Chapter 3

I open the massive oak door, and gasp as I take in my father's home.

A cracking fireplace sits in the middle of the living room, cradling soft flames that cast shadows against the wooden beams that adorn the ceiling. Massive bookcases filled with leather back books stand tall on either side of the fireplace. Paintings of vast landscapes and a small child with ruby hair cover the walls. A brown leather couch and mismatched plush armchairs surround a coffee table strewn with books and parchment paper.

I close the door behind me and inhale the scent of aged books and wood. The floorboards creak as I walk, giving away the one and only flaw of this magnificent place. I follow a narrow hallway lit by gas-burning sconces that cast long shadows against the wooden floor. The kitchen is open and airy, with concrete floors and cabinets made of walnut. A large table made of the same wood stands in the middle of the room. More books, parchment, and empty mugs are strewn aimlessly across the table, abandoned…forgotten. A single chair sits at the far end, facing an alcove that houses a large circular window.

I slowly pull the chair away from the table, imagining my father doing the same. I sit and look out into the vast view, noticing that the village can be seen in the distance. Had my father sat here every morning, watching over the village and its people? Did he truly protect them…save them? I know the answer is yes. The way these strangers spoke of my father as if he were their king, proved that. Yet I was still heartbroken, filled with rage and resentment, that this strange place and these strange people got the best of my father while I got…nothing.

I shake my head as if it will help shake away my frustration.

I notice a tea kettle sitting on top of the oven and make myself busy by filling the kettle up with water and searching the cabinets, finding an abundance of tealeaf stored above the kitchen sink. I open the fridge next, pleasantly surprised to see it filled with a wide selection of meats, cheeses, and jam. I notice a loaf of bread wrapped in parchment paper on top of the fridge and add a few slices of it to my plate. It is as if whoever had stocked this house with food had known I would be arriving soon, as if they had known my favorite foods.

With a steaming cup of tea in one hand and a plate full of food in the other, I make my way back to the living room to sit by the fire. I could not, would not, think about the fact that my entire world had just been turned upside down in less than a day. That magic may exist, that my father has secrets beyond this world. I know that I am in shock, but all I want to do at this very moment is sit by the fire and fill my stomach. The mysteries and secrets of Gustave Baird could wait.

I scarf down my food and tea, not realizing how hungry I am until the food touches my lips.

The day had passed so quickly, the sun already setting beneath the clouds. I head towards the living room and grab the feather-down blanket lying on the back of the couch. I wrap the blanket around me and curl up into a ball, and close my eyes.

I know that I am dreaming. I had drifted to sleep in the living room of the cottage, yet now I stand in the middle of a forest. Sunlight filters down through the canopy of leaves high above, casting a golden hue upon everything the light touches.

Before me stands a massive wolf. There is a man beside the beast, his eyes as black as onyx. Both are devastatingly beautiful in the golden light, enticing.

I take a step closer, unable to control myself.

Both the wolf and the man snarl, bearing their blood soaked teeth.

The tear kettle begins to hiss, causing me to nearly drop the book I'm reading. I had awakened abruptly this morning, my dream still haunting me. The sun was just beginning to rise, yet the thought of closing my eyes and facing the wolf again had me turning the kitchen upside down in search of coffee.

I found nothing but tea leaves. I pour the scolding liquid into a mug and drink it slowly, reminiscing over the coffee Aoife had served yesterday.

I stare out of the circular window of the kitchen, thinking of how many times my father did the same exact thing.

A sudden memory flashes through my mind. If there was one thing that I remembered about Gustave Baird, it was that he loved to write. He would write down every memory, every moment. He would also write stories, epic tales about a lost boy in a foreign world. Did he continue to write after he left? Were his journals hidden away in this cottage?

I gulp down the rest of my tea and begin my search.

I start with the bookshelves, pulling each book out separately and opening every single one. There were books on gardening, multiple works of different types of literature, even a book on every breed of butterfly. However, there were no journals.

