MYSTERY OF THE DEAD MAN'S CHEST

FROM WHENCE NAMES COME FROM

2006-07-23T21:53:00.000-07:00

I wrote a story early July'06 of my Maternal G/Grandparents
migration by ship from London in 1887
Travelling with their 6 children on board the Port Adelaide
They arrived and lived in Port Melbourne Victoria Australia
until their deaths

I was asked by a friend at the weekend how we choose names
for new born babies especially girls
I said "They have lists of favourites,up to the date names now
on the internet"
"Don't they call them after the family anymore ?" asked Maree
"I don't really" know I said "Perhaps the names are not of todays likings"

It was then ,I remembered the Family History sheets I have ,not yet completed by my Sister In Law who has been documenting and researching it for some 15 years.
I wrote down the names
The 1st ones are the Daughters of Cornelius and Polly
They would be my G/G parents and my(Great Aunties I think)
There was
Georgina Emma
Susan Kate
Emily Mabel
Maria Sophia
Alice Harriet
Charlotte Eliza
and then their children...
Mary
Susannah
Harriet
Elizabeth
Valerie Barbara
Sarah
Helen Mary
Margaret Noelle
Mary Ann
Jean Elizabeth
Kathleen Sophia
Jessica Georgina

From this list I deduced that we sometimes take the name
of an Aunt Mother or Grandmother or female cousin
BUT it seems as each generation is born
They want to be individual or up with the times
OR perhaps a name that others will not jest about
Or depending on the country of Birth
they named their children after the Queens and Kings
of whence they came to make them seem less detached

ONE notices than in naming the males of the family
There did not seem to be such diversions
until many many years along the way
They stuck to the
John
Arthur
Albert
Edward
Charles
William
Frederick (Odd one)
Sammual (strange one)
Clifford(not English)?

So as I close I am none the wiser
as to how names eventuate
Me I was named (as my Mother told me)
Lois....because it could not be shortened
But.....She was not correct for I am called many names
like...Lo Lo...Loey...Shorty....Toots....Sis..Lovey....
****************
Just a little bit of Trivia from.....
Lois (Muse of the Sea) 24.7.06.

Xiao Zheng Yi Sao

2006-07-21T19:10:00.000-07:00

This sweet looking lady knows how to use that cutlass, and not just for gutting fish.

At home in the Galley of the Calabar Felonway, Xiao is busy preparing skilly and duff for a hungry crew.

Skilly and duff,
Skilly and duff,
There's never enough
skilly and duff.

Skilly and duff
makes us rough
Makes us tough
Never enough
skilly and duff.

How do you make skilly and duff?
Scrub and chop up potatoes with your cutlass. Fry in hot oil or butter. Clean, gut, bone your catch of the day. Fry in butter or oil. Season with salt, pepper, lemon to taste. Yummmm.

Ahoy there, do ye need a laufgh??

2006-07-15T21:20:00.000-07:00

What is the pirates' favourite film??

"Jason and the Aaaaarrrrr-gonauts!!!
Hehehehe!!!

Another Piratical Pun

2006-07-10T00:40:00.000-07:00

Here we be brave lads and lasses of the Felonway, today's bit o' humour to make the day lighter.

Did you hear about the fat pirate??

His crew dubbed him 'Jowly Roger'!!!

*snerk*
*snicker*
*giggle*

Just a quick chuckle

2006-07-05T07:32:00.000-07:00

Does anyone know what sort of socks Pirates wear?

Arrrrr-gyle!!!!
Groan, boos, and helpless snickers. Good morning loves!!!!

A SHORT STORY OF A SEA JOURNEY

2006-07-04T21:30:00.000-07:00

I have moved my computer to the kitchen area where I am now
warm and cosy.
Above my desk is a story of my Great Grand parents
A photo of an old farmhouse at the bottom of the Great Divinding Range in Whittlesea
in my state of Victoria.
This old home was owned by my Maternal Grandfather Sydney John Craske

The journey goes back to 1887 when Cornelius John Craske
and his wife Polly travelled from Necton in England for Australia
The ship sailed from London on 2nd April and was called the Port Adelaide ,the journey took many months
The Craskes travelled with their 6 children
Fares were in Guineas ..44 for top of the range saloon cabins
18 for two berth cabins ,sixteen for 4 berth, and 13 for open berths
These were adult fares...1/2 price for children under 12..

I do not know how they travelled,if they had money or not
I marvel at the risks involved in a journey like this
How to keep an eye on 6 children on a ship,"Where are they" would be the common words of the day
How to amuse them on such a long journey
How to overcome illness
I think to myself...how did they do
their washing,change nappies see the children ate their meals
and on and on.
And how they coped without family support
But.....they did and arrived safely in Port Melbourne
at Town Pier some months later in 1887
Settling in a little weatherboard house in Port Melbourne in a house they named
Necton after their home town

This small farm cottage I am looking at was
purchased by my Grandfather Sydney John Craske in 1929 and it was here
he took his parents Cornelius John and Polly for holidays.
Travelling from Port Melbourne in whatever was available perhaps an old truck of some sort ..I have no photos just this one of the house taken by the local
Historical Society.
And then Sydney took his his children,then his grandchildren
and then I took my children, only for a short while, till
the house was mowed down for road widening
I can still see it sitting on the top of the highest hill
with its gigantic pine tree shedding its cones and needles
which as children ,we painted for Christmas decorations

So you see from a short story of a journey by ship
There is a reminscence of a family and their journey
and this is where I belong...Part of the journey
I always say to friends that my maternal family is a
matriachal one ..as each women from that journey through to now
were strong ,vibrant and their genes are worth bottling.

Lois(Muse of the Sea) 5,7,06

Dragon Lady of the South China Sea

2006-06-27T09:15:00.000-07:00

“I was twenty years old when I set foot on land for the first time, granddaughter.”

My Grandmother’s words surprised me. But then, Grandmother had many secrets. I grew up on her stories, stories of excitement, and adventure. I knew I was to hear more of her life story today, as I joined her for tea.

We sat in my Grandmother’s garden as a slave brought us tea. Grandmother prepared it, steeping the fragrant leaves and pouring the delicate flavored brew into fine porcelain cups as if she had been a lady all her life, and not the Dragon Lady of the Sea, Zheng Yi Sao.

“It was a strange sensation, to have the ground still beneath my feet! I was used to the movements of the sea. I was so wobbly! I laugh now, but at the time I was quite embarrassed.”

“In time I learned it is normal to be unsteady after time at sea, just as you would be unsteady aboard the junk, living all your life on land. Still, I was sure everyone was looking at me and laughing.

“Everyone may have been looking at me. I am old now, but then I was considered uncommonly beautiful. And no one laughed, no one dared. I walked beside my husband, Zheng Yi. His legs did not wobble!

“The trip ashore was a wedding gift to me. A new experience, he said. So it was. So many people, crushed together, I scarce could breathe! So many new sounds and smells. I was excited, trying to see everything and yet remain dignified. I wanted to be worthy of Zheng Yi. Being his wife was a stroke of good fortune for me, but it was not the beginning of my life as a pirate.”

