my ear and heard the prophecy of your impending death. Oh, dearest, how I miss you! Well, darling, I returned to the garden and meditated as L’Enchanteur had taught me, focusing intently on my breathing. Inhaling and exhaling ever so slowly, all the while visualising that very same beach of our youth.
I have secreted the box in a small hollow in the cliff face where the high tide does not reach. The beach is so familiar to me, as indeed any favourite childhood playground might be and so I have no qualms about being able to locate the box again should I need to. Since this place resides only in my memories and can only be accessed by myself, I have no doubt that my secret is safe here.
Cecelia, there is still more excitement to come. Dear Violetta is soon to be sixty! I am to attend a lavish party two days hence. Joyous news indeed!
Elizabeth.
17th February
Dearest Cecelia,
I was correct in assuming that I would hardly sleep a wink. The warriors begrudgingly made us comfortable in one of their guest huts. I’m sure if it weren’t for fear of retribution from their leader, whose name I have since learned is Shala, they’d have happily left us to a fitful night on the packed hard earth of the copse floor. Our rooms were decorated in a minimalist fashion, with just the bare essentials at hand. I was rather taken with a set of tapestries which lined the walls, depicting waterfalls, a lush oasis and various cloudscapes. Several warriors appeared to keep a vigil in each one. One such tapestry was of a detailed hierarchy entitled ‘A Parliament of Owls’ with the Prime Owlister at the fore. Why, I had never heard of such a thing! Lemuria is so full of the most wonderful surprises!
Jack and I soon retired for the evening. Jack remained strangely quiet since being chastised by the warrior, Shala. We conversed briefly in anticipation of what to expect on awakening, but each was caught up in thoughts of our own and fell silent soon after. I slept fitfully, unused to the eerie sounds of owls calling to one another. Their calls haunted my dreams for much of the night and more than once, I awoke, startled and gasping for breath. As the sun began to rise, the sounds abathed and my tiredness soon gave way to excitement. I decided to leave the comfort of my bunk and take myself to sit upon the verandah which ran alongside the hut. I watched as the sun painted the sky in hues of magenta and gold. Shala approached as the last owl quieted.
‘The Councillor will see you now. There is no time to waste for he is old and impatient with the young.’
There we were, as simply as that, walking to meet one of Obas’ah the Benevolent’s councillors of old. My knees were as if made of blancmange. I looked to Jack for reassurance but all that he could offer me was a tight smile, his usual bravado and swagger were absent. The distance between our hut and that of the Councillor was not great, however, an age appeared to pass before we reached the humble dwelling. Shala rapped thrice on the door with the crook of her staff before vanishing before our very eyes! Jack and I sought one another’s hand for comfort and waited with sweating palms. The Councillor shuffled within, the door scraping back painfully on its hinges. We were greeted by the most wonderfully sweet and mischievous eyes, set in a face, currant brown and wrinkled. The Councillor, his head as hairless as that of a newborn baby, was small and dressed in a floor length woollen cassock.
‘Children, do come in. Let us not waste time no mince words. Shala has told me of your quest. She speaks well of you. I understand that The Enchantress is assisting you, that she has provided you with the means to grant you safe passage among the warriors. You seek to retrieve the scrolls of Lemuria. Tell me, what is it you intend for these scrolls once you have them in your possession?
‘Sir, we hadn’t really given it much thought beyond the safety of the scrolls. We simply must prevent them from falling into the hands of The Collector.’
‘Children, you are so naive. The scrolls will not be safe until they are returned to their rightful heir.’
‘But of Obas’ah’s two sons, one is dead, murdered by the one who has been banished for his evildoing.’
‘I speak not of Obas’ah’s sons. The heir need not be a direct descendant of The Benevolent One. The heir will be revealed by the scrolls themselves in due course. I am to understand that two of the scrolls are already in The Collector’s possession?’
‘Yes, Sir, we believe that to be true.’
‘Then you must take the one which I have given my life for. Guard it as I have. Do not let him possess this also.’
‘No puzzles or riddles to solve first, Sir?’
‘You would like me to devise a riddle for you, child? I have not the patience for such games.’
‘Well no, Sir, we wouldn’t ask you to devise such a riddle if one were not already in place, eh Jack, old chap? A puzzle would be most bothersome, wouldn’t you say?’
‘It is as I thought. The youth today.. everything handed to them on a silver platter..’ laughted the Councillor, his nut brown skin wrinkling further still. ‘Shoo! It is time for my mid-morning nap.’
Just like that, the Councillor pressed an engraved gold box, approximately three inches in length into my palm.
