Feet of the Nevis

By Terrence Pershall

Imagine sometime in the distant past, before modern and organized societies, and several thousand years after the dinosaurs roamed the earth, a time when the earth was still relatively uninhabited other than tribes that roamed the planet across the varied continents. Suddenly, there are advanced colonies scattered across the planet that have the skill and knowledge to build great pyramids, build ships that can sail great distances and navigate based upon the stars, people with knowledge of the cosmos and mathematics.

One such colony has sprung up along the coast of what is now known as central California, a village of perhaps two-hundred-plus souls who have come from far away. Among these are a young man and a young woman who have fallen in love but must overcome the embodiment of evil itself. They also must search for the object that will tell of their past and of their origins—an object that is critical to the successful continuation of their future and of the future of generations to come.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Page Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Dec 22, 2020
• ISBN: 9781662421129

Book preview

Chapter I

A Morning Walk

It was one of those rare and beautiful mornings where the April sun dawned in a cloudless sky and the breeze blew gently off the eastern hills fresh with the scent of earth and pine and bay trees.

I was ten years old and spending time with my grandfather, which I loved to do. My twin sister and I were walking side by side along a cliff above the ocean in a small coastal town in north central California, just happy to be hanging out together. I can remember the delicious smells of the salt spray mixing with the rockrose and sage that grew wild in that area.

As we walked, we came to a promontory that overlooked the rocks below and stopped for a minute to enjoy the view. I looked down to see small waves breaking on the rocks below and dissolving into white foam. As they brushed the cliff, the seawater retreated through the cracks and crevices in the rocks following the contours and outlines of the rock shelf.

That was when I noticed something unusual about these particular rocks. I turned to my grandfather and said, Papy, look at those rocks. They look like someone’s feet!

My grandfather looked down then back at me. A large smile crossed his face, and he said, Aidan, my boy, let’s have a seat over there by the cliff, and I will tell you and your sister how those particular rocks came to be.

As we sat down, I was deliriously happy. My grandfather always told great stories. Sometimes, though, he would get carried away and forget about the time, which drove my mother nuts. The story that he told us that day, however, I have never forgotten, and to this day, I visit the same spot with my children and look down and see those same footprints, footprints locked in stone, the feet of the Nevis.

You see, Aidan, my grandfather began, many, many, many years ago, there was a special group of people that lived in those distant hills. He turned and pointed to the soft green slopes that rose to become the coastal mountain range. "They were neither Indians nor native to this land, and they preceded the Spanish and the Russians by centuries. They were an advanced and civilized society and were dedicated to living peaceful lives that were completely in harmony with their surrounding environment. They were accomplished in science, agriculture, engineering, astronomy, metallurgy, music and art, and many other things that we find in our lives today. Where they came from is another story in itself, but suffice to say that after many generations, they had arrived at an equilibrium with their surroundings and lived full and happy lives.

One of their numbers was a young man who went by the name of Trasker. At twenty-three years of age, he was over six feet tall, and his blue eyes set on his handsome face made him stand out in a crowd. He was living on the coast with a man named Quill and had just completed his obligatory five years of training and service that every young man and woman of the village was required to do prior to reaching the age of twenty-one years.

*****

Now that Trasker was finished with his five years of service and training under the watchful eye of Quill, who had become like a father to him, he was happy to stay and work with Quill, providing the village with fresh fish and shellfish. Trasker had lost his real father when he was a boy of twelve and therefore treasured his relationship with Quill and was starting to feel a little apprehensive about leaving. Quill and the seashore had become his home for the last five years with only short breaks to visit his mother in the village. His mother was alone except for Elcarl, her helper, and he knew that she would love to have him around. It would also be nice to sleep in a real bed instead of a rope hammock, and his mother’s cooking was certainly better than Quill’s.

It was an early spring morning as they sat together in front of the small warehouse and living quarters that Trasker had called his home for the last five years. Trasker was preparing to return to his village as his five years of service had been completed, and he wanted to check on his mother. They sat on the bench in front of Quill’s warehouse enjoying the warmth of the early morning fire Quill had built. They sat for a while in silence, then Trasker spoke, I’m going to miss this place as well as your companionship, Quill.