“I was born on the Pearl River at Guangzhou. So you might say I was born a sea bandit. We lived on a junk, my father, mother, father’s mother, sisters and two brothers. My mother and grandmother never went ashore, but lived all their life on the water. That is not uncommon. Everything one needs can be had on the water. Peddlers come by in boats, selling anything anyone could want, everything we needed. The trick was to have yuan enough to buy!

“Merchants gave credit, but not from generosity. You must then sell them your fish, and of course it is the merchant who sets the price! If you dare to sell to another and pay back the money you will suffer. Perhaps you will be beaten, have your ear cut off, or your junk ransacked, or worse. Life is hard on the water, granddaughter. It is very difficult to get enough to eat.

“My brothers were fed after our parents and grandmother. When they were satisfied, my sisters and I were allowed to share what was left. When food was scarce daughters did not eat at all. So early I learned to steal. I would sneak away to join a band of other children. We were clever little bandits. I stole enough to feed myself and sometimes bring something home. Then my mother did not beat me as hard for running off and neglecting my chores. If I brought back betel or rice wine, she did not beat me at all.

“During the times when the fish were not running, my father would disappear for week or month with others and go raiding. In this way he was able to provide enough for subsistence, but little more.

“I do not know how many sisters I had, for when daughters are old enough we are sold to the flower boats or as slaves. You, my granddaughter, are a treasure to our house. We are rich and can enjoy the luxury of daughters. But to poor fishermen a daughter is she-pen huo, goods on which one loses. She costs more to feed than will be recouped when she is sold. There are no dowries among the fisher folk. Not like we will provide for you.

“I think, perhaps, my father would not have sold me had there not been famine, for I was successful thieving. I became the leader of my little band. But the rice crops failed almost every year for five years. The money from my sale purchased enough rice to feed my parents and brothers for only a day or two. And I brought him a better price than most, for I was uncommonly pretty.

“I was nine when I was sold to a flower boat. I see shock in your face, granddaughter. I have come a long way that my grandchild has sensibilities I never knew. You do not yet know what transpires between men and women in private chambers. But on a fisherman’s junk there is no privacy. Nor is there childhood. By nine years old I did the same work as my parents. I minded my little brothers, cooked, mended nets and sails, fished, drank rice wine, chewed betel when I could get it. And knew what would be expected of me on the flower boat.

“On the flower boats you do not go hungry. The work is no harder than on the fishing junk, and can be pleasant at times. There are tricks to every trade. I mastered the tricks of mine. As my popularity grew, so did my price. I turned down every offer of marriage, until your grandfather.

“I remember the first time I saw him as vividly as it was yesterday. Our flower boat came along side his junk, an ocean going craft of teak. I can still see it, a dragon on the water, eyes painted on the prow, crimson sails glowing with the light from torches on the deck. We came aboard, awed. The ship could have belonged to the emperor it was so rich, so large.

“Your grandfather was seated on cushions above the rest of his crew. He wore brocade of imperial yellow, a symbol of the honor bestowed upon him by the Tay-son emperor in Vietnam. Your grandfather, Zheng Yi, served the Tay-son faithfully and ably. Had the rebellion succeeded our fortunes would have risen along side theirs. Who knows? It is possible the House of Zheng would be the ruling House in Beijing now, not the Manchus.

“It is ironic that I, the daughter of an illiterate, impoverished fisherman could trouble the Son of Heaven. We never saw each other’s faces, yet our destinies were entwined. In the end the Emperor may not have kowtowed to me in person, but he did in policy. He had no choice but to meet my demands… But that is a story for another day.

“The beginning of my journey to negotiating with the Emperor began that night on your grandfather’s junk. I knew I was in the presence of the great Zheng Yi. What a man! A man like I had never seen before. Not tall, but muscular. He wore an aura of power as imperial as his robes. His queue was oiled with fragrant oil. There were jeweled rings on his fingers and gold earrings in his ears. He wore boots of fine, red leather. His sword and pistol were functional rather than ornamental. Undisputedly a lord of men. Never had I wanted a man as I wanted your grandfather.

“I did not wait for him to choose, lest his favor go to another. I knew who he was, but he did not know me. I took a jug of expensive rice wine and a cup and went to him. I bowed to him, but my eyes did not leave his face. I was a bold one! Your grandfather was such a man who had respect for boldness and contempt for weakness. A demure maiden would have repulsed him. But I was a beautiful woman in my prime, confident of myself.

“I poured him wine, keeping my hand on his as he downed the cup. What I sold for a living I gave to your grandfather with a passion that surprised me. He asked for my name. I was born Shih Hsiang-ku, but I answered, ‘Zheng Yi Sao, wife of Zheng Yi.’
He laughed. I could always make him laugh.

“When the others returned to the flower boat, I remained behind.

“The priest on the ship consulted the joss to for an auspicious day for us to marry. Of course it was that day! It was always auspicious for what Zheng Yi wanted!

“Learn this well, Granddaughter! It is one thing to attract a man, it is quite another to keep his interest. That requires more than skill in lovemaking. I asked questions. I learned from him. He taught me to fight and shoot. By watching him I learned how to lead. In private I spoke to him of my observations. He listened to me. Such is a trait of a good leader, to listen and consider the thoughts of subordinates. Doing so cements their loyalty. And sometimes the advice is good.

“It was not long before he included me in the discussions with his captains. I earned their respect as well. Thus I became a pirate. In time I lead the Red Flag Fleet with him, and after his death, the entire confederacy. We controlled the entire South China seacoast, defeated the Imperial navy, even ransomed barbarian English.”

Grandmother stopped speaking. She looked away toward the westering sun. Then she looked again at me.

“If it was my beauty that brought me to power, it was also my beauty that brought my demise. Tsung-ping Pao, leader of the White Flag Fleet, wanted me. When I chose Chang Pao over him, I lost his loyalty. His return to allegiance broke the bonds of our confederacy.

“We cannot control the events of fortune, but we can use them to our advantage. The terms of Tsung-ping Pao’s return to allegiance were generous, setting a precedent. The Emperor had no force to stop us and our attacks on Western vessels caused him to lose face with the rest of the world. He needed our return to allegiance, and in the end paid the price we demanded.

“So you are the daughter of a wealthy house and great one, the house of Zheng. But, pay attention, Granddaughter, You cannot control the circumstances of fortune, but you can take advantage of them. You have been born into muchness, but it can turn to nothing if you are unwise. Be wise, Granddaughter.”

Grandmother rose gracefully and went into her quarters. I stayed in the garden, pondering over her story, until the moon set, and I, too, went inside to sleep.

A New Adventure

2006-06-20T20:19:00.000-07:00

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

2006-06-20T19:12:00.000-07:00

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

2006-06-20T03:54:00.000-07:00

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...

