Chapter 1 of New Book!

Hello friends of the Living Tale, 


Curator Midledorph here! Our scribe, Jane Smith, has given the characters of the Living Tale permission to read you the next book in the Banks family adventure. So without further delay here is the opening chapter...


P.S. if you have not read the first book it is still available. Just click the link on this page. 

Prologue

Zum ziddle zigh ziddle zrum ziddle zree and a zrum zrum zigh ziddle zum ziddle zree. Oh how good it is to be singing the song of the champions again with you. Welcome, welcome children to the story. I am so glad you came to the Living Tale library. We’re just about to read Star McKenzie’s story. Please take your seats on the cushions or climb a tree if you are more comfortable up there.

Ah yes, the little one with so many questions who sits at my feet, welcome back! I’m glad you have come. And I see you have brought some new friends with you to listen to our tale. From the looks on their faces, they have not been in the Living Tale library. May I introduce myself; I am Drake Balio, general of the Gardener’s Iodian Army and narrator of the Living Tale. Permit me to show you around, my new friends, before we start our story. We wouldn’t want you wandering off into a book and getting lost. You see, all our stories are alive here in the Refreshing, so we can enter them at any time and walk around.

Just yesterday, we read from Henley and the Book of Heroes. He is a nine-year-old boy from Shernod who has been learning how exciting it can be to have his hero’s heart ignited after meeting the Gardener. At the same time he is having his adventures around the Living Tale, the Gardener is weaving Star into his life, a special young lady indeed. She is someone Henley will need as soon as he finishes the Book of Heroes.  I can not say for what purpose, only that Henley is going to desperately need her in his next book.

But before she can help him, she needs some help of her own. You see, Star forgot about her heart a long time ago, so it needs reviving. She too must know who she is before she can …oh, there I go again… I cannot tell you that. Those of us on this side of the reflection sometimes have trouble telling stories to you within the reflection. It all happens at the same moment for us because we are not inside of time. The Gardener, on the other hand, is a master at weaving stories in and out of each other so that you only see little bits at a time.

Now let me turn your attention to the back of the Living Library. That busy little glone is Curator Midledorph. Yes, little one; that’s right, you almost said his name. Just remember it’s not pronounced like middle, it has a longer “I” sound to it. That’s right, Midledorf. Now children, please do not disturb him while he is working, for he has the difficult task of organizing our living stories. This means that when someone like Henley is finished with one book and is ready to move to a new one, Curator Midledorph transfers him. We’ll talk more about that later and what all those flashing lights on the book bindings mean. Above all, though, do not touch his hand. If you do, you will immediately transfer into whatever book he has in his hands. It can be a very dangerous place if you are not ready to enter a new book.

Speaking of ready, shall we meet Star? She is about to enter the Living Tale through the Book of Treasures. Let’s join her. She’s the one sitting over there in the sand, crying. Why is she crying, little one? Let’s jump in and find out. Remember our stories are alive so we may enter them at any time. You may want to bring a sun hat; it is very hot in the deserts of Iraq.

Sands of Time

The hot sands pelted Star McKenzie’s face as hard as the desert sun. For weeks she successfully ignored these daily nuisances, but today it was too much. Tears rolled down her cheeks, searing her dry olive skin.

“No treasure over here,” she muttered to herself as she sifted dirt through a screen. “No treasure over there. No treasure anywhere! I hate this place.”

Hadn’t she come to discover a great treasure and become a somebody? But no. Day after day she only discovered new ways for sand to rub her the wrong way. So she sat in the desert of Iraq working on Doctor Bertrand Burnham’s pet project – finding Esther’s scrolls.

Initially she was excited to come, but now she wondered why she ever agreed to it. Her mind drifted away from her dry scenery as she used her memory as a tool of escape to the day she and Ms. Ficus walked into Dr. Burnham’s anthropology lecture.

“Now Star, I know you are a little nervous about the prospect of flying to Iraq, but imagine what an archeological discovery would do for a high school girl like you,” said Ms. Ficus.  Her high-heeled shoes echoed down the long hallway leading to an auditorium.

