I roll over to the feel of something under me. “Ughhh what is it?” I grab wearily and my hands pull up something like thick paper. Is this a joke? It looks like a treasure map. The old paper, edges almost burnt-like, dots connecting one tiny circle to the next until one is marked with an X. As I lay confused, the door swings open. My husband laughs.. “What is it birthday girl?”. “Babe did you put this here? I mean what even is this?”. “Turn it around” He says. It read X marks the spot where I first laid eyes on the woman I knew I had to have forever. Pack your bags- ITS A TRIP🧳

The whithered scrap of paper lay still in Ammer's limp hands. _Answers. _That is what he wanted. A breath away from despair, he glanced down at the aged parchment in his grasp once more. _Still blank. _Desperate, Ammer brought the parchment close enough to his eyes so that it brushed the tip of his nose. He could not find the slightest mark of ink anywhere. In a rage, Ammer groaned, crumpling the parchment into a ball. Ready to toss the useless parchment into the forest, Ammer paused. Surely this was not a trick of the light, he had seen something on the paper. Anxious, Ammer spread the parchment out once again. He could not believe his eyes. There, scribbled upon the parchment was a map. The markings were crude, but distinguishable. A dotted line led from his own home to a faraway land, across the Northern Sea. A red circle had been drawn around a rough sketch of a palace. Ammer's heart thumped wildly in his chest. He knew what the map led to. _His father. His father was alive. _

Consumed by bunches of wrapping, I reach for another long tube covered by more of the bright colorful, birthday themed wrapping paper.

“Oh! This one’s from us! We thought that since your turning 18, we would keep the family tradition!” My mom interrupted.

I keep her words in mind as rip the top of the tube and pull out what’s inside. A worn out, aged piece of parchment is in my hands.

Laughter escapes me uncontrollably at the thought of a mere map being a “family tradition”.

“It’s not funny! This is seriously part of our family history!” My Dad lectures me.

I raise my eyebrow at him and decide to look at the map. I recognize the red X in the middle as that one place we found a small hut in the middle of nowhere while on a trip to Sicily.

“Wait… why do we have this?” I ask

“Well, you see… that hut belonged to a witch, and that witch… was your great, great, great grandmother’s.” My mom answers.

“She was known as the Witch of Sicily. She cursed anyone who touched this keychain.” Me dad explained while holding out a keychain with a small crystal I recognize as Sodalite.

I roughly yank the crystal keychain, getting a scoff from my Dad, and touch it gently. I will ensure it’s safety forever… for you Nonna.

I trudge down to the mailbox in the chilly twilight. Opening it, I’m pleased to find it almost full. Looks like a few people remembered my birthday, I think. Moving out to the middle of nowhere hasn’t made people forget about me.

It’s too cold to linger by the mailbox so I quickly scoop what’s inside and hurry back to the warmth of the house. I throw the stack of mail onto the kitchen table and shrug off my coat. Sitting down,I start to look through it.

Bills, ads, charity requests—bah! I toss those to one side. Wait, here’s a hand addressed envelope with my brother’s return address. I tear it open and chuckle at the goofy gag card inside. Another card from my aunt with a five dollar bill enclosed. I shake my head, smiling at her yearly ritual. They’re the only family members I keep in even minimal contact.

The last envelope was larger than standard size and had no return address. I held it in both hands, judging the weight. It wasn’t particularly heavy, and the address was block printed in black ink. The postmark was so smeared as to be illegible.

With a little thrill I turned it over and ripped it open. A birthday surprise? A secret admirer? It could be anything! I gently took the enclosed paper from the envelope .

It was—a map? That’s it? I shook the envelope to make sure there wasn’t some sort of explanatory letter enclosed. Nope, just a map. I spread it out to take a look.

It was about eight by eleven inches. The paper was slightly yellowed, so I figured it must be pretty old. It appeared to be a map of an island, but there was no name written anywhere. I studied the shape of the island but it wasn’t familiar to me at all.

The map was hand drawn, and the ink appeared to be aged. Hills and streams were drawn in, and a few names—“Fiddler’s Cove”, “Sleepy Hills”, “Rusty River”. But the most important thing was a star almost dead center in the island. It was marked “Home”.

I sat back in my chair, the map shaking in my trembling hands. I had left my home of origin many years ago, and never looked back. Since then, my life had been lived on the periphery—staying here a year, there a few months, never settling anywhere. I told myself I was an adventurer, or in low moments that I had a short attention span. I’d made friends along the way, of course—even a few romantic entanglements—but nothing really stuck.

So where was home? I took a deep sigh and thought back. Closing my eyes, I could see the little yellow house at the end of a dirt road. There were no flowers or trees planted around it, just dry dusty dirt. The front door had once been painted white, but flakes of paint had peeled away, showing the bare wood. I opened my eyes and shuddered. I didn’t want to think about that house, didn’t want to return even in memory. That wasn’t home.

I looked at the map again. Who had sent it? What did it mean? And why now, on my fiftieth birthday? There were no towns marked on it, just the geographical landmarks and the star marked “home”. There must be some way to figure out if this island was real. If I could solve that mystery, maybe I could also solve the mystery of who sent this to me.

Turning on my laptop, I opened the search engine. I tried “unknown island” with each of the geographical names attached—the rivers, streams, hills. Too much came up and none of it useful.

