True Heroes

by Shannon Hale

  “Temporarily. Oh, and I’ve also got the Seawitch trapped under this bucket.”

  Keeper Merriweather rubbed his eyes. “This feels,” he said, “like the start of a very interesting day.”

  Turning to the signal fire, Caimbre crooked her finger, and as cool as its ocean home, the starfish necklace jumped out of the flames and onto her palm. “Let’s go,” she said, slipping her necklace back into her pocket. “With Keeper Merriweather here, going down the stairs will certainly be easier than coming up!”

  Lehua Parker

  Lehua is the award-winning author of the Niuhi Shark Saga trilogy for middle-grade and young adult readers and writes Lauele Town Stories and other works for adults. Originally from Hawaii and a graduate of The Kamehameha Schools, after a lifetime of travel and adventurous careers, she is currently an author, editor, public speaker, soccer mom, and project manager—not necessarily in that order.

  Trained in literary criticism and an advocate of indigenous cultural narratives and diversity in literature, Lehua is a frequent speaker at conferences and symposiums. She lives with her husband and children in the high desert mountains of Utah.

  http://www.lehuaparker.com/

  Caimbre

  “Dreams save us. Dreams lift us up and transform us.” —Superman

  Sophia

  (Acute Lymphoblastic Leukemia)

  Meet Sophia! The thing I love most about Sophia is how happy she makes everyone around her feel. You can’t help but feel good when she sends one of her infectious smiles your way. But Sophia is so much more than her personality. It only takes a second in her presence to realize that Sophia has a majestic soul meant for greatness. Her struggles are beyond comprehension for most. Not only does she have cancer, but she also suffers from a serious heart condition as well as Down syndrome. Nothing seems to deter Sophia, though, as she lives each day to the fullest.

  When her mother said that Sophia’s dream was to read a lot, I was a bit perplexed as to how I should create her image. A picture of someone just reading a book wasn’t as magical as I wanted it to be. But if we could get into her head to see what her imagination was doing—that would be cool!

  This image is the result of a ton of trial and error before I got something I was truly happy with. I felt Sophia deserved an image worthy of her beauty and strength!

  www.anythingcanbeproject.com/dream-blog/2015/4/11/sophia-librarian

  Sophia’s Wings

  Sharlee Glenn

  In a land far off and long ago, there was a kingdom inhabited only by birds—large birds, small birds, garden birds, water birds, songbirds, nesting birds, perching birds, wading birds. There were kiskadees, falcons, flamingos, and meadowlarks. Bluebirds, blackbirds, chickadees, and ravens. Swallows, starlings, swans, and yellowthroats. It was a peaceful kingdom ruled by a king and a queen—nightingales, both—who were much loved for their goodness and the sweetness of their songs.

  The kingdom was called Volaria, and it was a happy place. All day long the trilling and chirping of songbirds could be heard. Snow geese and swans glided on the still waters of the land’s many lakes. Eagles and falcons stretched their wings against the blueness of the sky as they soared, twisted, glided, and dove through the air.

  The king and queen lived in a palace high above the valley floor. They were very happy, almost perfectly so, but they lacked one thing—a child. As the years passed, their longing for a child grew and grew. There was a doctor in court—an old raven named Dr. Ebon—who had lived in the palace since before the king was born and had served the king’s father.

  Dr. Ebon tried every method known to bird to help the king and queen, but to no avail. Then one bright spring morning, quite unexpectedly, the queen laid a single egg—smooth, glossy, and the palest pink. The king and queen were overjoyed. The king hovered as the queen tenderly cared for the egg and kept it warm. Dr. Ebon attended as the egg hatched and a beautiful baby nightingale was born—a girl. They named her Sophia.

  To the adoring mother and father, baby Sophia was perfect in every way. But Dr. Ebon pushed them aside and swooped in to examine the baby.

  “Something is not right,” he said. “Do you see how the left wing is withered? She will never fly. We must bind the wing tightly to her body to protect it and to protect her.”

  The king and queen were alarmed by the urgency in the doctor’s voice, and they allowed him to bind the wing.

