A New Adventure

Lesson #1: Never dive off the back of a ship in your underwear.

Lesson #2: Never dive off the back of a ship that is about ready to depart.

As I splashed around the water off the stern of the ship, savoring my new found freedom, I did not hear the uproar as word spread that the Captain had abandoned ship. Only when I saw the sail unfurl and catch the wind, did I realize something was amiss. I began shouting and waving at the crewmen on deck. They shouted back that they had their orders and could not stop the ship now. Instead, Esteban pulled out his saber and slashed the bindings of one of the small skiffs. It fell to the water and I scrambled aboard. Carlos, bless his heart, had run to my cabin and hastily gathered my meager belongings. He tossed to me my bag, my cloak, and one of the Captain’s dress gowns.

“Head towards the Abbey— down river, then due south for 40 leagues to the mouth of the Great River. Then up stream to the headwaters! See you there!”

I had wanted an adventure….. now I had it.

Lori Gloyd © June 20, 2006

In Neptune's Realm

After that spectacular leap over the Calabar Felonway's billowing sails, had I the time to think, I would have assumed we would have galloped onward to our destination, but no--the horses followed the arc they had drawn and we immediately descended into the depths of the Lemurian Sea! Without warning, we dove into a watery world in the dark of night. No preparation, no masks, no oxygen. For what seemed forever, I squeezed my eyes shut and held my breath, until I heard the King's voice whisper in my ear, "Relax, Believer, breathe! You are here with me--no harm will come to you!"

Taking a deep breath, I looked around and found iridescence everywhere. I was in a world where there was as much to see beneath as above and on all sides: schools of tiny, shining shrimps saluted the king, scallops with multi shining eyes blinked as they floated past, and lantern fish, silvery white with large soulful eyes pulsed in shades of red, yellow and green! Several violet ribbons nearly five feet long appeared, and seemed to dance before us.

"Slowly, please, our guest cannot read you," the king commanded, and it was only then I realized that their intricate twirlings spelled out, 'Welcome Neptune, welcome Believer.' "The creature is named Venus's girdle," Neptune whispered and this so delighted me that I burst out laughing and produced a stream of bubbles which tickled both the king and a passing octopus who had to hold his sides as he giggled in mirth.

As we descended further we encountered angler fish, but even their glowing bones and fierce razor teeth didn't frighten me because I rode with the king. At long last we arrived at the entrance to a huge cave. Handsome mermen guarded the entrance. One winked at me as we entered.

Was I still in water or not? My eyes and lungs were so acclimated to the change I'd undergone it was impossible to tell. All I knew was that physically I felt perfectly normal, while mentally I reeled from the sights and sounds around me. An enormous chamber with floor and ceiling glowing in mother of pearl was actually a hidden coral reef alive with tropical fish darting in and out among sea anemones and swaying kelp. Music and the sound of singing came from somewhere far off, soft and delicate to the ears.

"There will be festivities here in the grand hall later," the king told me, but first I have something to show you." He lead me off to a side chamber, an underwater version of a library or study. Niches carved into the walls served as shelves and held treasures salvaged from sunken ships, Greek amphorae and Roman vases and such made of glass. A giant scallop shell formed the king's desk and he beckoned me to sit with him as he produced a great book. The first page floated open and I gasped in astonishment at the picture that appeared.

"Where did you get this?" I asked, looking at a photo of me and my parents, our faces solemn and concerned as we waited with a crowd of other "lowly polliwogs" to be sentenced by Neptune's court for crossing the equator and entering his realm without permission.

"I keep records of all those who enter my kingdom, both friend and foe, and the time they spend. You had great enthusiasm as a child and a perfect sense of wonder. I knew one day you would become a writer."

I turned the page and there was my father wearing bathing trunks and a ridiculous Keystone cop's helmet on his head and with skull and crossbones painted on his chest. My mother stood nearby trying to contain her laughter.

"Ah, my favorite," the king said, and pointed to me again, seated on a makeshift throne, wearing a Cinderella gown and a mask that showed sparkling eyes and "bubelik" cheeks. "I was delighted they made you Neptune's daughter! You turned thumbs down on everyone and even insisted the little ones pay a forfeit. They screamed and squealed and loved every minute of it." The good king's eyes crinkled with laughter.

"It's been so long since I thought of our trips."

"Whose fault is that?"

"It's a bittersweet memory. We lost our business and struggled for years, then my folks passed away. It's been hard, I've lost a lot."

"So, you refuse to remember the good times, or you think of them with tears of regret! Would you deny all the joy you've given and received in your life?"

"No, of course not."

"Would you relinquish the wisdom you've acquired?"

"No, but. . . "

"Humans are such fools," he thundered. "If you had your way you'd eliminate change and growth completely and remain an infant at your mother's breast for all eternity!"

And in that minute, I knew he spoke the truth! In a short time this adventure would be over and already I was dreading the leave taking. He sensed it, I knew.

"I have a gift for you," he said gruffly. Opening a clam shell, he took out a large golden coin. "We have little use for money here, but when we do this is what we use."

I took it from his hand to admire the beauty and workmanship. Bigger than a silver dollar, one side was embossed with a trident and on the obverse a cutaway view of an intricate and beautiful chambered nautilus.

"A newly hatched nautilus has four small chambers," he explained. "As it grows it gains more living space by building new chambers connected to the old ones. If it is permitted a long life and is not "harvested" by greedy divers, it will eventually have thirty chambers. Like the mandelas you admire, it's a spiral. When you return to the Abbey you must meditate on these two symbols until you understand what they represent in your life. Remember the name you've given yourself and it will become clear to you."

Then he rose and took my hand and we joined the assembled guests in the grand hall, where we feasted and sang and danced the night away. The following morning before daybreak, a messenger arrived to inform the king that Captain Wilder had abandoned the Calabar Felonway. This unheard of act tore through the court like a water spout and caused the king great concern. It was decided that I must return immediately to the ship and follow whatever orders might have been received by the crew.

When I got there I found no orders, the ship was in total chaos, with wild rumors everywhere, including one that The Cave of the Ancients had been found. The only thing I could be sure of was that it was finally time to use my magic wings and fly back to the Abbey. My adventure in Neptune's realm had been cut short but my instincts told me that new wonders lay ahead.

Rushing At The Ship's Bell

In the Bog Queen's cave it was aglow, with a

kind of feeling of awe, so Belenus and I just

stayed quiet, a relief after our

disagreements. She was serene and looked wise

beyond words. It was as if she knew what we

were thinking, anyway, and knew why we

had come. For a moment Belenus thought

she was leaning forward to give us the key

to the Dead Man's Chest, which was on our

minds, the reason for the journey, but no.

Once we offered her our surrenders, Belenus,

his reliance on purely intellectual knowledge, and

mine, despair at purely intellectual myths,

she smiled graciously. But she did not say a

word, only the glow became feint, and we found

each of us had a sprig of She Oak in new bloom,

red to be exact, in our possession. This would help

us to transform our fixed opinions, and take in new

information, she told us. Belenus put it carefully

behind one of his long ears, so he wouldn't forget,

like a pencil. I put mine safely in my bag, careful

that it shouldn't spoil, and thought about it, as

the image of the Bog Queen lingered in my mind.