Then I tried “unknown island” and “home”. I gasped as an identical image to the one on the paper appeared. Same shape, same place names, and “home” right in the middle with a star beside it. I started reading.

“This is your special island, unique and designed just for you. When you are ready, you will find your way there.” I leaned back and rubbed my eyes. I must be really losing it, having the breakdown I’d always felt was lurking just on the edge of my mind. I snuck another peek at the screen. “When you are ready” was flashing, the font getting bigger. I slammed the laptop shut and stood up. Taking a deep breath, I started pacing around the room.

Okay, someone was playing a prank of some kind. Send me a weird map, figure I’d investigate it, make a fake website, boom—very funny. But who would go to so much trouble? My brother was a complete Luddite. He hated computers. Old friends, co-workers? Hadn’t heard from anyone since I’d moved here six months ago. Besides, I couldn’t think of anyone who would have the imagination or the desire to do this.

Was I ready? Ready to really change my life? Every time I moved, changed jobs, left an old life behind, I thought I’d changed my life. The reality was that nothing ever really changed. I stayed spart from people, friendly but not sharing myself with them. I didn’t ask others to share themselves with me either; in fact, I discouraged it. I moved through the world like a ghost, never leaving a footprint behind.

Now I was in another new town, even more isolated than usual. I mostly worked from home, only going into the office once a week. The cottage I was renting was fairly removed from any neighbors. For sure no one had welcomed me with cookies or a casserole. I didn’t really know who lived nearby.

So was I ready? I stopped pacing and sat down in front of my laptop. I opened it and stared at the flashing words. “When you are ready.” Slowly, I clicked on the screen.

A roaring filled my ears. My chair shook and bright white light blinded me. Terror filled my heart. What was happening to me? Was I dying? I blacked out.

I wasn’t sure how long I was out. Before I opened my eyes, I took a quick inventory of my body. No pain, and I could wiggle my toes and fingers. Breathing deeply, I sat up and looked around me.

I was sitting on a grassy knoll, surrounded by a circle of flowering trees. The sun shone through the branches, casting pleasing shadows. I smelled the air and caught a tang of sea breeze. My heart rate slowed down, and I smiled.

Standing up, I looked around. There was a trail through the trees—too defined to just be left by animals. There must be people here. I could feel my stomach clench at the thought. Would they be peaceful, kind? Would they leave me alone? I was okay with dealing with people on my terms, but being stuck on an island meant it might be hard to isolate myself when needed.

There was no sense in putting it off. I started down the trail, looking around to try and get my bearings a bit. I glanced over my shoulder at my starting point. There was nothing there to show I’d landed—no scorched earth, not even down trodden grass. It made me feel a little uneasy. What if I didn’t want to stay on this mysterious island? Where was the way back?

Chastising myself for premature cowardice, I continued down the path. Birds were twittering in the trees, and every now and then I caught sight of them darting in and out of the branches. There didn’t seem to be any other living creatures about.

“Hello.” I stopped and stared. The person approaching me stopped also. “Didn’t mean to startle you. I’m sure you’re freaked out enough already.” The man smiled in a friendly manner.

I scanned his appearance, mentally checking for threats. He was about my height, sandy blonde hair cuf short, green eyes. He was dressed in jeans and a blue plaid shirt. The only odd thing, if it really was odd, was that he was barefoot.

Okay, so he seemed harmless. Second thing, was I attracted to him at all? After all, he was a relatively nice looking man in my age group. No, there wasn’t any physical chemistry going on. I cleared my throat and spoke.

“I’m new here, as I guess you can tell. I—I don’t know where to go, what to do. I’m not even sure how I got here, or how to leave.”

“Leave?” The man laughed incredulously. “No one wants to leave here. You’ll find that out soon enough. I’m your official greeter, by the way. Name’s Harrison.” He performed a mock bow. “Here to answer any and all questions and to make your transition smooth.”

“Transition? What am I, dead? Is this heaven?” My mind was whirling and I felt faint.

I must have looked as bad as I felt because Harrison reached out and put a hand on my shoulder. “Steady there. No, you’re not dead. A lot of us felt the same way at first. Our brains jusr want to go with what we know. But this is something completely different.” He patted a large rock that I hadn’t noticed before. “Have a seat and we’ll talk.”

I sat on the rock. It was pleasantly warm from the sun. Harrison stood before me and smiled. “I’m just going to begin at the beginning. That’s the best way, right?”

By now I was ready for anything. In fact, I was annoyed and uncomfortable with my lack of knowledge. I generally liked to know the ins and outs of things, to be in control. Waiting for someone to enlighten me was not in my comfort zone. “Please continue,” I said a bit grudgingly.

“Colonization of The Island—yes, that’s the actual name—began in the early 1900s. An enterprising young woman by the name of Adelaide was very unhappy with the world she lived in. As you’re probably aware, life for women at that time was pretty restricted. Adelaide and a few like-minded friends began to meet and talk about a better way of life, a utopian society.”

Harrison took a deep breath and continued. “So far so good, right? There are lots of examples throughout history of people joining together to try and live in a better way. Some were successful to a certain degree, but most failed miserably. Why? Because human nature can be a tricky, unpredictable thing. That’s what is so different about what we have here. The unpredictability is factored into our lifestyle.”

“Wait a minute,” I broke in. “I don’t really need a history lesson right now. I just want the bare facts to start with—where am I, how did I get here, and why me?”