And I you, lad, said Quill, standing to throw another piece of wood on the fire. Sitting down, he grabbed his cup of hot tea, which was their custom at the start of each day. You’ll be back before long. The fish will be running soon, and we have the trading voyage coming up in late summer. This will be a good break for you, and besides, your mother will be happy to see you.

True enough, replied Trasker. And I will be glad to spend some time with Mother and enjoy some of her cooking.

What? Are you telling me that you don’t like my cooking? said Quill, feigning offense.

Not at all. You do a fine job, but it will be a nice change to eat something other than fish and shellfish for every meal. I’m getting a little weary of salted cod for breakfast.

Ah, lad, you have no idea how good the fruits of the sea are for your constitution. Why do you think that you can swim like a fish? It’s because you eat so much fish. Quill laughed his raspy laugh and almost spilled his tea.

The sun was beginning to reach them now as it climbed slowly over the hills behind them. Waves broke lazily on the sand beach, turning the glassy slate green water into a cauldron of white foam and salt spray. Beyond the waves, perhaps a mile or so offshore, sat the ever-present bank of fog, like a soft gray wall.

Trasker looked at Quill and said, In the last five years, you have taught me many things and explained many mysteries, but I still have never been able to figure out the behavior of the fog.

Quill scratched his thick black-and-gray beard and said, Well, lad, it’s like this. I’ve been over, under, and around this old sea for forty years now, and I have yet to figure it out either. The best explanation I ever got was from this old Indio fella that used to come down here to gather shells. He told me that the fog was a place of cover where the spirits of the dead watched over the activities of their living relatives without being seen. He told me that these spirits come ashore at night, under the cover of fog, and protect their loved ones from any evil that’s afoot. Then as the sun rises, they retreat with the fog and wait silently offshore until the night returns or they are needed. He said that these spirits know when evil is about and will always be there.

It’s funny the ideas these Indios have, said Trasker. Well, I had better take my morning swim before I start my journey home. See you in a while.

At that, Trasker stood and stretched his lean, muscular body and trotted to the water’s edge. He stood there for a moment, tying back his long curly reddish-blond hair with a length of twine, and stared at the fogbank, wondering if his father’s spirit was out there watching him.

Trasker lost his father when he was a boy of twelve. His mother had never shared any details about his father’s death other than he had disappeared on an exploratory expedition to the mountains far to the north of their village. He had been with some of the bravest and strongest men of the village, but there had been some kind of terrible event from which only one survived. This survivor made it back to the village barely alive and was only to give a partial account of what happened before he died of his wounds. He was determined to find out what happened one day, but until then, it was better not to dwell on it.

Trasker’s thoughts were interrupted by a surge of water around his feet signaling that the tide was on its way in. If he was to enjoy the surf at its best, he had better get in the water sooner rather than later. Turning north, he started his run down the beach, taking advantage of the hard sand. After about a mile or so, he was sufficiently warm and decided it was time get wet.

Trasker braced himself for the shock of the cold water and dove in, swimming with strong and steady strokes out to the surf line. As he reached the point just beyond the break line, he paused for a moment to catch his breath and checked the horizon for incoming waves. He saw a wave rising in his direction and determined that he was in the right spot to catch it and ride it to shore. At just the right moment, he turned and started stroking for shore, feeling the wave pick him up with its momentum. Just as the wave started to break, he felt his body start to drop and turned into the face of the wave, riding it half the way to the beach. Diving under it just before it broke on top of him, he surfaced behind it and stroked back out to the surf line looking for the next wave to ride. This was one of the things that he would miss the most when he returned to the village. As he treaded water, he thought of the last five years. There was the hard work, of course, but also the many things that he’d learned and especially his relationship with Quill. Quill had been his instructor and mentor, but he really had been more than that. He had been like the father he missed. He was steady and patient but stern and unyielding when it came to life’s lessons. Quill had filled a void in his life at a critical time, and he was extremely grateful for this.