‘Peace be with you.’
‘And also with you, Sir.’
I tucked the box carefully inside my canvas knapsack. Jack and I clasped hands once more and clutching L’Enchanteur’s walnut, I uttered the chant which would return us directly to the Vulcania.
Elizabeth.
16th February – the copse
Dearest Cecelia,
As we approached the copse I gave an involuntary shiver. Six pairs of eyes watched us silently, glinting ominously in the failing light. Three pairs were almond shaped, obviously human and the others were large and spherical, the eyes of great white owls. The owls shone as though basked in moonlight. Luminescent and quite the most magnificent creatures. Their round eyes held us in their gaze. I guessed from the look of their claws, sharpened to a lethal point that these birds could be formidable predators when necessary. I dared not move a muscle, for fear of upsetting these watchful beasts. Did they attack out of necessity only? I decided that a healthy respect for the unknown was in order. Better to err on the side of caution as Mother always says. Jack stood frozen beside me.
The almond eyes grew closer and I was able to ascertain that they belonged to three equally formidable and beautiful women. Broad and muscular, I felt small and insignificant in their presence. Jack’s jaw dropped and I had to nudge him sharply with my elbow. He let out a low whistle and I rolled my eyes in response. One woman stepped forward, quite clearly the designated spokesperson, perhaps even their leader. She beckoned toward me. These simply have to be the warriors that L’Enchanteur and the journal described.
‘State your purpose for being here.’
‘Um..’
‘Cat got your tongue?’
‘Perhaps she’s shy.’
‘Do we frighten you, girl?’
The others began to heckle. My tongue felt as though it was glued to the roof of my mouth and I blushed profusely, stuttering even more.
‘We’re here to..’ began Jack, moving forward. The warrior’s eyes flashed and Jack fell back, silent once again.
‘Let the girl speak for herself.’
Suddenly cross at being addressed in such a manner, I chastised the warrior, insisting that she show me the respect she commanded for herself. She smile indulgently at me and bade me to continue. I informed her of the reason for our intrusion into the copse. Nodding sagely, she spoke thus.
‘You do not require access to the tree to learn the secrets of its scrolls. You need only to show me what lies within your heart. The Enchantress has armed you with the means to do this.’
With that I passed to her the map of my heart which lay within the walnut’s shell. Within seconds she returned it to me.
‘You are innocent and pure and no doubt virginal also, unusual for one of your years. It is time for you to meet the Councillor who resides with us. I will commune with him and return at first light.’
‘W.. wait here?’ I cast around me. There was nowhere that would suffice for overnight shelter.
‘Fine,’ she sighed. Turning to her cohorts she ordered for them to take us to the village and make us comfortable.
‘This one looks sickly.’ I was horrified to find that she was pointing a long finger in my direction.
‘Wait a minute, I..’
The warrior held up my hand to silence my sputtering, ’she also does not know when she is expected to be silent.’
A Councillor, Cissy. A bona fide Councillor. we meet him tomorrow. I’m quite certain I shan’t sleep a wink!
Elizabeth.
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.
15th February
Dear Cissy,
There is much to tell. Last night’s festivities were splendid indeed! The ritual for the Charming of the Plough was magical to say the least. It was decided upon that our group would join together when presenting our offering. We set off from the harbour along a narrow country lane. Along the way we met a gentleman out for an early evening stroll with his sheepdog. The man, dressed in tweed knickerbockers suggested that we follow the lane for a mile or so where we would happen upon an old wooden stile. I had some difficulty in mounting the stile in my dress as you can imagine and rather annoyingly laddered my stockings. I was shocked when Jack suggested that I remove them altogether but had to agree that it seemed the sensible thing to do and so there I was in the middle of a field, doing the unthinkable!
We walked until we found ourselves confronted by a derelict farmhouse with pastures on all sides. Some of the fields were of a deep green, lush and others danced with rows of golden wheat, still warm from the sun. This was the perfect place to perform our ritual. In low tones we chanted, beseeching the Land Spirits to bless the soil, then crumbled our pieces of bread before us. The wind whispered as if the spirits had acknowledged our plea.
I decided not to turn back with the others, preferring to stay and meditate in solitude. The sky was beginning to darken and so Jack insisted that he remain with me. I stilled myself, which was nigh on impossible under the circumstances. Having Jack in such close proximity was rather distracting. I breathed slowly in and out, focusing on the rhythm of my breathing as L’Enchanteur had taught me. When I felt ready I turned and began to retrace my steps to the harbour in silence. I did not speak again until we neared the site of the Potluck dinner, quieting all of Jack’s attempts at conversation. The beach before us was alive with music and laughter. I waved to a few of my new friends from the Vulcania – Unity, wearing her trademark hibiscus in her hair, Sue dressed in a fairy costume, complete with cardboard wand and balancing a large dish of Cauliflower Cheese to rival our dear cook’s.