Harrison gave me a searching look. “The first lesson is patience,” he said solemnly. Then he burst out laughing, a full, clear sound. I couldn’t help but join in—it was contagious.

He took both my hands and pulled me up. “Okay, bad move on my part. I should have read you better. Let’s get moving and we’ll talk as we go. Moving with purpose should help with the anxiety, right?” He winked and flashed a friendly grin.

I stretched a bit—not so much because I needed to, more to just show that I was taking my time. We started down the path together.

It wasn’t long before the trees became more sparse and I could check out the landscape. There were rolling hills, pastures, and some distant farm buildings. When Harrison hollered “Halloo out there,” and waved his arm, I was startled to see a tiny figure in the distance wave back.

“So people work here? What’s utopian about that?” I was never one who found my work fulfilling. Maybe that was because I usually took whatever position met my salary requirements.

“Now you must be joking with me. Work is essential to living a happy life. Purposeful, meaningful work.” Harrison had lengthened his stride and I had to hurry to keep up.

“Oh, so you’re going to tell me that being a cleaner is purposeful? Or a trash collector?” My voice had a snide sound to it that I didn’t try to hude.

“Finding purpose in work has little to do with the job itself. It has everything to do with the attitude and intent of the worker.” Harrison glanced at me and smiled. “I think you know this already, if you’re honest with yourself.”

He was right, darn it. As a kid I had thought that I would love my job, that whatever it was would be something that excited me every day. I sure didn’t get that idea from my family. Those who actually held down a job complained constantly—not enough money, idiot bosses, expectations too high, and on and on.

“You know, you’re right. I used to read a lot, and the jobs some of the characters had were so cool. I honestly thought that would be my life, too.” I snorted back a laugh. “Found out otherwise pretty fast.”

Harrison clapped me on the back. “Don’t stress out. Those feelings will come back to you, now that you’re in the right place. And, here we are!”

We both stopped. I looked around. We were standing on the edge of a cobblestone street. Both sides of the street were lined with quaint buildings—a shoe repair shop, a small grocers, a clothing store, a cafe. Beyond this street there were other, more narrow roads. They led out towards the rolling hills and were dotted with houses. Some looked like typical English cottages, thatched roofs and all. Others were a bit more modern, ranch style and Cape Cods. I shook my head in amazement.

“Wow, I mean just wow. Everything looks so bright and clean, like a movie set. Awesome. But where are all the people? Besides you, the only other living soul I’ve seen is that farmer you waved at.” I looked inquiringly at Harrison.

“Oh, they’re at the Gathering Spot.” I could tell by the emphasis he placed on the words that they would be capitalized. “It’s just down the road and over the next hill. It’s where we greet all newcomers.”

“How many newcomers do you get a year? And by the way, how many people live on the island?” I asked casually. I was starting to feel a tightness in my chest. Harrison’s explanations were pretty vague,and I really had no idea what I was walking into.

“We’ll talk about that when everybody’s present.” Harrison wasn’t looking at me, and his pace quickened. Now I was really getting nervous. What if I didn’t like these people? What if their lifestyle expectations were wacko? And most importantly, was I truly stuck here, no matter what? Harrison had implied that.

Rounding a bend in the road, we stopped. In front of me there was a clearing, surrounded by cypress trees. A group of about fifty or so people were gathered there, some sitting on blankets, some perched on the large rocks that bordered the clearing. Scanning the crowd, I could see that it was made up of people of various ages and ethnic groups. The main thing they had in common was their expression—a wide smile adorned each face.

“Ellen, everybody. Everybody, Ellen.” Harrison made a sweeping bow as he presented me to the grinning crowd. I wasn’t smiling in return. My uneasiness was now at a fever pitch. I felt like I was suffocating when I tried to take a breath. I took a small step backwards.

“I think I made a mistake,” I managed to say through my growing terror. “This isn’t for me. Back home wasn’t so bad. Just point me towatds the exit and I’ll be out of your hair.”

I didn’t think anything could be creepier than the group smiles, but they proved me wrong when they started laughing. Harrison joined in. The most frightening thing was that everyone’s eyes had a blank stare, completely at odds with the sounds their mouths were making.

Harrison stopped laughing abruptly. When he stopped, everyone else stopped too. “Remember, I told you The Island is a utopian community. It works. No one ever wants to leave. You wouldn’t have received an invitation if this wasn’t the right place for you.” The crowd nodded in agreement.

“Hasn’t there ever been a mixup, some kind of mistake? Maybe the invitation was meant for someone else, and it got crossed in the mail somehow.” My voice sounded shaky and high pitched.

Harrison shook his head. The crowd stared at me in silence. “No, we don’t make those kind of mistakes. You’re supposed to be here. I guess the only question is, in what capacity?”

“What’s that supposed to mean? Honestly, I think we’d all be happier if I just left right now. No harm, no foul.” I tried to smile as though I wasn’t terrified inside.

Harrison grabbed my left hand in an iron grip. “Group, what say you all? Is Ellen fit to be an alternate?” Heads began to nod, and then the chant began. “Yes, yes, yes.” I stood before them, trembling so hard I thought I might fall to my knees. The next thing I knew, darkness fell over me.

I woke to find myself on a soft bed with a white comforter over me. I blinked and saw an older woman with dusky skin sitting in a chair by me. “Oh good, you’re awake. You gave us quite a scare.” She chuckled, but not in the scary laughing way that the group had been doing. She seemed—dare I say it—normal. She reached over and patted my hand. “If you’re ready, I’ll tell you what happens next.”

