 
# The Naereaon Manuscripts

James H. Hegarty

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 1996, 2002, 2020 James Hegarty

TheCreativeEdgeBooks.com

### Additional stories, music, and media

Visit our website for more about the legend of The Lost Mansion of Sojourn.

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Other books in the series

The Island of Naereaon

The Lost Mansion of Sojourn

Cover painting by Anna I. Hegarty

Compilation v. 7

### Contents

Prologue

One: Patterns and Intersections

Two: London

Three: Time Zones

Four: Finding Lysandareth

Five: The Island of Naereaon

Six: Wyve Crest

Seven: Island of Lithin

Eight: The Islands of the Minor Crescent

Nine: The Map Room

Ten: The Cottage

Eleven: The Mansion of Sojourn

Twelve: London

Epilogue

Appendix A: The Generations

Appendix B: List of Characters and Locations
Prologue

"What you are asking, my friend, is not such a simple thing. No, not in these times."

Trevyn Nerron sits across the table from me and smiles faintly; everything he says when he is smiling is a lie of some kind.

I say nothing. I wait.

"Look, look," he says in some haste as an afterthought, "here we are tonight, in the last inn before the frontier and who is here? Who is here?"

There is a dog lying in the corner near the fireplace. A pitiful fire smolders. Although the room is large, what? Twenty tables or more? I can count the travelers on this hand.

"Sometimes finding the right road is the way to find something you do not expect. You might not want this."

A slight left handed smile flickers for a moment as he looks off into the distance.

"You have told me nothing. Even now you are speaking like my father, only he is better at hiding his lies."

"Look, look. The dog is moving. It is not dead, it is only sleeping. So, you owe me another 50 silvers." The only time I have seen Trevyn smile fully is when money is involved.

The floor of this old inn is deeply worn and darkened with age and by the dirt carried in on the boots of countless travelers on the edge of the frontier. In other times, the great room would be filled with people of many nationalities who had converged at this point at the end of the road. But tonight, two other men sit slumped in their chairs, sleeping near the fire. A man sits with his dog at his feet, near the door, collecting the cost of room and board for one night. Tonight, he, too, is asleep. No one travels these roads in these uncertain times.

"Again, what? nothing. You are saturated with visions beyond reality my friend, Trevyn. I owe you nothing. The dog is dead, I swear. His owner has kicked the poor thing. That is the true reason why it has rolled over."

Behind a door somewhere an old phonograph record is playing. Sonny Rollins.

"My father knew the way and he told you. This I am certain."

"What you are asking is hard. It is hard to remember the tales of your father. There are so many and at the time they seemed so strange. I is young when he told me these things. You were ten years older and by that time you had moved to the city."

"Still, you must know now how important they are. Do you not?"

"No. I do not."

The sound of the tenor sax fills the silence. Trevyn Nerron stares off into the distance beyond the men sleeping, beyond the blackened boulders that surrounded the fireplace, beyond the pines outside the windows and envisions the coastline beyond the frontier.

Richard Q. Eaton shifts in his chair and glances again at the door, almost expecting it to open.

-

Two stones. Four short sticks

Now, after four nights, the bark on the sticks has worn away. The stones are chipped and scratched, smaller even, then they once were.

The man across the table from me suddenly leaps from his chair.

"The stones sing!"

"Listen, listen carefully. It is clear that you are a fool. What do you know? Nothing! And I will tell you nothing. You will learn nothing here."

Impulsively, the man slams the sticks down upon the table in rapid fire succession. They form a geometric shape that encompasses the stones as they lie upon the table.

"See? Don't you?"

He taunts me, again and again. Hours pass and he continues. He tries to wear me down, just as the sticks are wearing away, thinner and thinner.

-

Rain falls upon the roof. A regular pattern in extended cadence, repeating. Drip, drip, silence, drip.

The wind rattles the windowpane in random counterpoint to the orderly pattern of drops forming a puddle on the centuries old wooden floorboards.

I don't know exactly what hour it is but I open my eyes to such a total darkness that all time seems wiped away from the earth. Floating, I am, amid the amplified micro-sounds of a storm blowing in from the Straits of Erengal.

I rise, light a candle, and pull a pot from the cupboard, place it on the floor, position it to catch the water that continues to leak through the roof.

The wind is howling now, I hear shutters banging in the distance. There is an abandoned cottage nearby.

Waves crash upon the rocks far below along the shoreline.

The candle flickers sideways in the draft of air seeping in past the window frame. I put on a kettle for tea to help chase away the dampness.

Time slows, the tea is warm, the candle pulsates.

On my lap, a brown leather book. Richard D. Eaton's ship's log from 1610. Ailisean, it reads, stamped upon the cover in gold letters, worn now and faded. The leather is marked with the touch of time, intersecting and crossing. Patterns overlapping and coinciding. I open the cover and turn randomly to a page, not far from where I had left off earlier. Jagged and irregular are the forms, the shapes of the ancient letters, written with the point of a handmade pen. I begin to decipher the words, translate the sentences, clutching the teacup for warmth.

"Broiling and grey is the sky, even swirling, churning it is. Early in the night watch the sea explodes and the wind rips through us from the East. Hasty and earnest we are to drop sails and lash the boom. The fury of the deep pelts us and lunges for us, the sea pitches and falls away in the dark recesses of mountainous waves. Four days towards the eye of the Southern ocean we are, with not a single island within a hundred miles or more. Lightening flashes, the hull creaks pitifully as it pounds upon the waves, the wind unrelenting. Darkness does not abate, yet time I do not know. I grip the wheel as it pushes and pulls and I am aware of only the boat, the ocean, the wind, and our lives joined amid one furious energy. Straining against eyes burning from the salt spray, I search ahead for each moment's path. Onward we sail, driven by the wind and waves, knowing not what lies ahead."

Upon my window pane, the rain thrashes, wind surging and receding, building and withdrawing in repeating patterns of sound, layer upon layer. Waves and wind against the foreground of my own breathing growing deeper and slower, my eyes looking away into the darkness, searching for meaning.

The rhythm patterns and melodies gradually ritard, the sounds fade from my notice, the candle rises and falls with a slowly decreasing intensity. Perhaps my eyes have closed, or the candle has flickered out. The wind drones on.

### One

Patterns and Intersections

1. Friday Night

"Nothing's getting done these days, it's the same thing, over and over. I wish I could just finish something!"

"Same here. Remind me again why we're doing this?"

It's Friday evening and my friends and I are collectively venting. All this will fade into a cloud of grey dust particles by Monday morning, sort of like the stuff that collects on the manuscripts hidden away in vaults and archives far from the notice of nearly everyone else in this room.

"Are we ready? Cool, that band I is telling you about, they're playing the late show just down the street. Anyone want to go?"

We'd been hanging out for at least a couple of hours. Just a few of us from the Institute trying to find a way to shift into Friday night.

"We'll come along, at least for a while." It is Aaronsuel and his girlfriend, Julie. He works a few offices down the hall from me in another research group. None of us knows what the other is doing. Sometimes we don't even know, ourselves.

"I think I'm heading home," Camille said. She's in A's area and I don't really know her at all. She doesn't look the experimental type to me and this is going to be pretty out there. Probably just as well. It's going to be pretty loud, too, I suspect.

After awhile A. and Julie head out but I'm in for the duration.. The Necks don't show up here that often and I am looking forward to hearing their whole set.

Well after midnight their jam breaks into a frenzy of energetic rhythmic stabs and finally subsides in a long trailing diminution of intensity and volume. We're left holding our breath, savoring the last moments. Gradually, one by one, the audience heads out into the street. I turn left towards the subway, a few people pass me but I don't notice. I'm in another place and time, remembering the bands I played in, the gigs that came and went. And as I'm walking, the final moments of the night's music continues to replay in my head, time transfixed, preserved, present.

2. Dover Design Group

"Good morning, Rodger. Raining again, isn't it?" I swipe my badge and step quickly towards the elevator. Roger never blinks, he's looking out the front window, imagining something.

The elevator door opens and I push number 5. Alone, quiet. "No elevator music today?"

In exactly 23 seconds the elevator door opens and once again here I am at the office. I push a glass door and it silently glides open. The white noise patterns of rain on the pavement are simply a memory. But I am still wet, dripping water from my shoes and the umbrella in my hand. Rodger is still entrenched behind his desk, a couple of computer screens glowing blankly at his side. Silent testament to nothing unusual in a place as intentionally usual as could possibly be.

I stop for a moment at Sara's desk. She's worked here almost as long as I have. Nearly every morning, she's here early, watching the door and smiling to everyone as we come in.

"I hope you got here before the rain started. One more day of this and I'm buying big yellow rain boots."

"It is raining when I got here. And I already bought some boots, myself, thank you very much. Last year, in fact. I just can't stand sitting here feeling like a personal rain forest. Pretty soon all kinds of jungle plants are going to sprout around me."

"That might not be allowed, unauthorized plants were banned in last week's company-wide memo, remember? It is hard breaking the news to some of mine, but in the end they understood. Best for everyone concerned, they said."

She shakes her head and smiles at me.

The Dover Design Group logo hangs on the wall behind her. Stylishly industrial in a sandblasted mat finish sort of way, suspended against an imported Brazilian mahogany wall. Water drips from my umbrella on to the glossy white marble floor, a remnant of the previous tenant, a real estate management firm. It always gives me the creeps when I see it, so completely out of character with the style of this cast iron loft building.

"I need to keep moving, can't let myself drip all over this imported flooring. I'm starting a small lake here. See you!"

Beyond Sara's desk, I pause in front of the face scanner, the only indicator that something isn't quite ordinary here. In a moment the automatic door slides to the left and I step into a long stark-white hallway. On either side are closed white doors with nothing but room numbers on the name plates. Far ahead at the end of the hall, a glass conference room with windows, a bit of daylight glowing through the rain.

"And here, on my right, is office 21B."

3. Coffee Shop

"The coffee shop at the end of the block, want to get out of here for a little while?"

Work is slow at the office, it is late summer. I have worked at the Institute now, well how many months has it been? Almost everyone is away on holiday, visiting friends, working from home, the place is almost deserted except for Sara and a few of us with nowhere to go.

Behind nameless doors, among the data streams and hidden corners of the internet lies a lot of questions that need answering. Most days, stepping into a virtual world seems like infinite space, borderless, expansive, limitless. Today, there is nothing but dead ends, locked doors, and echoes of my own voice bouncing back at me from dark alleys. I turn off the screen and pace around the room. This is getting old. It's been two years now of non-stop intensity. That's a long time without air. Without even a window that I can fling open and feel the wind blowing through the room, carrying the sounds and smells of the world, work is starting to feel as stale as the air in here.

I call my friend Saphan in the office next door and suggest a break. A real world, step out of the door and take a real walk kind of break.

"Sure, why not, it is summer, isn't it? I feel like I haven't seen the sun for weeks. Give me ten minutes."

I hear the automatic lock on my office door click as I walk down the hallway towards the reception area. Sara is reading a book, art history, she wants to be a professor someday. I hope it happens for her. She loves painting.

The street is filled with people walking, running, traffic creeping through the narrow streets. I feel like a stranger in a foreign city. Just keep walking, no one will notice me if I try to act normal.

"Large cold-brew, please."

I am still standing at the counter waiting for my order when Sephan opens the old wooden door and steps inside. I hear his boots resonating deep on the dark wooden floor. The instantaneous transition from the soundfield of the street to the hushed wood paneled atmosphere of the shop is always like entering a different world.

Northern Indian music is playing softly on the sound system. The sitar is gradually unwinding the raga in the alap section. Slow peaceful discovery of the melody.

"What's he having?" Saphan is looking up at the menu board.

"The same thing he always has. What can I get for you?"

"Black tea, the darkest you have. With a dash of ginger or cinnamon if you have some."

"We do, which would you prefer?"

"Ginger, thank you."

"I'll bring it to you, please, have a seat."

The melody grows more distinct, broader in range, more highly ornamented.

"Do you ever think about traveling somewhere, anywhere at all?"

I know Saphan had recently relocated from England and I am interested to hear about the city. I find myself missing London more and more frequently these past months. With work becoming so routine, and nothing turning up that gives any hint of an exciting thread of research, I realized I am looking for something new. Increasingly that something is beginning to seem like it would be somewhere else.

4. About Orin

Orin Kindrew's father named his son after himself, just as I had been named after mine. Maybe that is one of the initial things that bound our friendship. His father is a noted jazz musician and my friend had grown up with a love of music. During our time at Columbia we would spend many nights in the clubs, listening to whoever was coming through. In New York, there's always someone doing cool things. We both got a lot of inspiration out of the spontaneity of the music. For a while we played in a trio. Orin played piano, I played bass, and a guy we met at a jam session played drums. We would play gigs as often as we could.

After our time at Columbia we set out together for Southeast Asia to explore some of the hidden places we had discovered on earlier research trips. That was eleven years ago now. We spent five years there, riding out the great recession as best as possible. After that I came back to the States for the Columbia professor gig and Orin stayed in Thailand. We had kept in touch, met at conferences, and generally poked around the research world. Orin wrote a book that attracted some attention, which got him an appointment as director of the "Institute" as we call it. When Orin emailed me that he had accepted the directorship it meant we would both be in the New York again, so I called him up. We had dinner at an Indian restaurant on the Upper East Side not far from the Metropolitan where he had given a lecture earlier that evening. Over the next couple of months, we'd get together occasionally. When a research fellow position opened up, he emailed me. At the time, I was struggling to stay engaged with my professorship at Columbia and really questioning my decision to do academic research for no other purpose than printing a few copies and making presentations at conferences.

When Orin arrived as director, the Institute had a forty-year history as a solid traditional conservative think tank. Unfortunately in that last few years it had grown to have a reputation of supporting the causes of wealthy clients with strong political connections. The outcome of its research was often a foregone conclusion because the work had become so bent by the bias of power. Independent research just wasn't happening there at that time. Eventually, none of the best researchers would have anything to do with the place and the quality of the work tanked.

That's when Orin came in and convinced the Board to turn the reputation around. He spent a lot of time on the road going after new clients, convincing them the organization had a new direction. A lot of the employees didn't agree with the new direction and left. With positions to fill and a new direction ahead, Orin has been able to attract a new brilliant team that is energized to find solutions to issues that each one in the organization really cares about. The place feels like a start-up now. Our research is socially founded and we are going after situations where large corporations are exerting disproportionate amounts of power and influence through deeply financed legal actions that ordinary people and smaller entities don't have the resources to stand up against. Orin saw knowledge as the weapon that could take down wealth, power, and influence. He understood that research, the ability to know more about a given situation than anyone else, is a rare commodity these days. And as a result, it wasn't long before the Institute became a deep background player in some of the biggest environmental and social actions of the past couple of years.

Ten years ago, when Orin and I were bouncing around Southeast Asia on a shoestring, riding worn out Soviet motorbikes on dirt roads far into the rural areas in search of artifacts or archaeological sites, we had no idea where any of it was going. Life was just a late night jam, riffing on what we knew, playing free jazz and just digging the open-ended form of it all.

I see him now, about once or twice a month, we have short random chats or on a rare occasion catch a dinner someplace near the office. Sometimes I ponder how much our paths, our stories, are so interconnected and yet we rarely intersect. Two parallel realities with seemingly random nodes of interaction. I'm trying to figure that out.

5. Dust Collisions

The sun is just setting, low in the sky sending a shaft of intense light through the entrance doors of an unremarkable building in TriBeCa. The lobby is empty, dust floating in the air reflecting the orange light in perhaps a million individual pixilations.

A pattern on the floor is intersected by the shadow cast through the doorway - four Art Deco doors with geometric metalwork patterns. Walking into the interior is like cracking open a time capsule, nothing has changed since the 1930s. It's entirely original and privately owned. The Hudson Foundation's holdings occupy most of the first four floors. I'm told the top floor remains a penthouse suite completely untouched since the founder moved to Tortola in the early 1960s. Everything, complete and totally original. Pretty trippy but it reflects the same obsessive attention to the preservation of history that keeps the holdings of virtually unknown immigration documents intact all these years. It's all there, waiting for the moment it's needed.

Subconsciously perhaps I am still processing the stories I had uncovered today. There had been some successes. Shipping dates and sailing logs, rosters of passengers from the early 1800s. Ordinary stuff, but historical information that out client needs. Evidence of the company's existence prior to their incorporation date. This seems to matter to them, a great deal.

But what I am left with are the names. Hundreds of passengers from Europe, South American, North African, all converging and then dispersing. Each one, men traveling alone, women with children, entire extended families, all braving the unknown in the hope of something better. It is the stories, now lost and forgotten, of ancestors, brothers, sisters, parents, real people whose individual patterns of a terrestrial existence left patterns on the floor, remnants of hope, dreams, trajectories that formed not only their own futures but by degrees of connection and influence – like strange attractors, atoms and molecules combining and moving, redistributing themselves as they bounce and collide, reshape, change, grow and come to rest – touch us now, and throughout time, in ways unknown and unrecognized. Individually and collectively forming nodes in a magnificent neural network of invisible relationships.

The dust floats in the air, illuminated by a setting son. Brilliantly suspended without gravity, floating throughout space, touching me as I stand and observe the scene. People walking by outside, heading to the subway, shadows of people drawing patterns of lives across the diagram of slowly moving sun shadows on the floor. Dust particles swirl and collide in three-dimensional space. It is a model and a reflection. And I wonder to myself where am I in this diorama of relationships and how can I ever know the meaning of the collisions touching me?

6. A Blue Book

"Richard, I'd forgotten that you still work here." It's Orin; he's looking at paperwork and thinking of his girlfriend in Tokyo. I can tell because it looks like he's been up all night talking to her again.

"I thought you wanted me out digging in the dirt, scaring up information, finding lost answers to important client questions."

"Still, it would be nice if you put in an appearance once in awhile."

"I've been working on the petroleum land rights project and I think I've found some pretty interesting letters that date back to before the deeds were written. And I have a lead on where all that money went back in 1853."

He looks up from the jumble of paperwork that's spilling out of his hand. Money usually gets his attention.

"Money? That's good."

"Is there anything interesting happening I can help you with?"

"Maaaaybeeee. I have a folder here that I wanted to show you, let me find it." It always takes a little time to break through that baked-on executive sheen but eventually he lightens up and starts to sound like the guy I knew at Columbia when we both were working as post-docs. Admittedly, those were simpler times both for ourselves and the world. Everything's turned over lately, what is a given has been thrown away, nothing is standard practice anymore. I still don't know why he agreed to be the director. He is a brilliant Chinese research scholar.

"If I give you this lead, it's gonna cost you, Eaton." By now he is smiling and we are just two aimless nerds looking around the British Museum on a sunny Sunday afternoon when everyone else is out in Trafalgar square or Hyde Park doing all kinds of fun things people do for fun. "I ran onto this when I is in Tokyo last month. I've been sitting on it for a little while trying to figure out the story line. Maybe it will click with something you're into."

He pulls out a folder, worn from multiple uses. Several hand written labels in black marker are scrawled across it; most are scratched out and partly covered by his hand.

Before I have a chance to say anything he starts into this long story about how he is in an antique shop at the back of one of those tiny alley streets in Tokyo and is just aimlessly looking through some cases.

"This book catches my eye, very old, worn on all the corners with pages missing and corners dog eared. The shopkeeper comes over and tells me that this book is part of an estate collection from Singapore that he had just purchased. I asked him if he knew anything about the book but he said he didn't. He had simply bought the lot on the internet. The binding is blue leather with silver lettering in English. The cover is cracked and slightly crumbling. I know it's not that unusual to find an old English book still laying around in a port city like Singapore. Sailors and travelers are always trading away marginally valueless British junk for all kinds of favors in a place like that. Who knows what arrangement this particular artifact precipitated? But up to this point, the story isn't singular in any way."

Orin continued, "I liked the color, so I bought it. I found a few other things, bought them, and left the shop. Nothing special about it, right?"

"It appears so, but I'm curious, surely you've found something of interest."

"Later that day I head back to the apartment where I am staying and just toss the book on the corner of my desk. Things got really busy and it isn't until about a month later that I start to go through the stuff from the trip. That's when I have time to look more closely at the book. It's British, for certain, there's a date of publication, 1814, in London. I think you might find the title page noteworthy. Here, check it out."

Orin hands me the book and I open it, turning the pages gently. The paper is faded with darkening around the edges. I turn past the publisher's page and read the title page, "The Talinalisian Islands" by Professor Richard K. Eaton."

I blink and after looking at the page for a second or two, I thumb through the rest of the book, front to back, quickly glancing at the general layout and content. There are a few etchings but mainly paragraph after paragraph of text printed in a thick serif font. It is, perhaps, 90 to 100 pages long.

"Well Orin, you've got me on this one. I know nothing of this but indeed I'm curious. And you don't know anything more about it."

"Right. There isn't even a catalog or listing of the items contained in the purchase. It's a complete blank. That's all I got."

"Curiously unfortunate actually. I really don't have a clue about it all. You know I have absolutely no knowledge of my ancestors on my father's side. I hardly even knew him, let alone someone two hundred years ago."

"That's what I suspected. All the more reason for you to have it. Funny, when I bought it, I never opened the cover. I didn't notice the author's name until later, back here in London. Here, take it, let me know where it leads. I'm interested to learn more about its story. Sorry man, I've got a meeting, got to go. Sometimes my new reality demands an expression of punctuality, I'm afraid"

7. Harrison Institute

"You ever think about leaving New York?"

"Every Monday."

Reginald's my buddy here at the Harrison Institute. Technically it is part of Columbia but they doesn't act like it. Their building is off-campus a couple of blocks in a completely nondescript brownstone, if multi-million dollar properties can ever be nondescript. But in this block, the place goes completely unnoticed. The only shiny thing is the four by six inch brass plaque next to the intercom button.

"Can you show me where the early 12th century European manuscripts are?"

"Maybe, is there something in it for me," he jokes.

"OK, lunch, I'm down. When you want to go?"

"I'll let you know, come on down this way."

There aren't many places in the world where it's possible to walk in and have completely free access to a priceless collection of century-old original documents.

"They are in these cabinets. I'll open them for you. Looking for anything specific?"

"Just some light summer reading. You know I can't tell you."

"Just verifying your integrity, man."

"Did I pass?"

"You're cool, but you need a badge. Wear this."

"Thanks much, and don't forget about lunch."

"Ok, later."

I grab a pair of gloves and randomly remove a portfolio from the cabinet: French, 13th century. Let's check it out.

I place the manuscript on a stand nearby. Gently, I open the cover and I feel a blast of air swirl around me. The light in the room intensifies, the walls are bleached out, white and colorless, a blank canvas ready for the projection of whatever vision these pages hold.

"This is important, you must know this," It is my first visit to Paris, my mother and I. She looked down at me as we stood in the Marmottan back in '89. My eyes were moving across the surface of Monet's famous painting, "Impression, Sunrise" depicting the harbor in Le Havre through an artistic vision that was completely new and shocking to everyone in 1874 Paris. She made sure I was aware that this is the painting whose title would soon name an entire era of art.

"We should go to Le Havre," I said. I was excited about the idea of a place filled with sailing ships from around the world.

"Not now, not on this trip, but sometime."

Le Havre is where Monet was born and he returned there occasionally. It is located closely across the English Channel from Britain on the banks of the River Seine. With Paris upriver to the east, the harbor has always been a crossroads of necessity and opportunity. In times of invasion, conquest, and failure, places such as this become a wild mix of cultures, egos, opportunism, and mystery. The kind of place where secrets are hidden and exactly the kind of place a researcher just might find something worth investigating. Without realizing it at the time, my younger self read all those layers of context and meaning in Monet's painting. It aligned with a spark of curiosity, of a desire to discover the unknown, to find understanding in the depths of the artifacts of real living.

Consequently, it is probably not surprising that the small cluster of abbeys around Le Havre have interested me for a decade or longer. Places such as these present unique opportunities for discovery. Over the centuries, destruction and decay caused the manuscripts held in these monasteries to be hidden or relocated for unknown periods of time. Inevitably some were stolen, "collected" shall we say, and they disappeared from known memory. Sometimes as I am searching through a collection, I happen upon one without predetermined intent. They have passed through many hands, traded and traded again for gold or property considered more valuable. Such it is that happens over half a millennium.

And so, truth be told, I am fishing. There are two or three stories I'm chasing - side projects that have nothing to do with a client or the news. I'm just doing pure research, for the spirit of it, to examine the past in microscopic detail, to dig into whatever presents itself, and to discover what I can learn from a different layer of reality.

8. Research?

"I haven't seen you for awhile, ya'slacker. Still pretending to be working, are you?"

It is Chess, Chester Davis, assistant archivist and the only person I can trust here. The only person in the place that won't ramble on and on about what I'm looking for. Once a month I take the D train to the upper west side and spend the day poking around Columbia's library. As a full professor I technically have complete access. But some of the librarians aren't so sure. So here, as pretty much everywhere in the world, it helps to have a friend. Sometimes the most unexpected information is right here buried in the open.

"How's your world treating you," I ask, looking him square in the eye with a big grin on my face. This is about the only fun part there is, sometimes. This is what I thought life would be like. Free open-ended exploration. Pick a topic, walk into the stacks, turn down an aisle, sneak into the back room, and find something really old, something covered in dust, buried under an enormous pile of manuscripts dropped carelessly in the corner 75 years ago. Pull out something, crack it open for the first time in maybe several hundred years, and suddenly the air changes, the light goes dim and the sound of traffic outside fades completely away.

Where am I? Who are these people and what are they doing? What are we all doing here? Why are we all swirling around this snow-globe together? Why now? Why today? Time collapsed?

9. Geographical Society

"There is something I must tell you, Orin, about the blue book you gave me." Orin and I are walking through Ishington Square. It is a clear spring afternoon and we decided to enjoy the weather and walk back from a client's office.

"You've found something, then? Very interesting, tell me."

"Well, its mainly this: I can't find the Talinalisian Islands! I'm beginning to think they never existed. Poof! Not there. I did some basic searches, internet and a couple of usual journals. Nothing. So a couple of weeks ago I went to the Geographical Society and talked my way into their library. God help me I used a fake name."

"Seriously?" We both laughed at that. "The place is that hard to get into?"

"Yes, one would think they had the Arc of the Covenant in there."

"So what happened?"

"I told them my name is Dr. Orin Kindrew and they let me in."

"You're crazy."

"I know."

"So what really happened?"

"I just had to pay them a hundred dollars for a membership and they let me in."

"I hope you didn't put it on your expense account...wait, don't tell me. I don't want to know. Hopefully you found something?"

"Not a thing." The librarian gave me maps from the previous four centuries. Nothing. Not a trace or even a hint of the name. The interesting thing is, the book contains several maps and pages from his diary documenting his travels. It's written in complete seriousness and its totally thorough. There's even sketches of the most important places - ports where he spent several months. It's a serious bit of research, only I can't figure out where the islands are! And I'm not at all sure if it's for real or just a very elaborate story..."

10. My Apartment

A jazz trio is in the club downstairs and they are totally smokin'.

The landlord practically gave me this apartment. It had been empty for half a year or longer. But the very reason I wanted it is the reason it had remained so empty for so long. OK, maybe once in a while I'm not so thrilled. Every night around 2:00 AM the night porter dumps the empty glass bottles into the dumpster. But most nights, when I can sit at my desk and work, the window open, a breeze softly blowing across the room, and the coolest tunes are hitting around me, it's more than perfect.

11. Subway

The subway train cars are banging around. It's early Saturday morning maybe not even 7:30. The car is nearly empty, three isolated passengers. One at the front end and the other about midway back and I'm in the last seat leaning into the corner against the wall. We've staked out our space and closed out as much of the experience as possible.

The express train lurches through another station. Signs and posters moving past in a jagged blur, images flashing entering my memory. Slightly familiar, perhaps I've seen that one before. Yesterday perhaps? Or last year, in Paris.

Why do I think of that now? Flashes of circumstances, of forgotten moments recurring without any provocation. As the clinical cold low energy lights of another station slide past me in streaks of completely unnatural light, I look this time more intently, with suspicion that I might be missing something.

There is a man sitting on the bench, looking down, hands clasped together, his hat blocks his face from view. Do I know you? There is something incalculably familiar about this scene, like I am looking out at myself in another time and place. Somehow that doesn't seem impossible.

Suddenly a train screeches past, an uptown express, headed in the opposite direction. I see a few passengers in the third or fourth car. Looking through the crosscurrent of windows, a man is looking blankly into space. A poster of women's fashion on the opposite station wall behind him aligns for an instant. The model looks at us both with a penetrating gaze. Are any of us seeing what's actually there? Why is she looking at me, now?

It has been a late night, but it turns out to have been worth it. On my phone are scans of manuscripts from the 11th century. Discovered at the Harrison inside the last folio in the bottom drawer of a cabinet of 17th century palace inventories. Total nonsense preserved for four hundred years. But it is the misfiled stuff that's always the most interesting. A single item, lost and forgotten, perhaps intentionally hidden, or carelessly discarded. In this case, it is a map, in French, of underground passageways at an unnamed monastery. In the lower right corner, the legend, consisting only of a simple drawing of the profile of a hillside, the outline of a ridge line against the faded shadings of a tall narrow tower.

It captivates me in the same way I am drawn to the model's penetrating gaze as I screech past yet another iteration of the same moment. I want to know who she is looking at, I want to know why. I want to understand the connections and discover something previously unknown. Underground passageways, eyes looking at something behind me. If I turn around, what will I see? If I open the passageway door, what lies hidden in the darkness?

12. The Elgin Marbles

"I need to go to London for a week or two. I'm working on a project that has some resources in the Brit."

I am standing in the doorway of my friend, Jackson's, office across the hall from mine. After four hours straight of digging through the depths of downloaded manuscripts, I just couldn't see straight anymore.

"It seems when the Elgin Marbles were taken out of Greece several hundred manuscripts were thrown in the deal for free. No one wants this old stuff, do they?"

I rarely see anyone on this part of the hallway. Even a Jackson or Sephan sighting is a rare occurrence these days. We're all out on the street chasing stories or at least looking for something interesting.

Jackson Jones, that's Jackson Peters Jones, PhD in anthropology. Jackson grew up on Chicago's near west side. One of the roughest parts of the city. Someplace where anthropology most certainly was not a household word. By his own effort alone he kept from being absorbed into that scene. He survived and by extreme hard work, not to mention his brilliance, got into the University of Chicago.

"That's what colonialism will get you," Jackson said. "Not that anyone ever worried about cultural appropriation back then. Oh, wait, does anyone worry about that now?"

I laugh and shake my head.

"How could they have disappeared for so long? Seems like a pretty good story you're leaking there. I'll pretend this conversation never happened."

"Don't spend that book advance just yet. I'm going over just to look around. At this point, they don't officially exist. And the whole thing could turn out to be a 200-year-old hoax. But I want to check it out."

"Maybe Adrianna can get you access. Do you know her? She's my contact there. I'll tell her you're coming."

Jackson turns back to his computer screen and I slip down the hall passing more than a dozen closed doors. Is anyone home, I wondered? What are all these people doing day after day? Like a complex web of multiple nodes, interconnected and multithreaded. How many of us are actually working on the same story but different time frames, jumping in and out of each other's timeline at different points. Doors opening while other doors are closing, just narrowly missing each other or passing unnoticed while we so earnestly look in opposite directions.

The reception room door opens automatically.

"Good night Sara, have a pleasant evening!" She's looking at Zillow. We all keep thinking, one more year and I'll have saved enough to move out of the city, get a nice little loft up in Albany and paint. That's what she want's to do. One day last summer when no one else was here, she told me.

"I'd love to see some of you paintings," I said.

"Really? Ok, sure let me find something." she said, beaming. I'd never seen her light up so much, she was an entirely different person. Lively, animated, her eyes suddenly sparkling. "I have my portfolio here," and she started to sort through her laptop files.

Her paintings were entirely abstract. Expressionism with large blocks of rich colors, a lot of energy with a jittery kind of randomness. Like the music I really dig listening to.

"Wow, I had no idea you were into such intense stuff. Very cool! I'd love to see them in person. Thanks for showing me! We should put one up here in the lobby. I can't stand that pink pastel thing hanging here in the waiting area"

"Me, either!" she said.

"If we're trying to look boring and ordinary, that pink thing is certainly working,"

"Reminds me of the 80s, not that I remember them, mind you."

13. London Flight

"Just a song before I go,

to whom it may concern.

Traveling twice the speed of sound,

it's easy to get burned."

The seat next to mine is empty. I keep expecting someone to arrive at the last minute, as the doors are closing and fall into it, out of breath.

"I got stuck in security, one of the scanners is down. At least I made it, barely. The attendant at the counter gave me the stink eye," he would say, arranging his computer bag and jacket.

"I know, JFK can be a zoo sometimes."

"...an oxygen mask will automatically appear in front of you. To start the flow of oxygen, pull the mask towards you. Place it firmly over your nose and mouth, secure the elastic band behind your head, and breathe normally."

The plane's in line waiting to take off. We're stuck in the center section, can't see much of anything. Like a virtual reality experience, I feel the motions, spend the time, and then the door opens and magically, I'm somewhere else. After about ten minutes we take off and I imagine we're heading out over the ocean.

"I started this journey three days ago, in Chicago. That's where I'm living right now. But I wanted to visit some friends here in New York on the way. Do you live in London?"

"No. Well, I used to, but not now. I live in New York but I'm heading over for business. Sorry you had such a stress getting here."

"Yeah, no worries. We're on our way now."

In a while, I take out my computer and sort through some files. Mindless stuff, getting a bunch of documents put into their proper folders, trying valiantly to clean off my desktop that's piled at least one layer thick with stuff I don't know what to do with. The stewardess comes by with some drinks, coffee, black in a microscopic plastic cup. The guy next to me asks for tea.

"Cream and sugar, sir," she asks.

"Yes, please."

From Chicago, drinking tea with cream and sugar? OK, now I'm the one that's surprised. When I was a kid I read and reread Doyle's Sherlock Holmes stories. I have always been fascinated by the idea that it might actually be possible to discern a set of facts from a person's appearance in real life. Sometimes I try but with only partial success. Maybe it works better in print. So I ponder what I know so far, an amusing activity for a few minutes.