The track back was sandy and meandered up to

the shore where the Calabar was waiting. But we

heard the bell, again, which had been clanging

even while we were in the cave. We were among

the last travellers hurrying back to the boat, and

were greeted with the curious news that the

Captain had mysteriously vanished...

copyright Monika Roleff 2006.

The Conversation

Several days have passed since my adventure with the Bog Queen. I sat in a comfortable Adirondack chair at the stern of the Calabar, relaxing, sipping raspberry tea, and reading a scroll of Anita Marie’s tales of the Pacific Northwest.

Some crewmen were swabbing the deck, cleaning up after a sudden and violent storm the night before. I overheard one muttering something about “Neptune’s wrath”. Others spoke of strange sea creatures they had seen the night before.

The Captain had gone with L’Enchanteur and some other passengers to search for a golden key and another traveler was seen departing with the Phoenix who had dropped in to visit Matilda. I was content to sit out the rest of the voyage and read.

Thewomp! A large grayish brown mass swept in front of me and landed on the stern’s railing. After a flurry of flapping wings, a large pelican settled herself in front of me. She turned her long graceful neck around and peered at me with striking yellow eyes.

“Uh, hello!” I stammered. I had not expected a bird that large to suddenly appear. The pelican only stared at me. I was a bit taken aback. I had expected all the creatures of Lemuria to be sentient and articulate.

“Did L’Enchanteur send you?” I asked. The bird continued to eye me without expression.

“She’s probably wondering why I haven’t gone on any more adventures. Well, I’m pretty worn out from the last one. That really knocked me out.”

The pelican cocked its head and looked at the scroll I was holding.

“I bet you think I’m wasting too much time reading instead of writing. Hey, we’re supposed to be supportive of each other here and I’m just doing my part. It takes time to read everything. And who are you to comment otherwise?”

The bird arched its neck and began preening the feathers on her back.

“You know, I get this same stuff back in the Real World. ‘Lori, how come you’re watching so much TV. Lori, how’s that book coming? What? You haven’t finished it YET? Well, you have so much time in the evenings.’”

The pelican stopped preening. She squated and made a messy deposit on the deck.

I wrinkled my nose in disgust. “And I bet you think I’m all upset about THEM! Well, I’m not. I don’t need them to affirm my work. And you….. you just don’t know anything!”

The pelican finally turned around and glared at me. I scowled back at her, my arms and legs crossed, my foot tapping the deck in anger.

Several long, awkward moments of silence passed. I could hear the ship’s rigging banging and clanging.

“FINE!” I shouted. “I’ll show you! You want me to go on an adventure? Fine, I’ll go on an adventure!”

I jumped up from my chair and pitched my hat to one side. I struggled with the buckle on my belt. One of the crewman hanging from the mast shouted: “Take it off, honey!”

I pulled off my shirt and flung it away. A chorus of crewman erupted from the deck. “Owwww!” “Woo-hoo!”. “Way to go!” and a deafening refrain of wolf whistles followed after me as I ripped off the last bit of my outer clothing. I stood at the stern of the ship in my red lacy underwear, my head held high amidst the din.

I clambered up onto the railing and turned to the pelican, still sitting there. I had regained my composure somewhat and was a little ashamed at having hollered at L’Enchateur’s emissary. I said softly, “Thanks. I couldn’t have done this without you.”

Then, with a great leap, I dove into the azure blue sea.

Lori Gloyd © June 19, 2006

Mystery of the Lagoon

I dove from the prow of the ship into the warm waters of the lagoon
where I felt caressed in the richest of silk.
Tropical fish dressed in rainbow colors swam around me
lighting my passage until I saw in the blue of this watery realm,
a beckoning tower of light surrounded by women swaying in the gently moving water.
I wanted to join them, but I was a creature of another world and I knew
if I became one of them, it would be forever.

Vi 

Riding with Neptune

I leaped at the chance to ride with Neptune and jumped aboard wearing my special glasses and clutching my tiny anchor in my hand. The moonlight shimmered on the ocean's surface as Neptune's steed dove through the white light into the depths. I expected darkness and found brillance.

Seahorses danced and star fish floated through the water while multicolored fish swam among them waving their tails. I watched enthralled with the ballet on this stage. Dipping deeper, the brillance muted to soft moonlight and the fantastical creatures emerged from the gloom. Winged shapes and nebulous blobs drifted by. Amorphous forms rearranged themselves as I clung to Neptune's steed awed by the sights.

Deeper I went, the light fading as I was taken through a shadowy entry and emerged in a cone with sparkling luminescent colors radiating from the walls. The colors moved, fading or intensifying, a continuous movie of shades and tones. This fantastical world enchanted me, clutching me, drawing me toward the narrowing end. What would I find as I funneled inward? What danger lurked?

Fear gripped me. I shut my eyes and ripped off my glasses. When I dared to look, I had returned to the ocean surface. I returned to the ship feeling I had narrowly escaped an unseen menace.

Neptune's Emissary

Brown Pelican (Pelecanus occidentalis)

I have been feeling a little down in the dumps this week and today particularly so. But, it was a hot and beautiful day so I decided to go down to the ocean, to an area that I've been wanting to photograph. I literally came around a corner and found this pelican sitting on a railing. I kept waiting for it to take flight but it let me approach. When I got about five feet away, I became fearful (these birds are BIG) so I stopped.

It was almost as if this magnificent bird had a message for me, but I don't know what. Look at that expression! Does anyone understand Pelicanese? Anyway, I felt very much encouraged after the encounter.


Image: Lori Gloyd (c) 2006

More questions than answers....

What has le Enchanteur found? Who is watching her? Who are the divers who have come with her on this underwater adventure? Could Neptune have bought her to the cave that holds the key to Dead Man's Chest. Will she find the Cave of the Ancients on this journey?

Heeding Neptune's Call

With a roar that was beyond hearing and would have put Niagara and Iguasu to shame, the sea horses of Neptune came riding through the night. Our fair Calabar Felonway rocked and pitched as if caught in a gale. Pirates and passengers clung for dear life to whatever was anchored down, too afraid to be sick and terrified the ship would splinter apart. Some surely must have believed they would die.

"It's you, he's come for!" Captain Wilder shouted as I sped past her up the passageway to head topside.

I stopped for the briefest moment to face her--"You hear it, too?"

"Aye, he's calling yer name! Go, hurry, he waits for no one. I'll be right behind, ya, this I've got to see!"

Up on deck, a full moon gleamed down on our ship, which still rocked violently. Stars seemed to explode in a Van Gogh sky and I saw a sight which will remain
with me until the day I die. A team of giant horses in shades of aquamarine and cobalt blue snorted and pawed the foam crested waves churned up by their arrival. At the center, a bigger than life bearded man, trident raised high, reigned in his steeds and boomed in a voice like thunder.

"Believer! Come, greet your King. Loyal Shellback, Traveler of my realm, Sailor of the good ships, Santa Maria and Magdalena, Brasil and Argentina, you have been missed! Welcome back!"

I slipped and slid my way to the rail fully prepared to leap overboard, only to see an iridescent wave of sea foam emanating from Neptune's outstretched arms and heading straight towards me. It lifted me up and deposited me on the king's lap as gently and lovingly as a grandfather swings around his favorite grandchild. Seated in front of the great king, my fingers entwined in the horses mane I thrilled at the power of the team as they surged up and over the sails of the Calabar Felonway.

"Bon voyage!" I heard Captain Wilder cheer above the roar of horses and waves as we galloped into the night.

