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There was a key on a ribbon wrapped around it. He unwound it, turned the key in the lock, and lifted the lid.

We both peered in. There was a small stack of letters on top. The paper seemed modern, though it looked like it had been years since they had been written. Torin opened one, read the top, then folded it again.

I asked, “What does it say?”

“Tis addressed tae his father, I winna read it.” He carefully placed the stack to the side and then peered into the casket. “Och, as I expected. Tis verra valuable.”

The bottom of the casket was covered in velvet and in the middle was a gold crown with jewels on it. We didn’t touch it, we just looked at it.

I was in awe.

Centered in the crown was a gold heart about two inches in diameter, with a large red jewel in the middle. Torin carefully pulled it up, turned it over in his hands, and then sniffed it. He passed it to me.

I sniffed it. “It smells like herbs.”

“Aye, tis likely his heart.”

I dropped it into the straw in shock. “His what?”

“Tis the Wolf King’s heart, tis common.” He read my expression. “It inna common where ye are from?’

I shook my head. “What do you mean, his heart? Maybe I don’t understand. Like his physical heart is… inside there?”

“Aye, tis prepared with herbs and dried so that it might be carried for a time until it can be ultimately delivered tae his loved ones.

I grimaced. “Not sure how I feel about that at all.”

He shrugged, picked it up, and placed it back in the casket. But then he noticed there was something under the velvet, and pulled it aside to see the corner of a book. He carefully lifted it out. The red leather cover of the book had a large, embossed M with an I behind it, surrounded by a tree, the branches going up, the roots going down.

Torin said, “Mag Mòr.”

“You think?”

He turned it in his hands. “Aye, this was Archibald’s father’s book.” He opened to the title page, it said:

The Art of War

Sun Tzu

At the top, written in cursive:

Your heart will always guide you home.

— Grandma Barb

“I wonder who that was?”

He shook his head, “Ye ken of this book?”

I nodded. “This came from closer to my time than this time, I think. He had to have been a time traveler.”

He nodded, placing the book back in the casket. “And ye are certain ye haena heard of Archibald?”

“No, I never did.”

He nodded. “We are the guardians of his last remains now, we must get it somewhere safe, this is a verra big duty.” He sighed as he put everything back and locked it up, placing the casket carefully at the bottom of the bag and loading it all up on Cathbarr’s saddle.

While the sun was still low on the horizon, we mounted and left Dalmally, stopping briefly at the inn to buy food for the road: warm and heavy oat bannocks, a wedge of cheese, and a small smoked fish wrapped in a cloth.