Dawn is near in the world of Evergreen. Signs of the day’s first sunrise appear through the mountain region known as the Grand Divide. The night’s bronze sky, which never fully darkens, shows hints of gold between the many mountain peaks that touch the clouds. As beams of light reach out to warm the land, Evergreen’s second sun – the closest and smallest of the two – rises to the shrill of the animal world, an ancient warning to turn away from its initial burst of light or experience “pukka dim” – a day without sight.
On the side farthest from the two suns, the morning sky begins to hide a bright tourmaline moon of pink and green. A few moments later, only a silhouette of the crystalline quarter-moon remains, and both suns are visible from anywhere across the land. The world of Evergreen is now bustling with activity.
One look from anywhere in the land and you can see why Evergreen’s first native families, the Acaba and the Jadenbu, named it as they did. Trees made of redwood one hundred feet wide and ten times as tall form deep and endless skylines, overshadowed only by the Grand Divide itself. Season after season, the valleys, hillsides and snow-capped mountain chains are blanketed in a dozen shades of green. Lakes divide the contours of these lush landscapes. Amber-filled ravines rest in and around the immense knotted roots that, according to legend, once belonged to “Mesequoya” – the great redwood tree that touches the suns.
Our story unfolds in a small, rocky, wooden boat at the eastern entrance to a dark and watery underworld hidden beneath Evergreen. Three massive tree-lined archways, each spanning nearly one mile across, mark the entryways into this seldom-traveled region known to the natives as “Ontawa” – the forbidden caves.
Wiping the sweat from his brow, Niles Jaden III – a descendent of the City of Jaden’s founders – rows cautiously underneath one of the huge arches into a world unlike his own. He eyes the monstrous roots that jut from the cave wall to his right. His partially stained denim pants and sweat-soaked linen pullover cling to him in the morning heat like a second layer of skin. Ahead, a broad shadow from the dirt and stone archway high above meets the bright light of the morning suns. The shadow slowly crosses the water and reaches his boat. With each stroke of his oars, it moves from the front to the rear of the boat, causing his perspiration to turn cold. His exposed arms are goose-pimply from the change in temperature. Niles also wears a netted, hard-rimmed safari hat that is laced around his chin, and a very expensive pair of waterproof leather boots. His entire outfit, in fact, is patterned after a magazine ad he had seen months earlier titled “Apparel for the Distant Traveler.” It wasn’t meant to be taken literally.
In the three and one-half centuries since Jaden was founded, few people had ever felt the need to travel beyond its surrounding regions east of the Grand Divide. But Niles’ needs, like his appearance, are far from ordinary. From his seven-foot-tall frame and dark hair and chestnut eyes to his distinctive, tree-shaped family birthmark that rises an inch above the bridge of his nose, Niles looks more like a lost jungle tour guide than a middle-aged man of wealth and power on a quest.
He continues to row, guided only by bits and pieces of a secretive, family-guarded story first revealed to him by his grandmother when he was a child. The darkness that hides what lies ahead slowly gives way to more clearly defined and familiar shapes he recalls from the wondrous and equally terrifying event at the heart of the story. Because of his extreme height, with every few strokes, his wrists bump against his knees. When he thinks about it, the problem is under control. But he has too much racing through his mind to think about it. He yearns for a tailor-made boat, not the current one he secretly purchased a week earlier from a fisherman back home in Jaden at three times its value.
“Tell no one about this,” he had cautioned the aging fisher, who was delighted to oblige the most admired man in the city.
“Yes, Mr. Jaden. I won’t tell anyone. But where are you going?” he had replied. Though the fisher ventured a respectful question, no answer was provided.
Niles examines the strange new world. He is immediately drawn to the shimmers of light. Each bounces off ripples of water onto thousands of thick vines that disappear up into the miles-long stone wall that towers over him. Grayish-brown boulders of all shapes and sizes rise from the water’s edge onto the jagged shoreline and are quickly lost in the thicket of vines and moss-covered rocks. For the first time in Niles’ privileged and protected life, he feels vulnerable and alone. The world is ancient. It seems untouched. Should something happen to him that required medical attention, it would be a week’s journey before he could return home for help. He begins to question why he is even here. What could possibly compel him to exchange the luxury and security of his modern urban world for these potentially dangerous and primitive surroundings?
Niles travels farther into the cave. His eyes finally adjust from the early morning brightness to the dark, shadowy images that loom around him. Well off in the distance, directly ahead, on the stone surface of a wall, a strangely familiar shape grabs his attention. He narrows his eyes to try to get a better view and rows ever closer. He cannot look away.