The flight drones on, I sort some files but I can't keep at it. I think back to days in London with my mother, the museums, Kensington Gardens, the Round Pond where I sailed my boat. Despite the rather basic circumstance that we found ourselves in, we had a lot of fun.

The lights come up and they bring us dinner. "Are you staying in London long," I ask.

"No, I have a 6 hour layover and then I'm catching a plane to Dubai and on to Cape Town."

Oops, totally misread that one. Somewhere Watson is nodding his head and probably rolling his eyes in sympathy.

"Man, that's a long haul. There must have been a more direct flight."

"Yes, but not with time in New York and I needed to do that. I'm doing some family research and I needed to scan some photographs and records that my Aunt has. She's my only relative now and I have been left with a lot of questions, shall we say. Things that need to get set straight back home. There is an estate to settle and I'm not looking forward to it."

"I see, doesn't sound fun."

"I'll probably be moving back there at some point but I just have to see how it all works out. Fortunately, since the end of Apartheid, access to records is not so difficult. There's an archive in Cape Town of holdings from across the western part of the country. There are also several branches in other cities and the main archive is in Pretoria, of course."

"Have you ever been to Dubai?"

"No, I've only been in the airport once or twice. It sounds like a pretty spectacular place, at least the new parts."

"Yeah, I've been there a few times. I don't know anyone there but back before the recession I used to arrange my flights to give me a couple of days to hang out there."

"A friend of mine goes there fairly often now."

"You should check it out sometime. The view from the Burj is pretty unbelievable."

We hand our dinner tray to the steward. Soon after, they dim the cabin lights again. Someone is playing a video game a few rows behind me. I hope they turn off the speaker soon. People are starting to settle in for something like a few hours sleep. In about four hours we'll be coming over the green hills and pastures of Ireland. In my virtual image of the view out the cabin window, the ocean passes below in the dark under us. Looking out towards the horizon, glowing in the west behind us, I might see the lights of another airliner blip past us as we cross paths seven or eight miles apart. Once in a while, a military jet speeds past us at a higher altitude, causing our 500 mile per hour cruising speed to seem frozen in time.

The cabin lights come up and I realize I actually had fallen soundly asleep. I look over at the seat next to me but it is empty. No one ever showed up to take the seat.

"When the shows were over,

We had to get back home.

And when we opened up the door,

I had to be alone."

### Two

London

1. Just a Room

It's just a room. I thought I'd keep the costs low, I'll be here a week at least but I don't know, maybe a lot longer. It all depends on the research.

This place is functional enough, a bed in the corner, a table where I can do some work maybe even some writing. Fortunately the chair in the opposite corner is decent, a relic of a resale shop but the seat is actually not fallen through! A dark rose pattern, stuffed and lumpy, with a relatively massive wooden frame. The old wooden floor is heavily worn around the doorway. I suspect it may have been a storeroom years ago. But there is a window that looks out through a gable window, over the street and rooftops towards the south. At night, the glow of The City and the attractions along the river light up the sky. Even past midnight, cars shoot past in the street below.

Now after two days, I'm pretty much into the time zone and ready to get busy. I can't complain, there's a friendly coffee shop a few doors away. That's pretty much all I need.

2. British Library

"I'm sorry Richard, I know you are Jackson's friend, he told me you were coming, but I can't get you permission to enter the restricted areas." Adriana Smithson, Jackson's contact, is trying to help me but she's caught in the red tape.

"We have millions of requests each year and that forces us to set up strict rules and everyone is expected to stick to them."

"I'm looking for anything related to the Elgin Marbles expedition, Thomas Bruce's expedition to Greece to in search of treasures from the ancient world. It is between 1801 and 1812. I have a list here of portfolios that seem promising. They were listed on the web. Could I request these? They would be a good place to start."

"I'll see what I can do. You can wait here in this conference room. I'll be back as soon as I can."

I stood in the doorway for a minute, my eyes surveying the room. A very ordinary conference room for a place so overflowing with history. There is the required large monitor on the wall, the carpet is dark grey, the walls a crisp cool white. Six or seven bright orange conference chars are scattered about the room like I had arrived entirely too late for the party. I open my laptop. After a few moments of reviewing my notes, Adriana returns.

"Dr. Eaton is here to do research connected with his firm in New York." Adriana is introducing me to the head of her division.

"Nice to meet you, I'm Alice Murray. We'd like to help you but we have very strict procedures. I'm afraid I can't give you free access to the restricted areas. However, last week we were advised by the Harrison Institute that you would be here working on a project for them. Reginald has approved adding you to their account. So that means we can give you preferred status and your requests will be processed within 24 hours."

Turning to include Adriana, she continued, "You can submit your requests directly to Adriana and she can expedite their retrieval by the assistants. We'll assign this conference room for your use for the next two weeks. It is inside the secure perimeter so you will be able to personally view the documents that otherwise would not be given to the public."

"That's wonderful!" I said, looking at both Adriana and Dr. Murray.

"Are you interested in a particular time frame or region?"

"I'm looking for details of the Thomas Bruce expedition to Greece that resulted in the acquisition of the Elgin Marbles. I'm not involved in the legal aspects of the situation. Rather, I'm looking for documentation of the items obtained from the Ottoman government. I'm trying to learn if everything actually made it to London. Basically, I'm looking for lost art works."

"So you need access to the period around the turn of the 19th century. That can be arranged. Adriana's dissertation is on the impact of the early industrial revolution on the development of international trade between England and the middle- and far-east. She will be very helpful, I'm sure."

"Sounds perfect! Thank you."

"It will take a couple of days for us to set up your clearance. Today is Tuesday so check with Adriana on Thursday afternoon. I think you should be able to begin your work on Friday. I don't know if you will be able to find anything, of course, but it certainly sounds like a fascinating notion to pursue."

"Thank you Dr. Murray. I appreciate Adriana's assistance and look forward to the project!"

Working in New York for a private group makes me forget just how formal it is working within a large institution. Over the years, I've developed contacts, people like Jackson and Reginald who make it all so easy.

I am left with the afternoon free and it that it would be a useful thing to revisit the sculptures themselves. The last time I had seen the collection was about fifteen years ago on a trip to London. Elisia Thomas, my best friend from long ago when we were at Cambridge together, was completing research for her book on Victorian architecture.

We had spent a day at the British Museum viewing the collection, had a meager lunch in the cafeteria, then got lost and ended up wandering around the antiquities – something neither of us enjoyed. So we hurried through gallery after unrelenting gallery of sculptures of heads, torsos, faces with missing noses. The room with the Elgin Marbles is especially large and hence, at the time even more annoying.

3. A Café in Shoreditch

The diffused light of a July afternoon filtered through a lattice-work overhang in the small courtyard behind the café. The wooden frame drew out-of-focus shapes on our round metal table. The muted colors – pale coral and mint green, the table a faded dusty yellow, dull and flat from 50 years of use - fell on my eyes with a Mediterranean lightness.

"Tell me, Richard, about your middle name."

Even though it seems like a long time now, maybe 10 years, Elisia is still polite enough to find some time for tea or lunch. We had something pretty intense for a while back then. But someone else came along and she married him. A few years ago they divorced and we have been in touch again occasionally.

"I thought you knew. It's Reynolds, my mother's maiden name. Richard R. Eaton is about as proper as I can manage, I'm afraid. My mom grew up in London, not too far from here out in Kensington. She worked at the V & A when I was growing up. My father had disappeared when I was very young. I think I told you all about that years ago, didn't I?"

"Yes, I thought that all sounded very mysterious and strangely exotic at the time. You never really knew him, as I recall."

"Right, all I really knew is that he left on some kind of expedition or whatever and was never seen or hear from again. Eventually he was considered officially lost and that is about all we could do. He was a member of a geographical. His name was Richard Eaton, too. I was named after him, but his middle name was Quincy, Richard Q. Eaton. But I haven't a clue where Quincy came from. My mother never knew, either."

We both laughed a little at that.

"Didn't he leave any writings or anything?"

"Nothing that I know about. My mother always said he was the most secretive person she had ever met."

"Well that part runs in the family, it seems to me, my dear Richard. How long have I known you and still you won't tell me where you work and why they pay you all those gobs of money!"

"Research, that's all. I can't tell you any more than that. It's secret stuff."

"See? See what I mean?" She leaned over and touched my hand for a moment, I looked in her eyes. For a moment there is that same intensity again, just for a moment.

The server arrived with tea and a plate of macarons.

"Very civilized, I could do this every day," I said smiling at Elisia.

A fan blows gently overhead. Nearby, a palm sways slowly in the breeze. It is quiet, peaceful, restful. Here in Shoreditch in the mid-afternoon it is perfectly acceptable to be chatting away the hours and eating macarons.

"Thank you for coming to see me," I said. This has been the most peaceful afternoon I have had in a very long time. I hope we can do this again."

She looked up at me, I held her hand and she said, with a hint of a smile, "We shall see, Professor Richard R. Eaton."

4. With a Clearance

"Good morning, Adriana. Beautiful weather today, isn't it?" She had come out to the main research desk to meet me. I'm hoping that I will be able to do some work today here at the British Library. The reading room is already full of people sitting at long tables, reading or making notes.

"Good day, Richard. Yes, wonderful summer morning. I walk through the park near my flat on the way to work."

"I'm wondering if I might be able to start my research today. Have my clearances come through?"

"Yes, everything's here. Come back with me and I'll get you set up."

I follow her through a labyrinth of counters and aisles between shelving and desks, through a metal detector, and down a long hallway.

"You can enter from the lobby through this door, it will save you a lot of time when the library is busy." Turning to the guard she said, "Hi Stephan, this is Dr. Richard Eaton. He will be doing research here for a couple of weeks. He has clearance to use the inner conference room as a private study."

"Good morning, Stephan," I said as I show him my badge.

"Very well then, Dr. Eaton, I'll be looking out for you. Have a great day!"

Adriana leads me to the same area where we had been just a few days earlier and opens the conference room door. The orange chairs were still scattered about but now the morning sunlight is streaming across the room casting gently moving shadows upon the wall.

"I have placed the materials you ordered here on the table. Let me know when you have other items you would like to request. I need to have your order by one in the afternoon so there is time to collect them by the next morning. Please let me know if you need anything. My desk is just outside the door on the right."

"Thank you so much, this is fantastic. I really appreciate all your help. I'll pull a list together by noon and leave it on your desk if you are at lunch. I'm really looking forward to digging into these materials!"

"Sounds good, I'll see you around!"

The door closes, the room falls quiet, and I pull a chair to the table near the manuscripts stacked neatly in air-tight plastic pouches.

What am I looking for? In this particular case, it is impossible to know. I suspect that some of the sculptures and artifacts that were obtained in Athens by Lord Elgin, never made it to London. "Appropriated" perhaps by members of the expedition for "services rendered," or just simply stolen. One ship sank off the coast of southern Greece but the sculptures were eventually recovered. At the time, artifacts such as these were not highly valued and amid such a large collection, a few artifacts could have just disappeared without anyone noticing.

I opened the first packet, a worn leather pouch bulging with letters addressed to Elgin in the field. Sometime in the last ten or fifteen years, a cataloger opened the leather pouch sufficiently to read the opening lines of one or two letters. The cataloger made a rapid summation, entered it in the electronic catalog, and resealed the pouch: "Correspondence concerning supplies and food for his small army of workers." Other than this hasty summary, these documents haven't been examined for at least a century. It is possible no one ever thoroughly read them. The sculptures arrived in London in 1812 and were at once a sensation and a point of strong controversy. Things were happening fast and it is likely everything generated by the expedition was just piled on a shelf and never touched again.

So, as always, that's what I'm looking for: the discovery of the unknown, the ability to reach across time and space to make real something that has been hidden for years upon years. It is the search for truth lost and re-found.

Has anyone ever really thoroughly studied these documents? Is there anything essential here at all?

I unfold the letters and start reading.

Time slips away and I realize I need to give Adriana a list of new requests. It is impossible to know specifics. I already requested everything in the electronic catalog. But an expedition of this scope surely generated a mountain of documents. They must be somewhere nearby the items in the electronic catalog.

I scribbled out a note, "I would like to request all the documents within five entries on either side of the items I received today."

I dropped the note on her desk and went out for lunch.

5. Elisia's Apartment

Elisia and I are standing in front of her apartment door. Six floors up. A dark brown wooden door at the side of a small landing.

"I can hardly wait to show you my new apartment! I just put this wreath up yesterday," Elisia says.

This is a great neighborhood, not as busy as where I'm staying, with more trees, and tiny shops with muffins and coffee, and startup boutiques with unique things I probably shouldn't buy.

She pulls her keys from her purse and sorts through them. A tiny stuffed Totoro dangles from the ring. It takes two keys to open the door. A long silver one with holes drilled in the side, the other brass, dark and worn like it was dug up from the bottom of a drawer years ago.

The second lock, is sticking. Elisia jiggles it and Totoro bounces up and down. He, or maybe it's she, looks at me, asking an unheard question, "Are you sure?"

I notice a short key with ridges cut into both sides and another long silver key with a lot of scratches and worn spots where the brass shows through. And a remote for a Japanese car which I will later learn is not at all sensible.

Totoro continues to wobble about. Elisia tries the key again, upside down, and the lock turns.

"I'm just figuring this out!" she says with her blue eyes looking at me.

"There's not much furniture yet but a really nice view of the park, come and see!"

I reach out to touch her but miss.

At the window she pulls back the white sheer curtains, ties them back in a knot, and we stand there looking out over the trees and the traffic and the people walking and running. Bicycles glide by. I hold her hand. She looks at me again. I look closer, wondering, trying to ask unspoken questions. Trying to imagine answers, wondering if it is ever really possible to know what someone else is thinking.

I hold her for a long time, saying nothing at all but thousands of unspoken words flash between my eyes and my thought.

"You look absolutely lovely here in the window with the trees in the background. The afternoon light is so nice in your apartment! Come here, sit next to me."

I put my arm around her and we look out the window. "When I was in New York, I found a letter connected with the expedition that brought back the Elgin Marbles from Greece. Lord Elgin, whose real name is Thomas Bruce, was acting on his own. Even though the British government eventually ended up with the collection, Bruce went to Greece to procure the sculptures for his personal use. He intended that they would decorate his estate in Scotland and he had personally funded the entire enterprise! Can you believe that? But soon after they were in Britain, Bruce needed money and ended up selling them to the government."

"Seems like there is so much controversy about them, do you think they will ever be returned?

"I don't know, that part of it is so unbelievable! Archaeology was completely different then. The letter I found is at the Harrison Institute, where I do research from time to time. They have a small collection of 19th century documents. I'll show you the scan sometime. The letter is from the person who archived the collection before it was shipped here. He was writing to give a report to the Royal Historical Society. What is interesting to me is that he mentions not only the sculptures, but also some medieval manuscripts that were included in the collection. I wasn't able to find anything more about the manuscripts in New York."

"So you're looking for buried treasure, professor?" she says with a smile.

"It would be amusing if that's where it leads, wouldn't you say?"

"Sounds like an adventure."

"Would you help me? It would be fun to work on this together."

"Sure, I still know some people at the British Museum. You know I worked there back in the mid-two thousands. Maybe I could do a little research over there."

"Awesome! Would you?"

The afternoon sunlight makes shadows across the floor, time slips away, and Totoro is on the counter thinking about flying out over the city.

6. The 19th century collection

"Good morning, Elisia, great to see you! It's been awhile."

"Yes, maybe since last March when I had a client looking for some ancestral treasures. And, I might add, aren't we all?"

David, the assistant director of the 19th century collection smiled back, "Indeed."

"When I used to come in here every week I felt like I knew the whole Museum like my own backyard. It's always so nice to come back and see it all again."

"The part the public sees has changed a bit lately. Technology, you know? But here in the archives, nothing's changed."

"Ah yes, this looks familiar. I can't believe it's been more than five years since I resigned! It's ever so great to see you!"

"It's been too long, you should visit more often! Your email mentioned something about the Parthenon Marbles?"

"A friend and I are researching documents connected with the Thomas Bruce expedition to Greece. I thought that since the Marbles are here in the Museum, there might perhaps be some documents here, as well. We're not exactly interested in the sculptures, themselves. We're curious about the story of the expedition and the people involved. The narrative."

"The Marbles have certainly been a hot topic lately. Most of our holdings have been fairly thoroughly studied. But I can show you the section where they are kept and you can have a peep."

Memories flashed before my eyes as we walk past row upon row of stacks lined with identical filing boxes with color-coded labels. At one point I recognized the aisle where I spent two years searching for clues to help me locate a lost Turner painting.

David led me to the far back corner on the left where a smaller room opened off the large main room.

"This is where the Thomas Bruce collection is held. Let me know if you need anything. There's a study table in the far corner. Hope you find something interesting!"

7. Weekend at the Coast

We've been driving in silence for a long time. A light rain spatters the windshield, the wipers set an adagio tempo, a melody echoes in my ears. I don't think it's Vivaldi but it could be.

"Are you OK? You haven't said much," I ask as we turn onto a narrow country lane lined with trees and hedges.

"Yes, well sort of. I haven't been back here for a very long time. But I want you to see it. It means a lot to me, but it's hard." Elisia is looking at me, her eyes full of uncertainty.

We had decided to get out of the city for the weekend, take a break from a frustrating week of work that turned up absolutely nothing interesting. The plan is to drive to the coast, near Brixham, where she grew up. Eat some pub food, hang out, walk along the shore and listen to the waves.

"There in the distance, through the fog, you can see a few buildings, that is the village where I grew up. It is quiet there, a small place with few children. I spent my childhood reading and eventually writing stories of places I had read about. Far off places in the Southern Ocean, or in the frozen north. My mother rented rooms to visitors on holiday. In the summer there was always someone new passing through. We got used to it."

The car leaned into a turn and ahead of us the road opened into a long gradual downward slope. We descend into the village.

"The cottage is supposed to be just past the main square, follow the road on the left," she says.

I am driving slowly, navigating the narrowness of the ancient streets. The car is mercifully microscopic. If it had been a sunny day, we could have put the top down.

"There it is, the place with the blue awning, it's just so perfect!"

Later that afternoon, we walk down to the wharf and take up residence in a cafe across from the water. Boats moving in rhythm, up and down, the sailboat lanyards sounding a percussive concerto. Seabirds squawking and fighting over a very tiny fish one of them caught so proudly.

The rain and fog have burned off and the air is crystal clear in the long afternoon light. Colorful flags flap in the breeze and occasionally a fishing boat returns to the dock, loaded down with the day's catch.

Elisia is looking out over the water, silent.

"There's really not a lot to tell you," she said, finally. "My mother, my sister, and I lived in a small house, not far from the shore. It was ideal for travelers on holiday. Close to the center of town, the boats, shops and pubs, it was all very pleasant and quiet. There were only 23 other students in my grade. We all scattered as soon as we could. It is my writing that got me into Oxford. I spent a lot of time sitting by the shore, writing stories and drawing. Funny how things work out sometimes. My writing and my drawing were just things I did. Then one day at the University, one of my literature professors asked to see my notebooks. So I showed her one. It was full of drawings of people, buildings, birds, landscapes and some prose and poems I had written. Later, she introduced me to one of the art history professors, a friend of hers. And then suddenly the whole thing connected." She paused again, for several minutes.

"Let me get us some more coffee."

When I return, Elisia is gazing into the distance. After a few moments she continues. "You probably remember my sister, Lydia. She is two years younger than me. When I left for university, she and mother continued on for a time. Then one day, I received a letter from Lydia saying a man from France had been staying in the house and mother is spending a lot of time with him. About a month later, mother wrote me to say that she had been married and is going to France with him. She wanted to visit me before she made the journey. Things were never the same after that. My sister attended university in London and we continue to see each other occasionally. But I haven't seen my mother for maybe ten years. It is like she just wanted to start her life all over in a completely different way, without us. I don't know why. My sister and I both feel pretty much deserted. Sometimes it seems pretty lonely now."

The shadows are reaching long across the road, the sun drops behind the buildings. This is the wrong side of England for sunsets over the water. "Maybe we should take a walk," I say, hoping to be helpful.

Holding her extra close as we walk along the wharf, neither of us talking much. I tried, "I'm sorry. It's hard to understand things, sometimes." She looks at me as I tell her, "I hope you know how very much you mean to me, you always have. Even those years when we went separate ways. It's wonderful to be with you now."

There is a bench nearby and together we look out at the water and feel the sun setting behind us. The earth spinning forward before us.

8. A Letter

"Let's go out to dinner, I have some news to share!"

"Fantastic, I would love some tapas," Elisia says.

We walk down the street and step inside Brindisa. "Let's take a table."

"I actually made some progress today. I am beginning to think there just isn't any truth to that letter I told you about – you know, the one suggesting there might be manuscripts included with the Marbles?"

The waiter came over, we ordered.

"Well you know I always think the most interesting stuff is not where it's supposed to be. Somehow misfiled, or accidentally moved over time? No one notices. By now I had pretty much read all the portfolios in the area where they told me to look, so I really had no choice but to start looking around nearby. Well today I found something!"

"Ok, I'm listening! Out with it, don't leave me in suspense!"

"Well, it's not what I was expecting. I found a portfolio filled with documents listing the contents of the collection. A lot of sculptures and other stone artifacts. Pages of listings. Then towards the back is an addendum of "Auxiliary Items," an accounting of all the letters and manuscripts carried by the expedition. And at the end, a listing of about a dozen unidentified manuscripts dating from the fifth century. These must be the manuscripts that the letter I found at the Harrison was referring to."

"Is there any information about this manuscripts, any titles or authors?"

"No unfortunately, no details at all."

The waiter brought our drinks and the first round of plates.

"But there's more," I said as I wolfed down one of the shrimp empanadas. "This is really freaky but you're going to have to believe me. At the very back of the portfolio is another letter to the Royal Historical Society but it seems like it was never sent. It is signed by the archivist of the expedition, Richard K. Eaton."

Elisia looks at me, sort of grinning and sort of completely dazed. "You are serious?"

"I have a scan of it here on my phone. Look."

I open the phone and pull up the image. She grabs it from my hand and zooms in.

"You're serious."

"Yes."

"So explain this to me, would you?"

"I can't."

9. A Locked Box

"David, do you know anything about the locked red box in the room with the Thomas Bruce collection?"

'No, I'm not aware of it at all. Can you show it to me."

Together they wind their way through the labyrinth of stacks to the back corner room.

"Here it is," Elisia says. "It is just buried under all these uncatalogued manuscripts on the bottom shelf of this cabinet.

"I've never seen it before! Very interesting, indeed. Locked, you say?"

"Yes, unfortunately. I suppose the key has been lost and no one knew what to do about it."

"I'll ask someone to help search the database for a key. Maybe it has been filed somewhere."

"That would be wonderful, thank you so much for helping. It has been a bit slow going but I'm hopeful this will give us some new information."

"I'll let you know if anything turns up. See you soon!"

David walks back towards the main room.

Elisia sends me a text, "I've found a box here in the collection, about the size of a document dispatch case. But it's locked!'

A few seconds later, her phone flashes a message, "Wow, that's cool. We seem to be collecting some interesting mysteries, aren't we?"

"Let's meet for dinner, I've done about all I can today."

Thumbs up! emoji.

"That is the longest bus ride I've ever had," Elisia had just come in and together we find a table. "I'm so excited about this locked box! I don't know why but I feel like if we can find a way to open it, we will have made a new discovery of some kind. After all, it has been sitting there in the Museum for almost two hundred years and no one has ever seen what's inside! It isn't even cataloged."

"Maybe the key got separated from the box when the artifacts were stored in the Museum and the documents were sent to the Library. Adriana and I will start looking for it tomorrow. In the meantime, you have to tell me more about it. What does it look like, how big is it?"

"It's red, made of wood, and covered in Venetian paper. It's not very big, only about six by eight inches and only three inches deep, about the size of a document dispatch case. It's not very heavy but something makes a dull bumping sound inside when I shake it. Now isn't that just so curious?"

"Well, we just have to find a way to open it!"

10. The Box Not Opened

"Let's take a walk, we've been inside so much lately." Elisia and I head down the stairs and out into the early evening. It's quiet for a weekday.

"I just don't think we're going to find that key," Elisia is shaking her head slightly. "I've looked in all the stacks around the time of the sculpture purchase and there's nothing there."

"I haven't found anything, either. Some thing. I've searched all the adjacent sections. I keep imagining that there will be an envelope tucked inside the back of a folio somewhere with the key sealed inside. No one would have any idea what the key was for and would have left it there all these years. I just can't believe we haven't found it!"

"What should we do?"

"Today I spent some time really examining the box very carefully, trying to see if there is a way to open it without destroying it. The hinges on the back have pins that are recessed into the interior of the case so we can't just pull them and open it that way. It clearly is made to be very secure. The only thing unusual is a small triangular indentation on the bottom in the center. I don't know what that is for."

"Sounds like we can't just force it open."

"No! We really can't do that. David would get in all kinds of trouble for letting me in there if I cause any damage. I can't risk that."

"Tell me about the lock, what does it look like?"

"It's recessed into the case. There is a small keyhole with a brass surround. The slot is very narrow and only about a quarter or half inch tall. I tried to slide in a paper clip and it seems like it might be about an inch deep."

"That's an idea. Have you tried to pick the lock with the paper clip? Did anything happen?"

"I tried wiggling it around," Elisia said with a laugh. "But nothing happened. Even if I could trip the lock, I can't figure out how to make it turn. The slot is just so narrow."

"There's got to be some way to open it."

"Do you think the Museum would allow us to hire a locksmith to come in and open it? Surely someone who knows locks could open it."

"That's a great idea, I think we should try. Would you talk to David about it in the morning?"

11. Opening the Box

I text Elisia, "You are not going to believe this but I just found a key!"

"What?"

"Yes, tucked inside a ledger book of payments."

"Bring it over, I'll meet you in the lobby!"

Fist bump emoji.

"That didn't take very long!" Elisia is standing near the door, waiting for me.

"Technically speaking, I guess I'm a thief. I just walked out of the Library with some of their property,"

"You can return it as soon as we open the box, come on!" Elisia leads me to the archive section. "Hi David, this is Richard. We've working together on this project. He's been researching at the British Library while I've been working here. We think we've found the key to that locked box I told you about."

"Really? That's fantastic. Where did you find it? Oh, wait, maybe I don't want to know. Let me get you signed in. I'll be right back."

"Great, I hope this works"

"Me, too!"

"Ok, you're all set. Here's your badge. Let's go check this out."

The large main room is amazing, row after row of shelves packed solid with archive boxes. I followed behind as we make our way further and further into the archive.

"Richard, here's the room, and the box is over there on the bottom shelf." Elisia reaches down and places the box on the reading table.

"Here's the key. I wonder if it will work."

"David, you try it."

I took the key out of my wallet where I had it for safe keeping. It is indeed old, tarnished brass, with the edges rounded from wear. The key is small, barely larger than the size of my thumbnail but in an unusual triangle shape.

David takes the key and pushes it into the lock. It fits perfectly but when he tries to turn it to open the lid, it won't turn.

"I can't make it turn," said David. I don't want to force it too hard and break something but it just doesn't seem to want to work. "It fits so perfectly, I don't understand why it's not opening. Here Elisia, you found the box, you give it a try."

She takes the key and tries it but it still doesn't turn. "We must be doing something wrong."

"Can it go in any other way, upside down or maybe wiggle it in and out. It's so worn, it might not line up exactly anymore."

After trying several times, nothing happens.

"There must be something we're missing. I'm sure this is the right key," she says.

I take the key out of the lock and examine it carefully, holding it in the palm of my hand, turning it over.

"I know," she exclaims. "Here on the bottom, remember I told you the box had an unusual triangular indentation there?" Let's see if the key fits there."

She takes the key from my hand, turns over the box, and holds the key over the indentation. "It looks like it should fit," and she pushes the key in.

There is a soft click and the key slowly moves sideways into a slot hidden under the cover of the box. There is another soft click, and the lock gently opens.

12. A Green Diary

"Elisia, you open it, let's see what's inside." She looked at me in surprise.

She sets the box on the table and slowly lifts the lid back. Inside is a book, only slightly smaller than the size of the box. The box is lined with blue leather.

"Wow, how strange. Just a single book inside," David said. "I was expecting a sheaf of papers, documents of some kind of importance."

"Or something valuable!" I said.

"Let's lay the book here on this reading rack." David suggests.

Elisia places the book on a cotton cloth. It is a pale green color, almost the color of the ocean as sunlight shines through a wave. The leather binding is elegantly crafted but considerably worn from use. The corners were nicked and dented and there were scratches and stains on the cover.

She opens the cover. The end papers are light grey and stained. The first page is blank except for a few randomly scattered dates and numbers handwritten in a light brown ink. She turns the page and in complete silence we read the title page:

### Book One: The Diary of Richard K. Eaton

Diary of an Expedition 1805 to 1812

Richard K. Eaton

28th of December, 1808, somewhere south of Graz, Austria

I am riding south through Austria towards the Alps in a coach with four other travelers. Crowded and cold it is and I do not want to think how many days more I will be on the road.

Vienna seems so removed now, yet only six days ago I was warm and well fed, sitting in the Theater an der Wien and listening to the premier of Beethoven's new 6th Symphony. The themes run through my head, lyrical and warm. His Pastoral, he calls it. I wish for such warmth today!

I have been called to Athens to serve Thomas Bruce in his quest to obtain the sculptures of the Parthenon. A questionable notion but as an archivist my role will be to document and catalog. I cannot say more. For three years already they have been working, dismantling the works and preparing them for shipment. Bruce is convinced some of the artifacts have gone missing. Stolen perhaps but he knows not where or by whom. When I arrive, it will be my work to watch over them.

I dread the crossing of the mountains but somehow I will manage. He says he will pay handsomely and perhaps I will return to England with sufficient reward to leave my position at the museum and pursue research abroad. At least it may be so.

10th of July, 1810, Athens

The sun beats down upon us. For over a year I have been here now. Working endlessly to catalog and protect the sculptures. It is tedious and dangerous. Just yesterday, a man fell from the top of a column. Stones drop to the ground and burst into fragments. I cannot bear many more months of this.

14th of August, 1811, Athens

We have begun to load the ships again. Exacting work this is, for each sculpture must be preserved from damage across a voyage of several weeks. Storms are rare at this time of year but we must prepare for any circumstance that may arise.

3rd of March, 1812, the port of Athens

Late this evening I boarded the "Margate," a two-masted schooner bound for the port of London. We have loaded the last of the sculptures and artifacts into the hold and secured them fast. We set sail at first light. This is not the ideal time to travel by sea, especially around the Strait and up the coast of France. We have been watching the western sky for days now, as storms build up and pass to the south. It is not my choice but I must return with the artifacts and ensure safe delivery.

As we were leaving, my assistant, Arion Demos, a highly skilled and knowledgeable architect from Megara, a small town up the coast from Athens pulled me aside. "A small parting gift for you, my friend. Your care and diligence let me know that these works of art will remain safe for years to come. We have been a good team, you and I, and I want you to have these. This is completely unofficial, of course. I'm sure you understand. But I know these manuscripts will be in good hands. I expect you will recognize their value."

We ate and drank together late into the night, one last time, as we had on a few occasions over the years. Long years it has been and I am more than ready to head home.

"Have a safe and swift journey home, Richard," Arion said as he turned and walked towards the city.

30th of March, 1812, Bay of Biscay

The journey across the Mediterranean was smooth but slow. We were often sailing into the wind and we made slow progress. The weather is clear. As we passed through the Strait of Gibraltar the winds increased and we made rapid progress on a beam reach up the coast of Portugal.

But yesterday the ocean turned into a churning mass of wind and waves. As we sailed into the Bay of Biscay, a storm front suddenly descended upon us. Waves pounded the bow and we trimmed the sails for a close-hauled course into the waves. It is rough going.

Thirty-six hours into the storm, night fell on the second day and we struggled hard to hold our course. Suddenly loud fearsome cracks overhead cut thorough the howling wind. Some of the rigging had snapped and one of the main sails tore into shreds. We pulled into the wind and all the sailors worked through the night to keep the boat from being broken into pieces.

In the morning, the clouds lifted, the wind died down. We took our bearings and realized that the storm had blown us north and east into the English Channel. But the condition of the boat was disastrous.

An argument ensued between struggling to make it to London or seeking repairs at the first port available. After many opinions were raised I said, "We cannot risk the lost of the sculptures and it is important that this last vessel from Athens arrives at Greenwich intact with the crew safe. We must seek repairs soon. If another storm falls upon us, we would not survive!"

Everyone agreed and set a course for Le Havre, the great seaport at the mouth of the Seine River. Here we will find the repairs necessary to complete our journey.

5th of April, 1812, Le Havre

This unforeseen delay has been maddening. Yet, it may be of some value to me. In short, I have been given an opportunity to secret away the most fascinating gifts Arion gave me. It seems most prudent.

I sought a monastery nearby where I could prevail upon them to hold my documents in their library for my return. The landscape around Le Havre is dotted with Norman towns, most with a church, cathedral, or monastery dating from as early as the sixth century. Some were burned or abandoned in Viking raids or the wars of the Middle Ages. Any one of the monasteries would have suited my purpose excellently. However, with the French Revolution, the monasteries were closed in the 1790s. Only one prominent solution remained.

I obtained a small dispatch box from a bookseller in the city. It is suitably nondescript, yet dating from the early 17th century. An object that will command complete invisibility here among the Medieval architecture of the town. With everything bundled inside, I spent the past three days searching for a satisfactory location.

This morning I received word that the repairs on the boat are complete, we will set sail in the morning. Time is closing in.

I started early, at daybreak and the bells of the parish church attracted my notice. Here, close to the port, in the obscurity of obviousness, I have found a most perfectly inconspicuous hiding place, suitably Baroque and majestic.

13. A Decision

Elisia turns the page and we find, inserted into the book, a thin page of paper. She unfolds it and lays it on the table.

17th of August, 1812

Dear Father,

I have completed my work on the sculptures. It has been a long and arduous task. But I will say it has also been quite lucrative. I will now be able to spend several years on my research and plan to leave for the islands early in the spring when traveling below the equator will be reasonable.

