The Secret Haven

The young boy tore through the street and around the corner of New Bond St, huffing and puffing like a speeding train. His head swam. Where could he go?

“Come on, Scotty! Give up! You can’t run forever.” An older red-haired boy hit the brick pavements close on Scott’s heels like a hound of hell. Others were not far behind. Scott hated school. He loved reading, but his bigger classmates kept hiding them or ripping off the pages, taunting him with his books by holding them above his head. This time he’d gotten sick of it and punched Bark straight up. It had felt good, but he didn’t have much time to enjoy it. The nine-year-old darted in and out of alleyways, starting farther from the school and past colourful pastel shops. As if a sign from the heavens, there was a bookshop called Book Haven with the door open. He darted inside.

“Sanctuary,” he gasped, supporting himself on the counter. The young shopkeeper in his late 20s, Heath McKay, blinked and looked at the doorway.

The rest of the boys arrived at a halt. Scott hid behind the befuddled Heath and cried again, “Sanctuary. Sanctuary.” He grasped his leather apron.

“Ha, nice try. Only churches can grant sanctuary,” Bark scoffed with a sneer.

Heath understood what was going on. This poor boy was being bullied. He crossed his arms and jutted his chin up as he looked at the rugged uniformed rascals. “Sanctuary. Granted,” he lilted with an Inverness dialect. The intense fire in his eyes made the group stagger back and shuffle out the door in a hurry. Heath huffed. “That should teach them.”

Scott started up at him with wide sapphire eyes.

“How about some tea?” He tilted his head down.

Scott nodded eagerly.

Heath smiled. “Okay. Come along.” They traversed the rows of books to the back of the store.

“Erm, my parents said not to hang around strangers.”

“As you shouldn’t. You have very wise parents.” Heath bobbed his head firmly.

“They-they also said…that I should trust my instincts.”

“Aye. And what do your instincts say?”

Scott fidgeted with his hands and looked out the door. He didn’t want to go back to school today. The man had saved his life. Maybe he’d let him hang about and eat biscuits until he had to be home.

“I think you’re a nice man.” Scott shrugged a shoulder.

Heath quirked his lips. “I hope I am. I don’t know many people to tell me so.”

“I don’t have any friends either.” Scott wandered into the cosy backroom with bare cedar wood on its walls. It smelled like a forest. There was a bed with a desk and a small kitchen. Heath tidied up as he swept through the room, throwing papers in the trash and piling clothes in a blue hamper.

“No, I don’t suppose those troublemakers who rushed in here are any good to anyone.” Heath scratched his head of brown hair as he plugged in the kettle. The box of tea leaves he’d finished drying the day before was above his head. “Here. Smell this.”

Scott put his nose up to the stell container.

“Ah, not too close.”

He took a long sniff and sighed. “It smells like Christmas.”

“Hmmm, close. It’s slippery elm with lemon zest. I like to grow my own tea.”

“It must be nice.”

“What?” He scooped a teaspoon each into two porcelain mugs.

“Living here.”

“Oh. Yes, I suppose. It’s a wee lonely, but I don’t get along with people so it’s probably for the best. Better to be alone than in bad company my daddy used to say.”

“I’m alone all the time.”

“No brothers or sister?” He sat down in an armchair.

“No.” The boy hopped up onto the one across and folded his legs.

“And your parents?”

“They work.”

“Hmm.”

“Do you have brothers or sisters?”

“I have an older brother, but we fight a lot. My parents think I could be more like him, do something respectable.”

Scott nodded. Suddenly, he realized he didn’t know the man’s name. “I’m Scott.”

“Well, Scott, you can call me Heath.”

“You like books.” The boy saw the pile of hardbacks on the round oak table.

“Hm? Oh, yeah,” he chuckled. “I do. I like books. That’s why I wanted to run my own bookshop.”

“I like books too.”

“And what books do you like to read?”

“Ones with places I can escape to with dragons and towering mountains, knights, and friendly animals that can talk.”

“Sounds exciting.”

“What sorts of books do you read?”

“Much of the same it seems especially historical fiction. Those books over there are full of Greek and Roman legends, epic tales of heroes who fought all sorts of creatures and walked with gods and kings.”

“Cool,” he grinned, revealing a loose marble-white tooth.

“I think so too. Anything to escape reality, eh?”

“Amen,” Scott interjected.

Heath laughed and remembered he hadn’t done so in a long time. The kettle had boiled, so he stood to pour the steaming water into the tan mugs. “Careful, laddie, it’s hot.”

Scott cradled the mug in his clammy hands. It made him feel like he was in front of a warm fire as if he were in a cottage in the grey-haired mountains of an old elven forest.

Heath also brought over a plate of gingernuts for both of them. Thus the two kindred spirits sat in pleasant silence. Neither of them was the talking type. The one conversation alone was enough to tire them out, and that was all right. The tea would do the talking for them.

