The Telescope, page 1
Table of Contents
The Telescope (The Compass of the Moon and Stars)
Chapter 1: The Call to Oban
Chapter 2: The Ascent to Dunadd Fort
Chapter 3: The Watcher in Oban
Chapter 4: Secrets of the Telescope
Chapter 5: The Meeting of the Dryad
Chapter 6: The Dryad’s Revelation
Chapter 7: Samuel’s Dilemma
Chapter 8: The Return to Oban
Chapter 9: The Boat to Lismore
Chapter 10: Samuel Denton’s Ferry Crossing
Chapter 11: The Druid Cave
Chapter 12: The Journey Back to the Boat and Oban
Chapter 13: The Hiding Place
Chapter 14: The Meeting in Edinburgh
Chapter 15: The Path to Knowledge
Chapter 16: The Chosen Path
Chapter 17: The Journey Begins
Chapter 18: Into the Highlands
Chapter 19: Closing In
Chapter 20: The Cairn of the Stars
Chapter 21: Written in the Stars
Chapter 22: The Path Untaken
Chapter 23: A Distant Star
Chapter 24: The Order’s Struggles
Chapter 25: Following the Stars
Chapter 26: The Path to the Stars
Chapter 27: The Pursuit
Chapter 28: Through the Shadows
Chapter 29: Closing In
Chapter 30: The Final Ascent
Chapter 31: A New Dawn
The Telescope
Chapter 1: The Call to Oban
The early morning light spilled through the small cottage’s windows, brushing the worn wooden floor in soft, golden strokes. Max sat cross-legged by the hearth, absently turning the compass over in his hands. Its surface was smooth and cool, a relic that felt both familiar and unsettling. Nearby, Lottie sprawled on the rug, her pencil gliding lazily across the pages of her notebook. Grandpa Ben sat in his favourite armchair, sipping tea, his gaze far away, as if he were listening to something only, he could hear.
Since their return from Stonehenge, the days had been oddly quiet. Too quiet.
Max stared at the compass, its needle still and lifeless, as it had been for months. That lull, that eerie sense of stillness, weighed on him. Every time he looked at the compass, he couldn’t shake the feeling that it wasn’t finished with them yet.
“Do you think it’s broken?” Max asked suddenly, breaking the silence.
Grandpa Ben’s gaze flicked to the compass, his expression unreadable. “No,” he said after a pause. “It’s just waiting.”
Before Max could reply, a sound hummed softly through the air. Faint. Subtle. At first, Max thought he’d imagined it, but then the compass grew warm in his hand. A pale, eerie light seeped from its edges, illuminating the dim room. The needle twitched violently, then swung northward with an intensity that made Max’s breath catch.
“Grandpa...” Max’s voice was hushed, almost reverent. He held the glowing compass out for the old man to see. “It’s starting again.”
Grandpa Ben leaned forward, his tea forgotten. His hand trembled slightly as he took the compass, the glow reflecting in his deep-set eyes. “North,” he murmured. “It’s pointing north.”
“Toward what?” Lottie asked, sitting up.
“Toward Oban,” Grandpa Ben said, his voice weighted with meaning.
Lottie frowned. “What’s in Oban?”
Grandpa Ben didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he stared at the compass, as if it might offer more answers. When he finally spoke, his voice was low, almost sombre. “Oban is where stories meet the sea... and where secrets have a habit of surfacing.”
A sharp knock shattered the moment, reverberating through the small cottage.
Max exchanged a glance with Grandpa Ben, whose expression darkened. Lottie scrambled to her feet, heart thudding as she rushed to the door. When she opened it, she found no one—only a single envelope resting on the doorstep.
It was old, its edges yellowed and crumbling, as though it had been forgotten in some dusty corner for years. The faded ink bore no return address.
“Who’d send us a letter like this?” Lottie asked, holding it up.
“Let’s find out,” Grandpa Ben said, his voice steady but cautious.
