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PROLOGUE
“Zrum ziddle zigh, ziddle zrum ziddle zee, and a zrum zrum zigh, ziddle zum ziddle zree.” Ah yes, welcome, children, welcome. Come. Come. I was singing the song of the champions to pass the time until you arrived. Welcome to the story. I am glad you came; you’re just in time. Please, take a seat on the grass. Pull up a cushion to rest your head. It is a perfect day for a story here in the Refreshing. The sun is shining, and a breeze is blowing through the trees. In this place, you need not worry about ants biting or flies buzzing. There are no such creatures in this library. Are you all comfortable? Good.
Now, as I was saying, you’re just in time to hear how Henley Banks, an everyday boy from Shernod, enters the story of his life. You see, his story has been going on for some time, nine years to be exact, but very soon a new tale will explode into his life that will change it forever. What kind of tale? Well, it is a tale that has the power to awaken a hero’s heart, a tale that overcomes death with life, and a tale that bestows victory to the conqueror. It is the Living Tale. Something this big takes time to unfold, for within this story are many books. Today, we are starting The Book of Heroes, for what better way to awaken your heart but among champions? The other books are for another day.
I’ll be your guide through these chapters; my name is Drake. I’ll tell you more about me later, but now let’s look at Henley. There he is sitting at the dinner table. If he were standing, you’d see he is the same height as a tall dwarf. In human measurements, that is four foot, five inches. His doctor tells him he is average on all accounts for height and weight. Average is a good word for Henley on the outside. He is average at baseball and football; he makes average grades in school and has an average amount of friends. He has average skills with video games but secretly wishes he were as good as his best friend, Jeffery. In many ways, he fades into the pavement of life like gray going to black. Henley, however, is excellent on the inside, and few know it. On the inside, he is the brave knight who fears nothing and no one. Inside, he is the genius who finds solutions to tangled troubles and saves the day with two seconds left ticking on the time bomb. Sadly, though, his heart can only ache to be great until the Garden’s power germinates his hero’s seed.
While his mother, Julia, does dishes, let me acquaint you with the Bankses’ home. You’ll need to know your way around before we get going, or Henley will leave you in the dust, for this unremarkable boy does everything exceptionally fast. So why don’t we jump into the book? Here in the Garden, all our books are alive, so we may tour them. It takes a moment to get your footing, but you will soon adjust.
Over there, playing on the floor, is little David, Henley’s nearly four-year-old brother. Nowadays the dining room has become his fortress against the evil Gorse’s robot army because Mama doesn’t have time for big dinners; but when Dad is home, the Bankses play the “guess what I am thinking game” after clearing the dinner dishes. Down the hall are his other brothers, Jake and Morgan, studying in the den. Jake is fourteen, and Morgan is sixteen. You’ll see more of them soon.
On to the family room. Do you see that picture of the soldier on the mantle? That is Robert, Henley’s dad. His deployment in Iraq is now over a year. The picture next to him of an elderly gentleman is my dear friend Reginald Banks, affectionately known around here as Grandpa. He lives by himself in an apartment on the other side of town, which in Shernod means a five-minute drive. I don’t have time to tell you about everyone else on the mantle, but you will meet them as we go. I apologize for the chill, children. Robert usually keeps a large fire roaring in that fireplace, but the boys forget to start it. We won’t go upstairs right now to see their small but cozy bedrooms; just know that Henley’s is the messy one off to the right.
Let’s return to the kitchen table where Henley sits slumped over his plate, a grumpy boy who misses his daddy something fierce. You see, his father was teaching him about the Living Tale when duty called him away. The Living Tale is known by many names, but to this family it is known as the Book. It is this book that keeps the Banks family going in good times and bad, but especially the bad. Why? Because this family has real adventures—not just hopeful visions—inside it. The problem, though, is that Henley was too young to remember when his parents leaned upon it when Julia’s parents died in an accident, and he was too young to experience its comforting power when Grandma Rose passed in (you call it death; we call it passing in).
Since then, life has been relatively quiet for the Bankses, so unlike the rest of the family, Henley does not believe the Book is alive and mocks his family’s trust in it. Deep inside, Henley wants it to be real because his seed of greatness is stirring. This is why Dad’s deployment has been so rocky for him. It’s been hard enough to have his dad at work for over a year, but now Henley’s heart battles between hope and suspicion. He needs his hero to show him the way inside the Living Tale for answers. Without Dad to lead him, Henley walks around with a gnawing pain inside that he dumps on everyone outside.
This is where the story gets really exciting! No, not because he is hurting, but because of how his heart gets fixed. Yes, fixed, for from my perspective, it is already finished. You, however, have some exciting chapters ahead of you. But I am getting ahead of myself again. Forgive me. I am no storyteller but a creature of action. Good thing Henley’s story is written down, or I’d blurt out the end before we get going.
CHAPTER 1
“I won’t eat them; they’re nasty.” Henley chased his Brussels sprouts around his plate with his fork, making it look like a hare-and-hound type of race. While he rested his face on his arm inches away from the plate so as not to miss the close finish, he added, “I hate green things.”
“You’re not leaving the table until you do,” Mama said with a face that Henley knew meant business. He had tried the “Daddy doesn’t have to eat vegetables in the desert,” argument too many times, so tonight he tried a different approach.