Action on the High Seas

A View from Neptune's Realm

If Neptune looked to the Heavens, here's what he might see......

Image: Lori Gloyd (c) 2006

Neptune Deep

All I remember from the night ride

with Neptune's steeds is a return

to childhood and in my hand I have

a lovely sea souvenir to lay on the shore...

copyright Monika Roleff 2006

The sailor's dance

The sailor's dance
Originally uploaded by FranSb.

As Neptune is sleeping
the sailors are free to practice their dance on the deck
the drummer is ready, the pipes have been tuned
hear them play

Night Rides

Just for some light relief Neptune and his steeds have come offering night rides.
How adventurous do you feel?

One-Eyed Red

Avast!! One-Eyed Red here. Yup, now ye know me phiz and ye'll allus know where I be when I'm belowdecks. Just letting it be known that I have acquired some of the finest Lemurian Brandy, aged to a turn it is. Along with ye're evenin' ration o' grog, ye'll be enjoyin' brandy so smooth that ye'll fergit moanin' o' th' wind in th' riggins.

Nay, lads, 'tis better to hear 'em moan than feel a bean sidhe's scream through the riggin's. Some poor bugger will be washed off th' deck f'sure, th' wind an' th' seas'll be that rough.

What anyone what sails the seas'll tell ye, is this, best t'feel a hum from th' riggin's through y'feet. That tells ye 'tis fair, clear, and a good breeze t'fill th' sails an' a gentle sea t'sail.

Ye nivver wanna hav'de riggin go silent on ye. Still sails're the brother of becalmed, sumthin' ye don' wanna be. Now, becalmed sailors can be a bloodthirsty lot, believin' in nithin' an' no-one but their own madness. Silent riggin's have heard the ugliest folk can be to one 'nother. Nahhh, I don't hold wi' th' belief that riggin's that've been becalmed are bad luck. Them riggin's will be seekin' the best o' everthin' ever after.

Now, I must go an' start a sweet t'go wi' th' evenin meal. Ye can snivel all ye want, it'll not get ye a word o' the special sweet I be makin'!!

On Watch Aboard the Calabar

The Distorted Mirror

Although the mirror was cracked and distorting the image, I could see myself clearly enough, and what I saw surprised me. I had been dressed in off-white, three-quarter length, pirate-style pantaloons, topped with a faded blue tunic and some brightly colored material tied around my waist. That’s what I get, I thought, for leaving my sea bag behind at the Manor.

The young woman who had escorted me to my cabin and dressed me, was Irish. Her face was freckled and her long red hair hung to her waist. Her brogue was delightful though at times barely understandable. She had been instructed to get me into suitable attire and help me get used to my sea legs. I figured I would handle my rather unsteady legs eventually, once I got used to the swaying of the ship. “You’ll need this,” she said, handing me a sword with a murderous curved blade, “for when you go ashore. Never know who you’ll meet and they’re not all friendly.”

I strapped the sword to my side, hoping I would never have to use it, then I studied my image again in the cracked mirror. I really was an unbelievable sight. Can you imagine me, with my gray, nay, white hair poking out from under the bandana that I had tied around my head, and a wicked weapon strapped to my side? I wished though that some of my friends back home could see me now, that partying crowd that thinks I lead such a dull life. Well, I’ll show ‘em.

Vi

The Heart of a Queen

I refuse. I always follow le enchanteur's instructions the best I can--but this time I simply refuse. I will not sacrifice one more thing to Bog Queens or to anyone else for that matter. No need to list the litany of things that have been taken from me in the last two years, no need at all. Blackmail, that's all it is pure and simple blackmail, and for what? Creativity? My creativity? It's alive and quite well, thank you!

Breathe, I think, just breathe and stay calm. The whole atmosphere of the pirate ship has me on edge. And bog people. Preserved dead bodies. All well and good in a museum or on a computer screen, but in person, no thanks. I can smell the dankness of the bogs from here. The air is still and the ship becalmed. The longboat's getting ready to leave and I will be on it along with the others, but not for the same reason. Not for tribute and not for blackmail! Not even for a clue to the cave of ancestors.

Guard you bag of precious gifts, we were warned. On the last trip I never even used my "special" gift. Well, truth be told, I was a bit put out when I saw it: a thin tube of le Enchanteur's vanishing cream. Smooth in a dab at the outer edge of each eye, read the instructions. Hinting at crow's feet, I suppose. Or raven's?

Sensing myself no more than a shadow in the night, I board the boat stepping lightly, but frightened eyes stare wildly in my direction as my companions notice the shift of added weight. I want to speak, to tell them I'm not here to harm, but I'm not sure if I can, perhaps silence also comes with invisibility.

The ride is short, the only sounds, the oars slicing through the inky black water and the breathing of those around me. Reaching the wooden dock, we scramble off in a knot, everyone huddling close, no one wishing to meet the bog queen alone. But I know le Enchanteur's ways and it comes as no surprise when I find myself isolated from the others and face to face with the queen.

Immensely tall, she glares at my impudence, then her gaze softens and amusement takes its place. "If you were not trying to deceive me, why come cloaked?" she asks.

"Forgive me, Majesty, I am here simply for the adventure, I have not come to ask for favors. It is an honor just to meet you."

"No favor: that's refreshing. When you have power people always want something and it gets tedious, but le Enchanteur is an old friend." She hesitates and the third eye scrutenizes me. "I can dig more deeply," she says and the threat is implied, "or you could tell me the whole truth."

"Majesty. I only wished to avoid embarrassment. I do not want to lessen the experience of those around me by not participating or by setting a poor example. I have nothing that I can sacrifice, therefore, I ask no favors. I have lost much in the last few months, three who were dear to me, and I cannot offer more." The anger I felt minutes earlier is gone and I stand humbly before the queen.

"A broken heart is sacrifice enough. I am not unaquainted with grief. Go. Return to your ship and your life. Creativity grows with suffering, you know," she says softly, then turns and fades away into the mist of the lonely bog.

My Sacrifice...

The Nederfrederiksmose body, uncovered in 1898, was the first bog body to be photographed. (Image from archeology.org)



All I know about bog people is that they are usually dead, mummified after centuries of lying in the peat bogs of Europe. I remember reading about Tolland Man, discovered in 1950 - he had hanged, the leather belt still around his neck. It was the little details that fascinated me - like the contents of his stomach. His last meal had been humble one of barley gruel.

Bogs are made up of 90 per cent water filled with peat - decaying plant matter - and since bacteria does not grow there, bodies that fall, or are pushed, into them are naturally preserved. These bodies are often found when draining bogs, and everything is preserved, from the clothes they wear to the contents of their stomachs. Huldremose woman was fully dressed, and even the bright colours of her gown and robe were preserved.

Many bog bodies are believed to have been sacrifices, but bogs are damgerous places - often you can happen upon one without knowing it and down you go. Like quicksand, bogs suck in the unwary.

But some may have found their final resting place for far more sinister reasons - not sacrifice, which may at least have had an aura of dignity, but murder most foul. It says more about our sensibilities, perhaps, that we invariably assign any ancient thing we find a ritual or religious significance - but people have always been just human, and murder is as old as man.

Huldremose woman, for example, was clearly the victim of great violence - her arms and legs were hacked with a weapon, one arm completely detached. This does not seem like sacrifice - this is more like a crime of passioon. An cuckolded husband, perhaps, or a jealous wife, disposed of her body in the convenient bogs after attacking her so viciously.