In the meantime, I plan to return to Le Harve to collect some manuscripts and objects I have left there, a present from a friend. I am most eager to show them to you for you will find them most fascinating. Indeed they are valuable, I am sure.

I regret to miss your birthday tomorrow but I will visit soon,

Richard

"It appears he never sent the letter. I wonder why," she asks.

"Perhaps he changed his mind and went home to see him the next day, that's what I would have done."

"Well, it seems there is no proof he returned to collect the hidden manuscripts. I wonder if they are still there?"

"That sounds like an invitation to go to Le Havre," I give her a slyly sinister smile.

"Well, perhaps it is."

### Three

Time Zones

1. To Le Harve

"I'm so glad we decided to take the ferry instead of driving, this is just so perfect!" Elisia is looking out across the water as the coastline of Portsmouth recedes behind us.

"It just seems necessary to arrive in Le Harve from the water. It has been an important seaport for centuries."

As the time passes, the sun shines down upon us here on the top deck. I go to the ship's cafe and order two espressos. Small clouds float in the sky.

"Arriving in a new place is always exciting but I have wanted to visit here for a very long time, since I first became fascinated with the imagery of Impressionism," I said. "It has always seemed to me to be the earliest style of painting that connects with jazz. The abstractions, colors, the motion make me want to sit down and play,"

"Do you still play very much?"

"I have a really nice piano in my apartment in New York. I still play some trio gigs from time to time. I don't play bass much anymore, though."

The French coastline is approaching. We will arrive soon.

"I've booked a room for us downtown, near the port. We can collect our bags and walk there," she says as the ferry bumps against the dock.

2. Pondering Riddles

"This is a great rental. Look there's even a small balcony," Elisia says as we step into the apartment.

"This is going to be great!"

"What a beautiful view, it's so classic, looking out on the harbor."

"I'm ready for some serious hanging out, let's find a cafe and get something to eat" I say as I drop our stuff on the bed.

Out in the street we hear the sound of sea birds overhead and a boat horn out on the water.

"Let's try this place," Elisia says as we walk by a small cafe with blue umbrellas in front. "I'll have a salad, what would you like?"

"I'll go with a classic sandwich jambon, I lived on those things when I is here as a kid," I said with a shrug. "Not exactly gourmet but if they put some brie on it, then I can claim some foodie cred."

We found a table and started to really examine the scene.

"How much of this was here when Monet painted that painting you were telling me about," she asks.

"Well, the main shape of the harbor, the quay was certainly here, but it's not in his painting. He is looking out to sea at the ships. The shore really isn't in the painting. You can see some smokestacks, and a couple of tall industrial cranes. Here's what the painting looks like." I open my phone and bring up an image of the painting. "Ever since I first saw the painting with my mother in Paris, I've been fascinated by this place. I think it is partly about the small boats in the foreground. I think it would be so fun to be able to go rowing out on the water. I've always liked rowing a small boat."

"Maybe we could do that here somewhere, I've never done that before. It would be an adventure!"

"Really? Well then we must do it, either here or somewhere beautiful. I know the perfect place. We'll have to go there."

"Yes, we should. Someplace where there are fewer mega-ton freighters going by."

"Agreed."

"I've been thinking about this dispatch box story of yours, professor Eaton. There are just a lot of holes in this theory that I can't figure out."

"Cool, let's go through what we know and see if any ideas come to mind."

"First, let's make some notes about what we know. He has been given some manuscripts, they are undocumented, he wants to hide them so he doesn't show up in Greenwich with artifacts in his possession that are not accounted for."

"Right, that certainly would look bad, even if he did get them from Demos legally. Did Demos have a legal right to give them to him? He'd definitely have some explaining to do if they were discovered."

"A lot of hand waving would ensue or worse." Elisia is demonstrating the hand waving and we both laugh.

"So that much seems believable. Find a way to secret away the artifacts in a place that he could easily retrieve them later."

"That's the part that doesn't work for me," she says, looking out over the water and then nodding her head as if carrying on a conversation with herself. "Let's think about what we know of European history."

"Ok, we know the time frame. The Marbles were shipped to England in 1811 and 1812. Tchaikovsky puts a time stamp on that date for almost everyone with his overture."

"Right, but what is it about?"

"The invasion of Russia by Napoleon. That's why it includes the Marseillaise."

"Got it! The Napoleonic Wars that happened after the French Revolution. The War of 1812 which is going on in the States between the US and Britain probably wouldn't have impacted this situation. I looked it up yesterday, the war with the states didn't start until June of that year, so Eaton and the Marbles would have been back in London by then."

"But France invaded Spain and that would have made the whole Iberian Peninsula a pretty uncertain place around those years."

"Right, I seem to remember that Britain got involved."

"British troupes landed in Portugal and helped the Portuguese fight back against the French. They liberated Portugal and started to push in to Spain, but it was hard going."

"Britain and France just were not friends at all back then."

"I know, so that's the other part that just doesn't seem right. Let's look at a map on your phone, can we?"

I open my phone and find the area around the English Channel.

"See," she says, pointing to Le Havre on the map. "If the ship actually had been damaged from a storm somewhere around this point, by Cherbourg-en-Cotentin, why would they choose to go to France for help when someplace like Southampton is not really any farther away?"

"You're right, that makes no sense." Why take a British ship full of priceless ancient artifacts into France during the time Britain is fighting France in Spain. There would be so many potential problems with that idea, I can't imagine anyone would do it unless the ship is totally just sinking"

"Which it must not have been because they repaired it in three days."

"So now what?"

"Well, there's another thing that I just can't figure out. For example, look around us. Nearly all these buildings are new. They're post-war concrete architecture, I'm sure. This place was heavily bombed during the war, I wonder if there is anything left of the buildings that would have been here in 1812."

"If Eaton hid his artifacts in a building here and never returned to claim them, they would have been lost in the bombings of 1944. I think that's pretty certain."

"Do you remember exactly what he said in the letter?"

I open my phone and look through my notes. "Here it is." I'm reading, 'I started early, at daybreak and the bells of the parish church attracted my notice. Here, close to the port, in the obscurity of obviousness, I have found a most perfectly inconspicuous hiding place, suitably Baroque and majestic.'"

Elisia opens her phone and searchs for "parish church Le Havre." "It seems they call it the Cathedral now. I wonder how much of it survived the bombing."

"We should go check it out. His letter is very obviously directing us to that building with its Baroque facade."

The waiter brings us our lunch and the conversation turns to other things, the flavor of authentic French cheese, and the beauty of not being at work on a sunny afternoon.

3. The Cathedral

"The Cathedral is just a few blocks from here, I'll check my map." I pay the bill and we walk out of the cafe.

"It's hard to image what it must have been like in Monet's time here. Since the war so much of this has changed."

"That's the part I just can't figure out, either. If he thought these artifacts were so valuable, why would he leave them somewhere completely out of his control in a country that is still recovering from the Revolution and in the midst of a couple of wars?"

"I suppose he planned to retrieve them right away. What is the date on the letter," Elisia asked.

"Let's see, I'll look. Let's cross check the dates. According to the diary entry, he hid the artifacts on April 5, 1812. Now, let's see. The date of the letter in which he tells his father he needs to go back to Le Havre for the artifacts is August of the same year," I said as I put my phone back in my pocket.

"So that's six months. I'm surprised he waited that long."

We walk up the street in silence, trying in vain to imagine walking this street in 1812. Soon, the street opens onto a square and the cathedral facade stands before us.

"Can you remember the dates of the building," I asked.

"According to the web, the tower is from about 1500 and the facade is Baroque as you can see. It looks to me as if the entire main structure is from the Renaissance and then they added the facade later." Elisia is walking towards the side of the building to look more closely at the building's construction.

"I wonder how much of this building was damaged in the bombings? Perhaps we can find some information inside."

We enter the main doors and immediately we feel transported into another time and place. The reverberant echoes of footsteps and soft spoken words swirl around the large open spaces. Light filters through the stained glass windows overhead in the clerestory. As we walk towards the apse, we pass a number of side chapels, some with flickering candles casting moving shadows against the stone walls.

"Perhaps there is someone we can talk to about the history of the reconstruction."

We cross the transept and continue around the apse. Turning back towards the main entrance we walk down the other side aisle, past more side chapels.

Just to the left of the main doors is a passageway leading into the tower. Inside, a man is sitting at a desk working at a computer.

"Can you tell us how we could learn more about the reconstruction of this building after the bombings," Elisia asks.

"There is a small display in the far corner of the nave, just to the right of the main doors. Perhaps you missed it if you came in the other side," he says.

Elisia pauses for a minute then asks, "Is there a library connected with the Cathedral, or some kind of archive where early manuscripts are held. We're art historians and interested in how the manuscripts were preserved in this region during the years after the Revolution."

I smiled faintly, catching on to her idea.

"We have a small archive but it is not open to the public. And as you can see, we really don't have a large space for holding manuscripts. Also, we don't have the means to support the staff necessary to catalog and administer it, off site, either, unfortunately," he said. For a moment, he stopped and thought. "Perhaps if you knew what you might be looking for and you could come back tomorrow, the person who oversees our collection will be here from about noon to three. You might try back then."

"Thank you very much, we'll come back then. Merci," she says as we turn to leave the office.

Near the front doors we look carefully at a small display of photographs and newspaper articles. The images show the cathedral partially standing amid a jagged rubble of broken stones and bricks. In the photographs, the facade was still standing but the front half of the nave had been destroyed. The roof and walls of the transept and apse were structurally intact but it is impossible to tell how much had been destroyed inside. The devastation is shocking and deeply saddening.

"It's hard to imagine living through something like that," Elisia says as she holds my hand. "I just can imagine how I would deal with seeing everything around me so horribly destroyed. It just makes me feel so frustrated that things like this can happen. I just don't understand why."

Before we leave, we walk back around the building one more time, pausing at each side chapel, looking closely for a dark corner or area behind an alter where a small dispatch box could be hidden in a building that had been half destroyed by aerial bombing.

"Honestly, after seeing those photos of the bombed out building, I really think that whatever Eaton may have left here was either destroyed in the war or discovered and put into the archives."

Elisia is thinking out loud as we step out into the late afternoon sunshine. The low light casts a high contrast golden glow upon the facade suggesting in my mind a cinematic dolly shot fading into a long unanswered question.

4. Cathedral Archivist

At about one in the afternoon we return to the Cathedral. Again, the interior is dark and cool, a hushed atmospheric sound reverberates through the space.

Stepping through the small doorway into the tower, I smile and say, "Bon jour, Monsieur. We have returned in the hopes of speaking with your archivist as you had mentioned yesterday,"

"Is he in," Elisia asks.

"Yes he is here. I mentioned you might stop by, let me tell him you are here, I'll be right back."

In a few moments, a tall, thin man wearing round glasses and a dark grey suit enters the office.

"I am Dr. Leblanc, but you can call me Gabriel."

"This is Dr. Elisia Thomas and I am Dr. Richard Eaton," I say as I shake his hand.

"We are art historians and are studying the preservation of artifacts and manuscripts during the years after the French Revolution through the end of World War II," Elisia explains.

"I might be able to help you a little bit but actually you might want to check with the city archives, too. But their holdings for the war years were lost in the bombing, so that might be something to be aware of."

"The city's records were lost," I exclaim, "that is certainly very unfortunate."

"Yes, this whole area was essentially wiped out by the Allied bombing. Because this is an important harbor, when the Nazi's invaded France they started using this as one of the places to stage their navel attacks upon Britain. After the war, the reparations funded a massive reconstruction. As you may know, the city has been designated a UNESCO site for the architecture. Auguste Perret is the lead architect. He is Le Corbusier's teacher."

"We noticed the beautiful post-war buildings but didn't understand the depth of the destruction," Elisia says.

"We saw the photo of the cathedral after the bombing. We are interested to know if many of the artifacts and the archive where destroyed, too," I ask.

"Yes regrettably, some items were lost. Just before the invasion, the most valuable works had been relocated to a number of locations out in the countryside where they would be away from the bombing. In 1949 they began to rebuild the Cathedral and when it was complete, the artifacts were returned."

"We're trying to track down some manuscripts that my great-great grandfather may have left here in Le Havre in August of 1812. Can you think of any place that might still exist where he could have placed these items in safe keeping," I ask, thinking there really isn't anything to loose at this point. It seemed best to just go for it.

"The monasteries would have been abandoned by that time. During the Revolution, the church is placed under the control of the government and the orders abolished. Some of the monasteries were abandoned and others fell into private ownership. I'm sure there were libraries and archives in those places but I do not know what would have happened to those materials. There were probably twenty or thirty monasteries in this part of France. Perhaps some of the items were transferred to Rome, or simply stolen and dispersed. Those were very volatile and dangerous times."

"I see, I understand completely."

"Perhaps if we have any other questions or new leads come up, we could contact you," Elisia asks hopefully.

"Certainly, here is my card and you can contact me via email. I'm semi-retired now but this has been my life's work and I'm glad to help if I can. I come in once or twice each week. Perhaps if you learn more details of these documents, I could do a search for you."

"All we know is that he kept the artifacts in a small dispatch box that dated from the 1600s."

"A small dispatch box? I seem to remember seeing something like that quite a few years ago. Let me think about it. Why don't you come back on Monday. I will look around the storeroom upstairs in the tower. Perhaps I will find something"

Thank you very much for your help! You've given us a little bit of hope. We so appreciate it," I said as I placed his card in my wallet.

"Good day to you," Gabriel said as we step out of the office and back into the darkness of the nave.

"It is worth waiting a few days to see if he finds something," Elisia says trying to sound optimistic.

"I'm sure we can find some things to do. Maybe there's a nice quiet lake nearby where we could take that boat ride!" I put my arm around her and we walk back out into the sunshine.

5. What the Archivist Found

Several days fly by. It had been so long since either of us had taken any time to just be on holiday. It is so relaxing to just hang out at the cafe near our room. Yesterday we took a bus ride into the hills surrounding the city and found a small restaurant with a view of the valley. Today we have been so relaxed that it wasn't until almost four in the afternoon that we remember it is Monday and that we should check back with Dr. Leblanc at the Cathedral.

We dash over and just as we came up to the front doors, Dr. Leblanc steps out.

"I thought you had given up on me," he said.

"We're very sorry to be so late today, we were just so enjoying a holiday weekend that time slipped away," Elisia said smiling.

"Well, I had a lot of other work to do here in the archives today so I've been busy and time flew by for me, too. But it's well that you have returned because I may have found something for you. I'm not sure it is exactly what you are looking for but it is definitely a curious specimen, at any rate. Why don't you come inside?"

We step into the dark interior and follow Leblanc up the stairs to the second floor of the tower. The room is piled high with manuscripts, books, boxes, old crates, and two very large wooden cabinets.

"There are three floors more of artifacts, manuscripts, and artworks stored on the floors above us. It is a lot to try to organize without any additional help. But when you mentioned a dispatch box I remembered years ago a small ornate box that had not been cataloged. One of the first things I did when I came here years ago was to try to catalog everything! But without a computer and additional help, I was never able to succeed at that plan."

"But I imagine your memory is like a catalog, you probably know where everything is, don't you?" Elisia is looking around the room like a kid in a toy store. "It must be fascinating to work with all these artifacts that span such a long period of history."

"My only regret is that I have not had enough time to really study in depth very many of the works that are contained here. I've written a few monographs over the years but there are so many fascinating stories here, it's just wonderful!"

As Leblanc is talking and holding an early manuscript up into the light that is shining in through a round window high on the wall near the ceiling. The dust of ages dances through the shaft of light like fragments of time, freed from the confines of an ancient page unseen for perhaps centuries until this moment.

"This is what I remembered," Leblanc says as he puts down the manuscript and reaches over to his desk.

A small leather box large enough to only hold a manuscript or two. The leather is darkened with age.

"My great-grandfather said it was a nondescript dispatch box. He certainly is correct in that regard. How did you ever remember something so ordinary and unremarkable among all these wonderful manuscripts?" I asked.

"That's exactly the point, Dr. Eaton. He no doubt thought that a drab and ordinary box would blend in with its surroundings and escape detection until he could return and collect it. But among all these works of art, it is the art-less and dull that stands out. I remembered this box because at the time I pondered why it was here, what caused someone to believe it valuable enough to preserve against the unforeseen events of over two hundred years? Why? I never could answer that question because it is locked and I do not have the key. I remember one day my curiosity had plagued me so badly I was going to grab a knife and slice it open just to satisfy myself of its mystery. But as you can see, I did not," he said with a laugh. "Here Dr. Eaton, take this box and rid me of this dull and forlorn object, I will be ever so grateful!"

And we all have a laugh together as he hands the box to me with the dramatic sweeping gesture as if he were passing me a priceless jewel.

6. Inside the Dispatch Box

I hold the box in my hand, and look at Elisia with a questioning glance. Throughout these past weeks I had imagined that the box would contain a rare stone artifact or large manuscript from the ancient world. But the box is actually very small and not heavy enough to contain stone artifacts. Coins, perhaps? There must be something valuable inside. Eaton had said his time in Athens had been very lucrative. Wouldn't his assistant have given him something particularly significant?

"Can you open it Richard?" Elisia asks as she steps across the room to see the box more closely.

"It is indeed locked," Leblanc shrugs. "Do you have a key?"

"No, my great-grandfather left a diary that I have read but there is no mention of a key. He must have kept the key with him when he sailed back to London."

"Yes, probably." Leblanc is starting to pack up his things. He seems genuinely disappointed.

"After all these years, Dr. Leblanc, you deserve a resolution to this mystery. Surely there is a way to open this box. If you will permit that the box transfers to my personal property I will slice it open and we can all discover its contents together."

"I do grant you that it is your property. There is no record of ownership in the files that I can find and there appears no reason for it to be held in the collection of the cathedral. It appears to have no religious or artistic value of any kind. Yes, Dr. Eaton, it is yours." Leblanc still looks disgusted and maybe a little irritated that this whole thing is so meaningless.

"Do you have a knife I can use to break it open?"

"Wait!" Elisia is looking through her purse, digging down to the very depths where the good stuff hides. "Here is the first key that we tried to open the box with the diary in it but it didn't work, remember? Before you break it open, try this one. It just might work on this box."

She hands me the key and I look at it for a moment. "It is about the right size but it seems too recent for this older box. But I'll try it. Here goes!"

I push the key into the lock and try to turn the lock. It is stiff and doesn't move. After several twists, the key begins to rotate in the lock. With two more tries, the lock pops open.

"It worked, you Elisia, are a genius!"

We all move closer as I lift the lid of the box. The lining is dark and frayed. A dark rich color of silk probably that had deteriorated over time. As I raise the lid, visions of precious gemstones or a treasure map flash across my brain. But no, not this time. No diamonds, no ancient manuscripts, no early stone artifacts. There is no leather pouch of rare and fabulously valuable gold Macedonian coins.

With a shrug of resignation, I reach into the box and remove a small red leather book, a hand-drawn map of some islands, and another key. This time, the key is small, rounded, old but not worn, as if it had been kept in a hiding place for a very long time.

7. The Eaton Mystery Box

Leblanc is shaking his head. "I had dreamed that some important papers of state had been hiding there all these years. Or, maybe something that would explain where all the remaining manuscripts from the Cathedral's collection were stored. The 13th century catalog includes perhaps several hundred artifacts that I have never been able to locate. I have always suspected they had been destroyed in the bombing, or stolen. After all, across all those centuries it is a wonder anything is left intact!"

"We are very grateful to you, Monsieur Leblanc, for helping us so kindly. What will happen to this box now?" I am holding the book in my hand, it is small, the kind of notebook that could be used for keeping quick records or short entries of some kind.

"This box does not appear in any catalog that I have ever discovered. So there is no legal basis for the Cathedral to claim ownership. How the box found its way into these rooms is completely unknown to me. Since you seem to have some knowledge of it, I will presume you have some right of ownership and will transfer it to you."

"We are so grateful for your help professor," Elisia said as she threw me a quick smile.

"There's a form for this purpose. Let me dig around my desk, I'm sure it is here in this drawer."

Leblanc pulls open the drawers of his desk, one after another. On the bottom right he digs through a pile of papers and pulls out a bundle of small yellow cards.

"Yes, this is it. Just fill in your name and some contact information. That should do it. Let's call this object the Eaton Mystery Box!"

I hand the card back to Leblanc and he inserts it on the top of the bundle and places it back in his bottom desk drawer. I wonder how many years it will be before someone ever needs to transfer an object again. Such is the way of an archive, years after years go by and then suddenly a frozen moment in time reappears in an entirely new light, in the sounds and atmosphere of a completely different world.

"It is late, we have detained you longer than we should have. I can't tell you how much I appreciate your help. I think we all had hoped for some kind of mysterious treasure, but even this small notebook will be a treasure to me as I learn more of the journeys my great-grandfather took so long ago. Good night and the best to you!"

Elisia and I step out into the square and walk together towards our room.

"I think we have some reading to do tonight," she says. "I can't wait to see what is in the book!"

"Exactly! But let's grab a quick dinner at the cafe first. All this ancient mystery stuff makes me feel like I haven't had a meal for at least a century!"

8. Later that Night

"So this is some kind of diary, it appears," Elisia is holding the small red book under the light that rests upon the table between our windows. The sun is setting, we had lingered in the cafe over coffee and at least one or two pastries.

"Let's read it together, I can't imagine what the point of all this is but it's a fun mystery, anyway. So glad you could get away and be a part of this with me!"

She opens the cover and turns the first page...

### Book Two: The Founding of Lysandareth

Copied from my diary with original dates retained

Richard F. Eaton, 1682

16th July, 1644

Many years ago, when I was young and provoked adventure, I rode west over the mountains. I told not a soul, for to ride into the west was foolish. To the logical minds of the day, there was no value in it; a vast wasteland of useless open land it was. And it was unknown.

I rode with a sense of freedom and expectation I had not felt often. With each moment's passing, I was further removed from safety and security and it was good. And on the ninth day, the earth fell away, down a great cliff and grabbed at the sea in a jagged and horrible thrashing of waves and rocks. I had ridden to the edge and stood for some time looking out upon it.

Lonely and desolate it was, or so it seemed. For I had seen no one since leaving the Byrnt Oak Inn five days earlier. In the warm season, the trails had been easy and birds and small mountain flowers were in abundance. But not one person did I see. And I was convinced that in all the world around, my eyes alone were seeing this.

From atop the cliff, the view was indeed splendid. On my right, a deep bay swept inward in a great arch. On the far side of the bay, across the crest of the cliffs, were dense forests rolling in waves of hills and ravines far into the distance. In the sky, birds swooped and called: a mighty eagle, dozens of seagulls. A falcon perched in a tree behind me. And before me, the setting sun was reflected like millions of diamonds and rubies, on the vast forever of the ocean. And in the sky, crimson clouds were suspended like translucent layers of royal tapestry.

Without breathing, I watched the sun slowly set. One after another, the birds flew away. The wind grew calm. In the fading sunlight, the reflections softened and I could begin to see individual waves cresting and breaking across the surface of the water. I focused on a cluster of birds below me in the near distance. Swirling and swooping they were. They seemed to be following something: a small group of dark specks, floating up and down in the waves. At first I thought that larger birds were floating in the water. As I watched, I realized they were moving inland. After a time, I could see them more clearly. Indeed, it was startling to realize the dark objects were small wooden fishing boats; I was not alone!

17th July 1644

Night fell quickly and the events of yesterday prevented me from writing more. Now as I look back on the past hours I realize that there is much to document. When I first saw the fishing boats, I immediately searched about for a way down to the beach. The cliff was extremely steep and in the quickening darkness it would have been foolish to try to forge a path. I ran along the rim towards the bay but found not a path or stairway. As it was now almost completely dark (the red clouds had moved inland and covered the sky with darkness) I spent the night on my bed roll under a tall juniper and awaited the daylight.

In the early morning I began to search for a way down to the water and after much searching, a narrow path became clear. It led downward through the tall grass and sea pines at a particularly shallow part of the cliff. Walking slowly at first, my horse Kyrean following carefully behind, we were able to arrive at the beach in the full breaking of day. To find ourselves surrounded by the most magnificent sight – towering stone cliffs all around and the dark deep blue of the sea crashing towards us. We headed south. However after quite a while, a great rock jutted out of the cliff and broke upon the waves like the bow of a ship. Impossible to get around it, certainly, for the gnashing of the waves on the rocks and the sharp jagged fragments that had fallen down along the shore. Having seen no one in this direction, we turned back and retraced our steps towards the north. Shortly after returning to our starting point, I saw in the distance the fishing boats pulled up on the sand. As we approached, the outline of a small settlement began to appear in the trees at the foot of the cliff.

In the days ahead I will write more of the events of that day. But for now, it is late, and tomorrow I will be at sea with the fishermen; we leave very early and I must now sleep.

22nd July, 1644

I have learned that this is a very new settlement. That's what they call it, simply "The New Settlement," for it lacks a proper name. To my eyes it ought to be more properly referred to as a camp for there is not much here except a few shacks built against the clusters of short junipers in the rocks. Most of the men sleep in their boats. And this is all well and good at this time of year when the weather is warm and the nights are calm. Soon, however, it will not be so pleasant sleeping under the stars when the weather changes.

Early this past spring, a small group of men sailed south from Endersye, about 3 days journey up the coast. The town has a nasty reputation it seems; to hear them tell of it, the reputation is milder than the fact. The stories sound very much like the events I saw in the mining towns up in the north. To avoid being killed, I left in the middle of the night while the men were sleeping off the effects of another night in the saloon. Hard to imagine that was only a year and half ago.

For the sake of a calmer life, these men set sail southward looking for good fishing and a protected place to build their own harbor. Soon, a few families followed, and a few more men. Now there are 4 families and 19 men and elder boys working a dozen small fishing boats.

What is new to me is how much they rely upon the sea for every need. For example, except for my own horse, Kyrean, there are no horses here at all. Everything has been brought in on the sea. We eat fish, and then more fish; and then tomorrow, fish again. Fortunately, if you look carefully you can find berries growing in the crevices of the rock cliff, and there are a few wild beans in the areas where more soil has collected. One family has a goat for milk and she supplies enough for all the family's children. Another family owns two chickens that constantly squawk and peck at the children's feet. Kyrean is enjoying herself running through the waves and lying in the warm sand. Strange that the idea of heading off down another trail has not occurred to either of us these past five days. This, I do not understand.

28th July, 1644

Sunday, the 28th of July dawned with the intensity of mid-summer and the warmth of southern breeze. I had slept under the stars a short distance up the coast from the others and awoke to realize that my search for adventure had certainly taken a most unexpected turn. After a nine-day's ride through the barren West Hills, I had spent the last week and a half settled down in the midst of a small, but active community. But the days have passed quickly and if this were another workday, we would already be out on the sea, fishing, or tending to the boats, the nets, the smokehouse, or other chores. But today is Sunday, and we are all enjoying a warm summer day of rest; and rather welcome it is, I admit, for I have not worked so hard since I left the mines.

Before too many more days pass, I wish to jot down some essential points regarding the operation of this place for in several ways, it is quite novel, and efficient. It has occurred to me that I am witnessing the beginning of a village, the beginning of what surely will be a thriving community of tradesmen, families, and fishermen. A village that dwells upon the sea and lives by it. As I have already mentioned, fishing is the primary activity at the moment. All the men and elder boys spend their days in the boats, fishing. The fish are collected every night, cleaned, and sorted. Two large smoke houses are used to preserve the fish and the younger children tend to the fires during the days.

At one end of the settlement, in the center of the beach and in a very prominent place, they have raised a great flagpole. The pole consists of the entire trunk of a great pine, its branches trimmed close and tight. And at the top, a great yellow flag billows in the wind. I was told this flag announces to passing ships the offer of supplies available for purchase or trade. Many ships pass through these waters, and many are far too busy, too short handed, or too wealthy to fish for themselves. They choose to stop and acquire provisions when necessary. The passing ships offer hard currency or a wide variety of goods in exchange for milk, eggs, and smoked fish. In this way, a small community can obtain some ready cash and the hard materials it needs to build.

Since I have been here, twelve days it has been, three ships have sent landing parties to trade and receive supplies. In a short time, word will spread and this community will have the materials it needs to make it through the colder months ahead.

22nd August, 1644

It would be fair to say that over the past month, the settlement has been quite profitable. Each week three or four ships have arrived to purchase supplies and we have had to work quite hard to keep our stocks from running low. This is good, because soon, more permanent housing will need to be built and we will need to have enough supplies for ourselves to make it through the wind and rain of the dark season.

Over the past weeks, many of the men have sent for their wives and families in the expectation that by the time they arrive, we will have enough material collected to begin to build their homes. Indeed, already five more families have arrived and we are beginning to sketch out plans for where the various buildings shall be. Everyone is in agreement that the village should be here, nestled into the cliffs near the sea. The cliffs are set back somewhat from the beach and there are many small, narrow ravines that cut sharp, dark creases in the rocks. Tight and compact, certainly, but enough room for a small wooden cabin and a small area to store materials and tools.

I continue to ponder why I remain. It is not easy to answer. Something hidden and secret binds me to this place, to these people. Perhaps it is their clear, unencumbered dedication to the tasks that are at hand each day. Perhaps it is the curious dichotomy of the insignificance of these daily tasks and their greater magnitude taken in light of the first-steps of a new settlement. In that regard, every action, every plan, indeed every effort goes towards the establishment of something far greater. And this is nothing like the ordinary work of the established city, which I so gladly left behind. Here, each task, each accomplishment, lays the foundation for what is to come. And I admit, I am quite curious to see what form this small little place shall eventually become.

Moreover, there is a mysterious connection here. A strong binding force that holds me and arrests my attention. As the continuous overlay of layer upon layer of a settlement built from nothing and grown to be the center of a multitude of interconnected lives and actions, so it seems there is a layer here, of a continuum that is attached to me. Beyond my own doing, it is; and beyond my own experience. For before that day, now weeks past, when I rode to the edge of the cliff in the twilight of the fifth day's journey westward, I swear that I had never set foot upon this soil before. Yet, in the vast open west-lands, on the edge of this great sea, charted upon the unknown reaches of a lost map of time, there is indeed a memory of this place inside me.

19th September, 1644

It has been a busy month and I have been either too tired or too busy to make any notes in my journal. I sent a letter home earlier this summer. I gave it to a passing captain headed for the ports in the East. He said he would post it at the first opportunity. To my great surprise, I received a reply yesterday. A boatman left it with Jon, one of the loaders. Jon brought it to me in my cabin as soon as he finished his work assignment.

In my mother¹s elegant handwriting she wrote:

"To Richard Eaton, The New Settlement, The Far West Territory."

"Dear Richard,

Your sisters, little brother, and I spent most of the summer with my Aunt in the high country where the weather is cool and clear. We enjoyed ourselves very much; we ate too much food, and laughed, and told many stories. I regret to say that I have not heard from your father now, for nearly a year. It did not surprise me that you left so suddenly. Your father is just the same. It is the call of adventure, and the beckoning of the horizon that is in you both. If I did not love you, I would say it is shameful. Does it surprise you that I say I understand? It is a large and glorious world, Richard, and it awaits you. I miss you dearly, and hope each day upon your return. But there is more for you beyond the reaches of our small house and I wish everything for you. Be careful, you must be careful. Write when you can,

All my love, Mother"

27th September, 1644

I am sitting alone in a small cabin I have built within the crevices of the cliffs. Over the past five weeks, we have built twenty of these small one-room cabins. Each is buried deep in a small crevice, as far up from the shoreline as possible. The cabins are simple - wooden batten board siding and a rough-hewn shake roof. There is a small porch on the front that provides a place to sit out of the sun and rain; it is also a place to store firewood for the colder months to come. Inside, there are two windows. One on the front wall and one on the back, allowing cross ventilation for when the air is hot and the cool wind off the water provides welcome relief. There is a metal stove in the back corner, constructed from metal we were given by a passing freighter. There are heavy canvas coverings for the windows, to keep the cold wind from coming in and a wooden door that can be tied closed with a short rope. My bunk runs the length of the long wall, with my feet facing the sea. At night, I can sit at a small desk I built into the opposite wall and read or write to the light of a simple oil lamp. The furnishings are few, and simple indeed. In the rear of the building, there is a small storage shed, where I will keep more wood for the fire. The cabins built for the families are larger: essentially the same design, but twice as deep. They also have a second storage shed for keeping food supplies.

As the month draws to a close, it is clear that the season will be changing soon. We have four or six weeks of mild weather, and then the dark season will begin. Several months of cold winds and chilling rain. I hope my roof will keep the water out, and I hope the wind will not enter my doorway. We are well prepared and each of us has a new dry shelter. I am reasonably sure we will make it through the hard weather safely.

29th October, 1644

In these past weeks, the weather has allowed us to continue to build up our supply of provisions. At this time in the year, few ships pass this way. With the coming rain and wind, most captains look for warmer climates and calmer seas to earn their living. Consequently, the storage sheds and smoke house have been filled to capacity. We are well provisioned. The summer has been warm, and the weather has been kind to us. We have enjoyed a successful first season of trading and we have built sturdy shelters for all the workers and families. We have accomplished much, and everyone is ready to put the nets and tools away and await a new season with the satisfaction of many accomplishments.

3rd November, 1644

The dark months are approaching. From the North, cold winds carry freezing rain and dangerous currents. Indeed to fish in the dark months is to tempt danger at every moment. The wind and waves would surely sink our small boats in a matter of moments. The cold current also carries hundreds of great sharks into our otherwise calm and peaceful waters.

8th November, 1644

The events of the past 48 hours have been a living horror on earth. It is with dismay and shock that I make these notes of the events of our frail party. It all began two nights ago, on the evening of the 9th. Shortly after dark, I heard screams and the crash of metal weapons. I rushed from my cabin and saw a hundred dark shapes running and shouting throughout the settlement. Flashes of metal blades cut through the darkness. Men were shouting and women and children were screaming and crying. We were under attack, that was clear. But in the darkness, it was difficult, no, it was impossible to see who these devils were, where they had come from, and what was their purpose. I grabbed my ax and entered the fray.