Star immediately knew the term “like you” was a nice way to call her an orphan. Life was hard enough without her family let alone everyone reminding her about it. “Are you sure I can travel out of England during my foreign exchange term?” asked Star. “Shouldn’t we check with my foster parents back home?”

Ms. Ficus parted the crowd like the bow of a ship as she spied out their seats. “Well we certainly can call them if you like, but I doubt they would deny you such a wonderful opportunity.”

Star followed her down a row of chairs thinking and not really watching where she was going. “If you think it is all right, then I guess…”

“Star darling, you need to sit down the professor is about to begin.” Star looked a little embarrassed as she realized she was the only one still talking and standing. She took her seat next to her host mother and sank into her chair. Ms. Ficus’ manicured hand gave her a pat of reassurance as a khaki clad professor began his lecture.

Star remembered how he discussed his theory of the location of the Hadassah scrolls through a very heavy British accent theorizing they were buried, “somewhere in the sands west of modern day Baghdad. Someday the good Gardener will divulge their location.”

“Sounds great, but he’s a Living Tale freak,” she recalled whispering to Ms. Ficus, in the university’s immense sloped auditorium. Ms. Ficus made no motion to acknowledge Star’s comment, but wrote in perfectly clear manuscript letters on Star’s notebook:

Don’t worry about Burning Ham who digs in sand.

Star tried hard to suppress a laugh, but it burst out despite her best efforts right at the moment when Dr. Burnham asked if there were any volunteers willing to join his “jaunt into the sands of time.” Thinking the sound came from Ms. Ficus he asked, “Yes, the beautiful lady with the long dark hair dressed in the blue and magenta sweater. Are you willing to join the adventure of a life time?”

“No thank you professor, but my young friend, Ms. McKenzie, sounds interested.” She waved an elegant hand towards Star delivering the complete impact of the embarrassment fully in her lap.

“All right then, Miss McKenzie, if you are willing, am I to welcome you aboard?” The professor peered over his glasses to get a better look at a blushing young woman with delicate Asian features slumped in her chair.

“I’m sorry for the interruption, professor. I only coughed. Please continue.” Star wanted to kick Ms. Ficus with the side of her foot, but did not. These types of jokes happened on a regular basis, which made her foreign exchange year a blast. Most days Ms. Ficus acted more like an older sister than a foster mother, who shared Star’s smart-aleck sense of humor.

“Very well, Miss McKenzie,” continued Dr. Burnham. “This could be destiny calling you know,” he then resumed describing his dig site on a map projection.

During the rest of his lecture, Star was a jumble of mixed emotions. Part of her wanted to go and fulfill her dreams and part of her wanted to stay, especially the part of her that could not stand the Living Tale. Her mother’s disappointment with it raced to her mind; she could not trust that fairytale.

After the lecture, Ms. Ficus approached the smiling professor while he packed up his laptop. “Greeting, Professor Burnham. I am Malori Ficus. I believe we’ve met before.”

The professor took a moment to look at her. Slowly his face showed a smile of recognition. “Yes, yes, Miss Ficus, I do remember meeting you in Cairo. Was it 2001?”

“Yes at the Antiquities International Meeting… and it is Ms. Ficus.”

“Yes of course, Ms. Ficus. How are you and your father’s business?”

“Just fine. The past years have been kind to us.”

“Indeed, I hear you are opening a new museum.”

“Yes, a few more exhibits and we’ll have quite a place.”

“What an experience you must be having as her daughter,” he said to Star.

“Oh no, I’m not her daughter. I’m just a foreign exchange student.”

“Hmm, what an adventure all the same.” He looked at his watch and then at Ms. Ficus. “Have you changed your mind about joining me?”

“No, I am sorry I have other commitments, but Star here, would love to join you. She is in London for her sophomore year of high school. The timing of your offer could not be better; she starts her Winter Holiday next week.” Star’s heart pounded hard just remembering being volunteered.

“A month of diving into history. You shan’t be the same, Miss McKenzie.” He looked in his briefcase and pulled out a few ruffled papers. “Well, once we get the legalities worked out I look forward to having you on board. Here are the particulars of the rotation,” he said as he handed them the packet of paper. “You can email me the forms. Now if you will excuse me I have a flight to catch.”