A young girl discovered in Holland was stabbed and strangled; Tolland man was hanged, but by his own hand, or another? Elling Woman was also hanged - was she the victim of foul play, or a tragic suicide, thrown into the bog because she took her own life?

I was thinking of all these things as the Bog Queen demanded my own sacrifice. She was very much alive, just as Huldremose and Elling Woman once were, bursting out of her skin with rude health, but with thoughts of death very far from her mind. The sacrifice she demanded wasn't human.

That sort of sacrifice is nothing new to me. I have clung with immense stubborness to life, and to the lives of others - but many things have passed through my hands over the decades that I regret losing. Once, in the grip of something I have no name for, I burned whole manuscripts. It seemed to me that every word I had ever committed to paper was worthless, a waste of trees. How I regret it now - I can't get those stories back.

Little has stayed with me on my travels - except - my teddy bears. Two of them, carried with me for more than 50 years. They don't look much now, torn, ragged, stuffing spilling out - but still I keep them wrapped in a shawl. I offer them now - perhaps the bogs will work their magic and preserve them forever, so I will never have to admit that they have finally had their day.

The Sacrifice

I felt a rough burlap hood being pulled from my head. It took a moment for my eyes to focus, then I gasped at the sight before me. Standing in a semi-circle around a blazing fire stood several dozen very tall women and men, each with a third eye painted on their foreheads.

I heard a cackle of delight and realized the captain was standing to one side, doubled over in laughter. “Aye! How I love the looks on their faces every time. It never fails to give me a gut-buster!”

I looked at the captain in disbelief. “Oh, don’t give me that look, missy. Whadja think L’Enchanteur pays me to do?”

A set up? Had the cook been right after all? I surveyed the area around me. All the other travelers stood nearby, looking terrified. Even the little donkeys brought along by some stood shivering behind their mistresses.

My head pounded in pain. My last clear recollection was the first cup of rum in the captain’s dining room. Somewhere between that cup and the bottom of the barrel, I had agreed to go with her and the others to find the Bog People. Apparently, she had convinced us that they knew the direction to the Cave of the Ancients.

I remember stumbling aboard a longboat, singing with the others something about ninety-nine bottles of beer. I remember rowing out to the marshy shoreline and commenting to the others about how the stars would not stay still in the sky. When we disembarked we zigzagged our way along a wooden-planked walkway through the bog.

It is still not clear how long we walked, but suddenly, out of the darkness came a chorus of rebel yells and trilling shrieks. With that, we began careening back down the walkway towards the boat, ignoring the captain’s bellowed order to “stand firm!”. Then, out of the tall reeds, I was grabbed from behind and a hood thrust over my head.

I do not remember much of what happened next except that we were hustled along for a while and then came to a stop. Unhooded now, my temples throbbed in pain and my stomach was about to hurl.

“A little hung over, are we?” The captain chuckled. “It took me damn near an entire barrel of rum to get you likkered up enough to come. Where’d you learn to drink? From that lush you call a horse?” The captain wailed off into another fit of laughter.

“Ebony, we really don’t have time for this,” said the tallest woman in a low silky voice. “My dear,” she said, looking at me, “please come forward so we can see you.”

I did not move.

The captain hissed, “Don’t embarrass me!” I glared at her as I slowly stepped forward. She continued, “May I introduce Porthosina, your majesty, a noble woman from the mighty tribe of the…the …..Muskateers!”

My glare turned to a look of wide-eyed disbelief. The captain leaned over and whispered in my ear, “I couldn’t really use the name ‘Lorijayne’ now, could I? A might dull, don’t you think? ”

“Porthosina! A strong name, worthy of a Seeker of the Ancients. We apologize for our rough treatment, but we feared you would all hurt yourselves running blindly through the bogs. And we needed to hood you to protect our location. Did not your captain explain all this to you?”

Everyone turned their eyes toward Captain Wilder, who was now yawning and filing her nails. She looked up and gave a weak smile. “Well, Your Majesty, you don’t need me anymore so I’ll be heading off….”

“Wait!” and “Don’t leave us!” erupted from the group, but the captain merely saluted and sauntered off into the darkness.

We all turned back to the Bog Queen and her entourage. I reached for my Chinese sword, but realized that I had not taken it to dinner that night. It was uselessly back in my cabin.

“Do not fear, travelers. I’m sure Captain Ebony merely forgot to mention that we are not the fearsome creatures of myth and legend. We do not sacrifice people and throw them to the….oh, what does she call it these days?” She leaned to the bog women next to her who mumbled something. “Yes, she calls it the ‘Taraka’. We do not make live sacrifices to the ‘Taraka’.

The sigh of relief was audible. “But,“ she thundered, “you will have to sacrifice something tonight to prove your worthiness to continue your journey to the Cave of the Ancients!”

The travelers began muttering to themselves. I stepped forward, “Your majesty, we have brought no valuables with us. We were not prepared to come this evening….”

“You must make a sacrifice!! That is the price to receive the directions to the Cave. Each of you, decide what is so important in your life, something so important that you think you could not possible live without it. We will adjourn for a short time so you may contemplate your gift.” The Queen and her party turned and evaporated into the darkness.

I sat down on the cold muddy ground and wrapped my cloak around me. I had to think. What was important to me? A number of valuable objects and beloved people back home came to mind but obviously I could not and would not surrender them. I buried my face in my hands. I did not feel well at all. I felt vertigo set in. I looked up and saw the tall grasses start to spin around me and the ground rise up to meet me. The others in our group faded from view and I found myself alone in the clearing with only the Bog Queen herself standing in front of me.

“You are having difficulty, yes?” I nodded. The Queen sighed and said, “Let me make a suggestion.” She held out two framed documents. I saw my name clearly printed on both of them.

“My diplomas!”

“Yes, indeed. Education is very important to you, yes?” I said nothing but continued to stare. Where was she going with this?

“You worked very hard for these degrees. It took you about 11 years, going to classes at night, to finish, am I right? You have thanked the Heavens for this opportunity. We have heard your prayers from far away. “

Horror overtook me.

“What if we took these away from you…..”

“No, you can’t! How can you? I can’t unlearn what I’ve learned.”

“What if these diplomas were destroyed? What if a computer error erased all record of your attendance and all evidence of your completion? What if…..everything you were taught in class was wrong?!

I paused for a moment and then quietly said, “I would be nothing.”

“Oh, come, come, my dear. You know that is not true. Would you be any less creative without these degrees? Of course not. Your education is a useful tool to introduce you to ideas and books that you can draw from as you create. But they DO NOT affirm you in any way. You are smart and talented and creative without them.”

She laid the framed diplomas before me, and said, “What are you going to do?”

Slowly, I stood and picked the frames off the ground. I fondled them for a moment, then moved to the edge of the walkway. With a wide motion, I flung both frames into the darkness. After a moment I heard them splash into the muddy slough of the bog.

My head began to spin again and I thought I would be sick, but before I could make good on that feeling, I found myself seated in the longboat with Captain Wilder who was rowing us back to the Calabar.

“Back so soon?” She chuckled. I looked around and saw the others also back in the boat, each looking dazed. I looked down and saw in my hand a small bottle containing a scroll. The captain said, “Hold on to that, dearie. That be the next step in your journey. I glanced up at the captain. She grinned and said, “I love my job. I really do.”