Taking a deep breath, I nodded my head. “I’m more than ready.” I sat up with the pillow behind me as support. Maybe I’d finally get some answers that didn’t scare me half to death.

“First of all, don’t blame Harrison too much. He’s been here quite a while, and he was so excited to be chosen to greet a newcomer. I’m afraid his enthusiasm overtook his common sense.” Her soft chuckle actually warmed me. I relaxed and smiled.

“The truth is, The Island isn’t right for everyone. We tend to have this group mentality, and that can seem stifling to some. Not right or wrong, just the way it is. Now, here’s the problem.” She straightened in her seat and looked at me directly.

“We can’t let information about our society get out. You can imagine the media sensation—a group of people who live in peace, love their jobs, love each other and live forever.”

“Live forever?” I asked in a small voice. Just when I was thinking that I was talking to a sane person, she comes out with this.

She picked up on my vibe immediately. She chuckled again, a sound as comforting as the scent of just-baked bread. “Yes, Ellen, it’s true. We Island dwellers have learned the secret of immortality. It’s a great gift, but it does come with some problems. For example, how do we control the population on The Island? It’s not that big, and we’ve been here since the early 1900s. So we’ve come up with several options to help us maintain our lifestyle without undue burden.”

She looked encouragingly at me as though waiting for a response, but I honestly didn’t have one. I just nodded dumbly, letting her know in that way to go on with her narrative.

“One of the choices we give people is to explore other habitats and settle there. Not many have done it, but every decade or so a small number will do so.” She paused, with a troubled look on her face. “To our knowledge , none have been successful in this endeavor. In fact,I lost my son in this way. But hope springs eternal, yes? He might yet send word that he has found happiness elsewhere.”

“I’m so sorry for you,” I said softly. I’d never had a child, but I could imagine the pain of such a loss. It suddenly hit me that I’d lived my life never knowing loss, because I never allowed myself to make connections. Which way of life was better? I wasn’t sure any more.

“Thank you, dear. But going on, another option is the one Harrison alluded to in the meeting—becoming an alternate. You might find it hard to take in at first, but it’s really quite an elegant solution for those who prefer not to live on The Island full time. An alternate is able to return to the Old World—that’s what we call your old reality—under certain conditions.”

Sitting up, I leaned forward. “You mean I can leave? I have a choice?” I realized I was wringing my hands together. The stress was really getting to me.

“Well yes, but as I said, there are conditions. Once you choose to be an alternate, there’s no going back. You will find yourself in your previous life in the Old World, but with one major difference—no one will be able to see you or speak with you. In some ways, you might think of it as becoming a ghost.”

“I don’t get it. What’s the point?” My mind was racing. Would it really be so bad to be a ghost? Might even be fun, in a weird sort of way.

“You would have a job to do—recruitment. Moving through the Old World sight unseen, you would be able to identify those people who might be good candidates for moving to The Island. I mentioned that small groups have attempted to colonize other areas. We need more people who are willing to try, people with special skills that will enable them to be successful pioneers.”

I got up from the bed and started pacing in front of the woman. I realized I didn’t even know her name. Was she telling me the truth, or was this some sort of delusion? She watched me calmly as I stopped pacing and stood in front of her.

“This all sounds—very interesting,” I said haltingly. “But you must understand that I have some questions. I mean, I don’t know you at all. I don’t know your name, your position here, anything. I’m also wondering if someone recruited me to come here—and if so, who? Why?”

The woman laughed, her face creasing in pleasant wrinkles. “Of course, you’re right. Let’s start with my name. I’m Oona, and I suppose the best way to describe my position here is Elder.” I could tell by the emphasis she gave the word that Elder was capitalized.

“Now, as to your other question—yes, of course you were recruited. It doesn’t really matter who sent you the map. Rest assured, the individual had observed you and your lifestyle for quite some time. The recruiter also conferred with those of us on the Island council. We all agreed that sending you the map was the right thing to do.”

“But I don’t get it. You said you’re looking for people who are risk takers, willing to be pioneers. And yet you want me to be a recruiter. Why? Don’t you think I’m brave enough, fearless enough to explore new lands?” Even as I asked, I knew within myself that I was too afraid to colonize unknown lands.

Oona reached out and patted my hand. “Sometimes we’re not sure until we meet someone in person where their gifts lie. You, my dear, have a methodical mind, and you’re not afraid of solitude. Recruitment would be perfect for you. Are you willing to try?”

And that’s how I ended up here—although “here” changes as needed. I’m the voice you hear in your head, urging you to try something new. The serendipitous meeting with just the right person for you? Thank me now. Sometimes I’m just a quiet observer, taking note of unusual responses. I report to Oona in a way that is most easily described as telepathy, although it’s far superior to that.

Most of all, I’m happy. I never thought this type of existence would suit me, but then, I didn’t have any idea of what would. I’m in the groove, I’ve found my rhythm. I’m content.

So, are you listening? Will you answer that off-beat email? Open the package without a return address? Follow your intuition? We’ll be waiting.