The Conversation

2006-06-19T20:38:00.000-07:00

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

2006-06-19T09:22:00.000-07:00

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

2006-06-19T08:23:00.000-07:00

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

2006-06-17T19:08:00.000-07:00

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

It Was a Great Day-A Grand Old Lady Restored

2006-06-17T02:52:00.000-07:00

It was on Wednesday of this week,
14th June 2006 was indeed a great day
I rugged up well ,hat ,coat,scarf,gloves,track pants 2 pairs of socks,warm boots
I needed all of this clothing
As I stood at the entrance to the Pier
It had been closed for nigh on 15 years
a great metal fence stopped people from walking
along its great length.

The Pier is called Princes
An English name after the country
where many of the settlers came from
She is the sister pier to Station Pier
that was accessed by the first steam railway.
The very first in all of Australia
some 160 years ago , or more.

Ships came from all around the world
They tied up at each of the piers to unload their cargo
Cargo of freight and people ,new settlers
who had come to start a new life
Some were convicts sent here as punishment
from Britain
Perhaps stealing food to feed their families
Not too many murderers among them I think

I stood with others as the government minister
announced that the grand old lady was to be restored
Another people based campaign that had taken many years
Many years of lobbying different groups of politicians.
Some felt their dreams had not been met
Others felt that they had to compromise

She would never again serve the shipping community
No traffic would grace her length
No traffic except the feet of walkers and fisherfolk
She was there for all to enjoy in a passive sense
Her two story Gatehouse will be restored
The cost is $41 million dollars

We were a little shocked, but agreed it was the time lost in deciding to restore her that had escalated the restoration costs
I looked down into the water as I stood there
And remembered as a child that I used to jump from the end of the gatehouse into the water with my friends
No fear in this 10 year old
No parents telling us to be careful
When you live by the sea all your life
These warnings were never issued to us kids

In the water I saw my chilhood
Not as clear was todays briney as it was back
in 1946...
Oil lapped the shore,plastic bags hung on the pylons
Mussells and green algie clung to the rocks.

But I did not morn ,I was glad so glad
That the past has meaning ,the past does need to be remembered
The past is important so others can enquire
about the history of migration to this a new country
Where many nations have settled
Most of them came by ship ,many miliions in fact
They helped shape its future
And today we see the benefits of their arrival and settlement
I live in my town of Port Melbourne
My neighbours and their descendants are part
of my history and the history of my town,for they were those who came by ship from lands unknown to me,they were among the brave.

The sea in the story of the "Mystery of the Dead Man's Chest"

reminded me of this special day on the 14th June
in the 2006.

Lois (Muse of the Sea) 17.6.06

Heeding Neptune's Call

2006-06-16T09:41:00.000-07:00

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

2006-06-16T01:44:00.000-07:00

A View from Neptune's Realm

2006-06-15T09:57:00.000-07:00

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

Neptune Deep

2006-06-15T02:34:00.000-07:00

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...

The sailor's dance

2006-06-14T17:18:00.000-07:00

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

2006-06-14T04:16:00.000-07:00

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

One-Eyed Red

2006-06-13T23:18:00.000-07:00

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'!!

Cuore di Luna's Important Dream

2006-06-12T19:03:00.000-07:00

**There's a bit of a back story that explains why I went back to Riversleigh Manor after I crossed over the threshold of the Enchanted Door. If you would like to read that, please visit here.**

I decided after the spy was well and thoroughly dealt with that I should spend some time exploring this great big Manor House. I thought that it would be such a wonderful adventure on it's own. And, I think it could have been, except that it was so strangely quiet. Most of the residents had followed L'Enchanteur on their journey to find the Cave of the Ancients. One of the kind ravens in the gardens was able to tell me that Anita Marie had commandeered a ship called the Calabar Felonway, in order that the travellers could find a map showing the way to the Cave of the Ancients. I had thought to stay here in the quiet house, perhaps meditate and turn more inwards, but instead, I found myself restless, eager for more adventures. Alas, there wasn't much I could do at the time...the kind raven didn't know where the Calabar was when her cousin had told her the story. Besides, it had been more than a week since the raven had told me about L'Enchanteur...even if I did know where they were, they would have been long gone by now.

I tried to do some writing and painting in my luscious room as well, but the muse refused to be coaxed. All of this quiet was beginning to wear on my nerves, and I found myself becoming more and more sullen and cranky as the hours went on. I tried to read a book, and found myself reading the same page over and over again, dreaming of adventure with a crew of pirates. I threw the book down in disgust, and cried "Arg! What fun is it to stay here, with this new found openness, if everyone is GONE?!?" I found right then that I was suddenly very tired. "Yawn...good!" I growled, "At least in sleep the hours go by quickly." I stomped up to my room, crawled into my luxurious bed and fell asleep the moment my head hit the pillow.

And I dreamed instantly, a dream like I have never had before. I saw flashes of scenes at first, with some of the travelers that I know, Porthosina sewing a flag, all reds with a flower and the initials CF, I saw L'enchanteur conversing with what looked like a pretty wild woman; she seemed to be the captain of the ship; I saw Daffy crafting some dolls in a ship's cabin, and some cook getting rousted from the ship....it didn't make sense at first, but then I realized that I was seeing the past, things that had happened on board the Calabar Felonway.

Then the images began to slip away, and I was seeing a face, a face that was out of focus and very far away. As I struggled to focus on the face, it began to come closer, get larger and come into focus more. Finally, when I could see the face completely, I screamed in terror....this face had three eyes, two normal looking eyes, and then a third eye in the middle of her forehead, and all three were looking into my very soul. I tried to wake myself up, struggled to move in this dream, to run, get away from those probing eyes, but it was useless...I was held in their gaze, and could barely breathe beneath their piercing weight, let alone move. I felt as if a thousand needles were boring into me all at once, and every single thought, action, deed, sin, omission, or memory was being laid before me and these eyes, all for the eyes to examine. Just when I thought that I couldn't take it anymore, when I thought that I was actually going to die from the weight of that gaze, it stopped, just as suddenly as it had began.

The face grew smaller in the dark, and I could see the body that it was attached to. She was very tall, a young woman, with the creamiest, darkest skin I had ever laid eyes on. Her face was simply breathtaking, an exotic beauty, with her long black curly hair pulled up under and through a lemon yellow scarf. She wore a long, flowing tunic made of silk, the color of the orange in a sunrise, with soft, billowing silk pants underneath. Her features softened from the harshness of that piercing gaze, and she smiled gently at me, as if she not only recognized my fear, but that she had felt it.

I suddenly sighed with relief, as I realized that up until then, I had held my breath in. I felt oddly comforted by her smile, not only that, completely comfortable in her presense. I knew that she not only knew everything about me, but that she had felt every single thing I had ever felt, and that she felt warmth towards me. I felt that her and I had just become instant friends, and I felt sorry that she had to feel my pains, as well as her own.

"It must be tiring work to not only be telepathic, but to be empathic as well, feel all the feeling of others?" I asked quietly.

She laughed joyously at that. "Honey, you aren't kidding! But you understand some of that, you know what it's like to take on the feeling of others, too. And now you can hear telepathically too, with that opened up heart you got there. You don't have to tell me, I know that hurt to come off, that cage on your heart. I felt that pain from when you did it."

