28th March

Dearest Cecelia,
One has waved dear Lottie and the Tedster cheerio. That utterly mad brother of mine and his fiancee are off on a donkey trek in order to get in touch with the Wild Mother on a deeply spiritual level. Why, my staunch Catholic Mother and Father would go spare if they knew, and so Teddy has made me swear not to tattle to them. He’s such a queer creature, but a good egg nonetheless. I do hope the pair of them have a smashing time of it.

After a short delay – I was struck with a peculiar ailment on my return to the ship, but am feeling quite chipper now – myself and Jack are well on our way to the town of Braic, pausing now for a light snack and to stretch our cramped legs. I’d been misled to believe that Braic was a rather shorter distance than it actually is. As a result, Jack and I have hired the most terrifyingly bone-shaking motor cycle. I am clinging on for dear life at every harrowing turn and pothole in the road. The road is in the most frightful condition and yet is considered to be the most direct and oft used road between Gilead and Braic. I dare not complain when my teeth rattle. Jack has offered to trade the cycle for an ass on many occasions. Such a vulgar term!

Dear Cissy, I have seen many a strange sight along the way. We have passed travellers from all walks of life using a variety of methods of transportation. There have been several pilgrim families with pony and trap who greet us with a cursory nod and are dressed in a somewhat dated garb of black serge and cloth caps. Women and men in period costume from the days of Jane Austen also, chatter animatedly in horse drawn carriages, the women simpering and fluttering their eyelashes rather alarmingly in the hope that these important men will notice their advances. We have seen Elizabethan finery, elaborate dresses with ruffs about the neckline and men wearing breeches and doublets. Why, Cecelia, if I thought it was possible I might suggest that this road were leading us back through time! Perhaps Braic is hosting some sort of historical fair? Well, we shall find out soon enough. Jack and I will be retiring to a small inn at nightfall and arriving at Braic in the late afternoon tomorrow. I will be glad to be away from this road before dark, Cissy. Do not think me a coward for admitting that I do not like the way we are being appraised by our fellow travellers. Their eyes are dark and glassy like the eyes of the porcelain dolls which adorned my bedroom as a child. You remember how I fancied they would come to life at the witching hour. The air around the travellers is cold, though the sun has shone for the most part and I have heard naught but their reedy voices echoing about us. Where are the animal calls I heard on the Island of the Temple People? Oh, there are birds Cissy, but their voices are still, their gazes silent and greedy.

Jack is beckoning for me to return to the motor cycle to continue our journey  along this ghastly road and not a moment too soon. We have tarried long enough.

Yours

Elizabeth.

22nd March

Dearest Cecelia,
It is time for me to leave the sanctity of the abbey here at Gilead, on the Isle of Lenore. I am hungry, no, famished for the adventure which lies outside these walls. I am well rested, my spirit nourished and I am renewed in my quest for the scrolls of Lemuria. One does wonder where the time has gone and if Jack has made any new discoveries in my absence.

During my delightful stay, I have become particularly close to a young novice by the name of Jelena. She is a gentle, timid girl who sought refuge here when her home life became terrible and frightening. The Abbess nurtured the broken child with tenderness, patience and poignant passages of Scripture until she was restored once more. Jelena spent many an afternoon conversing with me on matters of the gospel. We found during these discussions that we were in agreeance on most points. The quiet nun has made quite an impression on me and so I have entrusted her with the contents of my queer little journal which I retrieved from the glass garden one night by teleporting using the walnut. Now, Latin is not one of Jelena’s favourite subjects, she has thus far learned only the prayers necessary for Mass. However, she was able to recognise one word which appears near the grounds of the abbey. Jelena and her fellow novices often make the journey into town by foot, walking to the local hospices to tend to the ailing and elderly. Along the east wall of the abbey there is an ancient road which links Gilead to another town several miles away. This road was often used by local traders who passed by Gilead with carts loaded with wares such as silks, brocades and assorted teas, herbs and spices from the Orient. Close to this road stands a milestone, weather beaten, its markings all but faded. Chiselled into the stone is the word which appears most often in the section following the Royal Tree entry in the journal, Calculus.

Jelena informs me that this very road leads directly to the town of Braic where the Calculus, the Latin term for Counting Stones, stands. The stones’ true purpose for construction has since been lost to the modern world. They stand in a formidable circular formation, in a similar fashion to those which have stood for so long at Stonehenge. Perhaps then, they served a similar purpose in centuries past?

It is quite clear then, that the Counting Stones of Braic are to be my next destination. I shall return to the Vulcania on the morrow to pack the necessities and return the journal to safekeeping within the glass garden. Perhaps Jack should like to accompany me on this next leg of the journey?

I have promised to continue a correspondence with Jelena and return to the abbey as soon as I am able. Jelena is certain that I would thrive here, living a cloistered life. I haven’t the heart to tell her otherwise.

Elizabeth.