                                                       The End

The ocean had always been linked with her life, Morgan’s namesake, her Mam’s source of income and Pa’s, setting off to trade with the neighbouring isles as she played on the docks with the other children. It is the hub of their small town, where everything new arrived. The colours of spices and fabrics being unloaded, smell of salty sea and sweat from sailors. “Morgan! Morgan!” Mam’s shrill voice echoed through the woods to where Morgan stood looking down on the bustling port, knowing that Mam was summoning her to meet her Pa after his latest trade. “I’m coming!” She called over her shoulder turning to walk the path back towards their tiny stone cottage. Her Mam Elise stood on the path leading up to the worn wooden door of the house, hands on her hips watching the tree line. Eyes locking on Morgan as she ermerges smiling broadly at her mams impatience.

“Oh no, don’t you smile at me like that child we will be late.”

Elise huffed turning to stomp along the mud road down to the port.

“We won’t be late, I couldn’t see a ship on the horizon yet.”

Nudging her mothers shoulder, making sure that she wasn’t actually angry. Mams face softened and her shoulder relaxed slightly, she hated being away from her husband. The day he was set to return emotions always ran high, it took some time but soon they were being swallowed into the hustle and bustle of the port. Weaving in and out till they reach the wooden rails along the dock. A large ship had sailed in as they walked to the dock, ropes being flung and orders shouted, Morgan shifted her weight from one foot to the other scanning for a glimpse of her father. Finding him amongst the crew as they unloaded and moved into the crowds to reunite with loved ones.

“Too long my love, too long”

Mams hands either side of his head lowering his till their foreheads met.

“You say that every time I go no matter the length”

Pa smiled and pulled his wife and child into his embrace.

“We missed you, how was the trip?”

“Later let us eat and il tell you it all.”

He guided them out of the throng and back up the muddy track to the cottage, Once fed and settled her father pulled his satchel toward him pulling out some beads for her mother to embroider into her outfits or make into jewellery. She immediately began to gush over all the ideas she had, looking at all of the coloured glass.

“And this is for you.”

He pulled out a music box ornate and carved, it was the most beautiful thing she had ever laid eyes on.

“It don’t work, but I figured you could fix it up.”

He deposited it into her hand and she examined it closely.

“I will do my best!”

Later that evening as the light from the sky faded and lamps were lit, she sat on her bed and slowly took apart the box. There wedged into the mechanism a small folded piece of paper. A map. The noise of the music book working made her jump, snapping her out of her daze.

“See I knew you could fix it!”

She heard her father laugh, This was what she has needed, longed for an adventure to call her own. Out on the sea with a crew and a map.

“Is this part of the gift! Are you allowing me to go with you to sea?”

She gushed padding into the living space, her excitement overflowing.

“What do you mean? What is that?”

He sat up abruptly, eyes locking into the parchment clutched in her hands.

“It’s a map, I thought you’d put it in here it was stopping the box from working”

her heart fell to her stomach, realisation slowing dawning on her.

“Hand it here, you know it’s dangerous. How would your mam cope without you? No you remind here il get someone to look it over tomorrow. It’s probably nothing”

With each of his words she felt more and more despair.

“I understand father.”

She turned a walked back to her room, how long would she have to be kept here. No. The word clanged through her, no she didn’t not understand nor would she wait. For years she had proven herself and now if they wouldn’t give her the chance to do more, she’d take it.

Once darkness and silence fell over their home she packed her bag now she needed the map so she searched the living area with no luck, her eyes landed on the satchel by the chair. Quickly she moved across the space and searched it, finding it in a pocket. Opening the door and running down the lane she was at the docks before she could second guess herself, it was here that she paused looking down on the small sail boat. The wind pushed her towards it, taking it as a sign she hopped over the rail and began prepping for sail. Just after hoisting the sail she turned toward her home, the only place she’d even known her whole life.

“I’m sorry, but this is the only way.”

Breeze filled her sails, taking her away from the safety of her isle onward to her adventure

Never thought I would feel like a pirate, but today that’s exactly how I feel. I don’t know who this card is from and I don’t know how it has managed to get delivered to me whilst on a cruise with my friends. But right now, in my hands, I’m staring at a crumpled map.

“Let me see.” Sam jostles in closer to me, her chin perched on my shoulder. She has never understood the concept of personal space.

“Anna, hold it up so we can all get a look,” Torie said to my left. She’s a class teacher, always has been and always will be.

Jules, the alcoholic of the group, sidles up on my right side, the scent of red wine lingering on her breath.

“Where is this for?” I ask, holding the map higher so everyone can see. A flock of birds squawk past as if descending on troops back on shore, distracting me. A gust of wind blows the centre of the map into my face and my hair flies out, temporarily blinding me.

Tories pulls my left arm down and runs her perfectly manicured fingernail over the faded red dotted line on the map and looks out to sea. She was focused.

“Come on, Torie, what have you figured out?” Sam says, a little louder in my ear than I had wanted.

A group of young lads walk by, laughing and jeering, drinks spilling out of their glasses. It’s only 08:30 in the morning and they are sozzled. The one closest to us stops in front of Torie. “Alright, darling?” He sways towards her.

“No thank you,” Torie says and signals for him to keep moving. The lad looks defeated but Torie appears oblivious. The lads snigger as he joins the rest of his group and they walk away.

Whatever Torie has discovered is not apparent to me as I study the map more closely. One line goes towards the shore, and I have no idea where the other lines take us.

Jules trips over my feet, grabs my arm and pulls my down to the deck. Map still in my hands I land on my elbows and roll onto my back, crying out in pain. Why does she have to make a fool out of me as well as herself?