I thought to her, "Yup, sure did, and it still hurts, actually. I feel naked without that cage, actually...very vulnerable."

She smiled mischeviously back, "Yes, well, that's because you are. Look down."

I gasped as I looked down and saw that I was completely buck-naked, and then I chuckled a bit at how obvious the symbol was....knowing naked means vulnerability in dreams. I had read my Freud in college. I looked at her with a question in my eyes.

She laughed, and put her hands up, "Oh no child, that's your subconscious doing that to you...I had no part in that.

I laughed with her, a long, loud belly laugh. I was feeling pretty vulnerable and naked before her, this beautiful woman who knew every single thing about me. But even though I felt soft and open before her, I realized that I wasn't uncomfortable or frightened, wanting to find anything to cover me. I was surprised by how free I felt in front of her.

"This is a dream you know," she thought warmly to me. "the subconscious and all just doing it's thing And I already know your question, so let me just answer it. It's just easier to communicate with you in your dreams than try to reach you directly when you're awake. You're more open in your dreams. In fact, last time I tried to communicate with you while you were awake, I couldn't get through, since you were obsessing about how bored you were, and all. My Queen couldn't even get through to you. Lots of thoughts going on in that busy little head of yours," she laughed.

I blushed as she laughed. It's true, I do have the monkey mind, and it was a little unsettling to know that she had seen it all. I decided to change the subject.

"Since I'm not quite as telepathic as you, could you please tell me your name, and why you are visiting me in my sleep?" I asked a bit defensively.

"I'm Cynwise, child, and I came here because we could hear your laments half-way around Lemuria." She spoke this aloud, her voice gentle and full of kindness.

"Uh, oh, sorry about that. Um, who's we?"

"The Tanitians, or otherwise called The Bog People. Ugh, I know, it's a horrible name, but it tends to keep onlookers away. They imagine us as being all kinds of ugly and great lovers of human flesh. None of it true, but it works for us. We are descendants of the Amazons and the Cyclops, each girl born with the magical gifts of perfect insight into the hearts and souls of all creatures of Lemuria."

"That's quite a gift." I said aloud, with some timidity in my voice. She was beautiful and friendly and kind, yet I was still feeling a little unbalanced by that third eye.

Cynwise face became gentle and soft. "You know, Cuore di Luna, I don't judge you. I may tease you a bit, but there is no malice in my heart for you. I actually have a heart full of love for you, as I have seen your pain and your triumphs, and I can not help but adore you, for how hard you've tried to understand what this thing called Life is about. We are a lot alike, and I feel like I just found my baby sister." There was a tear in her eye as she said this.

I, too, began to well up, at the sincerity in her voice, and how gentle she was with her knowledge of me. I couldn't help myself, I walked up to her and gave her a warm hug. The top of my head was aligned with the bend in her elbow.

"So, this gift you all have, is it a burden on you sometimes, to know so much about everything?" I asked in my head.

Cynwise smiled at me sadly, "It is a burden, child, sometimes so heavy that it becomes impossible to carry anymore. Imagine being able to see into the heart and souls of all creatures. Every living thing, plants, animals, people...even the stones tell stories. Imagine being able to feel with perfect precision the bloodlust of the boar, or the wickedness of that spy you ran across. See, we can't just turn it off...it's who we are. When we gaze with intention at anything, that creature cannot help but reveal it's soul to us. That heavy feeling, where you felt pinned down, like a butterfly on a card? We don't mean to do that, mean for it to hurt, it just happens that way, and the process doesn't stop until the entire soul, thoughts and memories of the creature are laid bare. It's not an experience that any creature can forget."

"For a long time," she continued, "our ancestors couldn't control this power, and found that they were reading the thoughts of anything that they touched. Many of us were persecuted and hunted down. Having all of your secrets suddenly revealed to a perfect stranger can cause humans to become dangerous, dangerous enough to want to kill the secret-keepers. That's what they used to call us, you know, the Geheimnis Guardas, the keepers of the secrets."

"Is that why your tribe stays hidden?" I asked quietly, already knowing the answer.

"You got it, my little chickadee. In the old days, when we spent more time in the openness of Lemuria, besides becoming hunted by humans that would see us dead, we faced another terror...insanity. Some of us would go completely stark-raving mad with the thoughts of other creatures...they would drown themselves in the sea, just to get away from it. That's the scream of the banshee you've heard tales about...it's one of our own women going mad from the knowing of it all, knowing too much. That's when our Queen decided that it was better to seclude the tribe, and what better place than a bog? No one likes bogs, no one travels in them, they can be dreadfully dangerous if you don't know they lay of the land. We have made ourselves a rather lovely home there. We just wanted to have some peace with ourselves, not be hunted or scorned, and be able to live out our lives, become crones, watch our grandbabies grow, without the pain of watching another one of our sisters go mad or be slaughtered."

I sat quietly for a moment, feeling the utter sadness of so many lives lost, so many women murdered, all because of fear. I realized in that moment that some of those feelings weren't mine, they were Cynwise's. I was feeling some of her feelings.

Before I could utter a word, Cynwise began speaking again.

"You want to know why am I here, and why did I just expose myself to you pain and guilt and frustrations, considering what the consequences might be; madness? Well, let's see, how can I say this without completely freaking you out? Hmmm...nope, there's no way, so I'll just tell you. See, Cuore, you're actually one of us, child. You've got a great-grandmama from way back when, back on your dad's side, I think, that was a Tanitian, a Geheimnis Guardas. That's why we could hear you so well, half-way across Lemuria. Haven't you ever wondered why you were so empathic, why you could feel the pain of others so well? Why you had to build up that cage around your heart in the first place? That's why, sweets...it's in your blood."

I had to sit down for that one. I noticed I was now covered in layers upon layers of clothes, blues and indigos, flowing over my feet, and a hood covering my face. It was a little overwhelming, at first, to know that one of my ancestors possessed such a great gift, and could have gone completely mad because of it. It certainly explained a lot, though.

"Yes it does, child. See, nowadays, we Tanitians have learned how to block out the thoughts of others, except for those who are Tanitians. We are wide open to each other. We found that we needed to stay connected that way to each other, not only for an outlet for our power, but because there is a great comfort in knowing each other through and through. It provides us a measure of ease and understanding rarely seen in tribes of humans. However, when it comes to reading other forms of life, we only have a select few; powerful women that are strong enough to be able to handle the pains and anguishes of knowing and experiencing the feelings and thoughts of others. Those that will still know who they are after knowing another's heart and soul like that. It takes years of preparation, and we have special ceremonies and inductions to go through before we are allowed to take on any humans. Some of us never make it past flowers, some frogs, others can get to mammals, yet go no further. Training in this way has enabled us to stop the insanity that ran rampant in our sisters for so many generations. Right now we only have 5 of us that can read a human, and come back out ok from it. Our Queen is one, and I am another."