Several of the cabins were ablaze, and in the light of the burning buildings I could make out several men that I recognized. Soon I could hear friendly voices, voices of my fellow workers and settlers. We shouted for the others to join us and we mounted a human guard around the main storage buildings. We were attacked in waves. The foul words of foreign voices and the fearsome flashes of their metal blades combined into a chaos of terrible images. We fought for many minutes, yet wave upon wave of attackers persisted. Several men fell, and our numbers were growing thin. Our backs were now against the storage shed and we had no where to fall back to. The end was approaching.

Suddenly, all fell silent. The women¹s screams stopped, and the strange foreign shouting ceased. In the distance, near the area by the women¹s bunkhouse, a single man was shouting. His voice was difficult to hear over the beating of the waves on the shoreline. He spoke our language, but with a deep inflection of a language I had never before heard. He shouted in a strange, halting rhythm, two or three words at a time. And then he would pause, as if searching for the proper translation of his intent. I lost all sense of time, awaiting his every word upon my own breath:

"Men...of this...settlement......We will........take your.....supplies.....we will take......everything.......everything.......we want it..........You.......You must allow.......this.....we are holding........we are keeping your women............we will kill them.......kill...them...DO NOT try to stop us!"

We knew we must give in, and give in, we did. We did not know what would happen next, but the thieves broke open the doors of all the storage sheds and carried all the supplies to their boats. While the man was talking, other thieves had drawn up fifteen boats to the shore. Each boat was filled to the gunwale with food and supplies. They meant to take everything.

Finally I stepped forward and shouted "Let the women go free. You have what you came for. Leave us. There is nothing more we can give you."

And the man said nothing. I was not sure if he understood, or cared so little for anything to even bother to reply. Shortly thereafter, more boats were drawn to shore and the thieves began to drag some of the women towards the boats.

"Let the women go free, I shouted again. And this time, the man walked straight towards me, his weapon pointing into my chest. He stood within inches of me, and I could feel his breath as he hissed: "Who do you think you are to give orders to the captain of this band? We will do as we please, we will take what we please. And we are pleased to take these beautiful women." He now spoke with complete command of the language, and I realized that he did not wish his men to know that he spoke our language like a native. "I will buy the women from you, I said." And the man laughed. It was a dark and fearsome laugh. It was a laugh of irony and disbelief. But it was also a laugh of greed and cunning, and I knew I had him. "What could you possibly have that would be worth more to me than these women?" "What I have is more valuable than all the boats in this harbor, more powerful than the knives and swords of all these men. What I have will bring you the good fortune of all the ages and you alone will posses the key to wisdom upon the sea and land." The man closed one eye, and looked at me intently, his single blood-shot eye darted around my face and body, questioning and searching for an answer to this puzzle. After a long pause, with clenched teeth he whispered "I will cut you into tiny pieces and feed you to the sharks piece by piece, you lying piece of rat flesh." And I felt the point of the blade press more firmly into me. "Lie, I do not! I replied. Slowly reaching into my pocket, I removed a small blue object, round and heavy for its size, about the diameter of a 50f coin, and sparkling like a polished jewel. I thrust it into the moonlight and the object glowed with the refraction of light rays. "Behold the Stone of Lysandareth! This jewel is not only beautiful, it is inscribed with the path to a treasure greater than the treasures of all the ships of the Great Southern Sea. But there is more. Be forewarned my friend. Given to my grandfather on the Island of Easstia, it carries a most treacherous curse. If anyone steals this stone, he will be instantly frozen in time. Within a fortnight, he will be screaming for mercy, but he will scream in vain. By the end of the month, he will be gone, and the last weeks of his life will be a living torment far worse than anything seen in these latitudes since the beginning of time. I will give it to you freely, in exchange for the lives of these men and women.

At that moment, out of the darkness a hand grabbed the jewel from me. Some say that there was a bright flash of blue light as he fell to the earth like a stone. Only what matters is that he now lay lifeless upon the ground at my feet with the stone in his motionless fingers.

" _Enough of this senseless ignorance. Make your choice quickly for the day will soon dawn upon us and I do not wish our children to see another day of this horror." I reached down and snatched the jewel with my right hand and held my clenched fist in the air above the captain. After a few moments, he started rubbing his hands together, and chuckling and muttering something to himself. Then, with a sudden impulse, he grabbed my outstretched fist with both hands and said "I shall take your bargain, give me the stone, give me the stone." "That I will do, as soon as I see the women safely in their cabin, and your men all aboard your boats. Now make haste." The man shouted four or five words at his men, in a language that I did not understand. The men groaned and mumbled, but they released the women, shoving them towards the cabin. As the women ran to their cabin, the men slowly drifted towards the boats. "As the rightful owner of the jewel of Lysandareth, I freely give this stone to you" and I placed the stone in his dark, sweaty palm. "Now, you will carry the curse of Easstia, that upon surety of terrible endless suffering, you now become a member of our order, of bondsmen united under the curse and charged with upholding the bond till death frees you." "You flesh of dead dogs, you told me the curse applied to only the one who steals the jewel, what is all this of which you speak?" "It is simply that all who carry this jewel, and all who have carried it, are united in a bond of the anti-curse. It is true that the curse remains, but you are now the sufferer of the opposing force. This is to say, that we are now joined together: you and I. And if you were ever to harm me, or I to harm you, it would bring the curse out of balance and the remaining member would die in the full torment. We keep each other alive, you and I. If you ever return here and harm me or a member of my party upon whose welfare I act, you will know the meaning of torture, you will know the meaning of suffering, and you will know the meaning of a slowly creeping death. Remember these words carefully, for to test them or ignore them is a fate upon you I would not care to ponder." Leaning into the bow of his boat, I pushed it into the waves. As the men began rowing, I could hear angry shouts of words certainly foul in their own language, but to me it was meaningless for I knew that the jewel would master a weak mind and that sooner or later, it would cause him to find his end at the bottom a dark and stormy sea._

30th November, 1644

Twelve days have passed but the events of that fateful night remain vivid in my memory. As the pirates rowed away into the darkness, I turned to look upon the devastation of our small settlement. Cabins were ablaze, and the survivors were wounded and bleeding.

Of the twenty cabins originally built, eight were unharmed and three were in a condition that was repairable. All the supplies in the storage sheds were completely gone. All the smoked fish and grain had been stolen. Aside from a few day¹s supply that remained in the undamaged cabins, we had no food at all. The situation was desperate.

4th December, 1644

Over the past several days, much work has been done. The bodies of the fallen men needed to be buried, and an accounting of our usable cabins and provisions was made. We lost 15 men, some were married, and some had families. Our sadness over the losses made the work and conditions all the more difficult.

12th December 1644

In the past few days several meetings have been held and we debated various plans to meet our new difficulties. Due to the changing weather, we can not expect another passing ship through these waters for several months. With no supplies, only one horse, Kyrean, and no other means of transport, leaving the settlement is impossible and entirely foolish. We have to stay, and indeed nearly everyone wants to stay. Some have volunteered to go fishing out on the icy waters. Because of the danger and the harsh conditions, they would fish close to shore and would not have to travel far. Others have said they will go into the forests above the cliffs and hunt for small animals and birds that can provide us with food.

It was decided that several of the cabins would be converted into bunkhouses for general use, divided separately for men and women. This makes the most efficient use of the surviving cabins and provides everyone with a warm place to live and sleep.

And there was much talk of the jewel and many questions concerning its value and origin. Many times, I have had to describe its appearance in great detail because few had actually seen it in the darkness that night. There is even talk of making some kind of honorary motion in recognition of my contribution to the saving of the settlement. Whenever this comes up, I say "I do not want anything special." But the talk continues, and at nearly every meeting someone makes mention of the jewel and my role in the end of the invasion.

18th December, 1644

It is still early in the dark season, but so far, we have managed. Hunting continues in the forests, and several brave men still fish upon the sea when the waves are less tormented.

Time passes slowly. Hunting, fishing, and keeping the fires burning is not the adventure I was searching for.

On three occasions recently, I have saddled Kryean, my horse, and rode out of the settlement. On each attempt, the path had been blocked: a landslide, a broken bridge, impossibly overgrown thickets. And now a heavy blanket of snow covers the mountain trails. Clearly I am not going anywhere until the weather breaks. The constant sound of the waves washing upon the beach torment me with thoughts of distant lands. As early in the spring as possible, I will seek passage on the first ship that passes through these waters.

27th January 1645

Yesterday, Jon, the loader, suggested that they name the settlement after me. But I completely refused. To my surprise, I have remained here for all these months, but I am far from rooted in this place and in the spring I plan to seek passage on a passing ship, I will leave in search of new adventures. It just would not do, for the village¹s namesake to sail away in the second year of the villages¹s existence. No, that would not do, not at all. And I told them so, directly. This only brought about protests that I should never leave, which was the last thing I wanted to hear. In the end, to quiet the fretting and speculation, I suggested "Why not name the village after the jewel? After all, it is the jewel that has bought us our freedom!" And so it was that we all became the first inhabitants of the Settlement of Lysandareth.

5th February, 1645

During these long dark winter evenings, I have been helping some of the women care for the frostbite and other problems that plague our small community.

One of the women, Aleandra, had come to the settlement with her husband. They had been here only a week when he was killed in the raid.

Sometimes after everyone had been attended to, we sit together and drink coffee and talk late into the evening. In this short time, I find myself spending more and more time with her.

14th February, 1645

In our weekly settlers' meetings we have been discussing the fate of the settlement. In the spring, should we abandon this place, give up? Or, should they send word that we need more settlers to help rebuild. And there are some that believe that we should move to the top of the cliff for safety. The men who have gone hunting there tell us of vast areas of forest full of wildlife and vegetation of all kinds: wild fruits, berries, and other edible plants. The logistics of the steep path and the necessity that all supplies be transported up and down cause many to oppose the idea. "It is just impossible for such a small group to move everything up and down the cliff trail. It is too steep and narrow. Much time will be spent, and much effort wasted." The talking always stretches late into the night.

21st February, 1645

The question of moving the settlement to the top of the cliff has come to a vote. It is scheduled for tomorrow and a method of voting devised - an oak leaf cast in the box indicates a move to the cliff, a small stone worn by the waves places a vote to remain on the beach.

25th February, 1645

The votes were counted today. All but three voted to move to the top of the cliff. Nearly everyone agreed that the settlement will be much safer in this new location.

With the decision made, there is now much work to be done. At the top of the cliff there is a wealth of trees ready for the ax. Cabins, storage buildings, and a smoke house will need to be built. As soon as all the cabins are finished, we will build a meetinghouse.

Village meetings are held regularly now and recently it was decided that every man would be given a deed to a homestead after having served the settlement with dedication for 12 months time. Most of the men already qualify since they had started the settlement several months before I had arrived last year. The terms were discussed and argued. Several weeks went by and the settlers considered the finer points of the arrangement. Finally, we all come to an agreement and the terms were written in the village record book:

" _Be it known to all: every man who has worked in the interest of the settlement for a continuous period of 12 months shall be awarded a land tract as a homestead. He may choose a tract that pleases him from among the unclaimed lands surrounding the settlement. The terms of the deed require the building of boundary markers of stone at each corner. The markers shall contain carved initials of the owner. A house must be built on the land, and he or his heirs may inhabit the land at any time from that time forward."_

14th March, 1645

With the arrival of warmer early spring weather, Aleandra and I take a walk along the beach nearly every evening. We talk of many things but often it is of the future, our hopes and dreams. Our favorite spot is in the opposite direction from the old settlement, further on towards the point, the great rock, as they called it. I couldn't help but notice it when I was first standing upon the cliff, above the coastline. It remains a majestic vision to me – a great gray rock breaking the pounding surf like the edge of time. Like the bow of a ship, a hundred or more feet in height jutting out into the sea with wave upon wave breaking upon it since time began.

Last evening as we were walking in the moonlight not far from the point, we both looked up towards the top of the cliff. Ordinarily hidden by short junipers growing along the base of the cliff, a shaft of silver moonlight shone perfectly through the branches and illuminated two letters carved deeply into the stone: R.E. Set above the ground by eight or ten feet and hundreds of years old perhaps but still clear and unmistakable.

"Have you been here before," she asked. No, never, I replied, but certainly someone spent much time here long ago. Hours and days it would take to make these carvings so deep and precise. This stone is extremely hard. No doubt it was years ago, the characters are in a style of a much earlier time." In the reflection of the moment, we it all just seemed impossible to explain. But in the days since, I have pondered the coincidence of the location, the timing, and its discovery.

31st March, 1645

Yesterday evening, as the sun was nearly setting, we watched the play of light and shadow reflected on the rock, reflected by the water. The sea was particularly calm then, and we had ventured out farther toward the point than ever before. Indeed, we had rounded the point and were looking upon a small sandy cove, unseen before by any of the settlers. Knowing that the sun would soon set, we quickly climbed down from the rocks and ran through the sand - holding hands, laughing, and enjoying the freedom of a secret place all their own.

It was an evening we both will remember forever more, an evening of dreams and romance and of new paths. "Marry me, I said. Marry me now Aleandra for never on this earth have I loved as this; and never again will I be able to live without you." And she said yes, and she kissed me.

22nd April, 1645

Aleandra and I were married yesterday. Everyone in the village was there and it was a grand and wonderful party. Music and dancing late into the night! Everyone was so happy. It is springtime, and we are in love, and it is wonderful.

18th May, 1645

The new settlement has grown remarkably fast. But there are also so many new responsibilities and new tasks. All the men shared in the work of fishing and maintaining the supplies. With the arrival of spring, the ships are again sailing upon these waters. We fly the supply flag everyday now. And we have three or four ships arriving to obtain provisions for their journey. We are all busy, and the village is prospering again. The dark winter has passed, and the fear and grief is replaced with hope and action.

12th June, 1645

Through the early summer, Aleandra and I spend many evenings on the beach, watching the setting sun and dreaming of what is beyond the horizon. We sit under our favorite juniper and watch the sun set.

Sometimes, as we talk, I use my knife to carve and whittle. I enjoy working with wood, and it's relaxing. One early spring day only about a week ago, we were sitting among the junipers at the edge of the settlement. "Carve our names in this tree bark," Aleandra said, and it seemed a fitting idea for this was our place.

It is our place to talk and dream and think of many things. Adventure is calling. To my surprise, Aleandra felt it too, and we talk of the places we had been and places we would like to go. We grow more and more restless. Nevert³heless, we were both realize that I will soon qualify for a homestead; and that provides a foundation of stability for our future.

It is also a time of much work: fishing, building, preparing the provisions for the settlement and the passing sailors. Time is flying by. But they are happy days, spent at simple hard work, and the joy of time spent with Aleandra.

1st July, 1645

I was awarded a homestead today. Together, Aleandra and I chose a section of meadow with the forest beyond. It was up the hill from the village and near a high cliff that looks out upon a gently curving bay. Not far distant, is a beautiful, sandy beach where we can enjoy the sun and water. In every way, a most beautiful place.

4th August, 1645

In the evening hours, after my work is done, I have been building the required boundary markers and small house upon our homestead. The house is set on the edge of the meadow, not far from a small group of young trees. I am building the house of stone because I intended for it to last for all time. The deed grants rights of ownership and usage for all heirs and I mean to provide a house that will serve them. However, the task of building a stone house is daunting, to say the least. Many stones it takes to build a wall, and even though I worked as quickly as I could, it took me a month to build a small, one-room structure. A door, small windows, and a stone floor. In time, it could be made larger. A second floor, another room; there will be time for these things in another year. Today we celebrate the completion of our one-room cabin on our own homestead!

10th August, 1645

Even as our homestead grew, our thoughts have been searching for something more. Aleandra is, indeed, a woman of great complexity and I am intrigued and curious to learn just what she is thinking.

Earlier day, it came out. "I want to leave this place," she said. "I know you have worked very hard building this cabin, and we have been committed to the people here. They have become our friends. But I want to see more. I want to taste the air of different worlds. I want to feel the wind in my hair and know that my feet have not walked this path one hundred times before."

She was talking so fast, and her arms were reaching out to me, reaching for the sky, and her eyes were afire with excitement. What could I say? I felt it too. She was speaking my mind. At first, something had held me here. An unknown connection to this place that I had pondered in the quiet hours of nighttime: R E. Like a beacon, it signified something that I cannot understand. But now, I felt free. Free of the bonds of responsibility and duty. The village was established. New men and families are arriving and there is prosperity.

This is beginning to be a real village. The meeting hall shapes the beginning of a village square. A road has been build heading eastward, parallel to the cliffs. And on each side of the road, small cottages and a market have been built. What had held me here, had released me, in an instant. Aleandra voice had opened the door of a new adventure and I said yes, we shall leave. We shall leave for one year. Plan to return, take up this homestead, and raise a family. Let us now seek the horizon, the new path, together!

16th August, 1645

In the days following, we have made plans. They are secret plans, to be sure. For few if any of the settlers would understand. My only regret was that I would need to leave my dear horse Kyrean behind. I was sad, but knew that she would be cared for and loved by Jessie, the son of one of my fishing partners. Jessie had learned to ride her early this spring, and they immediately became attached to each other. Kyrean seemed completely content to be cared for by Jessie, and I knew that he would be a good guardian.

Now that the required building was completed on the homestead, the only other provision was to await the arrival of a passing ship that would accept us as crew and passenger. For this we can do nothing but wait.

Two weeks earlier, as Aleandra and I had been walking the beach one evening, I had discovered a small cave, set high in the cliff near the great rocky point. It was somewhat wide but not very tall. Aleandra was afraid to go in, but I wanted to explore it. That first day, it was too dark, so I returned another day with a lantern. To enter, it was necessary to lie nearly flat on the ground and squeeze through the opening. Once inside, however, it opened up to a height sufficient to stand. It was dark, and cold inside and I heard the dripping of water in the distance. Two shafts fell away, one to the right, and one straight ahead. I looked into the shaft on the right and it was very steep. Small ledges on each side were nearly hidden from view. The shaft ahead was long, and sloped gently downward. I shouted and heard my echo drift away into the unknown distance. Aleandra, was calling to me, and I decided to end my explorations. But I knew this cave would suit my purpose.

I mean to leave my vital papers behind. To carry valuable documents such as a land deed upon the sea in ships of unknown purpose is foolish in the best of times. And these times remain uncertain, indeed. No doubt I would be killed for my possessions and never heard from again. Such a life it is far from the order and reason of London. Consequently, this was my plan: to hide my deed and my diary in a locked box at the last possible moment. Secret them away in the cave where it will cannot be found until we shall return in a year's time to retrieve it.

19th August, 1645

It seems we had not much time to wait. Now three days after we finalized our plan, I have just returned from talking with the captain of a passing schooner. He has agreed to take us as crew and passenger. I have but one hour while the supplies are loaded to run to the cave and return. We are leaving. Farewell! May all be well upon our return.

### Four

Finding Lysandareth

1. Questions Raised

"OK, I'm going to have to sit here for a while and just think about this." Elisia has been holding the book so we both could read the pages at the same time. She lays it on the small table by the window and sits next to me.

"Do you think any of this is real," she says aloud to herself as she looks past me, out through the window towards the dark sky.

"I've never heard of a village named Lysandareth, but when I lived here as a child we never traveled around the country at all."

"I haven't heard of it either. But the dates are from quite a long time ago. I wonder if the place still exists but with a new name."

"You're starting to sound like you think this story is for real."

"Yeah, maybe I think it is. I'm not sure. Why wouldn't it be real?"

"The part about the magic stone is pretty wild."

"Ok, yes, that's pretty crazy. But the rest of it seems like it could be real."

"So does that mean you're up for helping me find Lysandareth, wherever it might be?"

"Depends on where it is, I guess. But if its out on the western coast somewhere, it could be pretty pleasant, at least. The coastline there is very beautiful."

"Great, that's a plan, let's head back to London tomorrow."

"I have a friend at the museum who really knows the map collection, perhaps he can help us find a map from the 17th century. That would be a good place to start!"

2. Time Passes

The trip back to London is uneventful. Rain most of the way, which kept us inside the ferry's cabin during the whole crossing to Dover.

Elisia and I return to piles of work on our desks and spend several days buried in the necessities of 21st century urban life. It is nearly a week before we have more than a fleeting moment over breakfast to even talk something other than the weather, which has been dreadful for all the rain this summer.

"Let's plan to have dinner out tomorrow and spend some time with something other than all this work stuff, do you think you can spare the time," I ask.

"I can make the time, certainly. I don't know why it's so busy right now. Half the people in the department are on holiday. Maybe that's the problem. I should get out of there and let the work pile up like everyone else!"

"Great, let's have dinner someplace quiet so we can talk."

3. Finding a Map

The next evening we meet at one of the little storefront restaurants in the neighborhood. Nothing famous like St. John's or anything but a nice place. The owner recognizes us and we can hang out and take our time.

"So I've just got to ask you, Elisia, what do you think about our wild weekend in Le Havre, anyway?"

She laughs. "Which part? Some of it was pretty wild if I remember correctly."

"Well, not that part," I say looking into her eyes. "Man, it is great to be able to sit down and just talk for awhile."

"This Eaton saga is getting pretty curious. Did you ever have a clue that some of this stuff had happened in your family?"

"No, my mother never talked about my dad. It was just sort of an unwritten thing that after he left us on our own we would start a new chapter and just keep looking ahead. That all seemed fine with me because I was so young and really all I knew was life with my mom. But in the past few years I have a lot of questions I wish I could ask her. But of course I can't."

"I've been really busy at work, as you know, but I did have time to talk with my friend, Rachel, in the maps area. She found some early maps of the western coastline. As you can imagine, they are very inaccurate but it is interesting to see how the cartographers rendered the scale of certain areas in high detail and other more remote areas were just a wavy line!"

"I suppose we're looking for someplace along one of those wavy lines. So that's going to be hard."

"Exactly. Let me show you."

Elisia opens her phone and shows me several scans of maps dating from the mid 1600s through about the end of the 1700s.

"During this time, there certainly is a progression of accuracy and detail but unfortunately there are very few towns or cities labeled and nothing with a name that resembles Lysandareth."

"That's not too surprising, I guess. It is a new settlement, few people other than the sailors that stopped there for supplies even knew about it. Many were probably arriving or departing out of Endersye for ports outside Britain so the value of locating Lysandareth on a map is very low."

"I'm not sure we're going to find it on a map. I think we're going to have to try another approach."

"Probably, but thank you so much for tracking down these maps, I really appreciate it. It was worth a try. But, I see you're right, we need to collect all the facts we know about Lysandareth and see if the information we have could lead us to the place."

"That's what I am thinking, too. If we can go back over the diary and get some clues of the direction and shape of the terrain, maybe we can drive out to the coast and look around. It's not that far, right?"

"It's not that far and it seems like something we could do. Plus, it would be fun, as you said earlier, the coastline is sure to be spectacular. I wonder if you can get away this weekend?"

By this time, we both were getting really hungry and the waiter had just brought our dinners.

"Sure, I'm totally glad to get out away from work for the weekend!"

4. English Countryside

"It's great to be out of the city! I have to admit that as much as I love living in there, every time I drive thorough the English countryside, it just makes me feel so refreshed and sort of timeless."

"I think about Gainsborough and all those great landscape painters. The sky is amazing, isn't it?"

Elisia is looking out the side window, she hasn't said very much at all on the trip so far. I am wondering what she is thinking.

"Yes, it's beautiful. I especially like seeing the red tile roofs of the homes in the distance. Sometimes they seem to be peeking out over a ridge and it makes me imagine what it would be like to live in a place like that. So different from everything I've ever experienced."

We drove on for a while in silence, miles passed, the road started to wind its way up into the hills.

Eventually she turns and looks at me, "Let's go over what we know from the book, ok?"

"Great, it's in my bag in the back, maybe you can reach it."

She opens the book to the first place that we had marked. "There really isn't that much."

"I know, but if we imagine the scene in our mind, we'll be able to find the landforms on a map or recognize something."

"Sure, here goes. First, he mentions that it is a nine-day ride to the coast. He says that since leaving the Brynt Oak Inn, he rode for five days without seeing anyone. So the end of civilization is four days out of London and then it is open country after that. The coastline where he arrived is a high cliff. On his right, it says, a deep bay swept inward in a great arch. And on the far side, flowing upwards from the cliffs were dense forests rolling through hills and ravines far into the distance. He mentioned there is a beach below and it must have been fairly wide because at first they built their settlement there among the crevices at the base of the cliff."

"I remember something about the settlers coming from Endersye, which sounded like a pretty mean place."

"Right, here it is, 'a small group of men sailed south from Endersye, about three day's journey up the coast."

And there is something about a great rock?

"Yes, let me see," she turned through the pages, "He's writing about exploring the beach and says that he walked south along the shore but he couldn't go any further because, let me see, here it is, 'a great rock jutted out of the cliff and broke upon the waves like the bow of a ship.'"

"Easy we should be able to find this in no time, right?"

"Well, while you're driving, I'll look at the map. He said 'I rode west over the mountains' so let's look at the map due west of London, which is the direction we're driving so we're making a good start. Let me see if I can find a bay that might resemble what he described."

"We're just starting to enter the mountains now."

5. Forests and Hills

"We're going to have to make a decision here, soon, Richard," Elisia has been looking at the map for a long while. The area straight west of London is Bristol with Gloucester to the north. It is here that the river Severn empties into the sea through a very long bay that I'm sure is not the one he's referring to."

"Sure, that makes sense."

"So when we get to Bristol we need to decide if we're going to head north towards Gloucester and follow the coastline up towards the mouth of the river, or head south along the coast."

"I would guess that the area we're looking for would be more remote, even today."

"I remember later in the diary he mentions watching the sun set with his wife, Aleandra. So the place we're looking for probably faces due west. That would mean somewhere further south along the coast where the landforms turn towards the south and southwest."

"We're almost to the cutoff for Bristol, just tell me which road I should take."

"I think we should head towards Barnstaple. That would be a good place to spend the night. There is a lot of open area around there and lots of hills and forests. Sounds like a likely place to begin."

With our destination in mind, we relax and enjoy the hills and forests passing by the windows. Later in the afternoon I turn off the air conditioner and we put the top down. The clear coastal air blows across our faces and through our hair.

6. In Bristol

The sun is setting as we arrive at the rental Elisia had arranged a couple of hours earlier. We spend some time in a pub nearby having dinner and talking about the drive.

Later that night in our room we open a map on my computer and zoom in on the coastline west of here.

"We need to zoom in really close on this map. I suspect that the bay seemed really large to Eaton but in the context of the whole coastline, it might not be very big." I am moving the map around in the browser.

"I think we should try down this way, where the coastline is heading straight north and sound. There area several small villages around there and not many roads. Seems suitably remote and the coastline looks very rugged, judging from the map."

"Yes, for sure, these images on the web of the cliffs are stunning."

7. Above the Cliffs

"Let's try stopping in this pub, maybe there will be someone in here we can talk to who might have some suggestions of where we can look." Elisia has been watching her map again and giving me directions. We have arrived at the coast and we're driving through one of the small villages on the map.

I park the car and take a couple of stools at the bar inside the pub.

"Can I help you?" The barkeep is just starting to put out some plates and utensils for the lunch rush.

"We'll have a couple of those chocolate croissants and coffee, thank you!"

When the coffee arrives I ask, "We're looking for a village where my ancestors lived a couple of hundred years ago. Have you ever heard of a place named Lysandareth?" I thought I might as well just go for it and see where it goes.

"Hmm, well no, that's not a familiar name to me. You know, there's a history museum of sorts across from the post office. You might try there. Oh, also, you probably are aware there's a walking path all along the cliffs here. Runs for many miles. It might be along that path somewhere."

"Thanks, we didn't know about the path, that could be helpful."

We finish our coffee and walk down the street towards the post office.

"There's the museum," Elisia is pointing to a small red building with a little cupola on the roof.

"I hope someone is there." Unfortunately, they are closed for lunch.

"We can come back. Let's take a look around."

For about an hour we walk along the main street, stopping occasionally to ask if anyone has ever heard of the village we are looking for. A couple of people mention a small nearly abandoned village about three or four miles south along the coast. "Maybe that's the place you're looking for," they say.

When we return to the museum, the door is propped open and a woman is inside behind a desk, looking through some letters.

"Good afternoon and welcome. Our museum is small but we have artifacts from six centuries here. This is a very old part of Cornwall, you know."

"Yes, thank you, we've been reading quite a bit about this area. And it is quite beautiful here, too. We have a question that perhaps you could help us with. I'm looking for a village where my ancestors lived about three hundred years ago. I just wondered if you might know of a place named Lysandareth."

"Let me think. There's no village with that name around here now, but maybe there is something in one of these old books. We have some of the old village records here." She is standing near a tall cabinet with glass doors looking through the books on the shelves. "Here it is. I think this is from about 1720. Maybe there is something in here about your village."

She placed the book on a table and we all gathered around to look at the table of contents. It is a history book of the area, with entries for each of the major manor houses. "There might be something in here but it would take a lot of reading to find it," she shrugs.

"Can you think of anyplace where there might be a village so small it's not on the map, or maybe an abandoned village where no one lives anymore?" I am starting to feel like our search is going no where.

"Let me call my husband. He likes to hike along the cliffs and in the forests, maybe he knows of such a place."

After she puts her phone down, she says he knows of one very small village near the cliffs where only a few people live. He can't remember the name but said if you wait for him, he will come back and draw you a map."

"Of course, we can wait. Should we come back in a half hour?"

"That should be perfect, I'm sure he will be here by then."

8. A nearby Village

"Good afternoon, I'm Roger Lyons and I gather you've already met my wife, Annabelle. She started the museum about twenty years ago, collecting books and artifacts from the manor houses around here. There are some very important documents here.

"It is so very kind of you to come down to meet us on this short notice." I explain that I am looking for the village where my ancestors had lived.

"I have traveled nearly all the trails in this area for at least ten miles in every direction. I can remember several years ago I came upon a very small village, a hamlet it would be called in the old language, not far from the cliffs and deep in a forest where very few people ever have reason to go. At that time, I walked down the main road through the village and there were maybe ten small cottages and a few larger buildings. I think I saw a handful of people. What they are doing there, I can't imagine but I suspect they are happy not to have visitors. No one paid any attention to me and I just kept on walking down the road and back into the forest."

"Is this place very far from here," Elisia asks hopefully.

"No, not far, maybe three or four miles south along the coast. I can draw you a map, as best as I can remember. I don't think you will be able to drive there. You'll have to park your car and walk in. But it will only be about a mile or so."

Annabelle gives her husband a piece of paper and a pencil and he sits at the desk and draws a map for us.

"This part is kind of tricky," he says as he is drawing the map of the road. "You drive along this dirt road for almost a mile and on the left there will be a couple of turnouts. You need to take the one that is hidden behind a tall pine. It is very easy to miss because the tree branches cover the road from this direction. Just go slowly and keep looking for a big tree. I'm sure it is still there. That's the place you want to turn."

"Ok, I'll watch for the tree."

"After that, you drive in about as far as you dare to go and then get out and keep following the road. This is the road that runs right through the village, as I mentioned. I hope this is the place you are looking for. But at least it will be a beautiful walk. The coastline there is quite spectacular."

"Thank you very much, Roger. I'll let you know if it turns out to be the village I'm looking for!"

9. Road Through the Forest

Roger's map is very accurate and navigating the many turns through the forest along the cliffs is not difficult. After about an hour we approach the end of the dirt road. It isn't long before Elisia spots the big tree on the left.

"Turn here," she says excitedly. "That's the road Roger told us about!"

The forest is thick and dark here. The road, which really is just a double track, is barely wide enough for a car to pass. Sometimes, branches touch the car as we passed. Elisia opens her window and the natural aroma of the forest fills the car.

"Doesn't that just smell amazing," she smiles.

We continue to drive forward, slowly bouncing over the ruts and tree roots that cross the path. After a few minutes, a small clearing opens on the right side of the path. "I think we can leave the car here," and I pull it over onto the grass..

We grab our pack, lock the car, and head down the path. As we continue to walk, the forest gradually thins and more sunlight breaks through the canopy. It is early afternoon and the sun is warm. At the top of a ridge we notice the sound of waves against the shoreline in the distance. "We must be close," Elisia says.

Indeed after only a few more steps, the path turns to the left and emerges from the forest. At the edge of the clearing we stop and look down towards a small cluster of cottages scattered irregularly along the road. Above us, the remains of an ancient wooden gate still stands over the path, marking the entrance to the forest.

As we walk towards the village, an ancient stone building is still standing not far from the path. Trees have grown close around the building during times lost and forgotten.

Elisia and I continue on in silence, looking intently at every tree branch, every stone, every wooden beam of the cottages that we pass.

At first it seems like the village is completely deserted. Then we notice that except some cottages are in good repair with curtains hanging in the windows.

As we follow the road, several more cottages seem inhabited and after a short time we come upon three larger buildings. The largest building had at one time been rather grand with a domed roof and columns surrounding the entryway. It is near this building that the path turns away into the forest and a smaller, less traveled path curves downwards towards the cliff.

"I really didn't think we could have find this place on our own," I say. "I don't know what to do now. I thought that if we happened to find Lysandareth, the first thing I would do is try to find the cave where the deed was hidden. Do you think that's a good idea?"

"Sure, if that's what you want to do, then we should try to do it."

"Let's go this way, this path seems to lead towards the cliff and maybe we can find the trail down to the beach."

10. The Cave in the Cliffs

The path down the cliff is not treacherous but it is very overgrown – a sandy trail along rock ledges with purple wildflowers and small evergreens clinging to the rock crevices. In a couple of places, the edge of the path has fallen away and it is rather narrow. But otherwise, it is quite possible that it could have functioned as a road for a small cart to transport supplies between the beach and the village.

"Do you remember any of the details about the cave," I ask Elisia.

"I remember it is in the direction of the rocky point, which should be to the left. He wrote it is on the cliff near some trees."

"Well let's head that direction and see what we discover!"

We walk along the shore, holding hands and enjoying the rich azure color of the water in the sparkling sunshine. Cliffs tower majestically above us and we are completely absorbed by the sounds, colors, and majesty of the setting.

As we continue along the shore eventually the beach curves to the left. As we round the point, the great rock comes into view. The cliff breaks into a sharp edge and cuts downward from the high peak straight into the sea in an array of enormous boulders, tumbling out into the water, fragments of the ages frozen in time.

"I now see why this is the edge of the beach, the point that is impossible to cross. It must have been at low tide, or a very rare, exceedingly calm day, when they were able to climb over the rocks to the other side. We certainly can't do it today!"