Lori Gloyd © June 2006

Joining the Crew

I was sitting on that headland when I thought I heard my name being called. I paid no attention, however, because I was feeling low of spirit. I’d been left, you see, my ship had sailed away without me after the monster had swamped my canoe on the rocks. since I had no other way of reaching the ship, I watched the sails as the vessel distanced itself from the shore. Then, I heard my name again and looked down and there, below the cliff and rocking in the surf, was a longboat.

“C’mon, m’hearty,” the man called. “We gotta hurry if’n we want to catch the ship where they’re awaiting you.”

I scrambled down the rocky path, which wasn’t a path at all. “But I don’t have my sea bag,” I yelled at the swashbuckler type who by now, with his crew was having trouble holding the long boat steady.

“Don’t worry ‘bout that, they’ll have britches fer ya, tunics, too, but ya gotta hurry—I can’t hold this boat fer much longer.”

I scrambled, slipped, and slid into the water where strong arms gripped me and pulled me into the boat where, I might add, I landed on my butt on the hard planks in the bottom. Like a rocket in the surf, the long boat shot away from the beach, the oarsmen barely able to hold it against the current, and from crashing on the same rocks that had swamped my canoe earlier. Another moment and I would have again lost the opportunity to catch the ship and the berth that awaited me.

It seemed no time at all before I was nervously climbing a swaying robe ladder and over the side onto the ship. If I live through this experience, I thought, it will be some kind of a miracle, and an adventure to talk to my grandchildren about. What grandchildren? Someone else's perhaps, seeing that I am no one's grandma.

Vi

Arguing With A Wise Donkey

"Do you know," I said, preparing for the journey in the long boat to meet the Bog Queen, "possibly you read too much. Some things just need doing, after all."
Belenus was making sure his load was on straight and the chest, that we saved from the
old haunted Victorian house, actually the Dead Man's Chest, would stay safe with us. We had found out in the walled garden that it had no key, and there formed a kind of superstitiousness
about it, that it best not be forced open. There was a time for mysteries and a time for revelations, we agreed. But now we argued. Belenus was uncertain about going to the island, the Cave of the Ancients, where the bog people had lived. "From my readings it's possible we may not return in one piece, preserving the dangers of falling foul to pride and too much sacrifice!"

"But you are reading only one account of the story, where there might be many," I said to him,
doing up my long sturdy boots for the trek to the cave. Belenus said he would carry me to the entrance, but would stay outside. He feared the hungry appetites of the one-eyed beings there, struck with a healthy awe of them from his classical readings. "But we cannot be sure," he warned, "and this journey might prove to be perilous!"

Being on the ship had made us both lean toward the pirate ways, and even Belenus was wearing a kerchief of red and white around his neck. The stories and the lore we had learned on board had made an impression on us.
"I have no desire to believe everything I read, especially now, and we shall go. You and I both. I will wager it won't be as bad as you think," I told him, and he finally shrugged.
"We can always take flight," he reminded himself, and recalled he hadn't been at all frightened at the old Victorian house.
"And we have other things besides to help us," I said, "Courage is at hand."

Belenus said nothing and we waited, prepared, for the long boat to take us with the other travellers to the island where the Cave of the Ancients was.

copyright Monika Roleff 2006.

To Appease the Queen - The Most Precious Possessions

Firstborn sons and daughters were offered by Carthaginian parents as living sacrifices in times of great calamities - war, famine, drought and plague. On a moonlit night, ancient writers say, a priest placed a child, mercifully killed moments earlier, on the outstretched arms of the statue of Baal. As the infant's body rolled into the flaming pit - entering the company of the gods - flutes, tambourines and lyres drowned out the parent's cries. Later the ashes and the bones were collected in a small urn and placed with thousands of others in the sacrificial precent, or tophet, of the Goddess Tanit at Carthage.

The Bog Queen has pronounced that any traveller seeking the secret of creativity and the Cave of the Ancients must offer a sacrifice. She does not want living sacrifices but she does expect travellers to sacrifice something that means a lot to them. Years ago I collected every copy of my C.V. and ceremonially burned them. This was a sacrifice. I was pronouncing that I would not be seeking promotions in my chosen career and was relinquishing this ambition in order to become more creative.

All sacrificial offerings will be collected and kept in a sacrificial precent, gaurded by the elders of the Bog People.

some of the crew sail for shore

some of the crew of the Calabar heading for shore

Flying Colors

At the suggestion of Anita Marie and with approval of L'Enchanteur, I am hoisting the colors of the Calabar Felonway. (The flowers are felonwort).

Lori Gloyd (c) 2006

Flight of fancy

Ariel awakened me from my reverie about Willow. “Time to go” he said and marched out of the clearing the way we had come. “We will not get to the blind spring tonight so we must find somewhere for you to shelter for the night He picked his way carefully through the rocks until he came to an overhang, camouflaging the mouth to a cave. “You will be warm and dry in there” he said, nosing me forwards. I went in slowly allowing my eyes to accustom themselves to the dimness. A pile of heather on the floor covered by an animal skin would make a comfortable bed. On a ledge at the back of the cave I found a jug of spring water, a cheese wrapped in sweet chestnut leaves and some apples / a feast indeed, which I promptly shared with Ariel.

Hanging on the wall at the entrance was a bunch of dried grass through which someone ha threaded some of the purple flowers I had seen growing near the cave entrance. Obviously this cave was used by travellers on a regular basis and someone took care of it, for the floor was spotless and the food fresh. Ariel left me to settle myself down for the night and he went to find a resting place outside. I made myself comfortable on the pile of heather and wrapped my cloak around me. After all the excitement of the day I soon drifted off into a deep and dreamless sleep.

I awoke early and stretched my stiff limbs. Walking to the cave entrance I could see the sun was just about to rise and I stood watching it as the sky gradually changed colour from a pearly grey suffused with pink. The sun, a glowing dark red, slowly rose over the trees and all around me hidden birds struck up a chorus of greeting. I found that the unseen guardian had replenished my food and water stocks. This time there was a small round loaf of brown bread and a dripping slice of honeycomb. Ariel told me to take my time eating breakfast and then we would be off on another day of adventure.

I had thought that Ariel was quietly eating his breakfast not far away when he suddenly came rushing up to the cave mouth. "Come on, we've got to go", he shouted as he came closer. "If we don't hurry up we'll miss the boat". "Whatever are you talking about, Ariel?" I asked. "Take the wings out of the bag le Enchanteur gave you and put them on, we've no time to lose". I am getting to used to all these sudden changes of direction and did as I was told, knowing that Ariel would fill me in on the details as we went. I fumbled around in the little bag for what seemed like ages before finding the little wings and attaching them to my shoulders - I couldn't reach round to my back and hoped that that would do instead. I climbed on to Ariel's back and we rose into the air almost immediately.