Afterwards, Scott looked around at the books again.

“If you want you can borrow one and bring it back. These are my own.”

“Really?” he said in a voice of wonder.

“Yes. Yes, if there’s anyone else to appreciate them, I’ll be happy enough.”

Scott pushed himself off the maroon armchair and shuffled to one of the bookcases. Some books looked ordinary with ivory leaves and crimson fabric on the covers, but other books were different. Other books had covers that looked like they were made from dragon scales with gold-painted pages that smelled like honey and etchings of ancient languages or Gothic script. One, in particular, had a silver drawing of two globes intersecting in the middle. It looked mesmerizing and gave Scott a peculiar feeling. He reached for it

Heath had been lost in thought during Scott’s little discoverings until the young man jumped up with a nervous air to his voice. “Ah, I apologize. That book shouldn’t be touched.”

Scott withdrew his hand as if burned. “Why?”

Heath walked over and ran his eyes over the book. “It’s a special book that an old ancestor passed down to me. It should only be opened in emergencies or if you a certain type of help.”

“Oh. What does it do?”

“Anything,” Heath whispered before assuming a thoughtful expression. “It’s a secret, see. Only the direst circumstance may compel me to say.”

“I understand.” Scott swallowed.

“Maybe one day, you’ll find yourself in such a situation.”

“You really think so?” The boy looked up into the blue eyes of a restless storm.

Heath crouched down to his level. “One shouldn’t wish it because it’d mean trouble of more than a few raucous boys.”

“Oh. Yeah.” Scott bowed his head.

“But you can always hold out hope,” Heath whispered with a warm smile.

“Can I come back here tomorrow after school?”

“If you like. As long as your parents don’t mind. I could use more company around here.”

Scott nodded and found another book that caught his eye. It was the book Bark had dashed to pieces before Scott socked him in the eye.

Heath noticed the younger’s interest and drew it from the third shelf. “A fine choice. Of Dragons and Dwarfs: an Adventurer’s Guide to Trouble. The title just asks for it.” He chuckled.

“I was reading it when…”

“When that boy went at you.”

Scott bit his lip.

“Rule number one: never leave a book unfinished.” He held out the book to Scott. The boy smiled as he looked at the ornate cover. It was better than the plain cover he’d gotten from his own money.

“When you’re done with it, there’s plenty more to choose from.”

Scott looked out the window into the street where the clouds began to cover the sun. “I should go soon.”

“Aye. Your school.”

“I might get suspended.”

“Hmmm. Say, I’m about to close for lunch. I could walk you back and explain to the principal why you were gone. It might help your case.”

“I guess.” He ran his fingers over the book’s leather cover with the silver inscription and etchings of a dragon.

“All right, then.”

Heath shut the lights to his loft, and Scott waited outside as he locked up. It wasn’t a long walk, and as Scott had suspected, he was in trouble. But…not for punching Bark. Rather for leaving the school grounds during recess. Perhaps, Bark’s embarrassment prevented him from explaining his black eye. Heath assured the principal that Scott had run into some trouble and lost his way. For some reason, she said no more as if Heath had some hidden charm that could persuade almost anyone, and she merely sent the boy on his way to class.

Scott tried his best to pay attention to his mathematics professor, but he couldn’t stop peeking at the book that stuck out of his bag or thinking about the enigmatic bookkeeper who seemed different from all the other grown-ups. After school, he rushed home and scribbled down the events of the day as fast as his fingers could write.

To Heath’s surprise, Scott did visit after school the next day and the day after that. They talked about books and drank tea and ate biscuits. Heath lilted Scottish airs when he was in a particularly good mood. The two became friends. Scott’s least favourite days were when Heath brooded and said less than ever. Scott found that it was because of Alistair, Heath’s older brother. They would meet and talk, but at times it would end in arguments. Heath’s isolation from the family and the world, his avoidance of romantic entanglement, and their parents’ concerns were the main topics of conflict.

“I love him, but we don’t always see eye to eye.”

“I fight with my parents too sometimes. They think I should talk to kids more.”

“I used to have the same problem when I was your age.”

“What did you do?”

Heath gestured to the space of the loft.

“Oh.” Scott huffed in amusement and sipped the peppermint tea, chewing on the dark green leaves in the cup.

“The more I grew up, the less I liked people. The opposite was for Alistair. I’m sure not all people are bad, per se, but I haven’t found any good ones lately.”

“I used to have friends, but then I started having fun in my English classes and talking about the things I read. They weren’t very interested.”

“Imagination and enthusiasm for life are qualities some people wish they had. Instead of appreciating it, they scorn what they don’t have. And you have a unique mind, Scott.” Heath touched his temple. “Never lose that.”