"No, but the cave should be somewhere near here."

We both stand at the base of the cliff and trace our eyes along the surface of the rock. Solid yet rippled with the fractures of unseen forces, it is. Across the surface we search, slowly one footstep at a time working our way back towards the center of the beach.

"I just don't see anything," Elisia says. The afternoon sun is directly shining on the surface of the cliff, exposing every crevice.

"I don't see anything, either. Some of those shadows might be an opening but I'm not sure. Maybe finding the cave requires the correct angle of sunlight."

"Probably so. I'm sure it's there somewhere. Richard, I didn't expect it, but I'm quite certain we have found Lysandareth!"

11. The Cafe

As we reach the top of the sandy path leading back to the village we notice a couple of people in the distance entering one of the buildings.

"Let's go see where those people are going," Elisia says as we walk past the large domed building.

About half the way into the village, on the left side of the road, is a larger cabin-like building with a small porch on the right side and windows across the front. There is no sign but we can see through the windows that it is a cafe. Tables and chairs arranged randomly and a few people sitting and talking.

We step up to the wooden porch, the boards creaking under us. I opened the door and we step inside.

It is darker in the cafe, out of the late afternoon sun. We stand for a minute taking in the scene. One or two of the people glance in our direction but return to their conversations without much notice, "oh, look, it's a couple of strangers."

A woman behind the counter looks up, "Welcome to our cafe, have a seat anywhere you like."

"Let's sit there by the counter on these stools," Elisia says.

"We don't have many visitors here, anymore. The fishing has not been very good these past couple of years. Anyway, you don't look much like you're here to fish."

"No, we're searching for a small village where my great-grandfather lived. The place isn't on any maps but we met a man in the village north of here that thought this might be the place. I have a diary that my great-grandfather left and his description of the cliffs and the forests appear very similar to what we've seen here. The landscape is very beautiful."

"Yes, but there are so many scenic places here along the Cornwall coast, there just isn't much reason for people to come here. Would you like something to drink?"

"Sure, something light, seltzer with lemon or lime if you have it would be great."

"We have a few people on holiday, renting cottages or staying in their family's old cottages. Most of the people here in the cafe are visitors. What is the name of the village you were looking for?"

"In the diary the place is called Lysandareth, but I've asked a lot of people around here and no one has heard of it. It's possible we're just in the wrong place. "

"Hmm, that name does sound a bit familiar. I've lived here a long time. My husband and I came here on holiday back in the 70s when this was kind of a hippie hangout. We took over the cafe when the owner passed on and we just decided to stay. The man sleeping over in the corner with his dog has lived here his whole life. You should ask him. Oh Risten! There are some visitors here that would like to speak with you - about the old days."

The man in the corner looked up. "Oh, the old days? Does that mean I'm the old guy? I guess it does. Thanks for reminding me."

We smile at the woman and she gives us a little knowing look.

"May we join you?" I ask, and we introduce ourselves.

"Yes, I've lived here my whole life. There's not much to say about this place really except it used to be a lot busier and when I was a boy I worked for the cafe owner transporting supplies in from the neighboring villages."

"We're searching for the small village where my great-grandfather lived. I have a diary he left and it tells stories about a place named Lysandareth. Have you heard of that name?"

"Well let me think a moment. Say, Winnie, that name doesn't sound familiar to you, does it?"

"No Risten, I thought maybe you might have heard of it, you've lived here much longer than I have."

"I'll have to think about it. Are you going to be here tomorrow, maybe you could stop by and ask me then. I'll look through some old books I have back at my cottage."

"Sure, we can stop back tomorrow. I hope you find something!"

As we were about to head out the door, Winifred waved us over to the counter. "I was just thinking, you see all these notes and papers tacked on the walls of the cafe? Some of them are very old. You see, back in the old days, before the telephone and all that, people used to come through here and leave messages for each other tacked on the walls. It was a custom that dated back maybe a hundred years or more. Some of those old messages are still hanging here. See that map by the door? It's from a long time ago, I'm sure."

"That's fascinating! We'd love to take a look, maybe we'll find something, Richard!" Elisia is already starting to look through the papers hanging on the wall at the end of counter.

For about an hour we look through the old torn random scraps of moments preserved over unknown years. "I suspect we're looking for something further back in the layers, there's a whole archaeology project here. Some of the messages are so cryptic they must be secret. And others are just so interesting. Listen to this: "To the captain of the schooner 'Decisive,' you stinker when are you coming home?" We laughed about that one!

The cafe is starting to clear out, people are heading back to their cottages. The sun is setting and the light is turning golden outside the windows.

Just about when we were thinking of leaving, too, Elisia calls me over, "Look at this Richard. It is a short article in a newspaper about some boys who rowed out to some nearby islands and were never hear from again. The inquiry decided that they must have been lost at sea. But read this!"

From the last paragraph of the article:

"Everyone knows that to try to row a small boat to the Island of Naereaon is a foolish and treacherous thing. Several lives have been lost upon the rocks along the eastern shore over the years. But what still remains uncertain is why someone would come to this remote fishing village and then decide to build a house out there. One day soon, this reporter hopes to be able to visit the island and learn more of this mysterious stranger, Richard M. Eaton."

12. Cottage for the Night

Risten is still leaning back in his chair, dozing, or pretending.

"I wonder if you could tell us anything about the island this article is writing about." I handed the paper to Risten and he read the last paragraph.

"They are probably talking about Naereaon and Tesendeall. If you've been down to the beach you probably noticed them. Two islands, sister islands we call them, that are a couple of miles off the coast, straight west from here. The sun usually sets between them."

"Is it possible to go there," Elisia asked.

"Well at this time of year, it's not too hard. The winds are gentle and the sea is calm. It can be very treacherous sometimes. But people never go there, its kind of a place full of ghost stories. People say the place is haunted or something. I don't know of anyone who has ever been there."

"I wonder if we could hire a boat to take us there."

"You could ask Winnie, her husband has some boats that people rent. But you really need to know what you're doing."

I ask Winifred if we can rent a boat from her husband.

"If you tell him you want to go to Naereaon he won't rent you the boat. So if you really have to go there, tell him you just want to take a sail up and down the coast. Come back tomorrow morning. He'll be here then."

"Oh, and just wondering, would there possibly be a cottage we could rent for a night or two," Elisia ask.

"We do have one, just next door here. If you'd like to have it, it is free for the next three days."

We pay her for the drinks and the cottage. As we are leaving, Risten and Winifred are the only people left in the cafe. "Thank you very much for you help, hope to see you again."

"I'm sure you will, this is a really small village," Winifred smiles and returns to tiding up the cafe for the evening.

13. Sailboat for Rent

The next morning we are up early. The sun is rising through the forest, casting long shadows across the road. Elisia and I gather a pack together for the day, some fruit, water, sunscreen.

It is early and the cafe is empty. "Good morning, we stopped in yesterday afternoon and your wife, Winifred, said that we might be able to rent a boat from you so we could take a sail today." I had introduced us and mentioned that we were staying next door in their rental cottage.

"Good morning, I'm Albert, Winifred's husband. I do have a couple of sailboats for rent. Do you know how to sail?"

"Yes, I was on the sailing team at university and have crewed on yachts in the Caribbean several times," I said.

"Well the weather is very mild today, if you stay close to shore I'm sure you will be fine. Would you like some breakfast before you head out?"

"Absolutely, whatever you have would be perfect!"

"I can make you a couple of omelets, just have a seat and I'll be back in a few minutes."

Elisia and I are in a hurry to start the journey and spend little time on the delicious breakfast Albert has prepared.

"Thank you for the delicious meal. We're really keen to get out on the water so let me pay you and well be on our way."

"Sure, here is the key to the boat lock. Everything should be down there. You'll see a bright red boat with a yellow sail. That's the one. If you need some help or have any questions, just let me know. Have a great day and watch the weather. It's supposed to be perfect today but sometimes the wind blows offshore in the late afternoon which makes it a bit tricky to get back to the beach."

"Thanks for that, we'll plan ahead."

Down on the beach, the boat is hauled up near the base of the cliff. It takes a bit of pulling to drag it down to the water's edge. Elisia steps in and I pushed it off from the sand. I row out a little distance and raise the sail. We are sailing and the wind is perfect. A beautiful day on the water.

### Five

The Island of Naereaon

1. The Crossing

"Which island is Naereaon, do you know?" Elisia is watching the Cornwall cliffs receding behind us. We had been sailing for about an hour in a gentle breeze, not making fast time but enjoying the weather and grateful for a smooth crossing.

"No, I don't know, we should have asked Albert or Winifred. I hope we'll see the house from the water. We should sail around the island and plan a landing spot. We must avoid the rocks on the eastern shore."

It didn't seem like very much longer when the frame of a large house became visible over the crest of a hill like the bow of a ship crashing through the waves.

"I'm sure that's the house, up there," I say as I point to the ridge. From the shore, the two islands appeared to be close together but here on the water as we approached Naereaon, the sister island is a distance away, somewhat obscured by a soft summer haze.

Let's sail around the south end, which has a low sandy shore. I can't imagine an easy landing point on the other end where the cliffs drop down into the sea.

In a few moments are near the southern tip of the island and tack into the west again. As we round the point two navigation lanterns have been positioned on the outstretched arms of the dunes. We sail between them and a small building emerges along the shore.

"That looks like a boathouse," Elisia says as we drew closer. "Let's try to land there."

Approaching the dock, I drop the sail and we glide smoothly into the boathouse.

It is built of stone and ancient timbers with an opening in the wall leading to inner rooms.

"We have a lot to explore here," Elisia says as I tie the boat securely to the cleats.

Suddenly, the whole boathouse creaks and the dock, roof and walls shift slightly. "The building's not very stable, but it's still standing so I suppose our boat will be fine here. I don't see any other place to tie it off."

We step inside to find a central hall with doorways on three sides.

We try to open the door on the right but it is either locked or jammed closed.

"Let's try this door." Elisia is pushing against the door on the left and after a few tries, it swings open with a thud.

The room is an office and workspace. There is a large table in the center and a counter built against the wall that runs around the perimeter of the room. On the wall near the door hangs a large ship's bell for signaling in the fog. The table and counter are littered with a variety of boat supplies – a compass, fishing rods, floats, buoys, a harpoon, a fishing net. On the table is a very old black leather ship's log.

Elisia opens the log to the cover page.

### Richard J. Eaton

Diary of 1790

Port Dalisha

May 23, 1790

I have been in port on this tiny island these past three weeks while repairs are being made on my ship. It is hot and there is no wind. So perhaps I am glad not to be at sea.

May 25, 1790

As I was walking through town today, a small man wearing clothing from somewhere far in the east came up to me and started talking some obscure nonsense about a game with stones and sticks, and a map, and that I could help him find a hidden treasure.

" _If you help me, I will split the value of the treasure with you - completely, honestly, half to you and half to me"_

He kept saying that if I played this game with him we would end up with a map to a fantastic hidden treasure. It is an easy game, he said. Played with two stones and four short sticks. He would teach me, he said.

After I told him that I respectfully declined in the most strongest terms, he wouldn't stop following me. "You really should play this game, my friend"

"You will discover something more valuable than rubies"

He followed me all the way back to my ship. As I was about to board he grabbed my arm. "Mr. Richard J. Eaton, I will ask you once more, it is in your best interest to play this game today. My master will be most unhappy with me if I can not persuade you."

I turned and asked, "How do you know my name?"

But he had disappeared into the crowd.

2. The High Path

"We could spend all day reading this ship's log, but we should keep moving. Let's see if that third door leads outside." We walk back through the central hall to the door on the far wall in the center.

"Hopefully this door isn't locked." Elisia is reaching towards the latch and opens it. The door swings open slowly with a long creaking sound that is amplified by the high ceiling and stone walls.

Outside is a wooden boardwalk leading out over the dunes.

We follow the boardwalk over the dunes and around a small hill. Shortly, we reach a place where the boardwalk has collapsed and fallen down a steep incline into the water.

Returning towards the boathouse we noticed some wooden boards that have been laid over the dunes in a makeshift bridge. Balancing carefully on the boards we are able to follow this elevated path around the other side of the sand dune.

In a short distance the elevated path rises higher and becomes a very narrow bridge leading to a high plateau. It is hard to keep going and several times it seems a totally foolish thing to do. High above the water, the boards rock back and forth and the spindly supports sway back and forth with each careful step. Some of the supports have broken with time and fallen down into the water.

At last we make it to the plateau at the top of a large hill. As we explore the flat grassy area we discover the entrance to a tunnel. The opening is framed with enormous wooden timbers.

We step inside and followed the tunnel as it curves downward into the center of the hill. Eventually the tunnel opens into a very deep inner cave with a pool of water far at the bottom. The sound of water drops hitting the pool below echos throughout the chamber. Someone had placed more of the large wooden boards across rock outcroppings, the boards forming a ramp that leads down to the bottom of the chamber.

Carefully we follow the boards down to the bottom. A cave opens out into the sunshine and we hear the waves lapping against the rocks outside. Just as we are about to leave the cave, I notice a narrow stone path leading around the edge of the pool.

"Elisia, there is a path here, I think. Let's see if we can follow it." I creep slowly along the ledge above the edge of the pool. The water is dark and foreboding, possibly very deep, and the smooth rocks along the edge provide little assistance. "We need to be very careful! - don't fall in!"

3. The Pirate Cave

As we inch our way around the pool on the narrow ledge, light from the cave opening shines across the water and illuminates the shadows under a large rock outcropping. As we continue around the pool we now see a small wooden door, hidden from view earlier by the rocks and shadows.

"This is certainly very mysterious, isn't it," I say as we approach the door.

"Like some kind of old black and white movie. I should be wearing a flowing dress and high heels."

"I just hope there's no sea monsters in that pool."

The door is stiff from years of rust but after a couple of tries I am able to pry it open. Inside, the cave is dark but at the far end, a shaft of light is shining in from an opening somewhere above.

Inside the cave we slowly make our way through the darkness towards the light. About half way in, a brass chest lies on the ground, broken open and empty. Further ahead, more open chests lie scattered about on the ground. Each has been broken open and are now empty.

We reach the far end where the light is shining in. The cave drops down into a pool of dark water. Several more chests are floating on the water, broken open and empty. Just as we are turning to leave, disappointed that we have found nothing, Elisia reaches down into one of the chests, "Well at least there is a book here. I wonder what it is."

It is a small book covered in soft brown suede leather. She holds it in the shaft of light and on the cover, stamped in gold letters, "D'Ren Ertan."

### Book Three: Ships Log of the D'Ren Ertan

Ship's Log of the D'Ren Ertan

Captain Ert-Dran

1644

[Here follows excerpts from the complete diary relevant to the story of Lysandareth...]

August 29, 1644

Yes, yes, we have hidden it. Of that I made sure. But now, so I do not neglect: the details of how we obtained the little basket of trinkets, so to speak.

It is not long after we left port, you will recall the seas were smooth as a lady's silk, and a thick fog mounded up against the coastline.

Shortly after sunrise we hear a ship off the port bow. Music playing and all manner of laughter drifting across the water.

Aye, a real party there were having and we meant to have one, too!

We ghosted up along side and without firing a single shot we we're aboard her. The crew and a handful of passengers put up a small fight. We threw a couple crewmen overboard. They were so drunk the cold bath did them well, that's sure. And that is all. In no time, the gold, silver, and jewelry were ours!

We cut their lines and set them adrift. Once we were a league or two into the distance, we broke out of the fog and caught a strong southerly wind.

But as regards the hiding of it I will not write more. Indeed it is hidden. And hidden well for only I and my trusted mates know its location. There it will rest until we can collect it on our return journey.

November 7, 1644

We raided a small settlement last night, most strange it turned out to be. One of the settlers tried to stop us and stop us he did. I still don't understand what happened, indeed it is all a mystery. But one thing is certain, my mate, Het-sen Tav, is dead as can be. And I have in my possession a large blue stone that seems of no purpose at all to me.

February 4, 1646

We have been in port now five days. The harbor of Endersye is about the only place a crew like mine can spend any time at all. No one cares much what happens here. In town today I saw a man who seemed quite familiar to me, from sometime long ago, perhaps. He is sitting in the back of the bar, his eyes focused on the doorway. Impassioned he is, absorbed.

February 12, 1646

Several nights later, a clouded memory came back to me. Maybe I is drunk. Well yes, perhaps I had been drinking. But I remembered that man again. He said he is from Lysandareth. He told me we had met before, but I did not remember him. We played cards for many hours, late into the night. He bought me many bottles of rum and perhaps said something about a certain treasure he had lost. It is of no matter. Our treasure is safe, hidden, of that I am sure.

April 1646

Now, at last, we are on our return voyage. It is time to distribute our gains to the crew and send them on their merry way. Ha!

Under cover of darkness, we rowed our small boat into the cove. The moon had already set behind the mountain and the only sound is the soft lapping of waves on the sand. Six months earlier, my mates and I had hidden the treasure in a small cave beside a deep dark underground pool. A most excellent hiding place where our treasure will never be discovered!

4. Terinon's Cabin

We quickly turn through the pages of the book. In the narrow shaft of light in the cave we see it contains page after page of entries spanning several years.

"Let's put this in our pack for now and read through it later. Since these pirates were using this island to hide their treasure perhaps they have something to do with the history of Lysandareth," I said as I place the book in our pack.

"The way everything is just scattered about and broken open I suspect someone came here and took the treasure away before the pirates could return for it."

We carefully make our way back around the pool and through the short tunnel out into the sunlight.

"If feels good to be out in some fresh air again, doesn't it?"

"I wonder which direction we should take along the shore here."

The mouth of the cave opened directly onto a narrow rocky shoreline. To the left is the cove that the high path had traversed. "Let's try up this little rise, it is in a direction that we have not seen yet," and we head to the right along the shore.

At the top of the rise is a small one-room cabin built on a flat clearing at the base of the cliff. It is built of earthen walls with a thatch roof and the door is painted a very bright blue color.

It is completely silent here except for the lapping of gentle waves against the rocks on the shore. We knock and call out but there is no answer.

Elisia raises the latch and the door swings open.

The cabin is simply furnished with a bed, a desk, a large red trunk, and a small table with candles. There is small stack of lumber along the far wall. Most of the wood seems quite ordinary but two or three of the boards are a vivid red color such as I have never seen. "This wood is quite unusual, isn't it Elisia," I say as I picked up one of the pieces.

"I've never seen anything like it either."

On the wall beside the bed is a painting of a man standing next to a woman holding a baby. They are on a beach somewhere. Their clothing seem of the Victorian era, or perhaps even earlier. In the background are strangely shaped curving palm trees that are completely unlike any I have ever seen.

5. Two Letters

Elisia is looking out the window by the desk. "Let me see if there is something interesting here." On the desk are two matching candlesticks, with bases of brass shaped in a sphere. The desk is simple without any decoration except a carved oval panel on the middle drawer. Elisia pulls the drawer open and inside is an ink pen, ink reservoir, and measuring tape. There are two letters here tucked into the little bin at the side. "Listen to this:"

Dear Terinon,

Now three years I have awaited your return and still you say I must wait. What are you doing? Why will not Eaton release you from service? What is the purpose of his secrecy? You have repaid our debts many times over by now.

I miss you and need you here. The winds are hard and many trees have been blown down. I fear for the lives of our children. Please find a way to return soon!

With love and haste,

Cyrea

"And here's another note:"

Terinon,

I am sorry but I have had to go away unexpectedly and I do not know

when I will return. I bid you to return home; I will contact you

when I am able.

But I ask one last duty: make sure all the doors are left unlocked. I do not want anyone to be trapped here. It may be many years before we return, if ever.

I remain most grateful for your dedicated service! –R M E

R M E

"And there's a small diary here, too. It was just lying on the top of the desk under a sheaf of blank writing paper. The binding is very unusual, it appears to have been made in Asia perhaps." Elisia opens the small black book with red cord binding.

### Book Four: Terinon's Journal

May 12, 1859

We did not work today for the first time in many weeks. I spent my time in a small cove on the far side of the island. I fell asleep in the warm sunshine and dreamt of the stars over Efvereat and the voices of children playing.

December 8.1859

Eaton left today. Finally I can accomplish his assignments without interruption. Everyday he comes to me with more drawings, more details, it is impossible to keep up. At night, I fall asleep to the sound of hammer falls. To my surprise, it has been over half a year that we have worked and I have not had the energy to make a single record in the log.

December 28.1859

Today I finished the tasks left for me. With the remaining materials, I built myself a cottage away from the main house. If I must stay here for another year or longer, at least now I will have a place to be alone.

January 22, 1860

Eaton has returned and he is more frantic than ever. He says he must leave again in two weeks and has already given me enough work to last a month.

When he is away, after my work is completed, I use the wood scraps to build myself a small boat. Small, yes, but large enough for my journey home. Next year, at this time, I will head south. That is when the seas are most calm.

April 12, 1860

Eaton has been away for nearly two months now. Early I finished the work he left for me. Without more materials, I can do no more. I received a letter from Cyrea; I must find a way to return home.

April 23, 1860

My boat is nearly completed. This I wrote to Cyrea and I hope she understands that I will stay here only as long as necessary.

When Eaton asked me to come here to Naereaon, he told me that I am the only person he trusted. He told me that was why he saved me from the men that were chasing me. Oh yes, I remember that all too well. Eight or nine years ago, it is. Before Cyrea and I were married.

What did I do, to cause all those men such anger? Ah, well as I remember it, a woman was involved, and some money. Let me see, it was quite a lot of money, in fact. And it was her money. But I did not know that at the time.

The results of a rather intense game of dice that I played with a very round man in a white suit. We sat on the veranda and eventually a lot of money changed hands. This, they did not like all too well. And in the end, Eaton saved my by throwing me on board his ship and casting off!

May 16, 1860

We worked for 13 hours today building the lower hallway doors. There is no end to what needs to be done. Still there are many doors yet to be made.

I do not understand why these doors are so important to him. Yesterday, I had to remake one of the doors simply because I used the wrong wood. At this rate I will never be able to return home.

### Six

Wyve Crest

1. The Path Over the Dunes

Outside Terinon's cabin, we return to the path that traces the shoreline back in the direction of the boathouse. The strange high path creaks and moans in the air above us. Broken supports dangle precariously over our heads. The whole construction is swaying in the wind.

"We must have been insane to walk across that thing," I exclaim to Elisia. "We had no idea it was barely hanging on in the wind."

"I don't even want to think about it!"

We wade across a small shallow inlet, at first stepping across boards that bridge from one rock to another, then walk in the warm shallow water to the opposite bank. A small cut in the hillside leads us up to the top of the dune. The boathouse is in the distance and we can look far out to see. Tesendeall is not visible from this side of the island.

"I wonder what is on the other side of this dune?" We climb up the dune to the other side.

As we came down into the ravine, the path turns and opens on the shoreline. Hidden in a small cove is an old wooden dock, some boards broken and falling into the water. And tethered to the deck is a hot air balloon lying on its side, flapping in the wind!

2. Through the Rocks

"If we are going to make it to the main house today, we should head up towards the crest. It's going to be a bit of a climb. Too bad we can't just fly up there." I kick at the overturned basket of the collapsed balloon.

"Eaton probably used this to reach the summit quickly but it is of no use to us now."

"Let's head down the shoreline to those rocks and see if we can find a trail."

We search along the shoreline for an opening and finally find a narrow cut in the rock that seems to be a trail, though it is very narrow and overgrown. The trail switches and turns frequently and we catch glimpses of the seascape back in the direction of Lysandareth. As we make our way higher and higher the view grows more magnificent.

Suddenly the trail opens out onto a small flat clearing – grassy and lined with low trees and shrubs. A stone walkway meanders through the center and around a few bends in the lawn.

"There's the house," Elisia exclaims, pointing to a low doorway surrounded on each side by a cluster of tall cypress trees.

The door is large, heavy, made of ancient wood in a highly unusual red color, the same color of wood we had seen in Terinon's cabin. In the center is a finely crafted bronze bell pull with a very ornate surround in a style reminiscent of Art Nouveau. The hinges and other hardware were also tarnished bronze, hammered and worked into a matching style. Carved into the center of the door above the bell pull is the name WYVE CREST and the initials RME.

"I doubt anyone is here but I'll pull the bell, anyway. I want to hear the sound of its ring."

I pull the knob and far in the distance it rings slowly with a very low, deep sound almost like the sounding of a church bell.

"The doors are supposed to be unlocked, let's see if we can go in."

3. A Very Long Hallway

The door is indeed not locked and it opens freely. At first, looking in from the bright mid-day sunshine, the room appears completely dark, black as night. As we step forward, the room illuminates and we find ourselves looking down a very long wooden hallway.

We step inside and closed the door. Light flows in from skylights in the ceiling. The walls were paneled with dark wood. At intervals large wooden timbers support the structure. What is most unusual is that the floor is made of glass.

As we walk forward down the hallway we see that the structure is actually a long bridge over an inlet with water washing against the rocks below.

After a long distance the hallway opens onto a room with two fireplaces, comfortable furniture and paintings of ships on the walls.

Elisia and I look at the paintings and notice a two small books lying on one of the fireplace mantels.

"This seems like it might be his study, there are a few books still here. Perhaps we can take a quick look through them and then explore the house some more."

Elisia reaches for a small blue leather book with an image of a globe stamped in gold on the cover. She opens the cover and turns to a page near the beginning. "It is a diary, I think. Here's the title page."

### Book Five: Diary of My Voyage

The South Faralyn Sea

1610-1612

Richard E. Eaton

The 23rd of December 1610

We crossed the equator today, seas are calm, there is no wind. The air is unbearably hot. How much longer can we endure this?

Heading south again after 13 days of a westward course. Not an island or ship for at least a week. I struggle not to loose count of the days...

The 30th of January 1611

Twelve days out of Port Dalisha and we have sailed past four islands. Each is identical to the other - islands filled with jungles, birds, and snakes. We have not seen a single person but there were a few small boats pulled up on one of the beaches. According to the old whalers diary we must pass five islands in a curved westward line. Beyond the fifth island is a swift current and then on the horizon, a long narrow island with high mountains. The furthest island must be just beyond the edge of my chart because there are no such islands on any charts I have seen.

Sometime in the night the wind dropped away and we are drifting south without a breath of a breeze. If we don't drift too far off course we may still make the island in two days.

The 4th of February 1611

For two days there is not a single breeze. On the third day, the wind picked up and we turned back north towards our original course. We passed the fifth island on our starboard side and just before dark we could see the peaks of the mountain island in the red setting sun. It will not be long now.

The 14th of April 1612

After six days in Port Dalisha we are now back at sea. But yes, it will be a sweet, sweet memory. Sleeping on the sand and dancing under the stars. Will my journey lead me back there again?

I know not the answer.

4. An Old Letter

Elisia places the small blue book back on the mantel. "Do you know where the South Faralyn Sea is located? I've never heard of it."

"No, but I wonder if that is were the islands on the map we found in Le Harve are located. Maybe we'll learn more about these islands as we search through the house."

There is another book here, much larger, and bound in a soft tan suede leather. She holds the book so we can look at it together.

"The cover is blank, I wonder what this book is about."

Elisia opens the book to a page near the middle. Instead of an ordinary book, this is a handwritten notebook of some kind.

"Is there a title page? I wonder whose notebook this is?"

Elisia turns to the first page of the book:

An Arboreal Study of the South Faralyn

Begun 1811

Richard K. Eaton

This book is based on twenty-seven years research into the botanicals of the South Faralyn. Certain it is that a grouping of more than two hundred islands is a very wide topic to undertake. No single book can cover such a vast range of diverse climates and regions.

Presented here are the most common species across nearly every island in the archipelago. The last chapter is reserved for a special study of one unique variant of Sariatis. The people of each island have welcomed me graciously and made my time in the Faralyns a most inspiring journey."

"Let's take a closer look at some of these pages," I suggest.

"Wait, there is something inserted between the pages near the back of the book. Look, it is a letter!"

Dear Richard,

I read with much interest your letter that I received only yesterday. I must warn you that the South Faralyn Sea is a place few have traveled. I myself have no maps of it. Only hand drawn notes and sketches that have not sufficient accuracy to guide you. I can not pretend to know the islands for there are many indeed, perhaps nearly a thousand. Vague rumors reach me here of unstated dangers and over time I have known only one other person that claims to have sailed there and returned. Be prepared, the voyage is very long and the winds are light. It is an arduous ambition.

And what of this treasure? Do you have proof? There are many treasures in this world and some are much nearer than the South Faralyn. But I know you well and know that you must go.

Enclosed you will find my notebook of the rare and most unusual arborum of the region. I draw your particular attention to the most rare wood of the Sariatis.

May your journey be swift and safe. I await more news,

Your grandfather,

RKE

5. A Very Rare Tree

Elisia replaces the letter and pages through the book. Hand drawn images of trees, bark, leaves, and seeds fill the pages. Some pages are entirely columns of scientific descriptions of the various type of plants he had found.

"It's no wonder he spent seventeen years on this project. It seems to be categorized by the name of the island. It looks like each island has its own unique species of trees."

"We could spend days looking through this, and it's impossible to know what use all this information might be."

"Yes, that's so true. But maybe there is a reason why that letter is inserted at that particular page. Let's read it and then we can go out into the great hall.

### Book Six: An Arboreal Study of the South Faralyn

An Arboreal Study of the South Faralyn

Richard K. Eaton

Page 684, illustrated.

Sariatis

A class of small woody trees found on islands in the South Faralyn Sea. Believed to have been introduced to the region by sailors from the East Shore.

Aeratis Sariatis

A member of the Sariatis family that grows near the edges of the forest. Distinguished by the structure of its roots: the trunk of the tree is suspended in the air by a series of roots that are partially above ground.

Demi Sariatis

Another member of the Sariatis family that is small in size even though it may be centuries old.

Often found in high elevations on the islands of the Talinalisia. Its wood is extremely strong due to its great age. Sticks made from Demi Sariatis are often prized as weapons.

Crimson Sariatis

The most rare member of the Sariatis family whose wood is a remarkably dark and rich red color.

Broad Sariatis

A variety of the Sariatis family of tree that spreads horizontally. As it grows, several branches spread outward and send down additional shoots. Over centuries, these shoots take on the proportion of additional main trunks and support the weight of the very wide spread of the branches. Often other varieties of Sariatis grow under the maze of the shoots and branches.

Broad Sariatis is often used for the keel of ships due to the very long length of its branches.

6. The Great Hall

The study opens out upon a great hall constructed of dark wooden paneling and ancient timbers. High above us is a vaulted ceiling of dark oak timbers. Suspended from the peak is a gently flowing carved wooden sailboat pointing towards the sea. We are drawn towards the large oversize windows that look out upon the water. A central door leads onto a wooden balcony.

"I wonder if the balcony will hold us," I say as I look down through the seams between the wooden boards. "It's hanging out over a cliff!"

"It is built of very heavy timbers, I think it will hold," and Elisia steps gently out onto the wooden planks of the deck.

It is a beautiful summer day, small clouds are floating in the sky and there are several very small islands of rock jutting up through the calm waters. Below us, small waves splash softly against the rocks far below. A second wooden sailboat is suspended from the framework above us on golden ropes. The boat is sailing in the air out to sea.

"This is so very pleasant," says Elisia. "But we need to keep moving so we can return the boat before the end of the day."

Returning to the great hall we notice two doors on opposite walls. "Let's try this door first." I'm pointing towards the door, "The one on the right."

7. The Island Room

As we approach the door, I am immediately drawn to the elaborate carvings and impeccable craftsmanship. This door is gold in color and decorated with geometrically arranged outlines of boat sails.

I push on the door and it opens upon a small hallway. This hall is also paneled in dark wood. The floor is of green marble, laid in a geometric pattern. The ceiling is a soft blue color a pattern that matches the door frame. At the hallway's midpoint, two ink drawings are hung on opposite walls, facing each other. Each depicts a temple or other ancient structure.

"Do you recognize these buildings," I ask Elisia.

"No, but they appear to be from somewhere in South Asia but I am not familiar with all the temples there."

At the far end of the hall, we see bright colors and sunlight, green and red plants filling the room beyond. The entrance to the room is surrounded by another of the bright red door frames but without a door.

As we are about to step inside the room we noticed the floor is missing! We look down and see the jungle vines and trees falling away in the distance below us with no bottom in sight!

"This is pretty scary," Elisia says as she takes a step back from the doorway.

"Wait a second. There is another glass floor, I think. See? There is a table and some furniture that seems to be suspended in mid air, but they are actually resting upon a glass floor. Be careful, the glass is a triangle shape and only the point touches the doorway. You'll have to step very carefully."

We both step across onto the glass floor and there is barely enough room for both of us to stand. The room had looked so very large from the doorway but once inside, the walls seemed to stretch off far in the distance but it is only an illusion.

We move closer to the table. Upon closer examination we realize the desk or table is actually the red door that had been removed from the doorframe. It is lying atop two bright blue marble supports as if it were being constructed or repaired.

"Richard, there is a note here"

"It's very short, let me read it."

September 22, 1864: Terinon, as you can see this door has developed a vein of Blue Indigosia. This may happen occasionally, it is not your fault. That is why this room is so incomplete and distorted.

Do not return this door to its frame without repair or you will be trapped inside forever without escape!

I will return soon. –R M E

8. The Wood Room

"Maybe we should just leave this room for some other time, just perhaps." I put the note back on the door and back away.

"Just what I am thinking. There's another room at the far end of the hall. Let's go see if it is any less scary."

At the door on the opposite side of the grand hall, I noticee the graphic design includes long, thin objects stacked end to end and some mechanical shapes across the lower portion. "I wonder what these symbols mean," as I point to the shapes on the door.

"Let's open it and find out!"

I push against the door and it opens slowly. It is a small storage room Wood boards are stacked on the floor and leaning against the walls. Some are elegantly carved, ready for installation, others are partially complete. Several of the boards are of the same bright red variety we have now seen used in several places. In the center of the room, a partially completed door of bright red wood is supported at working height by two large sections of tree trunks.

"Elisia, there's a notebook here, let's see what it says."

"It looks like an inventory book. Each page contains a list of items that I guess must be different types of woods. Let's see what the last entry is."