“From here, that would have to be ten stories high,” he says in surprise, under his breath. Moments later, shivers run down his spine. “No, the Golem; but is it real?” he questions in disbelief, as if someone were there to hear him. “If it’s all true , this would mean that – ” At once, he breaks his train of thought and notices a golden glow reflect onto the lowest part of the tall stone image. Niles considers the possibilities. “That’s fire aglow beneath the figure. They are here, just as I was told,” he concludes. “It really is true .”
A strange rumble causes the surrounding waters, at once, to quiver and his boat to rock. “Sounds like it’s coming from straight ahead,” he reasons. The sound goes away almost as quickly as it appeared. Other sounds also appear, but he can’t make them out. Niles increases the pace of his oars. A powerful, warm breeze overcomes him. Dropping an oar, he grabs his hard-rimmed hat to prevent it from blowing away. The breeze’s musty smell causes him to gag and cough. After clearing his throat and wiping his eyes, Niles moves on. At this point in his journey, he’s driven more by curiosity than the insight and keen decision-making from which he built his reputation back home in Jaden.
Niles continues to stroke the water with a steady rhythm. He looks up, responding to noise above. The cave’s misty gray ceiling is so high that its detail is impossible to detect, like a mountainside viewed from miles away. He finds the source of the noise. Several large flocks of birds travel in the direction that brought him to his present position. Other flocks head toward two broad beams of sunlight far off in the distance.
“There must be cave entrances from the western side of the Grand Divide,” he surmises. After a few more strokes of the oars, he is startled by an odd sound. It is coming from behind him in the boat.
“Mugwomp.”
Niles quickly turns his head in the direction of the sound. A large, colorful bird with a twelve-inch, toucan-like beak is preening the underside of its wings on the wooden rim of the boat’s stern. The bird stops to look up at Niles.
“Mugwomp!” repeats the bird, louder than before.
Niles pulls in the oars from the water. The boat slows to a rocky stillness. He gently pivots his tall frame around to greet the unusual visitor. A smile appears for the first time in nearly a week.
“Hello there, my curious and showy little passenger,” quips Niles. “Now, where have I heard that sound before?” he wonders aloud. Niles strums his fingers on his pant leg as he carefully examines the vibrant colors and unique size of his new friend. “You’re very handsome,” he states, emphasizing the last word.
“Handsome mugwomp,” mimics the bird, ruffling its feathers and spreading its wings in excitement.
Niles laughs out loud and then quickly covers his mouth for fear of being detected. In a soft voice, he says, “This is my first conversation in a week, though it feels much longer. You seem friendly enough – are you?” He receives no answer. The pastel-feathered mimic just tilts its head and eyes its human companion, as if to study Niles’ words and actions.
“Well, I can use the company, so welcome aboard,” continues Niles. “Now, what kind of bird are you?” Lightly stroking his scruffy, unshaven cheek with his index finger, Niles further inspects the newcomer for an answer. Suddenly, the bird’s long beak illuminates an intense glow that rivals the beauty of the tourmaline moon. Pink and green warmth is cast onto the boat and parts of the water around him.
“Welcome aboard,” replies the bird, flapping its wings to show that it’s happy to see Niles.
“That’s it! You’re a quarlot!” Niles responds in surprise. “When I was a boy, my grandmother told me about creatures like you.” The quarlot’s beak remains bright. It tilts its head again and observes its human companion. Niles blocks part of the glare with his arm and resumes the largely one-sided conversation with his friend beaming with interest.
“Long ago quarlots lived among the Jadenbu as companion helpers. The Jadenbu are my ancestors. From what I recall, your kind had a special gift of communion.” With a smile, he adds, “I suppose you still do.” Niles looks in the direction of the Golem. He ponders for a moment and turns to the quarlot. “Are the Jadenbu here?” he asks, partly expecting an answer.
“Jadenbu Ontawa,” replies the bird, slowly raising and lowering its head as if to nod. The glow from the quarlot’s beak fades as the sentence ends. With those two words, the colorful creature flaps its wings and flies up and off in the direction of the Golem.
“Ontawa, indeed, my brave little friend,” he says, disappointed by the sudden departure. From over his shoulder, Niles watches the quarlot fade from sight. He then carefully turns around in the boat, picks up the two oars, and slips them into the water. With a strong forward thrust of his shoulders, he continues his journey in the same heading. Ahead, dozens of small, low-lying, rocky islands stretch across the water between his boat and the immense stone figure. This prevents him from seeing who or what is causing the warm light to appear in the cold darkness of the ancient caves.