“That’s what Professor Fengle said. He teaches English at my school.”

“See. Maybe instead of only reading books, you’ll write them too.”

“Oh, I have loads of them in my notebooks.”

Heath grinned. “Well, then when you’re comfortable, I wouldn’t mind taking a look.”

“I’ll think about it.” Scott popped another gingernut in his mouth.

“Very well.”

As the months rolled by, the special friendship grew. Scott wrote to Heath over the holidays, and often their correspondences distracted them from the conflicts within their families and in their lives. After New Year’s Day, however, the bookshop was closed, and Scott no longer received any sign from Heath. It was a sad blow. He had forgotten how lonely he had been before meeting Heath, and now Heath had disappeared. January passed abysmally. February slogged by too. And March welcomed spring, but Scott had given up visiting the desolate bookshop.

Until one day in May, Scott had no reason to go there. Except, that day was the day Scott’s father drank too much whiskey after losing his job and started throwing things about the house. The boy ran out like a bullet out of the house and bumped into an officer who started running after him. Scott even forgot why he was running, but he couldn’t stop. Somehow he found himself in New Bond’s Street again and heading for the bookshop. He didn’t think for a second if the door was locked. And it wasn’t. He made straight for the loft in the backroom. The officer was close. Scott rapped on the door which opened in seconds.

Heath didn’t even have time to stop, Scott before he rushed into the loft and forced the door shut.

“Scott, what—”

“I need help. The police are after me.”

“What? Why? What did you do?”

“I can’t go back home,” Scott pressed his hands on his knees as he breathed raggedly. “Please.”

Another knock came at the door.

Without deciding to ask for an explanation, Heath grabbed the Book with No Name that he’d told Scott not to touch. “Pick a page and then close your eyes. Now.” Heath ran his thumb over the illustrated Gaelic-worded pages fast. The boy threw his palm over one and shut his eyes.

“Caladh dìomhair,” Heath whispered.

As a gust of wind blew, Scott opened his eyes and found himself in a forest of tall elms and copper dirt. He gasped as looked around with his jaw dropped. Swallows as large as cats swooped down over his head, and Phoenixes with flaming tails streaked the cobalt sky with fire. Coos echoed throughout the woods.

“Now, care to explain how come a policeman was askin’ about a laddie with coal-black locks and brown eyes. He seemed very bothered.” Scott turned around to find Heath standing behind him with a raised eyebrow and crossed arms.

“Where is this place?” Scott whispered, still looking around in shock.

Heath inhaled patiently. “It’s called Alous Coille. Scottish for ‘Flaming Woods.’”

“How?”

“The book takes you to a world beyond worlds. Any page is a place you could go. The words to take you there are Gaelic for ‘secret haven’. Now explain.” Heath leaned against a red elm.

“You explain first.” Scott glared.

“I explain— I saved your hide!” Heath furrowed his brow.

“I thought we were friends!”

“Who said we weren’t?”

“You stopped writing back. You disappeared. I trusted you.”

“Oh my—” Heath rubbed his face and felt his chest pinch. “Scott. I am honoured that I mean so much to you. I didn’t know. I— you remember I went to Scotland, to my home in Inverness, during the holidays.”

Scott nodded almost imperceptibly. Heath sunk to the dirt and patted the spot next to him. It was then when Scott sat by him that he noticed the pale, weary face and tired eyes.

“On New Year's Eve, I had a fight with my family. A bad one.” Heath looked ahead as the Phoenixes painted the starry skies. His voice lowered and his Scotts burr thickened. “I was in an ill temper when I drove to the airport. The roads were wet as a Loch Ness. Roads hairy as yaks. I didn’t see the car rounding the corner. I crashed into it, Scott. I was in a coma for four months. Alistair didn’t know what to do himself or the letters from friend he never knew I had. Today is the day I got back.”

Scott burrowed into Heath, who wrapped his arms around the boy and ran a hand over his back.

“Sh, sh, sh, ‘s aright, laddie.”

Scott sniffled.

“I’m here now. Why did you need to run? What’s got your nerves all tangled up?”

“My dad drinks. He got fired, and he got mad,” Scott whispered.

“You bumped into the police and thought he’d take you back,” Heath finished and shifted Scott into his lap as the boy burrowed into his shoulder. Heath knew how that went himself. “Let it out, laddie. I’ve got you.” He patted him on the bag, running his hand through the short brown locks. Heath began to lilt a soft air in Gaelic from his brother had taught him, and right now it felt like Scott was family. The melody floated in the air and danced in the rhythms of the woods. It drew in a sense of peace.

Once Scott calmed down, he shifted.

“Don’t worry. Time stops here. I can show you to good spots before we go back to the library.”

Scott yawned.

“After a wee kip.”

Scott nodded and nestled under his chin.

“You’re safe, laddie.”