"See child, you're a bit of a special case. All of the Tanitians could hear you, after you got that cage off of your heart, because you are one of us. It was all very bizarre, and no one knew quite what to do, because while we can hear you, because of the Tanitian in you, you haven't been hearing us, because of the human in you. It's a good thing for us that you just feel the normal human stuff, although you do tend to get a bit whiny, child." She laughed as she said this last part.

"Oh great, so now there's a whole tribe out there freaking out because they can hear the human's thoughts. Anyone on the brink of insanity yet? Heard any Banshee calls lately? Cynwise, you're really good with the guilt trips, you know that?" I pouted as I sat there on the floor. I noticed at this point that I was wearing a red hunting outfit that seemed to glow with angry flames. I felt like a toddler, about ready to throw a temper tantrum.

"Oh now hush child. No guilt needed, so stop your flaming anger. You see, Tanitians aren't so different from humans, we have the same thoughts and feelings, in general. It was bizarre because we all know each other so well, and suddenly we began to hear a sister of ours, someone we had never heard before. So, pick up that head of yours, and hold it high, because you are a part of the Bog People, a Tanitian, a Geheimnis Guardas, child! Well, at least part of you is, and that part is good and strong in you."

With those words, I felt that pride, that strength of a thousand women keeping the secrets of the entire world. Tears came to my eyes as I swelled with pride and comfort, knowing this woman loved me right then and there, knew everything about me, and still loved and honored me.

"Can I ask you another question?" I asked, this time with no timidity, and already knowing she would know the question.

"Why do I keep calling you child when I look like I'm about 18?" she chuckled. "Oh darling, I'm actually 60. Partly it's genetic, and the other part is living in a humid place, in a bog near the sea. Does wonders for the skin."

"Oh, and I almost forgot. I have another mission, other than telling you to pipe down." I grimaced at this. "No, no, I'm just playing with you. You really need to lighten up. The Calabar Felonway has anchored in our bay, so if you would like to join your travel-mates, which I already know you do, I can show you where they are."

"Really?" I squealed. "Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you. I thought that I was going to go crazy in the big ole Manor House. Oh, wait, you already knew that. This is going to take some getting used to, the thought that there's a whole tribe of woman that can hear me."

"Well, get used to it. Oh, and don't worry, no one is judging your thoughts. If you live long enough, knowing the thought and feelings of your sisters and brothers, you begin to realize that there just isn't much difference between any of us. We're just all trying to figure out this life of ours, and really, all judgements go out the window. You'll see what I mean."

"What do mean I'll see what you mean?" I asked, as Cynwise began to fade, shimmering before me, as an old map presented itself in front of me.

"Oop, REM sleep almost over, gotta show you the map..." Cynwise said as she was fading.

"What do you mean, Cynwise?!?" I cried after her, as the map loomed larger in my vision. I could see the Bog People's area clearly marked on the map, and I could see where it was in relation to Riversleigh Manor. It was a well-drawn map, and I knew exactly how to get there.

Just then, I woke up with a start. I shook my head, actually, trying to shake that feeling from the dream, that feeling that a thousand eyes were watching me.

I went to the bathroom next to my room to get a drink of water, splash my face, think about my dream. Was that "just a dream"? Is all of this true? I splashed my face with water, as I was feeling feverish, hot. As I was drying off my face, I looked in the mirror, and I noticed that small dent again, right on my forehead, between my eyes. It was almost imperceptable, but in this light, I could see it plain as day. My birthmark, mama had said. Honestly, I had thought that someone dropped me as a baby, and left an indentation in my soft skull. Now it was tingling a little, and I knew that it wasn't just my birthmark, it was my birthright.

I laughed out loud then. "Cynwise", I thought, "alright, I'm coming." I went off to pack my bag, and find my red-winged shoes.

On Watch Aboard the Calabar

2006-06-11T15:18:00.000-07:00

The Distorted Mirror

2006-06-11T10:39:00.000-07:00

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

2006-06-10T19:20:00.000-07:00

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...

2006-06-10T18:17:00.000-07:00

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

2006-06-10T13:31:00.000-07:00

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

2006-06-10T13:11:00.000-07:00

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

2006-06-10T06:36:00.000-07:00

"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.

To Appease the Queen - The Most Precious Possessions

2006-06-10T05:45:00.000-07:00

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

2006-06-10T04:22:00.000-07:00

some of the crew of the Calabar heading for shore

Flying Colors

2006-06-09T13:02:00.000-07:00

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

2006-06-09T11:37:00.000-07:00

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

2006-06-09T06:24:00.000-07:00

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?

2006-06-08T08:12:00.000-07:00

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.

2006-06-08T08:06:00.000-07:00

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

2006-06-08T05:55:00.000-07:00

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

2006-06-08T03:53:00.000-07:00

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

2006-06-08T00:34:00.000-07:00

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...

In the Pirates' Cove

2006-06-07T20:36:00.000-07:00

The Calabar Felonway anchored in the Pirates' Cove.

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

Ile de Mora

2006-06-07T07:47:00.000-07:00

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!

2006-06-07T06:52:00.000-07:00

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

2006-06-07T05:06:00.000-07:00

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

Heart Of The Gravamina

2006-06-06T19:11:00.000-07:00

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.”

Pirate Treasure

2006-06-06T16:54:00.000-07:00

PIRATE TREASURE

Today, as I walked in the cold winter morning I got to thinking about pirate treasure, and treasure in general. I imagine everyone thinks of gold, silver and precious stones when imagining pirate treasure, but what does one think of as private treasure?

I decided that my photos are my treasure. I started taking photographs with a box camera over fifty years ago, and was taught by my father to develop and print the resulting film. Over the years I have had many different cameras, the latest being a digital marvel, and from being unable to process my own colour negative film, I am back to being able to produce pictures again with my computer and printer.

I treasure the pictures of my children when babies and youngsters, pictures showing them growing up, showing the early signs of the adults that they have since become. I treasure the photos of dear departed friends, whose voices I can conjure up by just looking at their faces in my pictures. I treasure the memories of happy times with family and friends, the picnics, the visits and the outings, all captured by my ever-to-hand camera. I can re-visit my own childhood and remember what interested me at the time, and what I deemed worthy to be captured on film. The new bike, the long since departed pets and the old school friends. I can relive trips overseas and treasure the memory of seeing the Lady and the Unicorn and the Bayeau tapestries, and the faces of the children in a tiny rural Kenyan village, all brought to life again in my photos.

So, as long as I can have my camera on board, I will leave the Pirate treasure to others, I have treasure enough of my own.

Sue, The Naturalist.

A Sea of Moods

2006-06-06T12:21:00.000-07:00

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

2006-06-06T09:27:00.000-07:00

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

2006-06-05T20:36:00.000-07:00

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

2006-06-05T16:52:00.000-07:00

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

2006-06-05T14:13:00.000-07:00

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 ©

2006-06-05T06:56:00.000-07:00

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

Going Aboard The Calabar

2006-06-05T05:14:00.000-07:00

Belenus and I just read the note from Enchanteur with

dread. Trawling across the sand with our bags, we

paid our respects to Captain Wilder and her crew. We were

uneasy. The other travellers were boarding, and we caught

up on our adventures. Then, Belenus retired to a corner

of the cabin to read about "The Mountains of Lemuria", and some

people the Enchanteur had warned us about...