November 12, 1865

Totals on Hand

Length in Long Reach / Wood

89 lr / Interia Thesia

67 lr / Knotted Thesia

134 lr / Common Thesia

32 lr / Miniata Evenatina

283 lr / Faded Evenatina

24 lr / Ambera Sariatis

32 lr / Broad Sariatis

8 lr / Crimson Sariatis

72 lr / Aeratis Sariatis

18 lr / Umber Tyndin

23 lr / Ochre Tyndin

467 lr / Common Tyndin

432 lr / Caria Ordinalis

389 lr / Caria Aqualis

132 lr / Caria Sendioa

32 lr / Caria Filai

76 lr / Perita Nere

281 lr / Lerita Nere

367 lr / Interia Nere

37 lr / Miniata Nere

82 lr / Dark Nere

261 lr / Aqualis Nere

142 lr / Omias Monadi

156 lr / Plateia Monadi

131 lr / Caratie Monadi

78 lr / Loia Monadi

302 lr / Intrestia Monadi

9. A Hatch in the Floor

"I can't really make much of that, I'm afraid," Elisia says.

"Neither can I. There's not much of interest in here. Just a lot of wood and pieces of doors." I am winding my way back into the far corner of the room. Wooden boards are stacked in all directions, seemingly at random.

In the dark back corner I glimpse some red wood lying on the floor. "Wait a minute. Come look at this. I thought this is just some wood scrap lying carelessly around but it is actually a hatch in the floor! Let me clean these scraps off and we can look at it."

The hatch is small, about the size of a sailboat's. It is decorated with a carefully carved large sailing ship, a planet with cycles of sunlight...and a whale.

"Those decorations must mean something. I wonder why Terinon built a boat hatch in the floor of the storeroom." Elisia is looking closely at the carvings.

"Should we open it," I ask, unsure about finding another room as perplexing as the jungle room.

"Well, that's why we're here, isn't it?"

"Sure, why not. What's the worst that can happen?"

I crack open the hatch and a cold blast of air hits me in the face. I try to look in but it is completely dark.

"Well here goes!" I flung the hatch open and squeeze through the opening.

"Wait for me," Elisia said!

### Seven

The Island of Lithin

1. Midnight Blizzard

For a brief moment everything is dark and then my feet touch upon a straight wooden ladder trailing down into the darkness. I grab the slats and climb down. At the bottom of the ladder a faint beam of light breaks through a crack in the window shutters. I could see that Elisia is just coming down through the hatch behind me.

"Be careful, there is an old wooden ladder attached to the wall under you and you can catch the rungs with your feet. It's not far, just pretty dark."

In a moment she is standing next to me in the dark on a cold wooden floor. The wind howls outside, snow blows in through the crack in the shutter, it seems like the entire building is shaking.

"It's freezing, this is some kind of artic blizzard we've fallen into! We've got to find a way to keep warm," Elisia exclaims.

The storm pounds against the hut and suddenly the shutter on the window bursts open and falls on the floor. Wind and snow blast into the room, covering us with a layer of snow that is freezing against our face and hands.

"We've got to do something quick!

Using the light from our phones we try to see through the solid whiteout of the snow constantly streaming in.

"I think there's a door over there. I hope it doesn't go outside," I yell and grab hold of Elisia's hand. It is cold and she's shivering madly. Stumbling over wooden boards scattered about on the floor we manage to get to the door and pull it open.

It open into a larger main room. The windows are shuttered but the blizzard outside is beating against them and streams of snow blow in from every direction.

A large stone fireplace fills the opposite short wall.

"We've got to try to build a fire!" I yell over the banging of the shutters and the blasting wind.

"There's some firewood here in the corner, under this oilskin. It seems to be dry," she yells.

"I think there is a flint here on the mantle. Can you try to get the kindling burning and I'll see if I can use some of those wood scraps to keep the shutters tight against the wind?"

As I am slamming boards against the shutters I notice a couple of heavy coats here on a peg by the door. "Elisia, here, put this coat on!"

"It smells like fish! But I guess it's better to be warm than to be freezing."

"Yes, this one smells, too."

It seems like several hours pass but in fact it has not been long and Elisia has the fire burning. We huddle together near it grateful to be feeling some warmth.

With the shutters secure and a strong fire burning, the small room is warming up quickly.

"I'm exhausted. Let's drag the bed over here next to the fire and take a rest."

2. The Island of Lithin

"Did you sleep at all," Elisia asks.

"I really don't know. But I kept thinking I is having a very vivid terrible dream."

"We need to figure out how to get out of here right away. There's not much wood left and I don't think we can make it through another freezing night."

Sunlight shines in through the cracks of the shutters and doorway. The fire is still glowing. I place a couple of logs on the glowing embers and they soon begin to burn.

"Where do you think we are and what kind of crazy thing happened last night? Do you understand it?" Elisia is looking around the room, trying to answer her own questions.

I open the door and outside there is snow everywhere, covering the trees, lying deep upon the ground, and drifting high against the walls of the hut. Immediately, I slam the door against the bitter cold air.

"There's nothing but snow out there. Maybe we should look around this place and see if we can find anything that can help us figure out where we are."

"I'll look through this desk, it seems like a likely place to start."

"And I'll look through the small side room."

Now, in the daylight it is clear to see that this side room is a small lean-to addition to the side of the original building and is used as a storeroom. It is piled high with wooden boards. The wooden ladder down which we climbed in the dark last night is built vertically in the far corner against the inner side wall. In the ceiling at the top of the ladder is a small hatch with a red wooden frame – the hatch through with we entered last night. There is a window at the center of the far wall, its shuttered lying broken on the floor. I jam it back in the window and as long as there is no strong wind, it will hold.

In the middle of the outer side wall is a narrow door framed in deep red wood. Along the inside wall is a bench with woodworking tools, clamps, chisels, saws of many shapes. There is a shelf above the bench cluttered with more tools and small discarded scraps of partially carved wood. At the far end is a small stack of papers. I pull them down and lay them out on the bench. Most are inventory lists, similar to the one we saw in the wood room on Naereaon.

"Elisia, I've found a note from Eaton," and I read it aloud:

"Terinon,

I realize this storeroom here on Lithin is very inconvenient for you. It is very cold, I realize. However that is exactly necessary to preserve the rare properties of the wood. I will tell you more about this when I see you next. In the meantime, store as much of the wood as possible here in this fishing hut and only transfer what you immediately need back to Naereaon.

RME"

"Did you find anything else in there?"

"Just a small stack of wood inventory sheets. There is a door with a frame that matches some of the red doors on Naereaon out there. Otherwise, it is a storeroom for wooden boards."

She is seated at the desk with one or two of the drawers open. An oil lamp, a pen and ink jar, several scraps of paper and a couple of chisels lie on the desk.

"I'm trying not to disturb everything. All the drawers are empty except for blank scraps of paper and a few pens. I am just about to look in the center drawer."

Elisia opens the drawer and scattered about inside is a small compass, a box of flints, a heavy needle for mending canvas, and tucked far in the back a piece of paper folded several times into a square. She unfolds it and lays it on the desk. It is a letter, written in a man's handwriting in an early English style.

"I do not know if I shall survive this cold. If I should not make it, this is my story:

In 1721 I signed on to a whaling vessel in a desperate attempt to leave the memories of a lost love. At first all went well, we worked hard and life was good. One night pirates attacked us and half the crewmen were killed or thrown overboard. Our captain was lost. The remaining men voted me their new captain and we set sail to return here to camp. On the way, the men became tired and drank too much. Eventually they turned on me and threw me overboard onto a patch of ice in the Iselenden Bay. They sailed away in the ship and I have never seen them again.

I made my way back here over the ice and have been able to live through the winter in these fishing huts on the Island of Lithin. Using an axe left behind by the old whalers who had lived here before us, I tore apart one of the huts for firewood to keep from freezing. I light the fire with flints left behind by the whalers. Late on the fourth night, in the light of a clear moon, a bear attacked me and I was able to kill it with the axe. Since then, I have slept under a warm bearskin blanket.

It has been a long and cold six months. I have survived by fishing. I use the axe to cut a hole in the ice and fish until the cold becomes overwhelming. There is a small boat frozen in the snow. Once the weather warms, I will take it and return home.

Richard H. Eaton, March 28, 1722"

3. The Bunkhouse

At the bottom of the letter is drawn a simple map. A long narrow island with a cluster of four cabins near the eastern shore. Eaton has indicated clusters of trees, as landmarks in the snow.

"Maybe we should explore the bunkhouse," Elisia said. "The crewmen may have left a map behind that will help us."

We open the door and step outside. The wind hits our faces and it is very cold. But in the sunshine of the morning it is easy to see the three other huts built around a semicircle with the clusters of trees in the center. To the right is the shore of the bay, frozen and desolate, with absolute whiteness stretching all the way to the horizon. There is nothing but snow and ice. Not another island, no smoke rising from any habitable place. We are alone far from anywhere.

The bunkhouse is small, built in the same simple style as Eaton's. A narrow wooden door at one end. We push it open and step inside.

The walls are lined with bunk beds. "Small quarters for eight men," I remark. "But they probably spent a lot of time on boats and were accustomed to small spaces."

"There's not much here at all. The men must take everything with them."

Elisia and I look around the room. It is completely empty except for the four bunk beds. No other furniture, no shelves, not even any miscellaneous discarded stuff lying about.

"If you were going to hide something in here, where would you hide it," I ask muttering to myself.

"I wonder if anyone hid something under their mattress. That's where I put stuff when I wanted to hide it from my sister," Elisia said with a mischievous grin.

"Here, I'll lift them up and you take a look."

We look under each mattress. There is nothing at all under the first five. "There's only a couple more possibilities," and I lift up the top mattress at the far end of the room.

"There's something here under this one," Elisia is reaching into the far back edge.

"It's a small book of some kind." The smooth finish of the old brown leather is worn completely through in places and the corners are bent and broken.

She opens to a page near the end. Many blank pages remain without entries. "Would you try to find the last entry and see what it says," I ask.

Elisia pages forward from the back and about two-thirds from the end are the last entries. Written in a scrawling hand in a very old style.

### Book Seven: The Deckhand's Journal

August 25.1721

While we were out fishing today, we spotted the largest whale any of us had ever seen. Not fifty longs from the port bow. If we were to make a catch like that, we could go home early this season, and that is a sure one.

August 28.1721

Today we were ordered to repair the buildings. The weather is stormy and we could not sail. Each of the four buildings were built at a different time, each by a successive fishing company. We built this building, the bunkhouse. Before that, us crewmen slept on the boat or in tents. I do not know how anyone could stay here in through the winter. It is too cold and there is no food or fuel for the fires. On chilly nights early or late in the season, we burn wood we have brought from the mainland.

September 21.1721

This may be my last season. The new captain seems more interested in his maps and journals than in fishing. The men and me, we are here for the fishing because that means profits and we will all have some money to take back with us for our efforts. I do not see what the captain finds so interesting in those maps.

September 29.1721

I stole a look at the captain's maps today when he was not looking. Strange they are. Places I have never heard before. Odd names, and a group of islands like nothing in these waters. It is most strange, indeed. And now he's talking about bringing in a new boat, a boat made somewhere far from here. He says it is fast and can carry a larger load. Maps and foreign boats. The men are starting to wonder if this should be the captain's last season.

4. The Eranla

"There just might be something in that diary but I don't think we have time to look through all those pages." I'm looking out the window at the sky and notice that suddenly clouds are rolling in and it is quickly turning very dark. "Hurry! Let's get back to Eaton's hut before we can't see anything," I yell, and grab Elisia's hand.

I push open the door and suddenly a blizzard is upon us.

"Follow the clusters of trees," she shouts. "We don't want to get lost in this!"

The sky is nearly dark as night and snow swirls all around us.

The snow is very deep and we stumble and fall. Even in our coats, the wind pierces right through us and we are almost instantly freezing again. The whiteout is disorienting. The trees blend in to the background and we are not sure which direction to turn. We stumble again and getting up is hard as the wind lashes against us.

Eventually we see the faint outline of Eaton's hut appearing out of the vast whiteness. We trip and fall and stumble towards the door. I yank the door open and we burst inside!

"Let's get the fire going again and make a plan to get out of here. I've had enough adventure in this place," Elisia says.

"Me, too!"

I went to the storeroom and dig down into the piles of wood to find some dry scraps to place on the fire. The embers are still warm and after fanning them for a short time, the wood bursts into flames. We hold our coats close and sit near the fire for warmth.

For a time, we watch the fire burning, feel a little warmer, and talk over the details of the stories we have discovered. "This certainly is a complicated place," Elisia says.

"I think I'll get some more wood for the fire." Back in the storeroom I pause for a moment, looking around once more at the items on the shelves. Nothing of interest. I see some likely wood scraps in the far corner and pick them up. To my surprise, under the wood scraps is a small sea chest, tucked far into the corner on the floor.

"Look at this, Elisia," I exclaim as I carry it out into the main room. "It's a sea chest. I wonder what is inside!"

"Is it locked?"

"No I don't think so, there is a place for a lock but it broken off. Maybe someone already stole the treasure," I said with a shrug.

"Well maybe there's something of interest to us, anyway."

I put the wood on the fire and then place the chest between us on the floor. The lid is stiff but it opens without much difficulty. Inside is an official looking piece of paper, a small book, and an eight-inch square leather pouch bulging slightly from objects inside.

"There's the treasure," she says, "inside the pouch. Let's open that first."

I untie the leather straps that secure it and turn it over. Three objects slide out slowly onto the bottom of the chest: a map, a compass, and a scrimshaw.

"Not the gold and silver we were expecting, is it?"

"No, so far no gold and jewels, it seems. But this scrimshaw is interesting. There's a very strange design carved in it. Usually scrimshaws have carvings of ships or something like that. This one has a carving of a black bird standing on a sphere. Seems very odd."

"Well, let's see what else is here," she says as she picks up the piece of paper.

It is a form printed carefully in English but with decorations in an Asian style, a ship's commissioning papers. At the bottom is an official gold stamp.

Eranla

The Goddess of the Wind

Construction Log

Constructed in 1720 on the islands of the South Faralyn Sea.

Construction materials

Caria Ordinalis (hull structures)

Lerita Nere (mast and decks)

Aeratis Sariatis and Crimson Sariatis (trim and decorations)

Length: 34 lr, Beam: 12 lr.

Draft: 7 lr, fully loaded

The book is very small, able to fit into a narrow pocket in a vest perhaps. Useful for scribbling down notes or short entries. I open the book and on the first page is signed, "Richard H. Eaton, 1721."

Turning the page, there are several entries...

### Book Eight: Ship's Log of the Eranla

Ship's Log of the Eranla

Richard H. Eaton, captain

8.24.1721

The new boat was delivered today and the men show little interest. Tomorrow we will break her in and see what she can do. She is named Eranla which I was told is the goddess of the wind in an ancient language. My study of the islands in the Grand Current has yielded me a fast and efficient boat. Boats used in that area have much to offer us here in the northern waters.

8.29.1721

For several days the men have worked the new boat. Considering it is foreign built and very different from the old vessel, they have done well. A strange oddity happened today, however. While pulling in a catch, some fish fell through the wrong hatch, but we could not find them anywhere. We all remember that the fish went through the starboard hatch, but there are no fish in the starboard hold. I do not understand this.

9.3.1721

When we returned to port today, all the men went slowly to their bunks. We lost a crewman today. And it is in a most unusual way. The water is rough and the deck is wet from hauling in the catch. Peitrer, the man who usually guides the nets into the hold slipped and fell through the starboard hatch. He was never seen again. We all looked throughout the boat but could not find him. We thought we saw him fall into the hold, but he must have fallen overboard. It is most tragic.

9.9.1721

Again we have lost a crewman. The men are very disturbed. Again, we had a tough time hauling in the catch and a men fell. No one was watching this time, but suddenly he was gone. This is most strange.

9.14.1721

I continue to search the Eranla for an explanation of the disappearance of my crewmen. Today I made a most curious discovery. In the bottom of a drawer in the captain's cabin, under a false bottom, was a small leather bag. In the bag were three objects: a diary, a map, and a scrimshaw with a strange design. The diary contains the story of a treasure hidden in a temple on a mountainous island in the South Faralyn. The map appears to locate five islands lined up perfectly on a curve. The design on the scrimshaw matches a marking on the last island but how they are related, I do not know.

9.18.1721

Today half my crew returned to the mainland. Baerein, the strongest and toughest of the men challenged me to explain why the two crewmen had been lost. I told him I was as sorry as everyone but could not explain it.

In a fit of rage he declared that he would look to see what was wrong with the starboard hold that caused men to be lost. He jumped through the hatch and vanished into thin air. As absurd as this sounds, I saw it with my own eyes. And several of the men saw it too. They are saying that the boat is haunted and that they will never sail on it again.

5. The Storeroom Door

"I wonder where the diary about the hidden treasure has gone," I ask after reading through Eaton's diary.

"He probably kept it with him. But we still have the map, which may be useful in some obscure way," she says ruefully.

"We need to understand this mysterious disappearance thing. I imagine that if anyone had seen us jump through the hatch back on Naereaon, they would have thought we had disappeared, too. But we have not disappeared, we're just somewhere else. I remember there is a door in the storeroom we have not opened. I just wonder where it goes."

"We haven't been around that side of the hut, maybe there's another room or it just leads outside."

"I'm going to go look. Stay here where it's warm, I'll be right back."

Outside, the storm is still raging and I follow the perimeter of the house around the back as quickly as I can. Snow is piling up deeper and deeper and in some places is now within a foot of the eaves. In the darkness I look carefully, taking the time to examine the entire surface outside the storeroom to make sure nothing has been boarded up or hidden.

"Elisia, the back wall of the building is completely unbroken, there is not a window or door along the entire back wall. I am completely certain," I tell her as I return to the warmth of the fire.

"So where does that door in the storeroom lead?"

"The door is built with a frame of the red wood, just as the hatch in the ceiling is."

"I see," she nods. "So we could go back out the hatch and end up in the wood room on Naereaon?"

"Probably."

"Or we could take the door in the storeroom and end up somewhere else."

"I don't understand it, but yes. Probably the place where the rare wood comes from."

"You're crazy but let's put out the fire and get out of here!"

### Eight

The Islands of the Minor Crescent

1. A Palm Tree

Elisia and I are standing beside the door of the storeroom. The blizzard is beating against the fishing hut and shafts of snow are blowing in through the broken shutter. Before I push the door open, I pause. "I wonder what's on the other side, there is a small carving in the center of the door, it looks like it could be a palm tree."

"Sounds good to me Richard, do it!"

"Right!"

For a moment everything is black.

Then the sunlight of a clear warm day shines through an open round window. All around us, in orderly fashion are stacks and stacks of wooden boards, nearly all are of a deep red color but some are blue and green and others are ordinary brown.

"Another storage room, isn't it"

"There's a door here, let's look around." Elisia is already in the next room walking to the desk. The room is small, with a high thatched roof and earthen walls. A desk is under an oval window, there is a bed and small table nearby with a candlestick. Hanging on the wall over the table is a painting of a man and woman. The woman is holding a young boy's hand. They are dressed in light flowing cotton robes.

"This room is nearly identical to Terinon's cabin back on Naereaon."

"Perhaps we are on Terinon's island, the island where he returned when Richard M. left. That must have been sometime towards the end of the 1800s."

"Yes, remember that letter Eaton left for Terinon about the broken red door in the Island Room on Naereaon? I think I recall it was dated 1885," Elisia says.

"Well, it would have been fun to have met them here. Let's try to find out something about this place and then see if there's a door back to Naereaon."

Elisia is sitting at the desk, looking out the oval window. A cluster of palm trees are outside and beyond, the sand flows gently down to the shore. A perfect island beach with azure water, a few thin clouds in the sky and a gentle warm breeze.

2. Books and Letters

"I'm going to look through this bookcase here in the corner to see if I can find anything that will help us figure out how to get back to Naereaon." The bookcase is ornate carved wood and it reminds me of the Art Nouveau-style decorations on the entrance to Wyve Crest, the house on Naereaon.

"And I'll take a look in the desk, maybe there will be some letters or something that will help us," Elisia says.

For a half hour we search through the books and drawers in the room. A table near two chairs has a small drawer that contains a bundle of papers.

"Have you found anything," I ask.

"A couple of things that might be useful. There's a map here that's labeled 'The Forest of Crimson Sariatis.' Do you think that might be the magic red wood that they have been using to build the doors? The map shows several clusters spread around the Island of Easstia. But we don't really know if that's where we are."

"True, but if we have discovered the supply route for the red wood it would make sense that the wood grows here and then it is stored in the fishing hut where it is preserved in the cold. Then Terinon goes through the hatch and brings what he needs to Naereaon."

"That makes sense, so maybe we actually are on the Island of Easstia. But we still don't know where that is."

"Here's a short note tucked inside one of Eaton's diaries that's dated 1833." Elisia reads the note to me.

"Dear Father,

You will be happy to know that our son, young Richard is growing so very quickly. He is now almost three years old! We plan to return to the islands of the Minor Crescent in the spring. He will be ready for the long voyage by then.

Your son,

RLE

September, 1834"

"Elisia, I found this book here in the bookcase. It is another handwritten notebook by Richard K. Eaton, the same person that wrote the book about all the trees that we discovered back at Wyve Crest. This one is about the Crimson Sariatis trees. It has several maps and describes how to care for the trees so they grow tall and straight. He writes extensively about why they need to be kept cold until they are used in their final form. There is one map here that could be useful. It shows five islands in a crescent shape but they are not labeled. Have you found anything else interesting?"

"Here's a diary that was tucked in one of the slots on the top of the desk here." Elisia points to a row of narrow compartments where paper or small books could be kept along the top of the desk.

The book is average in size but quite thin. It is beautifully bound in an ivory fabric with gold accents.

Elisia opens the book and says, "You should come over and read this."

### Book Nine: The Diary of Julieanna Addington

My Diary

Julieanna Addington

Island of Easstia, Talinalisia

The Minor Crescent, South Faralyn Sea

May 21, 1857

A foreign man was on the dock today. Not many strangers come to Port Dalisha, it seems. I noticed him from the top of the hill. Dressed in white and walking fast through the crowd. Who is he?

May 22, 1857

I met Richard Eaton today. In the morning I was up unusually early and decided to take a walk along the shore of the bay. The air was cool and there was a soft breeze. In the distance I could hear a sailboat rigging gently slapping. Birds ran in and out of the waves. Eaton had been sleeping on the beach and was sitting in the sand watching the sun rise. He asked me if I had lived here long. And he said he was searching for a lost city.

May 26, 1857

For the past five days nothing has been the same. And now I lie in my room and think about what remains. If this were the rain season, there would be much work to do: clothing to mend, fruits to harvest, leaking roofs to repair. But it is not, and the dry season will last for yet three to four months. And I have nothing to keep me from thinking about one boat sailing west through the Faralyn Sea.

September 24, 1857

In the dark last night an animal jumped on the roof and nearly fell through. A tree monkey I am almost sure. Today I climbed up and repaired the hole it had made. The third repair this year. Fortunately it did not rain today so everything is still dry.

January 3, 1858

There is a big storm and the village on the north side of the island was destroyed. The men and older boys have gone to help. This season there has been much destruction; the storms and the waves have been terrible. We are fortunate to be on high ground. When I came here five years ago I could not believe how much it rained. For days and days. If the ship my father captained had not been wrecked in a storm, I would never have known the beauty and hardship of this island. I do wish to return home, and I wonder if I ever will.

March 23, 1858

Richard's boat returned to the island today. He is full of stories and secrets. Sometimes I wonder if what he is saying is even true, it is all so mysterious. But for now that doesn't matter because we can dance and tell stories all night if we want to. It is the dry season and everyone is happy.

3. The Pirates of D'Ren Ertan

"This bookcase contains quite a few diaries and notebooks from across several generations. Some are written by others and I wonder how they have found their way here. Maybe Eaton stole them, or discovered them somewhere in his travels. Here is one that is especially unusual. Let me show you."

At the desk, Elisia and I open the book. It is bound with a dark wooden cover. Carved deep with a pattern of chains and lightening bolts.

"Open it, Richard," she says, and I fold back the cover and the title page is stained and worn:

Here follows all true events, actions, and conquests of

The most honorable raiders of the company of D'Ren Ertan!

I turn to the last entry and the page is filled with a bold dark, angular, handwriting.

### Ship's Log, of the D'Ren Ertan!

Ert-Dran, Captain

14th February, 1820

We have taken on one more passengers today. He goes by the name Eaton, but I suspect that it is not his real name. And he's a shrewd one that's certain. There's more to him than he is telling. 'Tis sure or he wouldn't be hitching a ride on my ship. He's hiding from something.

We left port before sunrise today with a strong west wind. The day dawned on a clear sky and an even wind. A great day for a sail and a fine start to a long, long voyage.

18th February, 1820

Our wind has held and we are now beyond the last of the outer islands. It is a clear, open sea for many days now, and that's a truth!

26th February, 1820

Several days, little wind. The crew is restless. Dark clouds on the western horizon. We might be in for a rough ride, me thinks.

20th February, 1820

Indeed, it is as I suspected. Shortly before dawn, the storm slammed into us with its full force. A rough ride indeed! Now that we've passed through it, with the wind on our backs, let's sail!

22nd March, 1820

We are now about 12 days off the coast of the barrier islands. The chain of small uninhabited lumps of good for nothing land on the farthest outreaches of the Grand Current. We will arrive in a fortnight.

24th March, 1820

Eaton is winning at cards again. Tonight we played until nearly sunrise. He is testing me, I am sure. Fine. Let him. We'll throw him to the sharks if he keeps this up.

26th March, 1820

My patience is wearing thin. Tonight he forced me to wager my personal chest of gold. It was not until 4 am when I had won back the gold. Then in the next round he forces me to wager my ship. Never, I said and drew my pistol...That was the end of the game!

2nd April, 1820

After the incident with the pistol, Eaton did not return to play cards for several nights, until last night.

Again we played into the early hours. At one point he had me back against the wall, my gold was all wagered. "I know you won't bet your ship," he says. "But do you have any jewels or treasure hiding about?"

"My treasure is all mine," I shouted. "Mine, understand?" But his eye glanced over to my desk and he saw the blue stone. "Wager that," he said. And I thought for a moment, remembering the legend of the stone, passed down in our band through five generations. "Of little worth, that one is," I said. And he said, "Just the same, wager it."

3rd April, 1820

In those early hours, the dice and the cards flew quickly. In the end, I had regained my gold. We were nearly even, but Eaton still held the stone.

I arose early this morning, with a resolve to gain the stone's return. By force or cunning, it would come back to me!

4th April, 1820

The holds and the cabins, every cabinet and trunk on board this rotting ship have been searched. My men have looked everywhere.

"The fool's jumped ship," they said, and the men broke into a hearty laugh. "Shark dinner he'll be!"

But I am not laughing. Eaton is gone and I have lost the Lysandareth stone!

4. A Letter in the Drawer

"That's certainly very dark. It seems several generations of my ancestors have journeyed to this place. I hope we will learn the answer to why this is so."

"This might answer some of your questions, Richard. Here's a letter that you should read yourself. I found it lying right here, in the center drawer on top of everything else. He left it here, purposely."

Elisia hands me the letter, it is written in a modern handwriting with dark blue ink. The paper is old but not worn and about the size of a half sheet, torn perfectly straight along the bottom. I hold it in the light and begin to read aloud."

Dear Richard,

At some time in the future I expect you will find this place. I can't explain fully why I left you and your mother except that there has been an obsession that I just had to resolve. It was not right, I realize and I have no excuse except to try to explain it was not without purpose.

I've been chasing something that goes back generations. For over two hundred years, your ancestors have been searching for a lost family treasure. It is not that it is so enormously valuable. I must admit I do not know its value or care. What haunts me, as it has haunted many before me, is that it was lost to a pirate who had no ability to understand its real value. For generations, Eatons have been searching for this heirloom. Just before you were born I discovered some new information that led me to believe I could find it.

Ever since I left England I have been chasing this thread and it has led me here, to this island of Easstia, a small uncharted mountainous speck of land in the Minor Crescent deep in the South Faralyn Sea. I suspect you may not even know where you are, thanks to Richard M's doors of Crimson Sariatis. But to sail here as our ancestors did would take nearly two months. You are at this moment standing about as far from London as it is possible to be.

But you will learn more of this place, or may have already, I am sure. What is most important is the object that I have recovered. It is hidden here on the island. Fearing discovery I will not tell you directly where it is but if you have tracked this story to this point, it will not be unfamiliar for you to be reminded of the game played many centuries ago. The game of two stones and four short sticks. Search for the clearing where our ancestor played that game so very long ago and you will no doubt find the object your ancestors have spent their lives searching for.

With deep regret for all the lost years of my absence, your father,

Richard Q. Eaton

October 18, 1993

5. Stones and Sticks

"I need to sit down here for a minute and give myself a moment to think about all that. I never knew him, you know. So he never knew me, either. It's my understanding that when he left just before I was born, Mother never heard from him again. Never. I just have such a hard time with that, you know?"

"I understand, it seems very abrupt and hard to comprehend."

"You know, my mother and I had a great relationship, she taught me so many things and growing up, we looked out for each other all the time. She had a good job and we had enough money. We were fine. But it just could have been so different."

"Did your mother ever tell you anything about your father, did she share anything about him with you?"

"That's what's really interesting right now. About the only thing she ever did that had anything to do with him is this game. She taught me this game that she said my father taught her. She said she wanted me to learn it because it is a tradition in the Eaton family and she wanted to respect that, to preserve that tradition. I can still hear her telling me that. Since my father wasn't around to play it with me, she played it with me. I never thought it was anything more than a fun thing to do, that the children played or fun. It is really simple, in a way. You play it with two stones and four short sticks. I was always surprised that none of my friends knew it. The more you got into it, the more involved it could become. It actually is kind of a math game – geometry, adding up the dimensions of geometric shapes, that kind of thing. I think she always thought it was just a fun child's game, too.

From what Eaton says in this letter, it sounds like the game is a lot more serious than we all thought. Maybe at the time, my father didn't know it was serious, either. Just a tradition passed down through the generations.

"Is there anything that you remember about the game that might help us find the jungle clearing he is writing about?"

"I'm sitting here going over the game as best as I can remember it but I can't think of anything that seems related to a specific place. What we really need is a map."

"True, but I can understand why he didn't just draw one on the letter. He needed to make sure that it wasn't too easy to find the clearing in the event someone else found the letter instead of you."

"We can look around here for a map but for that very reason I suspect there isn't one here."

"Do we have any other maps that we've found?"

"There's that cryptic drawing on the piece of paper that is in the leather pouch from Lithin. Remember it? It is with the compass and scrimshaw that Eaton found in the captain's cabin of the boat. The boat was built somewhere out here in the South Faralyn as I recall."

"That's right! Where is that leather pouch? It is in my coat pocket back there. I'll go get it." I had worn the heavy fisherman's coat through the door and into the store room but took it off in the heat of the island. "Here's the pouch," and I lay it on the desk in front of her.

She opens it and takes out the compass, scrimshaw, and map. I hold the map in my hand and look carefully at all the markings. At the same time, Elisia is examining the scrimshaw.

'Do you think this is the map we are looking for," Elisia asks.

"I'm not sure. There is an outline around the center of the paper that could be an island. But, I wonder, what do you think this marking is supposed to be, here on the left side," I ask.

"When I saw this back on Lithin, I didn't think it could mean anything important. It seemed like a sketch of a door to me then, but we were preoccupied with finding a door at the time. As I'm looking at it now, it seems like it might be a table with something on it. Is wonder why there would be a table drawn on a map?"

"We always played the game on a table. The way you make moves with the stones and sticks is in rhythm, like a percussion track. So you need the table to act as a resonator."

"Oooh kaaay? Well then, let's just say, as a hypothesis, that the table is the jungle clearing and this is the Island of Easstia that we are on, at the moment. So all we need to now is where we are on the map"

"Right, that's what we need to know. I wonder how we can figure out where we are. I also wonder how big this island is. We are looking for a jungle clearing so the part of the island that's the high elevation where the Crimson Sariatis grows is not what we're looking for. Maybe if we went out on the beach we could see the mountains. Are there mountains on the map?"

"These might be mountains," Elisia is pointing to some triangles that are randomly drawn along the lower part of the island."

Out on the beach we turn all around and look across the tops of the trees. In the distance on our left, with backs to the water, is a narrow band of high hills covered in a dense forest. "That must be the Crimson Sariatis trees on those hills." Elisia is pointing towards off into the distance.

I hold out the compass and check the reading. North is on our right.

"Well this is starting to fall into place. We know we're on the shore and the hills which run along the bottom of the drawing are on our left. The compass says that North is on our right. So the jungle clearing is somewhere near the northwest corner of the island."

"Let's go back into Eaton's shack and collect our things. Then, let's try to rent that sailboat. It would be faster than trying to walk over land without a map. I'm going to bring that letter from my father with me."

6. The Stone of Lysandareth

We sailed around the northeast corner of the island and as soon as we turned west, the wind started to blow. We had to tack into the wind so our progress was slow.

"It won't be too much longer and we'll be at the northwest point."

"The jungle clearing icon is before the actual point so we should find someplace to land the boat here."

The shoreline is low and lined with palm trees and consists of small inlets of rocky beaches with narrow swaths of sand. Elisia points to a larger sandy place and I run the boat up on the beach. I secure it to a low arching palm tree and we look along the edge of the jungle for a hint of an opening.

"There is a low place in the undergrowth over there," She says. "It looks like it might have been a road through the trees a very long time ago. Let's follow it."

We head into the jungle and the trees and vegetation are thick all around us. Birds are flying through the canopy and the sound of the waves on the shore grows more and more distant.

We are walking deeper and deeper into the jungle, the air is damp from the thickness of the vegetation and the sound of our footsteps reverberate in the trees that inch closer and closer on each side of the path.

For several hours we continue down the old road until finally we came over a low rise. On the other side the path opens out into a small clearing.

"Do you think this is the place?" Elisia is walking around the edge of the clearing hoping to discover something.

"I don't know but if it is, it has been over 25 years since Eaton has been here. If there is a cabin here then, this thick vegetation has probably covered it over. by now"

"I'll look around the clearing and I'll let you look through the jungle," she said with a smile.