“I – must – get – closer,” he says, to the rhythm of several strokes of the oars. With only a few hundred yards to go, Niles searches for an island with the best view to record what he came to witness. Each turn along the way leads him closer to the Golem and the origin of the golden glow at its base.
After rowing a few hundred feet closer, Niles slows the boat and rises from his seat. He steadies himself by spreading his long legs slightly in his stance. From a narrow pocket on his left pant leg, he produces a metal, five-inch-long distance-vision lens that he expands even further. Niles carefully inspects what lies in front of him and notices a perfect spot nestled between several small islands about one hundred feet before the shoreline. He also sees two groups of natives with more than a dozen pod-shaped boats on shore.
“Each group seems to be dressed similarly,” he says quietly. “Yet the natives on the left wear shades of blue while those on the right wear green. Both groups are surrounded by dozens of quarlots and several of the largest and most colorful butterflies I’ve ever seen. It’s like they’re relics from the great redwood itself,” he adds in amazement.
Because Niles does not want to risk being seen, paddling closer is no longer an option. Carefully, he grabs onto the side of the boat and lowers himself into the water. He doesn’t feel the bottom with his boots, so he suspects the water is not too shallow. Holding the rope attached to the boat’s bow to remain afloat, his nose barely above the water’s surface, Niles slowly dog-paddles to the small, rocky island he observed from a distance. Silently, he works his way out of the water on his belly to a flat portion of the tiny island.
“I feel like a mud-puppy,” he mutters, brushing away drops of musty water from his mouth with the back of his hand. “I probably smell like one, too.”
After Niles ties the boat’s rope around a sturdy vine, he reaches into a canvas bag partially hidden beneath his seat. He feels around for his video recorder. “At last,” he says, calmly, with resolve. “Proof.”
At last Niles is going to show everyone that an enchanted story he loved to hear as a child is, in fact, true . The story is a part of an unwritten prehistory of the City of Jaden passed down to Niles by his grandmother. Because the spirited, eye-opening tale is far from ordinary, and even further from the current state of conventional wisdom back home, Jaden family men have long since buried it in their past. But Niles wants to be different. He wants to bring to light the truth about this well-kept secret that has remained alive for twelve generations due solely to the senior women in his family. Today he will collect the evidence he needs to do it.
Niles pulls out the video recorder and checks the battery and lighting meters. Once he verifies the tape is in properly, he moves behind a long row of three- to four-foot-high boulders and lies on his back. He faces away from the shoreline. Whether true or not, he feels hidden from the natives who are just a stone’s throw away. To place himself at the scene, he turns the camera toward himself and quietly narrates the present conditions. Wet and cold Niles presses a red button and begins to record.
“This is Niles Jaden III, deep within Ontawa on a small island a short distance from–” Before he finishes his first sentence, a deafening roar comes from the area of the Golem. The pressure forces Niles to drop the video recorder and cover his ears with both hands. A blast of hot, humid air shoots out across the surrounding water, spraying the many rock and ivy-covered islands with near scalding moisture. Niles’ hard-rimmed hat flies off and out of sight following the force of the blast. Different-sized stones pelt the water and plant life like shotgun fire. The blistering heat forces his eyes tightly shut. Niles gropes around for the boat’s rope as if it were a lifeline, his only means of escape should these unexpected eruptions continue. As he experiences the fury firsthand, he knows that if he had been sitting in the boat instead of lying behind the boulder, he would likely have been seriously injured or even killed. The whole event lasts for close to twenty seconds.
As the waters still around him and quiet sets in once again, Niles hears shouts from the direction of the shoreline. “How could anyone survive that blast?” he wonders. He glances at his boat and confirms that it is still attached to the vine. With a sigh of relief that it hasn’t been destroyed, he picks up the video camera to finally film the Golem and whatever remains in front of him in the aftermath of the sudden explosion. Niles inspects the camera for damage and finds it to be in working order. He cleans off the lens with the cuff of his sleeve and quickly rolls onto his stomach. Then he aims the video recorder between two boulders and onto the shoreline beneath the Golem. Niles focuses and zooms in. Once again, he tries to narrate his journey.