Lottie tore the envelope open carefully, revealing a sheet of parchment covered in hurried handwriting. She read the message aloud:
“When you arrive in Oban, seek out Walter Smith. He can be found at the local pub. He holds the knowledge you need for your journey but be careful not to make it obvious why you are there. Watchful eyes may already be upon you.”
The room fell silent, save for the faint crackle of the fire. Max felt a chill creep over him, as if the letter itself carried some ancient weight.
“How could anyone know we’re heading to Oban?” Lottie asked.
“They knew,” Grandpa Ben said grimly, folding the letter and tucking it into his coat. “Whoever they are.”
The next morning, the trio stood on the train platform, the cool air biting at their faces as the first light of dawn spilled over the misty countryside. The compass rested in Max’s pocket, warm against his hand, as though urging him onward.
Lottie hugged her coat tightly around herself, her eyes scanning the horizon. “Oban feels important,” she murmured. “More than just another town.”
Grandpa Ben nodded. “It is. Oban’s always been a gateway—to the western isles, to the unknown. Stories travelled through there long before the trains, and some say it holds more than just history. Secrets cling to the place, like mist to the hills.”
Max looked down at the compass, its faint hum vibrating against his palm. “Secrets don’t tend to stay buried for long,” he said.
The train arrived with a rumble of wheels and a hiss of steam, and they boarded a quiet carriage. The rhythmic clatter of the train filled the silence as the hills of Rosslyn fell away, replaced by the rugged beauty of the Scottish Highlands. The landscape rolled by in shades of green and grey, wild and untamed, as if the land itself held memories too old to name.
Lottie pressed her face to the window, her breath fogging the glass. “It feels like Oban’s pulling us in,” she whispered.
Max glanced at Grandpa Ben, who didn’t reply. Instead, the old man stared out at the horizon, his eyes clouded with something unspoken.
When the train finally pulled into Oban, the small coastal town spread out before them, its harbour alive with the gentle bobbing of boats. The air was crisp and salty, carrying the faint cries of seagulls and the smell of fresh fish. Beyond the town, the sea shimmered under the mid-morning sun, and the distant Isles of Mull and Kerrera rose like silent sentinels from the water.
Lottie let out a low whistle. “It’s... beautiful.”
Grandpa Ben’s voice was quiet, reverent. “Oban’s more than beautiful. It’s a threshold. A place where the ordinary meets the extraordinary.”
The three of them wound through the narrow streets, passing shops selling seashell trinkets, hand-carved maps of the isles, and steaming bowls of chowder. But beneath the surface, Max could feel something deeper—a tension, an energy that seemed to hum beneath the cobblestones.
They stopped in front of a weathered pub near the harbour, its sign swinging gently in the breeze: The Oban Inn. Grandpa Ben motioned toward the door. “This is where we’ll find him. Walter Smith.”
The pub was warm and dimly lit, the scent of roasted meat mingling with the tang of salt air that seeped in through the cracks. Locals gathered at tables, laughing and sharing stories. Max scanned the room and spotted an older man at the bar. He was rugged, his face lined by years spent outdoors, his sharp eyes watching the room like a hawk.
“That’s him,” Grandpa Ben murmured.
As they sat at a table, Grandpa Ben approached the man, speaking in low tones. Max and Lottie tried to appear casual, but their nerves prickled as they noticed Walter glance their way. After a moment, Walter nodded, then abruptly left the pub through the back door.
“What just happened?” Lottie asked, frowning.
Grandpa Ben returned to the table, his face grim. Walters agreed to help. He’ll meet us at McCaig’s Tower. It’s safer to talk there.”
The climb to McCaig’s Tower was steep, the hill rising above Oban like a quiet guardian. The tower loomed ahead, its stone arches framing the endless blue of the sea.
Walter was waiting at the top, his posture tense. He gestured them toward an arched stone wall. “This is the place,” he said, his voice low. “The compass led you here for a reason. Beneath this tower lies something the druids hid centuries ago—something powerful.”
Max felt his pulse quicken. “What is it?”
Walter shook his head, his face shadowed with unease. “You’ll see soon enough. But be careful. Oban isn’t the only one watching.”