Torie grabs the map, her eyes squint as she looks towards the top right hand corner.

As I get back to my feet, I rub my elbows. Jules has apologised ten times or more but I’m not hearing her. I want to know what Torie knows. And judging by the look on her face, we are about to embark on a real-life treasure hunt.

Every day they bomb us. They try and destroy us. We want to escape but there is nowhere to go.

The bombs fall and no one helps us. We are being ground into nothing. Hundreds of us, devastated and scattered.

One day, we find a map. It promises a way out. Survival and help is waiting for us. It could be a trap. It probably is a trap. It is a small scrap of hope in a time where we have no alternative.

So we wait for night. The bombs and the sirens pause and we creep out, a group of us. Each of us has memorized the map and rehearsed our movements. We make our way to the edge of town and we look for momk the crossroads.

At the crossroads, we find a path into the woods. Trucks on patrol are coming from every direction, but we disappear into the trees before they see us. Among the trees we find the one with nails beaten into the trunk.

We move to the back of the tree and find a rope. We pull the rope and a trapdoor opens from beneath the ground. There is a staircase, which we descend. It leads to a tunnel lit by bare bulbs.

This does not feel like salvation. It feels like we are delivering ourselves into slaughter. But the map, these preparations, these stages feel so deliberate, and we are so easy to kill. This is why we have dared to follow it.

Perhaps we are suicidal. We have consented to this mission because we are tired of waiting for death to take us. We would rather walk into its open arms then see it around every corner. The tension is killing us, as much as the explosions are.

At the end of the tunnel there is a ladder. We descend the ladder and come to an underground river. There are people waiting for us. They smile and wave; there is a submarine docked there.

We board the boat, and we are greeted by compatriots we thought had died. They hug us and cheer. They say that help is on the way, and that they had to bring us out like this. We will survive.

The submarine descends into the dark water, and we settle into our bunks. In the next few months, we will become the crew of this vessel, and replace our rescuers. They will return to our new homeland, and we will become the rescuers.

One day we will be powerful. We will have the people, the training and the armament. We shall return to our country and deliver justice. Our homeland will be ours once more.

Today they are in control but they will not be forever. We are righteous and we are many.

We do not seek to multiply wars for ourselves. We will not oppress and persecute those from whom we take our country. Instead, we will deal with them fairly. We will offer them free passage out of our lands. For those who choose to stay, they will live in peace as long as they abide by our laws. Any disputes will be dealt with fairly. In this way we shall have peace and security in our lands forevermore.

Aidan woke up to the scratchy licking of a tongue on his face. Blinking to clear the sleep, he looked around and found himself lying on the ground in a verdant wood surrounded by tall trees. The fluffiest dark gray creature licking him hopped away and chirped a laugh. Nearby lay a beautiful young woman, curled up and snoring lightly. He could just make out the short, velvety stubs of her antlers.

What a birthday it had been.

The day before…

Aidan’s alarm blared out punctually at five. The obnoxious beeping that was part fire alarm, part police siren, caused him to bolt upright and smack it right out of the wall.

With a groaning sigh, he lay back down. It was Tuesday. Aidan hated Tuesdays. To be fair, he hated most every day. This particular day was shaping up to be worse than usual because it also happened to be his 21st birthday and the anniversary of his parent's accident.

He wallowed for a bit longer in bed but then pried himself up and went to have a light breakfast. Grabbing his only spoon and bowl from the sink, he ran some water and gave it a quick rinse; that was clean enough for him.

He glanced around the cramped studio apartment and noted the pile of laundry, clawed-up secondhand couch, and Xbox. Maybe it was time to grow up. He’s an adult now and should act like it.

After the bowl of peanut butter puffs, that is. Couldn’t waste food. That’s adult.

The last three years had been rough for Aidan. Family was the center of his life, and losing them devastated him. He was so close to graduation at the time and had more than enough credits, so he was able to get the school to grant his diploma early. The settlement money he received was enough to get him an apartment and let him live and go to college if he was frugal.

But he never went back to school. The days melded together into a blur as he drifted from the friends he did have. The melancholy was rooted quite deep.

He had changed physically, too. His body was more lithe than skinny now as he had taken to running. He could focus on the rhythm of his feet, and his music or podcasts were distractions from the malaise. His copper hair was unruly and longer than it ever had been, shaggy even.

He took a deep breath and decided he’d start growing up now.

An hour or so later, Aidan was cleaned up and dressed in his only clean clothes, a dark gray hoodie and some ripped jeans. He went down and took his Uber to the cemetery, stopping along the way to pick up flowers and a pint.

Rocky Road had always been his mom’s favorite.

The car pulled up to the entrance of Hollow Oaks, and Aidan asked the driver to stop at the gates. He wanted to take his time walking to their site. He looked at the gentle hills and the old headstones with a few gnarled, twisty trees and manicured hedges.

His parents were in the oldest section of the graveyard in a family plot, a short walk down the white limestone gravel path near the old forest where cemetery and wood mingled.

He crested the last rise and saw something out of place. In front of the headstone was a brown leather envelope. His forehead crinkled in confusion. He had been the only one at the funeral, and he didn’t know of anyone else who had ever visited.

Aidan stooped and set down the ice cream and flowers beside the stone and took up the leather holder. It was embossed in gilt letters straight out of a fantasy novel that wrapped in a circle around a stylized, broad tree with roots and was closed tight with leather laces.

