"It stared back with eyes that swam in dark liquid, furrowed trenches of carbon-black flesh loose on its hunched frame, its mouth hinged open grotesquely..."
"Find the bird. In the loop. On the other side of the old man's grave. September third, 1940." I nodded, but he could see that I didn't understand. With his last bit of strength, he added, "Emerson- the letter. Tell them what happened, Yakob"
Find the Bird...
In the loop...
On the other side of the old man's grave...
September 3rd, 1940...
"A large bird was perched on my dresser, staring me down. It had a sleek head feathered in gray and talons that clacked on the wooden dresser as it sidled back and forth along the edge, as if to get a better look at me. I stared back rigidly, wondering if this could be a dream."
"If he's who he says he is, then why don't he know the first thing about loops- or even what year he's in? Go on, ask him!"
"He's our island's senior-most resident, better known in archaeological circles as Cairnholm Man- though to us he's just the Old Man. More than twenty-seven hundred years old, to be exact, though he was only sixteen when he died."
"Here lies bog boy, I thought. Or, more likely, Abandon hope, all ye who enter here."
"So Uncle the bombing?"... "Can't say the same for our gunner boys- though they gave as good as they got- nor the poor souls at the orphan home. One bomb was all it took. Gave up their lives for Britain, they did. So wherever they was from, God bless ' em for that."..."I can tell you the exact day," he said "It was the third of September, 1940."
"It was the selected Works Of Ralph Waldo Emerson. I stared at it as if trying to read through the cover, unable to comprehend how it had come to occupy my now- trembling hands...Was this what my grandfather had meant for me to find? Yes I thought, it has to be- not the letters of Emerson, but a letter, tucked inside Emerson's book. But who was this headmistress, this Peregrine woman? I studied the envelope for a return address but found only a fading postmark that read Cairnholm Is., Cymru, UK."
"If he's who he says he is, then why don't he know the first thing about loops- or even what year he's in? Go on, ask him!"
"He's our island's senior-most resident, better known in archaeological circles as Cairnholm Man- though to us he's just the Old Man. More than twenty-seven hundred years old, to be exact, though he was only sixteen when he died."
"Here lies bog boy, I thought. Or, more likely, Abandon hope, all ye who enter here."
"So Uncle the bombing?"... "Can't say the same for our gunner boys- though they gave as good as they got- nor the poor souls at the orphan home. One bomb was all it took. Gave up their lives for Britain, they did. So wherever they was from, God bless ' em for that."..."I can tell you the exact day," he said "It was the third of September, 1940."
"It was the selected Works Of Ralph Waldo Emerson. I stared at it as if trying to read through the cover, unable to comprehend how it had come to occupy my now- trembling hands...Was this what my grandfather had meant for me to find? Yes I thought, it has to be- not the letters of Emerson, but a letter, tucked inside Emerson's book. But who was this headmistress, this Peregrine woman? I studied the envelope for a return address but found only a fading postmark that read Cairnholm Is., Cymru, UK."