Enchanteur's Glasses Reveal

2006-06-05T04:35:00.000-07:00

Travellers will recall that le Enchanteur gave each person a special pair of glasses, along with some other precious items. I have been wearing her glasses and I am more than a little concerned about whatI can see on the horizon. It would appear that the ship is sailing quite close to the island of the Bog People and history suggests that this may or may not be a good thing. During voyage through the Mountain Tops of Lemuria my Great Grandfather encountered many dangers and his life was threatened at Aoba when fellow crew members were speared with poison spears.

Everyone should be watchful as we sail through the waters of the Bog People.

The Gorgon Stare

2006-06-04T14:04:00.000-07:00

I made this protective shield to use against crabby Gorgon and wiley pirates. It's called the Gargon Stare to ward off its evil eye. No turning to stone for me.

image gretchen L. (c)

Letter de Marque

2006-06-04T11:57:00.000-07:00

A letter de marque is an “official warrant or commission from a national government authorizing the designated agent to search, seize or destroy specified assets or personnel belongings to a party which had committed some offense under the laws of the issuing nation, and was usually used to authorize private parties to raid and capture merchant shipping of an enemy nation.”

Tales be told that many an instance such as this would provoke an out-and-out blunder bust, causing loss of life to many a participant on both sides of the law. And sometimes pirateers would claim they were set up or rousted about and were innocent of the charges set against them. Reason to seek raison d’etre, aye matey? Depends if you could prove your point, one would suppose.

gret ©

Bon Voyage

2006-06-04T09:54:00.000-07:00

I bid Albert goodbye at the landing in the Pirate's Cove. As much as I wanted him to come with me, he assured me that a horse at sea was not a good situation for all parties concerned. Also, he seemed to suggest that there had been a parting of the ways between he and Matilda and it was best that he not be on board-- something about owing money-- I didn't pry further. Albert promised that he would find a way to the Abbey and would meet me there.

I kissed him on the forehead and scratched him behind the ears, then I boarded my small skiff and headed out towards the Calabar Felonway, anchored in the cove.

As I rowed onward, I noticed something glimmering in the morning sun light. It was cobalt blue, bobbing in the water, and as I got closer, I could see it was a wine bottle. I grabbed the gaff in the bottom of the skiff and reached for the bottle. When I finally got hold of it, I held it up to the light. Inside was a small scroll.

I pulled out the cork and removed the scroll. It was parchment, old and stained, and the writing was somewhat hard to read. In dark brown script, which looked like dried blood, were the scrawled words: "Beware of the Bog People......"

Before I could finish reading, a voice from the Calabar hailed me: "Avast ye scurvey wench, what's takin' ye so long." I shoved the scroll into my knap sack and quickly rowed on.

Image and text: Lori Gloyd (c) June 4, 2006

Story in a Bottle

2006-06-03T16:55:00.000-07:00

You have all heard of messages in a bottle. Well now it is your chance to write a story to go in a bottle that le Enchanteur can keep in her cabin on board the Calabar.

After yesterday's tantrum Enchanteur seems much more tranquil and her cabin appears idyllic but it would be well to be cautioned that she is a shape shifter and can change with the breezes that puff up the Calabar's sails.

Keep Enchanteur happy by doing a bit of the Arabian Nights style story telling and create some stories to go in bottles. Of course it would be fun to have decorated bottles to match the stories.

Pirate Potentate

2006-06-03T12:16:00.000-07:00

I’m fixin’ to head on over to the Cove later today and I thought before I go I’d prepare myself for what I may encounter. I had thought I would row out in preparation for claiming a cabin in the morrow. But hearing that el Enchanteur and Gorgon are overly fractious makes me wonder what the heck is going on. And I best make sure I disguise myself 'cause who knows what’s got them both in a dither?

I’ve put a lot of thought to this and I just wonder if they’ve met up with some unruly characters along the way? I hear tell that perhaps Sir Henry Morgan, the Governor of Jamaica and wealthy privateer to King George III may be wandering around putting the mojo on friendly folk.

Or perhaps it might be Long John Silver, the old rogue pirate. Tales tell that he’d been marooned for somewhere around twenty-five years before being rescued. Now that would make anyone ornery.

Or maybe it’s Scarlet Red that’s roamin’ around causing havoc. You remember him, the swashbuckling dandy of a pirate and Capt. Kidd’s right hand man. He’s a fearless fighter who wears blood red shirts for combat. And speaking of Capt. Kidd, he’s another rich and powerful pirate warlord. One never knows if something’s got his knickers in knot.

Then there is Blind Pew, the sinister old smuggler who lost his sight in a gunpowder blast. That would make you want to take it out on strangers too, don’t ya think? He’s since taken in by Widow, working as a ‘handyman’ and message deliverer.

Then there’s Anne Bonny, colorful pirate of the feminine persuasion. Who knows where she might show up. If you remember, she’s the daughter of Blackbeard who captains her own ship. Talk about an independent woman.

It could be any of these things or none at all. I will say this though: reputable sources have intimated that certain parts of the continent are in a state of turmoil. Allegiances are absolved, and fragile truces between rival pirate warlords are on the verge of collapse. I’m told huge consequences which will be felt far and wide are causing the Pirate Council Alliance to hang in the balance. And to make matters worse, existing loyalties are strained and new rivalries may emerge.

Let’s just hope that el Enchanteur and Gorgon are safe and when we finally all meet up on Sunday that things are in good order. Let’s especially hope that they are both in a good mood. And as far as my disguise, I think I'll go as Tia Maria, you know her, she's the serving wench at the Jolly Roger Inn. Who can resist that, aye matey?

gret ©

Don't go down to the Cove today.

2006-06-03T00:50:00.000-07:00

You better not go down to the cove today. You better go in disguise!

It is Saturday and le Enchanteur and the Gorgon are as fractious as can be. Enchanteur is in such a state that she has steam coming out of her ears and the Gorgon is not happy either.

They have reputations to maintain. Images to hold!

Hopefully, those planning to travel by ship will be able to slip down to the cove tomorrow, row out and claim a cabin while these two sleep off their Saturday fractiousness. Hopefully they will be more amiable by the time we all sit down for a Sunday dinner together.

And whose head is that dangling out there. Faucon? I hope you and Cher-lynn made a quick getaway up over the mountain pass.

A Colouring Story

2006-05-28T06:12:00.000-07:00

Use this fun colouring in to kickstart a bold story about some ruthless pirates.

Captain! My Captain

2006-05-25T04:03:00.000-07:00

Captain! My Captain!

Landing at House of Serpents Cove

2006-05-23T19:10:00.000-07:00

le Enchanteur has been delayed as she plays at being a bold bucanneer but is now preparing to land at the cove that is quite close to the House of the Serpents. She and her crew are making their way to the house as we speak.