  “It is for the best,” said the old doctor as he gathered his things and left.

  But the tight binding pained the little bird. The queen could not bear to hear her cries, so she unwrapped the wing, covered it with kisses, and gently massaged it.

  Little Sophia cooed and smiled up at her parents.

  As Princess Sophia grew, the goodness of her heart became apparent. Though bound to the earth and unable to use her fragile left wing, she never complained— unless her parents taped the wing to her side, which they never did unless Dr. Ebon was around, and even then she merely let out the tiniest of sad chirps. Otherwise her disposition was as sunny as the brightest of summer days, and her kindness as constant as the stars in the heavens. Everyone in the palace loved her. And, oh, her song! It was as sweet and pure as golden honey.

  The princess seemed content for the most part. Still, it stabbed her parents’ hearts to see her watch longingly as the other birds flitted about and flew. She especially yearned to see the marvels that lay beyond the palace walls. The other birds would tell wondrous tales of their adventures and the vistas they witnessed as they flew about: great, crashing waterfalls, snowcapped mountains that sparkled in the morning light, valleys as green as emeralds, meadows abloom with wildflowers of every shade.

  The king and queen consulted with Dr. Ebon. “We want only happiness for her,” they said. “And it makes her so sad to hear of things she cannot see.”

  “Then you must protect her,” said Dr. Ebon. “Do not let her know what she is missing. Send out a proclamation throughout all the land that no one must tell the princess of the things they see on their flights. Furthermore, before she learns to read, you must gather all the books in the palace and lock them safely away from her sight. Reading of far-off places and seeing pictures of the wonders of the world will only serve to cause her pain.”

  This seemed extreme to the king and queen, but they would do anything to keep their beloved daughter happy. And so they issued a proclamation that no one should ever tell the princess of any place that existed beyond the palace walls. In addition, every book that hinted at wonders beyond the courtyard was collected and locked away in a room in the highest tower of the palace. A single door opened into the room, and this was locked tight and guarded from within by a trusted servant. The servant, an aged spectacled owl named Mrs. Bondadoso, was told that she must never, under any circumstances, open the door to anyone except the scullery maid who would bring her food three times a day, and to this charge she was completely faithful.

  The only books that were left in the palace were cookbooks and instruction manuals on how to grow grain or how to season staves to be made into barrels. These the little princess came to love as she learned to read, for she knew of no other kind of book.

  But her mother, the queen, missed the books that had been hidden away. She found herself longing to turn the pages, gaze at the illustrations, and read the words of her favorite volumes. So, privately, she conferred with Mrs. B., the guardian owl.

  “When I desire entrance, I will come to the door and sing this song,” said the queen.

  Chick-a-ree, pip-it, pa-cheep, swee-swee

  As grass to the meadow and wave to the sea

  Chick-a-ree, pip-it, pa-cheep, swee-swee.

  “You must not open the door unless you hear this song,” she said. And so it was arranged.

  In the meantime, Princess Sophia was growing more winsome every day, and her singing became more and more beautiful.

  “Her voice rivals that of her mother, the queen,” people would say. All who heard her
were captivated.

  But even more remarkable than her song was her gentle and loving spirit. She was kind and generous, good-natured and patient, wise beyond her years and infinitely compassionate. Birds from all over the kingdom flocked to the palace just to hear the little princess sing. But after sensing her goodness, they stayed to talk with her, to share with her their own particular heartaches.

  As word of her benevolence spread, sad and broken birds of all kinds began to come to her, to hear her song, to share their stories, and to receive her sweet embrace. For though the little bird had only one good wing, she never failed to wrap both—one frail, one strong—around a visiting friend.

  The princess was happy, but she still sometimes longed to fly—to soar with the other birds in the bright blue heavens.

  One day Princess Sophia was hopping about the palace when she noticed a door she had never seen before. It was cracked open. With some effort, she pulled it wide enough to squeeze through. A long staircase wound upward as far as she could see. Curious, the little bird began hopping up the steps. Up, up, up she went.

