The Summit by the Sea

By Michael Lajoie

Savage. Heathen. Stupid girl.

That's what the Christians call her.

The labels are inescapable, but Abilene knows who she is. She is Pax-a sentinel of forest, crag, and sea. A firm believer in the power of planting a tree out of goodwill. A rambler at heart, faithful to her roots. With all of this in mind, she sets off on a journey to the top of

• Language: English
• Publisher: Reddington Press
• Release date: Nov 10, 2020
• ISBN: 9780578763248

Book preview

Chapter One

Abilene reared her sweat-streaked face to the sky, her eyes closed and heart pounding. The sunlight suffused her upturned cheeks, red-orange through her eyelids and warm against her flushed skin. She squinted at the swaying canopy of leaves overhead and inhaled deeply. Cool mountain air rushed to her core, fueling her resolve. Spirits elevated, she lowered her head. Mud caked her legs and stained the ragged hem of her deerskin dress. She clasped the scallop shell that dangled from her neck and set her gaze on the mossy trail before her.

Her bare feet sank into the damp earth. They had come to know the essence of this winding path—every papery fern, jagged stone, and smooth serpentine root was stamped into her soul. She had been hiking for three weeks and had lost count of the miles somewhere along the way. Three weeks, and her journey was far from over. She was rambling toward uncertainty.

The trail, a gravelly slope framed by looming firs, progressed steeply upward. Abilene brushed her black curls out of her eyes and began to climb. Her muscles blazed in protest. Each step was careful, deliberate, and increasingly weary. The trees on either side of the trail recognized her plight and reached out to her cajolingly. She gripped their boughs for support and heaved herself onto level ground.

She sighed, grateful for the break the flatness offered—even though she knew it was brief. The trail had established a pattern of long days over level ground permeated by steep scrambles up and over lofty hills. The ascents broke the monotony but routinely slowed her to a snail’s pace. Abilene managed a laugh—she knew better than to scoff at a snail’s pace.

Many months ago, she had walked with her mother by the sea. They came from a little village of wigwams overlooking the coast. The ocean was their neighbor, their teacher, and their everlasting companion. They were Pax—sentinels of forest, crag, and sea.

Her mother had pointed to a glistening line in the sand, which Abilene came to recognize as the trail of a snail the size of a pebble. She had leaned down, positioning herself at eyeline with the tiny creature, fascinated by its determination. Where do you think he’s going? she asked.

Abilene’s mother shrugged. I don’t know, she said. He may not even know. Maybe he’ll find out along the way.

Abilene considered the snail with pursed lips. He looks lost.

That doesn’t matter, her mother said dismissively. What matters is that he has the will to keep moving forward.

He still has a long way to go.

Her mother nodded. Yes, but look at how far he’s come.

Abilene traced the snail’s slick trail with her eyes. It measured only about as long as her forearm.

It doesn’t look like much to us, her mother admitted, taking note of her unimpressed expression. But from our friend’s perspective, he’s no doubt traveled a great distance.

They watched in silence as the snail approached a cluster of shells strewn in his path. He scaled them with apparent ease, continuing on his way. But just as the snail surmounted the obstacle, the ocean heaved a sigh and he was lost in the foaming surf.

Abilene winced. Her mother squinted at the receding water ruefully. At length, they found the snail half-buried and upside-down, embedded in the glassy shore like a knob in a plank of petrified wood. Abilene freed him sympathetically, washing the sand from his shell and placing him on his stomach. The snail was still for a moment, as though gathering his bearings, before inching forward with sluggish fervor. On the freshly-smoothed surface of the shore, he began blazing a new path into the unknown.

Abilene’s mother broke into a grin. You see? Slowly, pensively, resiliently—our friend perseveres.

So, too, would Abilene persevere. The trail broke into a clearing. She smiled musingly, knowing she’d finally reached the top of this undistinguished hump in the wilderness. She peered through a gap in the evergreen walls of the glade, looking out across the vast forested expanse. It was the first view she’d seen in days, so she savored it. A cavalcade of crags was stretched out before her, each one wooded to the crest. To the north, she discerned the next hill she’d traverse, and the next.

Several peaks down the line she spotted her ultimate destination, the culmination of her efforts: the highest peak in the land. The Pax called it Spero. It was a sheer horn of a mountain with ravine-scarred flanks and a summit enveloped in a realm of clouds. It was said that those who reached the summit were true Pax—true stewards of forest, crag, and sea.

Stepping back from the view, Abilene kissed her scallop shell necklace and beamed at the reality of her accomplishment. She knew in the back of her mind that this was hardly the most difficult part of her journey, but reminded herself that even the smallest summits signified her success. Every step she took toward Spero was a victory.

The trail beckoned to her. There were more mountains to explore. It was time to move on.

She descended the hill quickly, hiking alongside a trickling stream that awakened her thirst. As she knelt over the sparkling water, she caught a glimpse of her bedraggled reflection. Her skin was the color of the streambed, of rich dark silt, while her hair resembled a tangled mass of sunbaked seaweed. She had eyes like a pair of freshly extinguished embers that still radiated warmth, eyes that burned with determination through a mounting fog of fatigue. There were sagging craters beneath them that she tried in vain to rub away. She laughed to herself. Barely noon and she looked as though she hadn’t slept in days...

Abilene’s gaze dropped to her necklace, and her thoughts drifted to its origins. She recalled her last conversation with her mother on the eve of her journey north. They had been wandering through the pale bands of shells that adorned the shore, oceanic treasures that marked a threshold between worlds. The ocean was ever-giving. With every breath, it deposited the bone-white abodes of oysters, crabs, muscles, and snails onto the sand. They were innumerable—fragmented and full; spiraled and smooth.

Abilene’s mother had stooped down and plucked a single shell from the shore. She passed it through a sinew thread, tied the two ends together, and presented the gift to her daughter. It was a scallop shell, a true relic of the sea—full, unbroken, and the size of Abilene’s palm. The sun and surf had left it weathered, and traces of sand still lingered in its faded blue grooves.

Abilene donned the necklace, smiling as the pendant settled over her heart. She hugged her mother tightly.

I wish you could come, she said. Her hike to the summit of Spero was a coming-of-age ritual that had to be completed alone. Her people called it the Rambling. She would be celebrated upon her return.

Her mother pointed to the scallop shell with a smile. I’ll be with you through it all, she said. My girl…I’m so proud of you. There was love in her eyes, love as soft and tender as moonlight. Love that lined the creases of her face and radiated from her smile. You’re ready.

Abilene sighed. The Rambling had long been a distant ambition, a task to prepare herself for—but now that it was time for her to go, she felt daunted by the trip ahead. I know I am, she said.

You’ll have to convince yourself of that before you can convince me.

The unexplainable truth made its way to Abilene’s lips. "I’m