Setting Sail

2006-05-21T15:40:00.000-07:00

The first night at sea is possibly one of the worst nights of my life. The wind makes the rigging shriek as if the ship has been possesed by demons. The decks rise and fall in the raging storm as I lie in my hammock, incapacitated by seasickness. I expect to be mocked by the pirates but they are surprisingly sympathetic.
"Everyone is seasick m'dear when they first set sail," one of the women tells me, as I retch again, painfully, because by now my stomach is empty."We don;t laugh at anyone - we have all had to go through this."

I am surprised by her compassion. I had thought all pirates to be cruel but so far I have encountered kindness.
"You get what you deserve," she says suddenly.
"Pardon me?"
"You heard."
"But I didn;t say anything."
"Who says you actually have to talk to say anything?"

That makes me stop for a moment.
"Yes, thats right, we can read minds."
"........"
"Yes, anything you can think I can think better....." and she smiles.
"Oh no," I think.
"Oh YES!" she says. "You are quite right - this is going to be interesting."

She climbs out of the cabin door - she needs to climb because by now the storm is so bad the ship lies almost horizontal upon the water. Before she leaves she turns back to me.
"No, we aren;t all going to die. Yes, its a bad storm, but the ship can take it."

I lie in the dark, groaning and wishing for oblivion and, eventually, I fall asleep. When I awake the following morning we are sailing on a turquoise coloured sea under a blue sky. The sun is high and I guess it must be almost noon.
"Correct," shrieks a passing gull.
"Oh no," I groan.
"Oh yes, no privacy at all my dear," shouts a passing flying fish.

I try to gather my thoughts, but hear their echoes all around me, from the pirates, the insects, the birds, dolphins, fish......whatever I think seems to elicit an immediate response.
"You always thought noone listened to you," I think. "Now...."
"We can all hear you," says one of the pirates. He is tall and handsome.
"Thank you," he says. "Nice that you think that."

I wondered why I can't read his thoughts.
"You haven;t learnt to listen yet," he answers. "By the time we have been at sea for a few days you will pick up the knack - if you want to. You do? Good. Then, just watch and listen, and you will start to hear us."
"Oh yes you will," says a passing spider as it scuttles down a hole in the planks.
"No problem," yowls the ships cat as it prepares to pounce on a mouse which is obviously pleading for its life.

The day passes pleasantly enough. The sun rises higher and higher. The heat becomes unbearable. We slow down, and look like a painted ship on a painted ocean. An albatross flies overhead and I stare in alarm.
"You know the poem?" asks one of the women pirates. I nod, knowing the nod to be redundant. "Well, don;t worry. We aren;t sailing into it."

I wondered where we ARE sailing. As dusk falls, the sky paints itself all colours of the rainbow before permitting the sun to disappear into the sea. Silence falls with night. I begin to listen.... carefully.

All Is Not As It Seems

2006-05-19T05:50:00.000-07:00

What is le Enchanteur's game? She is up to some mischief! Looking like a vulnerable sailor girl! Le Enchanteur vulnerable? I doubt the fearsome Desdemona would have been fooled by this little act. Those ropes look severed to me! She is up to something and I doubt it is either sweet or innocent.

YO HO HO me hearties.........

2006-05-19T03:18:00.000-07:00

In the morning when I arrive at the beach it is pouring with rain. I have never seen so much water falling out of the sky. It runs off my face, my hair sticks to my head, my feet are soaked in their shoes. The wind howls, and the waves crash onto the shore bringing flotsam with them, debris of other lives.

To my amazement there is a pirate ship anchored in the bay. It looms through the spray of water and rain. I think that it might be a replica similar to the ship I once saw at Whitby (yorkshire) where the Jolly Rodger flew over a motorised pirate ship taking tourists round the harbour and out to sea for a half hour trip.

This ship is huge. She has an enormous anchor at which it is straining in the wind. I know I have to get on board somehow and start running along the beach hoping to find a way of getting out to her.

I suddenly hear voices shouting, and realise that I have come across the sailors. And yes, to my amazement, they appear to be genuine pirates. To my horror, one of them raises a pistol in my direction, then takes a cigarette out of his pocket and, turning out of the wind, uses the pistol to light it. I half sob, half laugh with relief.

"Come here and make yourself known to us," he shouts in my direction.

I wade through the rising tide towards him.

When I am close enough to look at the now assembled crew I see that they are a group of men and women, some younger, some not, wearing what appears to be pirates clothing. I cannot help staring and a smile crosses their faces.

"Welcome." One of the women greets me. "You have many questions I see....If you come aboard and sail with us we will attempt to answer them. We, that is ourselves and perhaps you also, are on a quest to find treasure and the wisdom of the ancients, a wisdom that might save our planet. Will you join us as we look for the key to the Dead Man's Chest?"

I nod. Dead man's chest has had bad connotations for me since performing CPR on my beloved but I am willing to relinquish that image and go and look for the key. I may not save the planet but I might save myself.

We climb into a small boat that is moored on the beach and row out to the ship. The rain has eased slightly and the tide is running fast now.

"Climb aboard my hearties," shouts a sailor high up on the deck of the ship "Tis time to set sail." He throws down a rope ladder and we start to climb.

(I have always wanted to go to sea. My late husband was in the merchant navy and always told tall sea stories, usually starring him as chief mischief maker. I hope to catch up with him whilst I am on this voyage.)

Shape Shifting Molloy's

2006-05-18T06:05:00.000-07:00

le Enchanteur respects the Molloy's and will defer to them in her search for Dead Man's Chest and the illusive key to the chamber within the Cave of the Ancients.

The Finger of Fate

2006-05-17T20:34:00.000-07:00

Aargh – a tale is it, the price of this quest? Hehehehehehe. Let me look about me person, and see what I can find.

Well, now, would ye look at that. Sure, I haven’t given this anny thought at all in years, yet here it is, in the lining of me coat. What is it, ye say? What does it look like?

A map? A treasure map? You’d not be wrong.

I was on the Black Hearted Trollop when I came by this map. Her captain was Desdemona O’Herlihy, as black hearted a trollop as you’ll ever meet, and pray you don’t ever meet her. She used to be a high born lady, so they say, but the call of the sea dragged her away from the estate of her father, Lord O’Herlihy, and into a life of piracy and wickedness. O a fine beauty she was, with her long black hair and flashing green eyes, but she’d give no man quarter. If you wronged her she’d hunt you down to the ends of the earth, to extract her vengeance.

The previous captain of the Black Hearted Trollop – one Gules Hart - could tell you many tales about Desdemona, if he still lived. They were lovers once – she pursued him like a woman possessed, but when she caught him dallying with a barmaid on Pirate’s Cove, didn’t she turn and set fire to his ship in the harbour, burning it away to a film of black ash on the sea? And didn’t he then have another ship built, and called it the Black Hearted Trollop in her honour?