After a while, Trasker started to feel cold and decided that it was time to catch one last wave. He waited until he could see the last wave of the set coming, then he turned and once again started stroking for the shore. Once again, he felt the wave lift him as it built, and he suddenly realized that this wave was much larger and more powerful than the others. There was nothing he could do but ride it as he started to free-fall from its crest. Down he went tumbling across the face of the wave until he was at the bottom. Looking up, he saw the wave begin to break, and he knew it would come down with its full force on top of him. He took a huge gulp of air and waited.

It felt like a ton of rocks had fallen on him, pushing him all the way to the sandy bottom then lifting him up and tumbling him to a point where he didn’t know what was up and what was down. He was out of breath, and there was no sign that the wave was going to let go of him. He began to panic a little, then suddenly, he was spit to the surface, which allowed him another quick gasp of air, and then just as quickly was sucked down again. Finally, the wave’s grasp eased, and he was able to scratch his way to the surface and was washed up on the beach just like a piece of driftwood. He crawled on his hands and knees past the waterline and rolled over and blacked out.

He lay there slowly coming to, his head swimming and his chest heaving, coughing up saltwater. He slowly opened his eyes, and he saw the outline of what looked like a person staring down at him. Slowly his mind became clearer, and he began to focus, then he came completely conscious with a start. The face peering down at him was the ugliest and oddest he had ever seen. It had cruel eyes and a small wrinkled face with a misshapen nose that looked like it had been broken at some time in the past. Its breath was fetid, and it had random tufts of hair on its head, like someone had pulled parts of it out in chunks. He was suddenly racked with a coughing spell that seemed to startle the creature, and it jumped straight up and ran and kind of hopped like a crab down the beach, turning up into the brush of a coastal canyon. He coughed the remaining saltwater from his lungs, stood up, and walked slowly down the beach to where Quill was still sitting in front of the warm fire.

Trasker told Quill what had happened, and he roared with laughter. I told you that you have to be careful out there. Never take Mother Ocean for granted, and always watch your back.

Trasker went on to describe the creature he saw when he came to, and a puzzled look crossed Quill’s face. I haven’t seen anything like that around here ever. Are you sure it wasn’t one of those Indios?

It wasn’t like any Indio I’ve ever seen, replied Trasker. This thing was small, and although he was shaped like a man, he ran like an animal. He was the ugliest thing I have ever seen. His face looked like pure evil.

Hurumph, grunted Quill. I’ll have to keep my eyes peeled. Maybe he was just foraging, or maybe he was up to no good. In any case, lad, you had better get started on your way. It’s a far piece to the village, and it will take you the better part of the day to get there, even if you can run as fast as those pretty couriers.

All right, Quill, I’ll try to return in a month’s time to help you with the catch. It all depends upon how my mother is doing and how quickly I can get the repairs to the house done.

Trasker stood and went in and filled his knapsack with his clothes and his personal items. He looked around the small dark room that had been his home for the last five-plus years, remembering how depressed and lonely he had been when he first arrived. Quill had done his best to make him feel welcome but never coddled him, and now thinking back, it was exactly what he needed. He returned to the fire where Quill was still sitting.

Thanks, Quill, said Trasker and reached out his hand. Quill rose and took his hand, then he pulled Trasker to him and gave him a big hug.

Take care, lad. Now be off with ya, and give my best to your mother!

Trasker turned and headed up the path that switched back and forth across the cliff’s face. He could smell the rockrose that grew out of the hillside as well as the salt air. These were smells that would always remind him of Quill and the time he spent here. Reaching the top, he turned and took one last look at the vast, sparkling sea that he had come to love. He would be back.

Quill stood and watched him go and suddenly felt a pang of loneliness. He would miss that boy. He was not only a friend but also the son he never had. Yes, he was going to miss him greatly. As he stood there watching Trasker disappear, his thoughts turned to the story of the creature, and he felt an involuntary chill run through his body.

