Euan had not planned on rummaging through his grandfather’s old trunk since it was off-limits according to his father. But, ever since Grandfather died and the family was dragged kicking and screaming to Dunvegan on the Isle of Skye to settle the estate, there was not much to do for a young boy at a remote manor except sort through all of the odds and ends in the dusty study. There was so much to see and do, with old maps of Scotland adorned across the weathered wallpaper and following the trail of colored push pins and sticky notes, and so many books that Isla would be lost for years if Mom allowed it.
The trunk proved to be the golden goose with pictures, letters, and the old book. Euan knew his grandfather was an ardent historian, the keeper of the family stories and tales from years long vanished. Before he passed, Grandfather had mentioned Euan had to visit as there was something important and special to show him that proved one of the old family myths.
The reddish leather binding with the raised golden emblem should have cautioned him to leave it alone, but his curiosity, much like Edgar the gray cat who roamed the old creaky manor, could not ignore the fascinating old book. Even the handwritten note, in Grandfather’s writing no less and warning against it, would not prevent his prying eyes.
Euan stared at the faded black letters. Flicking his curly brown hair aside to see, he turned each well-worn and yellowed parchment page carefully so that the thin material did not rip. Focused and intent, he attempted to understand what he had found. The words seemed so foreign, yet familiar, a language he had never seen but seemed to speak inside his head.
As he turned each fragile page, more voices spoke, all strange to him, though with a soft and gentle kindness, as if they wanted him to know something but could not convey it outright. Even the figures in the pictures seemed to dance under the brilliant light of the oil lamp. He knew all of it was not real, his imagination and the flicker of the flames casting shadows the proper answer, if Mom or Dad happened to ask.
Not that they would, because he was supposed to be sound asleep.
Somehow, he felt it all a dream and he would awaken in bed, the cold draft from the broken window pane being the culprit over Edgar jumping on his stomach and seeking a warm place to curl up. It wasn’t a deep slumber lost to some illustrious and fanciful world, and as he glanced and took in each ancient piece of paper, Euan’s eyes widen, the words becoming real and natural. He had no idea how he could read such an old language, but by some magic or lost ability from deep inside he never knew, it materialized, and he could not stop.
He wondered if this magical book was it.
Jason McDonald 