I turned my face to Jack and laughed at the frivolity surrounding us.
‘Tomorrow we must find someone to take us to the copse of Living Trees. According to the journal, the trees are home to the White Owl and are guarded by a powerful Lemurian Warrior. Only the pure of heart may gain access to the copse.’
Jack nodded in agreement and taking my hand, led me toward the festivities.
Elizabeth.
14th February
Cecelia, dearest,
Anticipation abounds as we prepare to disembark at White Owl Island. There is to be a ritual, honouring the Earth and asking Mother Earth and Father Sky for assistance in healing and nurturing the fertile soil. As we meditate on our dependence on the soil, we are to crumble bread and call upon the Land Spirits to keep the Earth safe from harm. This ritual is to be followed by a time of community between the island’s inhabitants and the passengers aboard the Vulcania. We are each to bring a dish to share with one another. Our evening will finish with the celebration of the Gala Ball.
Lottie and I have spent several days fashioning our costumes and I can now unveil them to you in their completed form. I am to be dressed as Clara Bow, the It girl and Lottie will be attending as Mary Pickford. I do so love the silent films and their glamorous stars! Lottie has always left her hair long and so is able to wear those divine ringlets which fall softly about her shoulders. My hair is cropped rather shorter. As a result, we have spent much of the day creating fluffy curls atop my head. I do look quite fetching. In fact, the resemblance between myself and Clara is rather remarkable. Drawing the eyebrows just so was a formidable task, but Lottie is simply wizard with a pencil.
The dish we are each to provide for the potluck dinner proved to be more of a challenge. I am so used to our dear cook preparing all of our meals back at the house in Yorkshire that I really haven’t a clue where to begin in the kitchen. I do rather hope there will be a place in which I can purchase such a dish once we are ashore. I am quite well prepared for the festival offering though. There was something of an abundance of food at lunch today and I have managed to save some of the lovely warm, fresh bread rolls. I have distributed them among our group. Mine is in a small, satin drawstring bag which slips rather nicely onto my wrist.
Now to round up the others. I believe we are exiting the ship en masse. I hop I can navigate the gangplank in my heels without too much of a fuss!
Elizabeth.
10th February
Dearest Cecelia,
What a marvellous time I had at the theatre on Friday afternoon! Dear Rilla was able to accompany our party. I hadn’t seen her in what must be the longest time. She’s well and having the gaiest time with her family. We have such similar taste in shoes and accessories. I simply had to admire her gorgeous patent, heeled Mary Janes and new cloche!
Oh, but Miss Evelyn Laye was wonderful in the role of Sarah. She’s fair and doe-eyed, truly the most beautiful of creatures. Bitter Sweet is not one of Mr Coward’s finest storylines but the music was enchanting nonetheless. What a memorable song is ‘I’ll See You Again’. I find myself humming it as I go about my day. Jack has resurfaced at last, appearing at my side during the matinee and inviting himself to sit with our intimate group. He has apparently been ‘boning up’ on a few things, namely our next port of call, White Owl Island. No-one knows quite what to expect, but he tells me the guardians are very particular about who is allowed to venture onto the protected heritage sites. There is an extensive conservation programme in place and we are to respect the regeneration taking place.
While on board, Jack has been commissioned to write several articles for The Review. His Editor-in-Chief feels that their New York readership would welcome a little Lemurian adventure as something of a departure from the usual restaurant and entertainment reviews. Travellers can join the cruise at any time from several capital cities around the world. The Review has agreed to pay Jack’s passage as long as he ‘comes up with the goods’, to coin his own phrase. I was finally able to show Jack the journal as I always keep it about my person, and gave him a potted version of my discoveries to date. His response was to slap me between the shoulder blades in a hearty fashion, which knocked the wind right out of me!
‘We’ll make a reporter out of you yet, Lizzy.’
Now, I don’t know why that excited me so, Cissy, but it did. The very thought of me turning out newsworthy articles and burying myself in research..
‘Hey, let’s not get carried away here, doll. I’m just yanking your chain.’
His voice broke my reverie and I felt my face flush with embarrassment. Am I terribly transparent, Cissy? I always rather envied stuffy old Charles’ writing career. Perhaps..