“It’s remarkable,” he continues, picking up where he left off. “Both groups of natives are untouched by the blast. Not a boat or basket is out of place. They are down on their knees, facing the gigantic stone figure, and quietly repeating a chant that sounds like ‘go-la ma-na.’ They are holding some kind of small, round musical instrument in their right hands.” Niles zooms in on the hand-held instrument carried by one of the natives. “It looks like a large seed of some kind – perhaps of a redwood – in the range of three to five inches wide. It gives off a rattling sound, like pebbles or small stones are moving around in it. Because it seems to play a part in what they’re doing, it’s likely some type of a ceremonial shaker. Every time the word ‘mana’ is chanted, they gently shake it twice in rhythm.” Niles pans back for a wider view.
“There are two men in the center, side-by-side, on a slightly raised stone platform.” He zooms in for a closer look. “At least I think it’s stone. It looks like the platform’s been there ... well, forever. They are a bit larger than the others and dressed much differently. Each could be a tribal leader, but I don’t see any identifiable colors like the others. They, too, are on their knees but are upright, staring at the huge stone figure in front of them. Though I can’t be certain, they don’t seem to be chanting along with the others. They’re not even talking to one another. I wish I could get a better look, but their backs are to me.” Niles pans back once again.
“About a dozen amber-colored torches are burning,” he continues. “A few of them look like they’ve been in this cave for thousands of years. They are large, wide, and knotty at heights ranging from twenty to thirty feet. Some look like the tips of gigantic roots breaking through the stone walls and soft ground. And quarlots are everywhere. A few are perched on tall, T-shaped torches carried by the natives. Most are on top of thick vines and limbs that stretch across the cave walls. The combination of flames and the quarlots’ luminescent beaks quite effectively cast their glow over the shoreline and lower parts of the Golem. It is clear from this angle that nothing was harmed by the blast moments ago,” he concludes.
Puzzled, he zooms out and pans around. Finally, he raises the video recorder to capture the first full image of the Golem. Because the sources of light are unable to reach middle and upper portions of the great stone figure, he adjusts the settings and zooms in to record the details hidden in the darkness well above the natives. Niles is unprepared for what he sees next. Deep within the shadows, portions of the prehistoric, one-hundred-foot-tall stone figure are moving.
In a low, shaky voice, he declares, “What I’m going to say will sound strange and largely unexplainable, but here it goes. The Golem is exercising different facial muscles. If the legend told by my grandmother is true , then the last time those rocks moved was one thousand years ago, exactly one month before the last lunar eclipse covered Evergreen in a kaleidoscope of light.”
In awe, Niles takes great care to capture the colossal figure on film. Each facial movement produces intense patches of steam that gush out from beneath a boulder or nearby crevice, causing those surface formations to crumble to the ground. Slowly revealed beneath the dull, ancient, and uneven stones is a smooth, skin-like surface. This process continues until facial shifts and rotations take place more easily without clouds of steam, falling rock and the deep impact of ground-shaking rumbles. The warm golden glow of torch flames and patches of pink and green radiating from the quarlots’ beaks expose fresh, polished facial areas that glisten in and around the Golem’s complex, cavernous jaw where most of the low, drawn-out sounds originate.
Still recording, Niles sizes up what is happening. In a voice that is both respectful and ill-at-ease, he says, “What I’m about to say may not sound very rational, but I can think of no other explanation. The great wall of stone is awakening. The Golem is coming to life.”
Nearly an hour has passed since Niles began to film the incredible changes in the Golem’s appearance. Further signs of hardened stones giving way to facial movement are evident, but very slow in coming. At this point, though spotty, about one-half of the Golem’s surface is uncovered and stirring. To conserve his battery supply, Niles decides to turn off the video recorder and roll onto his back. He places the equipment by his side and within arm’s reach, should he hear any activity from the direction of the shoreline. This is his first opportunity to relax since he awoke just before daybreak. The moment offers Niles a chance to stretch, arms extended and fingers folded in front of him. A deep yawn follows. He is exhausted, but dare not close his eyes. His worst fear now is not the Golem. Instead, it is falling asleep and missing the once-in-a-thousand-year event that will prove to the world that his family secret is not just “an old wives’ tale,” as Jaden men have claimed for generations. It actually happened. It’s happening now.
Niles stares up at the cave’s immense ceiling. Almost immediately, he senses a radiant, colorful glow on the surrounding vine- and moss-covered boulders that hide him from the natives on the shoreline. Instinctively, his fear of being discovered causes him to spring up and determine the light’s origin. At once, he is greeted with a familiar sight and sound.
“Welcome aboard, Mugwomp!” whoops the quarlot from just a few feet away. Startled but relieved, Niles’ spirit is uplifted by the friendly creature’s return.
