by Jan Bozarth
But the little I had been able to see had taught me more than ever how important dreams are.
My desire to map Aventurine was now permanently entered into The Book of Dreams. It was there for fairies, and fairy-godmothers-in-training, to read for hundreds or thousands of years to come—almost like being a published author! I was still in a bit of a daze thinking about it, when a new question occurred to me.
“You said that I’m of the Inocentes Lineage of fairy godmothers—women who help innocents. That’s not what I wrote about in The Book of Dreams, though. What does making maps have to do with helping innocents?” I asked.
Queen Patchouli led me out of the glade and down a path that looked like it was made of crystal shards, though they felt soft against my bare feet.
The fairy queen seemed to consider my question seriously before answering. “Well, you will be helping fairy-godmothers-in-training who come after you to find their way when they go on their quests. It is a special gift that you have. No one has mapped Aventurine before. But mapping is certainly not the only ability you will develop on your quest. Simply by going, you will learn many skills you need for helping innocents.”
“Maybe I should know this already, but what exactly is an innocent? How can I tell if someone is innocent? Does it have anything to do with doing good things and bad things? Is there some sort of test for who is innocent and who’s not?”
Queen Patchouli tilted her head thoughtfully. The tiny bells on her earrings tinkled. “The fairy godmothers of the Inocentes Lineage are not asked to judge who is good and who is evil, so much as they are expected to help those who are in need—especially those who are not capable of helping themselves. Most often, innocents are young children or animals, but some innocents may be old—those who have lost their memories, for example. In your travels you will learn to recognize innocents, and you will be drawn to those who most need your help.”
¡Ay, mira! That seemed like a lot to expect of me. I mean, I was just barely thirteen, and I thought working in our bakery was too much responsibility sometimes. Would I have to become some sort of super Girl Scout or a saint—Mother Teresa, maybe? I couldn’t possibly help everyone I met who needed help; I’d never be able to sleep or eat or go to school. Then my mind went to something else the fairy queen had said: In your travels.
This couldn’t be true. I had always wanted to travel, and now I was going to do it in Aventurine? I pinched myself. It felt real enough to hurt. This was going to be so cool! I felt my worries lessen as my excitement grew.
“We’re here. You’d better get ready for your quest now,” the fairy queen said, glancing down at my bare feet. She made a swirling motion with one hand, and in front of me a circle of bright green grass sprang up from the ground, like water spraying from a fountain. But instead of falling back down as water would, the ring of grass—almost ten feet high—stayed in place, swaying gently in the faint breeze. From the edge of the grass circle all the way to my feet, a pathway of springy soft moss, dotted with white flowers, grew in just a few seconds.
“Be sure to take that with you,” Queen Patchouli said, waving her hand gracefully at my woven Guatemalan bag, which was on the ground beside me. “Everything you need will be in there.”
Picking up my bag, I felt for the cacao pod inside. It was still there. Then I walked down the path and used both hands to separate the stalks of grass at the edge of the circle so I could look inside. The circle was hollow. It formed a tiny roofless room, like a changing room in a store—only alive. I stepped in, admiring the pink, yellow, and lavender wildflowers that carpeted the ground. I saw nothing else in the room. That was strange. Was I supposed to know how this magic worked?
I slipped the woven bag off my shoulder and had reached in to pull out the cacao pod, when something brown and hard sprang out of the opening, startling me. I dropped the bag and backed away. The hard brown thing seemed to be a piece of wood, like a branch or a tree trunk with no leaves, and it shot straight up to the sky and stopped at exactly the same height as the grass of the circle. Then it started to thicken, and it elongated in several directions. Little flaps of wood began unfolding, clattering as they moved. It happened so fast, I can hardly describe it now, but within a minute a huge wooden wardrobe stood before me.
Yes, I said wardrobe. The dark wood at the base was carved with figures of lambs and kittens, dogs and squirrels, birds and rabbits. At the top of the wardrobe, the carved face of a child smiled down at me. I was still a bit spooked by my woven bag’s jack-in-the-box imitation, so I was very careful when I stepped toward it. Who knew? A whole department store might pop out! Then again, the wardrobe might be filled with fur coats and mothballs, and the back might lead to a mystical land where it was always winter….