  The stairwell soon became dark and narrow, and she could hear the scurrying of mice in the walls. To give herself courage, the little bird began to sing. At last she reached the top. There, before her, stood an enormous oak door with neither handle nor lock. She pushed against it, but it did not budge. She tried knocking, but the door was so big and she so small that her little rat-tat-tat was like no sound at all.

  The little bird was tired from her climb, so she sat to rest before starting the long trek back down the staircase. As she rested, she began to sing the song that her mother, the queen, always sang to her at bedtime.

  Chick-a-ree, pip-it, pa-cheep, swee-swee

  As grass to the meadow and wave to the sea

  Chick-a-ree, pip-it, pa-cheep, swee-swee.

  Suddenly the door swung open. A kindly plump owl stood there, looking as surprised as the little bird.

  “Land’s sake, Princess!” said the guardian owl. “I thought you were your mother!” Then, in wonderment: “You sound just like your mother.”

  The old owl tried to block the view of the room behind her, but the little bird hopped past.

  “Books!” cried the princess. “Hundreds and hundreds of books!” She hopped about the room excitedly. It was filled from floor to ceiling with books of every size, shape, and color. She stopped in front of an enormous bookcase. With great effort, she pulled a book from a bottom shelf. Plopping down onto the floor, she drew it toward her and opened the cover. As she turned each page, she twittered with delight.

  “I feel as though my withered wing has become strong and whole as I look at these pictures,” she said, looking up at Mrs. B. “It’s like I can fly—like I can soar right into other worlds, other places and times!”

  Mrs. B., seeing the princess’s joy, could not bring herself to scold or take the book away.

  “But you must leave soon, Princess,” she said, turning her head nervously in all directions. “We would both be in great trouble if you were discovered here.”

  “But why?” asked the princess. “What could be so wrong about reading these glorious books?”

  “I don’t know,” said the owl. “But it is forbidden. I was told I must open the door for no one—except the maid who brings me food each day. And, on occasion, your mother.”

  “I would not want you to get in trouble,” said the little bird. “I will leave now, but please, may I come back?”

  “I don’t know,” said the owl nervously. “I have strict orders.”

  “Please,” begged the little princess. “Just one more time? There are so many books left to explore, and they bring me such joy!”

  “All right,” said the softhearted owl. “Just one more time. But you must come early in the morning, for your mother comes only in the evenings, after you are asleep.”

  And so the next morning the little bird returned to the room of books. And the next. And the next. And always, when it was time to leave, she would beg to be able to come again.

  “Just one more time,” the kind Mrs. B. would say.

  Those were joyful days for the little bird. Early each morning she would hop up the long stairwell to pore over the books, and for the rest of the day she would sing and listen to the stories of her many visitors, always giving them a kind word and a warm hug as they left.

  Then one day, the queen woke early and decided to visit the vault of books while the rest of the palace slept. And there she discovered her beloved daughter, happily lost in a lavishly illustrated volume detailing the rivers of the world.

  The queen was upset and called for the king and Dr. Ebon.

  “You have disobeyed the orders of the king and queen,” Dr. Ebon said to Mrs. B. “You must be punished.”

  “No, please!” cried the little bird. “It’s my fault. She was only doing what I begged her to do. She was only allowing me some happiness. See how happy I am!”

  Her parents looked at her, and they could see that it was true.

  And so the books were carried back down and spread throughout the palace for all to enjoy. Often the little bird would share a favorite book with one of her visitors, and both would be cheered.

  And so her days were spent singing, listening, sharing her books, and bestowing her hugs.

  One day, the little princess noticed that her wing seemed stronger. She hopped to the center of the courtyard. Fluttering with all her might, she felt herself lift a few inches off the ground. Up . . . up . . . crash! She fell to the courtyard floor with a clatter. The king and queen came running. Seeing her in a heap upon the ground, they called for Dr. Ebon.

  At first he was angry that they had not followed his orders to keep the withered wing bound.