It isn't long before Elisia joins me in my search of the jungle edge. "The clearing is quite small and there's nothing to be found, I'm sure," she says as she pulls a long vine to the side.

"About half way around the clearing, buried deep in vegetation and covered entirely with thick vines is a small hut with an open door. "This has to be the place, it is exactly what I imagined we would find," she says.

"We're here to find the stone and get out of here. I don't like the looks of this at all."

"I agree, this is really creepy."

"Let's get a plan and then try to clear the doorway and I'll go in and look around."

"If I were going to hide something out here in the jungle, I would put it in some kind of watertight box, I'm sure it rains and rains here. The storms must be torrential."

"What else? Something that doesn't look very interesting, that would be completely unnoticeable or unremarkable. A boring-looking water-tight box?"

"Or it might not be a box. It could be disguised as something else. We don't know how big the stone is but I'm guessing that if Eaton held it in his fist back in the Founding of Lysandareth book, it must be about the size of a lemon. So some kind of round object big enough to hide a lemon. Like a coconut perhaps," she said with a laugh.

"All right, I'm ready. Let's clear these vines away from the door and I'm going in."

The inside of the hut is also covered in vines and branches reaching in through the windows. It is very difficult to move around for all the roots and branches. There is a very small desk and two shelves nailed to the wall across the corner between two windows. The shelves are completely empty. A bunk is along the far wall and nothing remains except some rotted bed straps and the wooden frame. The floor is soggy dirt. Spiders are hanging down from the ceiling and I have to keep swatting them away as I hunch over in the low ceiling. I keep remembering Elisia's joke about the coconut and wonder if there is indeed something here that is disguising the stone in plain sight. I scan across the desk again. There are no drawers, no books, and no boxes, anywhere. The only object in there at all is an old candlestick with a spherical brass base on the desk. I swat at a couple more spiders, grab the lamp, and make for the door.

Out in the clearing, in the afternoon sunlight, everything seems better already. "I hope I don't have to do that again."

"What did you find, tell me all about it!"

"The place is empty. No books, no boxes, there's a simple desk with no drawers, and a couple of shelves with nothing on them. The floor is muddy dirt and I doubt anything is buried in there. There's no cabinets or a closet. Nothing at all. The only thing in there is this oil lamp. I thought about your coconut joke and thought perhaps the stone is inside the lamp. A long shot I realize, but short of digging up the floor I can't think of anywhere else it can be. I just hope we're not too late."

"Let's try to break open the lamp and see what's inside."

The oil lamp is old and it is hard to see where the various parts separate. I tightly hold the spherical base and twist hard. It moves slightly. "I'll keep trying."

Gradually, the sphere begins to turn. Working back and forth it begins to move more freely, the top and bottom half of the sphere are separating as if they are the north and south hemispheres of a globe. "A few more turns and we'll have it!"

I bend down towards the ground and give the two halves one last twist. They separate and onto the ground drops a bright blue stone, glowing in the bright sunlight as clear and vivid as if it had never been hidden for countless years.

"It's amazingly beautiful," Elisia says as she reaches down and picks up the stone from the mossy grass. "I have never seen anything like this."

"I can't believe we've found it! But I feel like we should get moving, we have a long way back to Eaton's shack."

I place the stone in our pack and we walk back through the clearing. "Look, here are the stone bases for the torches that were in that ancient diary we found back in the boathouse. They are in a ring around where the table is placed and the game is played. When I was a kid I thought all this was just a story. I had no idea I would eventually see it for myself, even after all these long years."

"We really need to get going, Richard, come on."

We hurry down the path back towards the shore. It's a long distance and in a short time, the jungle seems to creep in and grab at us. I hear soft rustling in the undergrowth but we keep moving. After about an hour, the jungle is growing darker, the sun is starting to get lower in the sky and less light breaks through the canopy. There are more rustlings.

Suddenly, behind us the rustlings grow louder and louder. I turn and an enormous snake is slithering towards us down the path.

"Run, we've got to get away." I grab Elisia's hand and together we run hard down the path. It seems like forever that the snake chases us, sometimes growing close enough that we can here it hissing and sliding across the ground.

"There's the shore and our boat, we can make it," she yells.

"Get in the boat and raise the sail. I'll untie us and push us off!"

I give the boat a massive push and jump in. The snake breaks out of the jungle and onto the beach. The sail catches the wind and we heel over hard. I turn the boat and we are racing hard with the wind. We look back and watch as the snake disappears in the jungle.

"Ok, that didn't really happen, did it?"

I smile and open the top of our pack to give Elisia a glimpse of the stone lying inside.

7. Return to Naereaon

"Thank you for the use of your sailboat, we had a lovely, relaxing sail." I pay the man at the dock and we head back up the road towards Eaton's shack.

"I'm going to miss these palm treas. Everything seems so lovely back here in the village. But we need to get out of here and back to Naereaon. I wonder where Eaton would have built a red door for that purpose," says Elisia.

We had been walking up the road and have now arrived at Eaton's door. "Based on the collection of books in the bookcase here, I think this is probably Eaton's main residence. He has all his reference materials on those shelves and a lot of prize discoveries from across many, many years. But he would need to travel to Naereaon on a regular basis so there must be a red door somewhere nearby."

"Hidden, I'm sure. He wouldn't want anyone else using it."

"It seems like the best place for it would be inside the shack somewhere."

"Let's try looking around the room again."

"Maybe there's a hatch under the bed, let's move it and find out," Elisia tries to look under the bed but it is too dark to see anything.

I push the bed away from the wall but there is no red hatch on the floor.

"That's an interesting idea, maybe you are onto something." I am looking closely at the bookcase in the corner of the room. The only object in this room big enough to conceal a door is this bookcase. "Elisia, look at this intricate carving on the frame of the cabinet doors. It really reminds me of the carving on the front door of Wyve Crest. As best as I can remember, it nearly matches. It is in the same Art Nouveau style and look, here is a very small version of the Wyve Crest name board and his initials, RME. It is a small version of his front door on Naereaon!"

"This must swing out somehow, there's probably a lever or maybe you just pull on it."

I grab hold of each side of the case and give it a sharp pull.

The bookcase swings away from the wall. Behind it, on the wall on the right is a very narrow red door with carvings in wave patterns around the doorframe. The door has a carving of a silhouette of the island of Naereaon.

"Do we have everything, our pack, the stone, the leather pouch with the scrimshaw, map, and compass? Do you have your letter from our father," Elisia asks.

"Yes, I have everything. You go first and I'll pull the bookcase closed behind us!"

### Nine

The Map Room

1. The Map Room

Elisia and I step out of the door into a beautiful room with an enormous domed skylight that fills the entire ceiling. The walls are lined with bookshelves.

"This quite reminds me of the old British Museum Reading Room, it's such a lovely place." Elisia is looking around the room, glancing into the cabinets.

The room is oval-shaped except it undulates in a way that gives the impression it is a single organic element of a larger Art Nouveau design. The skylight shines down with blues and greens and the dome meets at the center with an intricate woodcarving.

There are four red doors, one at each quadrant of the room. The door we entered through is decorated with a palm tree, birds, and waves.

The floor is highly polished marble arrayed in the design of an island map. There is an icon of a bird, a snake, and a balloon. The colors glow vividly - greens, reds, blues, yellows.

"Look at this, Elisia, this is really amazing!" A carved wooden sailboat on a close-haul sails upon the deep blue of the floor, out across the water and into the distance. It is the same design as the boats we saw suspended inside and outside the great hall.

In the center of the room is a large circular table of polished white marble. There are several books lying there. Colorful bindings in red, green, purple, yellow.

"This purple book looks a bit mysterious. There's that symbol from the scrimshaw on the cover - the black bird standing on the sphere. Let's find out what this is about!" Elisia opens the book to the first page.

### Book Eleven: My travels in the Minor Crescent

My travels in the Minor Crescent

Richard H. Eaton

1723 & 1724

February the 4th, 1723

After two months at sea we have arrived at the Minor Crescent. A long and difficult voyage it was. After crossing the equator, the air turned still and our progress was unbearably slow. I am most relieved to be on solid earth again.

I set myself up in a hut on the beach and secreted away my possessions, which are few. I have carried my diary, a couple of maps and a strange scrimshaw that I found in an old chest in the attic of Oakstead, our family's old home on the edge of the great Gearagh Forest."

June the 3rd, 1723

On the Island of Easstia grows the rare and beautiful Crimson Sariatis. The tree of the deep red wood. Discovered in the first millennium by the Talinalisia of the South Faralyn, the wood of this tree has unique value. I am convinced that doors or hatches made from this wood enable connections to other places that can be miles or worlds apart. Enter though a door of Crimson Sariatis and you can step across the globe in an instant of time. This I have done. I must now discover the method of building with this wood for no one believes it is true or even exists. It is a legend, a fairy tale, they say, but I know differently.

Here is a my drawing of a door I passed through yesterday. I entered a door in my beach hut on Easstia and step out into a hut in the jungle on the Island of Der'antra, the northernmost island in the Minor Crescent (I recognize the mountain in the distance). The doorframe here on the jungle side, which connects back to my hut on the beach, is ornamented with a wave-like motif. The door itself is also carefully carved with a symmetrical design that includes pictorial elements of its destination – palm leaves, shells, and shore birds.

June the 6th, 1723

I returned today to my beach hut on the Island of Easstia. I step back through the red door and all is well. Now that I have passed through, I will draw the designs on the door on this side of the connection. The design clearly references the jungle destination on Der'antra. This door has carvings of vines, snakes, and a silhouette of the island's tall mountain. As of this writing, my experience is based on only three instances but I think I am beginning to see consistency.

July the 14th, 1723

In the past several weeks I have explored the jungle around the hut on Der'antra. Until yesterday I found no evidence of any other buildings. But then, I found another hut, buried deep in the vines and undergrowth. I am able to use my knife to clear a path. Inside the door, I hear the hissing of a snake and it lunged for me. It was large, perhaps six inches in diameter and at least eight feet long. I lured it outside and waited. As it cautiously moved out the door, I swung my blade and sliced through it.

Sometimes I think there are more snakes than trees on these islands. Even if none are in sight, I have learned that there is always one nearby.

Back inside the hut, I quickly made notes of the contents, drew some sketches in my notebook and was about to leave. Then, in the gloom of the deep shade, behind a layer of overgrown vines was a door that appeared to be darkened by age but surely made of the red wood. I cut away the vegetation and examined the carvings.

The door was carved with a large tower-like structure, some scroll-like patterns, and at the center an unusual spherical symbol with a black bird standing upon it. I recognized the symbol at once as being the same decoration as on the scrimshaw. At last I may learn its meaning, I thought!

I hear the hissing of another snake and I quickly push on the red door. It doesn't move at first but I push harder and it suddenly gives way, flinging me into the darkness.

Immediately, I find myself on a very narrow ledge, out of balance and grasping for a handhold. I have arrived at the middle of a massive stone bridge across a chasm. The door I had just passed through is on the outside wall of this gatehouse at the very center of the bridge. The door opens straight out into mid-air! Surely at some time in the past there was a room here. But not now!

I regain my balance and look far down to the stream at the bottom of the chasm. At one end of the bridge is a solid stone wall with a tiny door. In that direction, part of the bridge has fallen away and it is impossible to go there. Fortunately, the bridge in the other direction is still standing. Beyond the bridge stands a large temple. The moment I step from the bridge to solid ground I hear a loud booming sound. I turn and watch the enormous stone bridge crumble. Slowly, it seems, the bridge falls in pieces into the chasm below. So very deep it is that I barely hear any sound as the stones and wood strike the ground so far below.

I am trapped! The red door has been destroyed. There is nothing that I can do only hope another way back to Easstia will appear.

As I approach the temple there are four doors, one on each side. They are monolithic stones sealed tightly as if they were simply part of the temple wall. On the fourth side there is a carving on the door – the design on the scrimshaw, a dark sphere with the black bird standing upon it. I touch the symbol and push hard against the door. Several times I push and finally it begins to slide upwards. I hear the sound of stone grinding upon stone echoing from inside the building. Suddenly and without any warning, a giant stone slides down behind me and another drops from above about six feet in front of me. I am trapped in complete darkness and all is silent. Time stops and I have no idea what to do. Then, faintly at first there is a soft sliding sound, I am afraid it is a snake at first for it is so dark I could not even see may hand outstretched and grasping along the cold stones around me. But in a few seconds, a hatch in the floor opens, revealing a faint light and a stairway leading down.

At the bottom of the stairs there is a narrow shaft of light coming from above. Cobwebs are everywhere. I fumble about and find a long hallway. In the first room, there are many scrolls on wooden racks. In the second room, are empty stone cases and a few coins and jewels scattered around. There had been a treasure here, but it was looted a long time ago. Finally there's a door with the scrimshaw symbol on it. I open the door and inside, painted on the walls are pictographs of doors with people walking through them. Images of door with mountains on one side and palm trees on the other. These drawings are very old, perhaps a thousand years or more but still richly colored and vibrant.

At the far end, in a pool of light from an opening far above, is a large stone table. An earthen vessel stands at the center and there is a wooden arm angled upwards against the vessel. At the end of the arm is a scrimshaw that is nearly identical to the one I have been carrying in my pocket for many years. As I approach the table, I feel the floor shift under me. One of the stones is a trigger and I jump away, fearing a trap. Quietly at first, the sound of sand falling. In the corner over my head is a funnel and sand is falling downward, striking a large lever. As the sand continues to fall, the lever gradually moves downward. There is a rack of gear-like notches attached to the lever that turns another gear. A mechanism is in motion that connects to the vessel and causes it to spin. The scrimshaw has become a stylus and tracks in a groove around the vessel. The vessel is playing a recorded voice! "Easstia, Easstia, Easstia, Easstia, Easstia..."

After a time, the sand runs thin and the lever reaches the end of its travel. The vessel stops spinning and all is quiet. Just as I am about to leave, the sound of stone moving stops me in mey tracks. What next? Another large stone falls from the ceiling, sealing off the doorway. Again, feeling trapped and not knowing what to do, I wait. I hear a loud thud and on the wall to the left of the large stone table, a narrow stone slides open. A stairway is directly behind and I ran for it. Up the stairs towards a glimmer of light at the top.

Up and up I climb until finally I am on a small landing with openings on four sides. I am inside a cupola at the very top of the temple! On three sides I can look out across the jungle for miles and far out to the sea in the distance. It is a beautiful warm sunny day and I recognize the mountains nearby. I am still on the Island of Der'antra. On the fourth wall, between the openings is a small door, carefully carved of red wood with a pattern of snakes and vines intertwining. This could be a door that connects back to the jungle hut, I hope. I push against it and it moves slightly. I lean harder and it bursts open. I am teetering on the threshold, looking out at the sky and down towards the layers of stone carvings and spires of the temple far below. I couldn't catch myself and I fall! Everything goes dark.

Then, in the time of one long breath, I step out into the same snake-infested jungle hut where this adventure began.

2. The Talinalisian Ritual

The largest book on the table is bound in deep maroon leather with ornate gold leaf decoration. Elisia places it on the bookstand and together we examine the ornate gold leaf decoration on the cover.

"This is a very beautiful book." She is tracing the curves of the ornamentation with her finger. The border consists of vines, braided and twisting, trailing down in two patterns from the center of the top edge. The center portion of the cover is a pattern of leaves interlocking.

"The cover almost looks like a Tiffany stained glass window, but very much older." I am pointing to the way the leaves intersect in the background.

In the center, in letters so decorative they blend in with the leaf pattern is the title of the book, "The Islands of the Talinalisia."

"This book is so thick, there must be hundreds of years of history here." Elisia opens the book and begins to page through. There is page after page of drawings of temples and buildings of all kinds - huts, long houses, wooden structures. Some pages are completely filled with text, detailed descriptions of places and people.

"This is like an encyclopedia. I wonder who compiled this. There is no author or date."

"There is a card inserted here, towards the back. It's a calling card printed on linen paper with a sharp black ink:

Richard L. Eaton

Designer and Builder of Ships

The Harbor of Sienes Meitaleh, Easstia,

The Islands of Talinalisia

The Minor Crescent, South Faralyn Sea

Note on back in brown ink:

Dear Father,

I found this book at a market on the Island of Efvereat. You know the place, I'm sure – the most southern island of the Minor Crescent. A pretty dangerous place, to be sure. When I saw the book, I knew you would find it useful!

Plan to see you soon!

"His card is marking this page. There is a drawing with the caption, "The Temple of Easstia. Located near the southwestern tip of the island, high in the mountainous region. It has been overgrown and hidden for centuries."

"We should read this Richard!"

### Book Twelve: The History of The Talinalisia

Talinalisian Ritual

The first reference to the Talinalisian Ritual dates from the year 947. A ship of explorers returned with an account that many of their fellow sailors had been lost on an island in the South Faralyn Sea. Most were so disturbed that their story sounded like nonsense. Words, names, places not charted on any map. A criminal investigation was made and each man gave his account of what happened. In each version of the story, the strange disappearance of the sailors was described as if they vanished into thin air.

Several mentioned a ritual that included the burning of torches and the use of stones. But none could explain its significance.

Professor Onea discovered a document among the writings of the ancients in an excavation near the temple on the Island of Easstia in the South Faralyn. His translation follows:

" _Every fourth year, ye Talinalisia, prepare the ritual of fire and stone. Make haste and avoid it not for the future of the people depends. Gather in secret and trust none others to enter. Count the days to be nine and in the end the sacrifice. The one who sacrifices shall be with the knife and the blood shall stain the stones. The one shall be held as sacred from that day forth. The sacrificed shall know the secret and shall carry the knowledge and ability forward for the good of the Talinalisia. Be warned that the sacrificed must not travel needlessly and must return each of the four years to the ritual of fire and stone."_

3. Return to Lysandareth

"That ritual thing is pretty weird but we really need to head back to Lysandareth if we can." Elisia is looking closely at one of the red doors.

The door near where I am standing is carved with decorations of a lighthouse tower, a beacon, and paddles running up the door frame. "I think we're going to have to leave this one for another day," I shrug. "Where does that door go?"

"It's carved with the navigation lights we saw near the boathouse and there's a small boat at the center. The door frame is decorated with a running pattern of wood planks that look like a dock."

"It sounds like it links to the boathouse. We can always come back another day and read more of these books. There are so many stories to try to understand here. But for now, you're right. We've got to get back." I push the door open and we step through.

4. The Coast of Fairenstrom

We step out of the door and into a room filled with fishing and boating equipment. There are buoys, paddles, lanterns, some tools, and many ropes hanging on pegs along the wall.

Suddenly there is a loud crack and a moaning screech and the building lurches slightly.

"We're back in the boathouse, that's certain! I remember how it was so unstable when we were here before." Light is filtering in through the openings under the eaves. Elisia shows me a large piece of paper.

"It's a map. Maybe we can learn something about this area before we go," she says.

"Here are the two islands, Naereaon and Tesendeall. And there's another small island off to the south. It looks like someone has drawn a lighthouse there. That might be where the other door in the map room goes."

"The water between here and the mainland is labeled The Straits of Erengal. I wonder where that name comes from?"

"And here is The Coast of Fairenstrom, which is where we are going. You can see the gentle arch of the bay," I point as I look over her shoulder.

"And here's the village of Lysandareth! Is there anything else we should know?"

"There's the great rock that juts out into the water. It's called Russelwyn's Point. I wonder who he is? I want to remember what that area looks like so I can try to find the cave again. And maybe we can make our way around the point and explore that part of the shore, too."

"I wonder if we could keep this map, I don't think there's been anyone here for a very long time."

"I'll put it in our pack. We should be going, Elisia."

I pull the handle on the door and it opens slightly. "We can squeeze through."

The boat is at the dock, bobbing in the gentle waves. Elisia steps in. "Get ready to raise the sail, I'll push it off."

It is an exhilarating sail back across the Straits of Erengal. An inland breeze behind us and we run with wind!

In the cafe, Albert, the owner is not happy to see us.

"Where have you been with my boat," he demands. "You've been gone for three days! I was sure to never see you again."

"We are very sorry. Our plans changed a bit and we were not able to come back right away," I said starting to pull out some money.

"I hope you didn't try to go out to those islands. They're a very dangerous place."

"What do you mean," Elisia asked.

"I'm talking about the two islands you can see from the beach when you look out to sea."

"Yes, I know the ones you are talking about," I nod, acting disinterested.

"Well, I'm always having to tell the people on holiday not to go out there. See, everyone is curious about them because they have become something of a legend."

"A legend?"

"Yes. But, really what I'm concerned about are the rocks that make it very dangerous. I don't want anyone to get hurt. If you want to know more about the legend, you should talk to old Risten Edevan. He's here in the cafe most days. He knows all the old stories."

"Yes, we met him the last time we were here," Elisia says.

"We're very sorry about the boat and I'm glad to pay you for the trouble we've caused. Also is there a cottage we could rent for a few more days?"

"We've had a cancellation so we have a cottage you can have for a week. The Dresnell's. It's the fourth one up the road on this side, set back a ways into the forest."

"Wonderful, I hope all is well, we really appreciate your help."

"I'm just glad your are safe."

"Would you happen to have any dinner left? And then we won't trouble you anymore."

### Ten

The Cottage

1. Cyerinda

In the morning it is warm and sunny. "Let's have breakfast out in the garden," Elisia suggests.

The garden at the side of the cottage is small but very pleasant, planted with wildflowers and partially shaded by the beautiful branches of an old wisteria.

"I think we should stay out of any new adventures today, Richard. This is such a lovely spot, I'll just sit out here and read a book."

"Sounds perfect. We have this place for a week so there's time to do some more exploring later."

We spend the morning sitting in the sun, sipping coffee, and nibbling on some very fresh blueberry scones.

After lunch at the cafe we return to the cottage and Elisia resumes reading.

"I'm going to do a little investigating of this cottage. How old do you think this place cottage is?"

"It could be quite old, perhaps five hundred years. This building style has been in use in rural areas for centuries. It is easy to build with tree timbers, clay, and thatch."

"That's what I thought, too. I'm going inside to do a little exploring."

"Ok just stay away from any more red doors, I don't think I can take it today."

The cottage is very simple, a main room with a table, chairs, some lamps that look like they are from the 1950s. The broad wooden floorboards are darkened with time and inside the front door the surface has been worn down from centuries of people coming and going. There is a small addition, added sometime around 1970 that contains a narrow two-burner stove and mini-fridge. A door separates a basic bathroom with shower.

I look through the cabinets and find a few mismatched dishes, a couple well used pots and some other random cooking tools probably left behind by visitors over the years.

In the main room there is a small desk near the bed with a single center drawer. The drawer is empty except for a pad of paper and a cheap plastic pen. The drawer in the nightstand next to the bed is also empty except for an old paperback edition of William Wordsworth poems, of all things here in the west country.

"Perhaps there's something interesting under the bed." I'm muttering to myself, having found nothing of interest.

In resignation that the room is devoid of curiosities, I flop down on the bed and look up at the ceiling. It is constructed of wooden boards lain atop supporting timbers. The breeze is blowing in through the open windows and it is just so relaxing lying there. Just as my eyes are closing I notice a small hatch in the ceiling along the back wall – the access panel to the attic.

I grab one of the chairs. The ceiling is low and the panel opens easily. However, the chair is not tall enough for me to be able to look inside.

The nightstand and table are about the tallest pieces in the room. The table is old and very sturdy enough to hold me. I climb up and wiggle my head and shoulders through the hole.

In the light from the gable vents I see are a few objects scattered about. Some boxes, old boards, parts of a broken chair. I turn on my cellphone light and shine it around the space. A stack of old books is almost within reach and I stretch to grab them. There's more to explore there but for this afternoon it will be interesting to discover what these books contain.

"Elisia, I've found some old books in the attic. It will be fun to see what they are."

I dust them off and pile them on the table in the garden. The first book is from early in the 1900s and it is about gardening in Spain. Two other books are about plants and gardening.

"What else is there," Elisia is starting to take a little more interest.

The next book is a collection of short accounts of travel around the world. It must be quite old because all the etchings contain sailing ships.

The last book in the stack is bound in light blue leather the color of the sky. The cover is blank except for a simple gold decoration of ivy leaves in a cluster in the center.

"This is a notebook or diary, Elisia. This might be interesting. Look at this one."

Elisia opens the book and a large flat key falls on the table. "Richard, you are right, this does seem very interesting!"

### Book Thirteen: The Journal of Cyerinda Eaton

The Journal of Cyerinda Eaton

Lysandareth, The Coast of Fairenstrom

March 23, 1518

Mother gave me this beautiful book today. She said I can write stories in it or fill the pages with all the secret things that I do everyday. She told me that she has a diary, too, and writes about the wonderful happy times she has with me and my brother, Richard.

I'm going to start today! My first secret is that I hear Mother and Father talking about building a new house in the forest. I'm so excited. We live here in this cottage, which Father built before Richard and I were born - we're twins you know! So we've lived here all our lives. I have a small room in the attic where I sleep. I think it would be so very nice to have a real room with windows to look out of.

May 4, 1518

Nothing exciting or secret has happened for a long time so I haven't written anything. But today, Mother and Father took Richard and me on a walk in the forest to show us where the new house would be built. He showed us a drawing he made and the place is enormous! We each have so many rooms with windows it will be wonderful. He said it would probably take a long time, maybe ten years or more. He said that he would have a lot of help from the people in the village but that it still would take a long time. I don't know if I want to wait that long. Hopefully we can live in parts of it while the rest is being finished

July 10, 1518

Richard discovered my diary yesterday. I had left it out on the desk by mistake and he came up to my room to tell me about how the work on the new house was going. "What's this, he said," and picked it up. What a rascal he his! I'm going to have to be more careful.

August 5, 1518

Richard is helping Father everyday now with the work. In the evening Richard and I sit and talk about how the house is progressing. Day after day he says that very little has changed. It is such hard work to cut down the trees. Then the men from the village shape them into timbers. Other men are bringing stones from the beach that will be used to fill in the walls around the timbers.

October 21, 1518

We all went on a walk in the forest today. It is a beautiful clear cool day in the fall. The trees were wearing their fall outfits of bright reds and oranges. It is like a painting! Father showed us the house which they have been working on now for over four months. The main timbers are all now in place and we can see how enormous it will be. Three stories tall with a large central hall. The roof will have a very high peak and be covered with strong slate tiles – not a thatched roof that can leak like the one here in the cottage! There are places here in my room in the attic where it always leaks whenever it rains.

December 25, 1518

We took a walk through the forest today to visit the house. The central hall is almost fully enclosed. Father built a fire in the one of the fireplaces and we sang a couple of Carols. He showed us the timber above the door. He had one of the men from the village carve the name and date in the timber above the door. He said that is his present to all of us. He had decided to name the house after the tall oak tree that stands near the house in the clearing:

FyrstOak Manor, December, 1518

For me, my special present is that it actually snowed today. It's the first time I've seen snow for several years!

2. The History of Naereaon

"Let's go to the cafe for lunch, it's a beautiful day and maybe we can sit in the garden and enjoy the sunshine," Elisia is smiling and holding my hand.

At the cafe, Winifred is in today. "Hi Winifred, we'd like to have some lunch."

"Sure, I'll bring you something. Sit wherever you would like."

We notice that Risten Edevan is sitting in the corner, his favorite place in the corner with his dog.

"Maybe we can try to talk with Mr. Edevan about Naereaon. I'd be very interested to hear what he knows," I suggest.

"Good day, Mr. Edevan. I'm Richard and this is Elisia. Albert told us that you know a lot of the old history of this place and that maybe you would be willing to talk with us sometime."

"Old history, sure! I always like to talk about that. You can call me Risten. Please sit down. What do you want to know?"

"We're interested in the Sister Islands, particularly Naereaon. From what Albert told us, there are some legends about that place."

"Legends and facts. A lot of them. It all goes way back. Well before my time but I've paid attention and kept notes. I remember what people told me back in the old days."

Winifred brought us a salad and some wonderful fresh-baked buns.

"We'd love to hear what you know," Elisia says.

"If you've been down to the beach, you've seen the islands. Twin Islands some call them, now. But the names in the old language are Naereaon and Tesendeall, the names of two sisters lost in a shipwreck on the rocks along the north end of Naereaon. It was a storm of immense proportions and buildings here in the village slid down the cliffs and smashed onto the rocks below. Many left after that day, to live far from the sea. But some stayed and rebuilt. That was six or seven hundred years ago.

After that night, people started to say that Naereaon was cursed and that's what caused the shipwreck and the storm that destroyed the village. Then they started to think that Naereaon was haunted by the ghosts of those two girls! So ever since then, people have been afraid to get very close to the strange island of Naereaon. That's the legend that people hear about today and everyone wants to know about. But really it's not true. I've been there and I know several other people that have made the crossing and returned.

Then sometime after about 1850 Richard M. Eaton came here to Lysandareth and decided to build a home out there on Naereaon. He was quite an eccentric, indeed! Skilled as a builder he was, a builder of ships. And some say that he built his house from wood brought from tropical jungles. And a most unusual wood it was, red, and deep grained. But that is not all that was unusual. Eaton would be absent for long periods of time, years it may have been, but no one ever saw a ship arrive or depart.

He built the house of stone and wood, narrow hallways leading into the dark depths of the building. From the shore, it is still possible to see a large structure shaped like a sailing vessel thrusting out over the crest of a rock ridge like the bow of a boat cresting on the waves. From the water, all that can be seen is a wood and stone boathouse, empty and forgotten now. If you look closely, you will see a winding narrow wooden pathway suspended high above the ground on thin sticks, leading up into the rocks.

The people of the village were curious about Eaton, but indeed very afraid, regarding the mysteries of that place. The brave, and the young, would row their boats near the shore but none were ever seen again. On the rare occasions when Eaton would come to the village, strange visitors would accompany him. And the sound of unknown languages would fill the cafe, foreign voices from far away places never heard in these regions.

"As I said, I've been there. When I was young I sailed these waters often and later spent many years upon the sea in fishing boats. This used to be a very busy fishing village but not any more. There's not many fish left. We overfished it and about 75 years ago most people left to find work other places. But no, I've never set foot on Naereaon, just sailed around it many times. There really isn't much more I can tell you."

"That's all so very fascinating. Thank you very much for sharing this history. I'm just curious, who is Russelwyn's Point named after?"

"Russelwyn's Point? I haven't heard it called that for a very long time. That's an interesting story. Russelwyn was the mayor of Lysandareth back around 1800. He thought Lysandareth could become an important shipping port that would rival some of the others along the coast. He named that spot after himself because it was going to be the landmark that made this place famous and would attract ships to our harbor. It was all just silly."

"Is there a place where the village records are kept? A library or village hall, perhaps," Elisia asks.

"There is. Tistyrall Hall is the big building at the end of the road with the large dome, that is the village hall and there is a library in there, too. That's were all the records were kept for probably several centuries. But about twenty years ago everything was transferred to the Institute of Cornish Studies at University of Exeter."

By this time, Elisia and I have finished our salads. We talk a little longer about ordinary things.

"It's been great talking with you Risten. Thank you again. By the way, what's your dog's name?"

"Oh, this guy? Yes, I call him 'Salty.' You know...salty dog."

3. The Lost Deed

"Elisia, I'm determined to find the deed that Richard F. Eaton left here in that cave."

"It is a very long time ago, Richard. Do you think it could possibly still be there?"

I am checking my notes. "He left the deed in the cave in August, 1645. So you're right, that's a very long time ago. It took him only an hour to run to the cave and return in time to take the ship out of here. It can't be that far away."

"I understand, Richard. Tomorrow morning let's get up really early and go have another look. Maybe you'll find it."

The next morning we are on the beach as the sun is coming up.

"The diary says it is near the rocky point. I'm figuring that's Russelwyn's Point, the great rock outcropping here."

"It can't be very high. He had to climb up and down very quickly. I think we were looking too high on the cliff wall last time."

Elisia and I walk back and forth along the cliff for about an hour.

"Have you seen anything?"

"The only place I found that might be the cave, is over there. Do you see where that short tree is growing out of a rock? Just next to it." Elisia is pointing to a place about fifteen feet above the beach.

"That could be it. I haven't seen anything at all. I'll climb up there and take a look."

It takes me a few minutes to find a path up the cliff. As I approach the tree I see that there is a long, low opening half hidden behind a long branch.

"This is probably it, Elisia! I'm going to try to squeeze inside."

"Be careful, will you?"

I pull myself into the cave and turn on my flashlight. Just as Eaton had said, once past the opening, it is actually quite large inside. As he described, there are two shafts, one to the right and one straight ahead. The shaft on the right is very steep and it sounds like there is water at the bottom. I stoop down and shine my light into the central shaft. It stretches far into the distance. There are some rocks lying on the floor and perhaps he placed a small box behind one of them. I inch my way ahead moving the stones and rocks that litter the floor as I pass. I continue down the shaft for more than one hundred feet but find nothing.

Disappointed but thinking I had gone far enough, I turn back up the gentle sloping shaft. About fifty feet from the opening my light flashes upon a small shiny object. I stoop down and discover that something metal is buried in the soft sandy cave floor behind a large rock.

I dig around the object and pull it free. It is a small box, very old. I hurry ahead and squeeze out through the cave entrance.

"I've found something, Elisia!" I'm climbing down to the beach with a small metal box in my hand.

"Let's see what's inside," she exclaims.

The lid is not locked and it opens easily. When we look inside we both laugh. It is filled with a few coins, a few toy trucks and cars, and a mystery book.

"We've found a young boy's treasure, Richard. What a wonderful surprise."

"I think I should put it back, don't you think."

"Ok, but it's really pretty old. These toys look like my grandfather's. He liked to collect them and I still have a few."

"Still I feel pretty bad stealing a kid's treasure. I'll be right back."

4. An Ancient Juniper

I return in a few minutes and together we walk back toward the sandy road that leads to Lysandareth.

"Let's walk along the water's edge," Elisia says, holding my hand.

We walk slowly, absorbing the sun shine and the beautiful colors of the sand, sky, and water. I notice the clusters of juniper trees along the base of the cliff, a beautiful blue-green in the sunlight.