He stood and craned his head, scanning for signs of anyone watching or cameras recording, but saw nothing.

Aidan gently opened and removed a parchment with brightly colored borders, flourishes, and illustrations of knights in gold on white chargers. He was surprised to see it addressed to him:

Aidan Duir, a charaid choir, Being this the day of your majority and being the sole heir of the Duir line, possessing the responsibilities and entitlements therein, you are bequeathed your legacy as a Squire of the Tuath.

You are hereby charged with bearing forth leaf and acorn of oak and presenting them to any member of the Sìdh at your earliest convenience.

Le fior deagh dùrachd Kiernen Mohan, Order of Ban Sith

Aidan read the letter three times.

“Nope, this can’t be real,” he muttered. His father had put him to bed as a boy on tales of the Dagda, Morrígan, and Lugh, so he recognized some of the references, but this was over the top. “Gotta be a prank.”

Aidan looked around again, ”Alright, ya asshole! Where are you? Come out and we can talk about your bad taste in jokes!”

Not a rustle. Aidan snorted and ground his teeth.

He took the second sheet, which was thicker and made of an animal hide. It was old. Really old. The paints had a faded permanence about them, and the pictures were more primitive.

There was a path marked on the hide. Starting at a tree, the path led through a mist to a hill surrounded by stones and bearing a dark opening. Three circles surrounded the hill, and the sun was setting in the distance. Primitive deer, intricate knots, and images of nature decorated the skin.

“Well, that’s less than helpful. Start at a tree and go to a hill with a cave.” He looked around,” If you’re gonna give me a joke of a quest, you could at least make the instructions useful!”

He looked at the map again, and a series of characters appeared in gold. They weren’t anything that he could read, but he heard the words as he looked at them:

Fealty to the oak and honor there, Traverse the misty paths without fear, To the mound crossing in between times Thrice round, entrance here.

Well, isn’t that nice, he thought, they even got it to rhyme in English. Nice effects though.

Aidan knelt at his parents’ grave and placed the flowers in the vase. Taking the ice cream, he spoke to his parents,” Hey Mom, Dad. I can’t tell you how much I miss you today. I made it! I’m an adult.”

This was so hard. “Some jerk left a package here with a joke you’d appreciate, Dad. It’s right out of one of your old stories. Tuatha and banshee and all.” He chuckled,” I’ve even been given a quest. Anyways. I miss you both so much. And I hope to make you proud; I’ve been pretty aimless, and ‘willful waste makes woeful want’, right Dad? I’m gonna go now, but I’ll be back soon. I love you both!”

Aidan turned with his head down and wiped away the tears rolling down his cheek. A gray flash brought his head up in a jerk.

“What was that?”

He went to the path and headed toward the exit when he saw the flash again. It was off towards one of the trees. When Aidan arrived, he saw a large, dark gray rabbit with fluffy fur and golden eyes. It didn’t seem scared of him at all.

“How’d you get here little guy?” He reached out towards it. “AAAHHHG YA Bastard!”

He sucked on his finger where the little thing had taken a chunk out and heard laughter.

Aidan spun about.

“Who’s there?”

“I didn’t give you permission to touch me boy.”

Very slowly, Aidan looked down. The rabbit was sitting on its back feet, looking up at him.

“I’ve lost my mind.” He closed his eyes and rubbed his temples.

“No, you haven’t lad. Believe what’s in front of your face.”

He looked down again,” OK then, I’ll play along. Who are you?”

“You may call me Arren.”

“Aaron, huh? Well, Aaron..”

“ARREN! Not Aye-ron!”

“Got it, got it. Arrrren,” at which the rabbit rolled its eyes,” who are you? Why are you here?”

“To make sure you don’t go off the path and because two people shorten the road.”

Aidan smiled. “My dad always said that. He had a lot of sayings.”

“Your da was a fair one. He and your mum are why I’m here now. I always repay my debts.” So saying, Arren gave a curt nod of his head.

“You knew my parents?”

“Of course, boy. You think I show myself to every weeping willow? They were fine. Mighty fine. And now it’s to you it’s fallen to take up their haft. So no more wasting about! No mornings sun lasts all day. Let’s be about our business.” Arren hopped off towards the great oak at the edge of the cemetery.

When Aidan didn’t move, Arren paused to look back, “Well, come on with you.”

“Where to? What’s this all about? I’m not following after a talking rabbit into the woods. I’m not Alice!”

“No, lad, you’re not. And I’m a Pùca, not a rabbit. You are Duir. One of the oaks of the Tuatha. It’s your blood. You have more in you than you know, and it will bring you through. Now then, do you want your legacy, or do you wish to go back and pretend this was all a dream, never reaching for what could be?”

Aidan looked at the path home, turned, and followed Arren.

I place my empty champagne flute on the nearby coffee table and collapse onto the couch, contentedly exhausted.

I survey the scene around me.

Speckles of gold metallic confetti glitter are strewn about the room, reflecting off of the slow glow of my dimmed evening lights. The hour is well past midnight and my home is finally winding down.

Empty plates and glasses occupy every available surface in the spacious living room. Discarded gold wrapping paper litters the floor. I hear the familiar padding footsteps as Duchess, my cat, emerges from her upstairs hiding place and into the living room to join me. I hear her paw at a scrap of paper, happy to be rid of the chaos of the earlier festivities.