We flew over woods and fields, profusions of flowers everywhere until at last we came in sight of the coast. As we came closer we could see that there was a ship showing pirates' colours at anchor off a small rocky cove. "Is that where we are headed?" I asked Ariel. "It is indeed, but they are just casting off the anchor. I think I will have to fly with you on to the ship". So we flew out over the cliff edge. However are we going to land safely on the ship's deck, I wondered to myself. Again Ariel had picked up my thoughts. "Easy", he said. "Take out the little anchor that is in your bag and drop it down to the ship. Our mates on board will be able to hold it steady so that we can land safely". "Ahoy there, travellers flying in", he called. To my astonishment people started pouring on to the deck and straining their eyes to see us. I let drop the little anchor and watched the tiny golden thing disappear down below us towards the outstretched hands. Somebody caught hold of it and held it fast and we slowly descended towards the deck and landed safely. From the glances cast in our direction it was obvious some of the crew members thought there was some weird magic afoot and even more obvious that some of them were even more surprised to see a flying donkey.

And that my friends, is how Ariel found himself on board the Calabar Felonway with me...... I’m not at all sure how the donkey secretary will take to the news of one of her donkeys on a ship!

Women of the Bog

With their telepathic powers the women of the bog know that we are nearby and can see and hear us as we move around on the ship and discuss plans. It would not be wise to try to deceive these ancient people. Others who have ventured on to their land to steal the secrets of the cave have not fared well.

As we row towards land we need to give some thought to a ritualistic relinquishment ceremony that we will be expected to participate in. What have you to offer in return for the elixar of creativity?

Disco Diva a cork doll I made while setting in my room before I left for the pirates ship.
I wonder what adventures await me.
The fact that I saw a Sea Unicorn my first night aboard tells me there are many great things ahead.
so my journey begins.

I just arrived on the boat and looked over the bow and seen a beautiful sea unicorn being kissed by a fish I snapped a picture of it and turned it into a domino

The Bog Queen

The Cyclopes were almost like human beings but of a gigantic size and with only one eye in the middle of their heads. Essentially there were three of them: Brontes (thunderer), Steropes (Lightener), and Arges (Bright).

The Bog People are descendants of the Cyclopes and like the Gorgons have not had the best of PR. People fear these people because with their third eye they not only have heightened powers of intuition but they communicate using telepathy

le Enchanteur has been having lessons with the Bog Queen.

The land of the Bog People abounds in myth. It is the view of the Bog Queen that all publicity is good publicity. Who amongst our crew will be brave enough to venture out in the long boat to learn more about the ways of this ancient race who, no doubt know the whereabouts of the Cave of the Ancients.

One Eyed Red and the Galley

I can see why the last cook were, forgotten, like. If he cooked like he cleaned yer poor crew is half-starved fer a good meal in their bellies, and some grog flowin' in their veins. Never met a good sailor could do his best on hardtack and plain beans.

I'll soon have that set aright, I'm One-Eyed Red y'see, I been cooking on these fine ladies since afore you were messin in your swaddles. I can only stand t' be a landlubber fer so long and then me Mother the Sea gets to callin'. I get to where I can't hear anythin' other than Her voice, and I have to come back to Her.

I see my packages have your curiosity, you'lll see what's in 'em, in due time. Fer now, we bst be getting some good food for the lads comin down from the riggings and watch. Pass me the yellow box there, careful, don't tip it s'far!!

Better!! Now, there is a platter fulla bit's o' smoked pork, carrots, turnips, tatties, spinach, and love apples. Now, don't be rollin' them eyes at me. 'Tis a tale invented by busybodies, who want to be putting their nose where it don't belong. Amidships of someone elses' bizzness. Them apples no more make ye lusty than the salt or the pepper I add to the cooking.

Fill that kettle, yes the largest one about halfway full with clean water, and mind the dust!! We need to be tearin' this galley apart as we settle in belowdecks. All this filth is bad for the crew to be eatin' outta. They need ever't'ing t' be shipshape and shinin' so's they know the food is good.

Yep, I'm in the right o' it, an ye know that too; else ye wouldn' be scrapin' the grease offa the stove afore ye light it. Hmmmmnnnhhpppphhhhh!!! What fool would be letting their stove git like this?? It'd burn down the ship if it ever caught afire, it would!!

I know ye're just awaitin' to hear the tales the lads will tell, there'll be time for that soon enough, they want feedin' first. 'A good ship sails on her crew's bellies.' I always say. So lets make us some sweet breezes to the windward lay.

Yup, put all o' th'pork in the kettle, an put both that kettle, and the pot I brought to hold warmed grog on the stove. You've the right lids for the kettle there? Good!! Cover 'em tight, and light this beast of a stove. While ye're doin' that, I'll put the makin's of some hot spiced grog in this kettle.

Nay there. Ye'll not be learnin this on yer first voyage. I'm wanting more o' th' dried love apples, and some rice from the stowage. Be sure and bring some lemon as well, there oughtta be a barrell of th'dried peelin's.

Now then, while my assistant is busy...
*adding spices and a powder of dried vegetables to the delicately bubbling kettle of water and pork, then adding another measure of dried, ground spices and a generous measure of honey along with a sweet rum to the water*

Ye did that right quick. Yup!! You've a good eye there. That should be about right t'make the soup hearty and tasty. Ye be sure an' put all o' the love apples, meat and vegetables in there, yup, I want alla them carrots and turnips, the tatties too in the kettle.

Good!! Good!! Now leave that to be cooking. Make plenty o' coffee, the lads goin'above deck in the cold and dark o' th' moon will be glad o' it to be keeping 'em warm. Yes, put out plenty o' sugar, can't be havin' bitter coffee givin' 'em a gripin' o' th'belly now, can we?

Ye see th' kettle ower beyond the table?? Fill it about halfway with water and add that to the stove. Yes, the crew'll need a sweet too. Yup, just a rice custard wi' dry grapes and berries.

Ye're right, that's why I brought the goat, we'll have 'er milk for cooking, and we c'n make butter from the skimmins. Yep, the journey may be long enough fer some curds an' whey. Drain the curds of the whey an' the curds can be et like a soft cheese, good for bellies with a bad gripin'.

Now then, the rolls is risin' good, the soup and grog's a-cookin away, and the coffee will be perkin' soon. 'Tis time to clean, afore one o' the crew smells what's cooking and we are overrun wi' hungry folk.

Surrounded By Water - Wise Captain

At dinner in the creaking vessel at nightfall with

the ocean lapping at the sides, lanterns swaying,

Belenus and I were simultaneously aware that we were

surrounded by water, out on the open sea.

He was now down in the cabin,

sharing his views on the Bog people with the other

donkeys over a glass or two of red. Travellers at

the Captain's table were all talking about the Bog

people, and everyone was confused, seeing

different things. We waited for the Captain to

share some views, because being the most

experienced one in these parts, that story would

be most interesting. After all, like Belenus

said, you can only learn so much from books,

then the rest is experience...

copyright Monika Roleff 2006.

In the Pirates' Cove

The Calabar Felonway anchored in the Pirates' Cove.








Constructed in Terragen and Photoshop: Lori Gloyd (c) 2006

Ile de Mora

The water shimmered in the bright sun making the sea a vast mirror. I climbed the mast to a perch above the mail sail and scanned the endless ocean. Specks appeared off to my right. I unhooked my special glasses from my waistband hoping they would bring the speck closer.

Voila! The speck became an island with a central mound covered with trees and grass. The mound sloped to a wide white strip of sand. Could this be the Ile de Mora with the black X that I had seen on the map in the captain’s cabin? What did the X mean? Danger? Taboos? How could that be when it seemed deserted?