As far as Desdemona was concerned, a ship named for her was hers by right – so she set out to take it, and make the poor man walk the plank for daring to cross her in love and piracy.

The Black Hearted Trollop was the fastest ship at sea – there was nothing that could outrun it. It had sails as black as night, and it crept up on its prey like great black bird, with not a sound. It would not be an easy task to capture a ship like that, but Desdemona never shied from a challenge – beside, she was the canniest captain on the seven seas, and the one place the Black Hearted Trollop couldn’t hide was when she put into Pirate’s Cove.

Of course, Gules Hart was no fool either and he had many cronies at Pirate’s Cove, but he didn’t have the Finger of Fate. Desdemona did, and she wore it round her neck in a little leather pouch. No one knew its power but me – you see, I stood guard as she cut it from the hand of Scurvy Alice herself as she lay in her coffin. Scurvy Alice had strange powers, ye mind – she could point her finger at a man and he would drop dead in his tracks. We don’t know whether she died by design or accident – but believing there was an enemy concealed behind a curtain in the Crown and Anchor Bar, she pointed her finger at it – then the curtain dropped and revealed a mirror.

`Tis thought the pub owner did it, being tired of Alice killing his customers.

So one morning when the Black Hearted Trollop put into port and Gules was swaggering along the doc, Desdemona took the finger out of the leather pouch and pointed it at him – and sure as I’m sitting here, he clutched at his heart and dropped dead.

And didn’t his men go white at the sight of the finger and their leader’s body and turn and run like the scurvy dogs they were? All Desdemona had to do was walk aboard the Black Hearted Trollop and take command of her. None dared stop her because of the Finger of Scurvy Alice.
Such wicked times we had – there was not a treasure ship afloat that could ward off Desdemona and the Black Hearted Trollop. But while we grew in strength and riches, something was happening to Desdemona. Something was eating into her soul – one night I caught her trying to throw the finger overboard. But it would not leave her, and she screamed in rage when she saw me.

``Back away!” she cried. ``It points now without my direction!”

I scuttled below as fast as I could and hid myself in my bunk. I dared not go near my Captain – she spent her time alone in her cabin, or in the cave where we stashed the treasure. Though she was more beautiful than ever, no man went near her because those that did all died.

Where is she now? Well, I can tell you – this is the map to the treasure of the Black Hearted Trollop and welcome ye are to it. She left it to me when she took refuge in the cave, sickened by the loneliness the Finger of Fate caused her. For all I know she’s still there – guarding the treasure she massed with the Black Hearted Trollop, Scurvy Alice’s finger making sure no one comes near enough to take it.

Never was a pirate’s treasure better guarded.

Ready For Battle

2006-05-17T04:35:00.000-07:00

Le Enchanteur is ready to do battle with the Tygres and anyone else who stands in her way. She is determined to locate Dead Man's Chest and find the key to the Cave of the Ancients.

Haunted Cove - Facing The Molloys

2006-05-16T08:02:00.000-07:00

"I don't like the look of this," I said to Belenus, coming to land on the shores of the
lake. The body of water had looked inviting from the air, but the moment we
touched down on the sodden banks, I was starting to feel uneasy about this
adventure. "Calm down," said Belenus, putting his glasses on
to read something he had tucked behind his ear. "Is that a map?" I said. "No,"
he said, "Put your glasses on. Wasn't it you who told me we had to see things
differently?" Belenus gave me an annoyed donkey glance, and I found my
glasses in a hurry. "Well, then, what are you reading and how are we going to
find the Dead Man's Chest? That's been missing for a long time, you know."
"It's a cheat sheet," said Belenus. My eyes opened wide, horrified. "Trust me,"
he added, smiling a donkey smile that showed his donkey teeth.

Puzzled that my donkey companion, so wisely schooled in the Classics would
stoop to cheating, I frowned. We had a few moments silence before a circle of vultures
appeared overhead. The sky grew dark. The shadowy mangroves gloomed. Hidden
creatures in the darkened trees made our skin crawl. "Signs of the dead," said
Belenus solemnly, "and we are near water, which can only mean one thing. Follow
me..." Following my donkey was easy, it was trying to see through the new glasses
that was hard. "See things in a new way," I drilled myself, trying to turn the
mangrove swamp into a fantasy island of lush ferns and soaring gums in the
morning mist. But the darkness closed in on us, and then everything was a kind
of strange eerie purple colour. A clearing ahead, revealed an ancient Victorian
house, with not a light to be seen.

"Come on", said Belenus, swishing his tail. I hurried after him, until we reached a
lamp post that was vaguely familiar. "Feels like another time, another place,"
I said. He winked back at me and said, "You are! Victorian times, to be exact."
The lamp post shed a dim light as I passed, with the help of my glasses, but the
house loomed ahead, strange purple, and unforgiving.

"Did you hear that?" I said, fumbling in the bag Enchanteur had given me, and

getting out the anchor. "To keep me steady..." I mumbled and followed Belenus

onto the old creaky verandah, through the front door, laced with cobwebs.

The noise grew louder. Sounded like singing, or wailing. "What

is it?" I asked, above the din. "A broken heart. They're like the sirens. Women

with broken hearts. Ever hear that saying, "hell hath no fury like a woman

scorned"? Now we are faced with the Molloys..." said Belenus, his voice trailing off.

He looked at his cheat sheet again with his glasses on and

started to make strange noises himself. "Don't forget what you know," said a

voice, deep and resonating in the high, dark ceilings. I shivered, but resolved not

to forget what I knew. There was a picture, like a negative photograph I somehow

knew, on the dusty floor. The wailing went on and on, until we saw them, three

ladies, forever mourning, draped in black Victoriana, and wicked, by a window. I

picked up the picture and hid it in my coat.

Belenus showed no fear. He put his cheat sheet away behind his ear, and

he started singing himself, in less a donkey's voice than a man's. The

sound was like a sailor's song, a swashbuckling tune,

round and round in circles it went. With that the wailing slowed and

the ladies disappeared into the shadows, but only for a

moment. Belenus rushed ahead, still crooning his sea song, and snatched a

small chest, carved of oak, and slung it across his back. "Quick!" he said, "Let's

fly!" I stashed the anchor away and jammed on the red shoes, got on his back,

and we flew out of the house, that stayed calm, but only until Belenus' crooning

was out of range. But then we were far above in the sky again, away from the

Victorian house, away from the past, with just what we had been missing. I

had a thousand questions, but they would have to wait until we reached safety...

Got a Crew

2006-05-16T06:44:00.000-07:00

The crew has been appointed and we are setting sail in search of Dead Man's Chest at dawn.

Becoming a Buccaneer

2006-05-15T15:10:00.000-07:00

The call to become a Buccaneer and spend some time on a Pirate Ship has bought me to the shores of the lake where this James Coleman landscape is set. But first I have to find the Dead Man's Chest if I want to clamber on board. Ah! Now I know why my map does not show the House of the Serpents and Blind Springs. le Enchanteur clearly knew that what I would need is a map showing the whereabouts of Dead Man's Chest. Better not tell anyone I have it.