Today is my golden birthday, and golden it was. I smile to myself, still a little tipsy from the party, and think of how lucky I am to have such a wonderful, vibrant cohort of friends to share this day with.

I am not usually one to make a fuss over my birthday. Don't get me wrong - a dinner at a favorite restaurant, or a show downtown were always in order. But a party? Not really my thing.

However, for whatever reason, turning 31 on the 31st felt special. Mystical even. Earlier this summer I proclaimed to my friends that for this once in a life time occasion, we would have a once in a life time celebration.

As expected, my found family did not disappoint. Our weekly brunch meet ups temporarily turned into a well oiled machine of party planning. No detail was left undiscussed, or un gold-ified [as was the obvious theme].

My smile turns to solemnity as I think to myself how proud my mom would have been of me, for doing something just for me and just for the pure fun of it. From a very young age, my mother had picked up on my serious and gritty determination and had done her very best to shake it out of me.

"Catalina - your school work will still be there tomorrow, you know. Why don't you go play with your friends?"

"Catalina - I got a call from your guidance counselor today. She said you're trying to take 24 credits at once! How is that even possible? You know you'll still get into a good college regardless, right?"

"Catalina, darling, come to the cottage with us this weekend, eh? When was the last time you took a day off of work? What's the point of having all that money if you never get to spend it?"

But I remained unshakeable. My zealous devotion to living a life better than my parents had, and let's be totally honest - being a woman in tech, resulted in rapid success, and all the financial perks that came along with it. Including a Manhattan apartment large enough to host an epic birthday party.

I'm pulled out of my reflection by the observation that Duchcess has stopped swatting at the paper and is now, in fact, trying to consume it. I sigh and pull my champagne heavy body off of the couch.

I remove the offending strip from her mouth and shoo her away. She mumbles a disgruntled protest as she hautily trots off into the kitchen, no doubt looking for more inedible snacks.

"Guess I better get this over with."

Despite my body pleading desperately to leave it to tomorrow, to go to bed, it's late, so late, the habit of doing the hard work wins out. I grab a trash bag from the kitchen and billow it out before me. The sound echos through my now too-quiet apartment. Dutifully, I begin cleaning the mess in the living room.

I bend down and scoop up paper for what feels like an enternity, and then begin the task of shoving empty paper plates into the bag as well. Can cake frosting hurt cats? I'm not sure, but I'm not willing to find out.

As I grab a handfull of plates from the dining room table, something catches my eye. A peek of red in the sea of gold.

I brush aside golden plates, and napkins, and confetti to reveal a scarlet envelope. Puzzled, I flip it over and see that it is addressed to no one. A birthday card I must have missed openening. Strange.

I place the now heavy trash bag on the ground beside me and run my finger under the crease of the envelope to pry it open.

Inside is a thick, folded piece of paper. I start to unfold and realize that this paper is large, extremely large. Once fully unfolded it takes up almost half of my dining room table. I spread it before me and stare down quizzically.

A map.

Hand-drawn by the look of it. A grided network of streets and avenues cover the large page completely. With a singular red dot in the middle. I realize with a pang of fear [why fear?] that that singular dot is not on a random location. It's on my address.

Giggling in excitement I rip open the brown wrapping paper in anticipation of the surprise. I assumed the gift was from my uncle - a mysterious man who now lived in the Alaska wilderness. Although I hadn’t seen him for a decade, he sent me a present every year - last year a book of drawing I’m still trying to decode the year before a crossword that I haven’t worked through completely. But alas, I always enjoyed the curiously that enveloped with the newness of every gift and gained with the business of life. I didn’t know exactly when box had arrived on my doorstep perfectly wrapped in brown paper - my favorite birthday tradition was opening the door as soon as I woke up to his gifts. When I was younger, I tried catching the deliver- surely someone could not sneak through the busking city streets that turned silent when night fell. That might, I waited and waited. And, I waited eyes locked on the door my eyes begging to dropped, my pose on my belly hands holding my head began to drag me to the floor. But, nothing ever came that year. So I hadn’t tried again.

Rippppp … the paper tore completely open leaving a simple box with curly letters en-scribing:

For Adeline - here you’ll find me.

My excitement dipped when the box opened to a - single slip of paper. The paper was a blank coffee-colored rectangle. I picked the slip up in bewilderment. Could this be all? Usually his puzzles were more obvious, so this seemed like a joke.

As I held the same paper the ridges tickled my fingers, wait - was the paper not flat? I felt bumps to the right side and left of them a dip that abruptly became level. As I slid my finger above the rises, ouch - something picked my finger. I yanked my hand back and slipped the tip into my mouth, tasting the tang of blood. Maybe, this page was not blank after all. But what was on it?

For weeks, I memorized the page - the dips and rises, the parts that almost pricked my fingers. Thinking, thinking, thinking…what could it be?

April was now upon us the peculiar present an afterthought. My favorite month - the flowers blissed creating an engraving aroma - my sister and I began to hike in the mountains west of our home. Proclaiming ourselves explorers and endlessly wandering through the mazes and trees, running home with the sun chasing us, golden braids dancing behind our heads. And - while standing on top these very mountains on a random Wednesday - I noticed something. The mountains overlooked a deep river that curved in a strangely familiar shape - the ground deeming diving into the earth before abruptly jumping up.

A map - it was a map!!!