As I stared through my glasses, three figures emerged from the tangle of trees and bushes. I saw lean muscular bodies wrapped in loin cloths. Long dark hair floated around their heads. Their smiles enticed me. No eyepatches! No knives! No guns! I wrapped an arm around the mast and leaned toward them as if this would give me a better view. Were these the Bog Tempters we had been warned about?

Through my glasses, I looked into eyes that bewitched me. One held a lyre. Could I hear the beguiling music or was it just in my head? One held out his arms, his hands beckoning me to come. The other waved a scroll, unrolling it to reveal what looked like a map. Could this be the treasure map? I wanted to leap from the boat and swim to their shore.

I watched, more entranced, more attracted, more captivated. These handsome creatures couldn’t be the awful Bog Tempters. I stayed on my perch, unaware of time passing, unable to remove my glasses, lyrical music calling to me.

A bell clanged calling everyone to the evening meal. My hands stayed on the mast. I was unable to remove my glasses; I couldn’t break the spell. I didn’t want to break the spell. Darkness fell and the visions faded. I tore off my glasses. The music stopped. I sighed, seeing nothing in the black expanse of ocean. I descended the rope ladder rung by rung.

Would my shipmates believe my tale about a magical ile?

Marooned!

I had settled in my cabin after dinner with the captain. I was making some personal log entries, when I heard shouting and the pounding of feet on the deck overhead. I tossed my things aside and joined the excitement on deck.

"What's going on?" I asked a crewman.

"The captain's discovered a plot. There was mutiny afoot! She's takin' care of it though."

"What? Mutiny?"

"Aye. Someone was passing rumours that she was in league with the Bog People to sell you all. Ach, the Captain may be tough and she may blow hot and cold, but she is loyal to her crew and her passengers. And, if there is one thing the Captain hates more than anything, is someone trying to pull something over on her. She can sniff it out on the wind, it seems. See, here comes the culprit now...."

Being pulled forward through the jeering mob was none other than the cook!

Spitting curses at the Captain and crew, the cook was lowered into a skiff with the two crewman who had helped me on board-- Carlos and Estaban-- armed to the teeth and grinning with glee.

We watched them under the bright moonlight as they pulled away, the cook still screaming and cursing. A few hundred yards off port was a small spit of land. The skiff pulled ashore long enough to toss the cook onto the thin beach. The cook tried to rush back towards the craft but Carlos shoved her back with a gaff. "Stay there, you louse-ridden wench. You've done enough harm. And, your cookin' is enough to gag a maggot. Oh, yes, and the tide due to rise in about three hours. Hope you can swim."

As the skiff came back and Carlos and Estaban safely brought aboard, the Captain bellowed the order to depart, drowning out the distant cries of the cook. The crew gave a loud "Huzzah!" and we were on our way.

Lori Gloyd (c) June 7, 2006

Happy Birthday Fran

May you be forever young and dance with us on the Pirate Ship
Kick off your shoes and enjoy!

Heart Of The Gravamina

I'm sort of cheating here, I wrote this story last year and I've tweaked it a bit because the character Azi has appeared in the Land of Standing Stones and I thought some of you might be curious about where I got the idea for the Calabar.

In another "life" she was called the Gravamina and if you're wondering why you never feel alone on the Calabar Felonway, why it is she knows where all the 'dark places are' this may answer your questions.

amm



Gravamina: The part of a charge or an accusation that weighs most substantially against the accused.


Starving and near madness I am at the end of my life I’m sailing to the End of The World on a ship called Gravamina, and she’s perfect for this Journey because she knows Death.

She is herself as dead as the Black Waters I sail across, as dead as the Crew that still haunt her decks and tend to her needs. She is as Dead as the Corpses that lie in the Catacombs I stole her compass from a week ago.

“ Finding the Gravamina won’t be as hard for you as it is for others. You’ll need the Heart of The Gravamina to find the Caravanserai,” the Hanged Man’s Skull whispered to me from his shelf in my library. “ But tell me, why do you want to join the Caravanserai?”

I walked to the shelf and turned the sectioned skull towards me and looked into his empty eyes and said, “ Because I’m tired of you, I’m tired of this house and I’m very tired of pretending to be something I’m not.”

“ You trail Death behind as if it were a train on a woman’s gown Azi Dahaka. When the Caravanserai become wise to you…they’ll destroy you and then you’ll join me here on this shelf and we’ll have nothing for company except each other’s Sins.

I took the Hanged Man’s Skull from the shelf and wrapped it carefully in linen decorated with a language no living person has ever spoken. “ You wish,” I told it. Then with the Skull, and nothing else in my possession I went into the world to find the Heart of The Gravamina.

The Hanged Man’s Skull told me on our long journey to the Catacombs about the Heart of The Gravamina and why it is entombed and the rest of the Gravamina rots in a Grotto below the City.

Then Hanged Man started his story not with " once upon a time" He Started his story with "the Heart of The Gravamina doesn’t beat like a drum.

The Heart of the Gravamina screams."

“All Ships are alive, you know that Azi Dahaka and the Gravamina was alive too…maybe more so then any of her Sisters

Once long ago something dark and wicked boarded The Gravamina and killed her crew.

Now, it was assumed it was the Plague, but of course it wasn’t…it was a Demon and it drained the blood and life from every living thing on board the Gravamina and with no crew the Gravamina drifted and dreamed.

And then she went mad.

Like most Insane things the Gravamina was very good at pretending to be normal and after she was repaired and sold and even re-named she sailed and reacted to her world, as any Ship should

But then she started killing things.

She took the lives of her crew, the fish that swam around her as she sailed the Seas and when she was bored she made the food and water and wine go bad that had been stored below her decks.

Then one day a young sailor whose mother was a Witch and whose father was a Demon from the Mountains boarded the Gravamina and she tried to kill him to…for sport.

But he knew what to do and he tore her Compass from her chest and he took it to the Catacombs and he buried it.

He buried it alive.

So the Heart of the Gravamina Screams in anger and rage and the rest of her dreams and rots and then one day a woman named Azi Dahaka went down into those tombs and brought it back out.

Azi Dahaka put the Compass back into her chest and the Gravamina’ s Sails captured a long dead gust of wind and her Crew came from the darkness and now they are all sailing to a port where this is dancing and music and art and poetry.

And Souls.

Lots of them.

And Azi Dahaka is very, very hungry.”

A Sea of Moods

On the cerulean sea of thought, the many moods of the ocean come to life, its' majestic wonder is an enigma
When the sun shines on her surface it sometimes appears that diamonds are scattered as far as the eye can see
And if you try hard enough or dream big enough you might be able to grab one
On other days she is lazy, creating rolling hills of aquatic life and hypnotically brushing the shore of somewhere exotic
Beware though when she is angry
The largest ship she will toss about as a toy and break it in two
Many a soul have been lost to her vengeance and dark mindset, she is unforgiving in these times
So hold on for dear life and hope that her mood breaks and that maybe she will let you pass

Some Not So Good News

Whew, am I glad to finally be in my cabin. The two blokes that escorted me in where a strange lot, eye patches and all, two scalawags that kept whispering to each other and staring. I figured it must have been the likeness I created disguised as Tia Maria, the serving wench from Jolly Roger fame. At any rate, they are gone and I must get to the task at hand, and that’s snooping around the ship checking out any gossip I might need to take back to el Enchanteur.

