Tag: Determination

Book Review: The Legend of Luke by Brian Jacques

An ancient weapon. A missing father. A warrior son. An infamous villain. A community of happy woodland creatures. Aged companions. A tale waiting to be told.

A tale Martin desperately needs to know. All his life he has carried his father’s sword and used it to defend the helpless and innocent. His prowess with a sword and his good heart has earned him a warrior’s renown, as well as many loyal friends, but until he knows what happened to his father Martin cannot rest.

Long ago, an evil pirate captain who terrorized the seas raided Martin’s home and killed many, including Martin’s mother. His father, Luke, though a kind, peaceful farmer, vowed to avenge the deaths and destroy the tyrant once and for all. He left his sword with his baby son and promised to return victorious, but Martin never saw him again.

Martin’s friends, wanting only for him to be happy, organize a journey to Martin’s old home in search of answers. Few of them have any experience with adventuring or battle, but what they lack in skill they make up for in determination. Along the way they attract an unlikely collection of helpers and companions, who with imagination and ingenuity help them reach their destination safely.

None of them expect what they actually find when they reach Martin’s childhood home. The end of their quest begins a true tale of friendship, courage, and heroism. Martin will finally know what happened after his father embarked on his own quest, and why he never returned.

My kids chose this book for our bedtime read, and as we made our way through it a few chapters at a time, they quickly fell in love with the adorable woodland characters. We laughed together over the creatures zany antics, cheered for their courageous exploits, and cried when they were sad. This is a must read for all ages and a captivating read-aloud for families.

Book Review: Hans and Peter

Hans and Peter are best friends with opposite problems. One hates living in the basement, one hates living on the top floor. They dream of building a beautiful house with no basement or top floor where their families can live together.

One day the boys take a walk and find an empty shack on an abandoned construction site. Who could it belong to? The boys have the perfect idea; they could fix up the shack to be their own little house.

With several amusing mishaps and the help of some encouraging friends, the boys spend their days making their dream happen. The shack may not be the house of their dreams, but they are so proud to show it off to their friends and families. Even the owner of the shack approves of their work and promises them a job building real houses when they grow up.

This book is such a delightful inspiration for children. Hans and Peter encourage young readers to work hard for what they want, to learn from their mistakes, and to ask for help when they need it. It also serves as a reminder that the imagination of childhood, when encouraged, forms the foundation of adult success. This is a favorite in our household and I hope it remains one for years to come.

The Leaving

FB_IMG_1590364184563She had waited for this day for twelve years. Every time an Underage met his or her Milestone, she had followed them up the tracks as far as she was allowed, dreaming of her own Milestone. This morning, her twelfth Day, Da had woken her before Lights, a ready bag in hand.

She had dressed carefully in her brand new Topside clothes, her hands trembling with excitement. She had to blend in, but the clothes felt so strange she couldn’t quite move correctly. The long skirt hung around her ankles, and she kept tripping. Da told her to take shorter steps and move more slowly until she adjusted, and she tried.

The long pack was heavy and hit her thighs just behind her knees with every step. She was relieved to climb on Da’s Motor and let it hang behind the seat. She had to hike the skirt up as well to straddle the Motor, and she relished the freedom of movement, the last she would experience for several… months? Yes, that was the word. She was going to have to remember to talk like a Topsider. Starting with not saying Topsider, she thought with a grimace. Surface dwellers called themselves Citizens.

The Motor made the trip up the tracks much shorter than she remembered. Da was a good driver, but the crossties still made for quite a few jolts. She kept her jaws clenched tightly to keep from biting her tongue, and when they finally stopped at the Door she ran her tongue over her teeth to make sure they were all still there.

She and Da stood together, his hand on the lever that opened the Door. “Are you ready?” he asked. She nodded. This was how it was. No ceremony. Only one witness to confirm the Leaving. He pulled the Lever, and the steel panels slowly rolled back into the walls.