After he left Star protested. “But Ms. Ficus, as much as I want to go I can’t work with him. He’s all about the fables of the Gardener. Look at my notes, he mentioned the Living Tale twelve times in forty-five minutes.”

“Don’t let it worry you, Star. Sometimes we have to do things we don’t like to get what we want. Find something in the sand and make your mark on history. Show little little ole Shernod that even orphans can be rich and famous. You’ll be back with me sipping champagne and eating caviar in no time. Besides, Daddy could always use another addition to the museum.”

The wind whipped up the sand so forcefully that even Star’s memory could not deny that a month later she was still stuck in the sand. So much for a fun filled Christmas break. She spent the whole month here with Dr. Burnham and now Ms. Ficus recommended Star spend another month digging before coming back. She even had Star’s school in London mail her schoolwork. It felt just like foster care back in Shernod being shoved away somewhere by a system that promised her a good home and a future, but doing neither.

“The freak,” that’s what the other kids called her at her old foster home because she was the child of a Sudanese mother and a Chinese father who was half Scottish. This left her with Asian features and kinky red hair. Her foster mother’s words still rang in her ears, “Poor thing, you’re just a forgotten little orphan.” The name became her identity one night as she cut that word into her right forearm – forgotten.

Forgotten, that’s what she felt; forgotten, that’s what she was – but what about her dreams? It was the same thing every night. She enters a torch lit cave, discovers a chest of scrolls, and changes history. That’s the real reason why she agreed to come wasn’t it? When Dr. Burnham mentioned looking for scrolls her heart leapt with excitement despite her mind’s disapproval. “Stupid heart, look at this mess you’ve gotten me into now. A dead end rotation in the sand with Dr. Fairy Tale,” she quietly said to herself while she continued to sort sand.

“What was that, Miss McKenzie?” asked Dr. Burnham while digging many feet away. “Find something? You know, good things come to those who wait, and we have been patient with the good Gardener.”

Not him again. Good? Right, what a joke! she thought. “No, doc, nothing yet,” she yelled through the wind while smiling weakly. Another gust of roasted sand blasted her face. I’ve had it! I’m out of here! she screamed in her head and threw her hand trowel down with a shove. Thunk! Her trowel vibrated and echoed with her anger as it struck something hard. “What the…”

Star carefully peeled back the blanket of sand with her hands. There below the dust lay a horizontal stone surface. Quickly her hands dug out its edges. Soon she could recognize a ten-foot wide stone threshold. “See, my dear Miss McKenzie, something’s are lost but not forgotten,” commented Dr. Burnham over her left shoulder.

“No. Maybe not,” was her quiet reply.

Dr. Burnham shouted something in the workers’ native tongue and they quickly moved into position working around her. Maybe her dream was not forgotten because before her eyes the opening of a twelve-foot tall doorway gradually appeared as the laborers worked. Carefully, slowly they removed hundreds, perhaps thousands, of years of rubble.

Nearly six hours later Dr. Burnham and Star stood before a great stone door. Star ran to the research trailer to get the specimen kit full of metal forceps, clear baggies, white labels, plastic trays, and a video camera. Dr. Burnham spent her first days teaching her proper specimen techniques; she was not messing this up.

She paused the work to capture footage of the intricate carvings, now eroded by years of sand storms. Finally Dr. Burnham gave the word and the men coaxed open the entrance with pry bars and sweat. She waited beside the professor. “Dis must be it, Doctor,” commented one of the foremen.

“We will soon find out, Ibarred. The great vault of her letters was highly guarded and its whereabouts shrouded in secrecy, but perhaps we have found the cave at last.” Dr. Burnham pulled out his pipe and began prepping it for a smoke while perspiration droplets rolled down his round cheeks and soaked his khaki shirt. “Don’t rush yourselves, gentlemen. No need to be hasty,” he said between puffs.

It’s just like him to slow down when we need to hurry up. Star tried to hide her impatience by adjusting her matted ponytail under her sweat soaked bandana. She found her red curly hair unruly in the dry desert, but what really bugged her today, though, was not her hair, but her heart – was the wait really over? Was she somebody now?