Chapter II

Trasker

Walking northward along the cliff, Trasker came to the trail that would lead him to Fon en Diel, his village, which lay in the foothills to the east. The sun was up and beaming over the ridge of coastal mountains and spreading its warmth through his body, allowing him to relax a bit and enjoy his walk.

Walking was always a good time to consider things, thought Trasker, and there was much to consider now that he was free of his indenture and a man of his own. He could return to work with Quill, which appealed to him, or he could remain in the village and see what might interest him there. He liked the idea of being close to his mother and his boyhood friends, but he also liked the freedom of the sea and the opportunities to visit different places and even the danger and excitement involved. Well, he had plenty of time to sort this out. For now, he was content to enjoy the peace and beauty that surrounded him.

At twenty-three years of age, he was tall at six feet, four inches and athletic, with eyes as blue as the ocean and long curly reddish-blond hair. He was a particular favorite with the women he had encountered on his travels with Quill but was always aloof with the opposite sex. For reasons unknown to him, he liked women but never felt an urge to pursue them.

He turned up the trail heading in the direction of the hills and immediately noticed the change in surroundings. He could hear the buzz of bees and other insects going about their daily routines and the calls and songs of the many varieties of birds that made their homes in the nearby bushes and trees. He recognized the herbal scent of the rockrose that grew prolifically along the coastal bench as well as the sage and the coyote brush that provided both food and shelter for so many of the animals that lived here.

All this brought back memories of when he was a boy and the hunting trips he had made with his father. He remembered the first time his father taught him the use of a long bow, a weapon that his people had copied from the Indios of the region. He recalled how proud his father was when he won the village competition with this weapon, beating boys five and six years older than he was. He missed his father terribly.

As he walked, Trasker became pensive. The images and thoughts of his father began to galvanize into a resolve to learn everything there was to learn about his disappearance. Once and for all, he had to learn the reason for his father’s death. All he could really remember was the mood at the time of the tragedy. It was as if a pall had been cast over the entire village, as if everyone in the village had suffered the same loss. He remembered that his mother had wept for days and days, and at one point, he thought that she would perish from the grief she felt. She went for weeks without eating and finally had to be put under the care of the village healers.

Then one day, an older man came to their house. He was tall and bent and wore an unusual necklace that looked like small crystal squares and carried an equally unusual staff. This man sat and visited with his mother for several hours then left. It was shortly after this visit that his mother started to recover. She had ceased crying and began to eat and, within a matter of days, seemed to be back to her full strength. She never mentioned what they spoke of or even who this man was, just that he was very wise and most kind. For years afterward, however, Trasker would still see the look of deep sorrow cross his mother’s face from time to time and knew that she missed his father as much as he did.

In the years that followed, many men in the village had taken Trasker under their wing, had taught him many things, and cared for him, but none better than Quill. It was this and his best friend Axtant that had helped get through those terrible years, and for these people in his life, he was extremely grateful.

Axtant was the same age as Trasker, and his father had accompanied Micus, Trasker’s father, on the same expedition. It was Axtant’s father who had found his way back to the village, badly wounded, to deliver the news about the fate of the expedition those many years ago. And to his friend’s grief, his father succumbed to his wounds, thereby creating a lifelong bond between Axtant and Trasker. After that, Trasker and Axtant were inseparable.

The years passed, and their sorrow faded eventually. But their bond remained strong, and they had many childhood adventures. This went on until they became of age and were required by village custom to pursue a skill or pursuit for which they had an aptitude and would benefit the village in some form.

Axtant had always loved the mountains and had always been fascinated by the metals that the mines yielded and the objects that the forge produced from these ores. So it was to the mines and the forge that Axtant went for his apprenticeship with the goal of becoming a master forger like their older friends, the twins Thornau and Thornox.