She had seen charcoals of Topside, even a few oils, but she was not prepared. The city stretched vast before her, its towers reflecting in the river like bridges of glass. Gleaming silver transports mirrored the colors of the sky as the sun tipped the horizon. It was her first sunrise, and for a moment she thought the whole scene burned until she  remembered one particular oil.

Da pointed downriver. “There’s an old highway about a mile that way,” he told her. “Topsiders haven’t used it in decades, but it will get you across.” He squeezed her shoulder tightly, and she knew he was worried. Miners always worried about the Leaving. Sometimes they had reason.

“I’m ready, Da,” she assured him. “I can do it. I’ll be the perfect Citizen. You’ll see.”

He nodded, his eyes reddening. “Bring back everything you can,” he choked. “See you as a Miner.” He stepped away from her, ready to close the Door. She took a deep breath and stepped into the Topside.

The Fisher

FB_IMG_1589749643815She was a tiny boat, one of many lined up on the beach with the tide gently kissing their weathered boards. His first, purchased with the blood and sweat of grueling hours spent under the eye of his uncle. She wasn’t much to look at, peeling paint barely visible at the gunwale and salt soaked boards scoured by the sea. Even the rope tying her to the meager mooring hung heavy with the living debris of the waves. But she was sound, and she was his. He swelled with pride looking at her.

A couple of stray gulls lingered nearby, probably in hopes of finding a meal in the carnage left by the fishermen. They wouldn’t hover long, he thought with a smile. His wrists and elbows still ached from the scrubbing he had given her. Don’t give the hunters of the sea a reason to hunt you, his uncle always said. Or the hunted a reason to run.

He glanced toward the whitewashed guildhouses standing above the reach of the tide. One day, he was sure, he would stand alongside his uncle under those wide doors, bargaining for the best prices for his catch. Only the best of the best were allowed membership; only the highest quality fish passed through guild hands to the Noblesse’s tables.

He had to prove himself. A boy of sixteen, the guildfishers scoffed. Even the other lonefishers raised skeptical eyebrows at the idea of a boy in their midst. Especially a boy with only one hand. Only his uncle thought he stood any chance, had agreed to trade work for this aging slip, had given his missing limb no quarter in order to be sure he learned. The ocean was unforgiving; it would not hold back, therefore he could not.

With the dawn would come his maiden voyage. There would be no easy trips to the reefs for him. Let the lonefishers make short work of those; they would only torment him anyway. He had his secret coves, his hidden markers where the guildfleets feared to go. Long years of boyhood spent alone had ensured that advantage, and he would never tell.

He grinned to himself. The Outliers would taste the wealth of a Noblesse for once. The Towners would never buy from him, not now. Let the rumors spread. Let them wonder. They would seek him out from jealousy alone, and he would laugh and charge them double to make them feel important. It would be the first step.

The Road

FB_IMG_1582732885221She had lived in the shadow of the mountain all her life. No matter the season, it’s snowy crags had punctuated her world, piercing the sunrise and reflecting the fire of sunset. Now, standing here on the old Roman road, it stood as the final bastion of my old life.

The road itself seemed as timeless as the mountain. From the first time I saw it as a child running wild on the moor, it had fascinated me with its ancient mystery. When I asked my father about it, he would only say that it was the old Roman road. My mother gasped over her loom and dropped her shuttle, something her expert hands never did. In twenty years I had never asked again, but its stones had called to me in my dreams, and often I had searched for its path among the heather and gorse.

Now my parents were dead, my mother to a fever my fifteenth winter, my father to old age only a month gone. Nothing held me to the village; marriage would soon no longer be a possibility even were I drawn to any of the young men. Already glances slid over me as if I were no more than scenery.

I walked the moor for the last time, and for the first time placed my feet upon the ancient Roman stones. My breath caught in my chest. Soon the mountain would be behind me, only the road stretching before me stone after stone. I hefted my bundle and with a deep breath set one foot before me, then another.