With that, he turned and left, disappearing into the mist before any of them could protest.
Max stared after him, his grip tightening on the compass. Whatever they were about to uncover, he knew it wouldn’t be simple. The air seemed heavier now, the tower’s stones whispering secrets only they could hear.
“Ready?” Grandpa Ben asked.
Max took a deep breath, the weight of the compass a steady reminder of what lay ahead. “Let’s find out.”
Chapter 2: The Ascent to Dunadd Fort
The wind howled, whipping across the rugged hills as Max, Lottie, and Grandpa Ben stood near the summit of Dunadd Fort. The ancient stones, moss-covered and weathered by centuries of storms, loomed like silent sentinels against the roiling grey sky. Rain threatened in the distance, the air thick with moisture and the sharp tang of earth.
Max tightened his grip on the compass, its rhythmic hum steady in his hand. The needle pointed unerringly toward the carved stone footprint in the centre of the platform, the same spot where ancient kings had once stood during their coronations. A sense of gravity pressed down on him, heavier than the storm clouds above.
Grandpa Ben adjusted the scarf around his neck and turned toward the platform. “We’ll start here,” he said, his voice nearly lost in the wind. “The druids didn’t choose places like this by accident. Look for anything unusual—markings, loose stones. They liked to hide things in plain sight.”
Max exchanged a glance with Lottie, who rolled her eyes but trudged forward to inspect the crumbling walls. “They could’ve made it a bit easier,” she muttered under her breath. “Just leave a sign that says, ‘Here it is.’”
Max crouched near the platform’s edge, his fingers running over the rough stones. He searched for the faint spirals and symbols they’d seen at McCaig’s Tower, but there was nothing—only the cold, unyielding surface of the ancient walls. Nearby, Grandpa Ben was running his hands along the stones with practiced care, while Lottie kicked at a patch of dirt, clearly frustrated.
“This is pointless,” Lottie groaned after what felt like hours of fruitless searching. “There’s nothing here. Just rocks. Really old rocks.”
Max frowned, his gaze shifting back to the footprint at the centre of the platform. The compass had led them here, and it was pointing directly at that spot. The carved stone seemed so obvious, so central. Could it really be the answer?
“Maybe we’re looking in the wrong place,” Max said, rising to his feet.
Grandpa Ben followed his gaze, his brow furrowing. “The footprint... It was used in the coronation rituals. The kings placed their foot there to symbolize their connection to the land they ruled.”
Max’s heart began to race. The compass’s pull was unmistakable. “It’s worth a try,” he said, stepping toward the footprint.
As he knelt beside it, the stone seemed larger up close, the grooves of the carving smoothed by time. He hesitated, his hand hovering over the cold surface. Then, taking a deep breath, he placed his foot into the carved depression.
The moment his foot made contact, the world around him changed.
A low hum vibrated through the air, deep and resonant, starting from the stone beneath his foot and rippling outward. The wind died suddenly, replaced by a deafening stillness. The clouds above seemed to hold their breath, and then—
Shimmering lights erupted from the footprint, swirling around Max in a cascade of golden sparks. The particles danced in the air like fireflies, wrapping around him in intricate patterns. A warmth filled his chest, growing stronger with each passing second, until it felt as though the very essence of the land itself was surging through him.
Lottie gasped, stumbling back. “Max, you’re—you're glowing!”
Max barely heard her. His eyes widened as the lights intensified, and then, without warning, the visions began.
Figures materialized in the golden haze—translucent at first, then sharp and vivid, as though pulled directly from the past. One by one, kings and queens appeared before him, their faces etched with the wisdom and burdens of their reigns. He watched as they stepped forward, each placing their foot in the same carved stone where he now stood.
He saw their triumphs: banners flying high, battles won, and kingdoms united. He saw their struggles: famines, betrayals, and wars that tore the land apart. And then, he saw the final figure emerge—a shadowed king, cloaked in darkness.
This figure was different. His face was obscured, but his presence was overwhelming, filling Max with equal parts awe and dread. Slowly, the shadowed king extended his hand, revealing a gleaming telescope. Its surface shimmered with a soft, otherworldly light.
