Gaian Traveller

Chapter 1

Cough, cough! The cloud of dust settles around me as I set down the sheet I was shaking out. I look around the attic, a large, musty brown space with a single bay window at the front, filled to the brim with stuff; boxes and boxes of stuff.

I look down to see what was under the sheet. A large, ancient-looking chest sits there, with a bulky metal lock on the front. The lock is engraved with swirling symbols I can't begin to decipher. Curious, I try opening it, but to no avail; it's locked tight.

Huh. I'll probably ask Mom about that later. If anyone knows what kind of stuff  is up here, it's her. I grunt as I shove the chest towards the side of the room until it's leaning against the wall. Ugh! Why do I have to do this?? It's the first week of summer break, and here I am, cleaning the attic!

I turn to my next item: a tall mirror leaning up against a haphazard pile of who-knows-what. I take a moment to briefly study my reflection; staring back at me through the mirror is a girl with warm tan skin, dotted with a few freckles here and there, shoulder length wavy blonde hair, and bright golden eyes. She's wearing dark grey shorts and an oversized faded green t-shirt.

I close my eyes, refocus my mind on the task at hand, and get back to work. I dust off the mirror, then move it over by the chest, in my "don't know what to do with" corner. I've divided the clean parts of the attic into sections in which I can put the stuff from the rest of the attic while I'm cleaning. Weird, I know. But, hey, it works.

And this continues as my day goes on, and on, and on. Just an endless cycle of cleaning, sorting, moving, and more cleaning.

"Sara!" My mom's voice calls up from below. "You gonna come down for dinner?" Surprised, I look outside the window and see that it's gotten dark.

"Yeah Mom, just give me a minute!" I call back. I carefully start to shift things out of my way to clear a path towards the exit. As I make my way down the stairs, I see my cat, Crookshanks, flopping lazily at the bottom of the stairwell.

With a smile and a roll of my eyes, I lightly step over him and walk past to the kitchen. I see my mom at the stove mixing a big pot of chili. It smells amazing.

"Thanks Mom!" I say with a big smile as I go over and give her a hug.

"Of course, Flower," she says lightly. "So, how far did you get in the attic?"

I sigh. "About halfway." After a moment's pause, I ask, "why am I doing this anyway? The attic's been messy for years, why are we only cleaning up now? And why am I the only one doing it?"

"Sara, we've been over this. Cleaning the attic is your punishment for sneaking out to that concert last week with Jess. You're grounded until I think the attic looks presentable."

"Alright, I know." I grouch as I plop down at the table. We finish our dinner in relative silence and when I'm done, I just put my bowl in the sink and go up to my room.

As I scroll through Instagram while lying on my bed, my mind wanders back to that chest I found in the attic. I'd been so upset with my mom at dinner, I completely forgot to ask her about it.

I wonder what's in it, and why it's locked. Maybe it has some sort of family heirloom nobody knows about. It certainly looked old enough. I close my eyes as Crookshanks jumps on to my bed and snuggles up to my leg. I'll think about the chest tomorrow; now, I just want to sleep.

— — — — —

I wake up to my phone buzzing loudly. Groggily, I reach over to pick it up. Who's texting me? It's not even noon yet! I look down at my screen and freeze when I see who's name is on the screen.

It's Jess.

Let me fill you in. Jess is, or, was, my girlfriend. Last week, she convinced me to ditch school and go with her to a Panic! At The Disco concert. Don't get me wrong, the concert was amazing, it's just that when I got home, I got in serious trouble; and what did Jess do? Nothing.

She just texted 'whatever' and then proceeded to ask if we could go on a date first day of summer break. And when I tried to explain to her that I was grounded, she couldn't seem to wrap her head around the idea that I would actually listen to my mom.

I finally decided I couldn't take it anymore and dumped her. That may sound harsh, but she's been doing stuff like this ever since we started dating. When I did, literally all she did was text 'bitch'. No 'I'm sorry Sara!' or an 'alright, I get it.' Not even a 'why?'

You may be wondering why I started dating her in the first place. Honestly, I've wondered the same thing. The only semi-logical conclusion I can come up with is that she's super hot and was really sweet the first month or so of our relationship.

I sigh and look at the text.

'You wanna go out? 😘'

Seriously?!

'No' I type back.

'I told you, we're through!' Then I promptly blocked her number.

Did she really have the nerve to ask me out like that? Did she not think I was serious about the breakup? She doesn't even care about whether she gets me into trouble or not. I'm so glad I haven't kissed her yet.

Sighing again, I drag myself out of bed and head downstairs for breakfast. Mom's at work early, so I just pour myself a bowl of Coco Puffs and slouch on the couch. I know I should get to work in the attic soon; Mom will know if I don't do any work. Groaning, I put my bowl in the sink and head upstairs.

As I start up, Crookshanks looks at me lazily, before flopping his head down and going back to sleep. I open the door and look around the large, dusty space. With my mind on the day before, I wander over to the space where I left the chest and crouch down.

My fingers trace the old metal lock, as if I'm trying to find some sort of secret button that would open it. A ridiculous idea springs into my head, making me laugh, but since I have no alternatives, I decide to give it a shot anyways. Who knows, maybe it will work.

I reach towards my neck and carefully lift off the thin bronze chain looped around it. On the end of the chain is a small old key. I smile fondly at it; it was the last thing my dad had given me before he died. He said it belonged to my great-great-grandma Hetta.

Smiling a little, I push the key into the lock and turn. Click. My eyes widen with shock as the key turns and the lock clicks open.

Carefully, I pry open the lid and look inside, setting the key by my foot. When the lid is fully open, I gasp. The chest is full of what look like relics. Old, foreign relics from many different cultures.

I look in one corner and see an assortment of small drawstring pouches; each with a different color string binding them shut. In another corner, there's a folded piece of fabric that looks like it may be some sort of cloak.

On top of the cloak, there's a worn leather journal. As I lift it up, I notice the small handwriting on the corner of the cover. It says two simple words; Hetta Korris. Slowly, I start to open the book.

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Authors Note:

Hey! I'm just startling this story and I really hope it turns out good!! I don't really know what to say here so I guess just enjoy the book! 📖

(Also, I will try to update every Friday)

~Cece