The door moved with cracks and grinds like breaking bones. Her camera furiously whirred away while Star documented their new find. The door concealed a long dark corridor. Ibarred switched on the electric lanterns and handed one to Star. She hesitated, looking at the professor to see if he wanted to enter first. He swung his arm out wide in front of her while giving a partial bow as his moderately overweight belly prevented him from bowing further, “Ladies first, Miss McKenzie. After all, it was your passionate hand that struck gold.” Then he tamped out his pipe’s contents, returned it to his breast pocket, and smoothed his balding head with his handkerchief before following her lead.

Ladies first, indeed, she thought. She did not feel much like a lady in her dirty canvas pants and dusty tan work shirt. Many of her buttons had fallen off, so she closed the holes with safety pins. Being of petite frame, she found it difficult to find good fitting clothing and often shopped in the preteen section of stores; she felt more like a kid playing dress up than a true researcher looking for discoveries. But there she was holding a lantern, standing in a cave entrance looking at row upon row of clay vessels.

With one hand she lifted her light up and with the other she panned the long narrow room with her camera, adding details about the date, time, and researchers. Before she made more than a couple of steps, she heard a man’s voice say, “You are not forgotten,” from somewhere behind her. She whipped around expecting to find someone mocking her, but no one was facing her direction.

Must have been my imagination. Then she noticed Dr. Burnham trying to coax Ibarred through the door. “Dr. B, What’s up?” She liked to call him that when she was feeling patient with him.

“What is the problem, Ibarred?” asked a slightly annoyed Dr. Burnham.

“Sir,” he answered pointing to the end of the tunnel, “dis cave is still guarded.”

Star resumed her filming and moved in the direction of his finger only to let out a loud squeal. “Gross! Oh, that is so gross.” She quickly ran back towards Dr. Burnham then caught herself and tried to look calm again.

“Sure enough,” said the professor spying mummified human remains perched at the tunnel’s end. Star did her best to keep her breakfast in her stomach and kept filming while Dr. Burnham described what he saw. “From the looks of the tattered remnants of his clothing, I’d say this was a male guard from around the 400’s B.C., seeing that it matches other remains we’ve found in this area.” He took a breath and swallowed hard before starting again. “But the startling appearance here is not just his remains so much as his saber. See here how he’s held it up all these centuries by bracing his body against the wall; it’s threatening to come crashing down at any time as my colleague, Miss McKenzie, discovered. Brave fellow must have died defending the room. Look! A scarlet cord holds his saber in his mummified hand… fascinating. This signifies that he was one of the legendary royal guards sworn to protect the queen’s life at all costs. We’ve never found one of them.” The professor’s gloved hands gently pulled the saber from the dead warrior’s dried grasp after Star recorded his bizarre death throws. As he did, a small piece of parchment fell to the ground. He gingerly took out his tweezers to place the parchment into a specimen bag, which he pulled from another of his shirt’s pockets. Ibarred came forward to take the bag; this would go to the research trailer for later processing. “Miss McKenzie, would you like to do the honors?” said Dr. Burnham as he pointed to the row of jars.

Star slowly picked up one of the earthen vessels from a shelf, after filming many more jars. She handed the camera to Dr. Burnham who kept it going while she lay out a blanket on the cool stone floor; everyone gathered round. The lid of the vessel lifted easily. Next she tilted it to allow its contents to flow out. A single parchment scroll slid lightly to the ground.

“Hot dogs! It’s a scroll” Dr. Burnham slapped the side of his leg like a square dance leader setting time. “Now to see whom it is from.”

Star misted the parchment with a solution that softened the stiff page. Slowly and carefully she pulled back the edges. There at the bottom in ancient Persian script Dr. Burnham read:

      As decreed by Queen Esther

      Queen of All Media and Persia

Below this survived the King’s signet ring imprint. “As in the days of the gold rush, they would have said, ‘We struck pay dirt,’ Miss McKenzie.”

Now, it didn’t feel like “pay dirt” to Star, for next came painstaking days of transferring the vessels to the processing trailers. Here each scroll was specially processed and sealed in an air free, nitrogen rich frame. Then, according to Dr. Burnham, would come the months and months of decoding the ancient scripts. But Star did not have months; she had only weeks before her return to London. What will she do?


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