I make my way around from stem to stern and come upon two squirrelly looking serving wenches, looking as though they were in the middle of some very interesting conversation. Of course they think I’m part of the crew ‘cause I am still dressed like Tia Maria, so they go about their gossiping as if I’m not there. But by now they have toned their words down to a whisper. So I can get the best of what they're sayin’, I move a little closer, take out my makeup puff from my bag and make like I’m powderin’ my nose.

“Aye, Matilda, you been hearin' ‘bout our mighty Captain Wilder? Seems she’s gettin’ at the ready to take some prisoners.”

“Prisoners? Now what kinda crazy gibberish is that? You’re not yappin’ about the group that’s dockin' at the Cove are ya?”

“That be it, wench, sounds like a gonna be a grand time tonight. Stuff like this always puts the old Cap in a good mood.”

“Stuff like what?” The bawdy old wench strained her neck to hear, veins poppin' out like cords of twine.

“Tradin’em off to the bog people, that’s what? There’s lots to barter with when you’re dealin’ with live meat.”

I was aghast at what I just heard and knew I had to get back to el Enchanteur and tell her what was in store for our group. She kept warning us, telling us to remember to carry our bags and be prepared. Now I know what she meant. Damn, there’s no time to waste, I gotta find her quick.

Not knowing where to look first I steady my steps and head off, urgent to get this message relayed. I peer ahead of me when I think I see a figure shrouded by the thick fog. I rub my eyes to get a better look. Yep, it's her, I say to myself and let out a sigh of relief.

“el Enchanteur, el Enchanteur, wait up, I gotta talk to you.” Oh drat, I don’t think she heard me, she’s not stopping. Huffing and puffing I break into a run.

“el Enchanteur, el Enchanteur wait up, I got somethin’ important to tell ya’………….”

gret ©

Map Closeup: The Bogs

The Calabar Felonway will have to fight off the Bog People from all directions!











Image: Lori Gloyd (c) June 5, 2006

Dinner with the Captain

A couple of young crewmen, swarthy, fit, and no doubt hand-selected by Captain Wilder for their ability to handle all manner of shipboard tasks, helped me on board and directed me to my private cabin. After stowing my gear, I found my way to the galley. The cook fixed me up with a steaming bowl of salmagundi and some hardtack and then directed me to the captain's dining room. Apprehension overtook me-- I had heard about Captain Ebony Wilder-- she was also known as the Wild Wench of the West Winds-- sometimes she blew soft and fair and other times with gale-force fury.

I tapped lightly on the door. "Don't just stand there like a little mouse! Come in! We don't stand on pretensions around here!"

I opened the door, carefully balancing my bowl of stew and hardtack, and entered.

"Ah, it's YOU! I've heard about you! Sit down."

"Yes, maam."

"Captain, if you will, I'm too young to be a maam."

"Yes, maam, er-- captain."

"How do you like the Salmagundi? The goat meat is a little gamey but the anchovies are fresh."

I swallowed hard. "Good-- real good-- I love gamey Salmagundi." I took another spoonful and forced a smile.

"So", said the Captain as she leaned back in her chair, booted feet propped on the table, "Matilda tells me that you've pinched a few of her tail feathers." I felt my stomach ball up in a knot.

"And, that horse of yours left her to pay quite a bit of a bar tab." As nervous as I felt, I still had trouble stiffling a chuckle--Albert!

"Well, Captain, if you would like me to pay... how much does he owe?"

"Four-hundred and fifty-seven Lemurian shekels."

I gulped. "Um, there may be a bit of a problem with that--I'm having a cash-flow problem....."

"Tosh! I won't hear anything of the sort." Captain Wilder leaned forward and winked her unpatched eye at me, "I love it when someone pulls one over on that old bird. She deserves it most of the time."

In the distance, a squawk sounded and a voice said "I heard that!"

"Shut-up, Seed-Spitter!" the Captain roared and then she turned back to me, "Now, I hear-tell that you are on your way to the Abbey and the Cave of the Ancestors."

"Yes, that's true. I'm told you are headed that way."

"Indeed. Did you also hear about the Bog People?"

"Ah, a little something. Can you tell me more?"

"Vile people. They live in the bogs along shores of this inlet and on an island in the midst of it. Very difficult to get around them. We're going to have to fight our way through. You up for a little excitement, darlin'?" The Captain chuckled again.

"I can hold my own," I said, lifting my head with more confidence than I actually felt.

"Good, because if they take you captive, you will regret it."

"Why? What do they do to captives?"

"Feed then alive to the Taraka?"

My eyes widened.

The Captain laughed again. "I love to tell people that to see the reaction. It's not true."

I relaxed a bit.

"The bog people strangle you first, then feed you to the Taraka. Ha!" The Captain nearly fell off her chair. When she had pulled herself together, she said, "Not to worry, dear. I've sailed this inlet a hundred times. They haven't gotten me yet..... crewmen-- that's another story, though!.....Darlin' have a glass of wine, you don't look so good."


Lori Gloyd (c) June 5, 2006.

My Trek through the Blogs

I’ve taken on a brave face and decided to trek along the marshes here at the bog. I rummage in my bag and pull out my glasses to render a clearer look at what’s ahead. I slip them on and all of a sudden things get much clearer, perhaps too clear.

It’s mighty eerie here and I’m not too anxious to continue on my own, but it’s almost as though I can’t help myself and besides el Enchanteur and the rest of the group are waiting for me. Something is pulling me deeper and deeper along. Who knows what I will encounter as I’ve been told that people have been found meeting untimely deaths and buried here as punishment or even human sacrifice. The thought of this sends chills up my spine and for nervousness sake I clutch my bag close to my chest, hike my glasses up farther on my nose and let out a deep sigh.

And even though it is mid-day, I wind around dimly-lit passageways that are amassed with a heavy mist hanging in the air as the acrid stench of dead and rotting swampland fills my nose. It’s the absence of its high acid content and oxygen free environment that gives this part of the world its power. The bog people are restless, I can feel it.

As I meander deeper and deeper my bag is now tightly grasped in my fist much like securing a weapon for battle. It offers minimal solace but I keep saying to myself that there’s nothing to worry about. I still won’t take anything for granted, though, remembering what el Enchanteur told us, it’s best to keep a swift foot and not linger too long.

As I continue on I could see how easy it would be to get lost; it’s almost as though I am going round in circles. But just as I was beginning to lose faith, I spot the rest of the group at the clearing. And as I make my way to join them it’s easy to see how the presence of spirits and gods makes it easy to understand how they can take control over life and death, and how this swampland could hold a strange power over the lives of ancient people. Do you think by our presence we’ve made the bog people angry? I have a feeling we are about to find out.

gret ©

My dearest Charlie,
My love and my life. I’m yearning for you to come home after these days and months away. I recall the happy hours we spent together before and after our marriage. I tire of your mother’s company, longing for a home of our own. You have a son whose face remembers you. I look on him and my love for you grows.

Now here in your mother’s house I haunt the window watching the ships come into the harbor. When I see the flag of the Rose Company, I race to the dock searching for your face and figure among those streaming down the gang plank.

Alas, you remain absent, and those on the ships cannot tell me of you or your adventures. Where have you gone, my love? Where have the sea lanes taken you? Has a storm cast you to the briny deep?

Today I send forth this message in a bottle praying the same currents that carried you away from me will carry it to you.

Wither art thou my love? Come back, come back. I wait holding you in my heart.

Your loving wife, Mary