As it turned out, neither thing happened. I looked around on the ground for my bag, hoping my family talisman hadn’t been squashed by the wardrobe. I didn’t see the bag, so I stood to one side and gingerly pulled open one of the wardrobe doors, which had a mirror attached to the inside. Relaxing a bit, I opened the second door. Another mirror. In the wardrobe was a long rod with clothes of every kind and color hanging on it. Below that, there were drawers filled with gloves, belts, hats, and dozens of other accessories. A shelf on top of the drawers displayed all sorts of shoes, boots, sandals, and slippers. And everything seemed to be my size!
From outside, the fairy queen said, “Take what you need from the wardrobe now. This will be your only chance to prepare for your journey.”
How was I supposed to know what I needed? I looked through the clothes, pulling out different items and holding them up to look at myself in the mirrors. I tried on a pink-and-gold silk sari, a German dirndl in green and red with a white blouse, a Plains Indian dress made of fringed buckskin, a jumpsuit of some smooth silvery material that looked like it should be worn by an astronaut, a crinoline petticoat, a beautiful blue kimono with silver-and-orange embroidered goldfish and a lavender obi, a khaki bush-exploration outfit complete with pith helmet, a deep purple cheongsam dress, and more. I found scarves and belts that jingled with little coins, long feather boas, lace mantillas, and peasant blouses.
I finally decided that I should be practical. I chose a pair of brown leggings, a light-as-air pink cotton shirt that had billowy sleeves, and a cropped brown vest that reminded me of Guatemala, with flowers embroidered all over it. Then I pulled on a pair of purple boots that went up to my knees. They were made out of a material I’d never felt before—something between silk and leather.
When I was satisfied with my outfit, I started to tidy up. I picked up an armful of the items I had tried on, but before I could put them back, I heard a whooshing sound. Then a force like the wind yanked the clothes right out of my hands, except for one long silky scarf that seemed to wrap itself around one of my wrists. Moments later, all of the clothing—except for what I was wearing and the scarf—was back in its correct place. Even faster than the wardrobe had assembled itself, it shrank back into my bag and disappeared, like smoke being sucked into a vacuum cleaner.
I lifted my bag, half expecting it to weigh a ton from the wardrobe I had seen go into it, but it felt completely normal. I looked inside. To my relief, the cacao pod was intact. I tucked the scarf, which was the light purple of an early dawn, into the bag and slung it over my shoulder.
Instantly, the circle of grass around me shrank away. In a few seconds the grass was the same height as all the other grass in the area. I could see Queen Patchouli waiting for me.
“What do you think?” I asked, spinning so she could see my outfit.
“I think that you are ready for—”
Just then, a horse and rider galloped up the crushed-crystal path and came to a stop right in front of us in a spray of sparkling gravel. The horse, its coat dark with sweat, was a big golden palomino with four tall white stockings and a flaxen mane and tail. But something caught my eye when the horse shook its neck—the mane was shot through with strands of real gold, which created
a metallic sheen that caught the light. The horse wasn’t wearing a saddle or a bridle.
Astride the bareback horse was a girl with wild coral-colored hair who looked as though she had been riding for a long time. There were smudges of dirt on her face, and perspiration glistened on her forehead. Miniature shells dangled from her earlobes and hung from a chain around her neck. She looked about my age and height. The girl slumped over the horse’s neck and held on, gasping for breath. Then I noticed that on her back was a pair of peach-tinted wings, shimmery and sheer like the wings of the other fairies, except for one thing—one of her wings was broken.
Turning her head toward us, the fairy girl said, “Queen, I come on an urgent errand from Kib Valley. We need your help.”
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2010 by FGA Media Inc.
All rights reserved. Published in the United States by Yearling, an imprint of Random House Children’s Books, a division of Random House, Inc., New York.
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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Bozarth, Jan.
Kerka’s book / Jan Bozarth. — 1st ed.
p. cm. — (Fairy Godmother Academy ; bk. 2)
Summary: On the eve of her thirteenth birthday, Kerka returns to the magical land of Aventurine, where she is sent on a seemingly impossible mission that she hopes will bring back the closeness she had with her sisters before their mother’s death.
eISBN: 978-0-375-89334-6
[1. Fairy godmothers — Fiction. 2. Fairies — Fiction. 3. Sisters — Fiction. 4. Family problems — Fiction. 5. Grief—Fiction. 6. Dance—Fiction.] I. Title. PZ7.B6974Ker 2009 [Fic]—dc22 2009005036
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