No other symbols, as far as he could see. Although there were plenty of knots in the branches of the witch’s broom, none of them were eternity knots. But maybe someone here would have seen that symbol. Maybe someone here could point the way to Craig Village and Rookskill Castle.

He opened the door to a smoky room filled with mostly men, who stopped as one to stare as he entered.

“Ach, come on, lad, it be dreich,” snapped a portly woman who, walking by, managed to yank his arm and pull him inside and shut the door behind him despite the fact that she was carrying a whiskey bottle and glasses.

Isaac swallowed. “Hello,” he said, nodding to the crowd.

Silence filled the room. Many eyes on him, a stranger. Isaac felt too small inside and too tall outside. He felt different from these dour, ruddy Scotsmen, and he figured they knew he was different, too, and maybe they wouldn’t like someone different. He cleared his throat, mustering his best English. “I am refugee. Escaping the Nazis.”

A low murmur around the room. Some faces softened, some grew hard.

“I am looking for a, um, circle of rings,” he said, not knowing how else to describe the eternity knot, so he made a gesture in the air. He’d lost the paper in the hut and didn’t want to pull the pendant from underneath his shirt. And as the fire popped and the light inside glowed and the sky outside darkened, he added, “And a place to stay the night.”

At that, the woman said to him, “Sit ye doon, lad. Ye can rest here, in the room above.”

The rest of the company went back to their business, talking of weather and winter and war, though some cast him low, wary glances. The pub smelled of roasted vegetables and the sharp tang of alcohol, the fire crackled, and he was warmed by the closeness despite the cool looks.

Isaac found a small table and set his pack between his legs. He’d been given enough money to more than pay for his food and lodging, for at least tonight. The woman brought him a hunk of bread and a bowl of soup and he wolfed it down, starving after so many days without much to eat. Though once he was settled, his mind returned to his parents and the monster and the casket.

Just what had he stepped into when he’d stepped off that boat?

“Laddie, if ye be looking for rings, there be one na far.”

The man leaned over from the adjacent table, catching Isaac’s eye.

“One?” Isaac echoed, hope rising.

“Aye. A great ring of stone.”

“Ah,” Isaac said, disappointed, as he was sure that was not what he sought. “Do you know of a Rookskill? A castle? A village called Craig?”