"I am just thinking about Richard F. Eaton's diary about the founding of Lysandareth. I just wonder if I can find it..." My words trail off as I run over to the cluster of junipers. Perhaps one of these is the one. I look closely at the bark of several trees.

Elisia is standing at the water's edge, giving me a puzzled look.

Finally, after crawling among the twisted branches of old gnarled ancient trees I see a bare place, a place where the bark has been stripped away. I look closely and faintly, very overgrown are the initials: RE AE.

"Elisia, come here," I yell. She looks up and walks over.

"Do you remember the diary? Eaton carved their initials in a juniper. Here it is, I'm sure of it!"

"So this is Richard and Aleandra's favorite place. They used to sit here and watch the sunset together. It really is a beautiful scene."

I take a knife out of my pocket and start to clear off some bark. "I'm going to carve our initials here, next to there's."

"But I have to ask you a question first."

"Why?"

"Because it will matter what initials I carve into the tree." I hold her hand and look into her eyes. "Elisia, would you marry me?" And I hold her close.

She looks back into my eyes and kisses me. "You're serious? Yes, you're serious. Well of course, yes of course I will marry you!"

We sit together looking out across the water, watching countless waves tumble against the sand.

In the new area, cleared of bark, I use my knife to cut into the wood the initials: RRE EAE.

I put the knife away and hold her hand again. "Let's sit here for just a couple more minutes, I want to remember this for as long as I live"

5. Lyst House

The next morning, Elisia and I decide to take a walk in the forest above the village. After breakfast in the garden we put a pack together head out on the road. It is a beautiful late summer day. Birds are singing in the trees and we pass one or two people heading towards the market in the village.

As the road curves and turns upward we approach the Gate of Rinstallen with Lyst House on the left.

"Let's stop a moment and see if there is anything here in Lyst house. It looks like it is very old and probably abandoned now."

The door has fallen off its hinges and is lying on the ground. We step into the main room. The building is constructed of stone with a stone floor. The ceiling is quite high and open all the way to the roof. It is damp inside, moss grows on the stones in the corners. There is a slow steady drip of water falling through a crack in the roof and striking a small puddle in the far corner.

In the opposite corner is a doorway.

"I wonder where this door leads. It looks like the lock is very old."

Elisia is searching through her pockets. "I want to try that key we found in Cyerinda's diary. I brought it with me because I thought it just might be useful."

Elisia puts the key in the lock and tries to turn it. After a couple of tries, the lock opens with a muffled click that reverberates against the stone walls.

The door opens to a small wooden addition to the main building. The first floor is completely empty and there is a dark narrow stairway leading to an upper floor.

At the top of the stair is a small attic room illuminated by cracks and missing boards in the roof. At one end is a small desk with a book cabinet above the writing area. Two chairs are scattered around the floor and there is an old sea chest that is flung open and empty.

"If there ever was anything valuable here, it was taken long ago." I shrug.

"There is one book here in the cabinet," Elisia says as she places the book on the desk and opens it.

### Book Fourteen: Notes on my search for The Mansion of Sojourn

Notes on my search for The Mansion of Sojourn

Professor Richard I. Eaton

It is now September of 1775. I believe it is good that I write this brief account of my time here in Lysandareth for the events have often been most curious. I do not pretend to know their whole import but I will state what I know as follows.

It is, I think, at least fifteen years ago, that I resigned my professorship, sold everything, and bought a small cottage in the remote village of Lysandareth. It was an escape, I will admit, for I wanted a simpler life where I could write and reflect upon things that interested me. I did not anticipate that my plan would meet a quick and abrupt end. I will explain.

The cottage that I now owned sits at the far end of the village, the only one set back in the forest from the road. Be aware that this is a small village and I chose it for its nearness to the sea, its location on the mild Coast of Fairenstrom, and its great distance from any city. It is a very old cottage, as are nearly all the buildings in this nearly forgotten village. Old beyond my estimation: patched, re-roofed, a new door added some time ago. Several hundred years old, surely.

After settling in, I had a few old books that needed to be stored away. Being that it is a small cottage, I planned to hide away the things I did not immediately need in the attic. A narrow ladder leads to the hatch in the ceiling and, while difficult for someone with some width in the middle, with great difficulty, my books and I squeezed through the opening. The dim shape and size of the attic slowly revealed itself in the light of my lamp. Dusty, some cobwebs, a rough floor. I was surprised to find a small bed, dresser, and boxes in the far corner. Long ago, it seems, someone used the attic as a bedroom. At the time I wondered why no one had noticed this before. The style and condition of the furniture suggested that this room had not been used for a hundred years or more. Layers of dust covered the surfaces, but the condition of the finish was un-altered by time. Clearly the bedroom had been long forgotten and due to the difficulty of entry, until now it had passed undiscovered.

I quickly realized that it had been a child's room. Spelling books, dolls, a quilt decorated with colorful animals, and a small-size bed made that assumption obvious. Certainly it would have been a wonderful "secret" haven for a young girl. But why did it all end so suddenly? Books, toys, clothing were all left neatly organized ready for her to return. I was curious and puzzled.

I placed my lamp on the dresser and opened the drawers. Clothing was neatly folded organized in the larger drawers. Two of the top drawers contained small toys, school books, some child's jewelry. The center drawer, however, contained a bundle of letters and some loose papers. Tied with a faded red satin ribbon, the letters contained postage stamps from places very far from here. Places on the other side of the globe, islands, far removed countries. The handwriting was always the same: A man's writing in the style of a great many years ago, written with a variety of pens and quills. All were addressed to Naya Eaton of Lysandareth.

It was clear from the first letter that these were written by her father. He wrote of his travels and the sights and sounds of far away places. He wrote of days upon days at sea, and of jungles, of remote places far to the north where the snow remains on the ground throughout the year, and he wrote of large cities across several continents.

By now, my lamp was flickering low and rather than make the harrowing journey through the hatch again, I collected up the contents of the drawer, deposited my books near the hatch and forced myself back down through the opening.

In the days that followed I read through the letters, each in turn. It is a tale of great adventure and excitement. He was searching for something. A secret of some kind. I could not tell if he was afraid to write down the object of his quest for fear of its discovery should the letters become misdirected, or he knew that his daughter already understood. Sometimes he would hint at the purpose of his journey as if she already knew. It is clear that despite their current separation, they were very close. He often wrote of his hope that he would soon return.

There were several loose papers among the bundled letters. Tucked into the folds of the letters, I had not been aware of them at first. These were also written in a woman's hand and clearly much older than the father's writings. It appeared that they were pages that had been torn very carefully from a bound diary. Quite discolored, the edges torn and crumbling, the writing in a faded brown colored ink and difficult to read. Written in a different hand, in the margin, is the note, "Diary of Mireya Eaton, daughter of Richard F. and Aleandra Eaton." For several days I sat outside in the sunshine and used a magnifying glass to look deeply into the written characters. Over time, I transcribed the contents of the pages. Here follows a short excerpt from what I have been able to discern so far:

...we traveled inland a short distance, away from the coastline. Gradually we were surrounded by the most thick and dark forest. Trails were hard to see, but my father knew the way. He led us across the top of the cliffs above the ocean, under the branches of tall, dark pines, and over rocky ledges. Finally, we entered a small clearing. At the far end stood a giant oak and a large building of grand design. As we approached, the outline of the building became clearer. A large house, a mansion, hidden deep in the forest. My father led us inside. At first I was afraid but I shouldn't have been for it remains the most beautiful and mysterious place I have ever seen! I cannot write more today but here is a map that I drew that will help to remind me where the Mansion is....

I suspected that these were pages from a diary written by the child's mother or grandmother, but I am not certain at the date. Nevertheless, a mystery had been laid before me and my thought of a peaceful, contemplative existence in a remote fishing village came to an end. I wanted to know more, I wanted to find the other pieces of the puzzle, search for the Mansion, understand how all this strange information could possibly be true. On that day, the events of the rest of my life were set before me and I have continued to pursue them ever since.

Post Script:

To my son, Richard James Eaton,

I first learned of the Mansion of Sojourn twenty-two years ago. Since that time I have spent every effort to discover as much as possible about our ancestors lives and their must singular activities. Please take care to preserve this notebook and associated manuscripts. I know they will be kept safe in your home, Lyst House, at the edge of the original Eaton estate.

RIE, June 1782

### Eleven

The Mansion of Sojourn

1. Into the Forest

Elisia locks the door and we step through the main room into the sunshine. We walk through the Gate of Rinstallen back into the forest we had walked through on the way to Lysandareth. As we walk upwards through the meadow we turn and look back at the village. We look down on the Lyst house and out towards the sea. One or two cottages at the far end of the village can be seen but ours is hidden in the trees. The dome of Tistyrall Hall catches the sunlight and glints through the branches.

"This map is quite simple. If the paths are still here, we should be able to find the Mansion fairly easily. It is here at the center of the map. It is labeled The Mansion of Sojourn. There is a drawing of the house with a tall oak tree beside it."

We follow the road as it curves through the forest and after a short while the trees thin out. We emerge at the top of a high cliff overlooking the beautiful blue of the water.

"The map calls this Skierteen Bay. I don't think we've heard it called that before." Elisia is pointing to the far left edge of the map.

"Some of these names are very, very old. I see that this point where we are now is called 'Turning.'"

We continued along the high cliff for several minutes. Then, the trail leads away from the edge down a dark ravine. Here in the shade, the ground is covered with moss and ferns. It is difficult to find the path for the overgrowth of the vegetation. I turn and see that the path we thought we were on has been covered again by the branches of the ferns.

We press ahead, not sure we are on the right path. For an hour or more we are in the darkness of the deep ravine. A small stream burbles near us. A jay screeches high above in the canopy.

Elisia and I have been walking and listening, looking and thinking. What is the meaning of this journey, why do we find ourselves alone in the depths of a forest following a map drawn almost four hundred years ago? What is the connection, what are the intersections?

The map is old, discolored, the lines and markings are faded. Edges are creased and corners torn away, folded and refolded with creases that intersect the path.

We continue searching ahead, trying to see the path through the undergrowth, trying to know the direction we are turning.

2. Trying to Follow the Map

The forest grew darker and darker. The small stream that we had been following grew larger and emptied into a small pond.

"This pond is not on the map at all." Elisia hands me the map.

"This map doesn't really have much on it, does it?"

"It's a really nice drawing but it's not much of a map."

"We can try to follow the curve of this trail and see where it leads. Maybe the pond wasn't here at that time. Any guess which way we should go?"

"I think we're here on the map." She points to a place where the path turns towards the east. "I'm thinking we're pretty close. We have to find a clearing and the house will be in the center near the tall oak tree."

We followed the edge of the pond to the right and set off in that direction through the trees.

"This really isn't a path at all, is it?" Elisia is looking all around at the ferns and undergrowth.

"There hasn't really been much of a path ever since we left the cliffs. We'll just have to watch for the clearing."

We continue on for a long time, perhaps fifteen or twenty minutes. The trees are thinning but it is still difficult to see very far ahead.

"I think there's a clearing ahead." Elisia is pointing to sunlight breaking through the trees.

We hurried ahead and the forest grew thinner and brighter.

In a short distance we step out into a clearing.

"That's the Gate of Rinstallen! And there's the village down below. Errr! We've just made a big circle." Elisia is looking at me with a combination of confusion, frustration, and humor. We were tired and disappointed. The map looked so simple, but the paths were so very hard to find.

Later that evening back at the cottage we open the map on the table and try to find where we had gone off the path.

"I think it is here somewhere, after we turned down from the cliff trail." Elisia is tracing the path along the cliff with her finger. "This part is easy, we can tell we're on the cliff trail. Even the part where we turn down into the forest is pretty clear. There is a big rock at that point that kept us from following the cliff any further."

"So it is here somewhere, where the thick undergrowth of ferns starts."

"Right, that's what I think, too. The ferns cover up the path."

"It sounds like you're thinking of looking for the Mansion again tomorrow. Is that what you really want to do? We were going to just take a nice leisurely walk through the forest and enjoy the day."

Elisia looks at me and shrugs. "I'd like to find the Mansion, I am really curious about it. I guess we just like to go exploring so let's give it one more try."

3. The Mansion of Sojourn

Elsie and I set out early. It is another beautiful day with sunshine on our backs as we walk up through the meadow towards the Gate of Rinstallen. It isn't long before we have followed the path to the edge of the cliff. We stand looking out at the water. Sailboats are moving smoothly in the wind, white sails bold against the deep blue of the water.

At the end of the cliff trail we turn down into the forest. The ferns waving in the soft breeze.

"This is where we need to be really careful," she says pointing to the curving path on the map. "We need to make sure we turn here."

We move ahead through the ferns, following the contour of the line on the map.

"This is the place where we should turn, I think." Elisia has been carefully following each turn on the map.

"Great, this is where we went straight, yesterday. I remember that large fir tree over there."

The path on the map winds down through the ravine. We are far from the stream now. It has been a long time since we have heard its soft burbling sound.

"Richard, let's turn and go up this rocky ledge. I don't know why but I just feel it is the right way to go."

"Ok, let's try it."

We pull ourselves up the rocky ledge and step out of the forest into a large flat clearing. The sun is setting and everything is bathed in the golden light of evening.

"There it is Richard! That's the Mansion, I'm sure of it. The design of the house matches the drawing on the map. Look, the large oak tree is still there!"

We are running across the clearing. As we approach, we see that the house is overgrown with ivy and weathered from years upon years of standing silently amid the suspended time of the forest

I feel it is familiar in a way that I can not describe. I sense the slow passing of the years as a tree growing across the centuries.

"Richard, this all seems so familiar. I know I've never been here before, but in some indescribable way it feels like home, it feels like I know how all this got here, centuries ago. I feel time has not stood still but it has become unreal. I hear the echo of Cyerinda's voice as she describes their first Christmas in the Great Hall as if she were standing here next to me right now. Does this make any sense to you?"

"I do know what you mean! I was feeling the same thing. You know, if you hadn't followed your idea to climb up that rocky ledge, we might be back at the Gate of Rinstallen again!" I am smiling. "Let's go inside!"

At the entrance, the massive double door is crafted of oak and deeply carved with ornate patterns of the forest. Ferns and intertwining tree branches form an outer frame. In the center, covering both doors is a likeness of the ancient oak that stands nearby. Above the door, in grand lettering, is carved "FyrstOak Manor, December, 1518."

I push against the doors and they slowly swing open with a low mournful sound.

Elisia and I step inside and look up into the Great Hall. The wooden roof with ornately carved rafters is over three stories above us. Fireplaces flank the entrance and ahead is a long hallway with doorways on each side. Staircases lead to upper floors with hallways leading in several directions.

Softly, in the far distance we begin to hear voices singing. Voices singing a new old music. Familiar and distant. In a new old language.

We step forward and I turn on my flashlight. As we pass each room we hear music playing, music never heard before, impossible to describe in words for its uniqueness. Beautiful, soft, and rhythmic in new ways. New melodies and rhythms crescendo and decrescendo as we move gradually down the hallways. Each room labeled, each room identified by new musical sounds: The Room of the Harps, The Room of the Large Bells, The Room of the Singing Strings, The Room of One Thousand Voices...

Hundreds of voices and hundreds of sounds envelope us in a constant kaleidoscope of interconnected musical lines, all happening simultaneously, all interlaced in an infinite counterpoint. Blending and matching, moving in and out of contrast and simultaneity. Layers of independent motion expressed in sounds combining and recombining in new ways.

We remain in the Mansion all night. Moving from hallway to hallway, room to room. For a time, Elisia and I return to the Great Hall and lie upon the floor, transfixed, listening to the blending of an infinite symphony, the sound swirling around us in the acoustic of an enormous space. Cadences and climaxes ever evolving.

In the morning as the sunlight pierces through the forest, the music gradually fades away. Room by room, voice by voice, one long infinitely individual and independent diminuendo. By the time the sun has completely risen, the rooms are completely silent.

We stand, and look about the Mansion appreciating the grand decoration that covers every aspect of the building. Ornate doors, inlaid marble floor, the massive fireplaces of stone upon stone rising in parallel towards the roof high above.

Elisia and I look into each other's eyes. In silence we turn together and slowly walk towards the door.

We step outside into the cool of the morning. Birds are singing, a gentle breeze rustles the leaves of the ancient oak.

After a few moments, I pull the door closed, hearing for the last time, its long mournful sound.

### Twelve

London

1. The M4

"We could probably spend another week at least just enjoying the beach and sitting here in the garden eating these delicious scones." Elisia looks more relaxed than I have ever seen her.

"I agree, these past two days have been just wonderful. No schedules, no adventures, no red doors," we both laugh.

"I guess we need to leave today. Maybe we can have lunch in the cafe and head out. I'd like to see Risten before we go. He has been a lot of fun to talk with."

After lunch we return to the cottage and put all our stuff together.

"We've collected some unusual souvenirs on this trip, Richard. I don't think I'm going to be showing them to the people back at the office. Too hard to explain."

We place the diaries and notebooks together in a bag. She folds the Mansion map and places it inside the professor's notebook. "We need to find a safe place to put the stone."

"I can put it in here with the computers." Elisia takes the stone and wraps it in a soft tee shirt.

"I paid Albert already and he said we can just leave the key on the table here."

From that point on, the return trip is just a blur. Bristol, the M4, tolls, traffic. I stopped to buy gas for the car. Back in London it is just so absurd trying to find a parking place.

"It seems like a year since we have been here, Richard."

The mail is a jumble on the floor by the slot. The refrigerator smells like more than the milk has gone sour.

"It feels like a shock being back here. I feel like someone from another planet. None of this makes sense at all."

Elisia is nodding her head and trying to sort through the smelly stuff. "Would you take this stuff out to the trash? It's got to get out of here."

"Yes, sure."

Down the stairs and out to the alley.

And back upstairs again. Six floors up.

"Are you hungry? Maybe it would be good to go out and get some dinner. I don't think I can face going to the market today."

Elisia grabs her purse. "I agree, I don't understand why this all feels so weird but yes, let's go find something to eat."

2. Solitary Night Flight

"I need to go back to New York. I've been away from the Institute for quite a long time. They are starting to get quite grumpy."

Elisia looks up from the book she is reading, "I thought as much."

"I don't want to go. You know that, don't you? I mean I absolutely don't want to leave you but I've got to at least go back and get my things sorted out."

"Yes, I know. It's just not going to be fun, that's all."

"I'm really sorry. I have a flight tomorrow."

The next afternoon, Elisia drops me off at Heathrow and we hold each other for a very long time. People are noticing but I didn't care. "I've got to move the car," she says.

And she is gone.

I wander through the terminal and end up at my gate. It is a night flight and I hope that I can sleep through it. After about an hour of trying, I just can't. Too many hours alone, too many hours to think over all the words I said and thoughts I had. Over and over. Questions without any answers, plans that seem impossible. So many unknowns, so many things that are so hard to understand now.

In the morning, I'm walking. Step by step moving senselessly through the airport, unconsciously waiting in line for a cab. Mindlessly giving the driver my address.

I climb the stairs to my apartment and open the door. Whose apartment is this? Who lives here? This is my stuff. I think I left that music lying there on the piano. I wonder if I remember how to play.

3. Transcontinental insomnia

I text Elisia, it's nearly dinnertime over there already. "Can I call you? I need to talk to you. Could I call you now?"

We talk, we try to figure out how to bridge this distance in time and space. We say good night.

Another sleepless night. I set an alarm for 5am and call her on her lunch hour.

"It's Monday, I need to go in to the office today. I just don't know."

It's like swimming, you just have to jump in. Do it a few times and it gets easier. I don't know if that's what I want.

"Good morning Rodger. Glad it's not raining today. Hope you're well." I swipe my badge and grab an elevator.

Fifth floor.

Sara is still here. "How are you Richard, we've been worried about you. Are you Ok?"

"I'm fine, it's so nice to see you. I've been chasing after a story for a while. Something that took a lot of attention, I'm sure you understand."

"Yes, sure, Richard. Take care."

I pause at the face scanner and the automatic door slides open. "Interesting that I'm still in the database," I think to myself.

My office, totally devoid of myself. Intentionally. About an hour later Orin stops in.

"I heard you are back, it's great to see you."

He seemed relaxed for someone about to fire his former best friend.

But it didn't go that way.

"I guess you've been chasing after something connected with that book I gave you. It must have been quite interesting."

It is hard to hide much from Orin, he's about the sharpest person I know.

"Yes, interesting is a very bland word compared to where that thread took me. I'll figure out a way to tell you about it. I'm really just sorting it out myself. Can I tell you, as a friend, that I'm just not sure what I should be doing anymore?"

"I'm not surprised. I figured you were into something pretty intense. I've never gone without hearing from you for this long before."

"It is, intense. I need to make a big ask. If you can't do it, I understand completely. Would it be possible for me to take a leave of absence? For maybe a year? There's just a lot of stuff I need to sort out. But I really value working with you Orin and I really can't face just leaving."

"A year's a long time but I think it could work out. I'll let you know tomorrow."

"I'd be so grateful, you're a great friend."

I spent a couple more hours in the office and then in the early afternoon I tell Sara I'm going out for a walk. I don't tell her that I might not be back for a very long time.

"Elisia, can you talk? I know it's like nearly midnight."

She calls me.

"I asked Orin for a year's leave. I need to come back to London. I need to see you. I need to figure out what life is going to be like from now on. This thing that is happening here in New York isn't working."

"I went in to the Museum today, too. It feel like I is in someone else's world. It isn't mine anymore. It is so freaky. I tried to talk to my friends like usual, tried to explain I had just been on holiday. But I'm not convinced. Maybe they believe it but I don't. We've got to get together. Book a flight soon, OK?"

4. Across the Rooftops

We're sitting, Elisia and I, in front of our floor-to-ceiling skylight looking out over the roofs of London, the setting sun bathes everything in an intense crimson hue. She's reading a book, relaxing after our five city tour of lectures about the manuscripts of the Elgin Marbles.

I glance across our bookcase wall, filled with an overflowing collection of artifacts, photographs, and journals from our travels the past twenty years.

I'm still with the Institute, as a consultant. Orin sends me some choice assignments every so often. But it leaves me with time to compose, to do some writing, and to explore my own investigations.

Elisia and I married not long after I flew back to London that day in late 2019. A serene and perfect ceremony in the garden of a friend's home in the Lake District. But before I got on the plane from New York, I stopped at Tiffany's and picked up a ring for her. I hoped she would like it. Designed in a flowing Art Nouveau style that suits her perfectly.

"I've been thinking back to that adventure we had with the Mansion. The Lysandareth Stone over there reminded me of it."

"Oh, that was quite an adventure, wasn't it? That red door thing is really crazy."

"Do you remember that shack near the beach, what a cool place to hang out. I wouldn't mind going back there."

"And that sailboat ride you gave me back across the Straits of Erengal was so exhilarating. I loved it!"

"I'll never forget those fishing shacks in the artic, that blizzard was just insane!"

"And then ending up in the jungle with a giant snake chasing us - I still have creepy dreams about that!"

"Do you remember the man in the cafe, what was his name?"

"Let me think, yes, Risten Edevan. And his dog Salty, he was such a hoot."

"I've been thinking about the Mansion a lot lately. That whole thing is still really hard to figure out. Did all that really happen? It must have. There are the diaries and the Stone, right there on the shelf in real life. Right?"

### Epilogue

A glimmer of golden light breaks upon my consciousness.

Gradually, the sun rises and light streams in gently through the window. I open my eyes and look down; the brown leather journal lies upon my lap, the worn pages open. I had fallen asleep in the chair late in the night, my thoughts darting across centuries, across worlds and times apart. A pan of water lies in a puddle on the floor. For a reason that I can't at the moment recall.

I look up, the sound of waves on the shore suspend in the air beyond the open window. I catch a glimpse of something through the fog, a distant memory, a dove landing on a branch nearby. The old floorboards worn smooth.

Many times since that day I have tried to retrace the path through the forest to revisit the Mansion. But it is never there, if indeed it ever was – beyond the moment that Elisia discovered for us that day, so long ago.

I stand now again in the Great Hall, the song of thousands of voices swirling and flowing. It no longer matters that I cannot return. All of it remains, an unbounded symphony of non-linear infinity, the ever expansiveness of time between micro-seconds that is always here but hard to see. The other infinity, the one between the integers. The reality of music that never ends. Lines crossing and recombining in new ways.

I see this now. It is everything, all at once, the voices, the waves, the songs, always present in this one infinite moment that we all share together.

Of this I am sure, for indeed, I have seen it.

### Appendix A

The Generations

With approximate birthdates

Richard R. (1980): Co-main character in the Naereaon Manuscripts; he would be 39 at that time

Richard Q. (1950): Asks Trevyn Nerron how to get to the Mansion; goes to the South Faralyn and never returns

Richard P. (1920): Richard Purcell; main character in The Lost Mansion of Sojourn book; The players role in the Secret of Naereaon video game

Richard O. (1890;

Richard N. (1860): Main character in The Island of Naereaon picture book; takes place in 1879, the summer of his first year at university

Richard M. (1830): Builds his house on the Island of Naereaon starting in 1859 just before RNE is born; learns about the red wood from his grandfather; meets wife Julieanna Addington on Esstia in 1858

Richard L. (1800): Designer and Builder of Ships, The Harbor of Sienes Meitaleh, Easstia, The Islands of Talinalisiam, The Grand Current, South Faralyn Sea - note to RKE that he is bringing family back to Easstia in 1835 per calling card found in the Talinalisia book in the map room in Naereaon Manuscripts

Richard K. (1770): The head archivist on the expedition to Athens Greece for the Elgin Marbles (1808-1812); learns about the Lysandareth stone and searches for it; winds the Stone on board a pirate ship to the Faralyns (1820); learns about the red wood in the South Faralyns (1811-38) where he writes book about the rare trees (27 years research stated in the picture book)

Richard J. (1740): Richard James; receives the manuscript collection from RIE and keeps it Lyst house where he is living at the time; in 1790 in Port Dalisha approached by a stranger to play the stick game but he declines;

Richard I. (1710): Professor; moves to Lysandareth when he was 50 in 1760; in 1775 when he was 65 he writes the story of moving to Lysandareth and finding letters from RGE to daughter Naya and diary pages from Mireya (RFE and Aleandra's daughter, Naya's grandmother); his book contains a map to the Mansion from the diary pages of Mireya; book was found in attic of Lyst House; his son, RJE was born 1740; RJE might have joined his father in Lysandareth sometime between 1760-1790 and heard about some of the Eaton stories, we just don't know (RJE is known to be in the Faralyns by 1790 at age 50); RIE spends all his time after 1760 searching for the Mansion.

Richard H. (1680): Gives the map to RPE in the opening scene on beach in The Lost Mansion, The Lost Mansion of Sojourn performances, and the Secret of Naereaon games; was captain of the Eranla around 1721 in Lithin per The Island of Naereaon book; discovers red wood in the Faralyns; returns to England to find RCE's trunk and takes map which leads him to Lysandareth where he settles there; learns about the Stone and makes notes in a diary of the pirate where he has tracked their band

Richard G. (1650): Finds RCE's trunk in attic of Oakstead Manor; gives RCE's trunk to RHE; RGE family lives in the cottage in Lysandareth; writes letters to his daughter, Naya, that Prof RIE finds; according to Naya's letters, RGE travels extensively for a few years after she is born

Richard F. (1620): One of the founders of Lysandareth; receives the Stone from REE; uses the Stone as a bribe to the pirate Ert-Dran (Stone is lost until K finds it in the South Faralyons); writes story of founding of Lysandereth in his diary of 1644; married to Aleandra; their daughter is Mireya (born 1652)

Richard E. (1590): Passes stone to RFE, keeps map in trunk in attic, actually he doesn't even know it is there

Richard D. (1560): Passes stone and map from RCE to REE; in the South Faralyn 1610-1612 per book in WyveCrest

Richard C. (1530): Richard Cornysh; - Shipwrecked on the jungle island on July 23, 1557 per The Lost Mansion of Sojourn book; finds the Stone of Lysandareth; plays the stick game; gets the map to the Mansion

Richard B. (1500): Helps his father build the mansion

Richard A. (1470): In The Lost Mansion he carves his initials in the stone cliff; builds the cottage in Lysandareth in 1498; builds FyrstOak Manor (The Lost Mansion) 1518 – 1532; builds Lyst house as the gatehouse to the Eaton Estate after the Mansion is built; the family (RAE and Aveline, and children RBE and Cyerinda) lives in the cottage until the Mansion is built, daughter Cyerinda and Richard B were born in 1502 (they are twins)

N.B. Elt Age ends about 1500

### Appendix B

List of Characters and Locations

Julieanna Addington: Wife of RME; they meet in 1857 on the Island of Esstia

Albert: Owns the café in Lysandareth with his wife, Winifred at the time when RRE and Elisia first visit

Aveline: RAE's wife, mother of the twins RBE and Cyerinda

Crimson Sariatis: Wood used in the bridging doors; grows on the Island of Easstia

Cyerinda: RAE's daughter, twin sister of RBE; born in 1502; lives in the cottage until they move into the Mansion

Cyrea: Terinon's wife

David: Assistant at the British Museum who helps Elisia

Island of Der'antra: Temple island where RHE discovers the red doors; the northernmost island in the Minor Crescent

Arion Demos: Architect from Megara, Greece during the Elgin Marbles expedition; RKE's assistant in Athens; he gave RKE the manuscripts

D'Ren Ertan: Name of the Pirate boat, name on the cover of the Pirate Diary: D'Ren Ertan, 1659

Dresnell's Cottage: Cottage in Lysandareth where RPE and Elizabeth stay in 1948; the cottage where RRE and Elisia stay in 2019; Originally built by RAE in 1498; RRE and Elisia return there many years in the future

Edwards: Cafe owner in the story on the back cover of The Lost Mansion of Sojourn book

Aleandra: RFE's wife; they meet in Lysandareth

Island of Easstia: Island where the stick ritual is held

Efvereat: Island in the Minor Crescent where Terinon is from; RLE finds the Talinalisian Ritual book there which he gives to his father

Elisia Ann Thomas: Art historian, researcher, friend and eventually wife of RRE; co-lead character in The Naereaon Manuscripts

Elt Age: Before the time of RAE

Eltyn Tougue: The old language of the Elt Age

Endersye: Treacherous port town north of Lysandareth; the place where the original settlers of Lysandareth came from

Erengal, the Straits of: Body of water between the Sister Islands and the Coast of Fairenstrom.

Eranla: Goddess of the wind in Talinalisian; the name of the whaling ship that was built with the red wood; RHE was captain around 1721

Captain Ert-Dran: Pirate who is given the Stone of Lysandareth in the Founding of Lysandareth book

South Faralyn Sea: The far southeast part of the Southern Ocean

FyrstOak Manor, December, 1518: Original name for The Lost Mansion; cited in the Cyerinda Journal of 1518

The Grand Current: This is a larger area in the South Faralyn that includes very many islands. Within the Grand Current is the Minor Crescent, the 5 islands in the Talinalisian group

Iselenden Bay: Frozen bay where RHE the whalers threw him overboard around 1721; the snowy place where RRE and Elisia end up from the bridging door in The Wood Room

Jessye: Son of one of RFE's fishing partners in Lysandareth; the boy Eaton leaves his horse Kyrean with when he leaves Lysandareth

Kyrean: RFE's horse

Island of Lithin: Island in Iselenden Bay where the fishing shacks are

Gabriel LeBlanc: Archivist at the Cathedral in Le Harve

Roger and Annabelle Lyons: She runs the museum in the small village along the coast; he draws the map to Lysandareth for RRE and Elisia.

Lysandareth, Village of (The Settlement of): Village where the cottage, Naereaon, and the Mansion are located; also name of the blue gem stone

Lyst House: Built by RAE as the gatehouse of the original Eaton Estate when the Mansion was built

Minor Crescent: Group of five islands shaped in an arch; in the Grand Current of the South Faralyn Sea; this is the place in Talinalisia where the island of Easstia is

Ailisean: Name of RDE's ship that he took to the South Faralyn 1610-1612

Mireya: RFE and Aleandra's daughter; the girl in the RIE Lysandareth Book; Mireya drew a map to the Mansion in her diary which RIE copies into his book; Mireya was born in 1652; Mireya's diary is probably from 1668

Alice Murray: Head of the 19th century section, she is Adriana Smithson's supervisor at the British Library

Island of Naereaon: One of the Sister Islands; the name of one of the twin sisters lost in the ship wreck

The Coast of Fairenstrom: Lysandareth is located here

Neya: RGE's daughter; she lives in the attic of the cottage; Prof. RIE finds her letters and other papers

Oakstead Manor: Estate where the Eaton family lived for generations in the gate house; located upon the edge of the great Gearagh Forest

Peitrer; Deckhand on the whaling boat; he guides the nets into the hold; falls in and disappears

Port Dalisha: Town on Easstia in the South Faralyn Sea, where Julieanna Addington, RME's wife is from

Professor Onea: professor who discovers the stick ritual

Russelwyn's Point: The great gray rock; named after the mayor of Lysandareth around 1800 and his idea to have the village become a major port city

Rinstallen, Gate of: Wooden gate across the main road in Lysandareth as it heads into the forest; next to the Lyst House; originally the gate to the Eaton Estate when the Mansion was first built; later it was viewed as the gate into the forest or the gate into the village from the forest

Risten Edevan: Man in the cafe that RRE and Elisia meet; knows all the old stories about Naereaon

Skierteen Bay: The bay where Lysandareth is located

Sienes Meitaleh, the Harbor of: On the Island of Easstia; where RLE was a boat builder in the South Faralyn Sea

Adriana Smithson: assistant that helps RRE at the British Library

Talinalisia: Group of islands where the stick ritual occurs; ancient indigenous name for the islands in the Minor Crescent

Talinalisian Ritual: Name of the stick ritual

Terinon: RME's assistant who helps build the house on Naereaon with RME from about 1859-1865

Island of Tesendeall: One of the Sister Islands; the name of one of the twin sisters lost in the ship wreck

Tistyrall Hall: Where the village records were kept until 2005 when they were transferred to the Institute of Cornish Studies at University of Exeter for safe keeping.

Winifred/Winnie: Owns the cafe on Lysandareth with her husband, Albert at the time RRE and Elisia first visit Lysandareth