  “But look,” said the little bird, dusting herself off. “I am not hurt. I am glad my parents did not bind my wing, for see what I can do because they did not.” And she reached up with both wings and gave the doctor a warm hug. Tears began to run down the old doctor’s face, for he had experienced little love in his life.

  “Thank you,” he said to the little bird. Then he spoke to the king and queen. “Forgive me,” he said. “I thought I was doing the right thing to counsel you as I did. You see, Your Majesty,” he said to the king, “before you were born, you had a brother. He was sickly, but I urged your parents to let him fly. He was not strong enough. He did not live. I have always held myself responsible. I was only trying to protect you and the princess.”

  “You are forgiven,” said the little bird. “You only did what you thought best.” And as she hugged him again, she felt a brief pulse of energy in her withered wing.

  As the years passed, the princess continued to sing, and to listen, and to minister to others. And as she did, her shriveled wing grew gradually stronger.

  When her aged parents passed on, Princess Sophia became Queen Sophia and reigned over Volaria in their stead. She ruled wisely and well and was greatly loved by all her subjects.

  On the twentieth anniversary of her ascension to the throne, a great celebration was held. All who knew and loved Queen Sophia came to honor her. As she sat upon her throne, all the birds who had ever received comfort, counsel, and cheer from her approached, one by one, and knelt before her. With great tenderness, Queen Sophia touched each one lightly on the head with her feeble wing, bestowing on them her last blessing. As they continued to come, hundreds upon hundreds of them, a strange tingling moved throughout her body.

  As the last bird reverently bowed and received the queen’s blessing, then turned to join the throngs gathered in the courtyard, the queen felt a surge of wondrous warmth flow through her once-ruined wing. Rising to her full height, she slowly opened both wings to their full expanse. Then, with a great rushing sound, as though from the wings of angels, she lifted off from the earth, up, up, up, and soared away into the endless blue of the sky.

  Sharlee Glenn

  Sharlee Glenn writes essays, short stories, poetry, middle-gra
de novels, and picture books. Recent publications include Keeping Up with Roo (Putnam), winner of the Dolly Gray Children’s Literature Award, and Just What Mama Needs (Harcourt), which was featured on the Emmy Award-winning PBS children’s show Between the Lions. Her next book, a nonfiction picture book entitled Mary Did It Anyway: Mary Lemist Titcomb and America’s First Bookmobile, will be published by Abrams Books in 2016.

  Sharlee lives in Pleasant Grove, Utah, with her husband and the youngest of their five children. Besides reading and writing, she loves hiking, yoga, listening to good music (especially when it’s performed by her children), serving in her church, gabbing with friends, and watching BBC period dramas.

  http://www.sharleeglenn.com/

  Eli

  (T-Cell Acute Lymphoblastic Leukemia)

  Meet Eli! On July 8, 2014, Eli was diagnosed with T-cell acute lymphoblastic leukemia. About a week prior, Eli complained of a sore on his tongue. His mother had also noticed that he did not have as much energy as normal and that he had complained of breathing difficulties a couple of times. Concerned, his mother took him to see the doctor.

  The doctor ordered a chest X-ray, which revealed a mass of cells clustered by his thymus. The doctor immediately sent Eli and his mother to Primary Children’s Hospital, where they spent the next two weeks. Not only will Eli have to undergo chemotherapy, but he will also need radiation treatment on his brain to fully eradicate his cancer.

  Eli’s loves all types of extreme sports, including motocross, monster trucks, skateboarding, and BMX. His dream is to soar high on his BMX bike, free of cancer and away from a hospital.

  www.anythingcanbeproject.com/dream-blog/2015/2/25/eli-hill-bmx-pro

  Eli Rides the Sky

  Clint Johnson

  The thirty best BMX Big Air riders in the world stood in a line at the foot of the tower. It stretched above them like a giant crane. Beneath the steel skeleton, all thirty riders in padded suits straddled their bikes. Some jumped up and down on shock absorbers strong enough to cushion an elephant. With helmets either on handlebars or beneath an arm, each rider looked at his competitors and smirked.