He sat up in his chair with such force that his brown tousled bangs sprang out and settled back even more awry. He pushed them aside with his hand, trying to make contact with the eyes in the back of Mama’s head, believing his new position would save him from Brussels sprouts. “I bet you Getchu doesn’t have to eat sprouts. He can eat whatever he wants. He’s my hero!” As he spoke, his last three sprouts nearly raced off his plate.
Mama stopped rinsing the dish in her hand and turned to look at her son. “I thought Dad was your hero,” she said, sounding a bit surprised.
“He was…he is…I mean…Getchu can do whatever he wants.
Mama seized the moment to talk about heroes. “Getchu can’t be a hero, honey. He doesn’t have a heart. He’s a robot.” She hoped her shift in the conversation would not be too obvious. Henley may look average to everyone else, but Mrs. Banks knew her son’s quick mind.
“What do you mean, Mama?” asked Henley a bit puzzled. He looked at his plate cockeyed, wondering what heroes, Getchu, and sprouts had to do with one another.
Mama breathed a sigh of relief that her hero hint was not immediately rejected. “Robots can only do as their inventor instructs them. They cannot choose to be courageous or brave; they just do what they’re programmed to do. A hero needs a heart so he can do extraordinary things. Remember, dear, every good story needs a hero.”
He didn’t like Mama sneaking in the Book of Heroes into their conversation and wanted even more to be done with his sprouts, so he resumed his plea.
“Theorr nosty,” he said as he half chewed, half swallowed, two sprouts at once. He closed both eyes tightly, pursed his lips together, and swallowed hard. In a last-ditch effort to be rid of them, he smashed the last one into his plate with his fork. He walked to the sink with his best “I’m the son you love” look on his face. His smile revealed remnants of his last bite.
“Nice try, Henley.” But this time she was smiling into his big blue eyes, letting him know the last sprout was the disposal’s dinner.
End of chapter one preview.
CHAPTER 2
Henley went to bed troubled by the evening’s events. Getchu had filled the hole in his heart left by Dad, and now it felt like Mama was trying to take him away. What’s the big deal about a heart, anyway? he wondered as sleep took him.
That night Henley had a strange dream. He was in Getchu’s game, working side by side with him, blasting enemy robots into spare parts. He sped through the levels. Five…six…seven…eight. Hours and hours they fought. At level ten, instead of seeing Gorse, the creator of all evil robots, he saw a large antique mirror hanging on his bedroom wall, from ceiling to floor, illuminated by a single spotlight. The mirror’s wooden frame was gnarled and knotted, and the glass was darkened silver. It looked similar to one he had seen hanging in Grandpa’s apartment, only larger.
Getchu and Henley walked up to see their reflections, blasters still in hand. Henley was sure he would see a row of medals plastered across his chest for bravery in battle. He tilted his head to one side, trying to look like a western gunslinger and even imagined he had spurs clanging on his sneakers. A tip of his sweatshirt hood let a grateful imaginary citizen know he was, “Just doing my duty, ma’am.” But the mirror held an unexpected revelation.
When they swaggered up, only one reflection looked back at him. Henley was Getchu! In place of medals gaped a hole where his heart should be—a deep, dark hole in which light itself vanished. He instantly dropped his blaster and covered his chest with both hands as he stepped back in shock.
“What?” His hands began disintegrating into the hole! This abyss would destroy him if he did not do something fast. It took all of his strength to pull his hands out. Once they were free, he noticed his fingertips were still missing. Not wanting to go through that again, he shoved his hands out to his sides like an awkward bird ready for flight; he needed to keep them as far away from the black hole as possible. “What’s going on?” he said out loud, hoping someone would answer; but no one did.
Frantically, he turned around wide-eyed to ask Getchu for advice. He’ll know what to do; he’ll help me. A quick survey of his surroundings, however, revealed he was alone. He stood abandoned in inky blackness—his hero left him. Desperate thoughts flooded his mind. How do I get out of here? How do I get home?
The only visible light came from the mirror. Henley slowly backed toward it, still searching for his hero. “Getchu, where are you?” Hot tears burned his cheeks; the heaviness of the darkness and the silence pressed him. His thin shoulders drooped.
“Remember who you are!” shouted an elderly woman’s voice in a perfect English accent.
Who’s that? He thought it sounded like Grandma Banks from their old home movies, but he wasn’t sure. They had not watched home movies since Dad went to Iraq. Whoever it was, her urgent declaration startled him, causing him to jump toward the mirror. He looked over his shoulder as he stumbled. The mirror was closer than he thought, so he only had time to see his reflection as he plummeted through the glass.
Henley braced for the worst with eyes closed and muscles clenched, but the fall did not bring the sounds of breaking glass or the sensation of cutting shards. Instead, it brought the warmth of a blanket wrapping securely around him to break his fall. So surprising was this sensation that he popped open his eyes. He awoke sprawled on his bedroom floor, face-to-face with the tiger-striped family cat, tears still running down his face. “Huh? George!” The cat responded with clawed paws, lowered ears, and fluffed fur at Henley’s sudden invasion of his sunny spot.
Henley, now fully conscious, found himself snugly enclosed in his comforter. “My heart!” A quick glanced at his chest assured him that everything was all right. He rolled onto his back and scratched George’s ears, who had repositioned himself on Henley’s chest. That dream left him unsettled; he wasn’t ready to get up just yet. Something inside that mirror caught him; he wondered what it was. He had not felt such warmth before and wanted more.
Find out what happens next…