“Shhh!” he responds firmly. He carefully raises his right hand toward the quarlot, who is perched on an old, thick vine embedded in the crevice of a wide boulder a few feet away. The bird watches Niles turn over his palm to expose the top of his wrist.
“I hoped that I would see you again, my friend,” Niles says warmly. Mindful of the kind gesture and friendly tone, the quarlot steps onto his wrist. The bird is much heavier than he expected. Niles slowly brings the large, winged creature closer and carefully repositions himself, legs crossed, to continue the conversation that ended abruptly earlier in the boat.
Niles notices the quarlot has a vine of shiny, deep purple berries clinging to its left foot. “What’s this you’ve got?” he asks. Though he’s never seen the berries up close, they are curiously familiar. “Hmm. I wonder,” he adds. Niles pauses for a moment, shifting his attention between the berry-filled vine and the quarlot. “Are these for me?” he continues, still searching for answers. He wonders if his friend will reply in any meaningful way, as he did before.
“Eatawa yum yum,” says the quarlot, to Niles’ surprise. Using its beak, the quarlot reaches down and plucks three berries from the vine. It lifts its head so the berries roll into a position to be chewed. Once in place, the quarlot lowers its colorful beak and stares directly into Niles’ eyes. SQUISH! Juice from the berries squirts from its mouth and drips down along the underside of its beak.
Niles smiles and quietly notes, “Your eyes seem almost human. I’ve never seen anything like it in a bird. Then again, I’ve never seen anything like you before.” Except for a slow, rhythmic chewing motion, the quarlot remains perfectly still. The whole time, it doesn’t take its eyes off of its new friend. Niles returns the gaze in a warm, non-threatening way.
“Eatawa yum yum,” repeats the bird, to indicate that Niles should do the same. The quarlot tilts its head slightly and continues to eat from the berry-covered vine.
“I’m impressed by how well you can communicate with me,” he says, “and I’m touched by your generosity.” He returns the quarlot to the boulder and pulls a few purple berries from the vine still clinging to its left foot. “Hmm,” he adds cautiously, returning to what he wondered about moments ago. With no desire to ignore the unusual bird’s kind gesture and with more than a touch of hunger, Niles decides to share in the special moment. No sooner than he pops the berries into his mouth and begins to chew, his eyes open wide.
“Mmm ... ‘yum yum’ is right!” he declares, a little louder than before. More quietly, he adds, “These are delicious.” Niles pops a few more berries into his mouth, savoring the intriguing taste. “I’ve never tasted these before. I thought I knew all of the fruits of our land.” He concludes that the flavor is a balance of raspberry and grape with a hint of almond and something he can’t quite identify.
The quarlot continues to eat from among the vine’s berries without taking its eyes off of Niles, leisurely lifting the food to its mouth. As both friends busily munch their delicious morning snack, Niles looks toward the shoreline. Since he is familiar with the setting by now, he does so for no apparent reason. Then something on shore catches his eye. He reaches into his pant leg pocket, once again, for the distance vision lens. Niles focuses on the natives and sees that their small wicker baskets are full of the same purple-colored berries. Some of the natives seem to eat the fruit while they chant and kneel before the Golem. Others just chant quietly and rattle their shakers to the rhythm. The berries can be found all along the many vines near the Golem. A few quarlots fly from the vines to the baskets to supply the natives with the fruit.
Close examination of the surrounding walls of the watery underworld makes it clear that these berries are the only ones found in the vicinity of the Golem.
Niles lowers the lens, contemplating what he sees. Though he feels concerned, a growing sense of euphoria lessens the impact. He pulls another berry off the vine and raises it up to the quarlot. He inspects the fruit, slowly rolling it around between his index finger and thumb. The quarlot studies Niles’ actions.
“Tell me, my colorful friend,” he begins, staring at the berry, “what is so important about ... having ...” Niles loses his train of thought. He opens his eyes wide, quickly shakes his head, and begins again. “What’s so important ... having these berries ... part of ...” He drops the berry. The quarlot’s beak begins to glow, causing Niles to lose his attention altogether and focus instead on the bright spectrum of light. He stares ahead in a trance. Niles shakes his head and rubs his eyes to break free from the strange feeling that has suddenly overtaken him, but he is unsuccessful.
“Eatawa bye-bye,” replies the quarlot, who flaps his wings and flies up and off the small, rocky island in the direction of the Golem.
_______________________________________________________
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