With Noel Coward at an end, I wandered back to my cabin to dress for dinner. Jack was chivalrous enough to accompany me and apologised for his earlier carelessness. He hadn’t realised, clearly, that I genuinely did fancy myself as a journalist and kindly offered to put in a good word for me with his Editor-in-Chief. I am to show him some of my work before we reach White Owl Island. In return for his charity, I have offered to direct him to the glass garden. As I write, I find myself singing a catchy tune from Bitter Sweet. I have heard other theatre-goers muttering of the indecency of the lyrics and its inclusion in the operetta. Poppycock, I say! The song is sung by four young dandies and I think it lends itself well to the play. We reside in much more liberal times and I applaud Noel Coward for his apparent reference to homosexuality. I will allow you to decide for yourself, dear sister, by including a verse or two for your perusal.
Pretty boys, witty boys, you may sneer
at our disintegration.
Haughty boys, naughty boys,
Dear, dear, dear!
Swooning with affectation..
and as we are the reason
for the nineties being gay,
we all wear a green carnation.
Your
Elizabeth.
8th February
Cecelia,
How queer! I haven’t been able to find Jack anywhere on the ship. He’s never in his cabin when I knock and appears not to have taken any meals in the dining room. Perhaps he’s gone ashore, though one does wonder how since we are so far out to sea. I have been making the most of my free time and have rather enjoyed this uncommonly temperate climate. There is always such a soft, cool breeze blowing gently from the North during my morning sabbatical along the promenade. I don’t miss Old Blighty in the slightest.
After this morning’s constitution, I took my breakfast with Violetta, in her quarters. She was most excited to learn of my latest findings and is eager to be of assistance once we arrive at White Owl Island. Some of her dearest friends inhabit the island and she is quite looking forward to introducing them to me. Much of my time will be spent searching for answers to the many questions raised by the Latin journal, but I’m quite determined to leave a little time free for a social gathering or two. Violetta will be celebrating her sixtieth birthday whilst on the island and that’s one bash I wouldn’t want to miss. I’m to meet her dear friends from the S.A.S – Sixty and Sassy club, of which she is about to become a fully-fledged member.
Now, I really must find that incorrigible American. We have much to discuss and I haven’t got all day. I was very much hoping to attend the matinee of Noel Coward’s operetta, Bitter Sweet at the Rose and Swan Theatre directly, with Teddy and Lottie and a few of the other passengers. Those two have been as thick as thieves since we left the Temple People in our wake. I really must pry Lottie away from that brother of mine for a spot of girl talk over martinis. I have this divine new oxblood coloured lipstick in an intricately engraved silver compact that I know Lottie is just dying to get her grubby mitts on. Something tells me I should have bought one for the both of us!
Toodle pip, sis!
Elizabeth.
5th February
Cissy,
I have worked on the journal periodically throughout yesterday and this morning. I’m quite certain I have gleaned as much as I can for the time being. The handwriting is tiny and crawls haphazardly across the page, rendering much of the text illegible. Using key words, and a liberal amount of supposition, I have been able to piece together the following..
The Royal Tree, also known as the Oldest Living Tree (the Living Tree of local legend) is an intimate grove of trees which are thousands of years old. These trees were to be found on the grounds of Obas’ah and his clan’s stately home on White Owl Island. In this grove stands the First Tree, from which all of the other trees in the grove were seeded. The paper on which the Scrolls of Lemuria were written was taken from this tree.
Obas’ah and his carefully chosen Council of Elders would form a circle around the trunk of the Oldest Living Tree, and chant in praise for the blessings of the land and its people. Imbued with the tree’s energy, Obas’ah was able to write the ancient secrets as they came to him in a vision. The secrets were then divided among the Councillors. Each Councillor possessed the secrets of just one scroll, and each was guarded by a skin-walker from the honourable and selfless Catsis clan. Only Obas’ah held the secrets of all six scrolls. Each scroll holds the secret to one of the High Powers that came to Obas’ah in his vision. These powers were telekinesis, telepathy, immortality, prophecy, levitation and the power that comes with All Knowlege. The journal mentions them by description When Obas’ah’s son betrayed him by murdering his own brother in order to inherit the Archipelago in its entirety, the Council were instructed to disperse and take refuge in secret locations and to return only when the new heir was apparent.
Six scrolls, six powers, six Councillors. Two of the Council have relinquished their scrolls to The Collector already. Jack and I must find the others before The Collector does. I should inform Jack of my latest findings at once. I shall search for him soonest. While I am on board the ship though, any further discovery of the legends will simply have to wait. The Pythian Games are about to begin and I, for one, wouldn’t miss them for the world.
Elizabeth.