Max reached out instinctively, his fingers closing around the telescope’s smooth brass surface. The moment he touched it, the visions stopped.
The golden light faded, and the wind roared back to life. Max blinked, disoriented, his breath coming in quick, shallow gasps. In his hand, the telescope felt solid and real, its polished brass gleaming faintly in the grey light.
Grandpa Ben rushed forward, his face pale. “Max... what just happened?”
Max turned the telescope over in his hands, still feeling the echoes of the vision. “It showed me the kings,” he said, his voice trembling. “All of them. And then...” He hesitated, gripping the telescope tightly. “It gave me this.”
Lottie stepped closer, her eyes wide. “What does it do?”
Max ran his fingers over the intricate symbols etched into the telescope’s brass. “It can see into the future... and into the past,” he said slowly.
Lottie’s jaw dropped. “The future? You can see what’s going to happen?”
Max nodded, though a shadow of doubt crossed his face. “But it’s not fixed. The future—it can change, depending on the choices we make now.”
Grandpa Ben’s expression darkened. “Then it’s not just a tool. It’s a warning.”
Max looked out over the hills, the telescope heavy in his hands. The druids had entrusted him with this power, but it wasn’t a gift—it was a responsibility. The future was no longer an abstract concept. It was something he could glimpse, something he could shape.
The storm clouds overhead deepened, casting long shadows over the ancient stones. The weight of what they had uncovered settled over them like a heavy cloak.
“We should leave,” Max said finally, slipping the telescope into his bag. “There’s more to learn, but we won’t find it here. This... this is only the beginning.”
Later That Night
In the quiet of their small inn room in Oban, Max sat on the edge of his bed, the telescope resting in his lap. The rain outside had softened to a steady patter, and the room was bathed in the warm glow of a single lamp. Grandpa Ben and Lottie were already asleep, their slow, rhythmic breathing the only sound in the room.
Max studied the telescope, his fingers tracing the spiralling symbols carved into its brass surface. The craftsmanship was remarkable, almost otherworldly. Near its base was a small brass slider, flanked by two symbols: a spiral representing the future, and a Celtic knot symbolizing the past.
He hesitated, his thumb hovering over the slider. He wanted to push it toward the spiral, to peer into the future, but something held him back. The warning from the vision echoed in his mind: The future is not set in stone.
With a sigh, he placed the telescope beside the compass on the nightstand. Both artifacts hummed faintly, their connection undeniable. They were part of the same story, a story he and his family were now bound to uncover.
The rain continued to fall as Max lay back on the bed, staring at the ceiling. Somewhere out there, the druids’ secrets waited to be unearthed, and the choices he made now would determine what kind of future those secrets would lead to.
One thing was certain: their journey was far from over.
Chapter 3: The Watcher in Oban
Samuel Denton sat in the farthest corner of a dim café on the outskirts of Oban, his back pressed against the wall and his eyes trained on the rain-slicked street outside. The morning light reflected off the puddles on the cobblestones, but Samuel hardly noticed. His fingers tapped a restless rhythm on the edge of the table, a habit he’d developed in the long hours of surveillance. Waiting was a skill, one he’d mastered, but patience had never come naturally.
He had been sent here with clear instructions: follow the children and the old man. Observe, report back. No contact. No improvisation. Simple enough in theory, but they had proven slippery. The trio had left Oban days ago, vanishing before he could arrange transport, and now that they were back, Samuel couldn’t afford to lose them again. His last report had been met with terse disappointment from the order. They wouldn’t tolerate another failure.
The girl—Lottie, he remembered—appeared first, her boots splashing lightly against the wet pavement. Her younger brother, Max, walked beside her, gesturing animatedly with his hands. The old man, Grandpa Ben, trailed just behind, his gait slow but steady. They looked like any ordinary family, their laughter rising faintly over the murmur of morning rain. But Samuel knew better. Ordinary families didn’t make unregistered visits to Stonehenge. Ordinary families didn’t carry heavy bags like they were guarding state secrets.