As for Trasker, he had fallen in love with the great sea. This had happened the first time he had seen it. He was with his father on one of their seasonal hunting trips. They had been chasing a deer through the brush and had ended up in one of the many canyons that run from the hills to the sea like giant scars in the land. They had followed their prey down a game trail and run into a large brown bear that was foraging for berries with her two cubs. The bear was startled at first, then her motherly instincts took over. She reared up on her hind legs and lunged at Trasker and his father. They didn’t need to stop and discuss the fact that this bear was extremely upset and that they had disturbed her and her cubs. They turned and ran back up the same game trail they had come down with the bear in hot pursuit. It wasn’t long until they heard the mother bear coming after them through the brush and decided to take a detour down a different trail leading off to the west. They ran and ran, but the bear still pursued. The trail was extremely overgrown, and the surrounding brush tore at their faces and clothes, but they couldn’t stop. They pushed themselves through a particularly large bush and suddenly found themselves airborne then tumbling down the face of a cliff, finally landing in the soft sand at the bottom.

Lying there out of breath, scraped and bruised, Trasker suddenly realized how quiet it had become. He also became aware of a different scent to the air and a soft sound in the background that he had never heard before. Raising his head, he was met with a sight that he would never forget. There, spread out before him, was the vast blue-green water of the ocean sparkling like a sea of diamonds. The salt air, the waves rolling in with a constant rhythm, the warm sand beneath him combined to make Trasker a little dizzy. He was so mesmerized he didn’t hear his father ask him if he was all right and had to be shaken by his father before he snapped out of it.

That night, they made camp on the beach and sat by a raging fire, dining on a couple of rabbits they had caught earlier, before the encounter with the mother bear. It was from that point on that Trasker knew he wanted to do something that would keep him near the sea, and he didn’t hesitate when the opportunity to work with Quill presented itself.

He had made many trips back to the shore before his apprenticeship with Quill began. Now that he had completed his apprenticeship as a sea master, he was satisfied that he had accomplished a major goal in his life.

The sun was almost directly overhead now, and he had been walking for over four hours. His stomach was telling him that it was time to eat, so he began to look for a comfortable spot to stop and have his midday meal. After traveling a bit farther, he came to a stream bank and found a cool, shady spot to sit and rest and eat by the gently flowing stream.

This was, he saw, a neat grove of bay trees, and he selected a large tree close to the stream and settled down on the soft cushion of fallen leaves that lay on the ground at the bottom of the tree. As he settled in, he could smell the aromatic scent of the bay leaves. It was as if the surrounding bay, oak, and madrone were whispering to him, welcoming him, and inviting him to rest.

Carefully opening the piece of cloth that held the lunch Quill had prepared, he discovered a sizable slab of smoked fish that Quill knew was his favorite. This fish, with its pink flesh and sweet but hearty flavor, came from the sea near the river mouths of the waters that flowed down from the mountains. These fish could live in the salty environment of the sea but could also survive in the fresh water of the streams and coastal rivers. Quill only fished for these fish at certain times during the year and then smoked some of the fish in order to preserve them. There was always an abundant supply of these fish, and Quill wanted to keep it that way.

Along with the fish was a crust of bread and an apple, which rounded out a great meal by Trasker’s standards. He wolfed down the fish and bread and saved the apple for dessert. After finishing, he tossed the apple core into the surrounding brush and lay his head back against the trunk of the tree, listening to the gurgling stream and feeling the warm breeze wash over him. With the herbal scent of the bay acting like a sedative, he was soon deep asleep.

After some time, he awoke with a start, unclear at first as to where he was. He had slept fitfully with visions of his father and of the ugly creature he saw at the beach that morning alternating in and out. It was like there was a connection, but what it might be wasn’t clear. He looked around and could see that the sun had long since passed its midpoint and was now traveling the western sky. He had better get up and get moving if he was to make it to the village before nightfall.

He rose and walked to the stream, kneeling over it and submerging his head in the rushing waters. He felt the cold, clear water begin to revive him, running over the back of his head with the gentle current tugging at his long reddish-blond hair.

As he raised his head from the water, he wiped the water from his eyes, and when he opened them, he saw someone standing not three feet away from him. His vision was still somewhat blurred, and he was startled and jumped up quickly, slipping on the wet, mossy