I woke the following morning to a ray of spring sunshine that sneaked through a slight gap in my curtains and onto my eyelids.

Groaning that it was too early, I rolled over and buried my head under the pillow to try to escape the offending glimmer of dawn.

It was another few minutes before I realised it was Saturday. As I'd established the previous day, it was the perfect opportunity to visit my favourite haunt on the far side of Murphy's Farm and determine whether my crazy notions may have any basis in reality.

I didn't realise the full extent of the glorious weather until I stepped outside with a shovel from the shed and blinked in the bright daylight. Birdsong filled my ears, and the flowers that bordered the gravel driveway exuded a variety of hues and textures under the cloudless sky. The temperature was higher than I'd been expecting, and I idly wondered whether the maroon sweater I'd thrown on over my shirt was overkill.

Still, this was Ireland, and despite the promising start to the day, there was always potential for a change in wind direction to bring the stormy coastal clouds in our direction. Having been caught out too many times in the past to risk it, I decided the sweater could stay on for now, slipped behind the wheel of my Peugeot and drove through the quiet streets towards my destination.

Riding lessons were already in full swing when I arrived at the picturesque farmstead, and it didn't take me long to spot your mother in the midst of the throng.

"Ryan," she greeted me with a radiant smile as I approached her. "Long time, no see. Here for riding lessons?"

"Not today," I told her with a chuckle. "I was actually hoping to ask you for a favour. Do you remember when I was a kid, how I used to like to dig around in the earth by the old oak tree over there?"

I gestured across the length of the field to the expanse of grassy land where the ancient tree oversaw the farmstead.

Mrs Murphy nodded as her gaze drifted momentarily in the direction I'd indicated before returning her focus to me.

"I certainly do," she chuckled affectionately. "You used to think you were unearthing buried treasure from the house that burned down."

Her analysis was accurate enough, and I nodded my agreement.

"Something like that," I grinned. "I was wondering whether you'd mind if I had another try?"

"Aren't you a little old for that now?" she asked amicably, looking a little bewildered at my strange request.

"Maybe," I shrugged, still smiling. "Would you rather I didn't? I know it's a bit cheeky."

"Not at all, it's absolutely fine," she replied. "We always intended to make use of that land by building a little property that we could rent out, but we never seem to manage to find the time to make it happen. So, while it's not being used for anything else, you may as well get some pleasure out of it. Poking around over there is certainly not my idea of fun, especially in this warmer weather, but if it's something you're going to enjoy, go ahead and fill your boots."

I nodded in acknowledgement, relieved that my strange request had been acceptable to her.

"Thanks Mrs Murphy."

"Enjoy!" she chirped brightly as she meandered away to check on the novice riders.

After fetching the shovel from the back seat of the car, I negotiated the stile at the far side of the modest parking area, which led into a meadow where a dozen or so sheep were grazing. The brisk walk to the opposite side of the broad field in the bright sunshine resulted in sweat gathering on my brow already, and I hadn't even started my excavation yet.

Pulling my sweater off over my head, I immediately felt a little cooler, and surveyed the site while tying the superfluous item of clothing around my waist.

The morning sun had cast a shadow of the ancient, majestic oak over the verdant terrain on the north-west side of the tree. Given that the day was warmer that I'd expected, physical exertion in the shade was more certainly appealing than digging in the direct sunlight, so I positioned myself in the shadow so that I was sheltered as much as I could be from the incoming heat. Reasoning that as the sun moved across the morning sky, the shade cast by the tree would move too, I determined my plan of action and set to work.

As the shovel broke through the surface of the grassy earth, I noted that this was an area I hadn't investigated before. My previous endeavours as a child had all been focused on the location of the house that I knew had burned to the ground, and the land I was currently excavating fell just outside that region.

The act of gouging out diminutive craters in the vicinity of where I'd spent so much time doing the same as a youth, transported me back to when I was ten years old. Armed only with a trowel, back then my passion and enthusiasm had been more salient in producing results than my ability, since neither my arm nor my tool were powerful enough to yield any outcome I might otherwise have attained.

As I continued to repeatedly push the shovel into the soil around the tree, I remembered the thrill of finding my first artifact in the earth at that tender age. It had been less than a hundred metres from where I currently toiled, and at first, I'd assumed it was another dirt-covered stone. However, the thin regular curve to it had prompted me to take a second look, and after I'd given it a clean with my sleeve, I'd been elated to discover a shabby copper half-penny. I recalled vividly how I'd just about been able to make out the heraldic emblem of Ireland, the crowned harp, on one of the sides of the coin, along with the word 'Hibernia' and the year of issue, 1805. The head of King George the third lay on the reverse, his eroded head adorned with a wreath.