Frustrated, I follow a narrow hallway that leads to the sleeping counters of the cottage. There are three doors, each made of wood, yet all three have a different symbol etched in gold upon them. I try to open the one with the symbol of a Celtic shield first, it's locked. The second doors symbol consist of three interlocked spirals, the knob turns smoothly, yet when I attempt to open the door it will not budge.

"Of course you'd make this hard for me too, Gustave." I say out loud, making a mental note to begin the search for a key. A crowbar if all else fails.

I go for the door with a delicate butterfly on it next, the doorknob twists and unlatches swiftly.

Inside the room is a twin sized bed, a bookshelf filled with children's books, and a painting of a massive white wolf roaming through a forest on the wall. The wolf...that had been my favorite animal as a child. I had loved all the books that filled the bookshelf.

Had this room been for me? Did my father plan to come back for me and bring me to the Isle of Skye? I go to slam the door shut, the pain overwhelming, but I stop myself. I notice a piece of parchment sticking out from beneath the bed.

I reach for it, surprised by the wax-like texture. I sit on the ground and unfold the thick paper. Upon the aged parchment in black ink is a large map. The word Skye is written elegantly above the outline of land in my fathers scrawl.

Within the outline are four different territories. Caledoni is written in the most northern territory, followed by Albion and Damnonii. The most southern part of the map has the word Gododdin written in bold letters. A vast mountain rage runs through Gododdin. A small star in golden ink encircles the middle of the mountain range. The word salviour is written in the same ink above it.

I stare at the map, my eyebrow knitting together. This was not a map of the Isle of Skye. I had done my research prior to coming here. I studied every map I could get my hands on.

Caledoni and Gododdin did not exist, none of the territories did. What was my father thinking?

I continue to stare at the map until I hear the creak of the floorboards.

I am instantly on my feet, clutching the map in my hands. I grab for one of the books on the bookshelf, the hardest object I can find. Slowly, I make my way through the narrow hallway, the book held high.

There is no one in the living room or kitchen, I am alone.

I sign. This island is messing with my head.

Just like yesterday, the day had come and gone swiftly. The sun was setting already, though I could have sworn I had my morning tea only a few hours ago.

There are three swift knocks on the front door, startling me.

"It's me, Katherine." Aoife yells from outside. "I've brought dinner for you."

I open the door wide, eager to see a familiar face.

Aoife has two baskets in her arms, both filled with a variety of food.

"Thank you Aofie, please come on in."

Aofie shakes her head quickly, offering the baskets to me. "I'm not yet ready to come inside. I made you some dinner and you'll have everything you need to feed yourself tomorrow and the next day."

"I really appreciate you." My stomach growls. "The kitchen was stocked this morning, did you do that?"

"Your father told us you may be coming home soon before he passed, we've kept it stocked since. It's a long journey back to the village, didn't want you going hungry."

"Please come in, you must be exhausted from carrying these all this way." I motion towards the baskets.

"Not yet sweet girl, my wounds are still fresh."

"Okay…well, thank you. Oh!" An image of a locked door pops inside of my head. "There are a few locked doors, did Gustave tell you where he keeps his keys by chance?"

"Hum." Aoife contemplates for a moment. "I can't say that I do."

"That's okay." I hide my disappointment well. "Maybe I'll see you tomorrow, then?"

"Tomorrow." Aofie nods, before turning away and walking off into the setting sunlight.

Her expression at the mention of tomorrow confused me. She looked…scared.

Back in the kitchen I put away all of the food before devouring the chicken and roasted vegetables Aofie had made. With a full stomach and exhausted mind I curl up on the couch, unable to face that room that should have been mine.

My eyes had only been closed for what seemed to be a few minutes, yet I was already transported back to the golden forest.

The black wolf had been replaced with a massive white wolf, twice the size of his predecessor. The man remained the same, covered in shadow. This time both the man and the wolf take a step towards me.

"You must not return." The man says, his voice as smooth as velvet.

The wolf lets out a horrific snarl before lunging for my throat.