I had adored that coin. I'd found something exhilarating about being the first person to touch an item that had lain dormant in the earth for over two hundred years. It ignited a love of history that would stay with me for years to come, ultimately influencing the direction my studies took at school and then college.

Along with several other coins, I'd unearthed a few fragments of pottery and other small vestiges from the early nineteenth century on subsequent visits to the site, which I kept on the shelves in my bedroom. The objects themselves didn't have much in the way of financial significance - the coins weren't in good enough condition to sell, and the pottery was always fractured or broken. The only real value they held was to me personally, feeding my imagination with reveries of the past. My mind delighted in conjuring up fictitious situations from these relics, like a family eating their evening meals with the crockery I'd found, or maybe paying a visit to a local market where the coins were part of their exchange.

My shovel unexpectedly hit something solid, pulling me abruptly from my childhood memories and back into the present.

Peering into the gap in the ground, I tried to ascertain how best to dig such that I might reasonably extract whatever it was I'd found. Several minutes of focusing on displacing the earth around the object loosened it enough that I felt confident I'd be able to pull it free by hand.

Setting my tool to one side, I knelt and reached into the hole I'd created, fumbling with whatever the item was until I'd dislodged it enough to extricate it.

I found myself holding a simple but sturdy wooden box that may have once been used for the safekeeping of keys or other trinkets, but it wasn't big enough to store anything larger. It appeared to have been crafted by hand, with an engraved, rudimentary image of a crown on the lid.

As I turned the unusual receptacle over for closer inspection, I both heard and felt the movement of something inside. A little startled, but curious to find out what secrets were contained within the vessel, I turned the box upright and opened it.

"What on earth?" I breathed in astonishment.

A polished gold pendant, no bigger than my palm and seemingly unaffected by the passage of time, was unquestionably looking out of place in its relatively plain, unadorned container, despite it fitting inside the box almost perfectly. I could see that the concentric circles which gave the principal configuration of the piece were each engraved with different runes, and I was immediately keen to understand what they meant.

Lifting the pendant out carefully not only gave me better scope to study the symbols, but also revealed that there were two eyelets, each about the same size as the circumference of one of my fingers, at opposite ends of the trinket. It was certainly pretty enough to be worn as jewellery, and I surmised that one possible purpose of these smaller holes might be to attach a chain, thus turning the pendant into a necklace.

Refocusing my attention on the main design, I concluded that the runes depicted the heavens. The outermost ring appeared to contain images of stars, while the second one portrayed a sun and a crescent moon. The centre of the pendant was a circular hole, with similar proportions to an old two pence coin.

It was as beautiful as it was intriguing, and I had no doubt it would look even more impressive in the sun.

Pushing myself upright with my free hand, I left the shade of the oak and carried the piece of jewellery into the light. Glinting in the sunshine, it was even more dazzling than I anticipated, with an almost ethereal quality to it.

Marvelling at its beauty, I struggled to believe I could have happened upon such a striking antique by chance. But if my finding this pendant wasn't a coincidence, then how were all these strange phenomena connected?

My thoughts turned to Cormac's diary, which was the inspiration behind my being here. I recalled that he said that the one bearing the name 'Fire King' would know where to look and what to do. But if it had been me that he had alluded to - if he really did somehow intend for me to be the one to find this small wooden box hidden in the ground two centuries later - I genuinely didn't understand what was supposed to happen next.

Did he mean for me to take it home with me and keep it? Or perhaps donate it to the museum along with his diary?

I wished he'd left me more information than a cryptic note in the back of a book.

Frustrated, my gaze shifted to the plot of land where Cormac's house had burned so long ago - and so close to where I'd unearthed this treasure.

Everything seemed to lead back here, but why? What was the significance of this place? Did it all link back to the fire?

My mind wandered to what it must have been like. Cringing internally, I imagined Cormac inside his house, terrified for his life as he battled against the raging flames. A deliberate act such as arson - especially a homophobic one - made my blood boil. How humans could wilfully do that to each other was beyond my comprehension.

The more I envisioned the ghastly nightmare, the more palpable it became, until it really felt like I was catching the acrid scent of sulphur and smoke in the air, and I could make out the crackling of burning wood.

In fact, it felt so real that I started becoming uneasy. I knew I had a vivid imagination but I'd never experienced scents or sounds alongside anything I'd pictured before.

Concerned, I began to deliberately try to grasp some awareness of the source of these additional features of my vagary. I quickly ascertained that the scents and sounds weren't emanating from the site of the house that used to stand across from me - they were coming from my hand.

As I lifted the pendant into view, I could feel my heart thumping faster with every passing moment.

The steady spitting and sizzling of smouldering timber, along with wisps of swirling grey smoke, were apparently coming from the central aperture of the golden ornament I'd extracted from the box in the ground.